#GORLS THAT YOUR BEST PART

[nnay-naee]

Lesbians with big noses.

That's it. That's the thought.

[ma1dita]

it will pass

part two can be found here -> without a doubt

words: little under 2k

summary: Without a doubt, James Potter loves you. But he’s not in love with you.

warnings: none! fem!reader; i would die for best friend!james, did not demonize lily; angst, unrequited love, lil childhood speech impediment, cheesy nicknames, sharing clothes, will they wont they (they wont im sorry)

a/n: guess who just rewatched fleabag szn 2! i chose pain today sorry— god i missed writing. i am a words of affirmation gorl pls affirm me

(posted 9/8/23)

—

There isn’t a single doubt that James Potter loves you.

You’ve been attached at the hip since training broomsticks and pinky swears in Godric’s Hollow. You accidentally call a boy ‘Jam’ once because of your childhood speech apraxia, and he swears you’re meant to be his best friend.

“Don’t worry, I can be loud enough for the both of us, peanut!”

Like peanut butter and jelly, you two were a perfect match– and even better partners in crime. When James puts his mind to something, he sees it through. So even if you were honestly unable to string the words together, who were you to say no?

Technically it’s somewhat official too, by whatever imaginary power was bestowed upon the Potter’s house elf for your very elaborate backyard fantasy wedding the two of you had when you were seven. All of your parents were in attendance, along with your cat and you all had blueberry cupcakes after your first and only kiss.

“Miss Mippy pronounces you huzbind and wife!”

Giggles are heard all around as the tiny elf tripped on her way off the stool, knocking both your heads together. James lost a front tooth that day, but he grinned for the pictures your mothers took anyway. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

There wasn’t anyone at Hogwarts who would expect one of you to be present without the other following behind. You never had to hold back your smart mouth because James was always willing to finish your fights. The both of you were a package deal, with your number of protectors growing once Remus, Sirius, and Peter came along. It was not a routine you both consciously established, but rather second nature to be in each other’s lives. Like how you always made sure his glasses were clean before quidditch matches and he’d chuck his extra jersey at your face for you to wear.

“Stay warm during the game okay? I’ll see you later, love you!”

He skated around your waist, blowing a raspberry onto your cheek as he grabbed his glasses from your fingers.

“Don’t fall off your broom. Love you too, loser.” You’re already tugging his jersey over your head, inhaling his signature scent of broom polish, cinnamon, and Sleakeasy’s hair potion.

James smiled at you softly, before running to meet up with his team. After Gryffindor won again, he threw you over his shoulder and you laughed and yelled that he smelled like sweat. He always tucked you in his bed after parties, wrapping you in his arms once the lights go out. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

Your friendship is stronger than most romantic relationships, and as your teenage years fly by, both of you realize how rare that is. He often took you to the kitchens to eat vanilla sundaes after boys broke your heart (and they got black eyes to match, courtesy of him and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team) and you would listen to him, building him up and calming him down through years of pining over a certain Lily Evans. You were there for each other through everything, silly crushes, secret trysts, boring detentions, and highly esteemed accolades. If there ever were such a thing as soulmates, you knew it had to be him, even if it was platonic. Just being around someone as vibrant as James made you consider yourself lucky.

You once saw your best friend with his head in his hands on your way to a date—he was moping after a nasty prank on Snape went wrong; it ended in Lily crying and after defending her albeit quite boisterously in true James fashion, he still didn’t get the girl.

He gets up to see you walking down the corridor to meet him halfway, and before you even speak he rubs his eyes, posture shrinking as his towering frame melts into your embrace.

“Don’t know why I thought it’d be different this time,” he mumbles, and you gladly carry the weight of his heart.

“Let’s go swimming in the Black Lake, ” you say suddenly, rubbing his broad back in small circles.

“But peanut, you have a date in an hour! You’re all dolled up and pretty...”

“I’ll have more dates. You need me right now, jelly. I’ve got you.” His nickname makes you blush a little more than you should sometimes, so you only ever pull it out as a trick up your sleeve to make him feel better.

“Love you,” you whisper, brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He breathes easily for the first time in hours, mouth curling up from its frown when he sees you walk straight into the lake water with your nicest clothes on, not even hesitating for a moment. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

When James puts his mind to something, he sees it through. So years later, when your best friend asks you if you could go wedding ring shopping with him to propose to the love of his life, who were you to decline? I mean, who else would go with him?

“Come on, (Y/N). I need my best girl with me to make the biggest decision of my life.” he’s practically moaning, the man ever so dramatic as he’s sprawled across your couch.

“And why aren’t you dragging Sirius with you again?”

Your eyebrow is raised as you stand at his feet, lifting his burly legs for you to place yourself under and get comfortable.

“What does Sirius know about women? He’d tell me to get the shiniest one and leave!” James’ yells into your throw pillow, anguished at the thought. You pull it off his face, before he quietly admits, “I just want to get it right.”

“When are we going?” you answer, without missing a beat.

Later that week, the saleslady recommends a wide array of glimmering engagement bands, none of which are for you. But you let yourself fall into the fantasy of the what-ifs, flashing back to your flower crown and candy ring wedding, wondering if it could’ve been you getting proposed to by him in another life.

“Would you like to try a few on?” the saleslady asks, assuming you two are together.

“Show me and my girl your best. No price limit.” he grins.

And how dare she assume that, as he puts his head on your shoulder, whisking you around the store to look at stunning rings, fingers brushing, and the both of you being able to communicate clearly with no words spoken. James plays along with the saleslady, finally choosing a whimsical-looking diamond setting placed upon your left ring finger. You remind yourself it’s not yours. Your heart comes to a screeching halt and you can’t help but feel all of a sudden like he’s being mean.

After all, he’s not yours, not really.

There is a little bit of doubt now and a weird tightness in your chest that makes you think of the possibility that you’re in love with James Potter.

—

Like a good best friend, you help him plan his proposal. James’ love is loud, pulling all the stops, and preferring the grandest of gestures.

“James, you are not proposing to Lily with a flash mob.”

“But it would be so cool! After all, my heart dances every time I see her face.” he wiggles his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his butterbeer.

“Your heart might, but you, unfortunately, are the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.” You laugh, reaching over to tug the quill out of his hand, crossing it off his list. He pulls you into a headlock, kissing the side of your face teasingly.

“What would I ever do without you, peanut?”

You wipe James’ spit off your cheek, pushing his face away, blushing from his attention.

“Combust, probably.”

Your heart is dancing now too, and you realize that there isn’t a single doubt that you’re in love with your best friend.

—

You keep yourself busy in the month before his proposal. It hurt learning too many details, such as what flowers he wanted to order to bring out her eyes (pink and yellow tulips), and scouting out the perfect location on the beach he picked (next to the lighthouse you and him visited as kids), even down to how he’d convince Lily to wear white without being suspicious (honestly he just expected you to do him a favor for this one). But after seeing each other almost every day for more than half your life, he knew something was off when you became distant.

James shows up at your apartment, his key in hand, but he decides to knock anyway. The sound of the TV is muffled, lowering in volume until he hears your footsteps pad over to the door and it swings open. You’re in one of his old Quidditch sweaters and fluffy blue socks.

“Hey. Wasn’t expecting you to come by.” You smile timidly, as he leans against the doorframe peering down at you.

“Never used to have to tell you.”

“James...” you stutter, before awkwardly opening the door completely. He shuffles towards the couch, keeping his shoes on as he sits at the end, and there’s a certain tension in the air that frightens you. You’re not sure if you’ll come out of this one unscathed.

“Talk to me (Y/N). What’s been going on with you? You don’t answer my calls, you don’t write back, hell, I haven’t seen you in a month because you started deadbolting your door. Did I do something?”

Yes, James Potter. Ever so blunt and to the point, your favorite person in the world is sitting on your couch uncomfortable with the fact that you’re not comfortable around him anymore.

You fight back against your instincts to tell him what’s wrong, but the three words escape your mouth before you can even take a breath.

“I love you.”

It’s silent. The floor creaks as you shift your weight onto your other leg. You lock eyes with him for the first time that night, and so many things are going through your head that you hope he’s able to pick up on how you’ve been physically aching, carrying the weight of his love for Lily for years.

James looks like he’s about to shake his head, and you beat him to it. You don’t want pity, and he knows that, but he mutters a consolation into the air.

“It’ll pass.”

No, it won’t. Not this.

You think he knows that too. He smiles sadly, watching you turn shrinking into yourself. You never were good at thinking before you spoke. A tear drips down your cheek as you look at your socks again. Your love for him is too big and too loud for your chest cavity to handle. This love feels like dramatic choral music clashing and banging around in your ribs.

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. This one’s on me,” you say, stopping him before he finishes speaking.

Without a doubt, James Potter loves you. But he’s not in love with you.

“What I was going to say...is that I’m going to have to ask you not to show up to the engagement party. It’ll be better for the both of us. We can start again from there if you want... Peanut...”

The term of endearment hangs in the air. Your dancing heart was a ticking time bomb after all. The fragments hit your insides, tearing you apart as it combusts, and you realize that nothing will be the same after this.

James stands abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hesitates before he kisses your temple, and for some reason, this feels like a goodbye. After all, when James sets his mind on something, he sees it through. He’s been set on Lily for years.

You’re his best friend, he swears. And there are no words you can think of to deny that.

—

The End

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “I know what

we are— and I know what we’re not.”

Lang Leav

[kopilot-pop]

[New Jeans x Oldest Member! Reader] - #3

-imagine.

Summary: Silly little fics of you and the gorls. You’re basically the tired father figure in their lives.

Warning(s): Cursing, car accident?, bribing a worker?,!crack humor, Hanni has a stalker, you get violent, etc.

A/N: This is like really unserious lmao. I wrote it really lighthearted. Also, this was written over the course of the whole Ador vs Hybe situation. So please understand I’m slowly becoming more unhinged as the story goes.

———————————————————————

#1

You’re strong. I mean physically strong. All of New Jeans, hell, ADOR knows that.

Oh where’s Y/n unnie?; She’s out for a jog.

Unnie is your hand okay?; Yeah, I just had a sparring match today.

That’s just a part of your life.

Fans adore this about you, the girls adore this about you, and today, you’ve come to appreciate this fact too.

Especially when a stalker decided to show his face again at the airport.

It’s been about 2 months since you’ve last seen the man. He went viral on the news (by news I mean Dispatch) for being Hanni’s stalker.

The last time you met him - oh, it was ugly.

He snuck into a performance venue disguised as a staff member. You were the one that caught him lurking near the MC waiting room.

‘Hanni’s supposed to be in there.’

Five. seconds.

That’s all it took for Hanni’s scream to pierce your ear.

The stalker barged into the room, grabbed the girl, and attempted to drag her towards the exit.

You don’t remember much after that scene.

Actually you might remember punching his face something and throwing something him across the wall, but that doesn’t really matter does it?

It mattered alot to Dispatch, who got a hold of the security footage, and decided to share it for the world to see.

The whole situation cause alot of debates of “Oh he’s a stalker. He deserved it. Good job Y/n!” versus “Wow, you didn’t have to get that violent Y/n.”, and in the end, the company decided to put you on a short hiatus and a long scolding from the producer.

Currently, you guys are standing across a crosswalk in front of the airport. The six of you are scheduled to perform in Paris in a few days and decided to get there early to settle in. You all planned a short vacation before having a whole week of dancing after dancing.

So imagine your surprise to see the dirty little freak right between the paparazzis - with a broken camera, might I add - staring at your group.

After acknowledging his presence, you quickly turned to Hanni - hoping that she didn’t notice him yet.

Unfortunately, you were too late.

Hanni’s body was slightly shaking and you could see the fear in her eyes as she stares directly towards the area where the stalker is.

Instinctively, you rushed to her side, and held her waist with your arm.

“I’m not letting him get to you, bub.”

“I.. oh you saw him too?”

“Mm-hm, and I’ll sucker-punch him if he tries to touch you again, alright?”

Hanni giggles, “Nooo, I don’t want you to be stuck in our dorms again!”

“I think it’ll be worth it if I get to break his nose this time, no?”

Minji - overhearing your conversation - butts in.

“Please don’t break anybody’s nose today unnie.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Minji gives you a skeptical look and you give her an innocent smile.

When the crosswalk light turns green, the whole group starts to walk through the group of people, as security tries to make enough room for you guys to pass.

The six of you were just about to manage through the gates when Hanni’s pained scream cuts through the air. You snap your head towards your right to see the same stalker gripping a fist-full of her hair.

And in just a millisecond, a loud crack replaces the girl’s scream.

The paparazzis’ cameras went wild with flashes - all trying to capture how you grabbed the man by his collar and slammed your fist right into his nose. Your pupils were blown wide, piercing right through the stalker writhing on the floor.

“Y/N!!”

Minji was the only one quick enough to snap out of her shock and grab onto you before you could attempt to break anymore of his bones..

Yeah, guess you’re not making it to Paris.

———————————————————————

#2

“UNNIE!! Look at this!!”

Danielle happily skips over to the rack filled to the brim with different bunny plushies. You, her and Haerin all decided to go to a state fair that was happening only an hour away from the hotel.

