#I probably will eventually start doing fics for this—there’s a ton of ideas in my brain

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

A bunch of things being thrown around involving the Game AU that I wanted to mention? Yes. Yes indeed. :) @universewolfpup

RXQ/Shadow Bonnie is basically like... a character that one of the villains/bosses made at some point, hoping that they would help with their plans.

...Though the villain/boss was quickly proven wrong. Very quickly. Because RXQ was genuinely just like: “No.” and left, and eventually joined the team (Freddy, Crimson, etc).

Earlier, I was basically like: “What would Jack-O-Bonnie sound like?” and right now, I’ve just kind of settled on King Andrias’s VA from Amphibia. Might change, might not.

Jack-O was the first one who actually happened to find Crimson once she arrived. No matter if he actually had been or not, though, Crimson still becomes attached to him quite quickly.

There’s... just so many father-daughter things that I’m imagining with these two. And just little things here and there. He’s a decent singer, and will occasionally sing her lullabies.

Crimson just... absolutely doesn’t know how she’s supposed to get out of the game. She assumes, for a short time, that it’ll happen when she wins... but she has no idea.

And, even then, as she spends more time there, she honestly doesn’t really want to leave all that much, and is kind of starting to dread the eventual day. But, she knows she has to go.

Speaking of her being in and out of the game: In a previous post, I (think) I mentioned how her consciousness gets sent into the Game Avatar, while her body remains, and is simply unconscious/in a coma.

By the very end of it—when she does go back, her body has basically been like that for a couple of months at that point.

There would be game-overs that could be experienced—but they technically aren’t death ones. So it’s not like Crimson would repeatedly deal with that happening.

Instead, if she and the others were in a fight, and they all lost, they’d basically faint, and wake back up somewhere else (like Pokemon? There’s other comparisons.)

It doesn’t stop her from being anxious during battles, though. As also mentioned before, Crimson can see a lot of the stuff—text boxes, health, etc. So, when one keeps getting low... she keeps getting scared.

Mangle wasn’t torn apart by kids here or anything. But, for quite some time, she’s still sort of hesitant around Crimson—it just takes some time.

Crimson likes to get piggyback rides from Jack-O.

Whenever she does eventually leave, I keep comparing it to the endings of the Mystery Dungeon games—it’s angsty, but there’s still way more to it. She never returns.

Except for a smaller AU of this AU—where she does, and there’s less angst. She just sticks around 👍. Happy times, I guess.

While the other characters, in battle and everything, do have moves to use, Crimson doesn’t. At least, not immediately. So, she focuses on healing them with the items she has.

She does eventually start calling Jack-O “Dad.”

...This was a lot—anyways, I think that’s it. It’s late.

[discokicks]

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life. 

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care. 

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting. 

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours. 

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers. 

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something. 

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt? 

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so. 

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth. 

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be. 

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth. 

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it. 

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you. 

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter. 

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis. 

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him. 

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand. 

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number. 

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read. 

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning. 

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names. 

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you. 

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you. 

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.) 

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee. 

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you. 

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight? 

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes. 

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it. 

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat. 

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past. 

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember. 

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips. 

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is. 

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.” 

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him. 

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs. 

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point. 

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply. 

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back. 

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips. 

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say. 

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close. 

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.” 

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make. 

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing. 

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so. 

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings. 

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention. 

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating. 

me too. 

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

You said you wanted sub!Larissa Weems requests and I had to share an idea I had with you. Maybe you could write one where Larissa has a bad mental-health day (feeling insecure about her body, ect.) and fem!reader shows her how truly -fucking- beautiful she really is. I'm sorry if it's a little vague. I was thinking a fuck-ton of praise with a twist of degradation with the use of "my pretty little slut" or something similar, maybe some begging but the reader doesn't ask her to, Larissa just does because she's caught in the moment? Sprinkle in some overstimulation and the reader calling her "Angel"? I haven't requested something in FOREVER so excuse me if I sound a little off. Thanks! X

Hello there anon (: Thanks for the request! I absolutely love this and am most definitely writing on this idea. Thanks for your patience, Hope you enjoy it ☺️ P.S. I picked out a song to go along with this Fic 😉💕

Relax, Angel ~Sub!Larissa Weems xFem Reader

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, fingering, use of handcuffs, use of blindfolds, use of vibrators, over-stimulation, degrading kink, praise kink, fluff, etc.

Enjoy (;

This monster plus Wednesday Addams had really been getting to Larissa as of yet. She spent way more time in her office, holed up. You swear you saw her hands trembling 24/7 nowadays…

You had finished up all your classes for the day and walked over to Larissa’s office like always.

“Hey, love…” you cooed, walking over to a hunched over, working Larissa.

Larissa merely hummed in response. You came up from behind her, wrapping your arms around her neck, kissing her exposed skin.

“Sorry Darling, I have a lot of work to do… I’ll probably be working for a couple more hours, meet you in bed?” She hummed.

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you too, Darling.”

You spent your evening grading papers and waiting for Larissa. Eventually, you finished all your grading and moved on to reading. Before you knew it, it was 2am and your eyes were getting heavy.

But you wanted to wait for Rissa.

At about 2:30, you heard the door click open. Your head shot up, as Larissa crept into your shared quarters.

“Hey…” you sleepily cooed.

“Hey.” Larissa dejectingly responded.

Her body movement was slow and down… Her lips was quivering int he slightest manner… Her hands were trembling… Your body jolted awake even more now at the sight of your Rissa.

“Hey, What’s up?” You asked, voice full of concern and care.

You immediately brought her over to your shared bed, embracing her. A tear left Larissa’s eye. Followed by another. And another.

“Oh my, love, what’s wrong? I’m here, talk to me…” you pleaded, hating seeing your lover like this.

“I… It’s…” Larissa chocked through sobs, “It’s just… all too much…I’m not enough…”

You cupped Larissa’s cheeks, moving her eyes to meet yours. Tears started to brim on your own eyes at the sight of Larissa.

“You. Are. Enough.” You almost violently spoke out, against all the negativity being fed to your beautiful wife.

“You are a fucking goddess. Fucking stunning.” You whispered, placing your forehead against hers.

Larissa whimpered, slowly ghosting her lips with yours.

“Oh is that what you want?” You teasingly cooed.

Larissa desperately nodded with a small whimper following. She then closed the gap, connecting her red lips with your soft, caring ones.

“I’ll show my angel just how fucking beautiful she is.” You whispered into Larissa’s ear.

You could hear Larissa audibly gulp at this. You lightly chuckled at this.

“Im gonna unzip your fucking amazing dress, alright?” You purred, “Because as much as I love you in it… I’d love it even more with it on the floor…”

Another whimper escaped Larissa’s lips.

“Words, Angel. I need words.”

“Yes, please… god yes…” Larissa whispered into your mouth.

Then you dragged the zipper down her neck and down her back. Slowly, you undressed her goddess frame, until Larissa was left in her undergarments.

“God, your so beautiful…” you blurted out.

Larissa blushed at this, trying to hide her body from you.

“No no no…” you tutted her off, placing your hands on her shoulders and pushing her gently below you onto the bridge.

“You’re a motherfucking goddess, you don’t get to hide your body from me…” you purred, starting to kiss Larissa’s body from the neck to her hands to her stomach to her legs and her thighs…

By the time you got down to her thighs, Larissa started bucking her hips more and her breath was getting more shallow.

“Please… please… please…” she mewled.

“Awww, does my pretty little slut want me to fuck her?” You purred.

Larissa pouted her lips and whined, “god yes please… fuck me…!!”

You hummed in delight, dragging your finger through her throbbing cunt.

Larissa cried out, grabbing your hair and wrapping her legs around your head, “Oh god, yes! Fuck yes…!”

You then added a second finger and started to pump into her pussy at a steady pace, electing many more moans and mewls from Larissa’s lips.

And pretty soon, Larissa’s legs were shaking and were breath was becoming more and more erratic.

“Is my pretty little slut gonna cum for me?” You purred.

“Yes! GOD YES…!!!” Larissa cried out, “I’m so close, please!!”

Larissa came on your fingers like a fucking goddess. She was fucking sight to see…

