#i hope u like him or at least his design because i love it a lot.. i owe pink men everything

[cyellolemon]

He's Stellan!! You may have seen him on Artfight, i'm now introducing him here hi..

He's from the same story as Myel and Klaus, he's kinda an antagonist.. also he seems interested by Myel and Klaus hates him

[jamminvroomvroom]

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

-

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

-

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

-

oof

-

taglist

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if you wanna be added or removed lemme know! :D

[whiskersz]

hiya, sos idk if you do platonic fics but if you do can you do a platonic husk x younger reader? maybe they knew each other when they were alive and meet again and husk is protective over them? thank u! :)

Hello! I sure do write platonic relationships :3 I hope this is good enough, in this I imagine Reader to be a young adult, around 20. Hope that's okay, thanks for requesting!

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Hell is…well. You wouldn’t really know how else to describe it, other than with its name. And deep inside you know you’re a sinner, there’s no denying that if you ended up here...but you feel like you could never get used to living like this.

Even in life, you’ve never been a fan of gory scenarios, robberies, violence and whatnot, and if anything you could say that the reason why you ended up here is because of a stupid mistake you made, but Heaven couldn’t take you in because of that, so now you find yourself here...in front of the Hazbin Hotel, hoping for a last chance at redemption.

Before you can even knock on the door tough, you’re welcomed by an eerie shadow quickly taking the form of an individual right before your very eyes;

“Greetings fellow Sinner!” He welcomes you with a wide smile, extending his hand for you to take, which you reluctantly do; “And welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! It’s a pleasure to be meeting you, I’m Alastor, and I will gladly be your host!”

His handshake is so firm it nearly makes you lose your balance; you compose yourself though, and nod, taking in all the information that’s been given to you – Alastor, the host...alright, that means you’re probably going to be safe with him especially once you’re inside.

“Thank you sir, I was just looking for someone willing to do that!” the nervousness is palpable in your voice, but you still try to match his energy by flashing him a smile. Alastor nods and opens the door for you like a true gentleman, which you thank him for.

The interior design of the place looks quite lovely in your opinion, the walls a deep red and pavements covered by gorgeous patterned rugs; various decorations make the main room more hospitable, and although you’re mesmerized by the place you carefully listen as Alastor explains that it would technically be a bit too early for newcomers to be welcomed, which is why nobody else other than him is around – you looked quite lost though, his word, so he decided to take it upon himself to at least bring you inside.

“Oh, I’m very sorry, I had no idea- I can always come back later, it’s not a-“

“Eh, what’s all the commotion about?”

A rough voice interrupts the exchange of words between you and Alastor; your gaze travels all the way towards the flight of stairs leading to the top floor, where a demon in the form of a winged anthropomorphic cat is standing.

His voice sounds curiously familiar.

“Ah, Husker! How goes it! Why don’t we start the introductions with you!” Alastor points at him with the staff he’s been using mostly to sustain his weight until now; “This is the bartender, dear.”

Husker? Now, that name sounds more than familiar.

“Husk?” you ask tentatively, studying his appearance.

His ears, formerly back, now stand up right, and his tail sways from side to side in what you can only assume is excitement.

“What...yes? Wait, it’s you?”  He whispers your name, still unbelieving.

You quickly leave Alastor’s side, running straight into Husk’s embrace instead; he immediately drapes a wing over you protectively, and you can’t really see it from where you’re positioned, but the glare he shoots the host is one of anger before his gaze softens looking at you once again.

“I’ve missed you...” you admit, before realization hits you; “Wait, you’re in Hell? Why?”

“I should be asking the same thing, kid. Let’s leave explanations for later, yeah? Always told you I wasn’t a good person.”

His wing pulls you closer, and you savour the embrace for as long as you can before you reluctantly have to separate from him.

“Well, I suppose that is my cue to leave!” says Alastor, clasping his hands together before eerily disappearing back into the shadows.

Shortly after, the rest of the residents of the Hotel sleepily make their own appearance. This time, it’s Husk’s job to introduce you to everyone, never leaving your side all the while. Charlie is especially excited to have one more patient who is also one of Husk’s old friends, as he doesn’t seem to have many after all.

Husk immediately makes sure to shelter you from Angel Dust’s dirty jokes; as much as he and Angel get along, he finds it uncomfortable to hear him flirting with you. The spider demon initially calls him ‘not fun’, but he understands where he’s coming from and actually agrees with him as you’re much younger.

Once you and Husk have the time to catch up, you both explain the reason why you’ve ended up here to each other. Yes, you were close in life, but he’s always preferred keeping his life quite private and so have you, both keeping your sins to yourselves. You’re both glad you’re here though, on the right path for redemption...in one way or another.

You distinctly remember how he used to amaze you with his magic tricks back when you were alive; he’d host little shows just for you, your smile contagious as he showed you all that he was capable of.

You also remember the sadness you felt when the time to get separated came, but he had promised you that one day you would meet again. And now here you are, indeed. Though your reunion was unexpected, you’re still glad it happened.

Husk is happy to see that you get along with all of his friends, too. He tries to encourage you to stay away from Alastor and you gladly do so, as you don’t really want to engage with the owner of who you consider your best friend, but still put on a smile every time he talks to you to remain on his good side. Everyone else though, you’re on good terms with, and he couldn’t be happier that you found a safe place to stay at even though you unfairly ended up in Hell.

[leclsrc]

reciprocate ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, pwp, very very filthy, fem!reader

word count: 4.5k

You have trouble maintaining your vow of Max celibacy when you’re on vacation together. (part 1 here)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… sexual tension like tons, dirty talk, masturbating, descriptions of sex, kissing, SEXUAL TENSION.

hope you like it everyone! :) req’d and i was gonna make this a drabble, but it kinda grew. kind of gives way for a part 3, so lmk if u would wanna read thaaat...?

You’re bored more than several times over the dry, chilly stretch of winter break.

With not much to do, you’ve taken to traveling before you settle back into reporting on what different teams are doing to prepare for March. It’s all car prep, helmet design, new advancements, some drama on budget breaches. But that all comes in the condensed end of February, so now you’re wandering around, aimless.

The invite comes after Christmas and before New Year’s. It’s also last minute, and you would’ve normally rejected it, but Lissie had managed to convince you despite yourself, so you text Daniel a thumbs-up, greenlighting his proposition to jet off to Monaco.

“I’m starting to think I should’ve just said no,” you mutter, dumping a bundle of clothes into your suitcase. Across you, equally busy, Lissie scoffs. 

She looks up from where she’s busy folding something, then, “In what universe would anybody want to pass up on a free Monaco trip where we can spend the entire week drinking our body weight in cocktails and swimming it off?”

You laugh, nodding in semi-agreement. It’s not Monaco, you want to tell her. It’s because everybody’s going, even Max. “You’re right,” you say instead, making a show of being excited. 

It didn’t seem the slighest bit sane to be going on a non-work trip where Max was going to be around. Your first tryst, barely a month ago, before the grand prix in Abu Dhabi, had given way to three days straight of retiring to his room, foregoing afterparties, and then, after deciding to go to one, sneaking back off and fucking in his room after just an hour of dancing.

Max is just as insatiable as you are, and it scares you—because it took every ounce of resistance from you to sit him down and affirm the statement that the constant sex was a bad idea. Outside of his room, outside his bed, you two still maintained the same caustic relationship, but the sex became like clockwork, and you could tell it wasn’t the best idea.

“We need to stop the sex,” you’d said, setting it down firmly. “It’s—it’s getting in the way of work.” 

“It really isn’t. You still have no problem calling me out after races and then getting fucked less than an hour later,” he said.

“I’m serious, it is. And if not now, it will.”

He’d shrugged. “Fine.”

“It’ll be easy,” you’d said sharply. “For me, at least.”

It feels like cosmic karma, then, when you’re told by Lissie that Max’s room is beside yours.

—

Almost funnily, Max’s is the first face you see after you’ve settled in your hotel room. You see him first, and then notice he’s joined by Daniel and Lando, at the bar near the beach where everyone else in your little group is hanging out. You make eye contact that you tear away from instantly, willing yourself to ignore him.

Daniel notices you first when you show up to order yourself a drink. “Swam yet?”

“Nope,” you say. “Think I’ll join the girls and tan today.”

“Just glad you finally accepted the invite,” Daniel comments. “Lissie told me you almost bailed for some weird reason.”

