#my brain is scrambled when it comes to this stuff but yeah

[nevalizona]

A fragment from an au I will not be giving context for LOL. Probably won't share too much from it either, but oh well!

Pardon any errors, please!

"Humane?" The blond officer scoughed, shooting a look at Dr.Flores.

"Yes, humane. Is there something you don't understand...?" Dr.Flores asked, eyebrows pinching together under her protective gear. The blond and brunette officers cannot see her under all her layers and safety goggles, and for a moment, she's glad.

"I just think it's a little funny that this is where you choose to be 'humane'." The blond officer retorted, earning a look from the brunette. Dr.Flores wished she could remember their names.

"I have to interject here, officer. Dr.Flores is one of the most compassionate scientists I have ever had the privilege to train. She has worked tooth and nail to make this concoction work." Dr.Weber poked at the clipboard he was holding, his voice stern and protective. The blond officer opened his mouth to say something, but the brunette officer interrupted him.

"Look, I'm sure she is. You have to understand where we're coming from. After seeing what we saw, I imagine you can figure out why it's hard for us to believe either one of you would care about doing anything 'humanely.'" The brunette officer explained, gesturing towards the scientists.

"You have to understand officers, we didn't choose th-"

"I would imagine, officers, that you two should be well acquainted with not doing things the 'humane' way... What makes this different to you, hm?" Dr.Weber interrupted, sounding clearly agitated.

The brunette officer noticeably clenched his jaw. This was not the way a first meeting should be going.

"What Dr.Weber means is, in your area of work, you have to do and see things that aren't... good... for the bigger picture. You're doing the right thing, in the... wrong way... we're no different. We don't mean any offense. We're just trying to help make the world a better place. You gentlemen are too, no? We're both going about that in 'unique' ways, are we not? I mean, you two were picked to overlook this experiment for a reason, right?" She explained, trying to deesculate the situation.

The brunette officer nodded his head slowly, still glaring at Dr.Weber.

"You said you were going to show us one of your observation rooms. Maybe you should take us there now." The blond said, inserting himself back into the conversation.

"Ah, yes. I'll take you two to the changing rooms. You'll need to gear up. We'll give you some underclothes to wear as well. Come along." Dr.Weber said, gesturing for the two officers to follow.

[wendichester]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ one too many,

summary. you drunk-diall dean. he immediately rushes to you.-

pairing. dean winchester x drunk!reader genre. fluff-ish

wordcount. 679

notes / warnings. mild alcohol use, tipsy rambling, suggestive tension, dean being soft but lowkey feral, unfiltered feelings

Your thumb hovers over his name like it’s a trigger. You're swaying slightly in the shitty motel kitchenette, phone hot in your hand, brain swimming in cheap tequila and worse decisions. You know you shouldn’t call him. You definitely shouldn’t call him at two-freaking-thirty in the morning. But your lips are already forming the words before your common sense can scream loud enough.

"Deeeean," you slur the second he picks up, voice soft and singsongy, "hey, hot stuff."

There's a pause. Long enough to make you giggle and imagine him half-naked and blinking at the caller ID like it's a bad dream.

"...You drunk?"

"Maaaaybe."

He exhales. It’s a sharp sound, like he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where the hell are you?"

"Room twelve, back of the motel. I think the wall’s moving. Or maybe I'm moving. Wait—" You press your palm to the wall and laugh when you almost fall. "Yup. Definitely me."

You hear rustling, keys, the thump of boots.

"Stay put," Dean grits. “Don’t go anywhere.”

"As if I could,” you say, collapsing onto the bed like a melting popsicle. “Your voice is soooo serious. You sound hot when you’re mad. Did you know that?"

Dean groans. “Jesus Christ.”

The knock comes fast—he must’ve sprinted over. You scramble to the door, unlock it with more difficulty than necessary, and nearly fall into his chest when it swings open.

He catches you, big hands bracing your arms, and holy hell—he’s in a henley and jeans and looking like the dictionary definition of rugged savior fantasy.

"You're wearing your Dean shirt," you mumble, swaying against him.

His brow furrows. "My what?"

"You know, the one that hugs your arms and makes girls forget how to breathe."

His jaw clenches. His hands tighten slightly. "You’re impossible when you drink."

You beam. “You love me anyway.”

The words slip out too fast.

Dean stills.

You slap a hand over your mouth and stagger back, eyes wide. “I—I mean like... friendly love. Bro love. Hunter love. Not the wanna rip your clothes off and ride your face kind. Haha.”

Dean’s eyes blaze. “That’s a kind?”

“Shut up.”

He steps in. Shuts the door behind him. It clicks too loudly in the silence that’s suddenly way too full.

"You shouldn’t drink alone,” he says quietly, voice low, rough. He moves to steady you again as you flop gracelessly onto the bed. “You never hold your liquor.”

“Who said I was alone?” Too cheeky. You giggle but quickly stop at the frown that adorns his features. You pout. “'Sides, I was thinkin’ about you.”

His eyes flick to yours.

"Yeah?"

“Mhm,” you hum. "You’re in my head all the time lately. Makes sleep kinda hard.”

Dean swallows. He’s standing awkwardly near the edge of the bed, torn between pulling you into his lap or bolting straight through the damn drywall.

"Did I say that out loud?" you blink.

"Yeah,” he says hoarsely.

“Well, maybe I meant to,” you murmur. “Maybe I call you at two a.m. 'cause you’re the only person I think about when I’m messy like this. When I feel stupid and needy and soft and… I dunno. Honest.”

Dean exhales slowly. Like he’s trying to breathe through fire.

“Fuck.”

You blink up at him, vulnerable and tipsy and entirely too real. “You gonna yell at me now?”

He kneels in front of the bed, resting his hands on your knees like it’s the only way to keep from shaking.

“No,” he says. “I’m gonna make sure you drink water, get in bed, and sleep this off. And then, tomorrow… you and I are gonna talk.”

“About how I wanna ride your—”

“Sleep it off, sweetheart,” he says sharply, cheeks flushed. “Please.”

You snort, flopping back on the bed. “Okay, okay, killjoy. But hey…”

Dean leans in to pull the blanket over you.

You grab his wrist.

“Thanks for coming.”

His voice is barely a whisper. “Always.”

And even though he doesn’t kiss you—not yet—his fingers linger against your skin, like he’s memorizing something he’s too scared to claim.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Heart shaped

pairing: lee felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff, roommates to lovers au

warning/s: just disgusting fluff

a/n: this is an old drabble that has been in my drafts for like half a year. i wanted to post dolly today but since i got delayed here's a little something, happy valentine's day my babies🩷

You're slowly waking up. Your eyes flutter before you finally open them and they land on the window.

It's still dark out. 3am. That's what it says on your clock.

Great. This is the third night in a row that your roommate woke you up with strange noises in the kitchen. The last two nights you tried to ignore it.

Felix isn't the type of person to do stuff like that on purpose, so you let him be. Whatever he's doing won't be long, right?

Well, here you are, proven to be wrong.

You sigh, deciding you really need to get up and check what he's doing.

"Felix?" your voice startles him and he turns from the stove abruptly. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry!" he panics, scrambling around the kitchen and moving stuff.

But you can see what he's trying to hide. There is at least five trays of well- kind of heart shaped cookies, some of them are burnt, some were crushed into pieces, some had icing on them.

"Are you nervous baking?" you chuckle, coming closer and you can see redness forming on his freckled cheeks.

"Yeah, something like that." he nods, avoiding your eyes.

"Are you making heart shaped cookies?" you try again.

"I'm trying to make heart shaped cookies." he corrects you, finally looking up at you. "I accidentally burned the first batch. And the second one, they started falling apart. And then this third one just wasn't the right taste. And the fourth one, the icing looks weird. And-"

"Why don't you breathe?" you place your hands on his shoulders as he almost starts hyperventilating.

"Yeah, yeah, that's like important." Felix says and you chuckle at his 3am brain.

"Can you tell me why you're doing this?" you ask when you think he's calmed down a little.

"I'm..." he swallows, "I'm trying to confess to someone."

"Oh." you nod. "And you wanna bring them cookies?"

"Yeah, exactly." he says, biting on his lip nervously.

"Since I'm not sleeping anymore, I could help you?" you suggest and he chuckles.

"Now that would be ironic." he says.

"What? Why would it be ironic?" you ask.

"No, no reason." Felix smirks at your 3am brain.

"Okay, you can help me."

Both of you get to work, to make perfectly heart shaped cookies that are also delicious and don't crumble the moment you grab them.

You wonder who the recipient is, but you don't want to pry, if Felix wanted to tell you he would.

-

"Alright, let's do a taste test." you nod confidently once they're done.

The two of you grab a cookie each and count down to one before biting into it.

"Mm, these are perfect!" you exclaim, eyes wide.

"They're so good!" Felix matches your excitement.

"Hey, thanks for helping me." he adds, smiling at you fondly.

"No problem, good luck with your confession." you say.

"Thank you." Felix chuckles.

-

When you walk into the kitchen the next morning, you see something covered up on the table.

You walk over to it slowly and realize there's a little paper with your name on it.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you pick up the note and reveal what was covered up.

"Oh." you gasp when you see the cookies you worked hard on last night with Felix, all nicely rounded in a cute basket with decorative flowers.

You take a look at the note but there's nothing on it except your name.

"See, this is why I said it's ironic you're helping me." Felix's voice startles you and you turn around and look at him.

He's leaning on the fridge, arms crossed on his chest as he smirks at you.

"W-what?" you ask like you're dumbfounded because there is no way.

"They're for you. I'm confessing to you." his smirk turns into a shy smile, his demeanor changing into something softer.

"Oh."

"Is that a good 'oh'? Or a bad 'oh'?" he asks.

"It's a good 'oh'." you chuckle and Felix comes closer to you.

"I like you. I have for a while. And I was wondering if you feel the same. And if you do, maybe we can take this basket of cookies on a picnic date with us." Felix says and you chuckle at him, your heart rate picking up speed.

"I'd love to take the cookies on a picnic date."

Both of you laugh, and Felix is leaning closer into you.

"Does that mean you like me? Or you just like the cookies?" he asks, his breath hitting your cheek and making your heart flutter.

"Both." you whisper with a smile and Felix presses his lips on yours gently.

Your eyes flutter shut as you stay still for a few moments before both of you lean away sheepishly.

"You know..." you start and Felix looks at you expectantly.

"I would've said yes even if the cookies were burnt or crumbling into pieces." you say and he blushes, fidgeting with his hands.

"Good to know."

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[moonstruckme]

wearing spencers clothes🤯🤯 the boy would not be able to focus!!!! i love all of your work btw!! you're single handedly encouraging me back into my marauders phase❤️

Then my scheme is working ! Thanks for requesting babe :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Spencer has to force himself out of bed so you don’t wake up to him staring at you. Also, so he has time away from you to get himself together. 

