#for the first time in months I actually feel like I want to embroider again

[kell-stitches]

[qatarsprint2023]

Hi im shamelessly in love with Oscar so how about Oscar x reader, where the reader gets really overwhelmed and Oscar helps calm her down!!!

I really liked writing this because I've been getting so many Lando requests and I'm not even that big of a Lando girl (I'm sorry!) I'm not quite sure if you meant it like this or more like a meltdown overwhelmed, but I hope you enjoy anyways <3

That overwhelming world of his — OP81

Oscar takes his girlfriend to an official event for the first time and she gets overwhelmed from how it all works — Oscar Piastri x f!reader, comfort, fluff, no use of y/n, Oscar being a sweetheart, reader has social anxiety, body image issues word count: ca. 1.3k

Being with Oscar also required being okay with the fame and spotlight that came with dating an athlete in the most prestigious category of motorsports— Formula One.

You adored watching your boyfriend race— even more when he had a good result, but you were always there for him, comforting and holding and reassuring him when he didn't do quite as well, too.

Today was the day Oscar had been looking forward to with excitement for at least a month now. He was going to be awarded his second Rookie of the Year award at the FIA prize giving tonight. He had received his first one in 2021 when he was still a rookie in F2 and not driving for one of the most prestigious teams in Formula One.

However this year was the first time he'd bring you as his date because unfortunately you'd been way too busy with working to get your degree to even take a few days off for his first award. You didn't usually go to these kinds of events with Oscar. It wasn't like you needed to be attached at the hip to still be a loving couple with a healthy relationship. He could do things without you and you could do things without him.

That didn't mean that you didn't care about the other's career, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite actually. Oscar had instantly been one of your biggest supporters when you'd finally decided on what you wanted to study. Your boyfriend had helped you through exams and countless late night study sessions, just like you'd always supported his passion for racing through highs and lows.

Now this was different. Today you'd spent hours getting ready. Redoing your hair and make-up over and over again, criticizing your appearance in the mirror until you looked presentable. Getting dressed had been even worse. One dress you tried just looked like a potato sack on you, the next had you picking and pinching the fabric in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom with a scrutinizing gaze.

Oscar had been a silent presence in the doorway as he watched you stare at yourself like that until he'd slowly gone and hugged you gently, hoping it would make you feel better about whatever your mind was telling you. Then he'd taken the decision problem off your hands by looking at the dresses in your closet for about a minute and then taking out a very nice dress with navy blue fabric and pretty embroidered flowers. Eventually you'd just gone with that one, knowing you couldn't spend hours trying to fix what didn't really need to be fixed.

The ride in the car afterwards was tense and quiet as your mind wandered. Oscar mentally prepared himself to receive his award while you kept bouncing your leg and picking at your nails. That was until Oscar just took your hand in his and gently let his thumb draw small circles into the skin there, whispering a soft "You'll do great," as he kept one hand on the steering wheel.

When you arrived at the venue, Oscar got out first and walked around to open your car door for you like a real gentleman. As you stepped out of the car, you were both instantly caught in the flickering flashlights of cameras to each side of the entrance and calls of "Oscar! Oscar, here!" from photographers who hoped to catch your boyfriend smiling at their camera.

The onslaught of flashing lights and clamoring voices overwhelmed your senses, made your heart speed up and your mouth go dry as your eyes darted all around. It felt like stepping into a whirlwind of attention and scrutiny, each flash of a camera a reminder of Oscar's world—a world where every move was watched, every word dissected.

You clung to Oscar's hand like a lifeline, trying to navigate the sea of people and paparazzi, your heart pounding like it wanted to run away. Each click that came from the cameras around seemed like a spotlight on every single one of your insecurities, leaving them out for everyone to see and judge.

Your grip on your boyfriend's hand tightened as you felt your breathing speed up a little, seeking solace in the familiar warmth of his skin. He seemed to sense your unease and pulled you a little closer, shielding you from the chaotic scene around. His touch offered reassurance as he guided you through the maze of photographers and flashing lights. The voices calling out faded into the background as he whispered a tender, "I've got you."

As you entered the venue, the atmosphere shifted from the outside frenzy to a more controlled chaos within. The air was thick with anticipation and the buzz of conversations. Oscar led you towards the event hall, his hand a steady anchor in the overwhelming current.

You caught glimpses of familiar faces, fellow drivers and their partners, all effortlessly navigating this world that felt like an alien landscape to you. The weight of inadequacy pressed upon your shoulders, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in this world of glamour.

You could feel eyes on you and the pressure seemed almost suffocating. You knew you didn't have that model look the girls that dated Oscar's fellow drivers had, and you'd never really thought of that as something too bad, however surrounded by people who looked so perfect, so unreal, you felt so wrong.

As you took your seats, the crowd's buzz continued, but Oscar's focus remained on you as you started bouncing your leg under the table, your fingers subconsciously picking at your dress' fabric just like earlier in front of the mirror. Leaning in, he murmured, "I'm here. Just be yourself, okay? I'm happy to have you here with me, you know that?"

You gave a short nod in reply, however still kept your fingers intertwined with his under the table as he made conversation with the woman in the seat beside him. His hand felt so warm and reassuring, his skin slightly calloused from years of hard training for a very demanding sport.

Throughout the ceremony, Oscar's gaze periodically met yours, silently offering encouragement through his honey brown eyes, telling you that you were allowed to be here just as much as everyone else. When the moment arrived for him to accept the award, he gave your hand a quick squeeze before stepping onto the stage with a big smile on his face as applause and cheers echoed through the hall. You'd never felt more proud.

After the accolades subsided and the night unfolded, Oscar made a conscious effort to ensure you felt included despite obviously being confused by everything, introducing you to fellow racers and their partners.

A little later in the evening, when people had almost forgotten about the actual reason they were even here, Oscar guided you to a more quiet corner, away from the prying eyes. The genuine concern in his eyes mirrored the unspoken understanding between you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and filled with sincerity.

"It's so overwhelming," you muttered quietly. "There are so many people, so many cameras, the noise... It feels so wrong to be here."

"Hey, don't do that," he scolded you softly, taking your hands in his. "You're allowed here just as much as me. Take a deep breath, okay? We're a team right?"

"Right," you replied with a nod and drew in a shaky breath.

"You're doing wonderful, don't worry. I know you get anxious around so many people, so many eyes," your boyfriend told you in a soft tone of voice and gently pulled you close, brushing his lips against your temple. "I'm just happy you came with me, sweetheart."

In that moment, as Oscar's words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, you realized that even in the whirlwind of this foreign world, he cherished you and all the love and support you brought into his life.

[atlabeth]

wake up, sunshine

knight!luke masterlist

based on this ask

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

summary: you and luke repair some things at your kingdom's annual flower festival.

a/n: have some fluff after i destroyed their relationship in the last fic! also this is based off of the scene from rapunzel because how could it not be <3 title from the all time low song bc it is soooo them "somebody loves you for yourself" <3 they're everything

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): once again luke is kinda angsty but this is much fluffier than usual! princess is nice again, they have a couple sweet moments <3

we’ve been focusing on a lot of rough times between luke and the princess but things aren’t all bad for them!! even though she’s trying to ignore him and being forced to court a prince she isn’t interested in at all and war is imminent, war has not struck YET 

which means that things are still pretty great lol. and things are going to get a little better 

Aurelda’s flower festival always happens at the peak of spring, when all of the flowers (especially the ones only found in your kingdom) bloom, and it is full of revelry and merriment 

You’ve gone every year since you were old enough to walk, and though things have been a bit bleak for you, you’re actually excited about it! that boring prince has gone back home so you don’t have to spend the entire festival entertaining him. 

For the first time in a while, you actually get to focus on yourself and having fun. and you plan to do just that 

Of course, things are still weird between you and Luke — you know it’s your own fault, and you know that’s how it has to be, but you still hate it — but you can’t stop thinking about his words from that night as your lady’s maid helps you get ready for the festival. 

You may not care about what you want, but I do. And my loyalty is to you, princess. Not to your parents. And certainly no prince. 

Your heart twists painfully but you hide any emotion. The last thing you need is your maids spreading rumors. They already gossip about how close you and Luke are. You don’t need any star-crossed lovers narratives going on when your friendship is being put through the wringer of your own accord. 

You’re wearing a more casual outfit than usual—though your parents usually want you adorned in gowns and over the top dresses, you insisted on a simpler dress that cut off around your ankles for the ease of movement. It has plenty of embroidered flowers, of course. 

You planned to participate in every festival activity, no matter what your parents said. You deserved to have some fun after being so serious for the past month. 

You’re stuck in meetings the entire day before the festival, so you’re brimming with unspent energy the second you step out of the palace. Your leg bounces up and down the entire carriage ride, and you talk at (not to) your parents the whole time. 

You’re excited, okay? And you deserve to be. things have been rough lately, and with the prince’s presence, woefully boring. You can’t wait to get back in the middle of your kingdom and see your people. You love your subjects, and you always love when you get to meet and talk to them in person. 

Luke, on the other hand, is slightly stressed. 

As this is his inaugural year as your knight, it is a season of firsts for him, and every first comes with unhealthy amounts of stress. 

His first ball with you, his first time in another kingdom with you, his first festival with you, his first time being at odds with you. 

Luke honestly doesn’t know how you feel about him right now. You’ve put an impressive amount of distance between you and him, and you rarely talk to him outside of necessity, but he sees your lingering glances in his direction. He notices when you don’t rebuke his attempts at friendly conversation.

Luke meant every word that he said. He knows you, and he knows you don’t want this—you at least don’t want to leave him in the dark like this. So he isn’t going to let you go that easily. 

Your avoidance of him may be a good thing, though, because at least it means you don’t see his reaction when you leave your room wearing your festival dress. 

Luke has always thought of you as the most beautiful girl he knows, and that hasn’t changed with time. 

You always stun in your ballgowns and any Aureldan finery, but there’s just something about you wearing such a simplistic dress, heightened by embroidered flowers, that makes him weak in the knees. 

Maybe it’s because Luke has imagined a life away from all of this so many times. You’re not a princess, and he’s not a knight, but you’re devoted to each other the same—you just don’t have any royal strings attached. 

Apart from being a knight, Luke has never really cared where his future took him, as long as it was with you. He knows he would give up all of this and more if it meant he could share a simple life with you. 

Thankfully, he’s composed himself by the time you look at him, though he can’t push away all the lingering thoughts. 

“Are you attending the festival today, Sir Castellan?” you ask.

He hates it when you call him that, but he nods. “Of course. You’re going out into the kingdom—you need security.”

“It is a festival,” you drawl. “Nothing will happen.”

“It is still necessary,” he says. “You can think of me as your knightly escort.”

That actually gets a bit of a laugh out of you, and he suppresses a smile. “My escort. How improper of you.”

“Today is meant to be a day of festivities,” Luke says. “Impropriety may be allowed just this once.” 

Your smile remains as you start to walk together, and Luke knows he could live off of its warmth alone. 

And when you finally reach your destination, your smile gets even bigger.

It’s been far too long since you’ve gotten to be in the midst of your kingdom, surrounded by all your people. This is the part of your position that you love—you just wish your parents trusted you with it more. 

Your parents are busy with their image—they’re speaking later today, you’re sure, and right now they’re discussing things with some kind of village leader—which gives you the perfect opportunity to slip away. 

Luke is right behind you, of course, but it’s always been hard to keep up with you. You’ve grown very skilled at weaving your way through crowds, but thankfully Luke has grown very skilled at keeping an eye on you. 

By the time he catches up to you, though, it’s too late. 

“Princess—” Luke calls in protest, but you’re already off to greet a group of children calling your name. 

You know exactly how to stress him out, running off like that without him immediately behind you, but he can’t find any anger inside of him.

Luke hasn’t forgotten your words. He doesn’t know how he could. 

But in this moment, it’s so easy to see why he can’t just do his duty and let you go. 