Your eyes dart over to Max, who’s drinking whiskey. He’s already looking at you, gaze cutting. You clear your throat and look away. “I thought it wouldn’t be the best idea, but I’m about three drinks away from loving it here.”

The small talk continues, and you even get your drink, but eventually Daniel and Lando are too enticed by the sunset water, running off and yanking their shirts off on the way. You shuffle nervously on the barstool, just two seats apart from Max.

“You’re here the whole week?” He asks, not looking at you. 

“I am,” you say, leveling his tone of nonchalance.

He makes a noise of petty disapproval, leaning back. From where you sit, you get fleeting glimpses of how he looks, and it isn’t helping your vow of celibacy. He’s big, which, while you knew this, still sends a throb of arousal through you. The tight tee he wears does nothing to hide what’s underneath, and his arms give you the impression that he could just throw you onto a bed or slam you against a wall like it’s nothing.

(Two things you could personally attest to, but that’s besides the point.) You’ve only just begun to get used to not having sex with him, but you’re starting to think you should get on the next flight off, because the thoughts creeping into your head of his hands, his tongue—

A cry of your name grabs your attention, and you blink, turning your head. Farther up the beach, Lissie and Lily are waving their hands around, calling you. “Let’s swim!” Lissie orders. “Now!”

“Bit busy there, were you?” Max asks, smirking. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, downing the rest of your cocktail and jogging over to your friends. Absently, you hear him chirp another teasing remark behind you—hope you drown. The abrasive remark lets the remainder of your scandalous thoughts filter out for the time being. You’re positive, though, that they won’t be gone for the whole two weeks.

You stop in front of Lissie to undo the clip in your hair when Lily asks nonchalantly: “Why’s Max staring at your ass?”

“Lil, oh m—” You swat her playfully. “Don’t just say things like that!”

“Sorry! Jesus. It was a serious inquiry. Guy’s eyes are glued. Don’t you hate each other?”

You resist the urge to turn around and maybe get in a dig of your own, but clear your throat and shrug. “You’re hallucinating. I’m sure he’ll have some random girl in his hotel room later tonight, anyway.”

You don’t miss the way Lily’s face is still etched with lack of conviction, but you tug her toward the beach anyway, splashing around and playing frisbee with the Daniel, Charles, and Lando. At some point, talk of clubbing arises through the six of you, and at Lando’s insistence, you all agree to meet up somewhere to get hammered later. A warm Monegasque welcome, Charles had dubbed it. 

A sluice of nerves slide across you when you hear Charles relay the idea to Max, and the latter reply with a fuck yes count me in. 

You learn a few short hours later that Monaco lives up to its predestined reputation as a nightlife beast, greeting you with vigor and sophistication. You’d been here before, but mostly for work—the immense drinking, dancing, and occasional drug is still a novel experience. Evidently, though, the drivers have little trouble settling into it, accepting and ordering shots and extravagant bottles like they’re nothing.

You’re off work, you figure, and you have no concrete responsibilites tied you as of the moment, so why not join in? 

Lissie is drunkenly slurring something into your ear, about how some guy is flirting with her but he’s a 6 at best and maybe I should just make out with him to make him feel better hey wait maybe he’s an 8 actually no 9, maybe 9.5 max—no he’s a 10 I’m fucking him bye, and Lily is pissed, likely being taken care of by Alex.

Charles had upheld a promise to remain sober, but said nothing of bringing a girl home, which he’d successfully pulled off just twenty minutes ago. Lando’s obviously busy spinning the tunes at the DJ booth behind you, howling with excitement every time he plays something he likes. Which, you realize, leaves you with Daniel.

You fix the hem of your tiny dress, throwing back another shot. Your tolerance doesn’t allow for alcohol to permeate fast; it goes slowly, and never results in too much of a headache, thank the Lord. You’re pleasantly buzzed, but you want more courage, more gravitas. A timely wish, considering you haven’t quite learned how much of a party monster Daniel is.

He leans in closer. “I bet you three shots of vodka you’re not kissing someone tonight.”

“I’ll take the opposing side,” you say, laughing. “Nobody here is doing it for me.”

“A gentleman’s agreement!” He hollers, waving a passing waiter over and ordering shots for people to share.

Although you’re in a roped off area of the club, there are still people walking around and crowding the area, including a girl who’s seated on Daniel’s lap. She whispers something mumbled and low into his ear, and you roll your eyes at his equally flirty response, pinching her thigh and kissing her neck. 

He turns back to you after, like it’s a casual conversation. “How can nobody ‘do it for you’ in a Monaco nightclub, man?”

There’s a question you can answer, but woefully won’t. You change the subject instead, cupping two shots. “How about you and I just do three shots each?”

“Make it four,” he says challengingly. “And take a hit.”

“Already did, Danny,” you refute. You’d smoked half a joint before drinking anything, not wanting to get too caught up in the crossfade. You’re half sure somebody in the group took molly, but your mouth is zipped all the same. “Come on, four shots.”

“Up, up,” he pauses, thinking. “Two shots of Patron vodka—and two of Clase Azul.”

Agreeing, you search for the liquor on the lit-up table, throwing the vodka back with relative ease and then standing up to do the last two. You stumble when you place the glasses back on the table, shaking hands with Daniel and moving about to shake off the alcoholic taste in your mouth.

You pass by Lando, and he flips you off from his place at the DJ booth, but eventually you meander your way to the bar instead, wedging yourself into an empty alcove that only houses a storage room door. It’s quieter, and here you can start to feel the alcohol in your system. You lean back against the wall, and just as you wished, a guy eventually approaches you.

He’s cute(ish), tall(ish), and charming(ish), and even in your hazy mind he registers as passable and definitely way too drunk and overconfident to be approaching somebody as hot as you. His arm wraps around you, toys with the flimsy strap of the minidress you’d worn today. His accent is clearly touristy and American when he asks, “What, bored tonight?”

“Little bit,” you say lowly, leaning back and letting your lips curl up into a smile. “Nothing is really exciting.”

He hums drunkenly. “I could be exciting. Show you something exciting.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say, playing into him. “Tell me more.”

“I could tell you lots of things in my hotel room.” He smiles. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

“She’s had plenty, mate,” a voice unmistakably Dutch says, and pride wells up in you for having had your plan succeed so beautifully. You blink, reaching an arm out to gently push the guy out of the way—and meet eyes with the one behind him. Taller, broader, and evidently more sober than either of you, Max looks pissed (more than usual, at least.) “Piss off.”

“Christ, had I known she had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t’ve approached, man. Let’s all be calm.”

Max waves him off dismissively and approaches you, a glint of concern shadowing the irritance in his eyes. “This some kind of plan of yours?”

The alcohol has begun to rush through you. You’re hot, flushed all over, thinking of all the times you’d been in this position, purposely testing Max’s limits so he could test yours, albeit differently.  

“Dunno what you mean,” you say. Your gaze slips downward, to the big, rough hand wrapped around the glass of whiskey. You want them on you. Then they meet his again.

“Sure,” he says, unconvinced. “You’re having a lot of fun prancing around like you’ve no responsibilities.”

“Lighten up,” you insist boredly. “It’s called a vacation. It’s for letting loose.”

“Are you letting loose enough?” He asks, suggestive.

“Max.” You lean forward, and the movement lets him see more of your chest, or what your dress allows. He coughs. 

“No.” But despite himself, he’s leaning downward, too, his gaze stuck on your lips. “You told me yourself. It gets in the way of work.”

“This isn’t work,” you say, nerves hammering through you.

“Been looking after you all night, it might as well be.” His voice is cold and serious. He steps forward, effectively caging you against the wall with how bulky his frame is. “You need to be careful. I had to pry that asshole off of you.”

“What if…” You trail off, tilting your head back so you’re making searing, unbreaking eye contact. “That’s exactly what I wanted?”

You’re both frozen in place, staring up at him with the kind of coy you only get when you’re tipsy like this. Wide eyed, lip bitten, and dress riding up—this is exactly how Max likes you. Ready for him to wreck. One jerk of his knee in between your legs and you’re his. He considers other options: a light grip around your neck, or even just a hand on your waist would render you weak, too.

“You test me too much, Y/L/N.” You feel hazy from the way he says your name, in the way he always does—formal, professional, like you’re in the paddock interviewing him again. You can feel yourself growing wet. 

But you’d gotten yourself into this mess. You wore this dress, took those shots, let that guy flirt with you in hopes that Max would come over and give you his time of day. Deny as you might, you know deep down this is exactly what you were waiting for. You press a palm to his stomach, feeling the hard surface there, fisting it in his shirt. 