Technically, you were dragged here by the two of them, but that doesn’t matter.

You watched as the girls looked through the pile of plushies while sipping in your smoothie.

‘Is this what parenthood feels like..’

When the two of them finally chose a bunny they liked, they simultaneously looked over to you… expectingly..

“What. Wait. I already bought us food?”

They nod.

“And hats, I bought us three hats.”

They nod, again.

They’re now directly under your nose, giving you those big puppy eyes. Sweat drips down your back, and it’s definitely not because of the Texas heat.

With a exasperated sigh, you reach into your back pocket and take out your card.

“Excuse me, how much for two of those plushies?”

“Oh, so sorry, but those aren’t for sale. You have to win 50 tickets to win two of them!”

The worker gives you a smile and continues helping out a family near the shooting range. When you turn around, Danielle has a clear pout on her face.

“Aww.. I thought I could buy them..”

“Not you, I could buy them.”

“Potato po-tah-to.”

For a moment you think of the choices you have. It’s either waste cash on a rigged shooting range, give up on the plushes, and.. oh.

“Can the two of you get wait in line for the bucket of cookies over there? Here-”

You hand over a 20$ bill. Danielle squeals happily and Haerin finally has a tiny smile on her face. The older girl grabs her hand and runs towards the stand.

As soon as they turn their backs on you, you slither over to the worker again.

“I need the plushies.”

“Wha- oh it’s you again. Look man, we have a policy that we can’t sell the prizes for c-cash.. wha..what is that..”

You quickly tuck a 100 dollar bill into his front pocket and give him an innocent smile.

“Dude, this isn’t a drug deal, I- ugh, fine, I’ll grab you the fucking plushies”

“Thank you :D”

You carry the two bunny plushies in your arms and a giant teddy bear the man gave you in return for a signature to give to his sister.

You awkwardly walk towards your groupmates while balancing the giant furball on your back.

“Y/n unnie!!! Oh my god! What is that?!”

Danielle looks clearly surprised, but you can tell she’s having a hard time containing her smile. Haerin’s trying her best to help you with the teddy bear.

“I.. uh…-holyshitthisisheavy- I hit the jack pot! Yeah, jackpot….”

You give them a toothy grin, not noticing the group of people taking photos of the three of you, and definitely not realizing the absolute fever Twitter is having over the pictures.

———————————————————————

#3

“I’m telling you guys, nothing’s gonna happen-”

A loud scream cuts off Minji as a ghost jumps out from the wardrobe.

Hanni and Danielle screams louder than the ghost, and runs into your arms in fear. You turn around to see Minji in the same situation as you - just with Hyein.

“Nevermind…” Minji rolls her eyes as the actor scurries off to a different room.

But her nonchalant behavior doesn’t last long when something under the bed grabs her ankle. She screams and - quite literally - jumps into your arms.

“WHY DID YOU CHOOSE A HAUNTED HOUSE FOR YOUR BUCKET LIST.”

The moment you let down a wide-eyed Minji, Hanni grabs your collar and shakes you; Pretty sure she’s trying to get revenge, but having absolutely no impact.

“Ack- I thought it would be fun..”

“FUN?! YOU THINK GHOSTS AND DEAD PEOPLE ARE FUN???!!!”

While Hanni growls at you with tears in her eyes, Haerin bravely opens the next door, only to be met with a doll dropped right in front of her face.

The shock causes her to let out a scream-

‘My ears are ringing.’

which you never expected from her - and run towards you to use your body as a shield.

“ALRIGHT, you guys stand behind me, and I’ll open all the doors, okay? That way I’m the one being threatened by the next ghoul or whatever…”

The girls nod their heads in unison. Hanni finally lets go of your collar to grip onto your left arm.

You cautiously kick open several doors, trying to find the exit, and on the third try you finally find another long corridor with a glowing exit sign at the end. The 6 of you slowly walk towards it but freezes when the buzzing sound of a chainsaw starting echoes from behind.

You’re the only one brave enough to turn around and see the clown standing in the middle of the room you guys just left.

“Okay, don’t panic but there’s a clown-”

The girls scream in unison as they sprint towards the exit like their life depends on it. You follow suit, and use your body to bust down the last door.

The whole group falls toward the ground together, and the younger girls naturally grab onto you, tightly closing their eyes in fear.

“Um… Congrats…?”

When you see the employee standing behind the counter, you sigh in relief that the haunted house is over.

“Guys, we escaped the house.”

They finally detach from you to take a look around their surroundings.

“Oh! Well that was nothing.” Hanni scoffs confidently, causing everyone around her to let out a deep sigh.

———————————————————————

#4

“We got into a car accident.”

“WHAT?!”

You jump up from the bed - almost dropping your phone - and check the contact name again.

“Yeah, I think Haerin unnie has a concussion.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.”

You quickly put the phone on speaker and fumble around to find your jacket.

“Yeah.. so since Haerin unnie got her license we decided to take your car out for a drive..”

“Wait, wait- MY CAR?!”

“Yeah, you said we can take it out whenever we want? Anyways, we decided to go to the beach… but the road was really messy, I think my phone is glitched, unnie.”

“HUH?!”

“We kinda went down this hill… blah blah blah… we hit a telephone poll- blah blah….”

“Oh my god.”

You rush out the door to the location Hyein has told you. When you arrive, you spot the girls and your BMW M3 that you recently acquired after begging your uncle for 3 months to sell it to you.

With a quick glance you can tell that - thankfully - the car is only a little scratched up, so you immediately turn your attention to the girl curled up in the driver’s seat.

Haerin’s head is against the handle with both of her arms covering her face. Her knuckles are almost white.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”

The only response you receive is a tiny groan from the younger girl.

“Hyein said you might have a concussion? Can you look at me sweetheart?”

“She’s been like this the whole time.” Hyein chimes in.

“The car can be fixed, it’s fine, just a scratch. But it’s more important to me if you’re fine, bub.”

With that a few seconds of silence passes and you finally get a tiny ‘I’m okay’ from Haerin.

“Alright then, let’s move you to the backseat so I can drive us to the hospital, okay? Hyein, get in the passenger seat.”

“Hell yeah! Shotgun!!”

You carry Haerin to the backseat, but as you try to get her seatbelt on, you finally notice the frown on her face.

“Haerin, I’m not disappointed you guys took my car out. I told you guys you’re free to do that. However, I am upset that you guys weren’t careful and got hurt. Okay? We can talk about that after we check if the two of you are fine.”

“What- me too?”

“YES, YOU TOO. YOU WERE ALSO IN THE CAR!”

Hyein pouts at your disbelief. You sigh and give Haerin a peck on her forehead, and hurry to your seat to get to the hospital.

“Put your seatbelt on bub, I’m speeding to the ER.”

“W-wait, you just told us to be caref-AHHH!!”

———————————————————————

A/N: This was fun to write lol.

[strawberrysnoopy]

PROLOGUE/TEASER

summary: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

part one

**BASED ON THE CHARACTER.AI BOT BY WESKER420. Please follow them, jesus christ, their bots are like crystal meth: they are so good.**

warnings: this is an OOC. I am a firm believer that Leon is an honest and very respectful man and would never do anything to hurt another person to the best of his ability. leon x model!fem! reader, series, SMUT!! SMUT!! SMUT!! they will fuck and that is a promise! infidelity (obvs, babes, look at the title), fem! reader, reader has a vagina, descriptions of masturbation, brief mention of a fleshlight, lube, tissues. leon's kind of a perv if you squint, vaginal sex, anal sex, smoking, language, drinking, weed smoking (mention and act), some texts, lingerie mention, photoshoots, jealousy and possessiveness (the hot kind), ada slander at times, leon is married to ada, no use of y/n or (name) because it gives me the ickity ick, angst at times becos i'm a sad gorl, sorry if grammar sucks but im a slut, also i promise there's dialogue i just ❤️ context and description, slowburn, mutual pining, eventual smut, pov switching from time to time (but not like you pronouns changing to she/her, just like the majority of a chapter would be told in Leon or your point of view,)

For months, Leon had been writhing in his silk sheets at night. He was no stranger to these encounters, considering his career as an agent. Nightmares were a usual guest in his home of dreams, but this time was different. They weren't the usual nightmares of losing his team, no. They were...wet dreams. About you.

Dreams of fucking you so hard he'd break the bed. Dreams of your goddamn perfect tits bouncing in unison with his violent thrusts. Dreams of your whines, constantly praising him on how good he fucked you, how good he felt with the tip of his cock kissing your cervix like they had just had their first kiss on their front porch after a first date. He was fiendish in those fantasies. He'd gotten desperate to the point of going online and buying a fleshlight with his own adult money. He had felt so shameful. Leon went out and fought a bioweapon (saving the world) with a fat paycheck handed to him. A paycheck he would spend on a sex toy because he couldn't stop dreaming of fucking you.

But that's all they were to him. Dreams. Wet dreams, at that, but just dreams. He did feel guilty, there was no denying that: he felt like a teenager going through puberty all over again, having to jerk his cock multiple times past the point of overstimulation to have the fleeting moment of you pass his mind and regulate back onto the normal, time-to-time sexual thoughts of his wife. He knew he probably wasn't alone in this. Besides, he wouldn't ever act on it. True, Leon was in an unstable and semi-toxic relationship with his wife, Ada, but the mere thought of cheating on her made him feel violently ill. He was loyal. He was kind. He was honest. He was the type of man you brought home to your parents and they'd clamor over him like a newborn baby Jesus. At least that's what he'd try to convince himself of. But tonight, Leon Kennedy would be a different man. He'd diligently play the part of a loving and caring husband, one who could never dream of cheating on his wife with another woman. Tonight would be the night that he would have dinner with his friends he hadn't seen in a while, chat, have a good laugh and a good meal until he eventually went home and spent the rest of the night with Ada. Leon knew this wouldn't be the most perfect night ever, of course not: he's never been a lucky man in his life, and that certainly won't be changing tonight. Why? Because you're there. You're there to haunt him like some horny odd ghost: almost as if you're taunting and teasing him with your mere presence. Like you're telling him: "I know you want to fuck me."

He's torn from his thoughts with the sultry palm of Ada's hand surfacing upon his shoulder. Yet, her hand feels cold. He remembers the warmth he felt at the beginning of their marriage, she felt sweaty at some points, but she felt as cold as freezing air in a Colorado Winter. He realized he had been standing in front of their bathroom mirror for ten minutes, doing the same motion of moving his tie back and forth like he was masking the way he thought about changing it.

"Ready?" Leon nodded in response, finally stopping the long game of toying with the elongated piece of fabric. He pats his wife's hip, to which he's met with a curt smile, concealing a plethora of disgust. He wants to be sad. Say something snarky. Be angry even. But all he feels is disappointed in himself. Leon knew that Ada had betrayed him ages ago during the Raccoon City incident but had put it upon himself to trust her again. That's what love is right? He would tell himself every time he felt a doubt begin to creep inside his hollow mind. Trusting someone even when they hurt you in the past.

Eventually they arrive at the dinner party, being greeted with hugs and the usual: "Leon, Ada, it's been so long. So nice to see you!"'s and so and so forth. On one hand, he's grateful. How lucky is he to have the opportunity to come together with his friends and have a nice evening that quells the dark thoughts of breaking his wife's trust or the fact their marriage was breaking at the seams and there was nothing he could do to fix it anymore. Then there's his other hand. The hand that's caked in filth and gut-wrenching horniness that tells him to cheat on his wife with you. The devil on his shoulder, if you will. The small malevolent voice was awoken as soon as his eyes settle upon your body. The one he dreamt about for the past few months.

You're wearing cute little pearlescent earrings upon your lobes, a necklace to match and finished off with a very lovely black slip dress that hugs your body just right. The fabric lovingly stretches across your tits like the dress was ripped straight from every man's dream. There was a slit upon the side: revealing enough until... There was a stirring in his jeans. His cock suddenly leaps to life as if it were unconscious and been resuscitated back to life via CPR. The phallic shaft ached against the gusset and fly of his cotton Calvin Klein brand boxers: tip sweeping against his waistband in a way that felt so familiar now, so normal. And for one of the first times in Leon Scott Kennedy's life, he truly realizes how fucked he is.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After finding his debts you decide to take matters into your own hands...what a terrible decision...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Historical Typical Sexism, Debts, Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Blackmail.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes:

★For those of you possibly turning around and saying “£290 is nothing for all of what Sherlock has bought”

...I’ll remind you this is set in 1890 and so since then inflation has risen greatly...

★So for the modern reader I must insist to explain that £290 in England is now worth £30,671...

★And for my American readers that would be $38,948

★And for my Australian readers that would be $58,490

★Basically...Sherlock Holmes is a material gorl 💅

Inspiring Song: "Ghiribizzi" by Paganini

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7:35am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You wobbled onto your feet as Mrs Hudson entered the apartment with a scowl... probably because of something Sherlock said to her in passing the stairs.

The old crow’s frown spirited away when she noticed you were awake and outside of your bedroom.

She smiled warmly in fact and bid you a good morning. You returned the expression as she came and collected the breakfast plates.