“That’s it Angel, cum on my fingers…” you purred, as you helped draw out and then help her down from her climax.

~~~

Before you knew it, it was 6am, and you had made Larissa scream from multiple orgasms. Handcuffs, vibrators, and a blindfold were spread all across the bed. The last stroke you swiped against her clit, made Larissa cry out in over-stimulant pleasure. Cuddling up next to Larissa, you held her.

“Your so fucking beautiful, don’t let anyone convince you otherwise…” you whispered into her ear.

You thought Larissa had drifted off but she whispered back to you, “Thank you.”

“Anytime Angel. Anytime.”

[apprenticestanheight]

heyy, i’m here requesting being loyal to my word lol, i have this little idea where adam is stalking/taking pics reader for a job and actually gets like obsessed ?? with them and tries to awkwardly make a move lmao, and obviously this happens before the bathroom events, idk if this idea sucks i just miss my pookie💔

Aldis- A.S x gn! reader

I love this idea so much and writing it was so fun!! Thank you so much for sending it in, writing for Adam is definitely a blast lol

Fic type- this is fluffy!!

Warnings- shitty bosses are implied, and the prices that are mentioned are inaccurate (I looked up aldi grocery prices and then adjusted for inflation by like, a dollar or two lol), stalk-ish behavior is mentioned (adam talks about trailing you going to and from work), cigarettes and smoking are mentioned a few times and Adam might be a little ooc

It started off as a job. Adam found himself hired by your employer to see what it was, exactly, that you did on the way to work and from it. Adam didn't want to know why your boss had wanted to know that of you and the money was good enough to not question it, so he went along with the words of your boss because the money, in the end, helped him pay rent on the shitty apartment he called home.

It started, apparently, because you'd come late to work a couple of mornings in a row with a variety of different excuses--the rain on a day of downpour, your car had broken down, your car was in the shop, your alarms weren't working--but Adam didn't bother to question that, either. He got his camera, he trailed you, he developed the photos and took them to your boss in exchange for cash that could be either devoted to making the rent or buying cigarettes.

Eventually, what was originally just a job became something a bit more for him. He caught himself genuinely caring about you, trailing you not because your boss asked but to make sure you got home without issue.

Care became infatuation, and infatuation got Adam Stanheight where he was--standing inside an Aldi Supermarket at six in the evening on a crisp day in late summer-early fall, having pretended to bump into you in the candle section, of all places, while he shopped Aldi for the deals that he could get on groceries as he needed them anyway.

"Shit!" Adam cursed, catching the candle you held before it could hit the ground on the basis of nothing but luck. "I am so sorry--I barely know my way around this area. I don't typically come down here, but the shop near my apartment is closed for renovations and I needed to grab groceries." Not entirely a lie--you lived in a different spot in New Jersey than he had, but only twenty minutes in a car, and the shop near his apartment where he could've grabbed groceries was closed, so it was Aldis and their bargain deals on any and everything both out of necessity and his minds desire to make a move.

"Oh, no worries!" You laughed. "Seriously--I don't know my way around here either, I typically shop somewhere else, but stuff has happened at work so I gotta do what I gotta do."

Adam had stopped taking photos of you only two days before, having been let go from the job after 'complications' according to your boss.

Adam was trying to flirt, but the flirting part of getting someone to give you their number was not quite his strong suit.

"So," you said. "There must've been another shop in your area. What brings you here?"

"You know that it's impossible to pass on ground beef at 99 cents a pound," Adam said, laughing. "Or a dozen eggs for $1.35, or milk for the low low price of $1.86--it's a rough economy and I am doing my best."

You laughed, and Adams heart gave a funny little flip. "$200 gets you a fuck ton more here than it does anywhere else. I've got candle money, which is nice to have again."

"Are things at work all right?" Adam asked, a feeble attempt at flirting that probably came off a bit too invasive. "Shit--there I go. Asking the way too personal questions. You don't have to answer that, we barely know each other and I don't mean to be invasive."

"My boss has cut my hours in half, is all," you said, shrugging. "I'll be looking for a new job next week, do you know anybody?"

"Nobody reputable," Adam said. "Not that I work with people who aren't, but--"

"What do you do, and what's your name? I'd like to put a name to a handsome face."

"My name is Adam Stanheight," he said. "I take photos."

"Subject matter?"

"PI stuff," Adam said. "I am a glorified snitch, basically, but the money is good."

"Well, glorified snitch," you said. "My name is Y/N and I work in marketing. You ever wanna make a career switch, give me a call."

You passed him your number, and Adam found himself in awe just a bit. He'd fumbled his way through flirting with you like it was the act of trying to share a cigarette and he was a first-time smoker, and you'd flirted like it was nothing.

"What if I don't want to make a career switch?"

"Call me anyway," you said. "We can shop at Aldis together and I can tell you all about the woes of my life in the frozen fruit aisle."

You walked away thereafter, and Adam was left to stand, his cart to his left, in awe.

[lawnmowereater]

hello! i was wondering if you could make a fic even a short one on how bakugou (boyfriend) would react to seeing the (old) scars on your wrist for the first time. Just how he'd react for not noticing it before and stuff.

Authors Notes: omg yes i can! your my first person to request something so thank you so much. if you wanted a longer story im sorry. (also this is not my gif)

Trigger Warning: S-lf H-rm

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader, Like One Use of y/n

Bakugou seeing your old SH scars.

yall would probably just be chilling in his dorm

like having a little date night or romantic sleepover

and you just changed into your pajamas and they show a lot more skin than the outfits that you usually wear

you both were probably just scrolling on your phones together or watching tv, then bakugou got bored. he just started looking around in curiousity

then he looked at your revealed skin, and kinda started looking at it. he did end up dating the hottest person in the world, so he might as well admire them

but his heart dropped when he saw tons of old, small sc-rs all along your skin. they seemed healed which was good, but that didnt bother bakugou the most

his voice sounded small and a tad bit scared when he spoke "hey y/n..?"

you looked at him confused. he normally never sounds this scared unless something is really wrong. so you ask what's up

"those sc-rs look pretty bad, and before you say anything. dont lie to me, i know that you couldn't have gotten that many sc-rs that bad from training"

his voice sounded a bit harsh, but you knew that he was just scared and worried.

your eyes widened in fear when he pointed them out. you quickly grab a blanket and cover yourself before trying to lie your way out of the situation. but its too late

bakugou knew what those sc-rs were from, he wasnt an idiot.

when he spoke, his voice now sounded a bit shaky. and his eyes looked glassy, it seemed as if he was holding back tears

"no, dont lie. i know that you got those from s-lf h-rm." bakugou takes a deep breath "but.. why?"

his red eyes shimmered with held back tears as he waited for you to answer him. he was so worried but he didnt want to show you.

eventually, you told him why you s-lf h-rmed (idk why you did). it took a lot of courage to open up to bakugou, and he realizes that.

when you're done, you look up to bakugou for his reaction. although your teary eyes slightly blur up the view

bakugou has a few dried tears on his cheek. and he looks like a lost puppy. his eyes are wide with worry and concern.

he never really had comfort and support for his mental health growing up. this whole concept of opening up to your loved ones is still kinda stange for him

"im sorry, i.. i had no idea" he doesnt really know what to say, but he'll be damned if he doesnt try his best.

"but, just come to me the next time that you feel like doing this. i cant have you going around with bloody sc-rs like its nobodies business."

he looks at you and your teary eyes. he thinks for a moment, but then he opens his arms for you to climb into.

you slowly climb into his arms and onto his lap. his arms go around your torso as your arms goes behind his.

and you guys just kinda stay there for a while, not saying anything. its a comfortable silence, and you both definitely need it.

eventually after god knows how long, bakugou whispers into your ear "why didnt you tell me sooner?"

bakugou was worring this whole time about why you didnt tell him. was he not trust worthy? did he do something wrong?

you sooth his worries by telling him that you were just scared of what he would say, and if we would take it well.

a wave of relief washes over his body when you say that. he thought that he did something wrong.

then, he says "good. this better not be my fault."

he pauses to think for a bit.

"do you need food?"

he couldnt think of many other ways to comfort you, so this will have to so.

happily, the two of you walk into the kitchen for dinner, and prepare to spend a whole lot more time cuddling tonight.

[thelibrarian1895]

The Bats Are Trolls

I toy with the idea but haven’t figured how I want this as a full fic so tossing it into the ether, do with it what you will

Concept: Stupid magic user erases knowledge of Bat family from world as part of very dumb plan, Gotham only knows them as rumors and that’s because they’re Gotham’s heroes and Bruce has TONS of magic neutralizing things scattered around Gotham just in case, Justice League knows something is off but can’t quite figure out what’s going on and Batman’s annoyed with everyone questioning him while he’s trying to clean up the mess and the Robins (Robins will be a term that includes Cass even though she’s possibly the only one that never wore the R which is sad and needs to be fixed) decide now is a good time to troll the league (possible dash of angst because Tim’s friends don’t know who he is and the poor boy needs his friends or Tim takes this time to troll them more than he’s been able to for years and Tim is my favorite Robin)

Featuring Batman on Watchtower and for some reason the majority of his kids decided to follow, because they’re all chaotic trolls, and that includes Batman

When JL asks where Batman got all these heroes to follow him

Dick: I’m his love child with Vengeance (Bc one of the driving things that got Dick to be a vigilante was wanting vengeance for his parents’ murder)

Jason: I was told there’d be candy

Tim: Batman and Gotham had an accident and I’m the result, they’re being much more careful now

Stephanie: I was told there’d be candy

JL: Do kids in Gotham not understand that taking candy from strangers is a bad thing? Red Hood said that too

Steph: Have you ever been to Gotham? If you want candy you can actually eat instead candy that’s absolutely drugged and probably full of razor blades or ground glass, Batman’s basically the only source.

Damian: I am the son and heir of Batman