He’s never felt so much like skipping before. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, full to bursting with the knowledge that you’re asleep one room over, his smile is unshakable. It’s embarrassing, honestly, he’s like a high schooler. You can’t see him like this. He starts going through the kitchen to see what’s not expired. Ketchup, hummus, bread, muffin mix (too risky), mattar paneer (not a very good breakfast), eggs. Spencer can work with eggs. He has to double-check that he has both salt and pepper, but he’s good to go.  

He pops bread in the toaster once he hears you moving around, a giddy flare of anticipation shooting up through his middle. You’ve never stayed over before, and Spencer didn’t have any time to prepare. He only has one hand towel, which you seem fine with sharing and he’s going to pop in the washing machine as soon as you leave, and only one toothbrush. He feels bad that you have to brush your teeth with your finger. If you deem him worthy of a next time, he tells himself, he’ll be ready then. 

He hears the quiet padding of your footsteps but forces himself not to turn around until you say, “Morning.” 

Your voice is stretched with sleep, and when Spencer turns around he can see it still lingering in your face. Your eyelids are droopy, weighted down, and your hair looks like you’ve tried to run your fingers through it but couldn’t quite get it to behave, and you’re—that’s his sweater vest. You’re wearing his sweater vest. 

He must be staring, because you look down at it, your expression going sheepish. “Sorry, is this okay? I know you’re sort of particular about germs, but I didn’t want to just come out here naked, and I really didn’t feel like putting on my jeans…” 

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.”

All the stuff you’d done last night, and you think he’s going to be fussy about your germs on his clothes? This is a completely different kind of upset. You’re—you look—well, you look like something Spencer dreamed up. You look like comfort and sweetness and Sunday morning. 

“Okay, thanks.” You smile. Spencer thinks that if he were hooked up to a transducer, you’d actually be able to see the rush of dopamine to his brain. “It’s lucky you’re so tall, this fits me like a dress.” 

A small dress, but sure. “I also have a disproportionately long torso,” he blurts. “My legs aren’t as long as they should be for my height, so my shirts and vests are longer than average.” 

You nod like everything he’s just said made perfect and socially acceptable sense. The toast pops up and Spencer jolts a little, remembering to push the eggs around in the pan a bit. 

A little smile tilts your lips, and you lean back against the counter behind him. “Are you making us breakfast?” 

“Mhm.” 

The smile spreads, your eyes going soft. “That’s so sweet of you,” you say warmly. “Thanks, Spence.” 

“I can’t really cook,” he warns you. “I mean, I can usually do eggs, but only scrambled and even then I might…just don’t thank me yet.” 

A little laugh spurts out of you. It reminds Spencer of the fountain in front of his work, of water sparkling in the sun. “Okay,” you say, “do you want any help?”

“It’s probably best if whatever happens is undeniably my fault.”

You laugh again. He wonders what he can do to make that keep happening. 

“Fair enough.” You push off the counter, headed towards the door. “Do you get the newspaper?” 

For a second, Spencer’s too busy watching you go to remember if he does. “Y—yeah. It should be here by now,” he says. 

He hears the door open, and then, ��Perfect.” You come back brandishing the rolled-up paper, discarding the rubber band in his trash bin. “Do you mind if we do your crossword? You seem like you’d be so good at that.” 

Spencer actually stopped doing the crossword years ago—the pop culture references he didn’t get, and the rest were too easy—but he’ll do it if it might impress you. 

“Sure, let’s try.” 

“Okay.” You grab a pen from the coffee table, spreading the paper open on the countertop. “Wyoming’s state sport, five—”

“Rodeo,” Spencer says. It takes him a beat to realize he cut you off. He turns, grimace in place and apology on his lips. “Sorry.” 

But you’re grinning. You shake your head a little bit, pride or admiration or a bit of both, and write it down. You push a piece of hair away from your face. Spencer’s eyes get caught on the wool of his sweater vest where it brushes your collarbone. 

“African river to the Mediterranean, four letters. That’s the Nile, right?” 

The garment seems to shift with every tiny movement. Sliding atop your shoulders, moving about your neckline, the soft material skimming your ribs. Under the counter, it has to be bunched underneath your thighs. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?” He forces his gaze up. “Yeah, the Nile.” 

“Thanks.” Your eyes linger on him a second too long before you bend back over the paper, a knowing smile playing on the corner of your lips. “Okay, and eagle claw in five letters is talon, right? Oh, um, eggs.” 

Spencer’s brow wrinkles. “How many letters?” 

“No, Spence.” You laugh, sliding out of your seat. You tug his sweater down a bit as you walk over, the band at the bottom hugging your thighs. “The eggs. Your eggs.” 

He turns, registering the smell of smoke before the sight of the crispy, blackened eggs in his pan. “Oh.” 

You reach past him, elbow bumping his as you switch off the heat. Spencer moves the hot pan away from you quickly. He scrapes his sorry eggs into the trash bin, setting the pan in the sink.

“Sorry, I got distracted by the crossword,” he tells you, and though he suspects you catch the lie you’re kind enough not to call him out on it. 

“It’s fine.” You shoot him another of those brilliant, beaming smiles, taking a piece of cold toast from the toaster. “I love toast. Do you have any butter or jam or anything?” 

Spencer winces. “Not really…” 

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “No worries. I’m down for a trip to the store if you are.” He nods sheepishly, and you press your lips together, thoughtful. “I think I might change first, though.” 

[nineteenninety-six]

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death and serious injuries (Jack's leg). inaccurate army/military stuff etc.

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

When your mother died when you were twelve, your father had already been discharged from the army due to the incident that left him an amputee and things were awkward with him to say the least. You weren't very close to him having spent little amounts of time with him over the course of your life and so when he returned to live at home full time and your mother passed it took a long time and many hit and misses as you both tried to adjust to your new normal but it birthed a ritual that you looked forward to every single time.

Your pajama bottoms dragged on the floor as you shuffled into the living room where your dad sat waiting for you. You juggled the popcorn, potato chips, a can of soda and your dads beer bottle in your hands as you desperately tried not to drop or spill anything. Your father gratefully takes his beer and the popcorn from your hands as you reach him and you place the chips and your drink down on the coffee table before you relax back into the couch, pulling your blanket on top of you as you get comfortable.

"So, what's the film tonight?" You ask.

The two of you alternate on who chose the film and tonight it was his turn.

"1917." Your dad responds as he finds it on the streaming service."War movie."

"First world war?" You assume due to the title, "You want to watch a war film?"

"Yup." Your dad says as he flicks the movie on, "Now get the lights."

You huff, annoyed as you had just gotten comfortable but you do as he says knowing he wouldn't budge to turn off the lights himself. As you shuffle over to flick the lights off you can't help but ponder over your fathers choice of film. He wasn't a big war movie fan, mostly due to his own experience of serving so you were surprised when he suggested that film but perhaps since it was a first world war film, it was different.

You sniffled as the credits rolled, your tears finally stopping after they started when Lance Corporal Blake died before he was able to see his brother . You hadn't expected to be moved so much from this film and you looked over to your dad to discuss it but you found him spaced out, not paying attention to the film or anything else. Unseeing and empty.

You frown and shift so that you face him, "Dad?"

Your dad blinks, still staring emptily at the tv in front of you.

You grab his arm and give him a soft shake, "Dad? You okay?"

Your dad rapidly blinks and inhales sharply as he snaps his head over to you, "Yeah kid, I'm okay."

Your frown lingers still not convinced but you nod, "Okay…it's still early do you want to watch another movie?"

Your dad nods slowly, still lost in his head, "Sure."

You give him a pat on the arm as you stand up, "I'll choose this time, let me just get us some more drinks."

When you returned, your dad had finally come out of the stupor he was in but you knew that something was still weighing heavily on him.

"What's wrong?" You ask him, "Seriously. Was it the film?"

Your dad nods, "Just brought up some memories I guess."

You pause before you speak again, your voice gentle, "Of when you were serving?"

"Of my injury" Your dad's hands clenched around his beer bottle as he fought through the memories that were flashing through his mind.

"You don't really speak about it…at all."

Your dad shrugs, "It happened and then your mom died. Too much going on at the same time."

"Did you speak to anyone about it?" You ask mildly concerned at the prospect of him experiencing two massive life traumas simultaneously. 

"My therapist."

You were thankful that he had an actual licensed professional to help him.

"...Can you tell me about it?"

Your dad hesitated to answer, "I'm not sure kid."

You remain silent and don't push him for answers but eventually his shoulder relaxes and he begins to tell you the story.

"It was just a stand patrol of the area, a humvee ran over an IED, I was the closest medic and I ran to help…didn't realise there was a second one buried underneath the sand." Your dad's words are quiet  as he re-lived those memories, "I was helping a guy who was in the humvee, pulling him to safety when we stepped on the second one."

You stared at him with wide eyes, you always knew it was always going to be a traumatic story but you didn't realise how bad it was. 

"I don't remember much." Your dad continues, "I was thrown on my back, blood sprayed everywhere, then came the pain, so much pain that I passed out. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a field hospital and they're telling me they're sending me home."

"Oh dad" Your words are full of sympathy as you cuddle into his side, "I'm sorry."

"That was meant to be my last deployment anyway, I promised your mom I'd return home in one piece like I alway did." Your dad barks out a laugh, "You were still a kid, I had been away so long and you barely knew me and she hated that so it was my last tour. Despite everything, I like being at home with you and your mom, it was the start of our new life."

Your lips pulled into a frown, "Didn't last long."

"Not even two months." Your dad scoffed, "I was still in hospital, healing from god-knows how many surgeries and then suddenly I'm a widower and a single parent."

"Were you scared?"

"So scared" Your dad admits, "I had no clue on what to do with you or how to be a parent…almost sent you to live with your grandparents."

"I'm glad you didn't. You're a great dad."

Your dad raises a brow at you, doubting your words, "Yeah?"

"Yes." You insist, "The best. Not everyone would have survived what you went through— not just survived but you thrived. You learnt how to walk again, you raised me and you work at PTMC. You're amazing!"

Your dad smiles shyly as he fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, "Thanks kid."

You flash him a smile as you pull away and reach for the remote, "I was thinking either Pride and Prejudice or Notting Hill, what do you think?"

You dad snatches the remote out of your hand, "I was thinking neither. I don't want to watch romance."

You scoff and take back the remote, "Well I'm not watching any damn war movies again, plus it's my turn to choose now!"

"Watch your language," Your dad halfheartedly chastises you, "You can pick, just not a romance."

You roll your eyes but you click on a comedy film anyway, "Party pooper."

"Okay, film choice privileges have been removed for the next month." Your dad continues to speak over your protests, "Keep complaining and it'll be two months."

You snap your mouth shut, biting your lip when he throws you a smug grin but you know if you open your mouth again he'll increase it so you focus on the film and try your hardest to ignore his teasing and baiting looks and jabs but you can't help but mutter underneath your breath.

"Asshole."

…

"Six months!"