He grunts, lets his hand cover yours. “Schatz,” he says, guttural.

He lets your lips meet, but when you lean in for a proper kiss, he stands back up to his full height. One look in your eyes lets him realize you’re sufficiently sober, and he turns and walks away.

—

A volleyball hits your shoulder for the third time today.

Prior to that, it’d hit your forehead twice, putting an effective end to your beach volleyball winning streak. Beside you, Lando lets out a strangled cry of defeat.

“The volleyball legend is tapping out!” Daniel hoots from a nearby lawn chair, mimicking the racing commentators you’re all familiar with. 

“Piss off,” you say. “I’m off my game, too tired.”

You wave a dismissive hand to Lily and Alex and they flash thumbs up signs. You squeeze a bottle of water into your mouth, needing release from the thoughts plaguing your mind. The events of two nights ago weigh terribly heavy, annoyingly so, on your mind. 

Not Max himself, you argue. His voice. His touch. They’re so irresistible to you. The way he’d grunted out the pet name he reserved for sex, the way his hand was so much rougher, bigger than yours.

Absently, you wonder, if he hadn’t stopped it—what would’ve happened then? He must’ve been resisting his strongest demons to put an end to the flirting like that. Any other time, you think, it would’ve gone differently.

He’d crowd you against the wall, press hot, whiskey-flavored kisses to your neck. He’d drop his glass, uncaring if it shattered; he could pay for fifty of those and then some. You picture his big hands roughly feeling you up, pressing against your panties, asking if you wore them just for him. Mumbling about wanting to taste you, get on his knees and have your pussy right here, for his tongue only. You picture his fingers, nimble, yanking away the lace and pushing into your cunt, kissing your jaw, moving, moving, until you’re fully in an open-mouthed kiss, messy and dirty, just how he likes you. He’d say something mean. Do you enjoy being a slut, letting all these people watch me take care of you? You’d nod. It’s true, you do, humping his fingers and chasing release. You picture his dick, hard and thick, big like the rest of him, pressed against your bare thigh, and—

“Your gelato!” Lissie hollers crankily, waving a cone of coffee ice cream in front of you that’s begun to melt and stick to her fingers.

“Thinking of sum’in, mate?” Lando’s amused, sunglasses-clad face comes into view.

You flip him off and apologize to Lissie, attempting to enjoy your ice cream before you descend into a state of craziness. The beach day passes with additional moments of blank stares, though none to a worrying degree. Most of your friends chalk it up to you waking up late or spacing out thinking of work, thankfully. 

But, at least, you think. At least this just proves that you and Max can stick to your vow of celibacy. Right?

—

Max is never usually one to eavesdrop, but when he learned from Lily earlier in the week that your room was adjacent to his, he couldn’t help but become more conscious of it. Two days of silence, the occasional TV noise, and some stumbling provide nothing, so he’s since stopped paying attention. Between you two, you’re the one always out on the shore anyway, so there’s nothing much for him to listen to.

Tonight is different.

You don’t usually make noise—and he’s generally speaking here. You’re not a loud person. Even with the aid of a mic, your voice is composed, on the edge of quiet, during paddock reports. So why can he hear you so clearly now? The walls are a bit thin, sure, but something else contributes to it.

Something else, like maybe you’re doing all this on purpose.

The shuffling on the other side of the wall grows louder, then he hears your faint, breathy whimpers. He pauses, sitting a bit more upright on his bed, curiosity piqued, anticipates something else. Your whimpers grow louder, passing through the walls with relative ease. 

He could totally tune this out, maybe put on a movie, hell, leave the room for a late night walk or a drink somewhere.

But he’s rooted to his spot, listening intently, wanting to hear more of you. He hears it then, so breathy at first he almost doesn’t. Max.

Your moan. He blinks, feeling himself grow hard. Maybe he didn’t hear it right, but then he hears it again: Oh, Max. Please. Wanna, wanna— 

He palms at his dick through his sweats, swearing under his breath. You sound exactly like you do when you’re underneath him, two lithe hands wrapped around his wrist, begging for release, for his tongue, for his fingers. You’d been so sure, so high and mighty when you sat him down and demanded the sex stop, but here you are fucking yourself on your fingers, moaning his name.

Barely even ashamed, he tugs his dick out, already drooling with precum. He uses it to ease the glide of jerking off. Max, you say again, louder this time, higher. He remembers your conversation clearly, your solemn voice when you told him you couldn’t ever have sex again with the way it interfered with your jobs. The way you slid in a snide remark about how it’d be an easy challenge for you.

He can’t help but be amused, fucking his fist and listening to your moans, growing in volume as you near your climax. He wants to ask if your fingers are as good as his, as his tongue, his cock. He knows you’ll say yes but think the opposite. You’ve always grown so weak around him.

Gonna cum, he hears again. 

He pictures you writhing on your bed, eyes rolling back, fist half-bitten to try and silence yourself. Your thighs are probably shaking, brows knitted together, tongue lolling out—he jerks himself faster, panting, chest sweaty. It’s your last, loud moans that send him over the edge. 

I’m cumming, Maxie, fuck—! He swears under his breath, cum spurting out all over his fist. He catches his breath, pursing his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. Tries to purge himself of his thoughts of how you might look right now and retreats into his bathroom.

It doesn’t work.

—

Lando personal phone 30s ago

Lissie wants her own bacardi and could you get doritos too x

And a box of condoms pls mate xx

“One more Bacardi and a bag of Doritos,” you dictate boredly. Who knew a high profile, all expenses paid vacation in one of the richest countries in the world would still entail the mandatory grocery run? “…And condoms.”

Max turns from where he’d retrieved the rum, a brow raised in question. “Sorry?”

“Lando, not me,” you defend, holding two hands up. You two had been the unlucky pair who drew short straws and were thus stuck with a long list of niche items in an empty convenience store not far from your hotel. Outside, the sun’s already gone, leaving behind traces of orange in an otherwise dark sky. The group had decided to stay nearby and drink instead of going out tonight, since you’d all been at a club basically every other night anyway.

You review each of your baskets. “Seems like this is all,” you conclude, “except the condoms, which we’ll get at the counter.”

“Did Lando specify a… brand?” Max asks, pacing to the cashier. There are already some on display, with varying features and sizes. 

You recheck your phone. “Nope. Just get anything.”

“Alright, then.” Max picks up an XXL condom box and waves it around. “For Little Lando.”

Irritated, you roll your eyes. “Be reasonable, Max.”

“You said get anything!”

“You’re so annoying,” you fume. You catch sight of the cashier looking uncomfortable with the tension between you and Max and figure the situation needs to deescalate. “Okay. Fine. Whatever, just get something reasonable. Put that back.”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘reasonable,’” he says teasingly, clearly trying to push your buttons.

“Just get a standard condom box.”

“What is a standard co—”

“Get the ones you normally use,” you say, realizing the words after they leave your mouth.

The cashier coughs.

Shrugging, Max grabs the familiar box off the shelf and tosses it, emptying both your baskets right after. His face is amused when he turns and you see him again, but you’re both wordless while the payment goes through and you exit together. The car ride back to the hotel is quiet, stuffy, and tense, your arms crossed over your chest and Max’s occupied with both of the plastic bags.

“I’m surprised you remember what condoms I use.” He says with a smug smile when you’re both in the elevator. He’s parked his car on the basement floor, so you need to get to the lobby. You watch the lights signify what floor you’re on, waiting desperately for the ground floor button to glow yellow.

Still annoyed, you humor him despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

It dings yellow right as he responds. “You’re always begging for me to cum inside you, anyway.” 

The doors open but neither of you move. Max watches you grow flustered and take a deep breath. “You’re a sicko,” you declare, walking out. He follows you with a laugh, knowing he’s right.

You meet the group outside the lobby, where they’re already piling onto a yacht, big enough for everyone. It’s ridiculously huge and expensive-looking, bobbing softly by the dark water. Charles emerges from the upper tier and waves to you and Max with a goofy grin.  

After you help spread and deposit the groceries on the table, you walk around, finally detaching yourself from Max’s side. Eventually drinks ebb around the group, shots and crude cocktails that are fed to you like water. Buzzed with warmth and courage, you move to the back of the boat where there’s a ladder to swim, grunting when you find Max already there.

You clench your cocktail. “What’re you doing?”

“Preparing to swim, what’s it look like?”

“Oh.” You pause. “I didn’t know you could swim.”