JL possibly a Flash: So Batman had another kid with Vengeance? Or Gotham? How? Are there other heroes named Vengeance and Gotham?

Tim: No, Nightwing’s parent was the concept of Vengeance, mine was the personification of Gotham. *Gestures to Damian* His is the Night, her parent *gestures towards Cassandra* is Justice

JL probably a Lantern: Didn’t Batman ever learn to wrap it up?

Stephanie: Dude, gross, do you ask your dad that kind of thing?

Tim sweet stalker boy who has weird sense of boundaries: He had a vasectomy ages ago, it’s in his medical files, but that wouldn’t really stop someone like the brat’s mother, or certain others

JL possibly Diana: Others?

Tim: Did you really think we’re Batman’s only children? *ignoring implication JL wanted to know about Batman’s theoretical baby mamas*

JL possibly a very worried Clark: How many others? How many other children does he have I mean?

Dick: Good question

Jason: Depends on the day

Tim: I have the current list with me *pulls out book the size of a dictionary*

JL: Why does it say “Hit List” on the front?

Dick: Robin started it and we haven’t had the time to think of a better name that we can all agree on

 This is true on several levels, Tim started to put together the book after the nth new kid from a different multiverse to try to help keep things straight for everyone since some of the kids were great like Terry or Father Todd while others were Joker Jr. or a Talon, none of the Robins will admit who named the list and all of them have a terrible sense of humor

 Dumb mage’s mistake is eventually undone, JL realizes they’ve met more of Batman’s kids during that point than they have…ever, they really only interact with Nightwing on a regular basis and Red Robin sometimes

[prismuffin]

Hello! Hope you doing good my friend!

Can I request Luther Hargreeves x himbo male reader. It can be headcanons or one-shot I don't mind.

Don't feel pressured to do this I understand if you don't wanna write it. But if you do thank you!

-Mark🐻

A/n: MARK ONE OF MY FAVES ofc you can have a Luther Hargreeves x male reader fic🫶🫶 I chose headcanons but who knows maybe I'll do a little drabble with this idea too

Jacked Dumbasses

Luther Hargreeves x male!himbo!reader (Headcanons)

( summary: you’re a himbo Luther keeps seeing at the gym and he can’t help but gain a crush on you from afar [headcanons] )

Warnings?: Light swearing, two golden retriever boyfriends, readers kinda a gym bro

!more under the cut!

Pre-Relationship Tingz:

-The first time Luther ever saw you was at his local gym

-The first thing he noticed was how jacked you were, obviously

-as a gym bro himself he respected your grind and found himself watching you whenever he took breaks

-he started to notice more things about you besides your muscles like, well, your face, specifically how attractive he found you. But when he'd first started finding you attractive he would just brush it off as him having a little but of envy even though he was bigger than you (muscle wise)

-when he started noticing himself becoming sad whenever you didn't show up to the gym that week he knew he was in deep shit

-^started looking forward to gym days even more just knowing that he could see you

-one day you guys happened to have lockers near each other in the changing rooms.

-Que flustered Luther trying not to stare and do double takes as he sees you in nothing but a towel

-^You noticing Luther's stares OH SHI-

-^^Him immediately throwing out some random question to make it seem as though he just turned to ask you something.

-"Do you think fish get thirsty?" "...Probably, but then they could just open their mouths and get a drink...damn fish are really living on a different level."

-Thank god you entertained his stupid random question.

-Since that day whenever you spot Luther you'll give him a big smile, wave, maybe make some small talk

-Giving Luther your Instagram after a while of being gym bros

-^Him playing it cool but completely freaking out when you leave

-^^HE DIDNT EVEN HAVE AN INSTAGRAM???? WTF IS AN INSTAGRAM???

With the help of Allison, Diego, and Klaus (Yes, it took that many people) he finally makes an Instagram account and adds you. After basically stalking your Instagram he finally decides to shoot you a DM telling you that it was Luther

-and so, the both of you started talking in and out the gym which eventually led to the two of you becoming friends

-You were the first one to ask the other to hang out. As Luther was spotting you, you'd just asked him if he wanted to get drinks with you later that night. He deadass almost dropped the barbell.

-He was very nervous to hang out with you outside of a gym setting but it didn't turn out as terrible as he thought. I mean he freaked out a little bit when he woke up in your bed but you assured him that nothing had happened between the both of you, he was just such a lightweight that he ended up blacking out so you had to carry him home.

-^Hold the fuck up, did you just say you CARRIED HIM????

-He asked if he did anything bad and you just told him that he ranted a ton about the moon and his dad and then started crying. But you helped him calm down and got him back to your apartment so that he could rest.

-^^He was very embarrassed but was glad that you had his back

Relationship Tingz:

-Super touch starved so he adores hugs from you, especially if you lift him up.

-You're both very macho men so doing things like cuddling can be a little difficult for the both of you, specifically because of Luther's mutation.

-^Still you do often show him that it's not impossible by allowing him to be the little spoon or carrying him to bed when he's too tired

-You guys cuddling together turns into two grown buff men just sprawled out in all directions on the bed, it truly is a sight to see.

-His love language is Physical Touch and Words of Affirmations so he's almost always touching you in some way

-Loves it when you kiss his jaw and forehead

-If you're somehow taller than him he'll just be infatuated with you even more

-He's very impressed by your strength and vice versa. It's both a blessing and a curse for the both of you.

-Things constantly breaking in the apartment from your clumsiness and him not knowing his own strength at times.

-^He's broken the microwave and washing machine doors multiple times whenever he tries to use either of them after waking up.

-^^One time he felt super guilty about breaking the microwave and you didn't want him to feel bad so you told him it was fine and that it was a completely normal thing that can happen, (it's really not), and you showed him this...by breaking your toaster, just smashing it and then going "See?? Happens all the time." :)

-You guys having compliment wars where you'll go back and forth about who's stronger, prettier, funnier, etc.

-You both tend to get very excited over little things and it just makes the entire relationship more wholesome. One time you saw a frog at the park while the two of you were on a walk and you guys spent 10 minutes gushing over the frog and taking pictures of and with it.

-He loves seeing you happy cause it makes him happy and seeing him happy makes you super happy which in turn makes him extremely happy, its just one big happy cycle.

-When he tells you he has superpowers you were actually very hype about it. You asked him what it was and when he said super strength you thought he was just making a joke about being really strong since the both of you work out a lot. He eventually had to just prove it to you by like throwing a car and punching through a brick wall without any consequences. After he bent a post-light into a balloon dog shape you believed him. The rest of that night was filled with him doing a ton of cool stuff with his powers to make you laugh. Yes, there may have been tons of vandalism but at least it was all super cool to watch.

-He was hesitant on you meeting his family for many, many different reasons but when you did finally meet them they were shocked and yet they were expecting exactly this at the same time. Klaus was pretty much just like "Yep. This is what I expected." Though he was very fascinated with your muscles which you were more than happy to show off, flexing and such as he pokes your biceps which made Luther pull you back a bit. Viktor and Allison were very happy for Luther while Diego and Five were just shocked that there was someone out there even dumber than Luther. Of course Ben was also just happy for his brother :) ...but he was also questioning how anyone could be dumber than Luther. Diego tries to tease you but stuff just flies over your head and Allison just finds the whole thing so adorable.

-Because of your physique you often get girls and some men coming up to you for compliments or asking for your number. Luther tends to get jealous very easily but a simple kiss on the cheek and a hug can knock him out of that state pretty quickly. At times you're oblivious to the flirting and usually Luther is too, but when it hits him that a person is flirting with you he'll get very anxious and triggered and he'll end the conversation as quickly as possible and he'll be very touchy with you afterwards. You usually won't notice the switch in attitude since he's already a very touchy person so you don't think much of it when he pulls you a bit closer, you'll just hug him tighter and smile at him which unknowingly calms him down.

-Overall, the two are a couple of jacked dumbasses but that's fine. At least you both care and love each other :)

----!----

sorry if this felt a bit short

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

My requests are OPEN so feel free to request anything! Just make sure you check out my Request Info!

Masterlist

[from-the-clouds]

you know what kendall deserves his version of willa (with a happier ending) he can do his lewis and clark of sex manic episode thing with her, it starts as filling the void with sex and pushing shit away, she wanted some fun and the money wasn't a bad thing and doesn't find him to be as awful as she thought he could be.

she becomes super protective of him once she realizes what he's actually going through, doesn't let his family speak over him. None of that your kids aren't your real kids bullshit, all 'that's it we're doing something about it' attitude. she convinces him to go back to rehab and stay in therapy treatment (and she waits for him)

it goes from sex buddies to actual friendship to love.

she becomes his number 1 fan, she gets him into collecting records and investing into things he actually cares about. maybe he starts a label? or he funds one. he wants to patch up his relationship with his kids guess who's there ready to be there for him?? when kens guilt returns about the waiter, about the election, about his kids, about everything shes is there. if the jess publishing a book thing is an in universe thing and he gets to see himself from the outside, she is there.

she also comes from this hard background and has done tons of work to heal, so she's ready to be there for him. nobody has ever actually cared about him, and wasn't counting on that being the direction of the relationship so it takes him a while to realize this isn't just sex and money anymore.

he probably keeps thinking the only reason she stays is because well she likes his money, the more he likes her the more he pushes her away because he thinks it's for the best. nobody really needs to put up with him, she figures it out though.

she knows the cycle, she has lived the cycle. they don't have to be together anymore but she will not leave him, he breaks, it's love, it's real. it might not be forever but close enough, and it's real love.

_