The way you crouch down to be on their level, how you listen so intently to everything they say, your dazzling smile. 

Yes, one could say it’s your duty to be kind to your people, but for many royals, that’s not true. You’ve always cared about the people of Aurelda, ever since you were young—that may have been one of the few things that hasn’t changed as you’ve grown. Luke has always admired that about you. 

In this moment, you’re not the crown princess. You’re just you. And it’s hard for anyone not to love you. 

…It’s hard for him not to love you. 

yeah. 

this is the moment that luke realizes he loves you. like loves you loves you. 

And it doesn’t come as much of a shock to him. Luke has always loved you, one way or another. He’s just now understanding the kind of love he holds for you now. 

wants to spend the rest of his life with you, would throw himself onto a sword for you, would do absolutely anything for you type loves you. 

If anything, it brings some form of relief. 

He loves you. You don’t love him, and you’re going to marry a prince someday. Maybe within the year. 

It’s as simple as that. 

except it isn’t, obviously 

because you love him too!! you just don’t know it yet!! and you don’t really want to marry the prince your parents are pushing at you, you just don’t see any other way. 

But it’s not like Luke knows that. he may be the youngest person to ever become part of the kingsguard but he is ~ insecure ~ and he cannot imagine anyone liking him like that, especially you!!! 

Luke comes back into himself when you bound back over to him, and he notices the flower crown balancing precariously on your head. 

You have the biggest grin on your face, and though the gowns you wear at balls and fancier events are great, you’re nothing less than stunning in your simple dress. You’re slightly out of breath and your skin is luminescent with the glow of exertion. He can’t help but smile.  

Have you always been this beautiful? He’s pretty sure you have, but he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize it sooner. 

Luke has loved you for a while, he thinks. Maybe he always has—maybe that’s what the warm feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at you is. Maybe that’s what made his heart clench every time a prince danced with you at that ball. 

Maybe his love for you has always been what’s pushed him forward. 

“Luke,” you said, and once again, you snapped him out of his thoughts. You were absolutely beaming at him, and you wore a flower crown on your head. “Are you there?” 

Luke, he realized. Not Sir Castellan, for what felt like the first time in weeks. 

“I’m always here,” he said. “I’ve got superior training, princess.” 

“Of course,” you said with mock austerity, nodding sagely. “I could never forget.” 

You held up another flower crown, one similar to yours, and your smile grew. “The kids made another one, too. They said it was for my grumpy looking knight.” 

Luke scoffed, but there was no edge to it. “I’m not grumpy. Merely cautious.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said dryly. “I’m sure those kids had devious plans, Luke.” 

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and it spurned warmth in your chest. “It’s my—” 

“It’s your job to watch me,” you finished. “I know. Just teasing you.” 

“And I welcome it,” he said. “It’s nice to see you like this, princess.” 

“Talking to my people and actually making a difference?” you guessed. 

“Happy,” he corrected. 

“Yes, well…” you trailed off, glancing away for a moment as you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” 

“And for once, you don’t look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Luke’s eyes drifted to the flower crown sitting on your head, and his smile grew. “It suits you.” 

“Carelessness or flower crowns?” you asked wryly. 

“Flower crowns.” Luke crossed his arms. “You’re far from careless, princess.”

You rolled your eyes 

“You’ve got to stop talking down on yourself like that,” he said. “Like nothing you say or do matters. Because it does. It may not feel like it, but you’re doing valuable work.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said breezily. “I’m sure sitting in meetings that don’t matter and looking pretty as I stand in the background during my father’s speeches is valuable work.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” Luke gestured at the crowd of people around, specifically pointing at the group of kids that you’d entertained. “You fight for them every day, even if you don’t realize it. You care about these people, princess, which is already more than half of the people in that castle do for them. Why else would they adore you?” 

You bit your lip and glanced away. It was hard to take Luke’s words to heart when you truly felt like you were doing nothing—when it felt like the only thing you could possibly be good for was a marriage. 

But you did argue with your parents near every chance you got on matters of support and aid for your people. It was the least you could do, especially when you knew you would never really have to deal with consequences. 

(There was a reason most of your father’s advisors had to suppress groans every time you would sit in on a meeting. You took pride in your ability to annoy.) 

“Let’s call a truce, okay?”

You frowned. Now it was Luke bringing you out of your thoughts. “A truce?”

“I don’t want you to keep avoiding me, and I don’t think you’re really enjoying it either.” Luke met your gaze. “We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, princess. Don’t let boring princes come between that.”

You glanced away. “Luke…” 

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know your duty, and I know mine. But seeing you today, so carefree and happy—it’s worth more than a million gold pieces to me.” 

You’d been dancing around this topic since the night you pushed him away. It just hurt too much to talk about, and you felt like you didn’t have a right to be hurt—not when you were the one that did it. 

You loved Luke—he’d been your best friend for as long as you could remember. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t hate the time you’ve been spending apart. 

“We’re both getting older, I know. And we both have responsibilities we’re going to take on. God, someday, you’re going to be queen.” Luke huffed a laugh, though his eyes never wavered from you. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t get through it together. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else together.” 

Luke held out his hand. “So? Truce?” 

You stared at his hand for a moment, unable to meet his eyes. You knew exactly what you wanted to say but you felt like you couldn’t. 

Because dammit, your days felt so dull. You always wanted to talk about your day and how boring your lessons were or the bullshit your father’s advisors have been discussing in meetings, and Luke was always the person you wanted to talk to about it all. He always has been. 

And you pushed him away. 

Before you could doubt yourself, you ignored his hand entirely and pulled him into a tight hug. Luke wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” you whispered. God, how you’d missed his embrace—you never felt safer than when you were in his arms. “And I’m sorry for being so stupid.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he murmured. “And you’re certainly not stupid. Don’t even think that way.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as you pulled away, smiling softly at Luke. “I’m stupid to ever think I could really stay away from you.” 

and for the rest of the festival, you and luke are practically inseparable<3 not just because he’s your guard but because you’re best friends. 

You’re not going to let anything change that going forward. any prince that wants to marry you is just going to have to deal with that. 

(you even get him to wear that flower crown.)

(and though he tries to hide it, he kind of loves it.) 

(mostly because he loves you<3) 

[nexysworld]

Guardian Angel 🖤 Part 4.2 🖤

Read on AO3 - Requests are Open - Masterlist

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | 4.1| 4.3 A/N: Thanks for the support and patience for this chapter. Tumblr wouldn't actually let me post it in one or even 2 parts no matter how I tried to split it, so it's split into three parts (though you can read it as one chapter on AO3.)

Chapter Summary: In a an attempt to get reader to open up to him, he starts giving in to a change of scenery and other requests for her. Leon even allows her a special friend before he leaves on a work mission, leaving the reader home alone for the first time.

🖤Pairing: Yandere!Leon/Fem!Reader 

🖤Tags (not all apply to all chapters): NSFW, Masturbation, Dubcon, Sex, Gaslighting, canon typical horror and gore descriptions, probably eventual kidnapping or kidnapping like behavior, use of pet names like bunny. Leon induces some PTSD like flashbacks on purpose, general things of that nature. Unwanted creampie, etc. Probably treat as dead dove. Inappropriate use of animal collar. Threats of animal abuse (though none occurs and it's not descriptive.)

Your limbs felt so heavy that you collapsed, Leon caught you against him, letting you lay there on his chest while he rubbed your upper back. You felt so sleepy and sated, not wanting to move from where you were. You closed your eyes, just taking in the smell of his spiced cologne while your heart rate came back down, breathing stabilizing as well.

You hadn’t even realized you fell asleep until the sun shining through the window disturbed your slumber. Opening one eye, you smiled seeing Lucipurr curled up next to you on the bed, purring in his sleep. Leon must’ve cleaned you up, noticing you were clothed and there was a smell of food wafting through the cracked door. 

Sitting up you stretched and rubbed your eyes, relieved that you had a good night’s sleep for the first time in forever. You didn’t feel bogged down and hazy, no bad dreams, to your relief not the slightest sign of the red eyed man to be found either. Even your reflection was looking more like you – though you did notice the new collar adorning your neck. It was more comfortable and dainty compared to the black one. A pretty lilac collar with the word ‘Bunny’ embroidered in silver. You ran your hand along it, there was still a shock mechanism on the side, but even that was smaller. You almost wanted to like it. Almost . At minimum it was far better than the original, and you could appreciate that. 

Once you were done staring at yourself, you scooped Lucip up into your arms and walked downstairs, plopping the cat before his food bowl that Leon had so kindly filled already. “Morning Bunny.” He said from the kitchen as he set the table with breakfast. He waited for you to take your usual seat before speaking again. “Do you like your new collar? I think this one suits you so much better.” “Yes Daddy, it’s really pretty and more comfortable. Thank you.” You poked at your food a little, and stared at the plastic cup next to the plate. Now that you were more in your right mind, the things that should have caused feelings of embarrassment and shame were catching up. “Something wrong? You don’t like the food?” “No, I was just wondering if maybe I could go back to using regular utensils and cups? I’ve been really well behaved and I promise –” “No. No you haven’t earned that back yet baby. I like knowing you’re safe, and until I feel like I can trust you, you’re using the safety dishware. You need to learn to stop getting so far ahead of yourself.” He took a bite of his own food. You had no response for him, so instead you chose to slowly pick at the food in front of you, eating in silence until Leon spoke again. “Actually, I do need to talk with you about something. Unfortunately I got called in to work, while I was technically granted a few months to spend time with you, this is an emergency and I can’t decline.” “Oh.” You felt your appetite diminish a little now, worried about what that would actually mean for you while he was gone. Was he going to lock you up again? Would he take you with? Would he starve you again?“Hey Bunny, don’t look so sad. Trust me, I hate having to rush out the door on such short notice.  I’ll be back as soon as I can, ok? That does mean I’ll have to leave you cold meals in the fridge for a few days, I’m leaving the locks on the stove. You’re still not permitted to leave the house either. I will be locking up on my way out too just in case you might get any funny ideas, are we understood?” “Yes Sir.” “Good girl.” He leaned over to kiss your forehead.  

You weren’t sure how long Leon had been up before you, but he’d had the time to make things like several sandwiches, and other things he considered ‘safe’ meals that he left in the fridge for you. He wasn’t lying about the need to rush though, scrambling around to lock things up, make sure the dishes he used to cook were put away, double checking the baby-proofing he’d done all around. From the attic he’d carried down a huge duffel bag he brought out to his Jeep. Once everything got one more onceover, he gave you a goodbye kiss. It was sweet and almost painfully domestic, a part of you actually appreciated it, knowing you’d be alone with the cat now. “I’m aiming to be back within 3 days, ok? Make sure you sleep and eat.” “Yes sir.” “And go over the rules for me one more time baby?” “Only safety items in the kitchen, no using the stove, no going in the basement or the attic which are both locked anyway, and no leaving the house which will also be locked. Make sure I get enough to eat and sleep.” “Good girl.”  With one final kiss, he was out the door. You made a mental note to see if you could get more information out of Leon on what his job actually was when he returned. ~♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡~ Leon did not want to leave you alone - you weren’t ready yet. Not by a long shot. You still pushed, asked for things you weren’t ready to be given, hadn’t learned all the rules yet. He’d only just gotten you to start acting like his little Bunny again. No, if he could have, he would have done anything to not leave you by yourself. But sadly even the great Leon Kennedy cannot ignore the US government when he’s commanded to move. All he could do was try to be back as soon as possible. He hoped the cat would keep you company and the rest of your time would be spent behaving, not that he left you much room to fail. The entire house was optimized fully for your safety, and he’d double checked the entire downstairs before he left to make sure of that.

Still, it did little to ease his anxiety. He was already missing you and worrying about you the moment the gate closed behind him. Don’t worry Bunny, I’ll be back soon, promise.