Your fingers trailed over the countless of papers on the table and the sleek wood of his violin.

Shuffling through each parchment and a sigh drawled from your lips.

“Mrs Hudson,” you hummed as she passed you, “I request you show me the expenses of the household purse.”

It was a common duty of a wife nowadays to keep track of all home expenses.

She paused and her eyes widened, her mouth flapped open and closed quickly again. Her teeth grimaced and her bony finger wagged, “I am afraid my dear, they are in Mr Holmes bedroom, and as I said yesterday, he can be an incredibly private person.”

His bedroom? Oh yes...he kept it locked. But by god you needed to get to the bottom of this theory you were building in your mind. You were married and a married couple shouldn’t withhold secrets.

“I am his wife, I am the second close thing to the holy trinity in his life now,” you snorted softly as you collected all the papers on the table and made a neat single pile, “I will see the documents and understand his predicament.”

“And which predicament may that be?” the housekeeper inquired as she laid down a fresh virgin cup to pour scolding tea from the hot teapot.

“Enola mentioned something about debts,” You clutched the front of your dressing gown to contain some decorum while you sat back down and gestured to the chair beside you for her to sit in as well, “his foul dismissal of my presence suggests not only disdain of our union but in addition a set of a secrecy and disfavour I will not permit in my marriage.”

You needed to know exactly how much debt he was in. You were willing to part some of your dowry to pay for it if you could. His aggression was surely caused by the stress of these debt...if you could lift them off his shoulders, mayhaps he would be kinder, gentle and respectful.

She passed you the cup and saucer while she took to pouring herself a cup. The elder woman smiled giddily.

You were pleased that there was no judgement of your modesty before her. It was a fine change compared to your strictly grandmother who would berate you if you dared leave your bedroom under dressed.

The elder cradled her cup and lowered it carefully, clearing her throat, “Mrs Holmes...”

You blinked...you believed you had asked her to not call you by your new name, out of friendliness.

“Mrs Hudson?” you queerly answered.

“Before your marriage,” her lip curled inward and her fingers lightly tapped her cup, she looked to the tea and quickly glanced up at you, “The detective entertained himself in some...appalling activities. I think it best not to open those locked pasts for your own sake.”

Appalling activities...in a world of proprietary that could mean anything...you did have your thoughts...you were only surprised that the notorious detective would risk tainting his reputation with some illicit practice.

You swallowed dryly before sipping lightly at the tea. You licked your lips and sighed shaking your head, “Speak plainly Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh please,” She prayed mortifyingly, “I daren’t repeat it.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the pink rising in the pale wrinkled face of Mrs Hudson.

You leant over the table and used small tongs to pick up a sugar cube and clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t play in another game of riddles, especially not with a elder woman with a privacy for embarrassing details. The sugar fell into the cup with a soft plop in the awkward silence, a ticking of the clock caught in your ear.

“Tell me or leave Mrs Hudson,” you pinched the papers on the desk , “I have documents to find and unless your words hold any meaning, do not bore me with unheard gossip.”

Her beady blue eyes under her spectacles fluttered, her lips parted at your stern tone. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room before leaning in closer to you.

She said in a hushed whisper, “My dear girl, your husband is a whore mongering, drug addicted gambler.”

Now that was a surprise to hear fall from her wrinkled lips. You pinched your forehead and rubbed thoughtfully. How would you handle this type of man?

You glanced at her with a small grin.

“Was- Mrs Hudson,” You corrected, tapping the table with your knuckle, “I will not allow such boyish whims into my marriage,” you wagged your finger at her and flashed her a devious smile, “He shall need to divorce me if he wishes to continue such behaviours, it might be harder for me to remarry but I trust not a single woman would last longer than me as his wife.”

A small laugh came out of the woman who gave you a dramatic military salute, she grinned and chortled, “Well, I admire your determination, but however will you enter his chambers? He has the only key.”

Your chest deflated, she was right. How would you? You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over your shoulder to look at the closed bedroom door on the far side of the wall beside your own.

You slowly pushed up to your feet again and trapesed back to your bedroom, “Mrs Hudson, wherever did you put my hat box?”

The elderly woman put down her cup and swayed inside to follow you, she pointed to above the wardrobe. Standing on your toes you palmed the box down and laid it on your unmade bed.

Mrs Hudson was opening up your wardrobe and peeling through your hanging hooks of dresses and coats.

“My dear, surely you’re not intending to go outside in your frail condition?” she muttered as she trailed a fresh chemise over her arm.

Shaking your head you jerked you chin, “No Mrs Hudson, indoors I will remain.” Your hand clenched your lower belly with a hiss as a nasty cramp prevailed, “I don’t recall entirely but I believe a doctor was here last night, said I have begun my menses for this month.”

“I can see dearest,” Mrs Hudson hummed, pinching at your dressing gown...you had bled through it. A wet crimson patch stained the white cotton. You balked and flushed.

“Best get it off now,” Mrs Hudson winked, pulling it back and off your naked shoulders, “I’ll make you some packing.”

You shuddered and gasped at how forward your housekeeper was presenting. Respectfully speaking, you wondered if Mrs Hudson had been a ladies maid in her earlier years before her own marriage.

You tiptoed to the water basin on the vanity and squeezed the clean cloth inside of it. You cleaned the red and burgundy chunks and stream between your thighs. Your washed your hands back in the water and faced Mrs Hudson sheepishly. She smiled and pulled the chemise over your head.

“Let me roll some packing,” she said, pulling a bandage from the top drawer of the vanity and folded it into a flat palm of thickened fabric.

You shoved it up against your intimate flesh and squeezed your thighs together tightly.

Mrs Hudson then found a sanitary apron in the same drawer and helped tie it behind your back.

“Mrs Hudson you are a fine woman of elegance and saintly kindness,” you exhaled, “Thank you.”

“I remember when I was a freshly married girl,” She clucked happily, “My dear friend was a constant visitor and helped me with these things. Mr Hudson grew very jealous of our time together,” she sighed, “Now, do you require a corset my dear?”

You shook your head and plucked your fingers, “I shan’t accept any visitors, and in my sickly state it would be kinder to leave it be if I should make a mess of my inconvenience.”

If your stomach threw up from the stress of your internal curse, you didn’t want to wash through the delicate fabrics of your whale bone undergarments.

You found a loose blouse and black skirt to pull and button onto your body. You pulled up a pair of stockings.

You sat on the bed as Mrs Hudson buttoned your shoes up with a hook. As the kind older woman did this gradually with her small fingers and greying eyes, you pulled the lid of your hat box away.

You pulled out a long metal stick...

A sharp hat pin.

“There we are, all done and ready for the day!” the housekeeper announced, rising to her feet.

You rose up with her and smiled, “Please Mrs Hudson, might I burden you with making another pot of tea?”

She beamed and nodded.

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08:45am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You were grunting on your knees before Sherlock’s locked door. Your hat pin jammed into the key hole. The tip of your tongue stuck out the corner of your lips as you shuffled the metal and tried to carefully listen to the locking of the inner gears.

Little did anyone know...this little talent you learnt on your own... Breaking into your grandfathers wine cellar was not a overexerting task when you were fifteen. It wasn’t a desire to rebel, rather a desire to educate yourself...you wanted to be seen as intelligent and knew your wines.

It wasn’t too long before you came to hate the bitter taste...and then found your grandfather’s rum drum.

When he found you, he didn’t not strike you and decided the headache you received in the morning was punishment enough for your sinful deed. And for a whole week he made you drink a cup of the stuff every night, to teach you why alcoholism was not befitting for a lady...

You smirked at the memory. Perhaps it was unorthodox. But it was kinder than a lashing or earful from your grandmother.

It was just one of many secrets between the both of you.

The loud click and sliding of the last inner lock made your eyes sparkle. As you twisted the handle the door peeled open with a awful squeak.

“My lord, what a mess!” you gasped.

The room was in a disarray. A smell of mould and death hit your nose. You gagged and felt your belly churn.

There was cigar burns in the rug, papers, news papers and books thrown about. There were plates that were piled up in the corner on a desk and there was a dirt dried mud trails...

The curtains were stained and the dust was unbelievable. When your finger ran along a small stand beside the door your finger came back looking pitch black with the soot.

You sat back and stood up. Piece by piece you picked up all the papers and went to his filing cabinet drawer, it was empty! Of course it was empty, all the contents had been tossed about, decorating the room messily.

You fingered the massive haul of papers and sighed, you would need to organise them all...

Taking them back out to the dining table you started to arrange piles of parchment stacks. Receipts, paid and unpaid, by date and purchases. Your eyes catered to the numbers, you fetched a notebook to tally the expenses and sighed, cupping your mouth every so often at his choices of spending.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and game of pounds, shillings and pence, you hadn’t heard the return of Mrs Hudson with a fresh pot and tea set.

“Dear me,” she said clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out! Now what’s all this?” She asked picking up a receipt off a pile.

Rolling your shoulders back she smiled proudly at the organisation of affairs. You gestured to the individual sheet stacks.

“Ah sings Den, Cocaine Tooth Drops, Black Shag Tobacco, gambling...prostitutes,” you chewed your lip worriedly as you glance back at the small note book you write on with a blunt pencil, “He has wracked up a wicked sum...”

The housekeeper put the receipt back and sat beside you after pouring you another warm tea, this time she added the sugar cube for you and stirred.

“How much?” She whispered looking over the thick almost book like mountains of papers.

Since the new year began...Sherlock had designed quite the irresponsible money expenses and debts...

£5.65 for the Opium Den experience.

£3.25 for the Cocaine drops

£10.41 for the tobacco.

£120.78 for the overall gambling.

£150.33 for his Mayfair Row whores to Madam Adler.

Total: £290.42....

You felt your lips tighten, your belly squeezed. You paled and frailly held the cup to your lips, softly blowing and softly stating, “Perhaps that number I will keep to myself Mrs Hudson,” you pushed a pile close to her and tapped at the top, “Be not alarmed however, he seems to dedicate his rent responsibly to you.”

She chortled and shook her head, “Oh I don’t mind that, I trust him to,” her eyes narrowed at the

Mayfair receipts, “I just never liked the company he brought home.”

Your eyes widened and it was like air had been stolen and kicked from your lungs, “He brought...” you choked, shutting your eyes, “Those...those women back here?”

She grit her teeth and finished her tea, “Yes, they leave like newborn foals with wobbly legs.”

When Mrs Hudson caught your worrisome eyes she gasped and tapped your hand softly, “Forgive me, I needn’t provide details.”

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before conceiting, “As much as it is wounding to hear, it is unavoidable,” you sighed and poured yourself another tea, “As his wife it is best I know everything about my husband and if he is to keep secrets from me,” you shrugged, “However shall I be a decent partner?”

Mrs Hudson put her cup aside demurely and leant closer to you. Still in her hushed tones, ashamed of the secrets she was sharing...but her eyes were full of excitement, perhaps this gossip was something she needed off her conscious.

“I would hear them in the night, screaming...I thought he was killing them,” more colour was flushing back into her face. A rosy hue dusted her nose and cheeks, “I am thankful every time when I would see them leave with smiles on their faces.”

You sat back in your chair abruptly and looked at her curiously, “Screaming and smiles?” You whispered under your breath, “How peculiar.”

It wasn’t possible. Did he hurt those prostitutes like how he had done to you? How did they walk away with smiles? Was it because he paid them? Not even you could think how to muster a smile after experiencing such awful tortures.

“I thought perhaps, he did what he had done onto you my dear...but when I saw the blood and your lack of pleasantry, well, I can confidently say-”

You slapped your cup on the saucers hard enough for a loud clatter, you said tightly, “Mrs Hudson I’d very much prefer to forget yesterdays events, if you don’t mind...please do not refer back to them.”

The mention caused a spike of pain inside you, reminding you where he stuck his hot selfish poker.

The elder woman grew quiet for a moment. She looked off at the window in the distance and then down at her cup.

She nodded and tried to share a soft smile, “Apologies for any offence.”

A stab of guilt panged in your chest, you hadn’t mean to be so rude to her. Your nerves were in a terrible mood. In a moment you would be happy and then the next you would feel worrisome and hungry. Perhaps you might’ve grown to be afflicted by the disease of Hysteria?

Oh Hysteria, what a terrible condition...you dreaded the thought of need to go for a medical massage. One of your female cousins had been to one and her description made it sound both enlightening and frightful. In fact she said it felt like she had died and gone to heaven and returned.

All of which made you scared beyond belief.

“None received,” you pat her hand and brought her palm to your lips, “You are a kind Christian and for that I say god bless you Mrs Hudson.”

She smiled warmly and stole a soft kiss to your cheek, all was forgiven between your temper.

“Oh my dear, I must additionally confess,” she stunningly proclaimed, “Sherlock doesn’t attend church.”

Your brows rose, “What?” You snorted through a laugh, unable to comprehend her truth, “Don’t be ridiculous, what upstanding gentleman doesn’t attend church?”

You giggled and cheerfully wiped a tear away, your sanity returned when her face had remained stone solid. She did not find it funny and you realised finally it was because in fact not a joke...

You glanced over the papers...back to the number on your notebook...ah of course...no god fearing man could sin so easily...waste away fortune so carelessly and spend it on unnecessary frivolous activities.