Anyway I'm not a writer I'm just tired of the nihilism of people with kendall my man is happy and content in the future, he finds happiness again. He still has stewy who will be definitely investing on the label thing even if he says he won't work with ken ever again. ken funds stewys lube line (the wetter the better) in repayment.

sorry that i sent this to you but i needed it to be out there somewhere. love your Professor!Ken headcanons! hope you're having a great time on your vacations 💜

i totally could see ken ending up with a willa! or someone like him. there are some really good ken x reader fics that have this sort of dynamic, too, even if doesn't go exactly how you type it out here!

i think kendall could literally do anything with his money, a record label would be a great idea since he's so into music/art and pop culture stuff! also him dating someone younger would keep him 'hip' to everything so he would see that as a perk of seeing her.

and yes! i could see their relationship being sort of cyclic like the show. maybe he pushes her away when he gets too emotionally involved, but she sort of keeps coming back because she likes him too.

i understand why kendall's ending has to be seen as grim for the sake of the show, but i don't know that it's as grim as 'he's going to die' if that's how jesse wanted to end the show that's how he would've ended it, you know? like i think it's intentional kendall was kept alive, but he will probably find something else to be obsessive about eventually. and the cycle will keep repeating!! but its not all bad in my opinion.

[walkawaytall]

Now that I finished reading (and reviewing) Collateral, I thought I'd come with some questions, if you haven't answered them before! This was the first fic you posted, but was it the first HxL fic idea you had? How did you come up with this particular take on the Ord Mantell mission? Are there any subtle Easter eggs that you had fun including?

Ooh, thank you for asking! Other than a vague idea I started to write down as a preteen that essentially amounted to “Han proposes to Leia the night after the Battle of Endor and I’m sure I’ll come up with an actual plot later”, this was the first fic idea I had. I had written for another much, much smaller fandom in high school, but hadn’t written or read fanfic in probably 15 years or more. I was in severe professional burnout toward the end of 2022, had just sort of re-embraced Star Wars after avoiding it a lot post-TROS, and decided to start reading for my original OTP. I had also been working on a novel for quite a long time and it was driving me insane, so after blazing my way through a ton of Han/Leia fics on FFN, and later on AO3, I thought I might try writing some fanfic just to have fun with writing again since the novel was making me miserable.

I remember coming up with the idea for the Committee first — the intent with at least part of the fic was to suggest that a lot of the stuff Leia and Han say to piss each other off in ESB are kind of low-blow-type callbacks to private jokes or things they had discussed previously. I also remember reflecting a bit on their relationship and how it’s portrayed at the beginning of ESB — how some people have interpreted that to mean that they spent three dang years griping at one another, but somehow fell in love in between verbal jabs. I think I mentioned this in an early author’s note on Collateral — I had a friendship that was mostly verbal sparring and stupid arguments about things neither of us cared about and it stops being fun after awhile. Eventually, we both just kind of started acting normal around one another. And I just kind of figured that, even if Han and Leia started out picking each other apart, there’s no way they’d go from that to romance in a few words, so I felt like they had to have a friendlier history than what we’re shown. (Plus, I may be reading too much into it, but the way Carrie and Harrison play those parts in that movie, it doesn’t seem like two people who just hate each other to me; it seems like two people who’ve been deeply wounded by one another and aren’t sure what they’re supposed to do. And you have to care about each other somewhat to be wounded by one another, ya know?)

I wanted a fic that was limited in scope for my first fic so I wouldn’t get too carried away with trying to add to a meandering plot or whatever, so I decided on the couple of weeks before ESB starts. I had read a handful of fics about Ord Mantell or referencing Ord Mantell and decided I wanted to do my own take on it. I didn’t know a ton of Star Wars lore, so I remember having to research on Wookieepedia a ton. I do believe my initial intent was for Han and Leia to start their romantic relationship on the trip, but the characters misbehaved while I was writing and Leia kissed Han in her room instead, and I ended up going with that.

Even though I knew most H/L fans would be expecting Ord Mantell to go poorly, I wanted to repeatedly put people at ease, at least in theory. The gang isn’t even worried about Ord Mantell, so why should we be? Everything’s going so well! Han and Leia go on a cute date and everything is fine! Basically, if someone went into the story not knowing about the infamy that Ord Mantell has gained in H/L circles, I wanted them to wonder if anything was actually going to go wrong.

As far as Easter eggs go…I wrote Han with the “Han Solo is mildly Force-sensitive” fan theory in mind. It’s not blatant, but it’s there. Some of the conversations they have reference Leia, Princess of Alderaan and From a Certain Point of View (Leia knowing Huttese comes to mind), and I do assume people catch this, but just in case someone didn’t, the final big conversation that Leia and Han have in her office occurs the afternoon before ESB picks up. The sensors she talks about are the same ones he and Luke are placing at the beginning of the movie.

Oh! Wait! I forgot my favorite one. I never come out and say it, and I don’t know if I even ever implied it, but in my mind, the reason the Falcon is in such rough shape at the beginning of ESB is because, after Leia and Han’s interactions go entirely sour, she stops helping with background repairs, which means Han and Chewie have more to do with just the two of them.

This was incredibly long! Hope that’s okay 😂

[tomato-fendo-writes]

Fun Fax: OLM Chapter 12

THIS HURT SO MUCH TO WRITE SHDKFJ LEMME TELL YOU. but also, so very fun! writing panic, spiraling thought patterns, and the snappy, warring ideas and emotions is something i enjoy immensely, and this is one of the first times i really get to do it in this fic

in ways, this chapter was one of the easiest to write in a long time, probably because i knew almost exactly how it would go. however, it was edited a TON and i trimmed about 400 words off before publishing

one of the sections trimmed was Jin briefly asking Kaz's favorite color to fill the silence (purple, btw), but it was cut because of the crazy word count, and to make room for the bit where they talk abt Lee! another cut bit was Jin doing a kata with Kaz, again cut for word count

for the record, i originally had Kaz and Lee younger when they met, but after the first draft the wiki got updated with a source saying Lee was 12 when he was adopted. as the source was an old japanese manual that i couldn’t read, i couldnt dispute it, and begrudgedly aged them appropriately. i’m still mad dhjs

Kazuya’s “hands only” line and training sentiment was based on how Heihachi trains Jin in Bloodline! im figuring they were trained similarly enough, or at the very least it was something Heihachi used on Kazuya growing up as well, so i wanted that to carry over

the kata i have Kazuya start with is based very much on Sanchin Kata, a Goju-Ryu style one that i have mentioned in Fun Fax before - in reference to Heihachi. this doesnt mean anything in particular, but i do find it interesting that this unfortunate sequence starts with Kazuya copying his father

the whole slow build up to Kazuya snapping and telling Jin the most traumatic event of his entire life out of spite is a concept i had VERY early for this fic - the first version of that scene was written back in february 2023! that version was a lot less, uh, mean, and more unfortunate than anything else. he didnt make jin really upset (on purpose) in that one 😬 art for that draft version HERE

the “If I wanted you to know me, I would have stuck around, wouldn’t I?” line had me screaming into my hands and my jaw dropped when i first thought of it. HES SO MEAN HES SO MEAN WHY IS HE SO MEAN

i have SO MUCH FUN writing juvenile Jin, oh my gosh. his petulance and inner monologue (”that jerk,” “whatever,”), his teenagerness is so fun to work with, and im gonna miss it when it eventually has to go with his maturity 😭 but not his moodiness! thats here to stay, or its not Jin sdjf

me writing “a gun to his head” in reference to jin

extra, one of my betas literally got a bag of popcorn to read because the drama in this chapter was so good to her hdksjd. the other was lamenting and saying "i hate this man" aloud, and even commented "DIE YOU BASTARD" on the doc itself sdhfjk

ALSO. just wanna say. this chapter was fully written ages before the release of 8, and i nailed a few lines without even knowing hdskbd. kaz being impressed with jins resilience, “little shit,” tiny things but things nonetheless lol

[strawberrybobamilk]

Cut Here (Part 1)

So it's been a while I've been wanting to write a Trevor Philips origin story fanfic, but I never had the motivation to do so, until now that I came up with some ideas and experimented (so sorry if it's a bit crappy and all over the place), so here is my take on our most beloved psychopath's backstory. Probably gonna make it a multipart fic and eventually upload it on AO3 (once I get ahold of my pc again). Any feedbacks and suggestions are welcome.

TWs: S/A and abuse.

1967

Betty Philips was coming back home after another night shift. Another night, same thing. Stripping and dancing for the entertainment of those drunk perverted low lives. When she was younger and moved from England to Canada along with her family in 1943, her parents promised her things were gonna be better, everything was going to be fine and dandy... and now, twentyfour years later, this is what she ended up doing for a living... and a shitty paycheck as well.

She was now walking back home, down the dimly lit streets, a cigarette in her mouth and soft wind caressing her red hair; her thoughts were interrupted when she suddendly felt herself being dragged in a dark alleyway by some unrecognizable man, pressing one of his hands on her mouth. She instinctively tried to scream, her voice coming out muffled by that pesky hand; the cold steel of a blade now threatening her neck.

"Try making another sound and you're dead, alright?" the mysterious voice behind her spoke. She nodded with tears in her eyes. "Good". Fear took her again when she heard the sound of a zipper behind her, but due to her survival instincts she did her best to keep calm and let him have his way.

Some days after that dreadful night, Betty discovered she was pregnant. With that monster's kid. She tried to kill it in all the ways she could: drinking more, smoking more... but nothing. That baby survived to everything.

"Oh Betty I'm so happy for you! Who is the lucky man?" her friend Brittany would comment, making Betty cringe at her hand touching her swollen belly.

"Oh huh... I'm a single mother I guess... i-it was a mistake..." Betty replied.

"Oh..." Brittany walked away with a disgusted expression. This baby truly was a mistake.

On 14 november 1967, the waters broke and Betty got recovered in urgency to the nearest hospital. The pain she felt while giving birth to the child, the hatred she felt in hearing it crying, the disappointment she felt when hearing the nurse commenting on how healthy it was, meaning the abuse of alcohol and smoking truly did nothing.