As soon as he got the chance he was checking the hidden security cameras, seeing what you were up to. His face lit up into a loving smile as he watched you eat your lunch with cartoons playing on the TV, you looked so pretty when you giggled like that - but he wasn’t a fan of the size of the bites you were taking, you could easily choke like that ! He sighed, knowing there was no way for him to communicate that to you now, but it made his anxiety worse. He still didn’t know how you survived to this age without him until now.    

When he checked in a little later, you were curled up watching a movie while you pet the cat. Okay great, harmless activity. 

The third time he checked during the evening, his heart sank. He realized he’d forgotten to lock the door that led to the attic when he rushed out of the house, as evidenced by the cat’s tail lightly brushing against it. The door opened with a loud creek, waking you from your slumber with a startle. Despite the gunshots ringing out from around his hiding spot, the only anxiety he was feeling was towards what you were doing. If you opened that door and saw the attic – Leon didn’t even want to think about the work he’d have to do to un-etch that sketch, and there you were right in front of it, contemplating. Luckily for him, you were truly being good. He watched as you closed the door before heading back to bed with Lucip. Leon let out a breath of relief and made a mental note to reward you for that when he got back. 

The second day he was sadly far too busy to really keep tabs on what you were doing. He kept reminding himself of your moment of obedience when the door had been opened right in front of you - it was the only thought getting him through the day.

[moral-terpitude]

The Farrier’s Son - Tommy Shelby x male!reader

Request: yes! By anon

Word Count: 1,354

Warnings: None

You had never understood Mr. Shelby’s abrasiveness toward your when your father started bringing you around at the end of your apprenticeship.

Being the oldest son, and the one working with your father the longest, he was turning over his accounts to you, upon completion, that were the furthest drive from home, in order to remain closer to the city, and pick up new accounts the other side of Black Country. These, in turn, would be handed over to your brother upon his completion.

Mr. Shelby was usually rather standoffish, if he was around or present at all while you were there.

However, when your father stopped making the trip with you, he was always around. You chalked it up to a lack of trust. Your father had been shoeing his horses for as long as you could remember.

Today, happened to be the strangest day, because you had never actually seen Mr. Shelby ride a horse.

It had been warm all morning, and by the time you arrived in Warwickshire you’d abandoned your jacket and rolled up the sleeves of your shirt, wiping the sweat from your brow with the kerchief your mother had embroidered your initials on for you last Christmas. You had parked your father’s dark green AA truck in the round drive, pulling the canvas bag of tools and shoes over your shoulder, and grabbing the small wooden stool in your left hand, your boots crunching through the rocks before making it to the grass. As you neared the stables you struggled to hide the surprise on your face when you saw a new horse in the ring.

You pulled your cap over your face, averting your gaze from the older man as you entered the cobblestone building. Surely, by logic, yes the horses got taken out. The shoes were worn each time they were changed, however you just were never sure who did the riding.

You could see though, in his posture, the way he sat, something was incorrect. He was right handed, as far as you had realized when he sent you with the cheque once a month, signing with his right hand. However, the way he sat, everything told you he was favoring his right side, working harder with the left as he broke the new horse.

The hooves of the filly had came to a halt outside of the stable around the time you were done with the first horse as he dismounted, leading it inside.

“Is she new?” You asked, not looking up from your work as you started on the second horse.

“Yes,” he removed the saddle from the horse before lighting a cigarette, the distinct smell of tobacco filing the air.

You could feel he was watching you, your movements, but you didn’t look. You always seemed to find a weird feeling in your stomach when you looked at him, but what scared you most was that it wasn’t fear.

You had chanced a glance at watching him ride as you worked, hoping he didn’t see you.

You pried at the first nail of the second shoe, your teeth grinding, jaw locked, as you struggled. You’d done a whole set of shoes efficiently, but now that you could feel him watching you, you couldn’t think.

“You know,” he began, as you saw out of your peripheral vision he was leaned, left side against the cobblestone wall, arms crossed as the cigarette dangled from his lips, “you’re lucky. I always wanted to work with the horses. Thought I’d be doing something like this ‘round your age. Ended up in France instead.”

You swallowed hard, taking the kerchief from your back pocket once again to mop the sweat from your brow, finally meeting his eyes as you leaned back on the stool, the tension loosening in your braces as you hunched for a moment.

His entire demeanor was as cool as his eyes, and you were afraid he was going to chastise you for stopping the work, that was until you spoke.

“How long has your right hip been bothering you?”

He paused, cocking his head to the side before the cigarette had made its way back to his mouth, and his brow furrowed. He didn’t speak.

“People,” you said, returning to the task at hand, “aren’t that much different than horses, Mr. Shelby. If you watch the way they move, you don’t need them to tell you there’s a problem. You can see it.” You exhaled, fearing you’d pushed the wrong button, but you’d found that you couldn’t shut up. “I’d guess by the way your right shoulder droops and you lean to the left, even when you’re making a right turn, that you’ve been having some pain for about a month now.”

He chuckled, ashing the cigarette before he spoke, “Six weeks.”

You nodded, moving from the third shoe, “The way you lean, you won’t get relief on it from the side.”

“Doesn’t matter where I sleep,” he spoke as he paced, and you watched the way his right foot turned out, the new boots worn more on the edge than the sole on that side, “sleep in bed, sleep on the couch in me office, even slept on the floor in me office. Still hurts.”

You finished removing the fourth shoe, and stood, still at a distance from him.

“You can’t walk on the outside of the foot, you have to walk heel to toe or, even if I do fix it, it won’t be of any use.”

“Fix it?” He questioned, clearly taken aback that you were offering a solution.

You needed to stop observing him so closely, the fact that you found the way he walked and the way he talked rather interesting, the same amount of interest you gave to the broadness of his shoulders and the angle of his jaw, or you’d be getting your ass beat the same way you had during that pickup rugby game after getting tackled with a hard-on.

You nodded, trying to remain casual, with a shrug, “If you want.”

He rolled his eyes, removing his jacket and hanging it with some of the other tack on a hook, throwing his hands up in a resigned fashion as he finished the cigarette, “Not like you’ll manage to make it worse, eh?”

“Okay, turn around.”

He faced the closed door of the empty stall, calloused fingers grasping the bars and leaning back slightly as you placed the heel of your left hand above the waist of his trousers, feeling the knot that had tightened there. You applied more force, feeling it loosen as he let out a groan, before your right hand found and palmed the front of his hip, your hands pressing in opposite directions, turning and moving him with the pressure and a slight twist before you heard the definitive pop noise.

He didn’t move for a moment, his head hanging forward and the longest part of his hair falling in his face, before he finally exhaled, the breath turning into another relieved groan before he stood straight.

You hadn’t stepped back to give him room, and when he turned, you were almost nose to nose, his eyes drunk with a sense of relief.

He shook his head, a lazy smile gracing his lips, “You should at least be going to school to be a veterinarian if that’s what you can do to people.”

He side stepped you, and you returned to picking out the horses hooves, trying to convince yourself the sheen of sweat that coated you was truly from the heat, even though it was a lie.

“Do you want the filly shoed today, sir?” You asked, the moment gone and returning to normal like nothing ever happened.

He shook his head as he pulled his jacket back on, his stride slightly longer as he had went to retrieve it, “I want to get her broke before I have her shoed. Next time you’re here should be plenty of time.”

You nodded, watching him walk as far as you could see him as he went to the house to retrieve the cheque.

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[the-clockwork-three]

The Howl cardigan is done!! Featuring my full Howl Pendragon cosplay

[Image ID: the first image is of a hand made crop-top length patchwork cardigan. The front is made of light pink and purple checker with a yellow trim. The sleeves have a checker of pink and the second colour goes from light purple, to wine, to bright pink. The cuffs are cream and yellow.

The second picture is of the back of the cardigan. The back has a purple and blue checker, and the sleeves are the same.

The third picture is of a person wearing a jacket. They are pale skinned with long dark hair. they are also wearing a frilly white shirt, black trousers, black boots, gold rings, a blue neck lace, and have a pink star shaped necklace hanging form their waist. Their face is not visible. End ID]

Some close up pics of some of my favourite parts, goofy pics and general rambling below the cut.

The jacket weighs 330g (0.73 pound), and is made up of 92 squares each measuring 3.5 x 3.5 inches. It is Really Warm, but not very itchy (except for the wine in the sleeves because it's actual wool and not just plastic). It took me about six months to make in its entirety, but I did take several breaks so it probably wasn't that long. I think the most squares I made in a day was 8.

This was my first time making clothes (except for a wrist warmer which doesn't count because it was just an excuse to practice knit stitch) and I'm super proud of how it turned out. Anyway I'm pretty sure the yellow for the trim and cuffs is the same yarn I used in my very first project (the aforementioned wrist warmer) like ten years ago.

I'm not wearing a wig due to sensory issues and the fact I cannot style my own hair and you want to trust me with a wig??? Also I think my natural hair is Very Howl

I might make the body one or two rows longer but that's a quest for future me. I never want to see a 3.5 inch square again right now.

[Image ID: a photo of the same person in the same outfit as above. They are are standing differently and the jacket ends higher on their body. The image cuts off at the knees. End ID]

I really like this picture. The vibe is right. But the jacket rode up and looks bad. Because the main point of this post is to show off the jacket it didn't feel right to use this as the main pic. But just know, This photo rocks imo.

[Image ID: The first picture is of a little jar full of blue yarn scarps, with black yarn tied around the neck, and beads hanging from the black yarn. The second is of a blue bead hanging from an ear. The bead appears twice in the image due to the fact it is swinging. End ID]

A couple months ago one of my favourite bracelets exploded (as cheap bracelets are wont to do). So I reused the beads in other jewellery, for this project and in others.

The earrings are just beads on clear thread hooked over the ear, but what's cool is that every time you try to take a close-up picture of them, they swing so fast they show up in the picture twice.

[Image ID: a brown stuffed alpaca with the pink and purple jacket hung over its shoulders and a pink star necklace around its neck. End ID]

Calcifer the alpaca has claimed his rightful crown. Also the pink star necklace represents Calcifer in this outfit

[Image ID: Three close ups of squares from the cardigan. The first in a pink square with a darker pink swan embroidered onto it. The second is a purple square with an eye shaped pattern in the middle and a blue pupil. The third is a pink knitted square with large round bumps sticking out from it. End ID]

My favourite squares. The Na Daoine Maithe one in the sleeve, the Magnus Archives one on the back, and the bitch that gave me 14 heart attacks to only end up "okay looking". But it is Tactile so it gets a pass.

[tavarillasgalen]

26 was a transformative year.

I finally had the courage to end a 7 year relationship. I'm so angry with myself for not doing it sooner, but I kept hoping and what-iffing, even as things continued to worsen. I was so bored, I was so stuck, I felt so taken for granted and unappreciated, I felt so held back, I felt like I was making myself small, I felt like I could never truly speak my mind, I could not trust him, etc, etc, etc. And literally, as soon as I broke up with him, I felt this overpowering sense of relief. I was so relieved, I was elated. It was like a "breath I didn't know i'd been holding" moment. And I have absolutely zero regrets about ending it, the only thing I regret is not ending it far, far sooner. I had lost myself, many of my hobbies, and since the breakup, I've started getting them back. The only thing I miss is someone to talk to/do things with, but I'll make friends. My life improved so much since ending it. I feel so much freer. I am so fucking happy.

I got a promotion at work. My boss admitted that he's been giving me more work than the others because he knows if he gives it to me, it'll be done right, it'll be good, and it'll be done in a timely fashion. And when he told other people about it, they were like, yeah, makes sense, she's been ready for this for a while.

I moved my horse to a new stable. The circumstances behind why are bad, so bad that some of the other owners at her old stable were talking about taking legal action against the stable owner. But I trust the people at the stable she is at now. And I can see her so much more now. It is so healing.

My family and I talk again. We haven't had a good relationship in literal years. I honestly don't know how long it's been. But now we talk, we do things together. I feel like I belong. It is so nice.

