#half is obviously a bit exaggerated but like still

[skijumpingf1]

Fis is doing a q&a with Nika Prevc. She just won the overall world cup at 19 (!!!). Half of the questions involve her brothers. I hate this world sometimes

[year2000electronics]

wow. four years old huh. i'll keep this part short but sappy rant under the readmore! happy four years!!

it feels like just yesterday when i watched this series on a whim because my friend kept making jokes about my ocs with hlvrai quotes and then it was so funny and engaging that it pulled me out of a months-long depressive slump... feels like just yesterday that my work was finally being seen by people, yesterday that the summer of 2020 was one of the most interesting summers ive ever had, yesterday when the 2020-2021 school year ended up being one of the most difficult times of my life and hlvrai really helped me get through it. without exaggeration this series has changed my life

yeah we all may have had ups and downs, like a LOT of downs, but ill always consider hlvrai to be very special to me, not just because i love it but because it represents so many good things to me: friends joking around having fun, friends carrying their past experiences with them (gmod rping, an affinity for extensively-planned bits, jokes that could ONLY be made by rtvs with each other, you get it), and how the best things often come from happy accidents, from people who DARE to CARE, because hlvrai is good because theyre not afraid to be silly! theyre not afraid to be stupid and sincere and ridiculous!!

and the most inspiring part to me has always been that hlvrai wasnt made to chase any trends. it didnt come in the wake of anything, it was made, and then after it was made, rtvs pretty obviously made it clear that they wouldnt let their lightning-in-a-bottle series box them in. like everyone on the team is very strongly against ppl being parasocial to them, they dont let people beg them for the funny half life info and references, all that. as a creator its cool to see people doing what they love and not succumbing to any pressure algorithmically or otherwise, especially during the lockdowns, when a lot of other streamer-based fandoms cropped up that had a VERY big 'encouraging being parasocial' problem. its always been nice to have a web series thats just one of many awesome things rtvs has done

hlvrai was everything i could have ever asked for and more, and me myself i was perfectly content with just having the standalone series forever, because sometimes a standalone thing is all you need. but with hlage, bbvrai, and hl2vrai being announced, im still so happy to be here and so happy that i get to keep enjoying one of my favourite pieces of media <3

[beefycupcakes]

I watched the Cars trilogy recently and with that came a wave of nostalgia and a strange desire to make my own designs for the cars as humans. Aka taking all the charm out of Cars but scratching the brain itch.

So, no need to drag out the intro any longer, I have some notes written out about em for those who might be interested or just bored.

Lightning McQueen:

I tried to make his suit look as professional as possible, with references pulled straight from McQueen's paint job/stickers, while also keeping in mind that I do intend to draw him more so I didn't want to go too crazy with the design. In a perfect world I would've let my maximalist cravings win, but alas let's keep it digestible for my sanity.

I feel like everyone's kinda on this unspoken agreement that McQueen as a human would pretty much look just like Owen Wilson, and that's the big picture here. I used Wilson as inspiration while tweaking and exaggerating a few things to my preference. (Okay, well not everyone, lmao.)

The chevron markings on the front cut off at the side seams not wrapping around the entire suit as to not clash with the sponsor logo on the back.

Also, he's wearing special gloves to help him grip & have control over the steering wheel. I think sometimes that looks a little weird when his sleeves are down & cuffed, but I just feel like he needs to have the gloves there— especially when he comes out of the top half of the suit. (It's also lowkey supposed to mirror his 4 tires when you consider his shoes are also black.)

So yeah, that's basically all I have to to say regarding Lightning McQueen's page. I feel like a lot of my design choices are self explanatory and, honestly probably shared universally... I mean, he's really cut & dry. (But I love him ⚡︎)

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Mater:

I'm not gonna lie, Mater was a bit challenging for me. I definitely had to step out of my comfort zone but I wanted to stay true to the character and not butcher anything.

My first thought was to give him a fishing pole to substitute for the tow hook— but then the more I was thinking about it, the more that felt so... out of place? Radiator Springs is in Arizona, which is (not entirely, but mostly depicted in the movie as) a desert. And even though there are beautiful bodies of water in Arizona, in the movie I don't recall seeing any prominent ones, at least in relation to Mater. So, scratch that, instead I gave him a lasso, which isn't supposed to entirely substitute for the tow truck— no, he still drives a tow truck, but the lasso is so he can grab people/things similarly to Tow Truck Mater (very cartoony). My explanation for this is the cattle ranch. Yeah, Mater is a tow truck driver but perhaps he has a side hustle, or hobby, if you will.

Also, I didn't want to make him... dirty(??) Like, yeah, of course, Mater would obviously get a bit filthy from time to time, it's just in his nature, but that is NOT going to be the core of my design. In regards to the rust happening on him, I felt like instead I would substitute this with being very tan. Again, Arizona is a desert. Because of this, he would take off his shirt often, and this would substitute for the missing hood like on Tow Truck Mater. The removal of the shirt also reveals just how tan Mater actually is.

It's his uniformed overalls that have his original aqua color, but from years of wear & tear they've been patched up with brown patches, this would also reference the rusting. The one strap is supposed to mimic the one headlight being broken, and I know that's a stretch, believe me, I wanted to do something with his eyes but eyes are not the headlights in the Cars universe..... think about this. Think about it really hard... if you know what the headlights are in the Cars universe then this actually makes perfect sense.

He is taller and wider than McQueen, which is a reference to the literal frame of their vehicle counterparts. (A little hard to picture with these images, but eventually I'll draw them together!)

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That's all I have to say really, but do let me know what you guys think! Gas it up and it might encourage me to make a part 2 with some of the other characters! Who would you like to see next? ♡ Thank you so much for reading & have a great day, Kachow!!

[latoyalestrange]

eternal glory

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: sebastian is selected to compete in the triwizard tournament during your seventh year at hogwarts. after he won the first challenge (by a landslide), you could've practically exploded with excitement for him. seeing you like that...wait, were his pants getting tighter?

words: 700ish

warnings: fluff, established relationship, aged up seb and mc, praise kink!seb?? soft!seb, not smutty just a spicy lil makeout sesh. not edited. minors dni!!

a/n: someone pls draw seb with the kisses all over his face how cute would that be!!

the triwizard cup, one thousand galleons, and eternal glory. that's what sebastian was promised. how could a slytherin resist? sebastian knew that as long as you were by his side, eternal glory was as good as his. however, this tournament was already proving to be easy enough. it also came with some...unexpected perks.

after defeating his appointed common green dragon, debatably the easiest to beat, you were obviously overcome with joy. as soon as he emerged from the player's tent, you launched yourself into his arms. a smile split from ear to ear on his face, seeing your genuine excitement for his win. he felt so much pride, so much love.

"you did so good, my love!" he instantly felt his heart flutter in his chest as he held you close to him in the air. you peppered exaggerated kisses all over his face, turning his cheeks and nose a bright red. he couldn't help but giggle as you wouldn't stop when he tried to plant your feet on the ground again.

"you were incredible! oh my days, i'm so proud of you!" the pure look of joy on your face still lingered as you continued to sing his praises in front of everyone, including the reporter for the daily prophet. with your lipstick now splattered around his face, he had an infectious smile that even he couldn't deny. he was blushing, hard, as much as he hated to admit it.

"it was easy enough." he smirked, keeping his tough exterior.

"i must interview this boy! mr. sallow--" before the man could get another word out, sebastian raised his hand to stop him.

"i won't be answering questions," as unusual as it was to say, his expression was casual--smug, even. "thank you." the reporter stood stunned for a moment as he watched sebastian usher you away by your wrist.

"sebastian? you're not going to talk to anyone?" he weaved through the crowd, reaching a clearing near the south exit.

"waste of time!" he answered, glancing back at you with a mischievous look.

"waste of time? are you late for something, sallow?" you teased, but he didn't respond. he only increased his speed to a jog, creating giggles between the two of you as you raced the halls. you quickly recognized that he was leading you to the slytherin common room. as you reached the dimly lit hallway, a familiar serpent slithered around the wall, and the grand door appeared beneath it. he quickly shoved it open, pulling you in with him before turning to push you up against the cold slab of wood as it closed.

"i don't suppose you were this excited to cuddle and take a nap?" you looked up at him teasingly as he towered over you, hands trapping you below.

"you know me well." his head dipped to leave love-marks at the base of your neck. your hands naturally raised to tangle in his brown locks.

"can i ask-- was it winning, or--" he chuckled at your assumption.

"no, hardly." he craned his neck to meet your gaze again with his dark eyes. the smirk still lingered on his lips. "tell me how good i'm doing." that same smirk turned downward as his he bit his lower lip impatiently. you also lost any sense of smugness in your face, and curiosity replaced it.

"oh?" he nodded, his eyes pleading for more as he continued nipping at your chest. you breathed out a sigh of contempt, feeling a fire beginning to spark to life in your lower-half.

"you look so handsome, leaving marks on me." he groaned into your skin, almost making you giggle from the vibration.

"you like it when i praise you, baby? you did so good for me today, looked so good in your uniform." that was enough to make him mad. he quickly crashed his lips into yours, needing to transfer some of the fire he felt to you.

"don't stop...never stop saying those things to me." his lips were swollen when you finally broke apart, and his eyes were anything but satisfied.

"never." you shook your head, promising him. he smiled innocently for the last time that day before your lips met once more.

he loved being so rough with you, who would've thought he liked it when you were so gentle? either way, you were happy to know how sebastian felt when he saw you crumble underneath him when he used you for everything you had. seeing him weak at the knees from just your words, you felt, leveled the playing feild.

[judeable-brainrot]

art and patrick helping eachother get off when their hormones r going crazy because of testosterone.. yk like bestfriends do!!🤗

YUM.

imagine they start at Mark Rebellato, both horny teens but now it’s exaggerated ten fold! Patrick comes home to Art whimpering and humping his pillow on his bed, desperately trying to get off but nothing has been able to satiate him.

Patrick can feel himself get wet INSTANTLY at the sight and he quickly shuts the door to announce himself (he locks it also…) Art jumps up, pulling his covers over his lower body to shield himself, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink. “um! hey!” he squeaks out, obviously embarrassed. Patrick sets his stuff down. “hey…sorry. are you okay?”

Art nods furiously. “yup! yup, all good here!!” Patrick sits on his bed across from Art. “are you sure? you can talk to me Artie..” Art blushes again and pulls his knees away from his chest. “it’s just…T man..it’s making me like, crazy horny. and…nothing is working..” Art’s voice is defeated and shaky from embarrassment, his eyes never meeting Patrick’s as he speaks. Patrick watches him, pity and lust swirling in his stomach as he shifts on the bed. “yeah..yeah, i understand that. it’s crazy..” they sit in silence for a moment before Patrick speaks again. “would you..maybe like some help?”

it’s a whisper, so quiet it could barely be heard. but Art hears it. “you…what?” he stutters. Patrick shifts on the bed. “well like…maybe you need help from another person to really..satisfy yourself..” he swallows deeply because he knows what he’s proposing is going to change things but he wants it. needs it, even. Art is blushing and lost in thought, quietly squeezing his thighs together even at the thought. after a few moments he speaks, “o-okay..”