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

congrats on 1k love, so deserved !! can i request han w the prompts 🧷, 🌕, 💋, 🌸, and 🧋 for the time capsule event pls ?? :3 tysmmm <33

📚 — paring・hannie x reader // genres・fluff, cookies time capsule event!! // words・1.6k // the event・wanna open your relationship time capsule? click here to request!

a/n・tee hee thank you sooo much, so crazy coming from you figuring i'm down bad for your nerd!ji series (was this lowkey based off that? yes. am i ashamed? absolutely not.) hanji being a hot nerd is so coded. to anyone reading this go check out her page her stuff is awesome!! (sorry this is kinda shit, i'm going through it right now lolol p.s there is an ungodly amount of ramen mentions in this)

🧷 — the first time you met ➵ ꒰ 0 days into your relationship ꒱

jisung is a certified loser, so naturally, he was head over heels in love with you before you two ever actually had a conversation. the first time you formally met—not him daydreaming about you in chemistry or stalking your social media—he had already been caught staring at you at least 20 times within the last hour. you've never seen a man pale and then blush so fast in your life; it was almost impressive. "do i have something on my face?" you muse, leaning forward on his desk. he's rehearsed his first real conversation with you for literal years, but alas, the moment you actually look at him, all those cool-calm-collected skills he religiously googled go poof in his brain. "w-what? n-no?? you d-don't have anything on y-your face?" his ears are so red that he can feel them, which means you can see them, and that only makes him more embarrassed. yeah, that is not a fun combo. you send him an amused smirk, running your finger along his desk. "you sure? you seem to really like my face." oh. my. god. he wants the earth to crack open and swallow him whole, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat as if this wasn't one of the most embarrassing moments in his life. "no! i-i haven't been, um..." you give him an unconvinced look. he sighs, sinking deeper into his seat, face practically on fire. "sorry..." at first, this was all a silly joke. but the way he seems so embarrassed before you, fiddling with his fingers underneath the desk and bouncing his leg as if he's going to run away, makes you think this isn't actually a joke to him. you smile, soft and disarming in its sweetness. "don't sweat it, just maybe... next time watch where you're looking." half of him expected you to laugh at him for having this silly crush, but the way you acted, how kind you were, made the delulu part of him flare up like no other. he couldn't stop thinking about you for the rest of the week, but he knew deep down, there was no possible way he could talk to you again. god had different plans because—of course this would happen to him—a week later, you get assigned to him for peer tutoring. yeah, he was so done.

💋 — the first kiss. ➵ ꒰ 1 month into your friendship ꒱

you were 'just friends' when you first kissed han jisung. he had just made a large bowl of spicy ramen, as one does, while you were finishing up some problem questions he wrote for you. you were almost finished with them when you looked over, a large splotch of sauce slathered over his bottom lip. you let out a little chuckle, motioning to his lips. "you've got something right there." he perks up, ears turning bright red. "r-right here?" he scrambles to wipe it off, but fails miserably. "no," you laugh, pointing back to where it is. "it's right there." perhaps it was because he was so flustered, but no matter how many times you showed him where it is, he just couldn't find it. he huffed in frustration, cheeks all cute and red. "i'm gonna go check the mirror." "don't worry about it," you say, pulling him back down by the sleeve, crawling to him and pressing your lips together. time stills, and when your tongue pokes out to lap against his bottom lip, he's truly convinced this was some sick, wet dream. when you finally pull away, jisung almost melts into a puddle on the floor. he should say something smooth, win you over with his totally-not-just-in-his-head flirtatious skills, but no. in classic jisung fashion, he stammers out—"d-did you, um, did you get it?" you can't help the laughter that spills from your now red and puffy lips. he can't stop thinking: shut up! shut up! shut up! you're making a total fool of yourself! "yes, jisung, i got it." "o-oh yeah, t-that's really good, w-we wouldn't want..." yeah, he doesn't say anything after that. don't worry, you didn't leave the poor boy to wallow in humiliation for long. the classic "what are we?" conversation happens the next day.

🌕 — the first night. ➵ ꒰ 1 month into your friendship ꒱

the first time you spent the night at his apartment, it was a mix of food, anime, and laughter. han has been plotting this night ever since you brought it up. he literally made an entire note on his notes app labeled super-awesome-first-night-with-my-gf. the first bullet on the list—woo my girlfriend into thinking i'm actually really cool and not just a simp. the second bullet—make tons and tons of ramen. only one of those bullets got checked off that night. anyways, the ramen was pretty smack. all jokes aside (guys tell me im so funny), you had a blast. you both huddled under the covers and didn't stop laughing until you were doubled over, stomachs cramping. he shared his favorite anime show and his super-secret-spicy-ramen recipe, which he swore up and down wasn't just ramen and cheese (it totally was). and maybe, secretly, he did woo you—just a little bit.

🌸 — the first time he got jealous. ➵ ꒰ 4 days into your relationship ꒱

it's pathetic really, how quickly han can get jealous. you weren't doing anything to evoke jealousy, you were just... talking. that's what bothered him so much — you were talking — to a tall, hot, white guy that looked nothing like him. he doesn't wanna admit it, but bagging the most beautiful girl in school came with a rap sheet of insecurities. you had only been dating for four days, but he was already worried about you also seeing how far out of his league you are. i mean, come on, you two weren't even in the same sport. (he just needs to be kissed bc what is this gorgeous baby talking about??). he'd be so pouty when you come back and sit down beside him. jisung isn't the "imma fight this hoe" kinda guy. he is the "imma cry in the corner and imagine fighting this hoe" kind guy, so when you see him avoiding your eye and pawing at his thighs, you know almost immediately. "hey ji, you good?" he scoffs, looking at you like you were crazy. "me? good? pshh, i'm so good. i'm cool, man. i'm so cool. cool like... ice..." you both cringe at that. it's silly, he knows that, and it isn't like he thought you were cheating or something — he was just... insecure. and you, being literally perfect in every way, noticed, cupping his cheeks and gingerly pointing his face toward you. "baby, talk to me, what's wrong?" he doesn't look at you when he mutters, shy and embarrassed, "who was that guy... you were talking to?" you really, really liked jisung, so you don't let out the laugh that threatened to leave your lips as you say, "who? my cousin?" han jisung has never been more horrified in his life. "your cousin?!" "yes, my love. he's my cousin." he takes another look at the fine-ass specimen of a man, then back to you. yeah, it checks out. though, meeting said cousin after that was really weird, but that's a different story for a different time.

🧋 — the first time he realized he wanted to marry you ➵ ꒰ 2 years into your relationship ꒱

han jisung realized he was going to marry you when you were looking like a total mess. work had made him feel like the entire world was sitting on his shoulders, back aching and heavy as he slipped off his shoes, stepping into the kitchen to find you—bent over the stove, stirring a heaping bowl of ramen. it was 3 in the morning, and he had taken extra shifts to help pay for bills, and quite frankly, he doesn't remember the last time he ate. you were in your hello kitty pjs, hair tangled and rustled from the power nap you took before making his meal, and the sight alone is enough to make tears spring into his eyes. "baby," he whimpers, strolling up behind you to wrap his arms tightly around your waist. you jump, but when you catch a whiff of his scent, your body relaxes into his touch, so familiar it feels like coming back home. you smile, giving the noodles one final stir before pouring them into a bowl and handing them to him, garnering it as if you were a 5-star michele."i hope you like it!" he was so tired, so tired he could collapse onto the kitchen table and never wake up again, but with you, around you—it didn't matter—he was going to eat your food gosh darn it. he took a bite and suddenly, he wasn't tired anymore, he was starved. your eyes sparkle like he just handed you the moon when his wobbly lips turn into a firm, convincing grin. "this is so good, baby. thank you." you give him this look, like you were staring straight into time, like you were imagining a life with him, and you liked it. that was where it started. it was the strangest phenomenon—it bloomed inside his chest, this feeling, and then, with disorienting intensity, it all—clicks. that's when he realized he was going to marry you, sitting there on kitchen stools, sipping on the best ramen he's ever tasted in his life.

[agentstarkid]

ART OF THE GAME ✦ LN4

✦ DEBRIEF: Lando walked in with a plan—cool, confident, effortless. Then he saw her, and just like that, his plan didn’t stand a chance.

✦ TRACK LIMITS: AU; art school boyfriend!lando; female!reader; attempt at flirting; she's so cool and bro is struggling.

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.4K words.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: happy first race of the season! 🤪 i've seen a couple of posts with thoughts on lando being so art school bf coded and i've had brain rot ever since so i wrote this (target audience: me) 🫡

< back to general masterlist

Lando had every intention of playing it cool. He'd walked into the little art supply shop with a practiced ease, hands shoved into the pockets of his paint-stained jeans, eyes scanning the shelves with mock interest. He didn’t actually need anything—not today, at least—but he needed an excuse. And what better excuse than pretending to browse resin pigments when the girl he had been utterly, stupidly infatuated with for months was standing behind the counter?

He had been standing in front of the resin pigment shelf for a solid five minutes, pretending to debate between two shades of blue. In reality, his brain had short-circuited the second he walked in and saw her sitting behind the counter, twirling a pencil between her fingers, completely absorbed in whatever she was sketching.

He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like they were strangers—they shared a few classes, exchanged the occasional nod in the hallway, even worked on a group project together once. But she was just… cool. The kind of effortless cool that made Lando feel like a dumbass every time he tried to talk to her. And he wanted to talk to her. Badly.

Except every time he got the chance, he chickened out. Whether it was after class, in the library, or just passing by in the hallway, he’d always come up with some reason to keep moving before the conversation could go beyond a casual “hey.” He’d bail with some half-baked excuse or pretend he was suddenly in a rush, kicking himself afterward for being such a coward. 

It wasn’t that she was intimidating—not in the usual way, at least. It was just that she had this way about her, like she saw right through him, and he wasn’t sure he’d survive whatever came after that. But she was always nice, never calling him out on his awkwardness, never making him feel like an idiot for it. Sometimes, he even caught a hint of amusement in her eyes, like she was waiting to see if he’d ever stop running and actually work up the nerve to stay.

So, he decided today was the day.

Against his better judgment, he grabbed the closest thing he could find—a tiny jar of iridescent resin flakes that he definitely didn’t need—and walked up to the counter. She looked up as he placed it down, her gaze flickering over him before she scanned the jar.

“Fancy,” she mused. “Didn’t know you worked with resin.”

“Oh—yeah.” He nodded quickly, shifting on his feet. “Started with, um, custom vinyl stickers when I was younger, but, y’know… expanded a bit. Epoxy stuff now.”

The words tumbled out in a rushed, jumbled mess, and he immediately regretted how breathless he sounded. He wasn’t even sure why he was rambling—okay, maybe he did. She was looking at him, actually interested, and it threw him off completely. His brain scrambled to catch up, but all it did was make him more nervous, his fingers burying deeper in his pockets as he tried to appear casual.

She hummed in acknowledgment, turning the jar in her hands. “Do you wear a mask when you work with it?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a kid getting scolded. “Sometimes.”