“I think that might be the answer to your own question. The Doctor Watson wrote his newspaper articles and depicted him London’s hero. He can be truly a godless man. Frankly I believe he’s a sadist.”

You tilted your head at her and drank some of your tea.

You hummed and held a finger to your lip in thought, “Yet you said those women had smiles on their faces when they left?”

Mrs Hudson shook her head curtly and smirked, “Well I think I’d smile too with the amount he probably pays them.”

Laying your elbow on the table with your chin on your head you looked at the brothel papers, “You are right...they are over priced...Mayfair Row...they’re quality...but nonetheless still he pays them far too much.”

Your husband was an exuberant tipper when it wasn’t his money. Mayfair Row...you hadn’t been inside the Dove club where Sherlock spent most the wealth...but you knew the average price of a whore...it took you back to a time...many, many years ago...back when you believed you had a mother that loved you...back when seeing a naked man behave like an animal writhing on-top of her was your normal life. Where you mimicked the actions with your cloth doll that you carried everywhere. You tried to remember the name of that doll....Susie? Harriet? God only remembers now.

They weren’t pleasant memories...the stench of mud, the screaming of women, the yelling if men, the bite of hunger and the itch of lice in your hair and fleas covering your clothes.

You shuddered. Thank god you still did not live with her anymore. It was the only life you knew in those days but suffering is suffering and you amazed you how long you survived in such conditions.

The elderly woman looked into the pot and sighed at the low level of tea.

“I am surprised you know so much about them,” she casually noted, glancing back at you.

You realised how strange you must’ve sounded...you heart began to race. You grimaced, annoyed at yourself for being so relaxed you lost thought of your own words.

“Call it a terrible interest Mrs Hudson,” you licked your bottom lip and lied, “I was a reader of Josephine Butler’s work on her dismantlement of child sex work.”

She nodded slowly, clearly Mrs Hudson had no idea who Mrs Butler was...you felt a twinge of agitation for the uneducated.

You tapped your fingers nervously on your cup again and off handedly asked “Do you know if there are anymore receipts I might find Mrs Hudson?”

“No idea I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said as she noticed your cup was finally empty. She collected the tea set items and placed them on the tray. You turned in your seat and looked back at Sherlocks open door, there was still so much mess. You shook your head.

Before the housekeeper left you touched her arm.

“Please fetch me a broom and cloth and clean water.”

She followed your gaze at his room and warmly cupped your face, “Dear, perhaps you should lay in bed for a while, you shouldn’t be working so perilously in this physical state.”

You smiled and held her hand, rising out of the chair. You walked back to his room and called over your shoulder, “I would rather clean my husband’s hovel. No wonder he’s a beast considering he lives like one.”

You could hear Mrs Hudson cackling behind you as she went back down stairs only to return with your requested items after a while.

A clean room might clear his head, calm his woes.

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12:23pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

After hours of sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing and organising Sherlock’s room you tiredly flopped back on his mattress and yawn.

At this rate you considered a small nap was required. Except you knew yourself, you knew if you stopped your progress you’d be discouraged to finish.

There was one last thing to organise after folding and hanging all his clothes. At the foot of Sherlock’s bed was a large chest. It could be easily mistaken for an ottoman. Maybe they’re would be more debt documents or clothing in there.

You crawled down and climbed off his bed to crouch beside the chest. You clicked the latches open and lifted the lid slowly.

Inside were sinister objects...you gasped...too shocked to even close the chest. Rope, shackles, knives, long thin sticks, a riding crop, a whip, a bridle you knew deep down was too small for a horse and meant for a human...smaller boxes with printed words....rectal dilators and hysterical paroxysm vibrating aid. And the illustrations...

There was a book you were reading...you weren’t really thinking, you were just curious of the horrid that might follow within...

Men and women, all nude, illustrations and photos of them performing elaborate sexual deviancy. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. Between your legs the buzz of arousal enlightened to your belly.

There was a woman who was tied up in ropes in star like patterns being mounted by a man who held a riding crop in his hand. You paled thinking he was beating this poor woman...and as you read the words, it was discovered she enjoyed this...took pleasure in the agony??

It was very confusing for you to read such hypocrisy.

Who would enjoy being hurt like this?

And as you read more and more, the deeper into this strange arousal you sunk into.

There was a illustration on a woman holding her lover’s intimate member in her mouth. And another where the same lover was licking with a long snake like tongue at her clitoris.

Your thighs squeezed tight and you groaned as a cramp rippled through your body down to your knees.

Hearing your name on your housekeepers lips tore you away from the novel. You threw the book back inside the chest and shut it hard. You felt short of breath and grasped the wood of his canopy to stay stable before leaving his chambers.

You told yourself that it was wrong to be looking at such art and imagery of lust. A part of you however desired to peak back inside...curiosity was your master and chastity your mistress. So who would you listen to first?

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You met the elderly woman out in the sitting room where she was dusting at the unlit fireplace mantle... She was moving little trinkets and photos.

Within the centre of the mantle stand was a frame containing your own portrait. You had the image taken at a tintype shop over a year ago. You stood beside Mrs Hudson as you took in the reflection of yourself. You smiled at how brilliant it captured your likeness. You were still confused how it worked, something about sand and light...your grandfather stood aside that day and said he would be sending the image to his son to remind him of you, his daughter...you were embarrassed to say the least but dared not argue with his wisdom.

Well it seems your father didn’t get the photo...or perhaps he send it back. Now Sherlock had it in his ownership.

She smiled at you and ran a hand softly down your back and said, “I just wanted to ask if you liked mutton dear, I hope to cook some this evening for dinner.”

You smiled with relief, you told her, “I am ever grateful for any food you provide my husband and I, thankyou Mrs Holmes.”

The elderly woman eyes widened with joy. She turned on her heel, taking the bucket and cloth with her.

You looked over at the table covered in receipts she had kindly left untouched.

“Mrs Hudson,” You called after her as you stepped hastily over to a side board bureau and began to write up a cheque, “is there any chance you will be attending the bank today?”

Facing you she pat the door handle and exclaimed, “No, however I can stop by if you need me to, I am officially in need to buy some fresh mutton from the butcher.”

You smiled at her cheery attitude. You filled out the numbers and printed the expenses. You tore it away from the book and held it out to her.

“Fantastic...here. Take this.”

The housekeeper stepped closer and raced her eyes over the cheque. Her eyes blew up wide at the price you had written out.

“I don’t quite understand...” she shakily stated.

You sighed and clapped your hands as you went to finally sit down on the lounging chaise. It wasn’t hard to admit you needed the rest with how your head spun. You were dizzy and it was possibly from all the cleaning you had conducted and dust you had inhaled.

“Sherlock needs to be rid of these debts and I need to rid of his temper...my dowry Mrs Hudson I pray brings me peace.”

Yes, you were sure of it. Your very expensive dowry...you were going to pay the debt off and help your husband become less of an animal. Perhaps you might convince him to attend church.

“Mrs Holmes,” your housekeeper stammered, “I would advise you hold onto this...please...you cannot just-”

You cut her off dignifiedly, “Mrs Hudson, this cheque card will enter the bank whether by your hand or mine. And before you have insisted I rest. So please if you care enough for me, you shall hand it in on my behalf.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes shut tight. She shook her head disapprovingly while muttering

“Very well dear girl, I hope you know what you are doing.”

Out Mrs Hudson went, and down you went. Your face pressed into a cushion. With your eyes fluttering shut, you feel back into the darkness and peacefully slept, listening to the wafting sounds of Baker Street flow from Sherlock’s bedroom window.

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6:00pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock still had not returned home from his morning flee. As Mrs Hudson laid out a plate of roast and potatoes with gravy she assured you that Sherlock had a habit of staying out for hours. Whether for a case or his own pleasures and addiction.

On the table in front of you was the paper bank statement, it accounted that the cheque had been entered and applied to the debts.

Now the Sherlock Holmes was a debt free man...

After you finished your dinner, Mrs Hudson kindly helped remove your shoes and change your bedding. You were redressed in a night gown and over your shoulders a warm dressing gown.

You now only wore a sanitary apron to protect yourself from your blood.

All his paid debt receipts were in a folder, you stared at that manilla folder smugly. Your left it on the table as you went to inspect the book shelves on the far wall near the entrance of the home.

You looked at the many novels on the shelves, now some of them being the ones brought over from your grandparents estate. On quick flicking through pages you found most of them being related to science, language and anatomy. Glancing back at Sherlocks open door, you thought about the book in the chest. That was more than just an anatomy book...

You squeezed your side, you were feeling a spike in temperature and a shortness in breath reimagining those images...those words.

It wasn’t the smut novella Fanny Hill, but it stoked fires inside you much like it. You knew it was something you probably shouldn’t have come across, because you shouldn’t have been inside his room, touching his belongings.

You had to. It smelt like something had died.

You prayed this would sort him out. You could only hope that the years ahead would not be so testing.

You had a list of mental rules. You may be his wife and beneath his status, however you would not just stand back and watch him act a fool and fall victim to further ridicule in society. You would not sink in the same boat again. You were excluded from many balls as a teen when some wicked foul mouth girl had revealed the secrecy of your parentage.

Your step mother was only eleven years older than you, so really...there was no possibility of pretending to be her child. Everyone in high society of they knew you, knew what you were. And because they knew you were treated like a unspeakable burden and unwanted pet at parties.

It wasn’t a mystery to you why you started playing the role of a wallflower at only fifteen.

You refused to allow Sherlock to bring you to such shame in society.

The heavy foot steps outside the close door alerted you to an approach made by someone other than Mrs Hudson.

With the loud snap of the handle and click of the lock, in entered a breathless giant. Sherlock.

He tore off his hat and coat and only after hanging the items on the rack by the door did he acknowledge you with a small nod, “Mrs Holmes,” he bid. Under his arm you noticed was a paper wrapped package.

You heard him march through the house towards the middle room and heard him swear under his breath, follows by a repetitive “no no no.”

You heard him frantically skid around the carpets and floor boards of his own room. He was tearing open and slamming drawers and wardrobe doors.

“What the hell have you done! What have you-?”

Storming out of his room, you gasped at how his face reddened and he continued shouting, but thankfully not at you. He raced to the front door and tore it open screaming down the stairwell,

“Where are you woman!? Mrs Hudson! You shrivelled cow!”

You slapped the book in your hands shut, regarding him disdainfully, “Our housekeeper is not to be rewarded by your insults.”

The turn around he made was slow as realisation came to his heated face. The snarl was replaced by a begrudged sneer as he scoffed, pointing his finger sharply back in the direction of the bedrooms, “...You did this destruction?”

“Destruction?” You whispered. What destruction had you done?

As he approached, you unconsciously took a step back and nervously licked your bottom lip. You felt air being pulled from you as he towered above and stabbed you beneath a invasive gaze.

His darkened eyes looked across the light material of your nightwear. His fingers tugged the book out of hands and pushed it back into the shelving where it belonged.

You decided you needed to stand firmer against him, You craned your head back and stared up at him.

“H-hardly...I have organised. Cleaned.” You took another step back and felt the wood of the display cabinet behind you dig into your waist.

“By subject,” you felt his body press up against you, what the hell was he doing? Trying to intimidate you? You were hardly dressed compared to his full clad attire. It scared you. He looked formidable, like he was going to tear you limb from limb, his nostrils flared. Your insides jumped and that buzzing feeling ran through your lower half. God...why did this of all things arouse you?

Your throat felt shaky, “then- then ah numerical dated followed by alphabetically.”

You glance him over and blinked at the red spot on his chest, was it ink? No, ink isn’t so dark....under Sherlock’s jaw was a scratch, a slight discolouration to his skin and under his hair curl on his forehead as another mark.

He leant down and pressed his mouth to your ear, “Do not ever enter my chambers or touch my belongings without my permission again.” It was a mix between a whisper, an disciplining snarl, and a lusty moan.

It left your knees feeling bloodless. Your own eyes shut closed at the hot breath that breathed into your lobe and hair.

As he pulled back, he stood away and for the first few moments you needed to remember how to control your breathing.

He looked over the dining room table and slid the thick folder closer to himself.

“And what is this?” he asked you.

“Your debts,” You swallowed and wiped your palm across your forehead, a trail of sweat drenched your hand, “Paid for.”

He smirked and shook his head, “Mycroft.”

“No,” you bluntly said, smoothing your hands down your dress to rid of the wrinkles that rose up. Seeing how your nipples had hardened beneath your nightgown you pulled the dressing gown tighter around you and crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

You looked at his body hunched over the table and blinked at the white marks over the edges of his dark navy suit jacket. It looked like flour...except flour had a tendency to clump. His nails were also clean of any baking incredibly. But his finger pads on the wooden table left little faint prints...

“You?” he chuckled condescendingly.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His laughter quickly fell away, his head snapped up fully to look at you, his brows knitted together,

“Why?”

His lips settled into a frown.

He put his hands on his hips, a power play...he was trying to show confidence, dominance...perhaps in response to your arms folded over your chest.

It would’ve been good to just tell him the truth, but to explain it to him would be impossible. You chose to simplify the answer...