Patrick looks up, a little shocked. “yeah?” Art nods, not trusting his own voice right now. Patrick shifts. “alright um….cool. can i…can i touch you?” Art nods again. “yeah just..don’t laugh at me, please..” Patrick moves over to Art’s bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand out on his knee. “never.” he reassures. Art nods, cheeks and ears still pink. “cool. okay um..how do we…?” Patrick chuckles. “well..first you have to remove the covers..”

Art takes a shaky breath before pulling down the covers to expose his bare lower body. he keeps his knees pulled up to this chest, effectively shielding his lower half. Patrick gently squeezes his knee. “can i see you?” Art fidgets and nods, squeezing his eyes shut and slowly parting his legs. Patrick’s mouth waters at the sight of Art’s wet slit and his elongated clit. “wow…” Art whimpers softly.

slowly Patrick reaches out a hand and runs a finger up his folds. Art gasps and grips the sheets, legs instinctively closing over his wrist. “is that okay?” Art nods. “y-yes..” Patrick gently coaxes his legs back open and does the same motion, stopping at his clit to take it in two fingers and begin to jerk it slowly.

Art’s whole body shudders and he falls back against the sheets. “hooooolly fuuuuuuuck..” Patrick smiles, shifting so he can rub himself against his heel tucked under him. “yeah..? you like that?” Art nods. “god yes..oh my god..”

Patrick continues like this for a while, rubbing Art while also getting himself off on his heel but eventually he needs more. “i’m gonna lay down next to you, okay?” Art just nods, eyes shut and expression blissed. Patrick removed his hand for a moment to shift down and lay on the bed next to Art’s lithe body. he shifts his hand back between Art’s legs, continuing his motions while slipping his free hand down his jeans to help himself. he sighs at the contact, moving his hands in tandem.

Art watches him, moaning at the sight. “jesus…” Patrick chuckles. “what? i’m horny too..” After a minute Art’s hand slides over to Patrick’s, taking his wrist. “let me..” Patrick’s brows rise but he doesn’t fight the request. he removes his hand, unbuttoning his jeans a bit and watches as Art slips his hand under the waistband. as his fingers make contact with his clit, Patrick whines. “shit..”

Art smiles before his face contorts in pleasure once again, working his hand up to speed with Patrick’s. they carry on like this for a while until Art whimpers grow louder. “Pat…oh fuck…” Patrick nods, working his fingers faster. “me too, me too..don’t stop.” the bed starts to shake with the speed at which they work on each other. Art continues to whimper and moan, louder and louder until he reaches out and grabs a hold of Patrick’s bicep. his hips buck, his legs shake, and he silently cries out in pleasure. “ohhhhh FUCK.”

Patrick moans, face scrunching, trying to follow him. “yeah, yeah, don’t stop..” Art continues to work his fingers as he rides out his own orgasm. “please, please, please..!” Patrick nods, feeling the knot build and build until it snaps. he clamps his legs around Art’s hand and he groans gutturally. “shhhhiiiiiiit…” they both lie panting together, hands resting on each others hips, fingers and bodies sticky. eventually, Patrick speaks, voice shaky and broken.

“better?”

[wnobin]

BIT BY BIT… 💭 anton lee socmed! au

pairing: college student! anton x campus crush! reader

genre: college! au, social media! au with written portions, slow burn, pining, strangers to friends to lovers.

series synopsis: in which the quiet girl in anton’s language class who seems to never sit with anyone catches his attention. anton makes it his mission to get closer to her bit by bit and break down her walls. the only issue? she’s the last to arrive and first to leave, never allowing anton the chance to approach her.

series masterlist | 06: gapildeu

it was currently 8:40am and anton was sitting on the couch in wonbin’s and seunghan’s dorm, tapping his feet impatiently while waiting for the latter to finish getting ready. seunghan was currently whining to the younger male about how he couldn’t find the other side of his sock and how “everyone would notice that his socks were mismatched”.

“for the last time seunghan, nobody is going to be staring at your feet during your presentation. can you hurry up?”

“but what if they do!”

“they won’t.”

seunghan was just about to start whining again when the door to wonbin’s room opened, revealing a half-asleep wonbin with messy bed hair. with closed eyes, he threw a pair of black socks towards seunghan, hitting him in the head directly. “get out. now.”

“thanks, wonbin! see you later!” seunghan hurriedly put on his socks and shoes before getting dragged out by anton who was as usual, anxious about being late to class. they would be having their individual presentations for japanese 101 today and anton had finally landed on a topic to present on. he would’ve presented on his musical abilities but he lacked the vocabulary for that so he settled for something easier, like his past in swimming. meanwhile, seunghan had decided to present on crayon shin-chan. anton was sure that someone would end up laughing during his presentation but seunghan couldn’t be talked out of it. “nothing’s funny about how iconic crayon shin-chan is.”

the both of them were on their way to the classroom when they spotted you in front of them. this was an unusual sight as you had always been the last to arrive to class, showing up when lesson had already started most of the time. seunghan excitedly poked anton’s side, giggling as his embarrassed friend tried to get him to shut up. “go talk to her!”

“no? and shut up, she’s gonna hear you.”

“what, are you shy? i’ll help you.”

seunghan opened his mouth and was about to call out to you but was promptly stopped by anton’s hand covering his mouth. whilst the two of them were busy fighting, you had already entered the classroom and was long gone. once the coast was clear, anton removed his hand.

“seriously, it’s been three weeks of eyeing her and you’re still not going to do anything?”

“obviously not. i’ve never even talked to her before. i just think she’s pretty… and maybe, kind of my type.”

anton was a lost cause. he was too shy for his own good and refused any help or advice his friend was offering. seunghan simply sighed and shook his head, taking his seat in the chair next to anton’s, deciding to head back to his original seating since you didn’t have plans of moving from your front row seat. seunghan proceeded to talk anton’s ear off about how the guy he sat with last lesson, chenle or whatever his name was, kept farting. anton just absentmindedly nodded at his friend’s over exaggerated complaints, busy looking in your direction. would it be weird if he approached you? the both of you had nothing in common after all, as you were both from different majors. what if you already had a boyfriend?

twice a week for three weeks, anton had been staring at you for every class and he picked up all your small habits. you preferred to write down your notes traditionally in your pink notebook instead of typing it on your laptop or writing on an ipad like other students. you never raised your hand to answer questions but you would turn around and whisper answers to sim jayoon, who sat behind you, when prof won asked her a question.

anton was quickly brought back to reality when professor won started to pick out students to present. he went in random order and thankfully, yang jungwon was chosen first and his presentation ended up being on his favourite food, curry. anton felt less worried about his topic after seeing how most of his classmates had similar presentations, being on their favourite show or hobbies.

“hm, let’s see… can y/n come up next?”

you lifted your head at the sound of your name, prof won looking at you with expectant eyes. you got up from your seat, moving to connect your laptop to the projector with shaking hands, nervous as you weren’t used to presentations, especially one in a language you barely knew.

anton watched the way you gulped nervously, your eyes darting from your laptop to the projector screen. eventually your laptop connected and displayed your cover slide which was a 0.5x picture of a cat? an orange cat wearing a bunny hat.

“good morning professor won and fellow classmates. i’ll be talking about my cat that lives with me in the dorms, gapil!”

you had racked your brain for ideas on what to present on for days, whining to eunchae and gapil when you got an idea— the greatest idea ever. what would be better to talk about than your dear cat? you didn’t have to think, you could already talk about your darling gapil for hours. your slides had more pictures of the black cat in silly positions than words but nobody seemed to mind, even prof won had a big smile on his face, laughing to himself and pointing to the screen when a picture of gapil dressed as santa popped up on the screen.

“her name is gapil which is short for garfield in korean. doesn’t she look like garfield?” you had a wide grin on your face, excited to be showing off your cat to everyone. this was the first time anyone in the class had ever seen you with an expression that wasn’t boredom and anton couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight. you had already passed your three minute time limit but nobody cared, listening attentively to you talking about how you took in gapil on a particularly rainy night when she seemed frail and weak.

“that’s it for my presentation today, thank you for listening!” you thanked the class and bowed before disconnecting your laptop and heading back to your seat. you seemed to get the most applause out of everyone that presented, even those that were usually asleep during lessons were wide awake for your presentation.

anton might have been infatuated with your looks and your aura but now, he was definitely falling for your caring and gentle personality. he wanted to know you more, wanted to see the side of you that he saw today, warm and bubbly.

“next, let’s have anton lee!”

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if i didn’t tag you, please check your account settings > visibility!

[its-time-to-write]

hey big fan of your writing!! you write jamie so perfectly 💜 pls forgive me if you’ve already written something about this (i haven’t been able to find it if so) but could you write something post-mom city episode with the reader taking care of jamie when he’s hurt after the game and telling him how proud she is?? 🥹 thank you!!

This one’s canon compliant with you don’t want to know me for no reason other than the fact that I like to make my fics match up. It’s fun for me to pretend like I could write something with chapters someday😇 Hope you like it!

you’re in the kitchen humming

Of course, the one game you can’t go to is the one where Jamie gets injured so badly he has to come home on crutches. He’s not even the one who texts you about it. It’s Ted who writes, Your boy got hurt pretty badly. Might want to come pick him up when we get back.

So now you’re headed to AFC Richmond because Jamie only just let you know they’re back. 

we’re in the treatment room, he says, and you don’t even take a moment to ask who we is.

It’s Roy and Keeley, and you aren’t a little bit surprised. They’re been passing around a bottle and laughing, so obviously Jamie can’t be hurt that badly. His right foot is stuck in a bucket of ice, so you get him up, say goodnight to Roy and Keeley, and help him tipsily hop to your car. Jamie chatters on about the game the whole ride home, only leaving room for you to interject the occasional “mhm,” or “I’m so proud of you!”

It’s somewhat of a chore to get him out of the car, mostly because he’s laughing so hard at the sheer absurdity of the situation, humor exaggerated by the champagne. 

You finally maneuver him onto the couch and get him laid down, leg elevated. He’s still giggling.

You flip on the kitchen light to make him some food. You wonder briefly how many times you’ve done this: put Jamie on the couch, made him food, and let him take you to bed. It’s been a few years’ worth.

You’re at the stove humming softly, when you hear a tap thump, tap thump as Jamie hobbles over to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“Oi, you need to be lying down, mister,” you scold.

Jamie just presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“Can’t get comfortable. I’m still in my kit and I need help getting it off.”

His words are laced with a suggestive tone, made more apparent by the fact that his hands are no longer on your waist per se, but more under your waistband.

You put down the spatula and turn off the stove.

“Jamie Tartt,” you say in a tone that means listen the fuck up, “if you want even half a chance of getting in my pants tonight, you’ll go back to the couch and put ice on your ankle.”

His hands slip away and he groans, but complies. You shake your head and slide the eggs onto a plate.