Her brows lifted. “Sometimes?”

“…Rarely.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “You’re going to kill your lungs, Norris.”

He chuckled, shifting on his feet. “That’s what my mum says.”

“She’s a smart woman.”

Silence settled between them, and Lando’s mind raced for something—anything—to keep the conversation going. But the longer she looked at him, the harder it became to think straight. His mouth opened before his brain could catch up.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before,” he tried.

She smirked. “That’s funny because I’ve definitely seen you here before.”

Lando’s ears burned. “Right. Uh. Yeah.” He coughed. “Well… you come here often?”

She blinked. “Well, considering I work here, yes.”

Lando groaned, running a hand down his face. “That was awful. Ignore that. Please.”

She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. And she was laughing now, and God, he really liked the sound of it. “That’s your go-to line? Really?”

He sighed dramatically, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. “In my defense, you make me nervous.”

Her laughter softened, and she tilted her head, eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. “I make you nervous?”

Lando swallowed. “A little.”

Her lips curled slightly, as if she was debating whether or not to tease him further. “Well, I can’t say I expected that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she reached for the jar of resin flakes he’d placed on the counter. Scanning the barcode, she shot him a knowing look. “You don’t even need this, do you?”

Lando hesitated. He could lie. He could play it off, insist that he totally needed more iridescent flakes for a project. But something about the way she was looking at him made his brain short-circuit again.

“…Not really.”

She grinned. “So you just came in here to flirt with me, then?”

Lando opened his mouth, then immediately shut it. The tips of his ears were definitely red now. He cleared his throat. “Uh—”

She let him suffer for a second before laughing softly. “Relax, Norris. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His heart nearly stopped. He had to do something—say something—but all coherent thought had completely left his brain. So the first thing that came out was—

“Can you say that again?”

She raised a brow. “Were you not listening?”

“No, I was.” His lips curled into a smirk, confidence flickering back for a second. “I just like hearing your voice.”

For the first time since he walked in, he managed to catch her off guard. Her expression softened—just a little—and she shook her head, laughing under her breath.

Maybe he wasn’t totally hopeless after all.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still talking to me.”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe I just like watching you try so hard.”

Lando pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Brutal.”

Her laughter lingered between them, light and teasing, and he found himself gripping the edge of the counter just to keep himself grounded. He’d walked in here with the intention of playing it cool—maybe even charming her a little—but instead, he was standing there like a knob, pretty sure he was red in the face, his heart hammering like it had a mind of its own. And it was all because of her.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake the dazed feeling her words left him with. “So, uh… how long have you been working here?”

“A while,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Just part-time between classes. It’s nice, though. Peaceful—except when guys come in and pretend to shop just to flirt with the cashier.”

Lando let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, ouch.”

“I’m just saying,” she smirked. “You might be a good businessman, but subtlety isn’t really your thing.”

“That’s debatable.”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding toward the tiny jar of resin flakes. Then, with a playful tilt of her head and the slightest scrunch of her nose—way too cute for his sanity—she teased, “Oh? Is it?” 

“…Fine. Maybe not,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh, glancing around like he’d just now realized how obvious he’d been. He rocked on his heels before flashing her a teasing grin. “How do you know I’m a businessman? Have you been paying attention to me?”

For the briefest second, her composure wavered—just a flicker of surprise before she tilted her head, effortlessly brushing it off. “Oh, I don’t know,” she mused, propping her chin on her hand. “Maybe the fact that everyone on campus has owned at least one of your stickers at some point.”

His brows lifted. “You too?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Lando grinned, tilting his head. “Which one?”

She tapped her fingers against the counter, feigning deep thought. “I had the little frog on a skateboard for a while.”

“No way.” His face lit up. “That was one of my best sellers!”

“Yeah, I could tell. I saw it on, like, half the laptops in the studio.” She shook her head. “It was honestly impressive. You had a whole empire running out of your dorm room.”

“What can I say?” Lando shrugged dramatically. “I see an opportunity, I take it.”

She laughed, and he swore his heart did a stupid little flip. God, he was down bad.

"Guess that explains why you’re so successful now," she mused. "Vinyl stickers to ‘Epoxy stuff’…" She mimicked his voice with an exaggerated impression, tilting her head dramatically. “Quite the business trajectory.”

Lando let out a sudden, stifled snort that turned into a breathy wheeze, shoulders shaking as he tried (and failed) to suppress it. A nervous giggle followed, his grin widening as he shook his head. "That was awful," he managed between chuckles.

"Accurate, though," she shot back, smirking.

He huffed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m on an upward trajectory.” He leaned onto the counter slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “Next stop: world domination.”

She snorted. “I’ll make sure to invest in your company before the stock prices skyrocket.”

Lando grinned, drumming his fingers against the counter. “Smart move.”

The playful energy between them settled into a comfortable pause, but as the silence stretched, he felt the nerves creeping back in. He didn’t want the conversation to end—not yet—but his brain was scrambling for something, anything, to keep her talking.

Lando opened his mouth, searching for another witty remark to keep the conversation going, but his mind came up frustratingly blank. Instead, he let out a small breath, rocking back on his heels as he drummed his fingers against the counter.

She seemed to pick up on his hesitation, amusement still dancing in her eyes as she reached for the small jar of resin flakes and scanned it. The beep of the register filled the brief lull in conversation before she slid the jar back toward him.

“That’ll be five pounds,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, still clearly entertained by their little back-and-forth.

Lando blinked, momentarily distracted by the curve of her smile before fumbling for his wallet. He was stalling, and he knew it, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. As he pulled out a crumpled bill and handed it over, he cleared his throat, trying to shake the nervous energy settling in his chest.

“So,” she said, placing the money in the till, “what are you actually working on right now? Or did you just come in here for the fun of it?”

He huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, yeah—I do have a reason for being here. Other than, you know…” He gestured vaguely between them, hoping she’d catch the implication.

Her lips twitched. “Other than what?”

Lando groaned, his head dipping forward for a second before he sighed dramatically. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

She propped her chin in her hand, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His grin softened as he shook his head. “Evil,” he muttered, before straightening up and running a hand through his curls. “Anyway, you know Max, right?”

“Fewtrell?” she asked. “The guy taking design as an elective class for some reason?”

Lando snorted. “Yeah, that one. He’s my best mate.” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the counter. “Well, his brother, Theo, owns a barber shop.”

Her brow lifted in curiosity.

“I designed the logo for it a few months back—clean, kinda old-school but modern, y’know?” He gestured vaguely, as if picturing it in the air. “And now he’s commissioned me for a piece to go up in the shop.”

Her interest visibly piqued. “What kind of piece?”

“That’s the thing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still figuring it out. I want it to tie in with the whole aesthetic but also feel… dunno, unique? Thought resin could be a cool medium—give it some texture, maybe play with metallics, make it stand out a bit.”

She nodded, clearly intrigued. “That actually sounds really cool.”

Lando smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leaned slightly on the counter, studying him.

Lando shrugged, but the compliment made his ears burn. “Still working out the details, though.”

She crossed her arms, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You really do have a knack for making money off anything, huh?”

He rocked back on his heels, smirking. “What can I say? Some people knit, some people bake—I accidentally become an entrepreneur.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Accidentally? You mean to tell me you didn’t strategically market those stickers so well that half the campus ended up with one?”

His grin widened. “Okay, maybe a little bit on purpose.”

“A little?” She arched a brow. “Lando, I’ve seen professors with your stickers on their laptops.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him, one of those wheezy chuckles that made his shoulders shake. “Alright, fine. Gotta fund my questionable spending habits somehow.” He scratched his cheek, suddenly looking a little sheepish.

She slid his change across the counter but didn’t let go just yet, tilting her head. “Hmm, isn’t your dad a CEO or something?”

Lando let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—technically, yeah, but I’m trying to do my own thing.” He shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of the way she was watching him. “You know… prove I can actually survive without just riding the family name.”

Her lips twitched, but there was something warm in her expression, like she saw right through him. “I like that,” she mused. “I like guys who are independent. Handy, too.”

Lando’s brain stalled. He could feel his face heat up, the tips of his ears practically on fire. Did she just–?. “Oh—uh—yeah?”

She smirked, finally releasing his change into his palm. “Yeah.”

He cleared his throat, scrambling to recover. “Well, lucky for you, I’m, uh… very handy.”

Her smirk widened. “That so?”

He straightened up, forcing himself to meet her gaze with his best attempt at confidence. “Absolutely.” He tapped the tiny jar of resin flakes. “You’re looking at a man who owns a toolbox and everything.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “A real renaissance man.”

Lando grinned, rolling with it now. “Hey, I can even change a tire. Put up a shelf. Fix a leaky sink.” He paused for dramatic effect. “With only minimal supervision.”

She let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Minimal, huh?”

“Gotta leave some room for improvement,” he quipped.

Her head tilted slightly, like she was considering him. “That’s fair.”

There was a brief pause—not awkward, just charged. He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t rushing to fill the silence, that she was still looking at him like she was actually interested in what he had to say.

Lando picked up the coins, turning one over between his fingers as he leaned on the counter again. He didn’t want to leave just yet, not when she was actually indulging him—teasing him, sure, but still talking to him. That was a win in his book.

“So,” she said, breaking the moment with an easy smile. “Are you planning on expanding this… accidental business empire of yours? Or are you stopping at barber shop commissions?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean, I’m open to offers. Know anyone in need of a custom epoxy masterpiece?”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I need a handcrafted resin sculpture.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.”

“Oh? And what exactly qualifies me for that?”

He faltered for a second, the smugness slipping just a little. “Uh—well, you know, we… we share classes and stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden nervousness. “So, that makes us friends?”

Lando could feel his ears burning. “I mean—” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?”

She smiled, small but noticeable. “No, I guess not.”

His heart did a ridiculous little flip. He needed to say something—anything—to keep the conversation going, but his brain was short-circuiting, caught up in the way she was looking at him.

Lando pocketed his change, rocking back on his heels as he glanced at her. She was still smiling, just a hint of amusement playing on her lips, and he couldn't help himself.

“You should smile like that more often,” he said, feeling bold for once. “Looks good on you.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she didn't shy away from the compliment. Instead, she rested her elbow on the counter, chin propped on her hand as she looked at him. “Careful, Norris. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He felt his heart stutter, but he forced himself to keep cool. “And if I did?”

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Then I’d say… maybe I don’t mind.”

Lando blinked. He had expected another sharp remark, maybe a teasing laugh at his expense—but not that. Definitely not that.

She handed him his bag of supplies, fingers brushing his for just a second. “Try not to make a mess with your ‘epoxy stuff,’ yeah?”

Lando cleared his throat, gripping the bag like it might keep him from floating off the ground. He should leave now. Probably. But then—

“Actually,” he blurted before he could lose his nerve.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Actually…?”

He shifted his weight, suddenly hyperaware of how warm the shop felt. “You, uh—do you already have a partner for the semester project? For—” He gestured vaguely. “—our class?”