You down the rest of your drink, leaning against the side of the boat and watching as he sheds his shirt and jumps into the ocean. Some of the water splashes onto you, and it’s cold, sending goosebumps throughout your body. He surfaces, hair darkened from being wet and smile dopey. A few strands of hair stick up. 

“Wanna join?”

“Over my dead body,” you say, taking a seat and dripping your legs instead. 

“The water’s nice.”

“It’s frigid,” you counter. “You should be wearing a snowsuit, dumbass.”

“How mean,” he says, diving underneath and surfacing again. “You’re too chicken, is all.”

Emboldened, by the buzz of alcohol maybe, the music, or—most likely of all—Max’s teasing, you nod. “Chicken?”

You get up, legs dripping, and pull your shorts down, tugging your tiny tank top off right after. You’re left in your bathing suit, and watch as Max’s eyes lock onto your tits, spilling out of your bikini top. His gaze is slow on you, like it’s his first time seeing you like this.

You step onto the cool ladder to avoid jumping, your back turned to Max’s as you feel more and more of your body submerge into the freezing water. You turn, taking a seat on one of the rungs. Max swims toward you, wiping a hand over his face. 

“Not a chicken. But I’m not going any lower,” you say firmly, in the water from the waist down. “It’s too cold.” 

“I’m fine having you like this,” he says lowly, his voice thick with desire. He cages you in, two big hands on either side of the ladder. For leverage, your legs wrap around him. You’re so close together. After days, weeks, of resisting.

You release a shaky breath, staring at him, his shoulders, his hands.

“How’s your vacation been?” He asks, lips near your ear.

“Fine,” you say. “Fun.”

“Bring anyone to your room?” You shake your head; he persists. “So you’ve had no luck there, then?” 

“None at all,” you say blatantly.

“S’that why you’ve been…” A hand leaves the ladder to squeeze your thigh. “Moaning my name while fucking yourself?”

Your eyes widen, blinking, undeniably caught. You open your mouth to formulate a defense but you can’t. “What are you talking about?”

“Aw, don’t be shy, schatz. You were the one who kept insisting we swear off sex, but I think you’re starting to miss me.”

He presses two fingers to the crotch of your bottoms, rubbing softly. It’s enough to let you whimper. “Max—”

“You keep prancing around in tiny bikinis, skirts, tops. Is it on purpose, hmm? I can’t stop thinking about claiming you. On my bed, my balcony, over any surface.”

He quickens his fingers, and you whine. It feels so good, reminiscent of how wicked he is in bed. You picture it—being bent over the side of the boat, his hands big on your waist, cock sliding in and out of you.

“Feels s’good, Max,” you breathe.

“Does it?” He asks, egging you on. You nod, gripping his wrist—your hand’s still circled around it when he yanks it away.

“But remember what you told me? Before the break?”

“I—fuck,” you mutter, frustrated. “Please.”

“They were your words, not mine, schatz,” he says, easygoing as he dives back underwater, leaving you alone and sexually frustrated. You curse lowly. It’s going to be a long rest-of-the-week.

[coleslawleviathan]

okay so. i challenged myself to try and draw some snakes and try to capture the features i want to stand out for them. i wanted to see if i could make them all look distinct but where its obvious they look extremely similar.

heres the main lineup but i want to get into design elements for them as well as some personal headcanons.

FIRST! bibo.

okay so. i'm going to toot my own horn here. i think his beard looks so fire and i did a good job. i imagine this design is around the portable ops era... not much else to say because most of the interesting stuff (at least to me) comes from the differences the others have from him.

V!!! I LOVE YOU V!!!!!!!!!!

for venom snake, i made him look like big boss but Something's Off. in the game people often (notably huey and the boss' ai) don't recognize him as big boss for a few seconds. an imperfect replica because you cannot get that close with plastic surgery. i made the fat distribution on his neck a bit different from bibo's because i imagine the way that the human body configures itself is hard to change. if you noticed the little snake-tongue-shaped-hair-doohickeys, he is the only one with a slightly different shape. it's a genetic thing, you wouldn't get it. just thought that was silly. his hair texture is different, too. can u tell i like him a lot. also, my favorite detail might be his different nose shape. they never got bibo's nose right i guess. in mgsv, he actually has a bit of a downturned nose, and i honestly don't think i captured that enough.

TIME FOR MY FAVORITE BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. HOLDER OF MY GENDER ENVY. solid snake :3

SNAVID! the most obvious difference here is his nose. he broke it as a kid lol. i love headcanons. there's not as much to say about him as with venom, but i can say that he is incredibly handsome and i like him. i think he is cute. was he free yesterday? if so i would like to have dinner yesterday with him yesterday. well... i will say that out of this specific lineup i think he looks the most like good old dad. which is awful and i feel bad for him.

FINALLY: LIQUID!!!!!!!

i gave him his canonical sharp nose and high cheekbones! i based a lot of his features off how he looked as a kid so he really has little shit vibes about him. he also has thinner eyebrows, and i headcanon that he does them himself lol. he has less sideburny sideburns than his brother. his eyelids are also smaller. he also does look kinda like kaz so its plausible that he tricked dave! yippee! i also like drawing his hair. its such a great hairstyle. it reminds me of a lion's mane.

N E WAYS... i hope you enjoyed me rambling about giving these goobers a more realistic design for future reference. i like talking about this kind of stuff. life is so much better without same face syndrome.

[hannie-dul-set]

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. when you’re nearly run over by a car, and said car happens to be a porsche 918 spyder, your broke ass knows better than to let this one in a million miracle slip by. 

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. emotionally-stunted idiots to lovers, implied college! au, rich boy x not-so-rich girl trope but neither of them are normal! they’re both not well adjusted! mc is an actual scammer and ricky’s love language is throwing out exorbitant amounts of cash, romance, humor, angst if you squint but i prefer it when things are stupid, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearing, probably a number of illegal things, dubious medical practices, scamming, gold-digging, mild manipulation, a not very healthy dynamic at first but we’ll get there, more tba. WORD COUNT. teaser: 915 | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. within january, maybe. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. hello riyangi nation i have another insanity-driven wip to offer. hopefully i go crazy again and write 4-5k a day like my last ricky longfic HAHAHHAHAH. this one has a bit more plot, a bit more seriousness, but still on the spectrum of unhinged!!! hope u enjoy.

preview under the cut.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD OUT THERE. You’ve learned this lesson time and time again, ever since the early age of six— when your father got kicked out from his own start-up thanks to his greedy cousins, when you got in trouble for punching a classmate in first grade because he lifted up your skirt but the fucker was the grandson of your primary school’s dead, and when your high school scholarship got screwed over because “your parents unfortunately don’t support the school enough,” and you flipped off your home teacher all while calling him an ass-kissing, money-grabbing piece of shit.

Well, you were forced to transfer after that.

At least your new school didn’t base their scholarship grants on fucking PTA donations instead of grades.

From then on, you’ve learned that the only way to survive is to screw people over before getting screwed over yourself. There’s no point being nice. You can’t bother being a doormat to people who don’t even contribute a cent to your rent. You’re not wasting your smiles for people you can’t use.

Maybe it’s how you’ve grown to be so opportunistic, because the moment you and a friend were told that only one of you could get a full ride to Yonsei University— you didn’t think twice to cut him off. You stopped sharing your notes. You stopped studying together because why should you be nice to your competition? He was more well off than you anyway. His future doesn’t rely on handouts like it yours does. 

Bottomline, yes, you’re not the nicest person in the world. Sure, you screwed over some strangers opting to go to the same job interview as you by giving them the wrong directions. Maybe you cut yourself off from your parents the moment you turned legal when their debt started getting to them and they started relying on you to get out of the pitfall instead of pulling their own fucking weigh. Yes, you’re not a good person. You’re fully aware of that.

Which is why you can’t exactly say fuck you to god when karma comes to bite you in the ass via a car accident on your way to your weekend work shift.

The dead and quiet road you usually cross is now filled with noises of panic.

“Oh my god— dude! Call an ambulance!”

Your lungs hit asphalt and your head starts ringing. A pained hiss slips through gritted teeth. Something’s broken, you grunt, or at the very least not how it should be based on the sharp pain you’re feeling on the arm wedged between your body and the rough and dusty road. “Are they dead?!” you hear someone yell, followed by a car door swinging and footsteps running closer, yet your eyes remain squeezed shut from the blinding headlights and the aching of your entire body.