"Congratulations ma'am, it's a boy!" the nurse said happily, holding the wailing baby and gently giving him into Betty's indifferent arms. Betty looked at him with a mix of rage and disgust, saying nothing.

The nurse awkwardly said "Huh, Mrs Philips... have you planned a name for him?"

Betty couldn't care less. She gave him the first name she could think of: "Trevor".

"Uhm, alright. Trevor Philips is it then!" the nurse smiled.

In the meanwhile Betty was thinking: she'd never seen again the unknown man in the shadows who assaulted her, and police would have never believed a dirty stripper's claims. But she had his baby now. By pure mistake. She was gonna get revenge like this: she couldn't make that man suffer, but she could do that to his seed, and make that seed understand how much of a literal mistake he has been.

Days and weeks passed. Trevor spent his days alone in his baby crib. Betty never cradled him nor gave him affection, she just fed him and changed his diapers, just to make him stop his annoying crying. Meanwhile, Betty started dating a man, Simon; a truly fantastic man, with a drinking habit but tons of money: he'd buy her jewelry and clothes, and she loved that and was happy with him. After a few time, she got pregnant again, and this time with Simon.

1975

Betty was in the living room sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, smiling at her son Ryan while he was reading an Impotent Rage comic, and Simon was just mindlessly watching TV on the couch and taking sips of Pisswasser.

"Mommy mommy look!" the voice Betty hated the most yelled; it was Trevor running happily towards her.

"What is it Trevor?" she said, not even looking in Trevor's direction. Not that Trevor minded, he was used to that anyway. But this time she was finally gonna be proud of him.

Trevor took out a handcrafted paper plane: "Look! My plane!"

Betty turned around unamused: "A plane?"

Ryan took his attention away from his comic and laughed: "You call that a plane?!"

Trevor ignored him and stayed focused on his creation with pride: "Yes a plane! When I grow up I'm gonna be a pilot and fly on these!"

Betty took her eyes away from the plane and returned smoking: "As if you're ever gonna be something big in your life...". Trevor's smile fell.

"No mom you're wrong!" Ryan yelled. Trevor's eyes went big: Ryan taking his defense for once? Ryan snatched the paper plane from his hand "Trevor's right! He's gonna fly on these indeed, just like this!" Ryan's hand tightened around the plane, crushing it in the process and reducing it to a ball, and threw it on the floor "Booom!!". Of course not, classic old Ryan.

"RYA-" Trevor stopped in his tracks when he saw dad turning his head to him with a glare like an owl preparing to attack his prey. He knew what that glare meant, it was the first sign that a beating was coming. Simon was kinda like a big silent monster; he never spoke to Trevor, he only beated him up when he was "misbehaving". He only heard him speak when he occasionally yelled at mom in one of his drunken fits.

"R-Ryan please..." Trevor spoke in a quieter voice now, doing everything he could to hide his anger.

Ryan made a fake grimace and started yelling "Mooom! Trevor is being mean!", as he was hugging Betty's legs.

Trevor was feeling terror taking over himself now "No! I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"First you disappoint me, now you make your brother cry, is that how you thank your family for everything we do for you, you ungrateful brat?" Betty looked at him with dark eyes "...Simon... it's time we teach him a lesson...".

Trevor was now laying on his bed; his whole body was aching and trembling, tears and snot running down his face as he was hugging his pillow. It was the only thing he could hold onto, sometimes he wished the pillow could hug back. His tears stained face was turned to the window as he observed that beautiful starry night sky. He didn't care what Ryan said, or what his mother said. She is right about everything but not about this. Someday, he was going to make his dreams come true. He was going to become a pilot, the best one the world has ever seen. He was going to be free, flying in that wonderful sky.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

AU/Fic Masterlist Cuz Whynot

Posted fics:

Stereo Souls - Fanfic - Tag DJMM x Reader soulmate AU

Cymbal Crash Bar - Fanfic - Tag Music Man x Reader - Reader takes over their uncle's bar where they meet Music Man, the bar's resident animatronic.

My ao3 account - I also have some one-shots up that I haven't made art or tags for so I won't list them all individually here. :3

Actively Working on:

Untiled DJ Dance Hall fic - No tag yet DJMM x Reader - After SB, DJ is sold to the dance hall owned by your sister, taking over your job as the resident musician. You're demoted and direct most of your ire at DJ until you realize how crappy his situation is.

Untitled DJ Humancurse fic - Tag Spiderfolk DJ is cursed to become human. A truly horrible fate...but perhaps some good can come of it?

Back Burner (and further) under the cut:

Spiderweb Sonatas - Tag Spiderfolk!DJMM x Fairy!Reader - Shorter domestic-ish fluff story about DJ (called Deejay in the fic, probably?) rescuing the reader from a bird attack and letting them chill at his place til their wing heals.

Attending the Attendant - No tag yet The first DCA fic I started, trying to get it in order before posting it.

Bouncer Music Man - Tag Haven't decided much about this one other than Bouncer is the dominant personality, and DJ possibly doesn't even exist. Still a lot of stuff TBD.

Flower Fae AU - Tag While out in the woods, reader gets shrunk for reasons that are initially unclear. They are rescued by a pair of flower fae called Sun and Moon. Things get awkward when they return to human size.

OctoMusic AU - Tag OG Music Man is an Octo-Mer siren. Hijinks ensue.

Forgotten Face - Tag - Fic Caine x Reader in The Amazing Digital Circus

Waaay Back Burner:

Monster in Paris AU - Tag Calling it the MiP AU because of the pic that inspired it but will not follow the MiP plot very closely. Normal spider DJ is science'd into giant spider spider with human intelligence who's good at music. Similarities to MiP end roughly at that point, but I don't have a ton of plot planned out for this.

Nothing Behind the Mask - Tag I WISH I had more of an idea of what to do with this but alas. Fantasy world where Sun and Moon are powerful entities trapped in the same mask, and have magic'd up floating clothing to appear more human. Reader is there too.

Childhood Friends AU - Tag Spider-DJ and Y/N meet when they are kids. DJ's species is quite small when young, and quite large when grown, leading to an...interesting reunion when Y/N and DJ are grown.

DJMM in VR AU - Tag The 'bots in the 'Plex have access to a VR MMO. DJ and the reader meet and form a friendship there, and eventually the reader finds out their new online buddy is the giant spider 'bot from work.

[bettsfic]

hey i don't know if you've ever answered a question like this before, and i don't want to offend you, but how do you handle writing smut that is maybe more abnormal than say vanilla smut scenes?

i wrote and posted something like this for the first time, and i feel like i've drank twenty shots of espresso i'm so shaky. i know reading and writing this stuff doesn't make me a bad person, but i'm terrified of anyone in my personal life reading what i've wrote.

i don't know if you can relate to this but some advice would be appreciated. love your work.

no offense taken!

i remember the first time i wrote something out of my smut comfort zone, which for me was veering into poorly or non-negotiated S&M. specifically it felt very spicy for me to write a sadistic narrator, and the only way i could even get the words down was by promising i'd post it to a sock account. but by the time i'd finished the fic, i was really proud of it, because it went beyond my initial aims and helped me break through a writing ceiling. i ended up posting it on main, and i probably lost like a dozen subscribers (i always lose a ton of subscribers when i post) but that fic opened a lot of doors for me aesthetically, and i've been following that road ever since.

that kept happening. i would write things that went to darker, more fucked up places, thinking i would either sock it or not post it at all, just so i would have the courage to write it in the first place, and by the time i finished, i'd always be really happy with it and post it to main. i saw merit in my work and i didn't want to shy away from that. and eventually, that initial anxiety i felt started to bleed away. and it sounds super bizarre, but now when i have an idea that feels too fucky to post on main, i turn it into original fiction and try to publish it in lit mags. under my real name. where anyone can find it.

part of my comfort with doing that is that i acknowledge the lineage of my work. in fanfiction, my work is speaking to other works in a given tag, not to mention the greater history of a genre i have a lot of respect and admiration for. in original fiction, my work is speaking to a long line of literary sex writers. you know, the decameron, arguably the first novel ever written, is full of weird sex stuff. sexuality is part of everyone's identity, even if that identity is "i'm not interested in sex." personally i don't see any shame in acknowledging that it's part of my identity too, and it frames a lot of the subject matter i choose to write about. even if i didn't understand that lineage, "i thought it was hot and i wanted to write it" is valid artistic justification. anything you are compelled to render on the page, however you're compelled to render it, is valid. you don't have to defend that.

there are two sentences i like to repeat in my head whenever i get worried or scared about what other people think of my weird sex writing: "let's talk about that" and "your reaction to what you read is your responsibility."

"let's talk about that" is just a good thing to have in your arsenal for most situations. i think it's something i picked up in group therapy. in all the groups i've been in, i'm so fascinated by the fact that nobody attempts to diffuse tense situations. as long as they don't get violent, you have to let them play out. should someone i know personally get upset or offended by something i've written, i know i can say, "let's talk about that." and in that conversation i'll have the opportunity to listen to their thoughts and respond to them. i can let their reaction play out. i know i never have to justify the existence of my work, but i can. i can say, here's what i was attempting to do, here's the experience i was interested in rendering and why i was interested in it. you can choose to understand that or not. you can choose to hate it, and me, and that is your right. which brings me to...

"your reaction to what you read is your responsibility" is more or less what i tell my family, who all seem somewhat uncomfortable about sex. the second story i published involved explicit S&M, and i remember telling my family that they were welcome to read it, but they'd learn things about me that might change their perception of me, and they would have to take accountability for that. as far as i know, my family, while interested in and supportive of my writing, has not read anything i've written.