Her lips twitched. “The one worth half our grade?”

“That’d be the one.”

She studied him for a moment, eyes flicking over his face like she was deciding whether or not to make him squirm. “Why?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Because if you don’t… maybe we could team up?”

Her expression didn’t give much away, but he swore he saw the hint of a smirk. “You want to be my partner?”

“Well,” he said, attempting nonchalance, “you did say you like guys who are independent and handy.” He flashed a quick grin, hoping to mask the way his stomach twisted with anticipation. “And I happen to be both.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “That’s true.”

Lando leaned forward slightly. “So?”

She pretended to think, tapping her fingers against the counter. “Hmm. I don’t know… I hear you’re a bit of a slacker.”

“Oi, that’s slander.”

She smirked. “Is it?”

Lando placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I take my work very seriously.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

His grin widened. “So that’s a yes?”

She tilted her head. “It’s not a no.”

Lando bit back a laugh, watching her with a spark of mischief. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself then.” He took a step back toward the door before adding, “Better come prepared to be impressed.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Guess I’ll see you in class, then,” he said, shifting his weight.

She smirked, eyes dancing with something teasing. “Looking forward to it.”

He nodded, trying not to grin too hard as he took a few slow steps backward toward the door, unwilling to look away just yet—like if he lingered a second longer, he could make the moment last.

“See you around, businessman.”

Lando stared at her for a second, then nodded, a little dazed. “Yeah. See you around.”

He had just pushed the door open, feeling a little stupid and a lot smitten, when her voice stopped him just before he reached the door.

“Oh, and Lando?”

He gripped the edge of the doorframe like it might keep him from floating away. “Yeah?”

She leaned against the counter, eyes scanning him like she was committing something to memory, then her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Don’t forget your mask next time. I’d hate for you to be out of commission before the project even starts.”

Lando felt his grin stretch wider, heart thudding in his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

And with that, he walked out—five pounds poorer, but feeling like he’d just walked away with something far more valuable.

< back to general masterlist

[edenspoem]

YES PLEASE. BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE?? 90’s?? SIGN ME UP. WHERE DO I PUT MY NAME??😖😖🙏

- 🩵

a/n + cw; OMGG AN EMOJI ANON i haven't seen you guys in a hot minute, but YESSS BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE!! specifically x customer reader. it's a cute duo! and let me relay why from my very scrambled 3 am jot-down. was going to make this a blurb, but it better translates through something more structured. ++ SFW! kinda mean!reader tbh (but ellie likes that), very fluffy you might squeet, quickly written, awkwardness, ellie being a nerd. [first pic from amoaeIIie on pinterest]

Imagine Ellie, in her blockbuster getup, leaning her butt into the edge of the register counter, jamming to whatever is playing on her hand-me-down walkman; earsbuds in, eyes downcast, head bopping slowing - soundly unaware of you awaiting service on your over-due rental. "Hello?" your volume divides the soft ambiance of the store, but it isn't enough to rope Ellie's mindspace from the clouds. Calling out again, "Hell-looh?" you extend beyond the cash register and wave your hand - nothing, nada.

How the hell has this girl not gotten her ass fired yet?

After numerous roadblocks, a brazen last resort comes into play. You cut around the counter briefly to take things into your own hands (literally) because you have not the time, nor the patience, for her slacking off.

Beryl eyes drop sharply to the walkman in her pants pocket when a single earbud is spooled from her ear, assuming it fell - but to her surprise, it hung low from your finger, and a glance above that finger was your face. Risen of one brow, flat-lined of your lips; impatient.

And her entire focus blanks out when you begin to speak, curtly and satirically, "Hey, I know busting out your Dad's old walkman in public makes you feel cool and whatnot, but you're on the clock." handing the slim cord back over to a stunned girl, flushed behind the pop of her freckles. Maybe your tone of voice sent her higher into the clouds, past a coven of angels, because her lips part narrowly and remain still for a single second - save two or three. Or maybe it's 'cause you specified it as her 'Dad's' which was.. spot on.

And whatever excuse she had quickly cherry-picked for you, hesitated audibly in her throat before it split from it, "O-Oh, right, shit sorry - was about to end my shift n' thought the store was empty. My bad." scrambling to stuff the other earplug in her pocket and avert all attention to you. Very eagerly.

"Looks like you've got a late fee on this one.." her pitch pummeled deeper, and coarser as she concentrates on the clunky screen she hunches slightly to use. Scrunching the freckles of her face together, hogging the blue-lit screen. Poor girl probably forgot her glasses at home. "Annnd are you looking to rent the sequel?" she peeks her auburn head from the screen and holds up the cased movie, tracing her index over the plastic cleft, tapping twice. "To this - it has a second part."

There's no denying it: she is cute - and guilt rolls your guts around for being so snippy and sullen to her earlier. But based on her demeanor growing enthused the second she saw what movie you had in hand - she doesn't seem to care a hoot.

"Out of stock," replied you, indifferent-sounding - and strking; crossed arms, bent knee, stiffly-standing. Comparable to a millpond. "Guess I won't be the only person with late fees." you take a breath to jest, shaking loose strands of hair from your eyes.

"Haha," you're no world-class comedian; that joke wasn't all that funny, but the need to hurl any affirming noise at you, was necessary. Relenting to reflex. What can she say? Love at first sight! "Yeah, that seems like the agenda these days," Ellie sighs out, molding the plump of her lip under her teeth and reshapes it into a dorky smirk. Isn't she just a sweet chocolate-box of adorability?

"Hmm, bummer."

That hum and word trips into her ears, knocking some brain-cog, and an idea limns her features; they glow wide. "Actually - um, I've got a copy of the sequel at my place. Technically it's my Dad's, but.." her pitch fluctuates, mindlessly thumbing the case between two fiddly hands. "Maybe you can - if you want, not pressuring you or anything - come over?" she throws a pointed thumb backwards, motioning a potential future. "Watch it? If you weren't planning on watching it with somebody else."

Slick trick to seeing if you're single; of course you'd watch movies with your boyfriend - or girlfriend.

"Hmmm.." you hummed longer this time, and this time it admitted the mushrooming of an almost aggravating anticipation in her belly. Like you meant to torture her with 'hmms' and nothing but 'hmms' as your answer hung high in cloudy abeyance, until, "What's the name on your tag - ah, Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"Ellie," you confirm her name twice, and speak it to enthrall her full-scale attention. Made it sound fucking sugary sweet, through a swirly whisper and a twist of your head. "If you can give me a discount, or a full wipe on that late fee, then yes. It's a date."

Light panic ensues. "Date?" she croaks and laughs it off, "I mean - pshh, guess that's one way to put it." backtracking to her hunched, elbows-on-the-counter pose.

"You put it that way."

"Yeah, I just.. didn't wanna admit that." immediately, she uncurls her spine again, relaxing her muscles to somewhat peer at you. "Sure. No more fees." Rounded eyes lost - adamant on indirectly staring at you and the space below you, because Goddess forbid a stroke of idiocy flickers through her while gawking at you.

The store runs dead-quiet in the background of your conversation, leading you to one golden question. "Your shift over after this?"

Oh damn, her cheeks are pink. "Uh-huh," bet she's oblivious to that red-hot beam nearly bursting the seams to her face, too. Nasal lines fold as a severe smile tugs, shadowed by her bent thumb poking at it. "Takin' my car?"

And that's how you pick up girls at a video store in the 90s - the Ellie Williams way.

this isn't even the full idea

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Howdy! Jdjdjfh I hope you're still taking Gravity Falls Stan/Ford requests--

What if the reader and Ford/Stan (separate) were married, but the reader suffered a traumatic head injury in a car accident? This injury causes them to be unable to retain memories for more than a day. Every morning, they wake up next to this mysterious, handsome man who has to explain to them that they are married—and have been for years. The reader can't help but feel guilty about this situation. :( We need some lovey-dovey comfort

Sorry if this is long or complicated kfhfkfh thank you for your time!!

Have a good day/night :)) 💗 love your writing so much

you’ll always remember | Stanley Pines x reader

tags: sfw, memory loss, established relationship

a/n: hi, lovely anon! thank you for sending this in and for your sweet words!💗 this little piece focuses on Stan for now. but don’t worry, i’ve got something equally heartfelt coming for Ford too, ill post it a lil bit later

thank you for trusting me with your emotions and have a beautiful day/night, darling!

Ford version

you open your eyes and the next thing you feel is headache, your head feels. . . way too heavy, but sadly, not from oversleeping or the nice kind from sleeping in. it’s different type of pain. 

you rub your eyes, feeling lost and blink around the room, with fear realising you don’t understand where you are. your messy thoughts are interrupted by the bed creaking when you sit up and your heart does this awful little jump when you see him.

this man.  

this. . . mysterious man with a broad chest, an old tank top clinging to it. there’s golden chain around his neck, glinting against the soft peppered hairs of his chest. 

and you. . . you don’t know him.  

your stomach twists immediately. the room doesn’t look familiar, either, nothing does. these stacks of magazines, mugs, a nightstand that’s barely holding itself together. you hear a faint sound of birds outside, but even that won’t calm your mind 

“mornin’, sweetheart, sleep okay?”  

your heart lurches, panic curling up your throat. you try to get up from bed, but everything feels too heavy and weird, your body barely listens to you, your limbs hurt

you freeze, looking a bit scared, but more than all confused. “who— who are you?” 

Stanley sighs, nodding at your words, agreeing with you. it’s not the first time he’s heard it. you can tell from the way his face falls, his smile disappearing, but then he covers it up with a gentle grin

“right. uh, this part,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, so. you don’t remember me. look, baby, my name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. i’m your husband.”

your what?

“yeah, i know. sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. you’ve got, uh. . .” he avoids your wide-eyed stare. “you’ve got a thing. memory stuff. from the accident. doc says you won’t remember much past a day. it’s been like this for a while now, heh.”

his tone doesn’t sound all that happy, because for Stanley it’s just as hard as it is for you. he explains it like it physically pains him to spell all this shocking nonsense out for you.

“i know this ain’t fair to you. shit, it ain’t fair to either of us. but i’m here. i’ll always be here, ‘kay? even if you wake up every day thinkin’ i’m some creep who wandered in off the street.” 

you just look at him, unable to understand what he’s talking about after the word “husband”. husband. . . gosh, feels like your brain just started to hurt more. your mind scrambles, clawing at the edges of something it can’t reach, no matter how hard you try.

“don’t— don’t look so freaked out, kid,” Stan says quickly, seeing your panic. “here, look—”  

he reaches for something on the nightstand, hoping each time that it will work. Its an old picture frame, a little bit worn, but when he holds it out with a hopeful look, you see yourself in it. laughing. leaning into him. his arm’s slung around your shoulder as he grins, his fez perched crookedly on his head. 