But it’s not the pain you’re dwelling on. No. It’s the hospital bills and the inevitable days off you’d have to take thanks to your god forsaken fucking luck.

The car should’ve just killed you on the spot.

“Are you okay?!”

However when you finally open your eyes and recognize the embodiment of your karma body slamming you into the ground in the form of a freaking Porsche, your worries suddenly get washed away into oblivion.

Holy shit, you’re fully conscious now. You’ve just hit the jackpot.

“O—oh, she’s awake, she’s awake! Gyuvin—”

Whoa.

There’s a person hovering above you. Rather, the person’s gold gilded necklace is dangling in front of your face. This is more than a jackpot. This is better that the fucking lottery.

“What—what do I do?”

“Is she responsive?!”

“U—uhm— are you okay?” Pretty boy that you assume is the one who nearly killed you is flitting his eyes in panic and is unsure with what to do with his hands. His face aside, the guy is decked out in designer clothing. You don’t miss the engravings on his jacket, the shiny glints of gold coiled around his panicked fingers. You’re not letting his chance slip away. You let out a grunt of pain and start folding into yourself. “Ahh, I don’t think she’s okay! What’s the number for 119?!”

Half acting. Half actually fucking hurting because ow. Maybe you did break something.

“I don’t know! Taerae, what’s the number for—”

“Are you two stupid?!”

Well shit. The pain stops paining because if they bring you to a hospital different from the one you have in mind, it’d be a loss for you. So you play it up even more. “A—ah, I think something’s broken,” you wince. Pretty boy drops his phone and tries helping you prop yourself up. 

“Crap. I think it’ll take too long if we call an ambulance,” says one of his companions behind him. “H—hey, do you mind if we just take you to the hospital right now?”

Now, this doesn’t sound safe. Around three men in their early twenties with very evidently no first aid experience delivering an injured woman to the hospital with what you think is a two-seater car is a recipe for disaster. You’re still on the dirty ground, arm definitely broken, with a rich guy looking like he’s about to start crying at any moment very hesitantly trying his best to help you sit up.

They’re waiting for your answer. And the answer is pretty obvious.

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

Because if you get even more injured along the way, that’ll simply be an extra bonus for you.

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[spdrvyn]

reader (an average human) is the owner of spider cat (who does not know the cat has spider abilities) and accidentally enters a portal into 2099 only to get in trouble with miguel for trespassing and it escalates into a brawl of who knows the cat more (this goes on for weeks) and eventually is resolved by a date and co-parenting the fur baby like its their child SOBS (ill let u the name the cat whatever u want it to be tbh)

tooth and claw — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: you love your cat more than anything else in the whole world, the whole multiverse possibly. however, your limits are tested when you find out that he's been hiding a huge secret from you.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: silliness. fluff. lotsa romance. a grown ass man tussling with a little cat. gender neutral reader.

NOTES: i love this request so much!!! i fucking love cats yo!!! sorry for getting to this request so late, but i hope you enjoy it anyway!!!!! not proofread because it is LATE as i post this but ya 🙏 this was so much longer than it needed to be holy SHIT

Pawker was a good kitty. Most of the time.

He was polite to you, in his own special little ways. While being a complete, irrevocable asshole to literally anybody else that just so happens to cross paths with him.

But at the same time, that's what you enjoyed so much about being his owner. He was special, loyal to you and you only. All the affections, purring, soothing pets were reserved for just you.

He also doesn't weirdly abide by regular cat law, he enjoys being groomed. At least, by you. He enjoys taking baths if you're in the tub, whenever you have to give him a nice bath every once in a while he'll always be patiently sitting still and giving you the cutest look ever as if he's expecting you to get in with him. It made your heart melt.

That's not what most of your family would think anyway, you still remember the messages of unmistaken horror that practically sent your phone vibrating off of your desk when your mom sent you picture after picture of her arms littered with scratch marks after she tried giving your precious cat a bath.

Whenever you had people over, it would be a challenge. Pawker would normally stay in one spot that seemed always designated for him while he tried to jump anyone that walked by, or he'd hide under the couch and you'd always have to pry him out, soothing him by placing him on your lap and giving him scratches on his ear while repeatedly apologizing to whoever you were talking to.

You still loved him all the same.

You've built your whole lifestyle around him, your sleep schedule could now be compared to that of a literal vampire because of how often Pawker would run around your now shared bedroom, accidentally knocking things over in his wake.

One time, you had passed out on your bed after an exhausting night of typing your soul away on your laptop that you had mistakenly left open from how tired you were. Pawker got zoomies, and you were spending money on a new laptop the next morning.

This night was no different, maybe a little as you were up by choice. The only part that really hadn't changed was Pawker's frantic zooms across the room, over your bed, bouncing off of your feet at the end of it. It made you giggle at the sight, he was so cute.

Your thumb was working hard, scrolling endlessly through the never-ending posts popping up on your social media. Watching people you barely knew live sad, cat-less lives unlike you who was blessed with this spawn sent from above made you feel better about having Pawker in your life.

It also made you sleepy apparently, your eyes growing heavy from looking at a screen for a concerning amount of time. You fall asleep with your phone still in your clutches, light snores sneaking past your mouth while Pawker still remains as lively as ever.

Weird dreams were also a common occurence for you. This time, you were falling. From a really great height, you've been thrown off by some villain that you couldn't recognize that was in a fight with your city's vigilante, Spider-Cat.

Spider-Cat let out a drawn-out meow when it caught sight of you being thrown off of the skyscraper, running to you on it's tiny four legs before falling off itself to catch you. It reaches out an itty bitty and a web shoots out, attaching to your chest however it doesn't break your fall as you hit the street of New York City with a hard, resounding, bloody—

You jolt awake, in a pool of your own sweat. Eyes blown wide, like you actually met your own demise on that street in your dream. Rubbing your temples, you groan. It was still relatively early in the morning, you could get a peek of the sky brightening up from your window but there was no sun. Not yet. It was too fucking early for this.

You set aside your phone on your bedside drawer, grabbing hold of your blanket, and getting ready to pass out again until you hear it.

Loud meows ringing in your ears, those familiar loud meows that keep you up at night. With a sigh, you throw your covers to the side and get up from the bed. Opening your door, you walk into the living room of your apartment, and are met with an unexpected sight.

Pawker— your Pawker— in Spider-Cat's get-up. His attention seemed to be drawn on something that he was wearing on his wrist, a tiny little watch that had a small hologram talking to him?

What the fuck was going on exactly?

"Pawker?" He jumped in place, turning his head back to you. The lenses of his mask, combined with his mouth contorting into a more than guilty expression. You put your hands on your hips, looking him up and down like a father who caught his son with a hand in the cookie jar.

"What are you doing? What's that?" You continued to question the fluffy fiend as if he could grow the ability to speak at any given moment. He hid this from you for so long, so who knows? Maybe there were other abilities that you just didn't know about.

Step-by-step, you slowly approached Pawker. Ready to scoop him up into your arms and rip that watch off of his cutesy little paws, his ears move to what you're used to calling 'airplane ears', which means he's ready to fight you. Challenge accepted then.

Before you could even think of snatching him up, Pawker manages to somehow press a few buttons on that goober of his and it opens up–

A portal?!

A portal that he looks like he's about to jump through and he does, "Pawker, wait!" You yell out, but no. You're just met with a dizzying array of colors from the portal, and the miscellaneous items in your home floating all around you.

Where was your cat even going? You wanted to follow him so badly, see wherever this thing took you, but there's a chance that without that gadget he had on his wrist that it wasn't safe for you to do that at all. Maybe you'd lose Pawker forever at this point.

No, no. You were not going to lose your cat. Even if it meant hopping from portal to portal, from dystopian landscape to dystopian landscape to do so. You were going to get that fucking kitty back.

You jump in without a second thought, your only motivations were getting your vigilante feline back even if it's with a fight.

Your first impressions of traversing the multiverse were a lot more different than what you experienced in reality. Instead of ending up instantly in the dimension that Pawker had went to, you were flown straight into what appeared to be a tunnel?

You'd look around aimlessly as you continued to be surged through this strange pathway, a burst of pain shoots through every single part of your body, and it feels like you're dying and being resurrected all at the same time. It was madness.

There was so much going on, in the distance you could see webs strung together like they were all connecting somehow. Octagons it looked like you were flying through, but it all passes quickly once you're thrown once again into something.