You hate eggs, but they’re Jamie’s go-to post-match food. You asked him why once, and he said something about his mum and it being the only thing she could cook without burning.

So you suck it up and make him scrambled eggs every time he comes home from a game, whether home or away. Tonight, you bring him his plate on the couch, sit next to him, and hold it for him to eat.

You say softly, “I’m really proud of you, Jaim,” as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Didn’t really get a chance to say it, but I am. You absolutely smashed it today.”

Jamie smirks. “I got your emojis,” he says. “Had twenty-one missed texts from you, none of ‘em containing a single word.” He puts down his fork and reaches into a pocket for his phone. “Got a fuck-ton of hearts, some fireworks, and one squirrel.”

You blush. Ah yes. The squirrel.

“Don’t think I can make it up the stairs,” he laments. “Might just have to stay on the couch all night. Sad. Alone. Fucking horny.”

You roll your eyes and flick his arm with your free hand. “You done eating? Because you need a shower. You smell, and I’m not fucking you until you’re clean.”

Jamie grins. “But you are going to fuck me.”

You shake your head. Yes, you are. With a goal like that, how could you not? Plus his foot’s injured, and he must be in pain. He could use a good distraction.

Jamie’s mind has to be going in a similar direction because he asks, “You gonna shower with me? I hate showering alone.”

“Obviously,” you respond. “You can barely stand on your own and you’re going to need help with your hair.”

—

This shower is a lot less sexy than some might imagine. Jamie is trying to keep his balance without putting weight on his foot, but it’s difficult because it’s slippery. You’ve made it through most of his shower routine (and yours too) but now you’re at the final step. Conditioner. 

You grab the bottle and Jamie frowns. “You remember how much to use?”

You nod, but he’s not convinced. “Let me put it on your hand,” he says, grabbing the bottle and forgetting to be careful of his ankle. He puts too much weight on it and it gives out with a “fuck,” leaving Jamie’s lips. 

He’s slipping and trying to grab onto something and that something is you so now you’re both tangled on the floor of the shower, water running in your faces and Jamie grimacing from pain.

—

You do manage to get him back up and condition his hair to his satisfaction (“It’s a delicate balance, babe,”) but the slip was not good for Jamie’s ankle. You have to go back downstairs for more ice, so now he’s lying flat on his back on the bed, towel wrapped precariously loose around his waist. When you’re satisfied that the ice is secure and Jamie’s foot is at a good angle, you flop down in the bed next to him. You’re still in your towel, too.

“I can’t stop thinking about that kick,” you say.

Jamie asks, “Which one? I did a lot of those,” and you laugh.

“The one to block Man City’s goal. The one where you landed wrong. It was probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I’m so, so proud of you. I just can’t get over the fact that you can do all that and then you come home to me. It boggles my mind.”

Jamie’s blowing tickly breaths in your ear to make you shiver. “I was pretty sexy, weren’t I?”

You laugh again. “Everything’s always about being sexy with you, isn’t it? Sure, I’ll admit you were sexy. But you were also admirable and selfless and brave and amazing. You can’t sell yourself short.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment, and you think he’s fallen asleep. You look over to see him staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes.

You ask, “Are you crying?” and the words are barely out of your mouth before Jamie’s saying fuck no but you know he means fuck yes so you roll over to kiss him, because sometimes it’s better to leave some things unsaid. He’s pretty great, and you’re glad you’re the one who gets to tell him.

[phantomspiderr]

Relax My Love

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x afab!reader (lil mentions of Natasha Romanoff x reader)

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Wanda just wants to help you relax in the best way possible

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, so much smut, so it’s 18+, fake p in v, little overstimulation, rough and gentle Wanda, reader’s a whiny lil baby, one use of good girl, it's a bit soft to begin with

a/n: half of this has just sat in my drafts for months and I randomly looked at it the other day and this happened. It was originally going to be a bit softer and caring but obviously, the horny little goblin that lives in my brain got out. Oh and this was beta’d by my favourite person @natashasvixen 🥰

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

You let out a sigh as you sink into the hot water, your sore muscles relaxing as you fully submerge yourself in the bath. Thoughts of the day slip from your mind and your eyes fall closed, head resting against the edge of the tub.

"Oh moya lyubov' (my love)," your eyes blink open and you take in a deep breath. Unsure of how much time has passed, your mind comes back to full consciousness as your girlfriend comes into view, "did Natasha work you too hard today?"

A small whine escapes you as you nod your head, Wanda sinks to her knees next to the bath, her hand combing through your hair softly. Her gaze is fixed on your face like she's studying you.

"Let me help you relax detka (baby)," her other hand gently holds your face, her thumb stroking along your cheek and your eyes close at the contact. Wanda places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, your eyes blink open and a lazy smile plays on your lips. Your girlfriend stands and slowly starts undressing. You can't help but giggle as she starts exaggerating her movements, flinging clothes across the bathroom. Finally, she stands fully naked in front of you and you smile up at her, pulling your arm out of the bubbly water and reaching out toward her. She steps forward letting your wet hand graze up the outside of her thigh.

"Scoot forward my love," immediately you pull yourself forward, the water swishing around slightly and Wanda gingerly steps into the bath behind you. Once she is sat down, her legs on either side of you, her hands sink under the water to the base of your spine, slowly she drags them up against your skin until they come to a stop at your shoulders. Wanda starts digging her thumbs into your muscles, trying to rid you of the knots that hide under your skin. A groan falls past your lips as your head drops forward and you feel her place a kiss on the back of your neck.

Wanda starts humming a tune you don't recognise but the sound helps you relax further, her hands realising all the tension you have built up. Her hands start moving down your back, her thumbs still pressing into your skin as they move and she starts kissing along your shoulders. She starts at the top of your spine moving all the way to the edge of one shoulder before doubling back and going along the other.

"Nat really left her mark on you didn't she?" her breath on the back of your neck causes you to shiver. Wanda is reminded of the smutty picture of you Natasha had painted for her this morning right before they went into training as one of her fingers draws wet circles against the brightly coloured bruises littering your neck. You can only whine in response and she giggles, her hands continuing to move along your back as she starts kissing your neck.

"I love you so much," her hands slip around your stomach and she gently pulls you back to lay against her. Wanda holds you there while she presses soft kisses to the side of your head. Her fingertips lightly brush over your skin, slowly moving up the centre of your chest before she goes back down, this time grazing her knuckles against your nipples. You let out a quiet moan as she continues doing the same thing a few more times while she whispers praise into your ear.

Your eyes shut tight as she continues with her ministrations, your head rolling against her shoulder as she goes agonisingly slower. When you whine Wanda stops her movements, one hand resting splayed against your stomach and the other turning your head until she can capture your lips with hers.

She's slow and attentive with her mouth, taking her time to ensure she has you keening. Her tongue gently swiping along your lips makes your mouth fall open, letting her deepen the kiss without much effort. Her hand firmly holds your jaw, keeping you in place. There's a strain in your neck at the awkward angle but you continue to lazily delve your tongue into Wanda's mouth.

"Why don't we get you to bed dorogoy(sweetheart)?" Wanda moves to kiss your forehead, a quiet whine escaping you and it makes Wanda chuckle. She kisses you once more, your lips still touching as she speaks again, "I can help you relax more there."

That's all it takes, you're both climbing out of the bath dripping water everywhere as Wanda can't wait. Her lips immediately attached to yours, moving their way down your neck and you're whimpering for her. She only pulls herself away to grab hold of a nearby towel, slowly using it to dry you off. Her eyes stay trained on yours as she steadily sinks to her knees in front of you, your breath hitches at the sight and you have to remind yourself to breathe. Wanda's delicate hands move down each leg with the towel and she's placing kisses up your thighs and onto your hips. You can't tell if you're dizzy from the heat of the bath or from Wanda's sweet but sensual movements. You don't even realise that you whine out her name until Wanda speaks again.

"Oh, my sweet baby." You're almost hyperventilating at this point, your chest heaving as you watch her tilt her head to the side, her tone so sickly sweet and you don't break eye contact as she rises back to her feet. "What do you need baby?" You only whine more, how this woman doing so little can make your mind into actual mush you'll never understand. "Tell me what you want angel," she's slightly more authoritative this time. Her hand holding your chin, using that leverage to pull your lips closer, "need to hear you."

"Need you. Need you to touch me. Please, I just-I just need you." You're desperate now, the words just tumbling out before you can even process them fully. Wanda's smirking before you even finish, she loves it when she's able to get you in this state. She loves it when you're pliant and so willing for her.

"You're so good for me detka (baby)," she pauses to kiss you again, "go make yourself all nice and comfy on the bed okay?" You're nodding like an obedient little puppy and it only makes Wanda chuckle as she turns you in the direction of the door. A slight smack on your ass propels you forward as you follow your instructions and go to leave.

-

The groan followed by foreign mumbling pulls your eyes to hers, you'd been laying out on the bed patiently waiting alone for much longer than you'd expected. Your compliant clouded brain only focused on the thought of what was to come.

"So beautiful."

Wanda sounds more like she's talking to herself as she saunters over to you. Your head falls back against the plush bedding once your eyes clock the shimmery cherry red strap adorning her hips. This woman will be the end of you.

"Going to make you feel so good," Wanda crawls over the top of you, your body immediately welcoming her. She leans on one elbow so her other hand can caress your thigh, gently pulling it up to rest on her hip. The new position opens you up even more to her, Wanda's surprisingly hefty strap now prodding at your entrance and you can't stay still now. Your hips are uncontrollably bucking into her, the tip of her strap now hitting your clit making you whine out a moan. "Going to make you forget all about Nat, you'll be all mine. You want to be all mine don't you baby?"

You're over-exaggeratingly nodding, at this point, you'd probably agree to anything she said as long as she made good on her promise to make you feel good. Her possessiveness paired with her now rocking hips enough to have you teetering on the edge already.

"Want you to take it all," you're panting with quiet moans littered between breaths, "you'd do that for me wouldn't you dorogoy (sweetheart)?"

Your hands are practically clawing at her now, you're so wound up and in need of release, her words only winding you even closer to collapsing over the edge.

"Need you to talk to me," Wanda's nose nudges your jaw, moving your head to allow her to start placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck and along your collarbone.

"I-I need-I need you-fuck-Wands-I-please, please, please!" Words are not your strong suit so you just resort to begging at this point, anything to just get a little more from her. You're still mumbling out pleases when Wanda maneuvers to thrust into you, a sharp squeal coming from deep within you. Her gentleness subsides for a brief second as she sinks fully into you, your legs lock around Wanda’s hips pulling her even closer. A cocky smile graces her face when she stills, making you whine and squirm. Her hand cups your face and she gives you one quick kiss.