“that’s us,” Stan says softly, watching your reaction. “took that on our anniversary, up at lookout point. you love that spot, always goin’ on about the view. even dragged me up there at sunrise once.” he chuckles, but his eyes are watching you carefully, he’s waiting you to give some reaction, please just. . . please. he waits to see that beautiful smile of yours he always loved so much and you want to smile. you want to remember. 

but there’s nothing.  

corners of your mouth lowers and your chest tightens, guilt bubbling up inside. “i. . .” wait, what was his name again? damn. “don’t remember that. i don’t remember you.”

Stan’s smile wobbles for half a second before he catches it. “yeah, i figured. but that’s okay. s’not your fault, sugar.”  

you hate that. you hate how kind he is about it, how patient, but at the same time how broken his voice sounds.

Stanley sighs, rubbing at his face, trying to scrub away years of exhaustion. then he looks at you again.

with hope in his eyes.

“here, how about this?” he says suddenly, brightening. he pulls open the nightstand drawer and takes out another photo, this one of you, him and some. . . kids? it’s twins, a boy and girl in some funny looking sweater, both with brown hair, all of you standing by the lake. you’re holding up a huge fish, grinning from ear to ear, and Stan’s standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders looking so damn proud of his lovely little human.

“this was last summer,” Stan tells you, tapping the glass with his thumb. “we went fishin’. you caught that sucker all by yourself. wouldn’t stop braggin’ for weeks.”

a faint smile appears on your lips. 

“still got the tackle box you picked out, too,” Stan adds with a laugh. “you said the one i had was too ‘junkyard chic.’ you’ve got a sharp tongue on ya, y’know that?”  

your fingers tremble as you reach to take photo from his hands. you look at it, look at that person who looks like you, with a smile’s brighter than the sun and these eyes. . . sparkling, as if you’ve just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, staring down at your hands. tears spilling down your cheeks. “i- i don’t know how you do this. every day. i can’t- i can’t even remember, Stan.”

the first time you said his name. 

“hey, hey.” his hand comes up, hovering over your shoulder, rubbing it slightly to calm you. he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you yet, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you look up and he’s already leaning closer. “don’t you dare apologize for this, sweetheart. you didn’t ask for it. none of this is your fault, y’hear me?”  

you nod weakly, but he isn’t done.  

“you’re still you. still the same stubborn, beautiful, funny, smart, pain-in-the-ass i fell for, okay? you’re stuck with me, like it or not. you take all the time you need, honeybun. i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you nod, still doubting, lowering your eyes to that photo again. 

“now, how about we get some breakfast? you always say my stancakes are the best damn thing in oregon.” Stan smiles at you because you’re his whole world. and even though the pieces don’t always fit in your mind, Stanley still loves you with this kind of affection that’s lived a thousand lifetimes and he knows, somewhere deep in your mind, you love him too. he just gotta try a bit harder.

when you meet his eyes, for the first time, you feel something painfully familiar deep inside of you. as if he’s the one you’d always reach for in a sea of faces. and you laugh softly

“i say that, huh?” 

“every time,” noticing that little change in your voice, Stan grins and winks at you. “c’mon, let me prove it to ya, baby.”

even though your head’s a mess and your heart feels like it’s been put through a blender, you want to believe him. you take his hand, noticing a ring around his finger and only now you realise you are wearing one too

….

“but what if i never remember?” you ask as you trace the edges of his beautiful face with trembling fingers, trying to commit it to memory.

he just smiles and wraps his big hands around your waist.

“then i’ll just remind ya every day. as long as it takes.”

[steddielations]

Steve walks into utter chaos.

He was stopping by just to see Max, but all the increasingly concerning noise coming from the Munson’s trailer drew him over there instead. Worried that all the cursing and clattering would drown out any chance of a knock being heard, Steve lets himself in. 

Eddie doesn’t even notice him come inside, too busy scrambling around the complete wreck of a kitchen.

“Dude, are you cooking or just banging pots and pans together? I thought you were dying in here.”

Eddie squawks and jumps about a foot in the air. His hair is even more disheveled than usual, barely tied down with a bandana. He’s got flour splotches on his face and all over the frilly grandma apron he’s wearing (which Steve is definitely getting a photo of and showing Dustin later) along with a suspiciously sticky goo on his fingers.

“Stop laughing at me,” Eddie groans. 

“I’m not laughing,” Steve laughs, going to join him in the kitchen, “What are you doing, man?” 

“Well, I’m trying to bake Wayne a cake, but at this point, I might as well give him a frosting covered rock for his birthday,” Eddie sighs, frustrated hands scrubbing the flour off his apron, “I don’t know, man, usually I just get him another mug and a pack of smokes, and he’s never asked me for anything, but I’ve put him through hell this year I just wanted— I don’t know like, to do something special but I can’t even—”

“Alright, take it off.”

Steve folds his arms and waits while Eddie just gawks at him for a moment, cheeks reddening under the patches of flour.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Eddie scoffs, starts muttering like he does when he’s nervous and Steve cracks a smile when he realizes why.

“The apron, Eddie,” he gestures, “Hand it over.” 

Another moment of confused staring and Eddie slowly gives it to him.

Steve wastes no time shaking out the flour and tying it around himself. He moves past Eddie, gets right to work clearing the mess and salvaging what ingredients he can.

“You…” Eddie peeks over Steve’s shoulder, “You know how to bake?”

“I can make a cake,” Steve shrugs, “Robin obsesses over shit sometimes, calls them her “little brain worms” or whatever. She couldn’t stop thinking about this cake she swore she had for her 5th birthday but couldn’t remember the flavor. So we made every cake recipe in her mom’s cookbook until we found the right one.”

“So Harrington’s got a secret Betty Crocker power-up, impressive.”

“Nah, just small stuff. I help Claudia with Dustin’s birthday cakes. Little shit is very particular about his red velvet.” 

Eddie snorts and Steve waves him over to start washing the dishes. He does so with a small salute that smears more flour on his forehead. The word cute comes to Steve’s mind but he just rolls his eyes. 

“So you dusted off your oven mitts for little old me, hm? I’m flattered.”

“Only because I like Wayne and I’d prefer if you didn’t give him food poisoning,” Steve teases, dumping out Eddie’s abomination of batter into the trash. Though he softens when he sees the way Eddie winces at it. “And I think it’s nice, you know, you doing this for him. I wanna help.”

Eddie clearly holds back a smile, looking down at the bubbles in the sink, and the cute word comes back to Steve’s mind.

“Okay well, take it easy on me. Not everyone has a bunch of mom friends teaching them to bake.” 

“Oh yeah, then where’d you get this grandma apron? You just had this little number in the closet with your leather and chains?”

“No, it’s Mrs. Bennet’s and she’s not my friend,” Eddie bristles and Steve senses a hell of a backstory there, “I stole it off her clothesline.” 

Steve laughs and makes Eddie tell him the whole story, all the inner workings of Forest Hills feuds. It’s nice, Steve’s been spending more time here since everything, listening to Eddie’s stories and sharing his own. It’s easy to be around Eddie, even though that pesky word won’t get out of Steve’s head.

Once the batter is finished, Steve dips a finger in to test.

“How does it taste?” Eddie asks, “Better than mine I hope.”

Steve hums around his finger, “So good, here taste,” he meant to slide Eddie the bowl, but the wires must’ve gotten crossed somewhere, because now he’s holding out a dollop of cake batter on the tip of his finger to Eddie’s mouth. 

They both look down at it, then at each other again. Steve knows he should apologize, drop his hand and say it was a mistake but there’s something about the way Eddie’s looking at him, the way he subtly licks his lips is almost like— He wants this. 

So Steve lets him have it.

Eddie leans in, keeps his hands at his sides and slowly guides himself down on Steve’s finger. His eyes fall shut as his mouth closes around it, like it’s too much, watching Steve watching him. It’s a lot for Steve too, the wet warmth of Eddie’s mouth, one swirl of his tongue almost makes Steve’s knees buckle. 

Something comes over him, he presses his finger down just slightly, feeling Eddie’s tongue curl around the tip. It elicits a soft noise from Eddie that sends heat thrumming all through Steve. Eddie’s eyes flutter open, brows turned upwards and mouth in a plush little O around Steve’s finger, looking up at him through dark lashes, a dot of flour on his nose. The sight makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. It’s fucking cute and hot.

Steve has to swallow his own noise when Eddie pulls off. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, a slight grin on his lips, “Really good.” 

Steve’s about to do something crazy, put his finger back in Eddie’s mouth, maybe more than one this time, or just his lips on Eddie's, maybe even slip his tongue inside instead of his fingers, lick all that sweetness away until he just tastes Eddie, something— but a sudden loud knock on the door has him dropping his hand like it’s made of cement.

It’s Max, wanting to know why Steve ditched her for Eddie. She comes inside to ‘help’ which means she leans against the counter, talks about her day, complains, teases Steve and makes fun of Eddie for being demoted to dish duty. 

Steve puts the cake in the oven and focuses on cleaning and composing himself. He can feel Eddie trying to meet his gaze, trying to see if Steve's going to freak out on him after that. Once Steve can look at him without feeling like he’s going to burst into flames, he gives Eddie a small reassuring smile, even throws him a wink when Max isn’t looking. Eddie gives him a smile back.

And later, after Wayne comes home and they sing happy birthday and eat the cake that Steve insists Eddie helped him with— Just the tasting part, Steve says and revels in how Eddie covers a blush with his hair— and after they walk Max home, Steve pulls Eddie behind the trailer and kisses him until he doesn’t taste like cake anymore.

for the prompts "You heard me. Take. It. Off." and "Stop laughing at me" for @highkingpenny and anon, thank you and I hope you enjoy this!!

[teaspacebar]

RIN ITOSHI ˖⁺‧₊˚✦

childhood friends to lovers. hahaha rin is whipped and he doesn't even know it. ~.9k

↩ last

rin never contacts you first.

you’re already messaging him by the time he wakes up at 5am to go for his morning run.

it’s like you think he’s your diary or something.

what you had for breakfast. how your classes went. about a customer at work that was so stupid it sent you spiraling. a new movie that just got announced with your favorite actor.

he replies most of the time — about the stuff that interests him. you’re not really looking for a response anyways. you’ll ask him a question if you wanted his opinion on it.

it used to bother him. in the end, your persistence was something that even he couldn’t fight off and eventually he just let you do it (with some light bullying of course).

but you haven’t texted him in over 24 hours.

which wouldn’t necessarily be a cause for concern (not that rin had any of course), but normally you can’t shut up. or you’ll tell him that you’re busy and will text when you’re free.

but there’s been nothing. not a peep.

so he messaged you. just a simple, hey.

and then another. are you dead, or something?

nothing.

the last one he sent was a few minutes before practice. if this is a joke, it’s not funny.

and rin is itching in his skin. he’s so out of it that isagi is running fucking circles around him. which just pisses him off more.

he has no idea what you’re doing. where you are. did you tell him about a trip that he forgot about? he’s mulling it over and over in his brain until his teeth are grinding so hard that he gives himself a headache.