Rubbing your head and groaning in pain, you try to reassemble your bearings and your thoughts after trying to piece together what the fuck just happened. As you looked around, taking around your surroundings even more. You sigh of relief when you're not completely swarmed by eye-bleeding colors, but rather met with the darkness of an empty hallway.

It's as empty as it can get anyway, there's tech literally everywhere. Some gadgets and gizmos a little too complicated and advanced for you to understand, it didn't help that you already had a searing migraine boiling to the surface because of what just happened for you to get here too.

To the best of your ability, you walked through the hallway, occasionally tripping over yourself from the absurd amount of tech junk that littered each tile that you walked on. You were probably going to kill whoever let it get this messy, your body had suffered enough in such a short amount of time, and you were still clad in your pajamas because why would you even think to change?

You had tripped over one final wire before ending up at— god, how could you even begin to describe what this place looked like? There were multiple brewing strands, different kinds of messes that you'd probably kill yourself to try cleaning, but the most eye-catching of all in this cave is the elevated platform in the middle of it all.

You'd inspect even further, maybe even try to climb the damn thing, but for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, you're caught off-guard when you feel something attach to your chest. You look down, red neon ropes stuck to your torso.

Of course, you were too caught up in your investigation to even notice the pair of red lenses peering at you in the darkness of this mad laboratory. You gasped as you were tugged harshly, way too harshly to the point where you were pulled onto your knees. Two more shots of that strange red rope were on your hands, effectively pinning you to the ground as you continued to struggle.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was not how your night was supposed to go!

Whoever attached these webs to you seem to walk out of the shadows, your eyes train on to each detail of this guy's suit. A Spider-Cat, Spider-Man? logo that looks so edgy that you'd mistake it for a skull, futuristic lights emenate a small glow and they decorate different parts of his suit.

He had broad shoulders, which made his waist look absolutely criminal. His wrist was held out and as he walked closer to you, you understood where that webbing was coming from now. He was also tall, impossibly tall as he towered over you while you were on your knees, presumably on the floor of his office.

Hello, sailor!

Your gaze trailed to his other hand, under the faint gleam of the monitors of the platform above, you swore you could see claws. It only convinced you to keep tugging at your bindings, otherwise you were going to get completely shredded to bits at this point.

Your heart bounced off of the walls of you ribcage, you could practically hear it in your ear. Loud, repetitive, rapid thumps as from the corner of your eye, you can see him getting closer and closer.

However, he stops. Just in front of you that you practically have to crane your neck up to get a good look at his face.

"You know them?" His voice is rough, gravelly, his claws retract and he puts a hand on his hip before turning his head sidewards and out from the darkness strides Pawker.

Your face brightens up at the sight of him, your pounding heart doesn't slow, but now it's for an entirely different reason as you relish in the familiar and fluffy feeling of Pawker rubbing and purring up against your restrained arms.

"Pawker!" You all but squeal, cooing at him especially as he begun making biscuits on the webs that stuck your hands to the ground. The noise makes the other, less important man in the room flinch and he puts his wrist down. Bringing his hand to rub his head.

Still, even once you were reunited with your cat. There were still a lot of unanswered questions, who was this man that he was just with? Was he a threat? Maybe Pawker is a supervillain rather than a crime-fighting vigilante and this guy is apart of the whole operation? Although, judging from the awfully snide face that Spider-Man carried even with the mask covering his face, it seemed he had his own suspicions towards you as well.

You were the first to break the silence, the assumption that you were your cat's owner had already been confirmed so it was safe to assume that he wasn't going to kill you. "What were you doing with my cat?" You tried to keep your tone level with his, but it was so hard. How could you when your pet was confiding with him?

Your question probably pissed him off from the way that a nearly silent groan slips past his lips, curses uttered under his breath. He kneels down before you, retracting his talons again, and cuts you free from the webs. A pang of relief crashes over you as you rub your wrists - still looking at him, eyes filled with curiosity.

He stands up once more, outstretching an arm to you. "Get up, you're going to have to pay a lot of attention to understand."

Once he was able to get you seated and able to get some sort of wristband on you, he had finally explained exactly what was going on. You understood a little more than half of what he was saying, one would assume that he was a scientist of some sort from the extremely fancy, almost pretentious choice of words he has.

Down to the basics though, his name was Miguel O'Hara. He was the leader of an elite strike force that apparently your cat was apart of, the same cat that you've grown to love over years of being and living with each other that would practically yodel for your attention after five fucking seconds of not getting pet.

You almost couldn't believe it, yet you were also so impressed. Who knew your little baby was a superhero?

After finishing the long-winded discussion, Miguel waited for you to ask your share of questions, and you had plenty. Some of them were miniscule, just idle queries that he begrudgingly answered - although one that you had in mind was Pawker's schedule.

He was a fat cat, there was no denying that. Constant check-ins with the vet, scheduled meals (you had no money for a fancy automatic feeder), and not to mention regular pet care stuff.

You were quickly dismissed by Miguel after a short amount of time though, something something anomalies something something. You weren't able to catch most of it. Again, fancy language and scientific terms you couldn't bother understanding.

Before you left, Miguel promised that he'd probably drop by your apartment sometime in the following week to discuss details on your cat. You didn't know whether to be excited or intimidated. But it was best that you pondered on that once you were done being sent back through the tunnels of multiverse travelling, which was less painful now that it was back to your dimension.

A few nights pass, almost too many nights, and you almost think that he's not gonna come. It'd make sense, he seemed very busy. Hell, that was the reason why you weren't able to stick around his 'spider-cave' any longer.

Soon enough and just as you're about to switch the kitchen lights off, the scattered papers and calendar that you'd set down on the counter hours ago begun to float. Yellow, pink, purple, and so many other colored hues shined against the surfaces of your kitchen. Next thing you knew, Miguel was here.

He was still clad in the exact same suit that he wore the night that you met him, mask on and everything. You thought that you'd get to at least meet him again with his face shown, but it was fine. Mostly.

The discussion went as smoothly as you thought it would. Awkward silences were common throughout, it was to the point you faked bathroom breaks just so that you didn't have to sit through it all. At times, Pawker even had to interrupt by hopping on the counter and knocking things over.

Throughout it all, Miguel kept his mask on. Even as you offered him a glass of ice cold water, considering how it was going to be a long night, he declined. You set it on the counter for him anyway, just in case he'd change his mind later.

It's an hour and a half into the night, he had to drink something.

"You're going to get a headache if you stay dehydrated," You bluntly pointed out just as he finished explaining only god knows what, you could feel the stress that'd built up from his job in the sigh that he lets out. "I'm fine." He insists.

Rolling your eyes, you lean forward on the surface of your counter and a little bit forward to him. Seeing if there's any signs that he's going to pass out soon, "If this is about your secret identity, you already told me your name. How shameful is showing me your face?"

You don't get much of a response from him besides an annoyed huff, that is it. You grab the glass of water on his side and slide it over to you, taking it in your hand. "Just a sip, and I'll drop it. Okay?"

He doesn't seem to relent, you want to raise your voice but Pawker is napping. "I think I reserved the rights to see the face of my cat's dad."

Miguel pauses his scribbling on your calendar, lenses of his mask noticeable widening as he slowly turns his head to you. The marker in his grasp tightens as well as he says, "What?"

You want to chuckle at his reaction. "Am I wrong?"

He seems to just stare at you like a deer in headlights, before his eyes narrow at you once more. You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk erupting on your lips. "Why? You think you're too pretty for me or something?" You tease.

Even as he's masked, you could feel him roll his eyes. "Yes, my face is too handsome for mere mortals." He quips sarcastically, and before you're able to get out any more smartass remarks, he reaches a hand out to yours. "Give me the shockin' glass."

You move your hand towards him just a few more centimeters before he snatches it from you, holding it in front of him as he takes off his mask. It fades out, pixel by pixel.

Now you're the one in headlights as you slowly take in every detail of Miguel's face. He looks like a marble statue, you think. Slicked back, dark brown hair save for some messy strands that fall onto his forehead, ones that he has to run his hand through to fix. Cheekbones sharper than any knife that you probably have in your kitchen, a refined jawline, thick eyebrows, plump lips, and his nose-

Hello... sailor...

"Happy?" His voice cuts through whatever thoughts were running rampant through your mind as he takes a sip from the glass.

Your composure slips. "Yeah, very."

The night passes quickly, so do the next few nights. With that time, you get to know Miguel and Miguel gets to know you.

If you were lucky, you would be able to hear more about the nature of his job past the missions or operations that your cat was involved in. Sometimes you'd get to hear small utterances from under his breath about canon events and anomalies.