“I love you,” you feel as if your heart skipped a beat then when you looked into her eyes. The look of pure love on her face distracts you momentarily, enough that you’re caught off guard when Wanda’s hips start moving at a brutal pace. Your jaw falls open, profanities loudly echoing in the room. She’s not even been going at it for a minute before she changes up the position. Wanda somehow expertly gets on her knees and tugs your body down the bed a little, your bottom half now propped up on her thighs. She doesn’t even give you a second to comprehend the change before she’s driving back into you at a fast pace. Wanda’s hands pull your hips forcefully into hers, your whole body bouncing against hers. Your hands grip the bedsheets until your knuckles turn white and when you finally manage to pry your eyes open you see how Wanda looks almost like a feral animal. Her gaze is transfixed on where the two of you meet, one of her hands moving to rest on your pelvis, her thumb immediately circling your clit and intensifying your pleasure. You almost scream at the added stimulation, your vision instantly starting to stipple.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl. Taking me so well baby, god, you’re so perfect, angel.”

Just like that your eyes roll into the back of your head, you can hear your heartbeat raging in your ears and it’s almost as if your body is levitating. Wanda doesn’t stop either, she keeps pounding into you with her thumb still working you into overstimulation and you can feel your hips moving erratically to get away even as you keep moaning. Before you can even come down from your first orgasm she’s pulled another from you, this time you’re sure you’re screaming, the intense pleasure overpowering you so much you feel like you could blackout.

“What a mess you’ve made angel,” Wanda’s sickly sweet voice returns, she’s slowed her hips completely and removed her hand to instead rub both of your thighs. Your head is still spinning, you’re not even sure what planet you’re on at this point and your eyes blink open to see your girlfriend lovingly looking down at you. “I think we’re going to need another bath now.”

[borahaerhy]

Can you do jk fic where jk and oc are bff and roomates too obviously! ... they likkeee loovee each other but cant express it and then jk fake date to make sure that oc lovess him.. But oc didn't confess her feeling coz she think he's happy with her and then it frustrates jk and then confesses and they make out....( smutty..fluff )

Hope you can write it will wait for it..

By the way have a good day

YES-

You Make Me Happy

Genre: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, Fluff, Angst, Smut

Warnings: Jungkook lies without technically lying, they're both idiots tbh, smut, unprotected sex (stop), slight dirty talk, multiple orgasms, fluffy ending.

Word count: 1.9k

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG I'M SO BEHIND ON REQUESTS-

“Hey,” You pull your eyes away from your phone, where they’ve been glued for the past hour while you sat on your couch when you see Jungkook walk past you; his smile toothy and exaggerated as he rushed toward the door. 

“Hey, where are you off to?” You stood up, letting your phone fall onto the couch as you started following him. He was dressed in what he would consider nice clothes, tight jeans with a t-shirt that was actually his size, rather than the 4X he usually wears, and a leather jacket. 

“Uh, remember that girl I was telling you about” He stopped and turned to face you as you reached the door, him half bent over as he pulled his shoes on. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly as you tried to remember everything he had said about her, that you definitely hadn’t been thinking about obsessively since the last time you’d spoken about her. 

“Yeah, the one you met at the gaming convention?” He nodded quickly as he straightened himself out, pushing his still damp hair out of his face. 

“That’s the one; we’re going out to dinner,” You stood still for a moment, waiting for his words to sink in. 

“Like on a date?” 

“I hope so,” He gave another exaggerated smile, eyes wide as he opened the door and stepped out of it, leaving you alone in the entryway of your shared apartment. 

Jungkook, of course, wasn’t actually going on a date with her. Sure, he was going out to dinner with her, and her wife, but you didn’t need to know that. 

She was someone he could talk to about you: the woman that he’d been in love with for far too long to be living together in separate bedrooms. He’d met her a few months ago and they’d talk about you, and her wife, and gush about how much they’d loved you respectively until he let her know that you weren’t exactly his girlfriend. 

That’s when she convinced him to actually do something. He was a little iffy on the whole thing, seeing as you’d been friends for so long that starting to date now just seemed like it would create more problems than solve. But, now that someone else knew his feelings for you, and had convinced him that he’d be happier if he was actually with you, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like if he could actually come home and kiss your soft lips before falling asleep next to you every day.

So, when the two of you were having a conversation and a girl he knew and you didn’t came up… he got a little carried away testing the waters. 

He mentioned that they talked a lot, and they had a lot in common and that he thought she was very pretty, something you happened to agree with him on, even though it stung quite a bit.

Then, he wasn’t exactly planning on telling you he was going out on a date, but he did dress up nice intentionally, and when you asked him if he was a date, he couldn’t help but agree with you. He wasn’t the one to bring it up, after all. And he didn’t technically lie. 

So while you sit at home alone panicking about Jungkook being on a date with another woman, he was panicking thinking about your reaction, and what you might be doing since he’d left. 

The dinner with his friends ran a little longer than he’d expected as they caught each other up on the things they’d missed since the last time they saw each other in person; so Jungkook didn’t return home until a little later that night, where, from the conversation he’d had with his friend, he’d assumed you would’ve been up waiting for him. 

But you weren’t. 

He told them everything; the expression on your face and demeanor different than they normally would’ve been, and the sudden interest when he’d gotten dressed up. They told him that you definitely liked him, that there’s no way you would care that much unless you were interested in him. 

You’d no doubt be waiting up for him to hear how it went, to see if he had fun on his ‘date’. 

But you were in your room, lights out and door closed. 

Two days later, he went on another ‘date’, and you had little to no reaction. Internally, you were screaming, but on the outside, you kept up a cool image. 

Several weeks passed and Jungkook kept going on these fake dates, which were really just him hanging out with friends or running errands. 

Each time you seemed less and less interested, and on the off occasion that you’d be up and ask him how his dates went, you seemed genuinely happy for him to be happy with someone else. 

But you thought he was happy with someone else. How were you supposed to be anything but happy for him, your best friend, finding someone great that makes him happy? You couldn’t be jealous, or try to drag her, or magically get the courage to make out with him because he wasn’t even available anymore. He was happy, so you needed to be happy for him. 

“How was your girlfriend?” You asked as he walked in from one of his dates. He stopped before he could make it to his room and turned back to you, leaning against the counter. 

“Girlfriend?” He asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed. You straightened yourself out as you looked up at him, before shrugging and looking back down at the vegetables you were cutting. 

“You’ve been going out for weeks now, I just assumed,” There was a still silence, the only sound in the room was the gentle chopping of your knife that you desperately tried to make fill up the awkward space. 

“And you’d just be okay with that?” You looked up at him, confusion was written all over your face. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? If she makes you happy-” 

“She’s not who makes me happy,” Jungkooks heart was in his throat, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t do this anymore, he couldn’t take living with you and being in love with you and you just being so indifferent. He knew you liked him, so why were you acting like this? 

At this point, you had no idea what to say, what to think as nothing Jungkook said seemed to be making sense. You put the knife down and turned to face him, leaning slightly against the counter behind you. 

“What are you-” He didn’t let you finish your sentence before his lips were on yours, one of his hands on the counter behind you and the other on your cheek, gently holding you as you melted into the best kiss you’ve ever had, though it didn’t last long before you pushed him off of you. “Wait, Jungkook, what about-” 

“She’s just a friend,” You were still looking at him confused, begging him to explain more because things just kept making less and less sense. “Always has been; you’re the one that makes me happy, Y/n. I just wanted to see if you felt the same way-” This time you cut him off, pulling him into you, your hands on his face as he balanced himself on the counter and your waist. 

You’d both wasted far too much time being in love with one another and doing nothing about it, and you weren’t going to waste another second. 

Jungkook seemed to feel the same way as he pulled you tightly against him and deepened the kiss. 

His hands were all over you as his tongue explored your mouth, breathing deeply as you desperately clung to each other. It wasn’t long before your legs were wrapped around his waist and he was pushing you back onto the counter, pushing the cutting board filled with food to the side and into the sink, completely ruining what you’d planned to make for dinner, not that you cared at all at this point. 

Your clothes were discarded in a rush, as were his as his lips sucked and nipped at every available patch of skin he laid his eyes on, his hot breath sending countless shivers down your spine as your arousal began to pool in your panties, the hem of which Jungkook was rolling between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” His lips swiftly left your ribs below your breasts as he straightened himself out and pulled you into him. 

“What baby, what do you want me to do?” His voice low and rough as your eyes darted between his eyes and his swollen wet lips, his hands now under the hem of your underwear and gripping your bare hips as he gently and slowly moved his hips against yours. You groaned softly, gripping onto his shoulders as he nudged against your regrettably clothed clit. 

“I want you to fuck me, Jungkook,” You managed to whisper in his ear before you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself stead as he wasted no time in ripping off both your panties and his boxers. 

Before you can even see his length he’s slipping into you as slowly as he can manage as you both moan out in pleasure. You kiss again, moaning into each other's mouths desperately as he begins to move, rocking his hips delicately against you. Small short thrusts followed narrowly by longer harsher ones, each even more delicious than the last. 

“Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?” his hands clung to your hips as if his life depended on it as your faces never got more than a few centimeters away from one another. 

“Because you were too busy pretending to have a girlfri- FUCK,” Jungkook snapped his hips into you roughly and his hand found your clit, effectively shutting you up as your forehead buried in the crook of his neck. 

His rough pace and skilled fingers didn’t take long to bring you to your climax, gripping onto him so hard to make sure you didn’t accidentally float away with how high your orgasm made you feel. 

Jungkook hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you off the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he moved back the hall and into his bedroom. Your orgasm wasn’t even finished before he laid you down on the edge of his bed, his feet still on the floor as he pushed into you again, thrusting softly. 

Jungkook pulled his feet off the floor and pushed you further onto the bed, his fingers intertwining with yours on either side of your head as he kissed you softly. His movements slowed down considerably from the kitchen to the bed, his hands and mouth roaming over your chest and body as his hips moved into you sensually, trying to stay in this position with you for as long as possible. 

“I love you,” Jungkook whispers as his lips find yours again, your hand cupping his face softly as his thrusts sped up. 

“I love you,” Your whisper almost came out as a moan, as you finished for the second time, your walls clenching down on him roughly pushing him over the edge. 

You hold onto each other tightly as he spills into you, leaving kisses on your face softly as you both come down from your highs. You stay like this for a while, holding each other as you share sweet words with one another.

[ghost-proofbaby]

Steve Harrington - Enchanted

enchanted (steve's version)

warnings: insinuations of a fem!reader (mentions of lipstick, r wearing a dress, etc) and yearning. i am yearning. that's all.

wc: 2.5k+ (don't say a WORD)

a/n: congratulations! you ruined me! my ultimate steve fantasy, because if you know me, you know i will do anything to bring up the scenario of meeting steve at some stupid fancy party. i don't even care that i'm breaking my word count rule it was well-deserved.

Steve always hated these parties. They were brimming with insincerity and fake laughter, forced smiles and polite small talk between business owners that would all double cross one another for the right price without feeling a morsel of remorse. Stupid games, stupid prizes. None of it appealed to him. None of it. 