as a writer, i am allowed to explore whatever i want however i want to explore it. if i choose to share that work, readers are allowed to react however they want to it and form opinions about it and me. these reactions may be colored by personal experience and knowledge (or lack thereof), and they may be negative. what other people think of me and my work is not really about me, and it's not my business. my only job is to continue exploring my aesthetic interests and write the work that has meaning to me, and encourage that in others.

this is a difficult mentality to cultivate, especially if there are people in your life who have power over you, whose opinions of you are definitely your business because they're holding your paycheck or the roof over your head. or maybe you just love them enough that you're terrified to lose them. hopefully these people in your life are reasonable enough to respond well to "let's talk about that." but i understand the fear of those who aren't. all i can say is that the weirder you write, the harder you have to work to find freedom, the more difficult and uncomfortable conversations become about your work, because good art always upsets people. i know there are many writers of fandom and pen writers who have to separate their real life identity from their work because of its explicitness. i imagine that's a careful balance and in some ways difficult to maintain, but even when i tried to do that, i was never very good at it. there are still brief moments of shock i get when i try to see my work from the perspective of readers who may not be primed to understand where i'm coming from, or who may be hurt or upset by it. the wider my audience becomes, the more terrifying it is to be known, but that's the path i'm on right now, cultivating a sense of self strong enough to endure ridicule, dismissal, misperception, and maybe even hate. it seems like a very long road, and i wonder if it's possible for someone like me to reach the end of it.

i hope you found some of this helpful, and continue writing the things you're interested in writing.

[starlit-dreaming]

[ch4] élémentaire

Fandom: MLB Ship: Eventual Felinette, MarcNath & Chlogami, Past Lukanette TL;DR: HBIC Marinette + Rich Marinette + ML Salt Fic + Canon Divergence

0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | [4] | 5

Note: ngl, this chapter kinda took my ideas and ran it through before i even realized it. i had only 2 main ideas and it ended up getting better than expected -- it even fit the theme of the chapter LMAO

4 words: karma is a bitch

ALSO I DIDNT FORGET THE TAGS THIS TIME!!!!!!!

Tags: @jjmjjktth @smolplantmum @always-on-a-sugar-high @fan-written @vixen-uchiha @fanfics-and-fangirling @marvel--unsolved @starlightshield @lady-bee-fechin @draco-kasai @weirdo-with-no-beardo @idontwannaexistsopleasekillme @blep-23

————————————————————

iv. jacinthes bleues

————————————————————

Even though they’ve been classmates for years at Dupont, Nino couldn’t really consider himself to be friends with all of them. Maybe the guys, but certainly not the girls.

So, despite how friendly Rose has always been even when they were attending Notre Dame, he didn’t actually know her well enough to feel comfortable calling her a close friend despite their shared circles. He knew nothing of her involvement in any of Marinette’s plans unless Marinette or Alix talked to him, and apart from info gathering, he couldn’t think of any other reasons on how she factored into Marinette’s plans. An insider job, perhaps?

Rose still wore a pink ribbon, her unspoken sign of her allegiance to Marinette, so… they were in the same boat. They both fell for Lila’s lies and were trying to make it up to Marinette. Rose was a much better actress than he ever realized.

“What a screwed up situation we’re in, huh?” Nino asked wryly, leaning back into his seat. They were both in the library, working on their assigned project for their history class in the peace and quiet.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rose said with a smile, though her eyes narrowed at him. “If anything, it’s a minor setback.”

“If that’s how you wanna call it…” he frowned, trailing off as he looked at the textbook. “Y’know, there’s no shame in admitting—”

“We are both in very different situations, Nino,” Rose sharply stated in a sweet tone of voice. “You let yourself be fooled. I let myself be complacent. There’s a difference.”

He didn’t get why Rose seemed so on edge, but it was probably for the best if he let the conversation drop. Out of everyone, Rose was the worst person to be stuck in an argument with, especially because she had that effect on people in making them feel as if they kicked a puppy.

It didn’t seem all that different to him, though. They were both in the same situations, just different end results.

Still, Rose was also the most observant person in their group who could easily pick up on a wide range of information, and her grudges were long-lasting. He’s not gonna argue about technicalities.

“You’re slouching,” Rose started frowning.

“I know,” he awkwardly admits.

“You can’t avoid it forever,” she gently said.

“I know, Rose.”

At this, she sighed, “If you don’t do anything about it, I will.”

It wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.

He doesn’t say anything in response to that, because he knows. Everyone is doing their part, no matter how hard it might be, and he’s been stalling.

But what he’s about to do is going to hurt either way.

His relationship with Alya is on the line — if she doesn’t believe him then… they might break up. He knows that the likelihood of their relationship surviving into adulthood is pretty slim, but he doesn’t want to lose her over a liar, he knows that much. If he says nothing, he’s letting her be manipulated; if he says something, it’s over even if he doesn’t want them to be. The only possibility of it going great is if Alya hears him out, which is definitely going to be a 50-50 chance.

And if Adrien doesn’t believe him, he might go crazy, but it’d be bearable — Adrien and Lila kinda have a thing going on. Adrien’s already pretty clueless about a ton of stuff, even more so when it comes to girls flirting with him, but with how he lets Lila hang off of him all the time, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was blinded from infatuation.

“If I were you, I would talk to Alya first,” Rose smiled sweetly. He’s not sure if it’s genuine kindness or if it’s part of her own plans, because it’s Nino’s problem to begin with, but it’s good advice nevertheless. “It’ll be easier to convince Adrien, but harder with Alya. If you do end up arguing or breaking up over this, then she’ll have time to come around and apologize.”

Adrien would be easier to convince.

As much as he thinks his feelings for Alya might be tipping into love, his girlfriend’s got a short temper and he can’t deny it. She was easy to rile up, and it does get hard to communicate with her when she’s adamant about being right.

“…yeah, you’re right. Thanks, dudette.”

—————————— 

“For the record, this is a terrible idea.”

Alix knew that her words would do nothing to deter Marinette from seeing this meeting through to the end, but she has always been her right-hand man and stating the obvious is her job. Honest to a fault, some might say, but frankly that’s the way Marinette prefers it. Despite their past disagreements, it will always remain the same.

Despite what happens, Marinette leads, and Alix follows.

“Oh, believe me,” she dryly chuckles, shooting Alix an amused look. Alix didn’t see why this was so amusing to Marinette, but maybe her suffering was the funny thing here. “I know it is.”

Standing tall before them was a very familiar building — a rather sizable hotel. It was overly fancy and had long since lost its charm, and yet it was the only place that Dupont could get a free field trip at on short notice: Le Grand Paris.

Despite knowing that it’ll be far from pleasant, it was necessary. There was no set precedent when it came to disbanding a faction and rebuilding it in later years, but this felt like a matter of formalities.

It was during the faction meeting that Marinette disbanded Méticuleuse, and so she herself needed to correct her past action — even if it never really stopped her followers from still following her unofficial guidelines.

The first step of doing so was holding a faction meeting, and that required a proper apology to Chloé Bourgeois (yeah, the irony of this fact wasn’t lost on Alix — Mme Bustier has consistently been badgering Marinette to apologize to Chloé despite being innocent, and here she was, doing exactly what Mme Bustier would be ecstatic to hear). Before they could move forward, they all probably need to air out their grievances, which was going to be the worst.

At least it was only Chloé who was going to be complaining.

(Félix technically needed to be there as well, but he was a special case considering that he isn’t attending Dupont and wasn’t even in France to begin with.)

So, apart from Marinette and Alix, it was just Chloé and Sabrina, and Claude Sainté-Pierre who was acting as Félix’s proxy (as he always did) who would be in attendance.

‘She’s going to be insufferable,’ Alix sighed, already feeling slightly irritated at the thought. “Would it be too late to ask you to swap me out with Rose for the meeting?”

“Absolutely,” Marinette smiled serenely, looking at Alix with a clear statement of “you’re not getting out of this that easily” — which, fair. Alix knew what she was getting into when she agreed to remain as her second. “Besides, Rose has more pressing matters to attend to from what I’m aware of, while you just have your daily bets and competitions with Kim. Ondine can easily help you get out of that by asking to spend more time with him.”

Ah. An unexpected bonus. That was also the reason why Kim didn’t seem to complain too much when Alix told him she had to bail on their race for the day, if Alix put two and two together.

Alix knew that Ondine was popular and reliable, and they both get along well enough (and Alix can say for certain that Ondine’s too good for Kim), but she never really stopped to think of her beyond that. Kim and Ondine were still in that phase of figuring out their maybe-relationship, so Alix did actively try to avoid thinking of Ondine more often than not purely because she wanted nothing to do with that.

‘It sure is convenient that Kim’s definite-girlfriend is in our group,’ Alix nodded. ‘I’m tired of all his demands for a rematch.’

“We should probably go in now,” Marinette sighed, sealing Alix’s fate for the next few hours.

‘On second thought… never mind.’

—————————— 

‘I would do anything to get out of this,’ Claude Sainté-Pierre thought, a fake smile plastered on his face as takes a sip of water.

They were sitting at one of the private tables of Le Grand Paris — something normally offered to celebrities and VIP guests. Chloé’s butler had assured them at the start that no classmates of theirs will be allowed to take a foot into the building before bowing and taking his leave.

The butler and the whole secret meeting was a bit much, but Claude was somewhat used to it. His parents were on the wealthy side, yet his family didn’t have a butler or anything — a regular cleaning service and security system, yes, but not their own wait staff. Allegra’s family had no qualms about employing maids and their own personal chef, and Allan’s family may have been similar to his, but Allan’s family had their own home studio and an indoor cinema.

Marinette’s probably the only one who would get it — Félix had the chance to go to her house when they were younger, and they didn’t have any hired help. At the bakery, yeah, but not within the house.

The sound of a glass cup thumping against the table brought him back to the conversation at hand.

Or rather… the lack of conversation.