I lost 10 lbs! I gained 20 lbs during the pandemic, and could not lose it for the life of me. But this year, with a combination of daily exercise and eating better, I'm down 10 lbs. Just 10 more to go until I am back at my pre-pandemic weight. And the weight loss is incredibly slow, which on the one hand is frustrating, but on the other, is very good, because slow weight loss is sustainable weight loss.

I started eating so much healthier. This primarily after the breakup. My ex was very overweight because he was sedentary and pretty much exclusively ate out. I feel so much better and I have saved so much money. I can't remember the last time I ate out - it was probably with him. And making my own meals and knowing what I put into my body is good for it is SO nice.

I started baking again! I loved this as a kid. I forgot that not only is baking fun, but I'm a good baker. The family ravs about my cookies and pastries and breads and things.

I started embroidering again! It is so nice to put on a show or music or something and sew. My embroidered jean shorts are now my favorite pair of shorts.

I started being artistic again! With sketching, with painting, with trying digital art. I'm BEYOND rusty, but I'm having FUN. So I honestly don't mind that I'm so rusty, because I'm having fun making art again and experimenting with different mediums.

I finished my degree. I did all the classes except for 1 in the typical 4 years of uni, and I kept putting off the last one because it was math. It took me 4 tries thanks to how horrific my mental health was, but I did it, it's done. And I got a 99% on the final exam.

I did so many things I'd wanted to. Like comic con, like renn faires, like going to the ballet. I scheduled things for my future self to enjoy in 27, like a fantasy photoshoot and a mounted archery clinic.

I made my first cosplays! Keyleth, her comic book look and her mantle. I'd been cosplaying for months at that point, but those were the first things I actually made.

I picked up classes to learn new skills, like coding.

I started Duolingo again, and have a streak of over 100 days. I'm actually starting to understand it when spoken at a normal speed, not just slowed down.

I started going on walks outside in the neighborhood! Very weather-dependent, but God are the flowers and houses pretty. And so many little free libraries around. When I can't walk outside, I either go to the gym or use my aeroski or do pamela reif workouts. I workout more days than not and it does wonders for my mental health.

Lol, this may seem strange. But some of my clients are dentists, and since taking them on, my teeth have never been this well-cared for. I have flossed literally every single day in 2023 so far, started using straws for sodas and energy drinks, etc. I better not have any cavities when I see my dentist next month, just saying.

I had the courage to see doctors about various health issues that were bothering me, like excruciating shoulder pain, throwing up everything I eat or drink (not intentionally, like, literally could barely control it), etc. I'm still paying off the medical bills and I'm pissed that only 1 doctor took me seriously while the rest had the gall to tell me I was just stressed when that was not the case. But I'm proud of myself for having the courage to take care of myself like that, anyway.

I actually... Started to want to actually live. I feel so far behind everyone else my age in part because of being held back/stuck by my relationship, but mostly because I never planned to live this long. And my suicidal ideation was so severe, I was only ever going through the motions for so long. Mental illness stole a decade of my life from me. But now, I... Actually don't want to die. I actually want to live. When I feel like I want to die, I recognize the truth behind the feeling which is really needing something to change. And then I work towards that change however I can. Like, I don't have retirement accounts or investments or much of a savings or anything because I just saw no point, because I figured i'd be dead soon. But now? When you are actually seriously researching retirement accounts and investments and savings strategies and all this? Actually making plans for a life far beyond the next couple of days? Of course I still get stressed and depressed by the fact that I don't already have those things sorted out, but then I remember that the reason for that is because I wanted to die for so long. I never thought I would live to see my 20s, and every year until now, I didn't think I'd live to see the next. But now? I want to actively help my future self out. I want to do what I can to make my future self's life better and easier. I want to do what I can to set my future self up for success. And when you have someone who was as suicidal as I was for the past 10 years and who made multiple suicide attempts start thinking about saving for retirement? Holy shit, how much of a win is that?

There's a lot more I could say, I'm sure. I also read so many books, worked on my own books, etc. But I'll leave it there. I'm really pleased with all the personal progress i've made this year. While I'm nervous about 27 and going from mid-20s to late-20s, fearing aging is only ever shooting yourself in the foot. 27 is so young, still. Age is just a number, and I feel more myself than ever before.

[regallibellbright]

[ID: Five pictures of a crocheted amigurumi doll of Namine from Kingdom Hearts. The first shows her full body. The second shows a closeup of her face, while the third and fourth show embroidered and crocheted four-pointed stars on the straps of her sandals. The fifth shows her sitting on a bookcase next to matching dolls of Lea and Xion, in their outfits from the ending sequence of Kingdom Hearts 3. End ID]

All right, I like doing full writeups, so even though I detailed a lot of how I made Namine already, I wanted to put it all in one place and include some detail shots I took. I'd decided back at the start of this project somewhere between February 2019 and summer 2020 that I wanted to make a doll of Namine as part of the set, which is why my standard tag is "Twilight Town Amigurumi" instead of something ice cream-related. I didn't think too much about when I would do her - Roxas's difficulty intimidated me, so he'd be towards the end, Xion I knew would be first because she's my absolute favorite (by which I mean, I made her IMMEDIATELY after we finished 3 and planned the rest after,) and Isa would go last because I don't have as strong feelings about him, but Lea and Namine were both sort of nebulous timing-wise.* Well, I ended up doing Lea second, and then I got tendonitis for the next two years and couldn't crochet nearly as much as I had before. But I wanted and fully intended to get back to this project eventually. And finally, last year, the time felt right. Semi-technical details under the cut!

* Sorry to Hayner, Pence, and Olette, but I only have so much space and these dolls take MONTHS to make since I'm doing their patterns from scratch, so I have to feel REALLY strongly about a character or their design to commit to it. Honestly I'm probably going to do some other stuff between Roxas and Isa just for variety.

I completely understand the desire for Namine to have a new outfit that's not a very simple sundress which she's been wearing since 2004, but also, this was very fortunate to me specifically, getting back into the swing of things. Her design is so simple that I could get used to making things again and then decide to get more complex as I went - her sandals, for example, were originally flat, before deciding midway through that no, heels would be doable, and I wanted the challenge. I completed one version of her hair entirely before getting a better idea that I wanted to test out before trying on Roxas and his VERY nice yarn. I knew going in that they'd be the hardest parts - the only question with her dress was how I'd attach it, really - so I let myself do a lot more experimenting as I felt up to it.

Both of those also include a LOT of sewing. For her sandals, for example, the sole of the shoe is actually the base of her foot, with a color change after the first few rounds done in back loops only. Once the legs were done, I added a border around the front loops to cover that they're all one piece, and that ended up being my attachment point for the three straps, each of which had its own yarn ends to weave in at the end. Plus two more for the heel, attached via the same method and surface crochet. And THEN, finally, you get to the stars. The crocheted pair were made with a very small hook and embroidery floss, and then the same embroidery floss was used to make the embroidered stars on the straps.

Her hair's made up of something like eight different sections sewn overtop a circular yellow "cap" sewn to her head. Each of the long sections (the one behind her back and the one over her shoulder) is its own distinct piece, and then the three central strands of her bangs are another, but virtually everything else is a separate piece from the others. It was a lot of work to make and even more to assemble, but I'm glad I did - it looks fantastic, with much more depth and messiness than it would have as a single piece, and I'm going to be using the same strategy for Roxas's spikes not too far down the line. Good to know it works. Also, in the process I picked up half-treble and treble crochet firmly.

I'd noticed some oddities when I was making her body and legs with how many rounds things were taking relative to the old notes I'd taken on the first two dolls, and the shape of Namine's shoulders in particular, but I figured it was a side effect of me taking VERY makeshift notes on Xion (as I hadn't planned on setting the project aside for two years and had only vaguely planned on making other dolls at all) and Lea's proportions being a bit taller and thinner. It wasn't until I tried to make ears, followed the pattern exactly, and realized they didn't look right that I realized what had happened - I'd been making Namine on a 4 mm hook, when the past two dolls were made on a 3.5, and this difference in gauge changed the size and shaping by extension. This made for a little trouble with the dress - what I'd planned for a more rounded body was trickier with the teardrop-shaped body I had. Fortunately, this proved to be a fairly easy adjustment in the end. Were I not telling people on the internet, no one would know that that dress gets wider a few rows in, and then widens again towards the bottom.

The dress is also where one of the coolest ideas I had paid off, and where the only real idea I had for detailing didn't quite work. I'd vaguely been hoping I could do picots to add further scalloping to the shell stitches at the bottom, which didn't work at the scale I was doing given it would be my first time trying picot. In the end, looking at it, it wouldn't have gotten me the proper shape, either, so I skipped that one.

On the other hand, I'd had a couple ideas from the start about how simple that dress is, and wondered if I couldn't attach the main part AFTER I'd sewn her arms on, and then use the straps so I wouldn't have to sew the dress to her. (For those reading a "how the sausage gets made" post who don't crochet, most amigurumi - the others included - have the clothes on the body attached before attaching the arms and any sleeves overtop, rather than having to account for armholes and the like.) What I ended up doing wasn't QUITE the same, but it was very close - I essentially sewed it partway so I could get her into it, since the top is narrower than the lower portion of her body, then sewed her in the rest of the way and the width difference kept the dress on. Then I made the first strap over her shoulder the same way I had for the sandals, crocheted across her back because the back of her dress is higher in-game than the front (look this thing's so simple that even the seam placement is a detail,) and did the same process with the other.

This took an oddly large amount of trial and error, but it was late when I realized I could be done if I could get the straps tonight, and things like "how many stitches will it take to go from the front of her body to her back" are always a little bit guesswork. In short, despite being a simple-loooking design, there's a surprising amount of work that went into this particular doll. But I'm happy with the end result, and realized the scaling issue just in time to account for it in her arm length and ears - while she's still a bit larger than Xion and Lea on the whole, it's not so noticeable that's unintentional.

As is standard for this group, she has a wire skeleton in her legs, arms, and up and down the back of her torso, in an attempt to make her head a bit less floppy with that hair weighing down a pretty flimsy neck. In the end, that's reasonably successful, and she can sit up with her arms pushed back same as the others without being propped up further. (Their heads are just the nature of the beast, especially with hair like that.) She also has eyebrows, though they're hard to see under the bangs, made of two shades of light yellow embroidery floss to approximate her hair color. It looks good, for all that it's a minor detail that doesn't photograph well.

In all, I'm super happy with how she did. Going to finish my first knitting project (I'm currently trying to figure out purl stitch) before moving on to the one they've all been waiting for for quite some time.

The good news is, changing my phone background today for reference material, I officially feel I have Ideas for how I'm going to do Roxas. I'm still going to be nervous doing some of the detailing - it's going to be tricky ensuring those checkerboard patterns show up at the scale I'll be working at - but while he's going to be a VERY intensive project, I now feel pretty ready to take him on. SOON.

[zzzzzzzzzzoom]

Au where Mirabel is the avatar of the casita.

Encanto AU: What if Mirabel is Casita's avatar?

yooo this just gave me another idea, so thank you for the ask! from my interpretation, mirabel being casita's avatar is like, she's still her own person, but with casita's desires and actions for the family occasionally seeping into mirabel's subconscious. "when casita notices something, mirabel just knows and does something about it without actually being there" kinda thing.

It starts when Mirabel is around 8. She's accepted that she will never get a door nor a gift, and her family is so busy helping in town that she spends her childhood talking to the house instead. It's just like talking to a mirror, but... somehow she learns things she shouldn't exactly know.

Luisa is the first recipient.

As she watches her 12 year old sister run outside to do her village chores, a voice in her head goes, Oh, and she was breaking down in her room last night with all the things she has to do. Poor girl. Mirabel doesn't remember even entering Luisa's room these past few months.

But she can't do nothing, not when the concern feels so vividly real.

She thinks about talking to her, but decides against it. Gift-giving is her love language, and if Mira wants to show love to her hermana, she'll do it in the way she does best.