“Easement on your consciousness?” You offered dryly. It wasn’t a total like, the less stress, the more relaxing and kindness....right?

His mouth twisted into a snarl, “Why you insufferable little-”

“Where did you go today?,” you pondered, cutting him off from finishing his insult, “A school?”

He jerked back slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, he took a deep breath and cupped his hands behind his back, “Excuse me?”

Good, he was calmer now.

This time you took to action...you stepped forward and sighed solemnly pinching one of his vest buttons.

“Chalk, on your cuffs. You smell like sweat in a teenage boy rather than a man. You’ve also had a scuffle with someone much shorter than you from the marks on your neck. Your shirt has a speck of what I believe is blood and the button is loosen,” you pinched and ripped it from the shirt and it’s faint loose thread.

“Fret not...” you smirked and pat his chest, “I will mend it should you ask.”

His hands came around and squeezed your forearms, his head moved back a little. He was perplexed...a light upturn in his lips revealed his sudden amusement.

He lifted a hand up and gently touched your face. He was breathing in a controlled state. You felt the intimacy of his closeness without fear of his wrath.

“No...” he drawled, “I was at Scotland yard. A poor deduction...” his thumb ran across your chin, “dear wife.”

You felt your heart pick up as his soft hand touched your face, you tried looking away from his staring eyes. Sherlock’s edged closer to your lips.

“Poor deduction but I am not stupid,” you consoled.

His lips broke into a wider smile revealing his teeth, he chuckled, “...I beg to differ.”

He moved abruptly back and fled to escape to his rooms. You knew his intention perfectly and chased after him, emphasising, “You had almost three hundred pounds in debt Sherlock. I at least know how to wisely spend my money.”

He spun on his heel and snapped at you, pointing harshly at your chest, “oh ho! Playing this game then are we? With your dowry gone, you have nothing left. I’d hardly call paying off my debts which were none of your concern, wise spending.”

You grabbed his finger and announced softer, serious and less aggressive, “Indeed, which is why I implore you to cease all further transactions in regards to your addictions.”

“Do not patronise me wife,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes tried tearing his hand away but your grip on his index finger tightened and the both of your grunted.

You grit your teeth at him, “Do not patronise me husband.”

He sighed and wiggled his finger from out of your hand.

He dusted his hands on his waist coat and huffed. He peered at you with a mischievous gaze.

“My debts...they included my friends...yes? From Mayfair?”

Oh that was cruel indeed. Mentioning those women when you were married to him. You wouldn’t dare let him threaten you over them.

You fought the urge to hit him and stomp your foot. You turned away from him and quickly composed yourself. Hastily you plucked some matches from the small box ontop of the fireplace mantel. You struck a small flame and tossed it into the fire place where you discarded some old newspapers as kindling.

“Yes,” you admitted tightly, “I know about your scandalous behaviours and forbid you from consorting in that demonstration again.”

He pushed passed you and unbuttoned his jacket and vest fully. He draped them over the back of one of the lounges, he pulled up his trousers slightly as he sat down.

He chuckled, “You forbid me?”

You glared at him and shot back up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you firmly dictated, “I am the only woman to ever receive you carnally from now on.”

He smirked and spread his legs wide, folding his arms on his chest. He jerked his chin up at you and clicked his tongue, “I don’t believe you know what that means. Believe me little lamb, my fidelity is that last thing you’ll desire...or did you not learn from yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I stand by what I mean Sherlock. You will not commit adultery while married to me,” you snapped. You wanted control, this would not be taken from you if you could help it.

“Or what?” He laughed, he then condescendingly moaned, “You’ll tell my big brother?”

As he went back to his smug chuckling you clenched your fists and stood over him. You weren’t thinking straight. Only a red shade cast in your eyes. You grabbed his collar and tugged him hard, spitting down at him with full anger as you threatened, “...Or I will kill you.”

He stopped laughing but didn’t stop his smug smiling. His hands came up and grabbed yours, prying them from his shirt.

“Barely been forty eight hours of wedded bliss and you desire to murder me. Ha! I now owe John five pounds,” he looked down at your chest which you realised was hanging in a uncompromising position. He could see right down your chest practically to your third rib with your lack of supporting chemise. Sherlock tongued the inside of his cheek and hummed, “My word.”

You gasped with horror and attempted to rip away from his hold, you grunted gruffly, “You are a pig Sherlock Holmes!”

He pulled you forcefully downwards and made your knees buckle. Your chest fell into his and you both hissed at the impact of crushing into each other.

Lewdly his hot wet tongue licked its way from your neck up to your earlobe while his hands pushed your thighs up to straddle over him, his fingers sharply stabbed into your backside under the night gown.

“You have absolutely no clue to what I am little Lamb.”

You tried pushing off him immediately, and felt his arm wrap around your waist and trap you against him.

Your legs so wildly spread and pressed against his trousers made you feel like you were riding on a horse.

Despite the plethora of farm animals you could compare in his and your name, you had both your wrists this caught in his one hand.

“Go on,” he chuckled as you struggled against him, “Tell me how you would do it...,” he taunted,

“How would you kill the great Sherlock Holmes, London’s finest Detective?”

You shrieked as you felt crushed under his baring arm, “I can think of many ways!”

“Well go on,” he smugly waited with raised brows, “Tell me.”

Your eyes rolled and you whined when he dug his nails into your wrists.

“I’ll push you down the stairs!”

He barked with laughter and shook his head, “You cannot be sure the fall would kill me, perhaps I might be paralysed, with many broken bones, but no no, I also don’t think you have the strength to push me around anywhere, look at you right now.”

“Fine!” you yelled, “Ill stab you with a knife!”

“Ah a violent approach, but what of the blood?” He grabbed your hip and moved you to grind your centre down on a lump in his trousers, “Why, even those idiots in Scotland Yard would figure out it was you; blood staining the clothes, carpet and blood beneath your nails, and where would you ever be able to hide the weapon?”

“Sherlock! Let me go or I’ll poison your tea!” you whined terribly.

He bit his lip and shook his head at you, “Oh dear Mrs Holmes, it’s possibly the most common death among an unhappy married couple. Wives are known to favour poison greatly.”

You heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You fell forward a little. Your sweaty forehead touched his.

“Please,” you whined, “let me go. All I want is you to be a civilised man and honour our marriage bed.”

He looked down at your parted lips. He looked back at your chest and shut his eyes.

“You want me to give up my whores Mrs Holmes?”

You gulped and nodded, “Of course.”

When he opened those blue orbs with the brown flecks, he whispered, “I promise to forsake them...if...”

“If?” you stammered and narrowed your eyes.

“Hush!” He reprimanded, “I promise to forsake my whores on Mayfair Row...If I can have my whore of Baker Street.”

Before you and time to reply and question what he even meant, he stood up and tossed you onto the floor. Sherlock crawled over you and pinned your flailing hands above your hand.

“You want to please me, please your husband, Mrs Holmes?” he gasped as his other hand went groping and squeezing around your soft body.

You weakly nodded, your head rested on the floor trying to get back the breath he knocked from you when he pushed you down.

You hissed softly, “Please, you’re hurting me.”

His hands loosened but held you trapped to the floor.

His lips danced over your cheek, “Then you will need to perform like a whore for me.”

A sobbing cry ripped front our chest, unsure of his real intention you quickly jumped to the conclusion of his implications.

You choked and shook your head, “No! I am not going to become a prostitute!”

He cackled at your fearful cry.

“No, this body belongs to me,” he said as he pinched the strings of your night gown and pushed the material away to show off your bare breasts.

His lips wrapped around your right nipples and sucked hard, tickling you with his tongue tip. Tears started to well in your face. You didn’t understand what he was implying to do to you. It tickled and felt so warm.

You were scared. You knew some men of the world were evil. Evil husband’s that pimped out the women they married. You couldn’t imagine being so intimate with another person. You couldn’t imagine succumbing to the agony you received the night before by Sherlock’s hand.

Kicking your feet across the rug and tried pushing your body from under him. He grunted as your nipple left his lips. He pressed the hand hard on your hip and affirmed, “Keep still, little lamb.”

“Sherlock,” you started to beg on a whimper, “Please, stop! You are frightening me, you’re h-hurting me!”

He looked down at you, his hair falling slightly on your head. His smile wavered as he took note of your tears and wobbling lips.

His gaze softened along with his voice, “...be completely honest with me.”

You nodded desperately, “I will, I will!”

“Did you look in the trunk at the foot of my bed?”

The chest full of explicit items and torture devices.

Your eyes squeezed tight and you exhaled, “I did.”

He smirked and let you go completely, standing up and held his hand to assist you too. When you were finally upright, he pinched your exposed nipple. You shrieked.

“I am a man Y/N, I have needs. I expect you to fulfil them earnestly if you desire I abandon my charity to Mayfair.”

You tried pushing his hand back and covering your breasts with the dressing gown. He smirked and shook his head at you, “No, no, let me see them.”

The silence was vile. The crackling of the fire place was the only ambience that showed attendance.

You couldn’t do it. It was wrong to be so exposed beyond the bedroom.

He waited and when you showed no sign of showing him, he sighed and nodded, “Very well, good night Mrs Holmes, I will call upon my friend Irene.”

He walked around you and journeyed to his open bedroom door.

As if all colour drained from your face you feverishly held out a hand and quickly called, “Wait, please! Look!”

You all but chased him into his own bedroom. He snapped his head in your direction. You stood in the centre space between his bed and the door.

He raised a brow and watched almost unimpressed as your trembling fingers shed your dressing gown and pulled the neckline of your night gown open...there he could finally observe your luscious breasts.

“Why Mrs Holmes,” he mused, sitting on his bed and peeling his cravat off his neck, “Your teats are exposed, careful,” he sarcastically warned, “One might mistake you for a slut.” You felt breathless and curled your lips inside.

You couldn’t believe it, you were letting him hurt you in a new way. You were letting him bully you. It wasn’t right and you desperately hated it, but what else was there except to let him defile and destroy your holy vows?

“Is that a sanitary apron on your waist?” he question, pointing at the lump under your gown.

You nodded, “I am still bleeding husband...”

“Do you know what that means?” Sherlock said unbuttoning his shirt.

Your licked your lips, folding your arms behind your back you tried hard to not cover yourself,

“My body is extinguishing my mental illnesses.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes, “Your medical knowledge is dated, but that is not what I implied...I meant that you should come to your knees and perform fellatio.”

Your eyes widened...fellatio was such a naughty word to hear let alone say. It was the type of practise in the book in his chest. Oral sex. Seeing the woman hold her male companions member appeared lewd and distasteful.

You hadn’t thought of ever doing it yourself, it served no purpose in procreation with god.

Flustered and shy, you cupped your hands over your face to think.

Sherlock’s voice was softer this time. He wasn’t mocking you as he explained, “I will not force you to do this Y/N, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

You shook your head and scowled at him from your hands, “But I do! I don’t want you to ever lay with a woman other than me! I am-“ you choked on some on coming tears, “I am your wife Sherlock, please...promise me if I do this you won’t lay with another woman.”

He unbuckled his trousers and sighed, “Then get on your knees,” he pulled out his semi hard rod, “and kiss your husbands cock.”

You looked over your shoulder at his door and then back at him.

Would you do this? Humiliate yourself in promise of keeping his vows loyally to you?

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[coltrainbat]

All Worth It

Summary: Curvy!Reader (normal) and Chris Evans are about to go public with their relationship. Ends with a very cute trip. 

WARNING: Anxious gorl, Fluff 

A/N: This imagine wouldnt be possible without the encouraging bullying push from @royalwriteroftheuniverse​ 💕

You sat in the conference room and took a long gulp of the hot tea in your hand sighing at the taste. Readjusting your glasses as you scanned the agenda in front of you. 

 RELATIONSHIP LAUNCH

Chris Evans X Y/FN Y/LN

 “Jesus.” You thought to yourself, who’s the unlucky fucker who had to write this. You were familiar with meeting agendas and some of the terms; release dates, public statements, media releases, security personnel but the context of this being in regard to you going public with your relationship with a guy you met a work event and who just so happens to be a movie star was bizarre to you. 

 Before you second guessed your choices in men and how you ended up in a room with publicists, marketers and social media experts, said movie star pulled the chair out next to you, his hand automatically on your knee to stop it jiggling. He leaned in close, pushing a strand of hair past your ear, 

 “Relax we’ll be in and out in no time.” The words instantly calmed you as you caught his quick wink.

 You took a deep breath as everyone got settled around the table. 

 Chris honestly couldn’t give a shit about what anyone thought, and he found the whole thing equally annoying. Sure, it wasn’t his first time in this room, with a beautiful woman next to him. But in all those times before they were just as comfortable with it. 

 He knew you weren’t used to it, he hated this was needed but he wanted to use all the resources he had to make sure you were safe and didn’t see one single nasty comment. He didn’t want to lose you to the circus that was his life and he wanted this to be the last time he ever sat in one of these meetings.

 He was calm yet tense, you watched the way his jaw would tighten when his publicist mentioned backlash by fans, his hand would grab you a little tighter and he always made sure to give you a sympathetic smile. 