They were seated at a table for six, with Claude kinda sitting across from Alix. Chloé was unfortunately next to him, while an empty chair remained on his other side. Empty seat, Claude, Chloé, Sabrina, Marinette, and Alix — the typical setup to prevent a faction leader from sitting next to another leader. It was mostly to prevent them from being fixated on the other person, since it often led to distractions.

Marinette and Chloé argued, Chloé and Félix would make snide comments against each other, while Marinette and Félix would, well… Claude’s not sure what to call it, exactly. It wasn’t flirting, but it also wasn’t really arguing or getting along.

Just talking, he supposes, which would make this meeting far less awkward.

“I believe you have something to say to me, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé stated with sharp narrowed eyes, smiling.

Everyone knew that Chloé only stopped referring to Marinette by her first name ever since she stepped down from her position. Claude was under the impression that it would’ve changed once he heard from Félix that Chloé finally won.

Marinette maintained her smile, her lips twitching just the slightest bit as she relaxed her shoulders and fixed her stare on Chloé.

“Congratulations, Bourgeois,” Marinette stated. “You were right; I was wrong. You won.”

He expected as much.

For reasons beyond his comprehension, the Akuma Class believed the liar girl over Marinette for the better part of the year or two — he wasn’t paying too much attention to them, just Marinette given how haggard she was from overwork. It was even more noticeable with how their peers on the student council would always talk about her worriedly.

“I know I am,” Chloé had scoffed, leaning back into her seat as she regarded Marinette with a rather cold look. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“And what exactly do you want to hear?” Marinette asked incredulously.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one who was confused — even Sabrina and Alix seemed surprised over the statement. Sabrina should’ve known everything about Chloé, and for her to be thrown off by this just goes to show that Claude really was wrong about the Charmante Faction Leader.

“What I want,” Chloé seemed to glare, “is an apology.”

“For what?” Marinette’s brows knit, clear confusion on her face. “For being naïve by not believing you?”

“That, and for your deplorable behaviour,” Chloé practically sneered. “It was disgusting, watching you act beneath your station.”

Alright… now she was definitely matching Claude’s memories of her. Claude was starting to think that maybe Ladybug was actually making a bigger and better positive impact than Adrien Agreste, but he stands corrected.

“Right,” Marinette dryly stated. “You’ve always been the type for extravagance like all the others who prefer to indulge in their wealth. How dare I show such a shameful side of me, for preferring to disregard status. I’d prefer to call it moderation, however. Ah, what was it again? Moderation is key, isn’t it?”

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous,” Chloé wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Moderation,” she scoffed, looking at her nails as if to ignore Marinette. “Well, look where moderation brought you. Acting like a mere commoner, lowering yourself as if you were a feeble servant to our peers, becoming not only a doormat, but also becoming a stalker!”

Oh… oh.

Claude suddenly had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was becoming personal. It was no wonder why Chloé wasn’t finding delight in Marinette’s defeat right from the get go — something that all of them had been expecting — she was pissed because of Marinette’s former fangirl crush on her friend.

Judging from the look of dawning realization on Marinette’s face, she got the memo.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette stated, looking away from Chloé. She was ashamed, he could tell that much. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so obsessed with the idea of Prince Charming. For what it’s worth, I have made strides to improve myself for the better.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” came Chloé’s clipped reply. “Adrikins is innocent and naïve — he needs someone to snap him out of it like I tried to do for you. I’m waiting until he finally opens his eyes on this whole Liar Rossi thing, because with how much he cares for the simpletons of our class, he’s going to realize that she’s the worst type of person to associate with. What he doesn’t need is to get dragged into your fantasy and unresolved issues — despite the distance, he is still my childhood friend.”

“I get it,” Marinette stated with gritted teeth. “When I realized how kind he was, he…” she sighed, shoulders slumping. “He matched my idea of a perfect prince.”

At this, Chloé leaned back into her seat once more, giving Marinette a glare. “You weren’t using him to get back at Félix for leaving, were you? Considering how similar they look.”

Oh, jeez… Claude didn’t want to hear any of this conversation for plausible deniability, but now he has no choice. This was definitely going to bite him in the ass later, because, well, for starters he’s the only guy here and if Félix says anything, it’ll get traced back to him. Sure, Alix was nonbinary and didn’t care about pronouns, but she was loyal to Marinette to begin with so no worries about breach of privacy there. Félix was unaware of the Marinette’s crush on him from back then, but there’s no doubt he knows now.

(It didn’t help much that Claude was probably the only one in the Quantic Kids who picked up on this whole crush situation. He never said anything to avoid getting on Marinette’s bad side, besides, he thought Félix was only nice to Marinette due to being all businessman-like.)

“Of course not,” Marinette huffed. “Yeah, I wanted to forget Félix, but I didn’t even realize that they were cousins until he came back. Félix is a common name, and I didn’t remember his last name beyond Graham until I saw the film with Adrien’s mother.”

“Hmph. Fine. I’ll accept that for now,” Chloé said, pursing her lips. “I won’t apologize for my words and actions. I’m still far too upset at what you’ve done to him under the guise of friendship to even want to.”

“As long as we’re done airing out our grievances, that’s fine with me,” Marinette smiled. “Now, can we finally move onto what we’re really here for?”

“Hold it,” Chloé cut in. “Sabrina, call our guest.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sabrina complied to the command, pulling out her phone.

“A guest?” Marinette blinked. “You never mentioned that another person was joining us.”

“Why would I waste my time on that when you’re going to be meeting them anyway, Marinette?” Chloé rolled her eyes. “Just wait.”

Claude, who left one of his hands in his hoodie’s pocket with his phone, finally ended the call with Félix before Sabrina could call him herself.

——————————

Nino’s not sure if it’s because he knew, deep down inside, that this was going to happen, but it’s a strange feeling nevertheless. He thinks that maybe he’s heartbroken, maybe numb, but he knows that he’s upset because he did cry in the restroom for several minutes after it happened.

Like ripping off a band-aid — hurts and then it’s fine for a while. Not great, not terrible, but fine.

As much as he didn’t want to, it’s either stick with the herd, or save the rest of his class from further manipulation.

It does hurt, though, knowing that he and Alya won’t be spending time together any more, that she’ll give him back his stuff and he’ll give hers back as well. He’s going to get bombarded with questions from the guys, and he’s not sure if that’s something he’s capable of handling emotionally at the moment.

“Nino…?” Adrien hesitantly called out, frowning with his brows pinched in concern. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t think he is. On the bright side, he won’t be akumatized until maybe later. Can’t really say the same for Alya who just stomped off, but he expected that.

“Alya and I broke up.”

It was a quiet statement, simple, straight to the point. For the past several minutes, he’s been staring at his phone, trying to decide whether to actually drop Alya’s number like she yelled at him to do.

Huh. How long did he keep Adrien waiting? He hopes it wasn’t too long.

“What?!” Adrien shouted, eyes blown wide as he was very obviously taken aback by the news. “Why?! Don’t you two love each other?”

“We… had a fight,” Nino admits, not really wanting to rehash the last 15 minutes of his study period. But Adrien was his best friend, and he was also Alya’s friend, and Nino wasn’t gonna blind side him by making him feel awkward about hanging out with one over the other. “Rose and I finished our project early during our study period, so I went to go look for Alya.”

He should probably thank Rose for pushing him into doing it, otherwise he wouldn’t have, and then it’d be too late to do anything. She did look worried about him, when she caught sight of him heading towards the restroom, but she was with Juleka who’s been looking really pale lately.

Rose definitely knew how the conversation with Alya was going to turn out, and while he is upset at her for that fact, he knows that it’s not actually her fault.

“Uh huh…” Adrien nodded, looking increasingly worried. “What’d you two talk about?”

“It was about Lila,” he breathed, and he could see Adrien perking up at the mention of the girl. It made him feel terrible, having to break the news that Adrien’s crush isn’t as great as everyone thinks she is.

“What… uh, what about her?”

Like ripping off a band-aid, he had to remind himself. Taking in a deep breath, then letting it go as he steeled his resolve.

“I told her that Lila’s been lying to us. To all of us,” he looked away, not wanting to see Adrien’s heartbroken face. “And Alya… she didn’t believe me. She accused me of still liking Marinette and that’s why I’m siding with her. Stuff about how…” his eyes burned with unshed tears. “Lila’s been telling her a bunch of lies. About how I’m always looking at Marinette when Alya wasn’t looking, that she thought she saw me talking to Marinette after school the other day, that I was standing really close to her, like we were gonna…”

Nino took in another breath, letting it out with a sigh, willing to keep the weight of the heartbreak off his shoulders. He didn’t want to deal with getting akumatized for the day — it always made him feel worse in the aftermath.

It’s already been a bad day.

“What…?” he regrets looking back at Adrien, seeing a look of horror crossing his friend’s face. He hopes it’s for the situation that Nino’s in and not because of Lila’s lies. He didn’t know if he could handle something like that so soon after the breakup with Alya.

“I didn’t expect it either,” he smiled wryly, feeling all the bitterness bubbling up in his chest before suppressing it with a tired chuckle. “I thought that maybe…” he shook his head, his vision blurring. “Well, I guess Lila’s lies were stronger than our relationship, stronger than everything we’ve been through together, apparently.”

And oh, did that admittance hurt. Alya chose to doubt him over Lila, choosing a liar over her own boy—ex-boyfriend. She didn’t want to hear him out, claiming that he wanted to cover his unfaithfulness by throwing Lila under the bus.

“Nino, I’m… I… I know that’s not true—”

“Thanks for believing in me,” Nino gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder. “But I kinda expected this would happen if I talked to Alya about it,” he shot Adrien a weak smile. “I know you like Lila, just… be careful, yeah? I just… I don’t want you getting hurt like I did.”

Adrien said nothing. Nino didn’t blame him. Poor guy was still in a state of shock from what Nino could tell. It did make him feel better, knowing that he still had Adrien on his side if not Alya.