She embroiders a throw pillow, with calming and smooth wave designs instead of Luisa's trademark barbels. She tries to convey, You need some rest. She adds some sleeping donkeys for good measure.

(It feels somewhat maternal, but Mirabel is the youngest grandchild for now, so it's certainly strange.)

She slips it into Luisa's bed, carefully avoiding Abuela's view (she's always hated it when Mirabel would enter the magic rooms without permission), and hopes Luisa will feel better.

The next morning, Mirabel catches Luisa looking at her thoughtfully from time to time, and she's somewhat embarrassed, so she avoids her gaze. But something settles within her, and the voice in her head says, Ah, she slept so soundly tonight. Thank the stars for Mirabel's talent.

(But... she is Mirabel?)

This continues on for months. Camilo's insecure about himself again, the voice says, and Mirabel slips a Camilo doll into his bathroom mirror, to show him how fond she is of Camilo, not anyone else. Julieta's burning out from cooking, the voice laments, and Mirabel wakes up early to pick up her mom's favorite herbs and hides them in the cupboards. Oh, Dolores' earmuffs broke and she's too scared to ask for another one, and Mirabel's walking up to her, pushing some personalized earmuffs into her cousin's hands, muttering something about an early Christmas, even though it's August.

Isabela's making new flowers and killing them, again. A shame, I think her blue jacarandas are lovely, the voice says one day, and even though she's a little miffed (and surprised) at having to make a gift for Isa, she still slips into her flower-filled room with a purple and blue sash. (She adds some orange highlights, thinking to annoy Isa with the clashing colors, not knowing that it's exactly what she wants.)

Oh, Pepa's remembered Bruno again. When will he come back, I wonder... the voice says another day, quiet and sad, and Mirabel sighs. No wonder it's been raining since this morning. She wishes she could help, but she knows nothing about Tío Bruno...

He loves rats, she thinks, except the memory doesn't feel like her own. But now she knows what to do. Later that day, she sneaks a little stuffed mouse into Pepa's bedroom drawer, and hopes she finds it. (She does, and she smiles wistfully at it for a solid 30 minutes. Felix lets her.)

This behavior doesn't go unnoticed by the family. They know it's Mirabel, because who else can make dolls and pillows and designs as well as her? They just chalk it up to her being uncannily observant, inadvertantly causing themselves to distance themselves from her, just a little bit. They need to be strong, they shouldn't need her concern.

(Little do they know, their problems are not seen by her eyes alone. The very magic that flows through their house sees them too.)

It goes to show how much Abuela hides from them when the first thought Mirabel hears about Abuela is 2 years later, when Mirabel is 10 and playing with newborn Antonio. The thought is so wistful, so longing that it makes her forget about the giggling baby in the crib, the green walls of her nursery, the entire Casita.

She feels like she is Casita.

Another 5 years have gone by, haven't they, Alma, since the last gift ceremony? Another Madrigal grandson is born, and you think of your husband. Your children are 45 years old now, and you still won't allow yourself to grieve for their father. Let me help you, please.

...

..........

Of course, I won't, because you say you're strong. I'll follow you. You are mi vida, but...

And suddenly Mirabel is back in her own head, unfamiliar tears falling down her face. She opens the nursery door in a flurry, and stares at the still-glowing door of her Abuela, directly across her. Something's off, and she should help, but her feet are glued to the ground.

Of course, I won't, I'll follow you.

Those words ring in her head like a warning, like she's not in control of her own body, and she doesn't understand. She wills herself to step forward, but a baby's cry distracts her.

She turns to the crib, where Antonio is grabbing at air and whimpering. Mirabel rushes back to him, wipes the tears from her eyes, and picks him up.

"Sh, shh..." she murmurs, patting his back. As she rocks him to sleep, she spares a glance at Abuela's door.

It shines and Mirabel falters. She shouldn't meddle with this.

And so, she turns around and kicks the door shut behind her.

[cultleaderyoongi]

Sweet Spot | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☆ genre: established relationship, pwp • smut, fluff

☆ word count: 7.5k I'm so sorry

☆ warnings: explicit smut – dry humping, handjob, blowjob, fingering, eating out, slight breast/nipple play, penetrative sex, protected sex (ayyy), simultaneous orgasms, some praise; Yoongi is a simp but we all simp for Yoongi so I guess that's ok; mature language; mentions of alcohol

☆ synopsis: Three months into dating, Yoongi ponders what the perfect scenario for a love confession would be. There's no manual stating when and where and how is appropriate. It's only convenient when his body reacts faster than his brain, doing the job for him.

☆ playlist: CL - +5STAR+ | Doja Cat feat. SZA - Kiss Me More

☆ a/n: ...Hello again. I'm back with the last installment of the Birthday Boy universe for now 👀 and oh boy... This is my first piece of actual smut on this site, and while I'm shaking and sweating profusely this was so much fun to write.

I hope you enjoy reading. If you do – thank you! As always, lmk what you think ♡ Also, happy August! Time flies by so fast, like can y'all believe we’re already 8 months deep into more what the fuck-ery?

© cultleaderyoongi on tumblr | do not repost or translate on any platform

Not in a million years would Min Yoongi have imagined there's a way to upgrade relaxing (read: lazying around) after a long day at work because, mind you, if there's one thing this man is convinced he's got down to a T it's making the most of his leisure time. Crack open a cold one, put on the NBA playoffs on his 85-inch screen if those are happening, and chill out on the couch until his tired legs drag him back to his bedroom. You know – work hard, rest harder.

It never crossed his mind that all of this would actually be an even better experience while holding someone or being in someone's arms. He's surprised at first since, from what he remembers, he absolutely hated when his older brother Geumjae used to sneak into his room in the middle of the night, scared out of his wits because he saw a monster, seeking refuge in the younger one's bed. Ugh. The lack of space, the added body heat. Everything about it was downright awful.

Now that he found you though, he has someone to share his nights with, and he never wants to go back.

The first night you came over Yoongi was a nervous wreck. He's gotten more than accustomed to falling asleep by your side now though, the feeling of holding you close while the two of you drift off into slumber together. The times you're not there with him, he immediately misses your touch. He's specially grown used to the way your fingertips caress his skin, drawing small circles on his back or running them through his hair.

With both of your busy schedules, you try making it a once-a-week occasion at least, mostly during the weekend since it also allows you to spend the next day together. Today is one of those days, a Friday night to be exact, when you show up at Yoongi's doorstep, your white, flower-embroidered tote bag packed with some of your stuff slung over your shoulder, ready to stay the night.  

He greets you with a quick peck on the lips and an arm wrapped around your waist. "I missed you." The words are muffled as Yoongi murmurs them into your hair, his hold around you still tight before he leads you into his apartment.

"It's been a week." You turn around to send him an incredulous look, brows furrowed but lips pulled into an amused smile nonetheless.

Locking the door behind him, your boyfriend musters you with a slight hint of annoyance – which is definitely play-pretend. "Yeah, so? I can't miss my pretty girlfriend's pretty face?"

Your laugh ricochets off the walls of the hallway. "Now you're overdoing it."

Yoongi shuffles closer to you, hands coming up to cradle your face as he plants another chaste kiss on your lips. "Nope, never."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you slightly shove him by the chest, but Yoongi doesn't miss the way you turn bashful, cheeks rising as the corners of your mouth turn upward.

You make your way further into the spacious apartment with Yoongi hot on your heels, the scent of your rose body mist leaving a lingering trail in the air. He's grown so fond of it, the way it still stays on his sheets days after – a reminder that you are, in fact, very much real and very much his.

"Oh my God." In an almost comical manner, you plant down face-first onto the black leather couch of his living room, your tote bag dropping down onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

"Long day?" Yoongi carefully finds his seat next to you, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your back.  

"The longest," you grunt with a pout, cheek squished on the cushion as you turn your head to the side. The image makes Yoongi chuckle to himself. "This thesis is driving me insane."

Your boyfriend sends you a tight-lipped smile, hand coming to a halt on your lower back. "I know, baby. But you're doing so well. I'm so proud of you." A tired smirk makes its way onto your features, his affirmative words leaving a positive effect on you.

In your position, you twist around to lay on your side, grabbing ahold of your lover's hand, gripping it tightly. "I'm so beat. I barely made it into the shower before I got here."

At that, Yoongi's face turns slightly sour, fingers lacing through yours. "Why didn't you say anything? We could've met up some other time or I would've come over instead."

"I really wanted to see you."

The words leave your lips without hesitation, pulling on Yoongi's heartstrings. Man, he loves you. Like really loves you – it's just that he hasn't had the courage to say it out loud yet after three months of dating. He's never told anyone that he loves them romantically, but he doesn't sweat it. Sooner or later, the time will come when he's ready to tell you, he's sure of it. On the other hand, he wonders if you harbor the same feelings for him, but he brushes that thought aside because any sign of you not reciprocating would be a stab at his heart.

"Besides," you continue, "your bed is so much more comfortable than mine."

A lighthearted chuckle resonates from Yoongi. "Alright, fair enough." Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand, rising to his feet. "You probably haven't had dinner yet, right?" You respond with a timid shake of your head. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Doesn't matter. I don't wanna move a single muscle though."

Yoongi lets out a laugh at that. "Don't worry, you won't have to do anything besides lay here looking all pretty."

You look up at him with puppy eyes that have him weak in the knees. "But then I'll feel bad for making you do all the work."

"That's okay." He moves to pick up his phone from the side table. "We can also order in if that makes you feel better."

A simple nod of your head seals the deal.

One empty pizza carton and bottle of Moscato later, the two of you are cuddled up on the couch. You don't remember who suggested this documentary on sea life, and it doesn't matter now, but in his peripheral view, Yoongi notices your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

"Hey, are you falling asleep on me?" He pokes your cheek before gently cupping it, his thumb rubbing small circles into the soft skin.

"Nuh-uh," you mumble, head lifting off of Yoongi's shoulder in lightning speed. "Just enjoy cuddling with you."

Your boyfriend musters you with narrow eyes. "Alright, let's get you to bed," he grumbles as he watches you trying your hardest to stay awake.

At that, you jump up from his hold, propping yourself up on both hands.

"Are you okay? What's up?" Yoongi sends you a confused yet concerned look.

You shake your head furiously. "I can't go to bed yet."

"Why not?"

Licking your lips, you look down at him through your eyelashes. "I wanna stay up with you longer."

Yoongi is sure there's no intended insinuation behind your words, but the way your eyes hold his has him wondering how you wander the lines between innocent and seductive with such ease. "Okay," he simply replies, his hand coming up to push back parts of your hair that are falling in front of your face. "But any sign of fatigue, and it's nighttime for you, lady."

A smirk appears on your lips before your frame finds its way back into Yoongi's arms. "Yes, sir."

He gulps. Sometimes he's unsure if you have too much power over him or if he's simply too weak for you.

As you nuzzle your face back into the crook of his neck, Yoongi's focus on the TV falters when he senses you scattering small pecks all over, puckered lips tickling his sensitive skin as they slowly flutter from one spot to another.

"What are you doing?" He can't hide the effect your attacks have on him, voice wavering when you suck at the crevice right below the corner of his jawline.

"Have to keep myself awake," you murmur, moving further upwards to the spot behind the shell of his ear. "Also, you smell really nice."

Yoongi chuckles at that. "Likewise. I took a shower before you got here." A groan emerges when you lightly tug at his ear lobe. "Also, that's your idea of keeping yourself from falling asleep?" His question is answered by you carefully grazing your teeth across the side of his face, a smirk creeping up on yours, causing him to cackle again. "I'm not against it."

You entangle your legs from where they lie splayed out on the couch in between his, hoisting yourself up while you swing them over both sides of his torso, straddling his waist.