 He was constantly stealing gazes at you as you slipped your takeaway cup of tea, nodding and acknowledging the reality of the situation. 

 After the meeting a couple of things came out. 

 Every social media you ever had was cleaned of photos of you; drunk on a night out, heels in hand, throwing up into a public trashcan… for obvious reasons.

All social medias were private so only your closest friends and family could see – fine you had no ambition of being an influencer. 

Searching your name up on the internet is now banned – you could live with that.

 You didn’t really care about any of it you just wanted to go home. 

 You both wanted the launch to be somewhat organic so at Chris’s insistence he’d post a photo on his Instagram and twitter with a simple caption. You’d approve the photo of course. 

 You never thought an Instagram post would be given the same gravity as unleashing a missile but slowly you grew to understand the reach Chris had. 

 Chris prepared his statement. Simple yet straight to the point.

 I have been so lucky to find someone who makes me incredibly happy and challenges me every day to be a better person. For years, I have wanted and love like this and I’m happy to say I have found it. She’s amazing and brings out the best in me. I hope over time my fans can get to know and love her like I have.

For now, I ask that you give us privacy during this time as we navigate what life looks like now for both of us. I ask that you give her the respect and kindness she deserves. Thank you. 

 It was good. Really good. And it made you blush like crazy. 

 After he finished reading and put away his phone, he turned to you

 “Happy with that?”

 You nodded contently. 

 He leaned into your ear “If you want, I can put in the part about that thing you do with your tongue when you’re…” 

 “Stop. It.” You grabbed his chin and gave him a stern look. He poked his tongue out in jest. 

 ------------ ARRIVING HOME ------------------

You finally got through the front door and beamed as Dodger ran up to your feet. Chris dropped his keys in the bowl and turned to you pulling you close by your waist.

 “It’s done” he kissed your forehead, then rested his on yours. 

 “Did you take time off from work like I asked?”

 Y/N: “2 weeks from today” you beamed at him. 

 C: “Good. Pack for cold weather we have to be at the airport in 2 hours.” He pecked your forehead and turned away.

 “It’s a surprise you’ll see!” he called as he jogged up the stairs hoping that would prevent answering what was sure to be an onslaught of questions.

  You stood there, mouth agape, shaking your head with a scoff. Whatever, you needed a holiday. 

 ------------LEAVING THE PLANE ------------

 You followed Chris as his hand held yours tightly, you gripped your other on his forearm, trying to steal his warmth as you walked across the tarmac towards the car.  Dodger walked in front of you both, tail high just happy to be involved. You thanked the staff who loaded your bags into the trunk, Chris opened the passenger door guiding you onto the heated seat and placing a blanket on your lap for good measures, he smiled as he tucked the tartan under your thighs. Dodger hopped in and settled into a fluffy cocoon at your feet. 

 “Alright, ready to go?” Chris looked over at you as he got into the driver’s seat. 

 “You going to tell me where we are going?” 

 “No but I can guarantee you’ll love it.”

 You rolled your eyes as he grabbed your hand and kissed it.   

You travelled through the night on empty roads surrounded by trees. Both your voices filled the car as you sang along to your playlist, both laughing at your inability to sing, with his hand never leaving yours even when he held it in the air as a makeshift microphone. 

 Finally, you arrived along a gravel road up to a private modern home. 

 “We’re here.” Chris exclaimed as he pulled the key out of the ignition. You were speechless as you studied the house exterior. It was modern yet cozy, with not a single house in sight for miles. Exactly what you needed. 

 “It’s a rental, in case you were wondering, but if you really love it, I’ll buy it.” He smirked.

 You slapped his chest, “Don’t be stupid… it’s not even my birthday yet.” He chuckled at your response.

 You both were kidding but you didn’t doubt he’d buy it if you wanted him to. 

  You unpacked and headed towards the shower, letting the hot water fall over your curves. You dressed in your silk pyjama set and made your way to the living room. 

The fireplace crackled, its warmth filling the whole room with Dodger settled on his bed right beside it. 

 Chris was finishing pouring the glass of your favorite white, handing it to you as his arm snaked around your waist, placing a long kiss on your lips. 

 “God, you smell good.”

 “This.” You gestured your glass around you “Is perfect. Thank you… I mean it.”

 “It wouldn’t be perfect if I didn’t have you here.” He laid soft kisses on your lips, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. 

 “Hey” he pulled out of the kiss…

 “I’m sorry for earlier, I know it’s a funny way of making a relationship official and all. But you don’t have to get used to it. I just don’t know what I’d do if something happened, or you were able to see the cruel things people on the internet say. I promise you it’ll be the last time I just wanted everything in order to keep you safe.”

 “I’m a big girl Chris… literally.” You gestured to your protruding chest “I think I can take a couple of mean comments here and there… you forget I went to an all-girls High School! I won’t even look, its whatever, I’m just happy to be here with you” 

 Chris sighed and pulled on your waist a little tighter and bowed his head. 

 His eyes had darkened “I want you to know that whatever is said about you does not reflect how I feel about you in the slightest, because my god do I love these curves” He squeezed your ass for extra emphasis. 

 You giggled in response

 “But seriously, I don’t won’t you to ever doubt how I feel about you. To me, everything you are, is exactly what I want and need. I need you baby.” 

 “I know” you arched your neck to kiss his jaw ever so softly.

 “And right now, I need you to cuddle me on the couch.” 

 “Whatever you want.” He grabbed the now half empty glass from you and placed it on the table. Then quickly yanked you over his shoulder, you squealed at the sudden jerk of your body midair.

 “Chris! I can walk!”

 “Yeah, I know but this is more fun ya know.” He said, nonchalantly, not even breaking a sweat as he carried you one handedly towards the couch. 

 With one final slap of your ass, he threw you on the couch and you landed with a thump amongst the plush pillows, giggling still at the impromptu rollercoaster ride. 

 Chris grabbed the throw blanket to your side and settled next you, draping you both in the soft material. His arm went up onto the back of the couch and like instinct you snuggled up against him. 

 He pulled you close, as the Hallmark movie played, hand lazily stroking your back. You rested your head on his chest content with the sound of his heartbeat and faint smell of cologne. It really was perfect. 

 2 weeks of uninterrupted bliss.

 “Shit I almost forgot.” 

 “What” 

 “Our photo.”

You felt ill at the thought. Suddenly, the anxiety returned and wish you could hold it off as long as possible, you loved that your relationship was for you two and you two only. 

 Chris noticed your discomfort and pulled you in as close as possible. 

 “Hey baby, it’ll be fine, they said going in hard straight off the bat was a good strategy, allows people time to sink it in. No games. I’ll post this, the mags will approach my team for comment, they’ll give them my statement and that’ll be it.”

 You gave him a weary smile. You were in the room and knew the plan but the whole thing still felt icky. 

 “Come on… we’ll have fun with it! I’ll let you choose the photo…”

 “Fine, share the screen.”

 “That’s my girl.”

 Chris pulled out his phone from under the blanket, going through his favorites, you both skimmed through the thousands of photos of you and Dodger. 

 “This one would for sure create a stir.” Chris grinned as he clicked on the photo of you sunbaking topless in his backyard. Your boobs as always sagged slightly down, and you hated the way you stomach poked out from your bikini bottom. Shielding the sun with your forearm it only really showed your beaming smile. Chris LOVED this photo. 

 “Don’t be silly what else.” 

 He went to the one he took of you walking Dodger, you could only see the back of you. Your hair in a ponytail and your ass nicely shaped by those grey Amazon leggings that Chris bought for you after he saw an ad for them. Dodger was looking up towards you as you walked down the path. You remembered that day but didn’t know Chris was taking a photo. 

 “I like that one, but you need to stop using Dodger for clout.” 

 “What do you mean… he loves the spotlight! Besides you can’t even see your face in this one it’s no good.” 

 “I don’t even know if I want them to see my face.”

 “Oh, come on, you’re beautiful besides you’re not gonna be able to walk down the red carpet with a paper bag on your head baby.” 

 “Who says I can’t?!” you mocked a shocked face making Chris give a full belly laugh.

 “I know the photo.” Chris scrolled up past the endless Dodger sleeping positions until he found it. 

 It was both of you at his mom’s house. Watching the Patriot’s Game in matching jerseys, eyes focused on the TV. You sat similarly how you were now, with Chris’s arms wrapped around you tightly, you slouched up against him. It was a great photo and perfectly incapsulated you both. You loved football. 

“You approve?” Chris looked down at you.

 “Yeah, I approve.” You pecked his lips. 

 Chris went to post it on IG, captioning it, to your dismay

 “Couples who watch football together, stay together.” 

 You cringed but had to laugh at the truthfulness.��

 “Really… you’re going to caption it that?”

 “Yeah, isn’t that like a trendy thing to say?” 

 “You’re so out of touch with the youth” you laughed at him.

 “Ok fine what do I say… this is the love of my life please be nice she’s new?” He smirked at you

 “Just do a blue heart or something! I don’t know!”

 “Does blue heart scream serious relationship though?” 

 “They’re going to question it either way why does it matter?”

 “I just want people to know ya know? Like I’m making a statement here come on!”

 “I know you like me you don’t need to profess your love on Instagram, this is just to alert the masses nothing more.”

 “Yeah, but what if...” You cut him off 

 “You’re overthinking it Cap…” 

 You only ever called him Cap to tease him, but it always worked to soften him up. 

 “Ok ok, blue heart, that’s good, you’re good at this. Ok posting in… 3… 2… 2 and a half”

 ‘Oh my God… Chris just post it already!” You groaned.

 “1!” He then quickly turned off his phone and threw it at the couch next to you. 

 You both ended up in a fit of laughter at what was probably the most thrilling Instagram you’ve ever posted. 

[my-cabbages-gorl]

Bewitched

by @my-cabbages-gorl

Genre: Angst, Romance Rating: Teen audiences & up

Some tags: Zukaang, one-shot, aged-up (Aang is 22 & Zuko is 25), implied sexual content

Blurb: When he parted the curtains, Zuko was sitting cross-legged on a cushion with a cup of jasmine tea cradled in his palm. His bare chest framed by the deep maroon of his silk robe. He was less surprised than Aang expected him to be. 

Standing up and dropping the porcelain cup to the low table beside him, he said, “Aang, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be here,” it was weak, the hollowness of his conviction echoed loudly. And, it wasn’t even true. Aang had accompanied him for tea many times in his personal chambers, and at much later hours than this. It was the air between them that had changed. The two of them alone together felt fresh with impropriety. 

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt "Hour of Denial" Read here or on Ao3

~~~ One spring evening, the cherry blossoms had just begun their late-season bloom. A delicate almond-vanilla breeze swirled through the open windows of the Firelord’s dining chambers. Zuko found himself trapped in another dinner with one of his advisors, lecturing him on the question of betrothal and heirs. Aang watched sympathetically and respectfully, a smirk he could barely hide curling the left corner of his mouth throughout the whole ordeal. 

As soon as they got rid of him, Zuko slumped against the door he shut behind him and breathed in the solitude and reprieve of the company of his best friend. “Is something amusing to you?” he asked, annoyance written all over his quirked eyebrow.

“Just...” he looked at him in this commiserating and pained way that said more than he was allowed to. “You,” he gestured to where his advisor Li Jun had disappeared through the doors, “this.” A naked smile that Zuko wished he could say was so handsome lingered on Aang's lips. 

“I’m amusing to you?” shaking his head gently in disbelief as he said it. That’s the last thing he wanted to be, as a 25-year-old still trying to prove he was worth his title. It’s the last thing he wanted to be to Aang. 

Aang could hear the music of their familiar, unarticulated dance in the soft coyness of Zuko’s question. But, after imagining Zuko wed to the daughter of a high house of the Fire Nation for the last 3 hours, he didn’t want to dance tonight. For whatever reason and with a flicker of resignation in his big, stormy eyes, Aang said, “Yes, you are.” 

“That’s not a very proper way to speak about your Firelord.” He was trying to kid, but a complicated slurry of his own self-abasement and his surprise at Aang’s sudden directness crept in. 

“Then tell me how you’d like me to speak about you, Zuko,” his cadence quickened impatiently beyond the unhurried clip of their usual conversation. 

Zuko couldn’t decipher the blank, placated look that replaced the levity on Aang’s face as he spoke. Aang was asking him for something: a reaction, a look to know he wasn’t alone in this cursed, precarious longing. But, as much as the dull ache in his chest begged Zuko to give it to him, he couldn’t. He just looked at him, hoping his long exhale and gentle shake of his head could say every illicit thing he'd resolved never to utter aloud. In the wordless exchange, Zuko could feel the weight of his crown piece sitting ominously against his scalp.

“I should get to bed. We have another long day of meetings tomorrow.” He sighed, rising to his feet to leave, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder before he passed through the doors. 

~ 

Even palaces settled, and the creaking of the floorboards in the residential wing under his feet froze him in place. He held his breath and hoped the guards he’d skirted past by air-bending himself from one balcony to another didn’t come searching for the source of the noise. 

Whatever insanity carried him here was too determined to let him go back. It was the same strange magic that he’d unleashed between them earlier that evening. In the tormented silence, something in him broke. They’d evaded the inevitable for one day too many. 

Once he knew he wasn’t being followed, he slipped out a window and searched for the balcony of Zuko’s bedroom. The creamy smell of sweet cherry blossom in late-season bloom settled over him. Late was certainly better than never. 

When he parted the curtains, Zuko was sitting cross-legged on a cushion with a cup of jasmine tea cradled in his palm. His bare chest framed by the deep maroon of his silk robe. He was less surprised than Aang expected him to be. 

Standing up and dropping the porcelain cup to the low table beside him, he said, “Aang, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be here,” it was weak, the hollowness of his conviction echoed loudly. And, it wasn’t even true. Aang had accompanied him for tea many times in his personal chambers, and at much later hours than this. It was the air between them that had changed. The two of them alone together felt fresh with impropriety. 

A few assertive steps closed the distance between them, the ashy scent of Zuko’s skin so close flooded Aang with hunger. In this certain tilt of moonlight, he could pretend he didn’t see the faint blue of his tattoos as his fingers set to the unfamiliar task of untying Zuko's top knot. Blackish-brown waves fell around his shoulders, tugging a sigh from Aang’s parted lips. 

“Aang, you shouldn't...” Zuko’s eyelashes fluttered enchantingly in the dark, needy fragment of nightfall that surrounded them. "be..." 

“I know,” Aang's hands settled into the curve in Zuko's waist like lightning finding its conduit. “I’m not here,” the lock in their gaze clicking into place with bewildering finality. “I had such a long day. I need a full night of rest, in my own bed.” The words feathered over Zuko’s jaw, twisting them both in the precariousness of the moment. 

Aang's fingers found the end of the tie keeping Zuko’s robes closed- he tugged lightly and searched Zuko’s eyes for permission. It was foolish not to give it now, what with their bodies pleading plainly between them. With a light twist of his hand, the dark red of Zuko's robe shrugged open. Aang stepped back to see him bared in his fullness, bracing himself with a deep breath against the jagged waves of desire crashing through him. Zuko reached forward to fist one hand into the front of Aang's zhen sash, the other curling behind the base of his neck.

“And tomorrow, Avatar Aang,” he wet his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue, Aang's eyes memorizing every detail, “in our morning council meeting, you’ll tell me how you slept?” 

"Of course, your highness," he managed before closing the distance to shatter the unseen barrier that had stood between them for years. 

Tomorrow, they’d meet again as the Avatar and the Firelord. But tonight, in the grasp of this bewitching hour- this beautiful shadow of night fraught with maddening denial and desire- they could believe for a moment they were just two lovers; tangled in the simple, saccharine act of giving their bodies to one another.