But he still had to attend to appease his parents. He’d once tried to argue his way out of them, but it had led to a bigger fight than it was worth. No, Steve had to pick his battles carefully these days – for the greater good of the war that raged on inside his home behind closed doors, he knew it was best to just stomach all of the snobs and the frauds for a few hours at most. At least he could finally drink. It all became much more bearable when he had access to the open bar. 

And it’s when he’s sitting at that very bar, eyes dully watching a drop of condensation drip down the side of his whiskey on the rocks, that he first sees you. 

He’d never seen you around here before. He was used to the rotation of passing faces, some old and some new, but he wasn’t used to someone his age being here. Most of the attendees were his elders, a fact they liked to remind him of, or were young children running laps as their parents tried to network. It wasn’t the right scene for any twenty something year old. Not unless they were in Steve’s boat and being forced to attend. And even then, most people Steve’s age were too old to be bossed away in that way by their parents. His father only had the upper hand by pressing on about how Steve was to inherit the company, how he needed to attend these events for that. 

Yet even with the facts at hand, there you were. Standing amongst a circle of older gentlemen who you were flashing overly exaggerated expressions at to seem enticed. But each time their attention wavered, Steve would catch a glimpse of the truth; your boredom as your face would relax, your annoyance as you would roll your eyes, your distaste at the topic of discussion as you’d purse your lips and cover it with a sip of your drink. Steve watched it all in real time, suddenly sitting up a little bit straight in his stool, and couldn’t stop the intrigue from taking hold of him.  

And then you looked at him. 

It was after another eyeroll, paired beautifully with a lift of your drink and flick of your wrist to half-assedly contribute to the private toast happening amongst the men. Over the rim of that martini glass, your eyes had scanned the room, and you had caught his stare. 

Slowly, the ruby lips pressed to the rim of the glass curled upwards. Your eyebrows raised every so slightly, a small gesture only meant for him from across the room. He’d caught your attention just as you had his. A silent recognition – like calls to like. 

He tries to fight the blush that creeps out from beneath the collar of his well-pressed dress shirt, a dangerous white that only contrasts the pink flush more obviously. Subtly, he raises his glass, reveling in your stare. 

You don’t return his measly toast. His cheeks burn as he looks down, taking to gulping down the rest of his whiskey in embarrassment. A terrible move, on his part, because it burns.

It continues to burn more ferociously when he chokes at the sound of your voice.

“Isn’t whiskey meant to be sipped?” you question, confidently moving to take the empty seat beside him at the counter, “Or at least, that’s what they tell me,” your chin juts in the direction of the group you’d just escaped from carefully, a small enough movement they wouldn’t have seen it. 

Steve fights back a round of coughs, rushing to sit down the glass as he clears his throat repeatedly before he can say a word to you, “How do you know it’s whiskey?” 

He’d meant for it to come out charming. Instead, it comes out strangled, squeaky, as your grin widens. 

“I don’t,” you shrug, gleaming at him awfully entertained, “But between me and you, that’s the only dark liquor I know.” 

“Scotch, bourbon, rum, brandy, cognac-” Steve rattles off the list he’d memorized thanks to his father, almost as if on autopilot, before he processes how rude he sounds and cuts off, “Sorry, I sound like a jackass right now.” 

Once more, only after the sentence has fallen from his lips does he recognize that it’s not entirely appropriate. 

He grimaces and prepares to apologize, but looks over to see you practically buzzing in your seat, pearly white teeth now peeking out from behind your smiling lips that just keep stretching further. 

“Don’t be sorry. It makes you fit right in,” you wave a tepid hand between the limited space between your bodies, motioning around at the surrounding room and its occupants. 

His shoulders relax a little. You were right, of course. The room was filled with jackasses. Steve knew this, had come to accept this, even if he’d never say it to their faces for the sake of his family’s reputation. 

Just as Steve was fitting in with the echo of his father’s voice replacing his, you also fit into the room. You were dressed to the nines, same as the other wives who draped themselves off their husbands’ arms as they faked interest in words exchanged. His eyes travel down over the deep purple silk of your dress. It was floor length with a slit that revealed your right leg as you casually cross your legs to get more comfortable. The royal shade glimmers beneath the lowlights of the bar and seem to enchant Steve as he lets his eye linger over every curve of your body that the material clings to. Your minimal jewelry that you adorned glitters right along with it, the faux diamonds not quite gaudy but gathering attentive eyes all the same. With each wink and shimmer, it seems as if they whisper to everyone around you, Steve included, look at me. Look at how I shine.

When you move to sit your drink down beside his, your pinkies brush. The smallest of touches, and it sends a tirade of goosebumps up and down his forearms. The neck at the nape of his neck prickles when you let your hand rest just a tad bit closer to his than necessary. Like a dare, an offer of a game of cat and mouse to break up this boring evening. 

Both of you fit in with this room, but beneath the surface, Steve knows neither of you belong. 

——

One drink, two drinks, three drinks. Steve loses count as he talks away the evening with you. Your quick wit, the way you carry yourself with allusive confidence, your kindness that hides below each lingering glance and shy smile — he’s starstruck in your presence. He’s enchanted. He knows from this night forward, he will seek you out at every single one of these parties he will have to grovel through, if only to beg of you to breathe him to life just as you had tonight.

“Abba? You’re telling me that Abba is your favorite band?” you laugh, music to his ears. 

He knows you’re not laughing at him, but with him as he chuckles at his own answer. “Say what you want, they might just be the greatest pop stars of our generation. Have you heard Voulez-vous?” 

“Everyone’s heard Voulez-vous.” 

“So you get it! They’re a classic!” 

You make the room feel bigger, brighter. All the heaviness that usually weighs Steve down on these nights has lifted, and in its airy absence, your mindless touches of his forearm and beautiful laughter has occupied him instead. 

“I never said that!” you lean forward a bit with drunken giggles, hand grabbing onto him to steady yourself. His dress jacket is still draped over your shoulders from when he’d caught your shiver earlier in the night, “Hey, I- No. I never said that! D-Don’t out words… words in my…” 

You can’t even finish your sentence, too interrupted by the bursts of your giddiness escaping you. Steve’s just as bad as you are — he’s probably making a fool of himself and his family name by now, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Let them stare, he thinks as he watches the crinkle of your nose and lets it leave him breathless, I don’t care. 

“Words in your what?” he teases, “C’mon honey, are you getting all choked up over Abba-“ 

“Stephen.” 

All the bubbling happiness bursts right before his eyes as a rough hand comes down on his shoulder. He glances up to be met with his father’s disapproving glare. 

“Dad, I-“ his face turns pale, sitting up straight as a rod, all that joy you'd lit aflame in him suddenly dim. 

“We’re leaving now,” it’s not a question, not a proposition, not an exchange of casual information. It’s a demand. 

Steve glances back over his shoulder at you. You, the enchanting stranger who is tugging his jacket a little bit tighter around yourself, the one person who made him feel as though there was somewhere in this world he may belong. 

“Okay,” he doesn’t look back at his father; he can’t hide his disappointment. And he’d rather see your understanding warmth than his father’s sneer in this moment.

“We’re leaving now,” his father stressed again, emphasizing with urgency and irritation. 

“Okay,” Steve repeats, his gut twisting the longer he stares at you. He wishes the night wouldn’t end. He wishes time would have mercy on him and you, “I’ll meet you and mom out front.” 

His father’s hum is in distaste, but no more arguing occurs at the risk of causing a scene.

The moment you two are alone once more, as alone as you could get in a crowded room, you smile sadly at him.

“Stephen, huh?” you ask quietly, and he catches the fiddling of your thumbs, “I’ve just been calling you Prince Charming in my head the entire night.” 

His chest aches. The two of you hadn’t even exchanged names — there had been no need for introductions, not when his soul and yours had felt so familiar with one another right from the start. 

“Funny,” he chuckles, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair, “I’ve just been referring to you as princess.” 

His mother and father are waiting for him. There’ll be Hell to pay for every second longer he leaves them out front with the car. 

He doesn’t care when you lean forward on your elbows, a bit of that charismatic charm that had first captured him in your trap finally returning as you fold your hands beneath your chin and smirk, “Just princess? Can’t even give me a specific one?” 

“None of them compare to you,” the words slip out before he can think them over, and he damns the whiskey. He damns this entire room and he damns his parents who are expecting him to just leave now that he has you. 

As quickly as it returns, the charm stutters and vanishes to reveal the caring and enticing soul he had latched onto over conversation. 

You bring your hands down to your lap and stare down at them for a moment, the most bashful he’d seen you the entire night, “I’m not a princess, Stephe-“

“Steve,” he breathes out, “Please call me Steve.”

“I’m not a princess, Steve,” you try once more, correcting yourself as you look up at him, “Flattery gets you nowhere around here, didn’t you know that?” 

Your eyes do a slow take of the room that had melted away for the last few hours, a scan of those god awful people and all their mandated hellos and loaded how are yous. 

They still don’t exist to him. He still only sees you, “I’m not like them. You’re not like them.” 

He needs more time. He doesn’t know you well enough, he needs to know all there is to know about you. He should’ve asked you questions with the time gifted tonight; he should have asked for your name, should have discovered your favorite color, should have learned what brought you here and where he might find you again. 

Should have, should have, should have. He’s too late.

“You’re supposed to be leaving,” you softly remind him.

“Can I at least have your name?”

He knows your answer before you say it, watching the way your lips tug up as if taunting him.

He should have asked you to join him out on one of the quieter balconies. He should have let his hand bump yours one too many times. He should have kissed you and gotten your lipstick all over his face.

“Your father is waiting for you,” you say in lieu of answering his question, suddenly standing and moving to shrug off his jacket.

He stops you immediately, hands wrapping around your wrists gently enough to cease the motion as he stands as well, “Don’t. Keep it… until next time.” 

A quiet plea that he will see you again. A silent prayer that this is not where the story ends.

You comply, not even putting up so much as a fight as you drop your hands. They slip from his grasp, and he wonders if the skin where he’d touched you burns the way in which his fingertips do now.

“It was nice meeting you, prince charming,” you whisper, looking at him with starry eyes that almost convince him that if he were to ask you for another hour, another night, you would give it to him. 

It feels as though they’re whispering to him that your soul needed this as much as his.

“I’ll see you around, princess,” he echoes back, ignoring the tightness in his throat that screams this is wrong, that the night shouldn’t end yet and he should order you two another round of drinks.

When he makes no move to leave, only staring into your eyes and trying to commit you to memory, you suddenly step forward. Two small steps, and you’re leaning up, his breath catching as your lips press firmly to his cheek. You pull away, and he can feel the residue of your lipstick left behind, surely staining him as red as it had your glass.

He reaches up to press a burning fingertip to the mark, but you’re quick to grab his wrist, just as he had done to you.

“Don’t,” you repeat his words, that same enchanting smile overtaking your face as when you’d first spotted him from across the room, “Keep it until next time.” 

An answer to his pleas and prayers. He will see you again. He has to see you again. 

His rosey cheeks never fade, blushing the entire car ride home, and then some.

"this is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the story line ends."