You're no strangers to heated make-out sessions, your very first one having hugely impacted the future of your relationship, serving as a stepping stone for many more following – but this time feels different in a sense Yoongi can't quite grasp yet. The way the insides of your thighs feel almost scorching hot through the fabric of his shirt, heat emitting from every inch of exposed skin on your body. Yoongi has his suspicions, but he doesn't want to cave in just yet.

He reaches for your face, palm covering the entire expanse of your jawline, gently pulling you down towards him until your lips are mere millimeters apart from each other. "What are you doing to me, hm?" Closing the distance between the two of you, he draws you into a deep kiss, longing apparent as the tip of his tongue darts out to lap at the underside of your top lip once he breaks it off.

The look you send him has Yoongi almost at a breaking point, glossy eyes with fluttery eyelashes, and plump lips slightly parted with a sheen of saliva from the kiss. He wants to have you right here and now in any way you'll allow him – if this is what you want, that is. You haven't had sex yet, and frankly, neither of you have brought it up so far. Yoongi follows the rule of whatever happens, happens without any pressure, and it seems like the same applies to you.

Now that you're on top of him like this though, with fiery eyes hungry for more, he's not sure how much longer he can hold out. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" he mumbles against your lips, his last attempt at toying with your patience (and his) a little more, stroking small circles on your cheekbone.

When you reply by rolling your hips farther down his body until his crotch comes into contact with yours, his breath hitches in his throat. He's going to lose it any second, and when you pull him in for a relatively tame kiss that's in juxtaposition with the bold grinding of your groin, he's sure he's done for.

"You're gonna kill me at this rate." The timbre of his voice drops another octave once you draw away from him, sitting up straight with your bottom digging into his now evident erection.

A mischievous smile splays out on your lips. "Maybe that's my plan." Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt, dragging it upwards until his lithe figure is on full display.

"Didn't take you for the type to wanna murder their rich husband." Yoongi catches on to your cue, back lifting off of the couch to pull the white fabric over his head, throwing it onto the floor before plopping back down into the cushion with a soft thud.

"You don't know me very well then." Your joking words draw a low chuckle out of your boyfriend. This serves as an invitation for you to trail your fingers across his torso, nails gently grazing over the smooth skin of his chest.

He loves when you do this, whether it be on his back when he needs to be held after a hard day at work, or on his scalp when he's kissing you with so much fervor you need to hold onto him. It's a mystery to him how one action can hold such different meanings. Right now, the way your digits dance across his naked chest causes goosebumps to rise on every exposed inch of skin on his body, and like muscle memory his hands come up to cling onto your hips, compelling you to collapse onto his chest.

He envelopes you in an urgent kiss, tongue gliding across the seams of your lips which emits a whimper from you, and it doesn't take long for him to trail the hem of your camisole top past your sides, the pads of his fingers following the lines of your figure until they come to a halt beneath the wire of your bra.

You take the hint and sit upright, removing the piece of clothing that has fallen back into its initial form in this position at a tantalizing pace, revealing more and more skin by the second that Yoongi is dying to touch.

He watches you with his mouth agape. This is the first time he's going to see you topless or in a bra at least, and once the fabric is off, his mouth instantly waters at the sight. "I– uh, wow." His gaze is glued onto the dream of white lace that covers your chest.

"I'll take that as you like it?" you question your boyfriend with an alluring lull in your voice.

Obviously overwhelmed with what to do, he resorts to running a finger across the intricate pattern that travels up the bra strap. "Oh, like would be an understatement." He can feel the blush creeping up on his cheeks at his honesty, and the heat only worsens when you prop yourself up on his pectorals, giving him an even more enticing view as you push your chest together.

Yoongi blinks up at you, brain bordering on system overload, but he continues to cautiously maneuver his hands to cup your breasts with his palms, lightly caressing them. A groan rumbles in the depth of his chest. If he were to die now, he'd die a happy man, he concludes.

You react instantly to his touch, hips swiveling down harder onto his length, a single whimper escaping your lips. Throwing your head back, you offer an even more captivating cleavage to your boyfriend which results in a push-and-pull effect as you rile each other up.  

The scene unfolding in front of Yoongi's eyes is nothing short of erotic, and he's certain he's going to blow his load right this instant if he doesn't take care of it, so he pulls you down into a heated kiss to halt your movements – though his own body betrays him immediately as he seeks solace against your clothed core once more.

Like some kind of mind reader, you maneuver one of his hands down towards your abdomen. "There's more, by the way," you purr into his ear, hooking one of his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, trailing them down an inch.

"Ha– okay," he manages out, hesitantly moving his other hand to come into play. As you rest your hands beside Yoongi's head, you raise your butt into the air which he takes as his lead to undress you. Carefully, he peels off your shorts until they're past your cheeks when you take it upon yourself to strip them off entirely, legs raising one after the other to climb out of the holes.

Taking in your initial position, Yoongi's eyes almost bulge out of his head. You're wearing matching panties, the same white laced design dancing across your underwear. At this point, he's certain he's entered heaven. What did he do to deserve this – to deserve you? He stares at the fabric for a while until he notices a prominent dark spot right on the center, and it renders his blood flowing uncontrollably to his dick.

You dip back down to engulf him in another heated kiss, eliciting a deep growl from him once you grind against his hard-on again.

It's like Yoongi finally comes to a realization that all of this is very much real, and like a switch flipped inside of him, his hands latch onto your lower back before traveling further down to grab a handful of your ass, massaging the flesh with his calloused fingers, causing the movements of your hips to intensify.

Your kisses are all tongue and teeth at this point, muscles dancing together in unison, lips red and sore from all the nibbling. It's when Yoongi hears you mumbling something against his mouth that he draws back. "Huh?"

"I said I wanna make you feel good." You resort to leaving open-mouthed kisses across his neck, tongue lapping out leaving wet splotches to dry under your breath.

A dark chuckle leaves Yoongi. "You're already making me feel good, baby."

You shake your head, the motion causing your hair to tickle Yoongi's face in the process. "I wanna make you feel even better." Without skipping a beat, your trail of kisses moves down to his clavicle in a painstakingly slow fashion across his chest all the way down his to abdominals before coming to a halt at the band of his sweatpants.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, and he swears he's gone into cardiac arrest. How dare you give him such innocent eyes while doing the most devilish things to him? "You're gonna be the death of me," he huffs in defeat.

And with that, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants, peeling them down slowly along with his boxers until his hardened cock springs free.

It takes you a moment to react, but for Yoongi that moment is enough for his mind to go haywire – what if you don't like what you're seeing? What if you expected something else? What if you changed your mind? What if–

His train of thought stops abruptly when he feels your lips wrap around the head, tongue poking out to lap at the underside. "F-fuck," he barely manages in a murmur causing you to let out a loud huff. As you dare to go deeper taking him in about halfway, his hand shoots out to card through your hair, holding the locks in place.

God damn, it's been a while since Yoongi has found himself in this position – and with you on the giving end, it makes it all the much better. The way your hand that's usually reserved for holding it in his much bigger one is now grabbing the shaft of his dick renders him immobile. It takes all his might to not shoot straight down your throat right this instance, so he seeks your free hand resting atop his thigh for leverage, interlacing his fingers with yours.

By now, your mouth has made it all the way down to your fist wrapped around him, warm and slick with saliva. With a choked gurgle, you come back up to catch your breath before sliding down again, another glob of spit trickling down his length. "Shit," the man growls, eyes falling shut at the sensation of you hollowing out your mouth, creating a suctioning hole to fuck him with. "You're so good to me, baby."

When Yoongi opens his eyes again and catches you stroking him in fast motions while your head bops up and down in a similar fashion, he swears he's going to lose it any second. He's not going to last any longer, but he's in such bliss with you slobbering all over his dick, but he's not going to be able to hold it in any longer, and he wants to make you see stars and give you the world and–

With a pop sound, you release him, resorting to your hand taking over as you stare at him with glossy eyes and lips. "You good?" you inquire, your sideway smirk in stark contrast to the softness of your voice.

He's going to be in for one hell of a night.

"Come here." Tightening the grip on your interlocked hands, he pulls you up to meet his face, engulfing you in a messy kiss that's mostly sticky remnants of your own saliva. He doesn't mind though, the taste of himself on your tongue only spurring him on to deepen the kiss.

In your position propped up on all fours, Yoongi has enough room to slide one of his hands down the expanse of your front before coming to a stop at the hemline of your panties. He tests the water by hooking one finger underneath the white lace. Breaking off the kiss, he looks into your eyes, pupils dilated with lust. "Can I?"

You respond with a small nod and a meek smile, and with that Yoongi's hand glides past the restraints of the cotton fabric, cupping your mound with his palm. A guttural groan resonates from him when the tips of his fingers find out you're soaked. "Fuck, baby. Look at you."

The harmonious melody of your chuckle slowly subsides, turning into choked-out moans instead when the male starts rubbing his hand back and forth, spreading your slick all over your folds. You shift in place when his digits swipe over your clit, a vocal sigh leaving your lips, and Yoongi swears it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard. He's compelled to do it again and again, adding more speed and pressure until your gasps fall into a rhythm with his own.

"O-oh my God." You drop your head into the crook of his neck, hot breath fanning across his skin mixed with exclaims of pleasure.

Experimentally, your lover prods at your pulsating hole, pushing in the tip of his middle finger. When you let out a particularly loud sigh, he takes it as his go to slide in all the way, slowly but surely wrapped in your warmth.

You react instantly, a drawn-out whimper escaping you when he grazes that one spot inside of you. "M-more," you whine, gnawing at your bottom lip.

Yoongi doesn't hesitate at your command, slipping in another one until he's knuckles deep. You seem to be satisfied with that as your head comes up to draw him in for a deep kiss, and he makes a move of dragging his digits in and out. With the bent form of his hand, his palm continuously digs into your clit, eliciting high-pitched cries from you which in turn causes him to become more earnest with his actions, picking up speed until he's hitting your outer walls with his bony knuckles.

You're a moaning mess above him now, juices trickling down as they coat his hand front and back. "F-fuck, Yoongi."

He feels your walls flutter around him, and it drives him insane. These are just his fingers. How good will he be able to make you feel with his mouth on you or with his dick inside of you? God damn, he can't wait to find out, to spread you out on his bed and love you like you're his – because that's what you are. Yoongi still can't believe how he managed to find you when he didn't even know what he was looking for. You deserve all the pleasures in the world and more.

As if on cue, you reach down to grab ahold of his wrist leading him to stop. The man looks up at you in confusion. Did he speak too soon?

"Yoongi, fuck me."

A gulp resonates in his throat. Did he hear you right? You want him to–

Planting a quick peck on his lips, you regain his attention. "Please."

You're dead serious, pulling him out with a squelching noise before proceeding to slide your sodden panties to the side.

His eyes are bewitched by your movement, watching every millimeter with focus. The inside of his mouth turns into a waterfall and a desert all at once. Though as convincing your argument might be, he doesn't want to rush it.

"Not yet," he muses, capturing your hand that's toying with the fabric, forcing you both into an upright position. "I wanna do things right with you."

Now it's your turn to stare at him in perplexion. "What do you mean–oh!" Suddenly, you're off the ground as Yoongi carries you bridal style through his apartment.

His lips are on you the entirety of the way to his bedroom, never faltering in their feverish kisses even when he places you on the soft sheets.

It doesn't take long for the man to pick up where you left off, his body towering over you, descending as his kisses follow the lines of your body. He halts at the swell of your breasts before his hands maneuver behind your back, unclasping your bra with a snap.

He's unsure how he's remained confident in his actions until now, but as soon as he sees the cups lay loosely atop of your chest, his brain short-circuits, eyes boring into yours. The thought of you naked has crossed his mind many times before, but now that he's actually in the moment about to become reality it's like all senses have lost him.

Luckily, you catch on to what's happening, helping out by carding your fingers underneath the straps, dragging them down one by one until the garment is off completely. Dangling it off the edge of the bed, you let it drop to the floor.