~~~

Okay, I have to say I'm living for these angsty-ass FFF prompts, keep them coming!!!

[chiquititaosita]

monster trio reacting to you playing chicano hip hop, and lowrider jams part 1

post type: headcanon

reader: latina reader

summary: you show them new music and they’re reactions are unpredictable.

ft: monster trio luffy,zoro, and sanji

bear note: the second songs that I link are for part two’s future post 🤭

Luffy

‣ totally interested into the music

‣ “I LIKE THAT PART!! OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!” he loves the talk box 😭❤️

-dances like a fucking idiot with you, and makes you dance with him.

-he’ll be screaming these specific lyrics

-“you stood out from the group across the room! I had to keep my attention on you!!!!”

‣ he’s definitely a fan! Of nb ridaz. For sure will go to any concert if they’re performing at any island the straw hats land.

‣ “eres la princesa qUe Me VUELE lOCOOOOOO!!!!!!” HES even got chopper, usopp and sanji on this song 🤦🏽‍♀️

‣ the minute y’all play this song after a while, luffy will scream on the top of this lungs to every song that’s on. it’s adorable 😭❤️

-“HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU BABY!? THAT YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY!! A GOOD CRAZY!” he was just singing random lyrics from this group. Since the group had made new songs. He follows MC Magic (the guy who does the talk box) and loves this one song which I’ll link here

‣ you do not understand, you’ve showed him a new world to Chicano music and lowrider jams…. he didn’t even know that was, until then he’ll stick to it.

‣ His mixtapes are full of 90s rap and hip hop and some cumbias

Zoro

‣ he’s just like….what?

‣ “ I hate it.” he lied he loved

‣ he snickered at the part where chino grande says “baby gorl don’t cry 🫦”

-he wanted to do that for Halloween the makeup so y’all did that.

-hums the tune when sharpening his swords.

‣ “why are you playing it again?” You ask him?

‣”you like the song don’t you?”

‣”yeah-“

‣”then don’t complain.” He pouted because he secretly loves it

‣ “is youuuu.. and I wouldn’t trade it…” he’ll bop his head to the song, and tap his feet to it..

bear note- since tiktok ate this song I’ll give you part two.

Sanji

‣ “how do you know that song?” He was shocked and his heart was fluttering

‣ he’ll ask you because his mom would always sing a certain song to him when he was little. He told you it would always have him sound asleep, or leave a smile on his face.

‣“I’ve always heard this song playing when I was little. It stuck with me.” you sigh in nostalgia and happiness where you had those moments at the flea markets with your family eating elotes, tacos and street food.

‣“dance with me.” you’ll grab his hand and hug on his sleeve.

‣”as you wish my darling, just let me start it over again.” He puffed out his cigarette placing it on his ashtray. Starting the track over on the speaker.

‣ “remember when I told you about my mother singing me a certain song if I ever felt sad, or frustrated?” he gazed at you eagerly. You nodded in response and smiled at the fact you knew what he was going to say

‣”is this the song?”

‣”yeah…..” he explained how it was a comfort to him after him opening up to you about his family. you never felt so bad for such a man who has such a loving presence and a very big heart.

‣”ill try my best to sing it for you as often as I can.” He’ll whisper into your ear before kissing your temple, and tell you how lucky he is to have you.

‣ after a few days ago by when y’all land to a new island, the song plays again from a live band. You smile at him “may I have this dance amor?”

‣ he giggled and took your hand “yes yes you may.” He’ll kiss the tip of your nose, and sing in your ear. The way this man sings is heavenly 🥰

‣ “my angel baby is what I am going to call you from now on..” he’ll mumble as a blush appears on his face.

‣ it’s now your theme song. because he sings it or hums it all the time when he’s with you.

‣ so now anything with angels, or anything that says angel baby he buys it for you 😭❤️

‣any song with oldies he’s in love for real 🥰

[nucleargnocchi]

In defense of Despicable Me 3

It has taken me FOREVER to get to this and I can no longer find the ask but! @squidsandthings, to answer your question of what's up with Despicable Me 3, the plain truth of it is that it is simply the pinnacle of film. Most people think it's a classic case of a company wringing every drop of profit they can from a movie that saw commercial success, dragging it out further and further with each sequel until the plot is so attenuated you can barely see it, the concept is so inane you lose brain cells watching it, and the characters are so two-dimensional they are undoubtably relatives of Stanley. But I say it's cinema at its finest. I will try to make this short, but brevity is nigh impossible when extolling the virtues of Despicable Me 3.

To start, Gru is the morally gray anti-hero this generation needs: an ingenius villain with something to prove (he has mommy issues), yet a tender family man at heart. He yearns for his past life, for the thrill of heists and gadgets and gizmos, but recognizes that he now has joys and responsibilities (the gorls) and must struggle to tame his nostalgia.

Dru, Gru's long-lost twin brother with the most luscious blond hair you've ever seen, is the hot to Gru's cold, the high to his low, the piliferously well-endowed to his follically challenged. Dru has all the charisma and charm that Gru lacks, but he is bumbling and incompetent when it comes to heisting. Yet, despite it all, he desperately wants to follow in his (and Gru's) recently deceased father's legacy of villainy, to make him posthumously proud.

The gorls are growing up: Margo receives a proposal from a boy with limp cheese and a pig, Edith remains surly yet reveals her caring nature as she accompanies Agnes to find a unicorn, and Agnes herself remains a paragon of hope and childlike wonder despite learning that unicorns aren't real, choosing to embrace a one-horned goat in what is possibly a biblical allusion to finding the beauty in imperfection. All the while, the gorls are figuring out what a relationship with their step-mom Lucy looks like, and Lucy in turn is learning what it means to be a mother.

The minions, upset with the dangerous labor conditions (Dr. Nefario was accidentally frozen in carbonite) and unfulfilling work (not evil), decide to unionize in a powerful example of proletariat uprising. Unfortunately, they later get imprisoned for stealing pizza after enthralling fictional and real-life audience members alike by performing a spectacular impromptu rendition of the Major-general's Song on a live singing competition. They then stage a jailbreak like the radical prison abolitionists they are and find their way back to continue a life of crime with Dru.

With such a star-studded cast of characters, you'd think there would be no way to steal the spotlight, but the antagonist, Balthazar Bratt, manages to outshine them all. Bratt is nuanced and realistic with a tragic, compelling backstory (teenage acne) who clings to a delusion of fame after his TV show as a child actor was canceled. He is stylish and funky, bringing all the best parts of the '80s back to life with his superior sense of fashion (I mean, who else can pull off spiky purple shoulderpads and not look monstrous?), immense bravery (he sports a spiky, gleaming mullet despite his large bald patch), and multipurpose choice of weaponry (keytar that emits waves of sonic energy strong enough to blow not just your socks, but all of your clothes off to the tune of Van Halen's "Jump").

In all, Despicable Me 3 is undoubtably a cinematic masterpiece through and through.

Also, it's an inside joke with my cousin that I've taken waaaay too far.

[hier--soir]

How's the writing coming along? Is there an ETA for part four? Hope you've been taking care of yourself xxx

writing is going okay! i’m really hoping to have pt4 finished soon and ready to share at the end of next week! cross your fingers with me now👨🏼‍🌾

and thank you my love, doing my best to take of myself (aka taking my medication like a good gorl and eating a chocolate croissant every day - this is the best depression defence imo)

[original-character-championship]

Bracket E Round 1

Poll 11

Starburst the Rabbit (@scorpiolight-madd) vs. Fate & Deadbeat (@anddrewathing)

277. Starburst the Rabbit (@scorpiolight-madd)

she/they

AAUGH SHES MY GORL i am constantly spinning her around on the microwave plate in my brain

shes my version of the Rookie from Sonic Forces and shes a major character in my rewrite of the game. She's from Seaside Hill, and when she's in her element, she's incredibly clever, and quite a bit of a trickster, able to easily pull various Batman Gambits and Bugs Bunny-style antics on the people she knows. However, when she's OUT of her element, like, say, a sudden war that she's tossed into the middle of and surrounded by complete strangers, she's a complete nervous wreck. Over the course of the Forces arc, she manages to gain a bit of confidence, but a lot of the events that happen leave her pretty messed up, and it's hard for her to get back to the lighthearted trickster she used to be. BUT she's made a lot of friends and after the events of Sonic Forces, she decides to leave her home and start going out on adventures of her own.

While she used to be fairly confident back when she lived in Seaside Hill, among other ""ordinary"" people, she developed a bit of a complex once she joined Sonic and his friends, seeing how impressive they all were. However, none of her new friends view her any less because of how ""ordinary"" she supposedly is, since she's proved herself just as impressive, helping to take down Infinite and free the world from Eggman's takeover.

OUGH i feel like I havent done a good job of explaining her BUT YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I ADORE HER SO MUCH like litteraly i am constantly thinking about this girl she is my absolute favorite

She also has a Toyhouse profile here:

She's a pink bunny with yellow eyes and yellow streaks in her fur. She has freckles and a tooth gap, and her two main outfits are a pair of overalls with a black t-shirt underneath, or a black dress with a yellow cropped jacket. After she gets trapped in Null Space, she gets permanently dyed slightly purple, including even the whites of her eyes and tongue.

(Art by paeon on Toyhouse, not by me)

278. Fate & Deadbeat (@anddrewathing)

Fate is She/Her, Deadbeat is He/They.   

fate is a homeless girl with no family, a criminal record of minor offenses, and diminishing eyesight. deadbeat is an incredibly emotionally tired immortal scythe made for a mission long forgotten passed down from wielder to wielder with the intention of fighting injustice though their experiences with each wielder have been hit or miss. they fight an evil organization doing evil experiments or whatever but also they procrastinate that a lot and chill in the cabin in the woods they're illegally squatting in. chaotic does-their-best good. they both try to come off as badass in different ways but they're both a little dense also in different ways. deadbeat acts as a guide both in general advice from wayyy too many years experience and in describing what is visually happening (especially during combat) should fate need it. fate does her best to empathize with deadbeat on account of deadbeat going hundreds of years without therapy. deadbeat also tries to empathize with fate who has not had an easy life so far. they bicker but are best friends.

oh right why they should win  um  ummm they're  swag your honor. they also both need showers but they're swag ok

fate is somewhat tallish and has bandages over her eyes. always wearing an oversized torn purple jacket, a white shirt with the anarchy symbol on it, & dark purplish blue jeans. wears boots rn but i might change them to be/she might steal some laced boots at some point when i draw her again

deadbeat is a scythe with the metal blade part a light blue with the part covering the blade being purple with a glass area where deadbeats eye is (purple outline with a cyan ""pupil"" represented as a small line).