“Thanks for not calling me delusional. I… I know I said that I’d come hang out with you and Kitty Section today, but uh… I’m… not really up for it right now,” he gave Adrien a side hug. “Kinda don’t want to be around anyone from school.”

Maybe he’ll stop by the Dupain-Cheng Bakery on his way home. He could really use the warm hugs he’d always get from Sabine and Tom, and maybe a warm, freshly baked chocolate croissant. They always knew how to make him feel safe and at home whenever he’s had a bad day, and maybe they might have some advice for the heartbreak and—

Ah shit, Nino was definitely crying now.

“See ya tomorrow, dude,” he tugged his cap down and headed off.

Breakups are the worst.

[xskyll]

Merry christmas if you celebrate!!💕

It took me a lil but here my promised questions for like comment romance:

1) While reading i was wondering indeed about Izukus "skillsets" ehem👀 like we know he had a previous relationship and theres some air of speculation around him and shouto cosplayers, in stark contrast to his future vision of barely getting to hold his so's hand... i did ask myself quite a bit about izukus innocence haha

2) do you have headcanons or perhaps a whole fic in mind of wedding shenanigans or the disaster of shinkami getting together?

3) Who throws Todoroki a hangover-eske bachelor party and why is it ochako?

4) was soba ever possessive of his catdaddy giving all his attention away? And how did banjo and kazooie warm up to their stepmom?

Please please feel free to throw in any extra tidbits as well, id love to learn🫶🙏

I do celebrate, thank you! Merry Christmas! 🎄🦌☃️

The first question made me laugh out loud. His skillsets. 😂 But okay! Let me tackle these one at a time! Sorry in advance, but I'll probably babble.

1. So. Izuku's skillsets are probably pretty average, lmao. Shouto was very smitten, though, that first time, so Ochako assumed he was some sort of sex god. But Shouto is only the second person Izuku has ever slept with, and the first guy, so it's not like he has a ton of experience. Concerning the Shouto cosplayers, he really did just take pictures with them and go on his merry way. They were probably very disappointed. ^^; He's a romantic, though, and I can't see him sleeping with someone casually. All that being said, despite his limited experience (he and his ex weren't together long), I imagine he is very veeery attentive and giving. With his first relationship, she and Izuku were each other's firsts. They met in college. She broke up with him after being pressured to by her friends, who thought she could do better than a quirkless guy who was also shorter than her. She had a hard time finding dates because of her height (fun fact: she was on the school's basketball team!). After they broke up, she quickly regretted her decision once she tried dating other guys. I imagine she had a weight in her stomach, telling her she messed up, but she tried to ignore it. I think she'll eventually meet other nice guys, but she'll never have a lover as attentive and caring as Izuku was in bed, lol. She learned to be more careful about taking unsolicited advice. For Shouto, this is perfect. His entire life, he craved love and affection, and now he has this person who absolutely showers him with both. Izuku is shy and nervous, so the fact that he gives so much of himself in bed, when he's arguably most vulnerable, is very important to Shouto. Unlike Izuku's ex, Shouto 100% understands what he has and doesn't take it for granted. I can't say I've thought of the *specifics* of their activities, but if I was going to assign them a kink, I'd probably say they both have their worship kink moments.

2. Lots of people requested a Shinkami sequel! I actually have no ideas. OTL I started writing a how-Hitoshi-and-Izuku-met prequel, actually, which probably very few people would have been interested in. I guess that's easier, because I had thought of their backstory already (I'm saying easy, but I only wrote three chapters before I stopped, so...). But as for Shinkami, I can't say I have many ideas as to how it would happen. I'm not even certain of POV. Hitoshi seems the obvious choice, to me, but Ochako's POV might be funnier. I briefly toyed with the idea of writing a wedding oneshot, for Izuku and Shouto. If I did, it would be in Bakugou's POV. So a very grumpy wedding! I did their wedding in my other fic, The Cupid Quirk, though, so for L, C, & R, I decided to just do the proposal. I didn't want to seem like I was writing the same thing, especially since the wedding in The Cupid Quirk is also told from an unconventional character's POV. The tone of L, C, & R is comedical, though, and part of me feels a Bakugou oneshot would be a little melancholy, since his feelings are so complex. At the end, Kirishima would drag him to the dance floor, though, and Bakugou would feel a little at peace with things. ShinKami would already be together at this point, but he and Kiri wouldn't, so Ochako and Kiri would still be roommates.

3. Lmao!!! Realistically, I think Yaoyorozu would stop her, since bachelor party duties would fall to her. Ochako would probably employ hijinks thoughout the night, though. Yaomomo plans for a nice restaurant, and Ochako gives the driver the address to a club. That sort of thing. And naturally something goes wrong—a wrong address maybe—and they get lost and in trouble. When Shouto finally returns home, he finds out for Izuku's bachelor party, Hitoshi took him to an arcade, then Denny's, and then finally took him home and they cooked an entire bag of tater tots, put them in a popcorn bowl, and watched a movie. Shouto is so exhausted and jealous, he buries himself in Izuku's chest and makes him hold him all night, lol.

4. I don't think Soba would be jealous! In my mind, most cats naturally like Izuku for one reason or another. He's very respectful of boundaries, due to his own bad experiences, and that applies to cats too. I think cats naturally feel very safe with him, Soba included. His chest is also a nice pillow. It probably does help though that Izuku likes to sleep on Shouto's right and Soba on the left. Izuku is also gullible, so Soba appreciates that he can sometimes trick him into giving him a second dinner after Shouto already fed him. Eventually they buy one of those "cat has been fed" boards.

As for Banjo and Kazooie, Ochako has a much harder time! It's not that they dislike her, but they miss Izuku, so there's a long sulking period. She feels like they're always disappointed to see her, because when she puts her key in the door, they think it's Izuku. Unlike Izuku, I don't think she's a natural with cats, but she won their affection eventually. It took a lot of treats, lol.

Thanks for the questions! I enjoyed answering these! I hope my answers were satisfying and not just rambling nonsense.

[sotwk]

Hi, I've been following you for awhile now but I'm very internet-shy (if that's a thing) so I've nerver said anything, hence the anon. I wanted to commend you for your writings and headcanons, which I've been enjoying so so so much.

I've always believed that Thranduil had multiple children but I was always indecisive on the number, you helped me settle on five, and many of your characterisations fit perfectly in my own personal headcanons. Moreover even those that I do not agree with have helped me develop my own, so again thank you.

Now on the question: have you ever had so many ideas that you end up creating multiple version of your own AU or, worse, fanfictions of your fanfiction? I write a lot and I'm always expanding on my writings (but never publish, again internet-shy) and I always get so many new inspirations that I always create AUs of my AU so I never finish anything, how do you solve this problem?

Oh my friend, you being so kind is exactly the reason why I would probably never turn off Anon Asks, even though I'm quite sensitive to hate and dread the thought of eventually getting my first hate Anon. (Fingers crossed my lucky streak holds out!)

Thank you so much for reaching out to tell me all this, even though you're "internet-shy"! 🥰 I am so, so glad you enjoy my headcanons enough to let them inspire your own! That is fantastic, and I hope you are able to create tons of content for you to enjoy (and for other fans, if you ever decide to share them)!

As for your question: Hoo-boy, like most of our fellow writers, I am plagued with "too many ideas, too little brain space and even less time to write them down"! That being said, the kind of brain I have is also quite determined to keep my creative mess (somewhat) organized, so I DO fight to wrestle my SotWK AU ideas down and create structure for my fics to stand on.

Yes, I do occasionally get the urge to deviate from my own headcanons and experiment with other scenarios. I think more writers operate with unlimited AUs in their heads, actually. (From what I've read of others' works, at least.) But my personal goal is to create a single consistent, unified "SotWK AU" that encompasses not just Thranduil/Mirkwood's history, but ties into the untouched/extended stories of other canon realms/races/characters as well (including a lot of "Everyone Lives")! So I do try to stay disciplined and stick to my headcanon "facts" once I've nailed them down.

If that's something you also want to try to accomplish, here are Five Things I personally do that might be helpful:

Keep a Master Timeline. This was the first thing I did when I decided to take the SotWK concept all the way. I copy-pasted the entire Middle-earth timeline from Tolkien Gateway into a document, and started to plug in all the headcanon events from my AU into it. That's why nearly every fic I write has a specified date and year!

Keep a Glossary of Your Originals. This can be as messy a dumping ground as you want! Just try to keep all your notes about every single character, place, object, or term you create in one document/file folder so you can easily track and reference them.

Indulge "rogue AUs" in fic "shorts" or drabbles. I accept requests for Reader inserts and this area is where I allow myself to "go wild" with my "out of bounds" ideas. Here, I will allow myself to write stuff like Modern AUs, or have Thranduil be with someone other than my OC Elvenqueen, or have my Thranduilion princes love whomsoever they want, changing the love interest up each time! It doesn't matter, since these stories are all considered "outside" of the SotWK canon, and don't affect the overall "official" story arc. (Note: I haven't actually posted/completed any of these yet, but I have multiple WIPs of such stories.)

Chop Long Stories Up into Smaller Bits. I have a terrible inability to stay focused on a single story/project (don't we all), and for this reason, I avoid long, multi-chapter fics whenever I can. Instead, I will (or plan to) write individual key events as stand-alone one-shots and later group them into collections. This is how I plan on tackling Thranduil and Maereth's 2,000-year long courtship, for example. It reduces the stress of doing things in a linear fashion, or updating with "new chapters".

Don't Smother Your Creativity. You can try to "rein it in", and keep things under control so you can create a cohesive saga that your readers can follow. But ultimately, run with all and whatever ideas make you happy and inspired! Believe me, I'm the one of the most stressed out (self-inflicted) writers out there, but we gotta remember the primary goal of fanfic is FUN, right? <3 Just write The Thing and don't worry about it, especially if publishing/sharing isn't your main goal anyway.

I hope some of this helps you! I can already tell you are a wonderful writer, and I wish you all the best with your fics!