[agentoffangirling]

as a south asian why the hell did they make aladdin and jasmine south asian. I am so confused. Isn't jasmine's name literally persian

Okay okay so there's a bit of a story for this

And to quickly answer your last question, yup, Jasmine is one of the forms of Yas/Yasmine, our jasmine flowers

So back in the 90s, and still a little bit today, many production companies such as Disney didn't really see a difference with the Middle East and South Asia. When Disney decided they wanted to make an adaptation of "Aladdin" from "One Thousand and One Nights" (slight tidbit here, the story of Aladdin is not part of the original book. A French guy added it in and for some reason, set it in China? One Thousand is a Persian story, most of the stories in there are Persian, so this choice was. Interesting), it's not like they suddenly hired a bunch of Middle Eastern experts to consult on the film. No, they just created a desert-y landscape and lumped in Persian, Arab, and South Asian all in there

This is why the palace of Agrabah heavily resembles the Taj Mahal on a more Arabic-sounding name. Rajah, Jasmine's pet tiger, is an Indian word for king. Names such as Jafar and Jasmine are Persian in origin, while a lot of the clothing is Turkish-inspired. Villains such as the Captain and Jafar have a lot more stereotypically Middle Eastern features (hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, etc [and it's a convo for another day about how the "good" characters don't have these exaggerated features])

This melding of several cultures is what led up to the live-action "Aladdin" in 2019. The creators of that movie wanted to be more respectful of the region, and so this time, they did hire consultants and the like to help ensure it would be much less offensive ("where they cut off your ear if they don't like your face", nice going 1992)

And for the most part, they did that. Except for Jasmine

Jasmine is played by Naomi Scott, a half white half Indian woman, and look, it's pretty obvious she only got this part because she's well known. I would also like to point out that the casting calls for the characters in general once again lumped Southeast Asian and Middle Eastern people, however, almost all of the cast is Middle Eastern, and several of them are Persian (Sultan and Mara, notably)

So while everyone else is wearing clothes more indicative of the Middle East, you have miss Jasmine over here dressed in sarees and Indian-inspired clothing because costuming department went "oh! She's Indian now!" Agrabah is also a lot more similar to South Asia than the Middle East, further deepening this issue

To an outsider, "Aladdin" is Indian. To them, there's some Arab inspo, but they would mostly think it's set somewhere in India or South Asia. That's what the casting and costuming department in "Rise of Red" were working with, and so they just opted to go the whole South Asian angle. None of the actors who portray Jasmine, Aladdin, and their kid are Middle Eastern, they're all South Asian. The clothes they're wearing are very obviously from that region

And if I'm being completely honest, that's exactly what I expect from Disney. Why would they bother to do research for extremely minor characters with two lines? The problem here is what I've been talking about above, is that Hollywood is constantly thinking South Asians and Middle Easterners are interchangeable when we're not. If I see a MENA character on screen, more often than not the actor is South Asian. This is a continuous problem no one from these places wants to see happening, and yet it is because Hollywood doesn't actually care. The more it's done, the more they think it's okay and so they continue to blur the lines between several different cultures

So, on an ending note, Jasmine and Aladdin are Arab, if not Persian, and the idea that we are interchangable with South Asians harms both our cultures

[hockeymenarehot]

i dont have any specifics but PLEASE could i request a rutger mcgroaty fic 🙏🙏🙏 any type smut fluffy idgaf there just isn't enough content for him

actually fucking SCREAMED when i got this request, i love him so much. of courseeee i can do this! thank u for requesting!! <3

pairing: rutgery mcgroarty x gn!reader

summary: pampering rutger after a hard day. thats it! <3

warnings: does tooth rotting fluff count as a warning? (none!)

"Ugghh" You heard your boyfriend enter the your shared apartment with a very exasperated groan. You giggled to yourself as you sat comfortably on your coach, waiting for him to make his way toward you. At this point it was like a ritual, you waited for him at home after his oh so "hard" days and you made sure he felt loved. Today had obviously been quite tough. "Heyy.." Rutger said, the end of his word leading off into a sigh."Hey baby, have you had a super wonderful day today?" You said with obvious ssrcasm. He gave you a particularly harsh side eye before planting himself on the couch next to you, making a starfish stance with his limbs and effectively invading your personal space. Not that you minded. "What's wrong? Something happen?" you inquire, genuine concern lacing your tone. "Nahh, nothing real specific. Just sore is all." You reached your hand out to trace your fingers down his arm. "I can help you with that, baby. But first you should probably get up, you're all up in my space!" Your giggles filled the room as he purposefully shuffled his body closer and closer to you until he moved the wrong way and went splat against the carpet. "Oh my God! Are you okay?" You spoke, still slightly giggling. "All good," Your boyfriend half-groaned, lifting a thumbs up to further ensure you. Right as he began to pull his hand down, he grabbed your leg and pulled you on top of him in a swift motion. I mean, he IS pretty strong. "What the hell!?" You yelped with faux anger. Rutger took this as a chance to poke a little fun at you "What the hell!?" He squeaked in a dramatically high pitched voice, intending to playfully mock you. You swatted at his chest for his cruelty. "Do you want me to help you with those sore muscles or not?" His eyed widened at your words "Wait, wait! I'm sorry. You're the best partner ever." He said, putting emphasis on those last three words. He laughed at his own words before standing up and helping you up from the floor as well. "Okay now sit your ass down on the couch." "Okay, okay." He said before plopping down on the couch, pivoting himself to the side. At this point you knew what he was telling you, he always had problems with his back being sore so he was going ahead and silently telling you what he wanted. You sat yourself so you were facing his back, and you lifted his shirt up over his head to have better access to his back. He lifted his arms up to make it easier for you. Throwing his cotton shirt over to the side, you began pressing your fingers up against the upper part of his back, trying to find where he was sore. He thought it was funny to make you guess where to massage him instead of directly telling you. You were under the impression it was just some silly joke, truthfully he liked melting into your touch. Your soft fingers finally pressed up against a point on the middle part of his back, making him let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. You pressed against the point a bit harder, massaging it with three of your fingers. You stretched the skin around there under it started to turn red, basking in his satisfied sighs of letting the stress of his day be taken away by you. Before you moved onto his lower back you got up, "One minute baby." Rutger let out an exaggerated groan, before falling forward and letting the side of his head rest on the arm of the sofa. You came back after a moment with a washcloth you had ran under hot water. "Here, this'll help." He decided not to get up from his comfortable laying position, already feeling a bit drowsy. You placed the washcloth on his upper back before sitting back down again. He hummed, satisfied "Thanks, baby." You let out an "Mhm" before shifting your attention to the lower part of his back. You knew Rutger like the back of your hand, and you knew typically all of his lower back was sore. So, you focused on massaging all of his lower back, rubbing circles around his skin trying to ease the knots in it. Rutger looked so peaceful in your presence, and every once in a while he would let out a small sigh of relief.

He honestly didn't know how he got so lucky with you. It took a certain type of person to put up with his antics and pamper him like this. You had spent a solid 20 minutes massaging his back, about to ask him if he was sore anywhere else. That's when you noticed his peacefully sleeping body and subtle snores. You smiled to yourself before gently lifting his legs up to rest on the couch and took the washcloth from off his neck, not wanting it to get colder over time snd make him sick. You grabbed the plush blanket thrown over the back of your couch to lay over him. You chose to sit with him as he slept, watching his soundly sleeping form before you fell into a sleep of your own.

a/n: I hope you don't mind I went with something short and fluffy for this one. I can definitely do some smut for him later, I just wanted to change it up a little bit since I've written so much smut lately. requests are still open! love everything u guys send in! :)

[cynthia39100]

Merlin rewatch -- S1E3: The Mark of Nimueh

Merlin's confession scene

First of all, Arthur’s face when Merlin ran into the court was so funny lol He didn’t believe one bit that Merlin could be a sorcerer.

I like how quick Arthur jumped to defend Merlin. From the frustrated look in his scene with Gwen, I felt his determination to not allow any more unnecessary victims. Merlin's confession was obviously unreliable, considering the timing. He had to step in.

Then there was the iconic Merlin. I think it's the most exaggerated one? We'll see.

I like Arthur’s face when he said “ yes you are.”It's the way he shut his mouth after the sentence and his half-threatening face. I could hear him thinking “ Merlin you idiot stop talking just nod and smile!”

Similarly in the end when he said “There’s no way that he’s a sorcerer.” while fixing Merlin with a long meaningful stare. The warning in his voice was apparent. There was also the look he had when he watched Merlin give up (finally) and walk away. It’s such a contrast with his previous half amused half taunting face. He was so focused on preventing Merlin from getting himself killed.

I also love that throughout the whole thing Arthur never not looked nervous, even while he spoke to the counsellors convincingly.  His facial expression was tense. There was even a little nervous laugh in his voice when he said " ... the wonder is that he's such an idiot."

Bonus: Uther was so amused about the whole thing lol He was still smiling when Merlin left.

<- Prev Next -> [other episodes]

[saulocept]

clumsy ‘cause i’m falling in love

pairing: alejandro vargas/reader

rating: t

summary: You hate his guts. He hates yours. It’s how it’s always been between you, and it’s how it’ll always be. There’s no way this could end happily, but maybe you could be wrong about some things. Once.

notes: very very very self indulgent if u couldn’t tell already lol. semi au bc it’s actually just wish fulfillment tbh. i’ve been toying with this idea for a while now, and this may or may not be a part of a semi series. anyway that’s all. enjoy ur holidays everybody! 

If you weren’t sure the universe hated you before, then you definitely are certain of it now. Because there’s just no way this is happening to you now, not for the third year in a row. “No way,” you mumble, glaring at the piece of paper in your hand, as though whatever’s written on it would just magically disappear. It doesn’t. For a second, it seems brighter somehow, the writing crystal-clear, as though it’s mocking you in response.

You crumple it in your hand, shove it in your pocket, ready to forget about the whole thing, but then a voice from beside you startles you out of your thoughts, stops you from moving.

“Hey, wait.” It’s Soap. He’s a good friend, the only one you can actually get along with. Your only ally in this wretched place, you think, though you’re sure you’re just exaggerating. You pause, then turn to face him. “Who’d you get?”

“No one important,” you reply quickly, but whatever he sees in your eyes must’ve fueled his curiosity because the next thing you know, he’s snatching up the paper in your hand, uncrumpling it and then reading it out loud, like he wants everyone to know.

“No way,” he says, and for a second, he almost sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Bless his heart, really, because that’s exactly what you’ve been thinking. “Alejandro, huh? You got him three years in a row?” Here, he sounds more than a little impressed, and you narrow your eyes at him, half-suspicious, half-glaring. He looks up to meet your eyes, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. Now he’s definitely mocking you, too. You settle for a glare instead, but he doesn’t seem afraid, or fazed at all. He lets out a low whistle, then reaches out to pat you on the shoulder. “Now this is definitely fate, huh?”

“No way,” you reply with a shake your head, because you just refuse to believe it is, and that they don’t have any hand in it. There’s no way you just keep getting the same person three years in a row. Especially for fucking Secret Santa. This has to be a joke, or some kind of a dream. Something. Anything other than reality. “This has to be rigged. You’re all fucking me.”