His eyes flicker back and forth between your face and your chest. The image right in front of him goes beyond all of his imaginations. The way your hair is splayed out on his silk sheets, your half-naked body illuminated by the sliver of light peeking through the crack in the door, looking up at him with a hint of mischief. "God, you're so beautiful. You know that?"

You tilt your head to the side at his comment, hiding your face in the feathery pillow.

Yoongi chuckles at your reaction. "Why are you getting shy all of a sudden?" His hands come out to hold you by your waist, slowly sliding up until they reach your breasts, grazing your nipples with his thumbs. "Just stating facts."

He bends down to bury his face in the junction of your neck, trailing kisses from your jugular down to your collarbone before landing on your left breast. Paying attention to the other one, he alternates between twirling the nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger and kneading the mound.

A choked-out moan escapes you as he repeatedly toys with your pert nubs, his tongue lapping out to flick your hardened nipple. Your hand reaches out to grab his wrist when he playfully tugs on it with his teeth, the other finding refuge in his dark locks pulling on them lightly.

After a while he switches sides, repeating the motions before continuing his path of kisses, stopping at the hemline of your panties. His fingers hover above the fabric when he looks up at you. "Can I?" he inquires with eyes locked onto yours, and the look you send him has him almost at a breaking point.

Giving him permission with a small nod of your head, your boyfriend slides the sodden piece of clothing down your thighs, slick sticking to your center leaving a trail that has him in awe.

Once the obstructing garment is off, he zeroes in on your bare lower form, folds glistening in the faint light coming from the hallway. You're a work of art, Botticelli's Venus would pale in your presence. The longer the night goes on, the more he realizes how damn lucky of a man he really is. It's beyond him how he managed to score you, beautiful from the inside and outside. So damn lucky.

When you move to pull your legs closer to you restricting Yoongi from the view, he gently places both hands on your knees. He realizes he must've ogled for too long. "Please," he groans, "don't hide from me."

You respond by softening in his hold, letting him pry your legs apart and planting your feet on either of his sides. His hands hook beneath your knees, lips puckering loving pecks along the inside of your thigh. As he dives deeper, he makes a detour for your hipbone, following the line of your apex.

Giggling at his gesture, you lightly close your legs around him. "It tickles," you explain with a hand atop his head in an attempt to push him away.

He takes your hint with a low chuckle, and so he hoists up your thighs on his shoulders, face disappearing below you.

You react instantly at his touch, his flattened tongue laving over the entire expanse of your slit leaving you squirming, and the noise that escapes you along with your taste and smell has Yoongi yearning for more. It edges on sensory overload, but in the best way possible. Your breathy moans and sweet scent and flavor have him immediately addicted like a drug, so he wastes no time in going back in – this time taking your sensitive nub into his mouth once he reaches the top.

"O-oh God," you choke out, hand seeking for leverage somewhere, bunching up the silk sheets beneath you.

Yoongi didn't think it would be possible for him to get even harder, but the way you look from this angle, your chest rising and falling as you let out the most sinful of sounds, has him almost bursting through the restraints of his clothes. He repeats the motion, switching it up by flicking the tip of his tongue up and down your clit and sucking on it.

"Yoongi, p-please," you whimper, your hand carding through the sweaty strands of his bangs, giving him a better view of you from his position.

He releases your labia with an obscenely loud pop sound. "What do you want, baby?" Locking gaze with you, he proceeds to eat you out, eliciting higher-pitched cries from you as he picks up his pace, nose bumping into your bud repeatedly.

Your other hand latches onto one of his wrapped around your thigh, interlacing fingers. "F-fuck me already."

The juxtaposition of your lewd request and pure gesture just about has Yoongi nearly cum on the spot, and as much as he wants to lick you dry of your juices he can't deny the effect your plea has on him.

He lifts himself off of you, giving your engorged clit one last kiss that sends a shudder through you. "What do you want me to do?" he questions with feigned ignorance. It might be a cheap trick, he'll admit that, but hearing those words coming from you fuels his ego to no end.

You tug him towards you by your interlocked hands so he's facing you, drawing him down until the tips of your noses touch. "I want you"–you peck his lips–"to put your pretty dick inside and fuck me."

Jesus. Since when do you have a mouth on you like that? It has his cock twitching and heart beating like crazy.

"Y-you think my dick is pretty?" he stutters, a smirk impossible to wipe off his face.

Guiding him in for another kiss, your teeth gnaw on his lower lip when you pull back. "I think all of you is pretty."

Yoongi doesn't know who has the upper hand in this situation anymore, but it doesn't matter because the warmth blooming in his chest has him on cloud nine. You're so sweet, and – now he found out – so naughty as well. What a jackpot he hit.

"Your eyes, your lips"–you emphasize your point by dragging your finger along the side of his face–"your hands. All of you."

A light chuckle leaves him. "Now you're overdoing it," he repeats your words from earlier tonight.

You inch his face closer to yours once more, tongue darting out to lick your lips to ready them. "Nope, never."

When you pull away from the kiss, Yoongi is quick to scramble off the bed, freeing himself from the confinements of his sweatpants and boxers in one go. Opening his upper drawer in a hurry, he almost yanks it out of the nightstand entirely, leaving you in laughter. He fishes out a foil package, ripping it open in one swift motion before placing the latex on his hardened cock. Pumping himself a few times to make sure it stays in place, he clambers back onto the bed until he towers over you, the tip of his erection poking at your entrance.

You greet him with that wide smile of yours he adores so much, the one that has your nose scrunching up and the sides of your eyes crinkling.

He could look at that face forever, smothering it in kisses, but when you brace yourself on his hips, urging him to push forward, he's sure he found a new obsession. The way your eyelids flutter shut and your mouth falls agape – he wants to relive that moment as many times as possible.  

Only when he's sheathed all the way inside do your eyes flicker open again, looking up at him with a sparkle in their irises that has him almost lose control. Bending down to engulf you in a deep kiss, he drags himself out halfway before thrusting back in.

This must be a fever dream – your velvety walls with their tight grip around his girth, your hoarse moans mixing with his guttural groans. Nothing, not even his wildest dreams, can compete with the scene unfolding right in front of him.

"Yoongi," you murmur against his lips. "M-more."

The man doesn't need to be told twice for him to pick up pace, throwing your legs higher so they lock behind his back. Leaning himself up on his forearms, he snaps into you deeper, faster.

You reply in needy sighs, nails digging into his hard biceps.

"Like this?"

"Mhm."

How do you manage to be so endearing even during a moment like this? Giving your lips a light peck, he continues pistoning into you, watching as your face contorts in pleasure.

Pushing your pelvis upward, you heighten the feeling of friction, his pubic bone colliding with yours on every thrust. "Oh, fuck!" you exclaim, followed by another string of curses.

Yoongi joins in on it, voice husky from the exertion. It's been a while – his arms are killing him, and so are his abs. Also, he's quite close to cumming, but he refuses to stop until you had your release. On that note, he wonders if you're even able to receive an orgasm like this. Maybe he should've made you cum on his fingers or mouth earlier – preferably both because he wants to spoil you. He figures you have all night though. He will gladly serve you until you're satisfied, as long as it takes.

Closing his eyes to remain calm, he focuses on the steady rhythm of his breathing. It only helps so much though when you writhe underneath him like that, wailing like a siren. God, this is so hot. You are so hot, he thinks to himself.

It's when he feels the warmth of your fingers on his cheeks that he opens his eyes again. "Let me get on top," you purr into the shell of his ear.

Your boyfriend complies no questions asked, hooking an arm around your middle to flip the two of you over, dick still intact inside of you.

Once you find leverage on his chest, you waste no time sitting up straight, rocking back and forth atop of him.

This might be his favorite position with you, he concludes. You look delectable from this angle, tits on full display covered in a slight sheen of sweat, that glimpse of his cock in your delicious cunt – he can't help but run his hands all over you. From your hips to your chest, back down to your hips before he settles for your ass. He feels as if he didn't get to appreciate it enough so far, so you being on top serves as another plus. "So fucking hot."

"Huh?" you question, voice weak as you're still riding him.

Just now does Yoongi realize he verbalized his thoughts. How stupid of him not to notice. There's no need for him to mask his slip-up though because it's the truth. So he repeats the words with conviction this time, locking eyes with you. "You look so fucking hot like this."

His compliment has a smile creeping up on your features, followed by a bite of your lip and an intense roll of your pelvis. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," he confirms, letting out a loud huff at your movement.

"Feel good, too?"

"Mhm," your lover gasps, grip on your ass tighter than before. "You feel so fucking good."

At that, you fall forward onto your arms resting them beside his head, now gliding up and down on his girth.

"Holy shit, okay." His hands move to hold you by the waist, helping you maintain your balance.

"This fine?" you purr, throwing your head to the side to prevent your hair from blocking your view.

"Y-yeah." Cradling your face in his hands, he drags it down towards him, nipping at your bottom lip. "You're doing so fucking well for me, baby."

This is all it takes for you to pick up the pace, chest collapsing onto his.

"O-oh God." Yoongi is reduced to nothing but curses under labored breath, tethering on the brink of release. He's not going to last much longer. "_____, I'm close," he admits, mentally preparing himself for disappointing you with his confession.

"I'm almost there," you pant, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "Please"–your lips pucker up to leave fleeting kisses all over his transpiring skin–"I wanna cum with you."

Your demand has all blood draining from your boyfriend's face, but he's determined to hold out for as long as possible. "Okay," he proclaims, planting a chaste kiss on your cheek.

When your legs surely but slowly start to give out, he takes it upon himself to send you over the edge. Bucking up into you from below, he has you sobbing again in just under a minute – too bad the audiovisual of you on top of him like this almost triggers his own orgasm again. He just loves this too much. He loves you too much. "_____, I'm–"

"Almost."

"When's almost?"

"Almost. I dunno."

He'd be laughing hysterically if it wasn't for the situation he's in right now. "F-fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I just love you too much."

"O-okay, I'm cumming." And with that you let go, squirming uncontrollably with your walls squeezing around his length.

Yoongi finally finds his own release in your vice-like grip, profanities slipping from him as he grabs your face, drawing you into a passionate kiss while he spills into the condom.

The two of you stay there like this for a while, perspiring bodies pressed together, mouths moving in tandem as you're still riding out your highs. You're in your own little world, the faint noise coming from the TV in the living room the only foreign sound in the air.

When you pull apart with swollen lips, the realization hits Yoongi like a truck – he just confessed his love to you. The question is did you notice?

"Did you just...tell me you love me?" You rest your head on his shoulder, hand carding through his hair on the nape of his neck.

Question answered. Now how does he go about this? It's not like he thought about how he would come clean about his feelings for you in great detail, but doing it during sex was definitely not on the list of possible scenarios. Does he regret it? No. Is he concerned it might scare you away? Maybe, yes.

Yoongi cranes his neck to the side so he's able to look at you. "Did you just cum from that?"

The two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, but then break out into lighthearted laughter.

"A little bit?" You raise inflection at the end of your phrase.

"A little bit or a lot bit?" Your boyfriend can't wipe the smile off his face as he playfully pokes your cheek.

You roll your eyes at him though he knows it's in a joking manner. "Hm...a lot actually." Burying your face back into his neck, you mumble under a coy chuckle, "it was good. Really, really good."

His hand moves to gently cup your cheek, causing you to lock eyes with him. "Why are you so shy all of a sudden? Where did all that confidence from earlier go?"

Another giggle from you fills his ears.

"For real though," Yoongi maneuvers his hand to untangle damp strands of your hair, "where did that even come from? The moves, the talk...the underwear!"

He must look ridiculous right now because the laugh that leaves your lips echoes off the walls.  "Hm...I don't really know either," you continue once it subsides. "I was sleepy, and the wine made me even sleepier, but also made me want...you." The digit of your pointer finger draws circles on his chest. "And I always put on nice underwear when we spent the night together, just in case." Propping your head up on your arm, you look at him through hooded eyes. "I dunno. It just felt right this time."