Your job wasn't as important as his, just a simple desk job that you were allowed to work from home sometimes. Which was beneficial for you because that meant long and peaceful afternoons with Pawker on your lap, purring away.

Even if you felt that your occupation wasn't as life-saving as Miguel's every time you remotely even brought up your personal life, talking about plans you have later in the week or dinner dates with some of your friends, he always seemed so intrigued.

Leaning forward in his seat, dark crimson eyes concentrated on yours as you went on long rambles about random niche topics, with his head resting in his palm. He'd think you haven't noticed, but you most definitely have.

You mostly only talked about yourself though, it made you feel a little entitled. You didn't know if you were just self-obsessed or if Miguel didn't want to even talk a single peep about his personal life.

But after a while, batting your eyelashes, encouraging teases, he relented. It felt like all hell broke loose.

There was definitely something more in this partnership, if you could even call it that anymore. That joke you made about Miguel being Pawker's cat dad started to feel like less of a joke as time went on.

It started with more visits, sometimes even in the middle of the day rather than the dead of night like usual. He (and his A.I. assistant that you only found out about a couple days ago) found a way to hack into your phone so that you could receive direct messages from him.

It moved on to treats for Pawker. Whenever you begun to run low on cat food for him, a fresh supply would enter your pantry mysteriously followed by a text from Miguel minutes later asking if it was okay.

The gifts continued to upscale in size and expense, going from cat beds to a new, advanced automatic feeder.

When you thought that Miguel was done emptying his wallet for Pawker, the gifts started to direct towards you instead. Although, they were still cat related. Sometimes, little phone charms with a polite looking ginger cat decorated at the end of it would end up on your nightstand. Once you two settled down on the stools behind your kitchen counter, he'd even pass you small tokens moving from cat to more you related.

His excuses? I happened to be shopping in this store and I thought of you. There was a great deal and I just couldn't pass it up. They gave me an extra one for free.

And as he dished out each one, the least convinced you got. It was so hard for you to try returning the gestures as well, but when you could you saw in his eyes how much he appreciated it.

Love was a constant feeling in your everyday life, seeing Pawker curled up at your side after waking up from a long night always made your heart squeeze. However as you continued to talk and talk and talk with Miguel, there was this unfamiliar ardor that grew and grew and grew in your heart.

It was undeniable, you were in love.

And you were going to do something about it.

Miguel's schedule conflicted with yours most times, even if you tried being sneaky with finding out what days he was free, it was like fighting a losing battle. Which meant that there was only one option left for the both of you.

You knew that Miguel was going to be coming over again tonight, which meant that it was time to spruce up your apartment. You had cleaned the moment you got home from work, dug a little deeper in your wardrobe for your better items of clothing, and brought out the good wine.

It seemed that you weren't the only one excited for this surprise date, Pawker was oddly more well-behaved tonight compared to any other night. Staying inside your room, and you haven't heard any claws scratching at the door or vocals for the past thirty minutes.

You waited for midnight to hit as you anxiously clutched the bouquet of flowers that you bought on the way home, you basically feel the petals falling out from how tight you were holding it.

When you sensed the shift in gravity, saw the colours light up the dimness of your apartment, and smiled once Miguel walked through, you'd prayed he wouldn't jump hack into the portal once he caught sight of you.

And thank god, he didn't.

"Hi." is all you're able to say as you hand out the flowers for Miguel, it seems that he dressed up for the occasion. Partially at least, you could still see his suit from under the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants. His large hands take the bouquet from you, eyes darting back and forth as if he was in a dream.

"What's all this?" He asks, tone dripping in absolute disbelief at what's happening right now. Perching himself down on one of your stools like he was about to pass out. God, you were amazing.

"I know you don't have time for things like this so, I took matters in to my own hands." You sat down beside him like you always do, pouring wine into his glass then into yours before taking a big sip.

The look of wonder and awe as Miguel admired your little date set-up made you feel absolutely victorious, he had to put the flowers you got him on the counter otherwise they were going to fall out of his hands from how stunned he was.

"I thought I'd take initiative, you know before you go bankrupt from constantly buying me and Pawker gifts." Miguel chuckles at your witty comment, taking your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. This is probably the happiest you've ever seen him, and you took even more pride knowing that you'll be the only person to make him feel this type of way from now on.

"I've– I've been wanting to ask you out for a while, with the gifts and all, but our schedules and I wasn't a hundred percent sure that you liked me."

As he says that, one of your hands slip out from his grasp and your fingers cup his cheek. He leans into the touch, hearts in his eyes as he does so. You were addicted to him.

"I think you'd have to buy me a new heart too because there's no way that I wouldn't like you back," It was strange to think that all of this happened because you found out that your cat was a vigilante, you never could have imagined that your first love would be a grumpy, emotionally constipated, superhero from another dimension, but you were more than happy with what you got now.

After your words sat in the atmosphere a little longer, Miguel brings your hand to his chest where you could feel his heart beating faster than a race car. "I want to kiss you, please let me kiss you, cariño."

You frantically nodded your head, standing up from your seat so that you could be on par with his height as your arms move to his shoulders for support. "Okay."

Then he kisses you.

Bold, passionate and those two are words aren't even enough to describe it. Your fingers find his curls, tugging at them softly to try getting him closer to you and he moans into your mouth. His hands paw at your waist, digging into the sides of your body so that you can slot in-between his legs.

Once you two separate, it's hard to catch your breath. You pant heavily, head lolled against his shoulder before small snickers slip past your mouth. You couldn't believe you just fucking did that.

Miguel pulls you off of him, but still keeps you close. Looking you deep in the eye, thinking that he's going to pull you in for another kiss until—

Meooooooowwwwwww...

You freeze in place, brows furrowing as you quickly turn your head to your bedroom door, waiting for a few seconds before that grating sound of claw marks against wood rings in your ears again and you sigh. Miguel doesn't seem entirely fazed though, his grip on your waist loosens as he allows you to step back.

"Someone's upset." You state, taking slow strides over to your door. You don't want to leave Miguel yet.

"You can take it if you want," He shrugs his shoulders, spinning the wine in the glass then taking a sip. "Then we could continue where we left off." A wolfish grin curls at his lips.

Without hesitation, you open the door. Cooing and reassuring Pawker that you still loved him even though Miguel's tongue was down your throat not even a minute ago.

What a cat he was.

requests closed, masterlist here

[sluttywoozi]

Buy A Boyfriend || chs x reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: 4kish

Content Notes: voice kink, male masturbation, swearing, he is a virtual boyfriend for money, the texts will probs look like ass on mobile, gender neutral reader, reader has cats and I borrowed @sluttywonwoo 's cats bc im their aunt and I love them (sorry if u have your own, please imagine them 😭), they dont have sex (in this part) my bad, reader is a stem major bc I live to project, I think that’s it pls let me know if I missed anything!!

Vernon’s username: bandsboyvern

Reader’s username: allthoughtsheadfull

Vernon sighs as he opens up SVTHub, knowing he has at least three messages that ask, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

His answer will, of course, be “Yes and I would make you a cute little worm house in a jar and take you with me everywhere,” when he really wants to say, ”No I wouldn’t, because I don't know you at all and worms have a very short life expectancy.”

But this is the life he’s created for himself; getting paid to act like a boyfriend comes with answering cliche boyfriend questions. He’s scrolling through messages, answering good morning and goodnight texts with an appropriate selfie, when one message catches his eye, or actually, wow, 5 messages, all from one person.

Vernon tilts his head, considering how to answer. It’s a bit weird that you sought out a pretend boyfriend to tell these things to but he can’t say the messages aren’t more entertaining than the usual ones. And, honestly, snails are effervescent.

Vernon answers some messages from other users; badbitchesrus is having friend group drama again and he’s dying to tell her, “you’re the problem,” but a boyfriend wouldn’t say that so he just agrees, saying, “you’re so right, Jen did copy ur fit last night but u did it better baby.” He replies to a few selfies with paragraphs of fire and heart eye emojis, and sends out a couple ‘hope ur day gets better babygirl’s.