“Definitely not.” He laughs, then shakes his head. Gently, he hands the paper back to you, and you quickly snatch it out of his grasp, rolling it into a ball and then shoving it back into your pocket, as though it’s something you could just bury and forget. It’s not.

“Come on,” he says, when he sees the look on your face. His tone is soft, placating. You feel your tension ease a bit, because you really shouldn’t take it out on him. He’s not the one at fault here, but still. “You were there, too. We all picked at the same time; you saw that.”

He’s right, obviously, but there’s no way you could just accept it. There’s no way this is just fate, after all; they must have a hand in it, too. Him, especially. Knowing him, there’s no way he’s just letting go of another opportunity to fuck with you. You look up, narrow your eyes at Soap, feeling more suspicious than ever. “Who did you get?”

Here, he blanks out, shoves his hands in his pockets. He gives you a nervous laugh, like he knows more than he’s letting on, which is far too suspicious for you not to notice. “It’s not a Secret Santa now if I tell, is it?”

You step toward him, and he raises his arms in surrender. You stop, then cross your arms over your chest, opting to glare at him instead. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask. He nods his head mutely; he still seems nervous, a little wary of you, so you press on, eager for some answers. “Who did you get?”

He shakes his head. “Nobody.”

“I swear, Soap, if you’re all fucking me, I—”

“We’re not,” he says. “And why are you blaming me? I didn’t make this.”

“Whatever.” You huff out a sigh, then shake your head in exasperation. “I’m sorry, alright? Let’s just get out of here.”

He gives you a weak smile. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

-

“Here,” you say, shoving the wrapped parcel in his direction. There’s a split second where he looks surprised, though he’s quick to cover it up, staring at you instead with a raised brow. You frown. “Happy holidays, asshole.”

He eyes the package in your hand, suspicious, careful, like he doesn’t trust whatever’s in it. Or you, for that matter – which, strangely enough, stings a bit, though you’d never say it out loud. It’s not like you’ll give him a bomb, or anything explosive, anyway. You’ve been doing this for three years now; the least he could do is know you better.

“Unfortunately,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You shove the parcel in his direction, but he’s still not budging. He’s still eyeing it suspiciously, as though it’ll suddenly explode any minute now. It won’t. “I’m your Secret Santa this year.”

“Again,” he echoes flatly. For a second, he sounds like he doesn’t believe it, too.

“Not by choice,” you agree, nodding your head. “And not by design either, just in case you’re wondering.”

He hums under his breath, stares at you for a long time, studying your face like he’s searching for clues, some kind of answer. You aren’t sure what kind he’s looking for, but it’s strange nonetheless. Something about his gaze makes you feel different. Weird. Has he ever looked at you like this before? You can’t remember, and you’d rather not think about it. You clear your throat, then shove the package in his direction. “Come on, asshole. Ie h’ve got places to be.”

He gives you a toothy smile, stares at you with narrowed eyes. He’s still not budging. It’s always been like this between you, anyway, and you don’t think anything would ever change, even if the intensity his stare from earlier has left you feeling a little strange. (It’s just a dream, you think. A trick of the light, and you’re sure of it. Almost.) “Like what?”

“Like being as far away from you as possible.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but then nods. There’s a glimmer in his eyes now that wasn’t there before, and you’re certain it means nothing but trouble. He’s always been nothing but trouble, and you’d know that from first-hand experience. You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious, but before you can even open your mouth and ask, he’s already speaking over you, cutting you off. “Even when it breaks tradition?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What fucking tradition?”

He points upward, his smile widening just a fraction. He seems amused. “See for yourself.”

You do as he says, and it’s there that you catch sight of it: a fake mistletoe dangling above your heads, pinned to the doorway, high enough that you can’t reach it. Annoyance brews in the pit of your stomach, because there’s no way this is fucking happening. You narrow your eyes, glare at him. “Fuck you. You planned this.”

He shrugs – a complete non-answer, you know, but you’re almost already certain of what it means.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” He gives you another smile, though this time, it’s smug, knowing. Like he’s mocking you. You’ve never felt the urge to punch anyone else as much as you do now, and you’d have done it if you know you aren’t going to lose. You settle on glaring at him instead, trying to put as much intimidation behind it, but he only grins at you, unfazed. “What do you want to do about it?”

It takes you a second to realize what he means. You lower your head, clear your throat. Embarrassment courses through you; you feel your cheeks grow warm, and at this point, you could only hope he’s far enough not to see it. By the time you’ve regained enough composure to finally look up at him, he’s still staring at you, watching you with a smug smile on his lips. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, as though he knows something you don’t. You narrow your eyes at him, frowning. He definitely knows, you’re sure of it, and now he’s gloating about it, too.

“Whatever,” you say, trying to affect a flat tone. You turn your head, look around you, nodding in satisfaction once you realize it’s empty and there’s only the two of you. Good, that means no one’s going to be around to watch this whole fucking disaster. You clear your throat, look up at him. He’s still sporting that smug smile – the one you want so badly to smack off his face, and you’re certain that one of these days, you’re really going to do it. “Let’s get this over with.”

You step forward, walk over to him. He doesn’t push you away or move back. Instead, he stares at you, still smiling, quiet as he waits. You’d punch his pretty face if you could, and then you have to stop and shake your head because there’s no way you’d just thought of that.

Whatever. The sooner you can get this done with, the better. Maybe you’ll have enough time to grab a drink or two and sit in silence wondering what made you play along in the first place. Maybe you’ve hit your head on the way, too. You’ll have to get that checked one of these days.

“Well?” he asks with a raised brow when he sees you aren’t moving. He taps a finger against his cheek, still smiling, still waiting. Fucking asshole. With a glare, you move toward him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Quick, chaste, and not at all sweet, but then he turns his head at the last second, captures your lips in a proper kiss.

It surprises you at first, and there’s a split second where you’re paralyzed, uncertain to react. Whatever thoughts you might have had before are quick to disappear into the ether. The world around you falls away, fades into nothing – and all that’s left is you. And then him: the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body. The hunger in his kiss. As though this has been a long time coming. And maybe it is, but you’re not trying to think about it.

You make a strangled noise in your throat. It’s easy to melt into him when there’s nothing to hold you back. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him toward you, closer than you’ll ever have him. In response, he pins you against the wall, and the force of it would hurt, really, if you aren’t so distracted by his kiss.

He smiles against your lips like he’s pleased. You’ve half the heart to curse him out, mostly just out of instinct, mostly because you’re used to it, but then he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, coaxing, and god, you’ve never been this fucking weak before. Everything’s instinctive, automatic; you move without thinking, fueled only by heat and so much wanting, parting your lips open for him, accepting. He smiles again.

He slips his tongue in your mouth, runs it along every inch, and you cup the back of his neck, pull him closer, as though you’ll never get enough of this – him. He makes a low noise in his throat, and the sound of it only sends a shiver down your spine. Your heart pounds. Your head spins. Your stomach’s twisting into knots, and you feel almost weightless, light, as though you’re going to disappear any minute.

By the time you pull away, you’re gasping, trying to catch your breath. You’re still reeling from the shock, the knowledge of it all, because there’s no way that just happened, and there’s no absolutely no fucking way you actually liked it, and you’re still trying to process everything when he clears his throat and speaks, breaking you out of your reverie.

“So,” he says. There’s a knowing smile on his lips, and the glimmer in his eyes makes you want to punch him. Or kiss him again. You don’t know which one you actually want to do at this point, and it frustrates you a little . “Still hate me?”

“Yes,” you reply, because it’s the only thing you can think to say.

He laughs, stares at you for a second. He doesn’t seem convinced. You open your mouth to say something – call him out, anything, but then he steps closer, enough that there’s practically no distance left between you. Slowly, he reaches out, twirls a lock of your hair around his finger. Your breath stops, catches in your throat. You can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but stare at him, waiting. He catches your eye, grins at you: toothy, mischievous, and very, very troublesome. “What if I try to change your mind?”

[littledollll]

Little interruption was so sweeeeeeeet. Could you maybe, just maybe do a part 2? Either a hot chocolate date or maybe like a year later, established relationship and kid calls Larissa mama too and she doesn't know how to handle it, so just emotions basically? Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase. :) It's okay if not. :)

The chosen one

(Pt. 2 of “lovely interruption”)

Larissa Weems x reader

A/n: this takes place about half a year into r and Larissa’s relationship, it’s a quick thing cuz Idk what else to write and also I wanna get these drafts done!

No warnings

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It was a relatively calm day, if you take away your brother running around and screaming to point out absolutely anything he found mildly amusing, mostly at Larissa. He claimed she was much better at explaining than you, which obviously you were offended by.

Like he’s been doing for the past hour, he ran up to you and Larissa, but seeing as you were caught up in conversation and weren’t giving him the attention he so obviously needed to live, he chose to insert himself in, rather loudly. “Momma, momma!” He practically yelled, but he was looking straight at Larissa, not you.

Her eyes shot up to look at you in what you think was was panic. Shocked face turning into a joyful smile once she saw you were already looking at them interact, with nothing but love in your eyes and you gave her a slight nod. She cleared her throat and looked back his way, “yes, sweet boy?”

“What this?” And that was your queue to zone out for a bit, they’d be a while. He had taken to calling her “issa” since you did. You had no idea he thought of Larissa as a second parent, not just your partner. It made you beyond relieved to know that he not only liked her but considered her family. You also had no idea where the hell he came from calling her momma, it was adorable regardless.

“Thank you momma!” Your ears perked up again, snapping out of your thoughts as he ran off. Larissa seemed to be having some trouble with words at the moment, turning to you with really no idea of what to say. So you spoke first, “is that okay? Him calling you that?”

“You must be messing with me.” She replied, like you just asked the most obvious question ever. So he was allowed to do that but you aren’t? Rude. Sure you saw how happy it made her. Still, it never hurts to be sure. “Did you?-“

“No issa, that’s all you. I don’t know when or why he simply decided you’re momma now.” Right from across the room, he clearly overheard “Is that how it works?” He looked right at you both and nodded very obviously making you both chuckle, “He did it to me, so I guess in his mind, yes.”

“Well I’m more than honored to be called his momma.” She did say it with such pride, clearly exaggerated but you knew she meant it. “Congratulations! You’re the chosen one, Larissa Weems.”

You could see Larissa fighting the smile that threatened to stay on her face for the rest of the day at that. “I guess I am” Looks like the little matchmaker was just generally good at picking his people.

[psychokinetic-ectoplasm]

If you are taking asks... Is there anyway you can do a reimagining of how things would have gone down if Venkman had turned out to be Oscars father?

🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 thank you 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

I am! Thank you for this!