[misspennycandy]

hi! My name is Mel and I'm a pretty big Muppet nerd :D

My favorite Muppet of all is Dr Teeth, keyboardist and front man of the rock band, Dr Teeth and the Electric Mayhem 💚💚💚 In my ocxcanon-verse, the groovy lady who's captured the good doc's heart is a writer named Marisol~

She is a tv writer who works on scripts for the talk show Up Late With Miss Piggy and Teeth is part of the house band for the show; they probably met at work, though Marisol has been a fan of the band's music for years. (fun fact: one of Teeth's bandmates, Zoot, is her cousin!)

Unlike the flashy, loud, and charismatic Teeth, Marisol's a little more reserved, shy, and tends to overthink things. She's also a very sweet, fun person in her own right once you get to know her, and she and Teeth hit it off pretty well, being fellow creatives, fans of rock music, and lovers of good food/desserts. On occasion, Teeth finds himself turning to Mari to help him out when he has writer's block (and vice versa), and they make beautiful music together, in all senses~ ^^

Fun facts about Mari:

IMPORTANT: she is pretty tall! I don't have a "set height" for her, but she is noticeably taller than Teeth, and it's at least a lil visible when they're sitting next to each other. Love a cute height difference x)

has a fondness/superstition for good luck charms (her 'usual' outfit includes a clover necklace and lady bug skirt pattern)

has a little black kitten named Bea as a pet (she doesnt believe black cats are bad luck, quite the opposite in fact)

her favorite dessert are macarons

best friend is Yolanda the rat (she works on the Miss Piggy show, too, as one of Kermit's personal assistants. she's chatty and nosey, but has a heart of gold, always encouraging Marisol to get out of her comfort zone, and ask out that musician she's been crushin on for months!!)

she bakes pretty great desserts!

ahh I hope that's enough info to give context ^^;

if you'd like more refs/drawings that showcase their 'vibe':

💚💙Mariteeth Instagram page (for more drawings of my muppet gorl and otp draws, by myself and others)

IDEAS:

In terms of prompts, I'm pretty open to any cute poses/ideas you might have, dear gifter. If you wanna draw them in their 'classic' outfits, or switch it up to fits you see on their insta page, or even make up your own outfit entirely, I'm open to anything~ If you find drawing characters in "couple costumes" fun, three different ideas I have: Mary Poppins & Bert, Western Barbie & Ken, Robin Hood & Maid Marian. You can also do somethin' like "Santa and Mrs Claus~" to fit the holiday theme ^^

In general, anything holiday related is cute to me. mistletoe, gift exchanging, (comfy matching?) sweaters, hot drinks~

If you want to do somethin unrelated to holidays, just them hanging out together, Dr Teeth playing Mari a romantic piece on piano, sharing a milkshake on a date, cuddling during a drive-in movie, dancing, holding hands, kissing, Mari wearing Teeth's hat, riding a tandem bike (a la Muppets Take Manhattan)… I'm really not picky! lol

Thank you so much for reading all of this! I'm so excited to see what idea you might settle on ^^ Hope you have fun with it and happy holidays!! --Mel

[slowjamastan]

What do you think of sufin and what are your squicks when reading a fic about nordics?

kissing you on the lips im going to rant so much

SuFin is my everything

theyre my bread and butter and toast and jam and all the other things on top idk powdered sugar etc. changed my LIFE that my middle school yaoibait fandom straight up got told by word of god himself that One Guy (who is normal fr this wasn't one of the ones who is always naked or sm) was madly unequivocably and eternally in love with That Other Guy. this was such a big deal for me and still is lbr

SuFin is peak they are my bella and edward this is my thenotebook. AND they are canonically not together and over the years ive seen a pattern of fans who are either familiar with actual swedish-finnish relations or doing research into them concluding over and over that finland would not seriously go for sweden, outside of AUs or jsut bending canon bc they really want them together (valid.......)

i love when fin is holding grudges or uncomfortable with the implications of seriously pursuing a relationship with his former (current, culturally?) oppressor so they try to keep it casual and Fail Severely, OR, my #1 favorite dynamic, Finland is fully a straight man who is like "soz but we can be friends bro lmao" and calls sweden homophobic slurs behind his back (but no one else is allowed to but him, obviously). (this is for my personal funnyvalue and ive rarely rareeeeely seen this. im right tho.)

other than that last thing basically i think its very good if they Are mutually in love but logistics and politics and realism and everything keeps them apart or maybe just closeted about it. but they have shared custody of the dog and the kids etc and have couple fights that are more serious than most but are the most steady and happiest couple on the planet overall. soulmates Real. i love sufin its good in every flavor really ummmmmmmmmmm except hyperukefied finland

thats a good lead in to part 2 of this question actually

Nordic Fic Squicks / please stop doing this, im gonna read it anyway, but still

th's k'nd' typ'ng st'le...... y'kn'w wh't ' m''n

denmark and sweden r always angry and trying to beat each other up... we read the same comic, right? theyre buddies now cmonnn

the dynamic that's like DenNor, SuFin, and Iceland is alone 4evr

WHEN THE DENNOR + SUFIN GROUP DYNAMIC UKEFIES NOR AND FIN UNTIL THEYRE BASICALLY UWU GORLS... stop imposing hetero dynamics on gay ships i will Kill You. at least do it to everyone equally...

somewhat related, my ideal nordic five dynamic is Everyone Is A Divorced Dad and iceland is making fun of them on TikTok. second best dynamic is SuFin real, then Den + Nor are amicably divorced and iceland is their shared custody grown child making fun of them on TikTok

^iceland would not use tiktok he is a euphoric intellectual freak

when they make just norway a girl for no reason. babe, no one even draws nyo!norway that well...you're just projecting your desire to be fought over by hot buff men onto this poor dude. stop making me see this. you fucks have been doing this for over a decade.

ignoring history in canonverse. when ur writing modern present-day anything they have all known each other for like, ever. why would they act like they've just met..??? im not asking for tons of research, just awareness of who these characters are, like, at all

please just write the puffin out. no one rly likes him i prommy

scandinavian trio being Weird and Tense around each other in modern day. i disagree SO much, these guys would be hilarious

not realizing that smack halfway between nor and ice's birthdays is (give or take a few days) denmarks constitution day... himaruya......

overreliance on stereotypes. this is a general hetalia complaint

can we talk about the human names ive been dying to complain about the human names!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! just a little bit ill keep it to a minimum

tino isnt a feasible finnish name berwald isnt a good swedish name a lot of the common popular other ones get misspelled or just sound bad, and u cant just give them christian names for their early lives im sooooo serious give them old norse names pre-baptization pleaaaassseeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

somewhere deep in my #post tag i ranted ab my old name timeline for each of them but ive changed my mind a few times since then

for finland im a Timo truther and i have been forever

sweden is such a björn but also i like when his name at least starts with ber- .... but yall r so right when u said bjorn he does deserve that

im also a norway changes his name every few years truther. i think its funny and that he would do that

denmark is a magnus, period, formerly a magni, and this is my hill to die on

iceland makes me insane i change my name hc for him every so often but i have a few first and lasties for him for make me HOUUUGH like SoS turned me on to hrafnsson as a surname which makes me go insane now. im also a changes his name frequently truther for this guy but in a more nuanced way than nor does it

ran out of things to complain about but more will hit me later im sure, thank u for coming to another aphws ted talk by andy. MWAH

[bellysoupset]

HIII

OKAY IM BACK AND THIS WILL BE ME FAN(GORL/BOI?)ING ABOUT YOUR LATEST TWO FICS BECAUSE????? THEY'RE AMAZING + THE WENDY CONTENT IS SO TOP TIER AND SO VERY MUCH APPRECIATED <3

okay so starting with the wendy/vin food poisoning fic AHHHHHH oh my GOODNESS, THE ANGST!?!?! literally obsessed. it actually was a little to real (i literally sat and stared at the wall for a full hour)(im not exaggerating). it was so angsty and painful in the best way ever omg 😭 first off the sickfic part was CHEFFS KISS and I LOVED IT SM like how sudden and messy and miserable it was + vin being so sweet AGH <3333 and then the angsty part hit a lil TOO close like idek how to explain it but it was just so REAL? & thats why the ending was so painful- sometimes your partner can be the sweetest thing ever and create this super safe space and say all the right things to comfort you and the fact that sometimes that's NOT ENOUGH to help you believe it and fully accept the love is so painfully real??? and the way you portrayed that was so perfect UGH 😭 and i know (been there done that) it's so frustrating on BOTH ends and it's SO HARD to work through, but the patience and reassurance can literally heal so much with time and GOSH i felt so seen by this fic (and also horny lmaoooo <3333) and idk what to say other than GODDAMN IM OBSESSED WITH YOUR WRITING AND YOUR OCs AND AGH YOU'RE SO FREAKING TALENTED SOUP!!!

then as for the leo+wendy fic AHHHHH i'm pretty sure i was the other anon who requested this a while back (before i started the lil otter signature xd) and IM SO GLAD YOU WROTE IT AYEEEE <333333 i LOOOOVE that leo is finally warming up to wendy and wanting to get to know her and being softer but also i love the constant/continuous banter AHHHH omg and the way she realises when he's getting upset and feeling sicker and immediately goes soft and gentle and helps him while also not making it weird :') and GOSH the way they were having this SUPER NECESSARY convo in the midst of ✨the action✨ was such great writing!! and also the way you made them both softer while keeping them 100% on character is such a slay WAH this was so good omfg

ANYWAYS that's all my rambling so sorry it's SO long lmao i just LOVE these characters so much and i love your work and wanted to express my admiration (again) hehe 🤭🫡

KEEP SLAYING <333333

-🦦

Otter!!!

I never wanna publish your asks, just entering tumblr and going in my askbox gives me INSANE amounts of serotonin

IDEK what to say to all this other than i'll be printing and pasting it in my little scrapbook. I really LOVE that you're a Wendy fan, it makes writing for her soooo much fun 💛💛💛 And yeah, the first angst def hit a little too close to home here too, especially the frustrating part where it really doesn't matter what anyone else says, if you're not convinced of it.

I'm looking forward to writing more for them!

[ticklystuff]

1 & 4 👀

Also I have a custom question, what are your fave tropes? (Both tickling and non-tickling) 😌

hewwo ms sezzie tyyyyy

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

i already answered this one but i think this lee!kazuha one is a good one because i have fun writing dumb stuff like this lol

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

gorl you were supposed to give me a fic LOL

but uhhh there's a part in one of the lee!alhaitham ficlets where alhaitham is calculating how much time he'll have left in the day after running to the market for a gift for kaveh and i enjoyed wrting that part because i think we can all relate to stressing when under a time crunch lol

fave trope for tickling: cocky/arrogant lee getting wrecked because they think they're not ticklish or character that has never experienced tickling or doesn't understand/know what tickling is gets tickled for the first time or character doesn't know how to ask for tickles and does everything and anything under the sun in order to get the ler to tickle them

fave trope for non-tickling: character that is normally confident in themselves falling in love with other character that they think might be too cool for them and they get nervous and embarrass themselves trying to impress them or get the other's attention (this is how i like my chili fics lmao)

[smileysuh]

gorl i have been on the hunt for good fics and fic writers but i just find myself coming back to you and like 2 other writers ive been following since ages ago every single time, nothing ever gets better than that. seriously. this is like a real issue for me ahhaah you truly do have unparalleled talent, typically the way you portray your characters, STRIKINGLY accurate and true to real life (next ask!

FIC RECS. yes, fic recs. (typically nct and preferrably mark fics but really anything from you😔🙏not expecting anything to be better than sunday morning kinda love though because it is DOWNRIGHT. FUCKING. UNPARALLELED. i actually have it bookmarked so i could come back to it every now and then hahhah)i figured the best way to ask for fic recs is to ask from my favorite writers themselves, its like, guaranteed quality for the least part 😭😭 tysm!!! please share~

(last ask i promise :/) sorry if my english gave you a hard time trying to understand or anything, not a native speaker🤧🤧 love you! bye💚

adjalksjdlajsd oh my LORD- thank you so much for this ask omg-

ok so recs- low key, i've been in a SHIT place for a year, so my blog is hella disorganized and i dont get to read as much as i'd like to-

i have a rec blog that i'm working on making better and doing more reading, but at the moment, my rec blog @sinnersuh only has a few nct recs (here) but none are mark-

mark is a HARD one to find fics for tbh-

low key what you said about characterization is super real-

i'm autistic, and 1/5 autistic people have pattern recognition for PEOPLE, so for me, when i watch content, im HYPERfixated on details of personality and patterns- which is why i think my characterizations are more spot on than some other writers-

and mark is someone that gets mischaracterized a LOT unfortunately :/ due to this, i kind of just avoid his fics- cuz i dont wanna be part of the way into soft boy mark and then he's choking the reader out like his life depends on it and im like O.O lol

but yeah, thank you for the question! i could never have been able to tell you were not a native english speaker! good luck finding some good fics- if i find any, they'll be reblogged to @sinnersuh :)