“you seem off today,” isagi comments as he takes a swig from his water bottle.

“fuck off,” rin snarls, shoving his training clothes into his bag.

bachira comes up between them, grin far too big to be sincere, “now what’s gotten you all riled up? woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

he’s about to bite the little creature’s head off, when his phone lets out a little ding! he all but scrambles for it, seeing your name pop up in his notifications. his head clears; he can breathe. you’re fine. you sent a little waving gif to him.

he’s gonna kill you.

without thinking, he grabs his bag and flings it over his shoulder, putting his phone to his ear after hitting the call button. he storms out of the locker room, ignoring the shouts of his teammates, when you answer.

“oh! rin, hi,” you sound surprised.

he cuts you off before you can start blabbing, “what happened?”

“what do you mean?”

“you go from texting every five minutes to disappearing off the face of the planet without telling anyone?” his blood is boiling. the relief he felt earlier is buried by anger and frustration. he's keeping his tone level, but his fingernails are biting into his palm with how hard he's clenching his fist.

“rin, my phone broke while i was at a friends." your voice is gentle, like you've caught him in his internal struggle. "i didn't bring my laptop with me either. i just got a new phone today on my way back home."

he's silent, tightness in his throat.

"i didn't mean to worry you."

"you didn't," he snaps.

you hum, "okay." there's rustling on your end, giving him space. "i missed you. you have practice today, yeah?" the sentiment is run through by your question, like it's not a big deal. rin doesn't have the wherewithal to think on it.

"just finished."

"that's good!" you go into talking to him about your day trip, and he listens on his drive home.

he's throwing his training clothes into the wash by the time you've settled down for the night. you've swapped to video call, your face barely visible as you snuggle underneath your comforter.

"rin?"

"hm?"

"i really am sorry that i worried you. i didn't think it was a big deal for you, i guess. thought it was more of a me thing."

he knows what you're referring to. the friendship - if rin could even call it that - was fresh then. a year, at most. no voice channel, no video calls. just the two of you messaging each other (mostly on the horror ARG server you two met on, sometimes directly). the two of you hadn't even shared names yet. he shut down, after sae came home - after their fight. he didn't respond to your messages for weeks. he showed back up quieter, hardened.

you chewed him out. thought that he could've been dead, or worse. a typical reaction for a lonely teenager to have. you weren't really angry at him, back then. you were scared. and yet you stuck by him long enough to be okay with not hearing from him for the entirety of blue lock. even when he was being a dick.

he sighs, "it's fine. just, be careful, alright? you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to you."

you chuckle into your pillow, "yeah, probably. that's what i have you for, though."

"go to sleep. i have shit to do."

a small squeak leaves your lips as you yawn, "yeah, yeah, go be the best soccer player, or whatever."

"text me when you wake up."

he's never asked you that before.

he wakes up the next day with a exactly what he asked for.

didn't know you were a stage-five clinger. have a good day!!

yeah, he's gonna kill you.

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[outstretchedwingzz]

♱ timeloop yan♱

i was scrolling back through some old art and found a drawing from like four years ago of my first ever yan oc!! so now he's y'all's problem hope u love him <3

(THIS IS SO LONG FOR A PART ONE LMAO IM SO SORRY)

⟡ The one on the right is the old art of him!! My boy!!

⟡ His name at one point was Lucas, however I'm retconning that and thinking of a new one because Why Would I Choose Lucas

⟡ Some Tuesdays are just better than others, you've decided. You had a rough day, some kid had spilled fruit punch down your front, you had spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time trying to de-popcorn the aisles of the movie theater you worked at, and you kept getting pestered by some shy dude who wouldn't even buy a ticket! He just kept asking nonsense questions and then shuffling back to the arcade!

⟡ All you wanted to do when you got home was shower until you were a raisin, play video games until your brain was mashed potatoes, and then curl up in your bed.

⟡ The next morning you wake up feeling a little better, very little residual blah left from how shit your previous day was. Luckily, you had today off to reset and recharge.

⟡ That being said, you stayed up late and slept in even later, only to be woken up to the sound of your phone ringing where you had tossed it the night before. You groan and grumble as you get up, shuffling your way to your phone and picking it up.

⟡ It's your boss, because why wouldn't it be, and he's asking you why the hell you aren't there yet! Your brain takes a moment to kick back into gear before you answer that you had worked a double YESTERDAY and had today off.

⟡ All you get is an angry "Check again! And be here before I start goin' grey, yeah?" and then he just hangs up on you. You fucking hate that guy. Still, you check your schedule while grumbling and muttering some not so nice things.

⟡ The shock and dread settles in your stomach when your calendar finally loads in, and in big, bolded letters at the top it tells you that today is Tuesday, and you definitely have work today.

⟡ You register that "oh. i think im passing out." in the second before you hit the corner of your desk.

⟡ You wake up with a gasp, sitting up quick and clutching your chest, looking around wildly only to find yourself.... back in your bed. The clock on your wall tells you it's morning. You scramble quickly to your feet, rushing to grab your phone and begging it to not be slow as you open your calendar.

⟡ Tuesday.

⟡ Now, skipping past the inevitable few Tuesday long breakdown you have where you simply refuse to believe this is happening, you eventually figure out the loop resets every night when you go to sleep, or if you somehow die. That was a fun few days.

⟡ After a week or so of this, and of screaming profanities as your boss over the phone for a few of the loops, you decide to maintain some normalcy you were gonna start going to work. Sure you never gained any money, but at least it got you out of your house and sometimes you could even pretend that things were different day in and day out.

⟡ After awhile even that gets boring though, when everyone becomes recognizable, and you begin to know what movie tickets they're gonna get and their exact food order.

⟡ It's only after three days of monotony (yet you refuse to stop going to work, clinging to the last shreds of some kind of normal) that you realize that it's not all the same.

⟡ Well, one thing changes. That guy, the one who kept asking questions that first day. Sometimes he wasn't even there, and everyday he seemed to have different questions. Ranging from personal, to stuff about the work, but still different.

⟡ It's that sudden lightbulb moment that has you going off the rails just a tiny bit.

⟡ You're stuck waiting a few days for the next time he comes in, but eventually he does. He always does. He's hardly able to get a word out before you're scrambling over the counter, and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. You choke him a little on his own necklace, but that's fine.

⟡ It's not until you're in the corner of that dusty little arcade he hangs out in that you shove him up against the wall, glaring daggers into his soul.

⟡ (Ignore the way he wets his lips and just how much it looks like he's giving you heart eyes right now it's all totally in your imagination.)

⟡ "Who the fuck are you, and how the fuck are you doing this?" Are the first words out of your mouth. He looks confused for a second, going to open his mouth when you just start rambling.

⟡ About the never ending fucking Tuesday, about having to clean up the same spills everyday, about getting the same bullshit call from your boss, about selling everyone the same! Fucking! Movie ticket! It's never ending!

⟡ It's not until you stop to breathe that you realize just how hard he's shaking. Just how his chest heaves as he sobs, hands having came up to clutch at your wrist desperately.

⟡ You step back quickly, dropping his shirt and in turn dropping him. He scrambles forward on his knees, gripping the thighs of your pants with shaking hands.

⟡ "You're stuck too?"

[drabbletron]

https://www.tumblr.com/drabbletron/776046203166212096/httpswwwtumblrcomdrabbletron7760363131713781?source=share

Couldn't stop thinking about this, and then at 5 AM my brain hit me with a wonderful scenario. (And illness, yay)

Imagine Swerve getting freaky with himself, when reader comes home unexpectedly early and he's lowkey freaking out because "how are they gonna react to me fucking myself". Then reader's just like "damn that's hot af actually" and join him

- 🐟

|| me to this anon: i love you FISH, i ain't gon' ever stop lovin you, FISH! (Fr tho, these asks are making me so happy to write!!) ||

Two is Better Than One, But Three is Just as Fun: Swerve x reader x Holo!Swerve SMUT

PART 2

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

tw: self-cest??

Swerve can hear the jingling of keys too little too late as the habsuite door opens with is usual woosh.

"Ah, shit --!"

You're taken aback at the scene before you: Swerve has someone bent over doggy style on your shared berth, and that person is none other than -- HIMSELF?!

"It's not what it looks like!" "I can explain!"

So many questions are shooting around your head. What is he doing? Why is he doing it? Why didn't he invite you? Why are you so turned on by this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Both him and his avatar are scrambling, talking at the same time to placate whatever repercussions may befall him. Swerve still hasn't even pulled out of his avatar, and when he does both of them let out the deepest wanton groan you've ever heard and that definitely doesn't go straight between your legs. No way! Nu-uh!

"Swerve," he stops moving when you say his name, "I don't want to yuck your yum or anything, but what are you doing?"

"I was just, y'know!" He gestures vaguely to the avatar, "just testing some things out! With my--uh, with my programming, yeah! Testing the sensor calibrations an-and stuff…"

Swerve can feel that his frame is on fire but he can't tell if it's from the way his ass was clenching on his spike or from the embarrassment of being caught essentially playing with himself. He has no time to mull it over before you're placing your work bag on the ground and pulling up a chair to sit in. Your eyes never leave him, watching like a hawk, expecting… something.

"Tests, huh? So tell me, Swerve, how are those tests coming along?"

"G-good? I guess.. I'm not sure what you--"

"Keep going."

"I'm ..sorry?"

"Keep going. Don't let me stop you from doing what you're doing. You need results, right? Well lets see 'em. Calibrate what you need to, then maybe we can run some tests of our own."

Your eyes are different now, burning, smoldering, heated and hungry. It clicks that you want to watch. See him fucking himself. He feels so small under your stare, but the way you're looking at him spurs his movements.

Swerve reactivates the connection between himself and his avatar, the holomatter now fully responsive and operable, and both of them hesitantly go back to the position they were in. He brings the avatar's hips up and places his spike between its cheeks, grinding very gently and oh so uncertainly. He looks to you for approval and you give him a very expectant "Well…?"

"Are you sure you want me to do this? I mean, this isn't cheating, right?"

"It's just yourself piloting that thing, isn't it?"

Swerve nods.

"Then it's not cheating. Here," you take off your pants and sling one leg over the arm of the chair, letting yourself be visible to him, "how about I join you?" Less of a question and more of a statement.

More than a little confused but also very turned on, Swerve pipes up, "but you're not even over here."

"Think of it as 'mutual masturbation'; I get off while you get off and everybody's happy, yeah?"

Swerve can already see the slick on your sex catching in the dim lights of the room. If he wasn't suspicious of you being some sort of voyeur then he's sure as hell convinced now, or you might just be that into him. He'll let himself believe that you find him as attractive as you say you do when the two of you are intimate for now, if only to play into the fantasy of being desired by someone he thinks is out of his league. That little boost gets him back in the flow of things and he resumes where he left off.