Timelines are obviously being ignored in this, so just keep that in mind 😅

Available here on Ao3

SFW, under the cut for length

He's Yours

There were several reasons Dana didn't want to see Peter again. She wasn't surprised when he pushed past Egon and Ray and stepped into her apartment. She knew how he would act, what he would say. That was one reason, and she was right. His smugness, his attempted groveling… Damn her for still loving him…

And then the other, more life-changing reason. The secret she’d been keeping for two years now. Part of her worried that he'd know as soon as Peter saw Oscar. That was probably silly, but between what had happened on the street with Oscar in his carriage and the threat of Peter finding out the truth… Dana was filled with trepidation. She thought maybe she could keep the two apart, but that was wishful thinking. The other part of her, the part that wasn’t worrying, wanted Peter to know. She wanted to tell Peter the truth so badly.

While Ray and Egon had been in Oscar’s room, Peter was alone with Oscar… Dana could hear Peter talking to him, but for the moment, she tried to help the others, wanting to give them all the information she could. But when she returned to the dining room, she froze upon seeing Peter holding Oscar. They might have been goofing off, but it made Dana choke up a bit. This is how it should be, father and son… Why didn’t I tell him sooner?

“Peter?” she murmured as she approached.

He glanced over his shoulder at her before turning to face her.

“He had some sort of clear liquid coming out of his mouth,” Peter said as if that explained why he'd been pretending Oscar had been biting his nose.

“Well, that happens,” Dana murmured, lightly rubbing Oscar's back.

Peter then moved to lean against the table, still playing with Oscar. He was a natural. I have to tell him…

“Well…” Dana began, the words fighting to get out. He’s yours, Peter. You’re finally getting to hold your son, and you don’t even know it. “What do you think?” she asked instead, managing to keep the trepidation out of her voice.

“Well, he’s ugly. I mean, he’s not Elephant Man, ugly, he’s not attractive,” Peter joked, a smile in his voice. “Was his father ugly?”

“Don’t listen,” Dana said to Oscar. If only he knew he was talking about himself…

“And he stinks,” Peter went on. “You’re ripe, senior!” Oscar giggled. Peter then glanced briefly at Dana. “Did his father stink? Yeah? Daddy was a smelly, huh? What’s your name?”

“His name is Oscar.”

“Oh, named after a hot dog! You poor man! You poor poor man!” Peter cried in exaggerated lamentation. 

“But seriously, there’s nothing… there’s nothing unusual about him, is there?” Dana asked, half hoping he'd pick up on her trepidation and call it out.

Peter looked thoughtful. “Well, I don’t have a lot of experience with babies.” He then smiled at Oscar. “But you’re excited now because Mama’s here to take your stool sample! Right, Mama?” Peter said, handing Oscar off to Dana.

As their hands touched, Dana nearly gave in again. Oh, Peter, I've missed you so much…

With Peter helping Ray and Egon figure out what had happened to Oscar, Dana honestly felt better about all of it. Despite everything, and not just because she still loved him, she trusted Peter implicitly.

She should trust him enough to tell him the truth.

***

Maybe it had been a mistake going directly to Peter after her bathtub attacked her and Oscar, but Dana hadn't even thought. She just moved. And the one place she'd feel absolutely and totally safe was with Peter. That's just all there was to it.

Maybe he was just being his usual self, but she liked to think he was acting goofy as a way to distract her. Dana knew she was visibly shaken, and Peter seemed to be going out of his way to lighten the mood. She appreciated it. It made things feel a little more normal.

What wasn't normal was being back in his apartment. It felt like it had forever and yet no time at all. It was just as she remembered it, though messier. It was odd sitting on his bed again, too… The last night she'd been here was the night Oscar had been conceived… 

That thought made her nervous. Dana was half worried Peter might be able to read her thoughts, that maybe his work with ESP finally paid off. But that was silly, she told herself. He'd probably know already.

But even so, she didn't want to share a bed with him. That was asking for trouble, no matter how much Dana missed getting to sleep in his arms.

“How about you on the sofa and me and the baby in the bed?” she said.

“It’s the way to go,” Peter said, scooting up to sit on the edge of the bed.

She hadn’t expected him to relent so easily. She also didn’t expect the smile he gave her. “It’s so late, I really gotta put him down…”

“May I?”

Dana blinked in surprise. “Yeah, if you want to.”

She should have known better, but Peter's actions still put a smile on her face. Peter leaned down closer to Oscar and pointed at him.

“You’re short, your belly button sticks out too far, and you’re a terrible burden on your poor mother.”

In all the time she’d known Peter, she’d never seen this kind of smile on his face when he interacted with Oscar. Even more surprising was when Peter reached up to lightly rub Oscar’s cheek with the side of his finger. It was such an affectionate gesture…

“Peter?” Dana murmured.

“Yeah?” 

Peter looked up at her with that soft smile he used to give her back when things had still been good between them, the one that she convinced herself meant he loved her. She'd longed to see it again for so long…

She swallowed hard and looked down. “You're really good with him.”

“Ah, well, we're just a couple of big kids, aren't we, Oscar?”

“I'm serious, Peter. You'd make a great father.”

He looked genuinely shocked, blinking a few times as he processed the words. Dana smirked.

“Is Peter Venkman finally at a loss for words?” she teased.

He opened his mouth to respond, likely with some quip to defuse the seriousness, but then he closed his mouth, looking down at Oscar. Now, Dana was the one genuinely surprised.

“No one's ever said that to me before…” he admitted quietly.

“I have,” she said. “But I don't think you wanted to hear it before.”

It seemed he couldn't look at her, but she was used to that. When something serious needed to be said, Peter never wanted to look anyone in the eye. Gone was any smugness. 

“I meant what I said the other day. You'd have been better off marrying me. I wouldn't have left you…”

Tears pricked Dana's eyes. “I know,” she whispered.

He finally managed to look up at her. They simply gazed at each other for a few moments, everything left unsaid weighing heavily between them.

“I guess I should let you get some sleep,” Peter finally said. “You two are probably exhausted after almost being eaten by a bathtub.”

Dana smiled. “Yeah, I'd like to get some rest.”

“Well, you know where I'll be,” he said, climbing off the bed and gathering up what he needed to sleep in. “You know, in case you get lonely.”

She nearly gave in, taking him up on his offer to sleep in the same bed again, but she wasn't ready for that. “Thanks. Goodnight, Peter.”

Peter gave her a genuine smile. “Night, Dana. And goodnight, Oscar!”

Oscar cooed quietly, smiling up at Peter. Dana waited until Peter closed the door before leaning closer to Oscar. 

“Someday soon, he'll know who you really are. You deserve to have a father, and your father deserves to know about his son.” She kissed Oscar's forehead. “And your father deserves a second chance from me.”

***

Dana was thrilled that Peter had invited her out to dinner. More so than she thought she would be. 

She had missed this, missed him. She couldn't help but kiss him. Peter gave her his signature smirk. 

“You really did miss me, didn't you?” he teased.

Dana remained serious, a faint, smitten smile on her face. “Yes. Yes, I really did.”

To her surprise, his expression softened. “Don't tell anyone, but I missed you, too.”

Tell him. Tell him now. Dana took a deep breath. “Peter, there's something I need to—”

She broke off, interrupted by a sudden commotion from the other side of the restaurant. Maybe she shouldn't have been shocked to see Ray, Egon, and Winston show up, but the shock was more so at the state of their undress, coupled with the fact that they were covered in slime.

“Hold that thought,” Peter muttered, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

Dana sat back, half paying attention to what was being said until they mentioned the museum. And then Peter was gone, leaving Dana to go home alone. Home… how quickly his apartment became home.

But then Oscar had been taken, kidnapped. Aside from her frantic desire to get her son back, she desperately wished for Peter.

Peter, our baby needs you!

***

Once the dust had settled from the wildest — and scariest — New Year’s Dana had ever experienced, she stuck close to Peter because of course she did. He never even asked if she wanted to go home to her apartment as if it was some unspoken thing that she would return with him to his. Neither made a comment about it.

When Dana returned to the living room, Peter was holding Oscar, pacing the room and bouncing him a bit, talking quietly to him. Dana watched them for a moment. Now was the time; it had to be. This couldn't wait any longer.

Peter looked at her and smiled as she approached. “See? There's Mama!”

“Peter… I want to— I need to tell you something.”

“Okay, shoot. I'm all ears.”

Dana could only look at Oscar as she spoke and soothed herself by gently rubbing his arm. “He's yours.”

Peter didn't stop lightly bouncing Oscar in his arms. “He's my what?”

“No, Peter, he's yours. He's your son.”

Now, he stilled, and Dana glanced up at him, finding him staring at her. “My— Mine? He's my—” He looked down at Oscar. “Well, maybe you're not so ugly.”

He turned and wandered away, gazing down at Oscar. Dana watched, torn between feeling relieved and anxious. She hesitantly took a step forward.

“Peter?”

“Would you believe part of me hoped that was the case?” He was quiet for another moment before turning to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dana looked away, ashamed. “With how you were acting about marriage… I didn’t think you’d want kids. And besides, we were no longer seeing each other when I found out I was pregnant. Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry… I didn’t want it to be this way, and that’s why I’m telling you now.” She stepped up to him and put a hand on his arm. “If I could take it back, I would. I want you in Oscar’s life, and I want you in mine.”

Peter continued to stare for a moment before looking at Oscar. “You both deserve better than me.”

Dana lifted her hand to his cheek. “I don’t want anyone but you. If I’ve realized anything over these past two years, it’s how much, despite everything, I still love you. I love you so much, Peter.”

Again, there was no smugness on his face. In fact, he seemed to get pretty emotional. Emotional for Peter. “You mean that?”

She nodded, unable to hold back her tears anymore. “Yes, I mean that. If anything, I want you to be Oscar’s father because you are. You deserve to know your son.”

Peter took Oscar’s hand and kissed his cheek. “I’d like that, too…” He then smiled a bit and shook his head, looking at Dana. “Only you could ever make me want kids.”

“Yeah?” she murmured.

“I mean…” Peter wrapped his free arm around Dana’s waist and pulled her close. “I guess that’s what love does to a guy.”

She took a breath. “Love?”

Peter leaned in and softly kissed her lips. “I love you, Dana. And I promise I’ll do better this time. For both of you. I’ll admit, I kinda sucked at it last time, but I missed you too much. I… I want this to work.”

“So you’re not mad at me for keeping this from you.”

He shook his head, making a face. “I probably would have kept it from me, too.” He then smiled at Oscar. “But we’re all here now! And I’ve got a little baby boy!” Peter got a little more serious. “I’ve got a kid… Huh, that’s gonna take some getting used to… Oh, and I take back everything I said about your father. He’s the most handsomest, best-smelling guy around.” He cut his eyes up at Dana. “Most of the time. Okay, so he has his moments.”

“Peter?”

He looked at her.

“You can sleep in the bed tonight.”

Peter grinned and kissed her again. “I promise to behave.”

“And yet, somehow, I don’t believe you.”

They made their way toward the bedroom. “No, I promise! I’ve changed, Dana. I’m a new man! Literally. I’m a father now; I gotta start acting like it.”

“Oh, good! Then you can start changing his diapers.”

“Whoa, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!”

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dana.”