Yoongi can basically feel butterflies spark in his chest. You're a gift from heaven and he plans on never letting you go.

"Anyway"–you muster him with a hint of mischief–"you said you love me."

Hiding his face with a bent arm, he lets out a loud huff. "Yeah, talk about time and place, huh? Uhm so, I guess now that I said it"–he removes his arm, looking up at the ceiling now avoiding eye contact–"if you don't feel the same way, yet over ever, that's okay. I mean it would really fucking hurt at first considering my dick is literally in your pussy as we speak which, by the way–"

"Yoongi."

"–starts feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Not your pussy, but my cum and the condom. You could never feel uncomfortable in any way. You feel really fucking amazing, to be honest. Anyway, like I said–"

"Yoongi."

"–I'd understand if you're freaked out or weirded out or something like that because let's be real, no sane person would–"

"Yoongi!" You stop his mindless rambling mid-sentence, cupping his face in your hands. "Will you shut up for a second and hear me out, please?"

He swallows the rest of his wordy monologue.

"Do you think I would do all of this if I didn't feel the same? Make myself all pretty when I don't have to? Haul my tired ass over here after long days at uni? Do you think I would've gotten off when you said that to me if I didn't feel the same?"

His focus darts back and forth between your eyes for a few seconds before centering, eyelids blinking open and close a couple of times.

Your face inches closer, causing him to go a little bit cross-eyed. "In conclusion – I love you, too, you idiot."

It takes him a while to come back to life, letting your words sink in. You love him. You love him. This isn't a dream. You love him back.

He doesn't have the time to respond when you pull him in for a kiss, so all that's left for him is breaking out into a smile against your lips, and he feels yours curl into a smirk as well.

You draw away too soon for his liking, but when you speak again his heart bounces in his chest. "So, I feel pretty awake after all of this, and it's getting kinda late." Your eyes shift towards the alarm clock on his nightstand. "Maybe there's a way we can fix that again?"

"Say no more." Yoongi flips you over on your back in the blink of an eye, pulling out of you with a squelching sound before jumping off the bed. "I'm just gonna go and take care of this real quick"–he strips the used condom off his cock with caution, tying a knot into it–"turn off the TV and the lights in the living room, and then I'm all yours."

He's almost out the door when your voice sounds again, small and cozy. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

This is only the second time the words leave your lips, but Yoongi is already sure he won't ever get tired of you saying them. "I love you, too, _____."

[rats0ut]

still fully in the encanto brainrot and tumblr is enabling me so here r some headcanons around pepas wedding since it's fun& interesting to spectualte because pepas 10 years of denial and anger combined with brunos piss poor social skills and the fact the story was told entirely in the form of songs, makes them both wildly unreliable narrators (i mean that with nothing but respect. much love to them both)

keep reading for the headcanons :>

* Pepa and félix started dating first, but julieta and agustín got married first

* While they had always been a super romantic couple and got engaged, pepa and félix waited a long time for the actual wedding because pepa was so nervous about it - she's a very emotional & anxious person and was very scared of judgement from her family and the town so the idea of a big wedding with all the attention on her was terrifying

* On her wedding day she was already scared, so bruno making what he thought was an innocent joke tipped her over the edge. he can be blunt when trying to the lighted a situation and she spirals very quickly so it was the worst case scenario for a miscommunication

* With her siblings & mother's help she was able to calm down enough to carry on with the ceremony, but it was raining the entire time

* Félix didn't care, he was fully prepared for the weather to be out of control - he knows how strongly she felt about the wedding, but he was upset when he learned later how much she had broken down

* Bruno and pepas relationship wasn't all that much affected by it immediately after - they both knew it had been an innocent mistake, things like that had happened before and just continued with that sibling agreement where you dont bother to apologise and just move on, bruno tried to avoid weather related puns after that though

* However after bruno left, alma immediately started to refuse to let anyone talk about him, and pepa was so confused and grief striken but scared to feel those emotions that she had to hold on to whatever she could to make him leaving less painful

* everyone's view of bruno's leaving was very much influenced by almas perspective - she didnt do this with any cruel intent, but because when she said 'bruno didnt care about this family' she truly believed it - from her pov she asked him for a vision about the future and security of the magic, and then he went and had it and never returned. so from what she saw, he found out the miracle was going to die and so left out of fear and self-preservation (couldn't be further from the truth but you can't blame alma - she only got a small part of the story and a lot of what she thinks is clouded by paranoia about being forced to leave her home again).

* bruno overheard pepa talking about her anger over his comment at her wedding while he was in the walls, and initially assumed that she was just hiding how upset she was with anger over something that happened 10+ years ago, but it wore away at him over time and by the time he came back out he felt the need to genuinely apologise

* pepa immediately forgave him though, and after a few months of him being back their (and julietas) relationship was stronger than ever - they talk and hang out a lot :-)

* Félix only got more romantic as their relationship continued, and after bruno came back and they talked about the wedding again he got the idea that he wanted a proper wedding they could all enjoy

* He talked it over with julieta and bruno (and dolores. no point in trying to hide it from her) and proposed to pepa that they renew their vows

* He got Super into planning the renewal - pepa was less bothered and still kinda nervous for it, but he made sure it was perfect, and the ceremony was a family only event so there was no pressure

* Alma, julieta and bruno all walked pepa down the isle. Practically speaking it was very awkward but no one cared because it was so sweet

* Mirabel embroidered both their dress and the suit with little patterns and motifs in white thread - it was pepas one request beside it being family only and mirabel was so excited that they asked her

* antonio (and his jaguar) was the ring bearer and there were 2 rows of chairs at the back filled entirely with animals

[soulmate-game]

Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?” Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

[cheer-deforest-kelley]

This is the amazing day I met DeForest Kelley on the set of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.

My boss was friends with a woman who worked on a few of the Star Trek movies. He introduced us and told her of my love for DeForest and she invited me to the set when De was filming.

I could not take photos as it was a closed set, but it didn’t matter as everything I saw was burned into my soul.

In late December 1988, I drove through the gates of Paramount Studios and parked right by the Star Trek Production trailer (Trailer 12). My head spun as I walked inside and was surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the making of a Star Trek movie. While sitting in my friend’s office, a voice on the walkie-talkie said that Bill and De were in their dressing rooms. My head exploded.

My friend walked me to the stage that was the Enterprise bridge and I got to sit in Captain Kirk’s chair (my feet didn’t touch the ground—literally and figuratively). I saw Director’s chairs with the names William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy and DeForest Kelley embroidered on the backs. I would have loved to sit in De’s chair, but all I could do was touch the arm as we walked by.

The Stage Manager told us that Bill was on the New York street set, so we left the stage and walked to an outside set with a high stage. When we arrived, Bill was being strapped into a harness (which fit around his torso, waist and crotch and which would allow him to be lifted into the air). His legs were bare and very white (he was wearing gym shorts). He was making jokes and talking in a very high pitched voice as they tightened the straps around his nether region.

I forgot all about Bill when I heard a voice on a walkie-talkie say that De was stepping out of his trailer and would arrive in a moment. My heart started pounding and I started feeling very warm (it was 49 degrees outside— which by the way, is considered freezing for Southern California). I turned around and saw DeForest Kelley ambling towards me. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a dark green sweatshirt, a light blue jean jacket with a fleece collar, black cowboy boots and a multicolored scarf around his neck.

Tears welled up in my eyes. De said hello to a few people, hugged my friend and she then walked him over to me. She told him my name and said where I worked. De shook my hand for a very long time (eventually just holding my hand rather than shaking it) and called me a spy because I worked at different studio than Paramount. He commented on how cold it was and lifted his sweatshirt up to his chin to show us a fleece-lined shirt that a fan from Seattle made him. He was very charming and chatty; I said a few sentences but was mostly mute (just call me Gem).

After a few minutes, he said it was great to meet me, shook my hand again and went to talk to Bill (who was now wearing sweatpants with yellow stripes and a blue uniform tunic that was unlike their usual uniforms). They talked for a while, laughed a lot and then hugged goodbye. Bill (being the Director) had to leave to watch a previously filmed scene— he was driven away. Suddenly all the commotion on the set just stopped and much of the crew left, however De stayed.

He came over to talk to us again (OMG!!) and said “It’s always hurry up and wait.” I responded “That’s showbiz.” He laughed (thank God) and said “That’s right, you know it!” I found my voice this time when he asked about my job. We talked for at least 10 minutes— discussing the cold weather again, his being a little sad that production on the film was almost done (You’re sad De? Let me hug and console you.) and what we were respectively doing for New Year’s Eve. For De, it was was “Absolutely nothing except kiss my wife before midnight since we don’t stay up that late.”

A man holding a humungous binder came over and said he needed De. De said “Bye now” and left (sob!!). Of course I kept my eyes glued on him. After he conversed with the binder guy, he talked to some crew members, but when they left, he stood alone for about 5 minutes, during which he smoked two cigarettes (he had a very nice lighter). He looked around and found a random Director’s chair and plunked down in it (he first pounded the chair with his fist, to make sure it was sturdy-- it was an old looking chair).

Bill was gone for over an hour (lucky me). I was free to wander around the set, but I mostly stayed close and kept an eye on De; he talked to the crew, left once (potty break?), read a magazine and smoked-- sad to say he constantly smoked. He once looked over at me and gave me a big smile.

When Bill returned, they were ready to film the scene when Kirk falls from Yosemite’s El Capitan and McCoy berates him. There was a publicity photographer taking pictures of everything, including this scene (which happened to be printed in a magazine and is my first picture posted here).

The Assistant Director called for De, who stood up and unbuttoned his jacket. A woman appeared and De closed his eyes as she touched up his make-up and combed his hair (I wanted to comb his soft hair). Two big burly men then lifted De (by his outstretched arms and butt) onto the elevated stage; they lifted him so high and hard, he literally flew into the air before landing on the stage on one foot-- he caught his balance and then turned back to them laughing with his eyes wide. They both laughed nervously and said “Sorry De.”  He told them they were very strong.

On the stage was the bottom part of El Capitan made out of fiberglass. At the time, not knowing anything about the story, it just looked like a huge rock surrounded by dirt, boulders and trees. There were screens surrounding the stage that looked like blue sky with clouds.

They connected wires to Bill’s body harness. He was lifted just off the ground and then quickly hung upside down where he swung around loosely. De came over and bent down with his face very close to the upside down Bill and they spoke quietly between themselves; De then stepped back and Bill called “Action!” Kirk said “Hi Bones, mind if we drop in for dinner?” and laughed like he was a little drunk. De took a step forward, bent down and McCoy started yelling at the slightly twirling Kirk. Kirk patted McCoy’s ears and squeezed his cheeks, laughing and making little noises. They quickly filmed the scene twice. The first time went fine, but the second time, they both began laughing and De said to the upside down Bill, “Kiss me.” They quickly kissed on the lips (I know, I know!!) and the entire crew cracked up. Bill called “Cut!” and someone else yelled “Lunch—45 minutes.” De said goodbye to the crew, got into a car, lit a cigarette and was driven away.

I had to get back to work. I walked (floated actually) to my car and drove out of the studio gate, ecstatic that one of my wildest dreams had come true.

A month later, my friend gave me my very own Final Frontier cast & crew jacket (similar to the one McCoy wore in the campfire scene), a photo of the cast & crew (Leonard’s and De’s smiles are absolutely adorable), some Star Trek notecards and a cast publicity photo.

Sorry this is so long. It’s taken from a note I typed up when I got back the the office that day. I didn’t want to forget a thing.

[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense. 

[smurphyse]

Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly. 

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night. 

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted. 

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent. 

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice. 

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply. 

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it. 

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen. 

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’. 

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts. 

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her. 

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment. 

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs. 

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter. 

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened. 

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest. 

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch. 

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They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant. 

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all. 

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly. 

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.