(to be continued ...?)

|| NOTE: I did so little editing as I wanted to post this as soon as I possibly could!! I didn't think of self-cest being a thing until I really thought about the holomatter avatars. I will do a continuation of this, but I need the time to work on it. Got a lot to do and such! ||

[artspats]

Mycelium - Misty Quigley

You weren’t exactly an expert in wilderness survival—let alone in choosing food that wouldn’t end up poisoning you. Deadly Nightshade? Absolutely not.

But mushrooms? Well, that seemed a bit more in your wheelhouse.

So, here you were, crouched at the foot of the conifers in the forest, staring at the tangled undergrowth in search of something edible. Picking out a decent amount of fungus.

Misty, of course, was your assistant. After all, you couldn’t risk poisoning anyone yet. Not when you had such a charming, somewhat untrustworthy, partner in this little foraging experiment.

"It's quite impressive," Misty continued, still eyeing the mushrooms. "You have a good eye. They're rare, you know. Only a few grow around here."

“You’re brave, picking mushrooms out here,” she said, glancing at the forest around them.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here to help. I don’t know a thing about mushrooms,” You admitted. “Not a fan of them, but... I guess they’re what we’ve got.”

“Still, it’s cool that you know so much about them.”

Misty’s face lit up with excitement. “Did you know there are over a hundred thousand species of mushrooms? Some decompose dead plants, and others form partnerships with trees. It’s fascinating.”

She raised an eyebrow, curious. “How do you know all this?”

Misty’s grin widened, clearly proud. "I’ve always loved learning about the natural world. Plants, fungi, insects—anything I could get my hands on. It’s... poetic, you know?"

“You’re like a mushroom genius,” she teased, smiling.

“I’m glad you’re here—well, not glad that we crashed, but... I’m glad you know this stuff,” you stumbled over your words.

Misty flushed, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Well, I wouldn't say genius, but I do enjoy it. I bet the others wouldn’t care much though.”

“They should care more,” she replied, her tone light. “You’re practically saving us from cannibalism at this point.”

Misty’s smile faded slightly, the atmosphere growing more somber. She gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Maybe we’ll get rescued tomorrow. There’s still hope, right?”

“Still hope,” she repeated, patting Misty’s arm. “We’ll make it.”

They continued collecting mushrooms for a while, the light growing dimmer as the sun began to set. The forest, still peaceful despite the actual truth, felt eerily quiet now, as if waiting for something to break the stillness.

Misty's fingers brushed against yours as she reached for another mushroom. It was a brief touch, but it lingered in the air between them.

Without thinking, you turned to face her, your gaze soft but steady. “I do mean it, I´m glad you’re here, Misty.”

Misty met your eyes, her heart beating a little faster. “I’m glad I’m here too,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You gave a small smile.

The air felt different now—charged in a way that made the world feel smaller, the space between you and Misty closing without either of you moving an inch.

You could feel your breath catching, your heart pounding in your chest. “Can I—” you started, but Misty’s shy smile cut you off.

“Yeah...” she whispered, her eyes searching yours for the same answer. “That would be nice.”

Before you could say anything else, you leaned in, your lips brushing against hers. It was tentative at first, as if neither of you were sure what to expect. But when it deepened, it felt... right.

Misty’s breath hitched as the kiss slowly broke. She stared at you with wide eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips as she adjusted her glasses. “Wow…”

You smiled back, your own breath a little shaky. “Yeah... wow.”

“You’re so quiet now,” you teased, brushing Misty’s hair back.

Misty laughed softly, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. “Well... you’ve got my brain all scrambled.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you grinned mischievously, “a kiss is the beginning of cannibalism.”

Misty rolled her eyes, nudging you playfully with her elbow. “Oh, really? That’s what you’re going with?”

You laughed, fingers tracing Misty’s cheek as you both stood there, the quiet of the forest settling around you. “Yeah, well... if we’re going to start eating each other, at least we’ll know who to blame.” 

Misty chuckled, her heart still racing, but now for a very different reason. “I think I’ll blame you for making me a little... confused.”

You leaned in closer, grinning. “I’ll take the blame for that.”

Misty’s smile was warm as you stood together, the night feeling a little less lonely.

[isacksteban]

ok listen to me, it's a bit of a silly idea but it's eating away at my brain, Bezz is at the ranch during the break and some other rider asks to borrow a pair of Bezz's pants maybe Celin? and finds a bunch of condoms in the pocket, and is like haha ​​Bezz is a sex machine in front of everyone and Bezz turns completely red as a tomato, days later Marquez posts a dump and there's a picture of a bunch of condoms and in the background of the picture there's a shirt with Bezz's number and the ranch turns into chaos and they have to try to hide it from Valentino but they're acting super weird and Vale is suspicious and someone ends up opening their mouth

anon this was so silly (ignore me flexing ny italian skills)

It all starts innocently enough.

It’s the off-season, and the academy boys are at the ranch, soaking in the rare period of rest between races. Of course, “rest” is relative when it comes to them. Even in their downtime, they can’t help but challenge each other to races around the dirt track, set up impromptu wheelie competitions, and turn casual rides into full-blown battles of skill. The atmosphere is easy, filled with the sound of revving engines, the occasional crash followed by laughter, and Vale yelling at them for being idiotic when they push things too far.

One particularly hot afternoon, after an intense round of practice, a handful of them are lingering around outside the house, lazily sipping on cold drinks and winding down. Celin, still dripping from a ridiculous, completely unplanned water fight that started with someone throwing a bottle at Franky and ended with Mig chasing Luca around with a hose, grimaces at his soaked jeans clinging uncomfortably to his legs.

“Ugh, Bez, fammi un favore,” Cele groans, tugging at his wet clothes. “You got some pants I can borrow? Mine are done.”

Bez, still distractedly scrolling through something on his phone, barely looks up. “Yeah, yeah, check my bag.” He waves vaguely toward his stuff near the couch.

Cele, never one to turn down an opportunity to dig through someone else’s things, immediately goes rifling through Bez’s duffel bag. He pulls out a pair of sweatpants, shaking them out — and as he does, something small and plastic falls to the floor.

Then another.

Then a whole bunch.

For a second, everyone just stares.

Celestino, still holding the pants in one hand, crouches to pick up one of the rogue packets. The unmistakable sight of foil glints in the light. A slow grin spreads across his face as he straightens up, clutching a fistful of condoms like he’s just found buried treasure.

A beat of silence.

Then, with all the dramatics of a man announcing the discovery of a scandal, Cele thrusts them into the air and declares loudly:

“HAHA, Bez, sei una macchina del sesso!”

The reaction is immediate and absolute chaos.

Maro doubles over, wheezing. Franky lets out a howl of laughter, nearly toppling over onto the couch. Even Mig, who was mid-sip of his drink, starts cackling, barely avoiding a full spit-take.

Bez, who had been leaning back against the armrest of a chair, freezes. His face — already slightly flushed from the heat — turns a deep, unmistakable red, creeping up to his ears.

“No, no, aspetta— it’s not— I just— Cazzo!” Bez splutters, scrambling upright, reaching to grab the condoms from Cele, but the damage is already done.

“Mamma mia, Bezz,” Franky gasps between laughs, “quanti te ne servono?”

“Oh, he’s STOCKED,” Cele crows, fanning out the packets like a winning poker hand. “Bez takes no chances, huh?”

“Bez,” Luca chokes out, still breathless, “you planning on supplying all of Tavullia or just yourself?”

Bezz groans loudly, swiping a hand over his face. “Madonna, siete degli stronzi,” he grumbles, yanking the condoms out of Celin's grasp and shoving them back into his bag as fast as possible. “It’s just— I— you never know when— I mean, it’s good to be responsible—”

“Oh yeah, super responsible,” Mig teases. “Enough to supply the whole damn grid.”

Bez knows there’s no getting out of this. Every time he tries to defend himself, someone throws another joke at him.

By the time Valentino walks past, blissfully unaware of the absolute scene unfolding in front of him, Bez is desperately praying the ground will open up and swallow him whole.

Days later, Marc — who, despite regularly fucking Marco Bezzecchi, is decidedly not part of the VR46 circle — posts an Instagram photo dump. It’s typical Marquez content: a mix of training shots, travel pics, and the kind of carefree candids that make his fans go wild.

But one photo in particular stands out.

At first glance, it looks like a random, cluttered table — water bottles, gloves, a crumpled snack wrapper, someone’s sunglasses left behind. But the centerpiece of the image is undeniable: a very visible empty box of condoms.

And in the background, carelessly draped over a chair, is a VR46 training shirt with Bez’s number on it.

The moment the VR46 boys see the post, all hell breaks loose.

“COSA!?” Cele shrieks, shoving his phone in Luca’s face.

Luca nearly spits out his drink. “Che cazzo…?!”

Franky, scrolling through the comments, howls. “Oh, people have already connected the dots. Look— ‘Whose shirt is that? 👀’ ‘Bezzecchi confirmed sex god??’ ‘Not Márquez exposing VR46 like this—’”

Bez, who was not prepared for this level of public humiliation, looks like he’s about to faint. His face is burning, his hands are in his hair, and he’s making this awful, strangled sound. “That fucking bastard.”

Luca, usually the calm one, is furious — it doesn't help that Vale has raised him to despise the Spaniard. “He did this on purpose.”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Cele agrees, grinning like this is the best thing that’s ever happened. “No way that’s an accident.”

Mig, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, nudges Bez. “So… you and Márquez, huh?”

Bez whips around so fast his hair nearly smacks Mig in the face. “I— IT’S NOT— SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

Luca, pacing, rubs his temples like he’s dealing with a major diplomatic crisis. “Vale is gonna see this. Vale is gonna fucking see this, and when he does, he’s gonna start asking questions.”

Bez makes another strangled noise and drops his face into his hands.

From that moment on, everyone is acting weird.

Bez is a nervous wreck, flinching every time Vale so much as glances at his phone.

Luca is lurking behind Vale at every possible moment, ready to distract him if he scrolls too far.

Cele and Mig cannot stop laughing, whispering behind their hands every time Bez enters the room.

And Marc? Oh, Marc is smirking like the smug, insufferable bastard that he is.

The worst part? Vale notices immediately.

“Why are you all acting like idiots?” Vale narrows his eyes at them over his espresso.

“Us? Acting weird?” Luca lets out an awkward, too-loud laugh. “No, no, everything’s normal. Totally normal.”

Bez, looking like he wants to die, chokes out, “I need to go— somewhere.” And bolts.

Vale, watching him leave, takes a slow sip of his coffee. “…Right.”

The thing is, Vale is not stupid. He knows his boys better than they know themselves, and when they start acting like this, it only makes him more suspicious. He’s waiting for someone to crack.

And, inevitably, someone does.

Maybe it’s Cele blurting it out mid-laugh.

Maybe it’s Marc, still feeling petty, making a too-pointed comment during a press event.

Maybe it’s Bezz, buckling under the mountain of stress, breaking down and confessing in the most pathetic, self-incriminating way possible.

One way or another—

Vale finds out.

And the fallout?

Absolute carnage.