Clicking out of the app, Vernon tries to force himself to focus on studying. He’s got a music theory quiz this week and a sound design exam next week and he’s not prepared for either. His fingers tap out a rhythm on his knee as he runs over scales in his head, swearing to himself after missing the last sharp in B major for the fourth time. He’s about to pull out his keyboard for manual practice when his phone dings with a message, the tone telling him it's SVTHub. His head hits the back of his chair, hoping beyond hope it’s not another worm message, and he smiles in surprise when he sees it’s from you.

thought 5: legally blonde is peak cinema and has something for everyone so whyyyy is it universally disliked

Vernon tilts his head, realizing that even though he’d never seen Legally Blonde, he did dislike it for some reason. Huh.

His phone goes off again, another thought from you.

thought 6: why did stephanie name it twilight and then have bella meet edward in the daytime

He hasn’t seen Twilight either but, honestly, you bring up a good point. Why name it a certain time of day and then not have them meet at that time?

Happy to be distracted, Vernon settles in to ask you some questions and hopefully get some movie recommendations.

Before Vernon can respond, he gets another message, from bbygrill99 this time. She’s requesting an ab pic, her third this week, and he wonders why she’s so obsessed with his abs when his ass is great too, but complies nonetheless. Lifting his shirt, he tenses his abdominals and tilts his phone to get the perfect angle, his bottom lip just barely in frame and his gray sweats sitting low on his hips. He’s been trying to drink more water because apparently you need it to survive, so his abs aren’t as defined as usual and he hopes she doesn’t say anything. He sends the picture out with a kiss emoji and saves it to his folder of lewds, hoping he’ll be able to reuse it.

He’s very intrigued by the idea of threats to increase productivity, and asks you more questions. This turns out to be counterproductive as it leads to a whole conversation that makes him laugh all the way through, and consequently, he doesn’t get any more work done.

It’s almost time for his weekly goodnight stream, and Vernon’s still thinking about your last conversation. You’d lured him into a debate about living as a pigeon or living with pigeons, and he still wasn’t sure who’d won. You hadn’t sent him any new thoughts today, and even though you’d just become a subscriber last week, he’s missing you for some reason. He really enjoyed the randomness of your brain, and hearing what was going on in there throughout the day. It was a nice break from pretending to be the perfect boyfriend, and he got to respond like he wanted, not like he thought he should.

Starting the stream, he settles into bed and begins telling his patrons about his day, pausing at certain moments to let them respond to him. On their screens, it just looks like a personal facetime, and they get to pretend he’s talking to them and them alone. He tries not to frown when he realizes you haven’t joined, and hopes you will soon; you were the one person he actually wanted to say goodnight to.

You don’t join, and Vernon goes to bed sad and confused. Why were you paying for this if you weren’t going to use your membership to the fullest? His subscribers loved the introduction of goodnight streams, some are even asking for good morning streams too. You also hadn’t asked him for any pictures yet, even though everyone was allowed three per day. Maybe you just hadn’t read the membership benefits when you joined and didn’t know? He should probably ask, right? Just to be sure you’re getting your money’s worth.

Vernon gasps, staring down at his phone in awe.

A cat picture. You've sent him a cat picture. A picture of a cat. Your cat, presumably.

Vernon’s heart stutters, his eyebrows raising.

damn.

He sighs in disbelief before setting his jaw in determination and deciding the perfect combination and sequence of emojis to convey his true feelings.

Vernon puts the phone down for a moment as he remembers what you’d first said about your cats. One likes you too much and one doesn’t like you at all. He wonders which is which, they're both looking at you with such love.

He’s spinning in his desk chair, zoning out a little, when his eyes hit the open sound design program on his desktop.

Fuck, he has an exam tomorrow.

Vernon’s mouth stretches in a smile, his kicking feet sending him on a giddy spin in his chair. Putting his phone on Do Not Disturb, he forces himself to focus.

Vernon is sitting in his Audio Mastering Techniques class when you text him. He was already struggling to focus, fingers drumming on the table and leg bouncing under it, his neighbor sending a glare over every few minutes. He tries his best not to check, but you'd promised him your first thought and he wants to see what it is!

Glancing around surreptitiously, Vernon opens SVTHub with his phone under the table. You'd never sent him an explicit message before but there's a first time for everything (Vernon hopes).

Vernon looks up organic chemistry practice problems but sees ‘Stereospecificity in Addition Reactions’ and ‘Electrophilic Addition Reactions to Conjugated Dienes’ and immediately begins shaking his head, exiting out of the browser and texting you again.

Vernon’s heart starts racing as he reads your text. You want to call him. You want to speak words and you want him to listen and respond and then you’ll respond to his words.

Cool.

Vernon’s sitting at his desk, spinning around as the phone rings and rain pangs against the window.

“Hey! Sorry,” you sound out of breath, “it’s monsooning and i couldn’t text and hold the umbrella and keep my laptop out of the rain at the same time.”

“It’s okay, no worries. How’d the exam go? Did you cry?” He asks, only slightly worried.

“It went well, I think! I did cry but just a little and I didn’t get it on the exam paper this time, thank goodness.”

You tell him more about the exam and he just listens, absorbing your voice and tone and cadence. He wants to record you, wishes he could listen to you all the time, your voice is so entrancing.

“Did you have your midterm yet?” You ask sweetly, sounding concerned.

This startles Vernon out of his trance and he has to ask himself if he has taken his midterm yet today, and sighs in relief when he realizes he has a few hours left to go.

“Nah, it’s not till later so i’m just studying and vibing.”

Vernon chats more with you, trying to imagine what you look like and wishing patrons had a profile picture like he does, before he realizes it’s been an hour and he should get focused. Promising to call you after his exam and wishing he could just take you with him in his pocket, he hangs up.

Vernon does call you after his exam, and he calls you the next day too, and the next. It’s easier than ever for him to respond to messages, romantic words flowing and streams getting more and more popular. He just pretends he’s talking to you and it always works. You haven’t joined one of his streams yet but he’s holding out hope, and secretly wishing that you’d request a private videocall. You still haven’t asked for any selfies but he finds himself sending them anyway, hoping someday you’ll send one back. 

He’s getting ready for his bedtime stream when he starts thinking about your last phone call, just a few hours ago. You’d just woken up from a nap, sounding all raspy and sleepy and cute, and he tried to picture your face, cheek lined with pillow creases. He doesn’t remember what you’d talked about because he couldn’t focus on anything but your voice, soft and sweet in his ear. He pictures you, laying in bed next to him, your head on his chest or his on yours, your legs tangled up with his own. He can’t help but imagine your fingers trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, running up and down his chest, and his own fingers start to follow. 

Vernon thinks about your fingers moving lower, running along his waistband and dipping beneath. But you’re a tease, and they slip out and over the fabric of his sweats, pressing down where he’s starting to grow hard. He rubs his palm over his dick, squeezing harder the closer he gets to the head, imagining your giggle when his hips buck up. His phone goes off, startling him out of his fantasy and reminding him he has a stream to start. 

He hasn’t done one like this in a while but the tips are always insane and he really wants to buy the lego set you told him you did the other day, so he shrugs and presses the red record button on his phone. 

“Hey baby, it's so good to see you. How are you?” Vernon pauses to let his viewers answer, thinking about how you’d respond. 

“I had a busy day, midterms finished last week but I have a project due soon and I haven’t made a lot of progress on it,” he hears you scold him in his head, telling him to get a move on. 

“But I’m really tired, and i just wanna relax. Think you could help me?” Vernon asks, setting his phone down to pull off his shirt, missing the little notification popping up to say you’d joined. He smiles softly into the camera as he picks it back up, sliding on the bed to rest his head on the pillows. He pans the camera down to show his abs, running his fingers down his chest to settle at his waistband, pretending they’re yours. The tips start rolling in and he mutes his phone, the dinging sound beginning to annoy him. 

Vernon tries to find that fantasy again, the one where you’re in bed with him and touching him and talking to him, and slips his hand into his sweats, fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He sighs, pulling his dick out and rubbing his palm over the head, his hips jerking at the friction. Leaning over to dig around his bedside table for some lube, Vernon wonders what you’re doing right now. He opens the cap and dribbles some onto his length, smearing it around with his hand. It’s chilly but he just tells himself your hand is cold, and starts squeezing his cock, pulling a little when he gets to the head. A punched out moan leaves his chest, lube warming up and dick getting harder. 

It feels better than usual for some reason, but Vernon isn’t willing to think about why at the moment, and keeps jerking his cock. He’s panting a bit now, staring into the camera with half-lidded eyes and lip bitten between his teeth, feeling his abs tense with every pull. Closing his eyes so he can picture your hand moving on him, he tilts his head back into the pillow, wishing he could moan your name. 

The heat is starting to rise in his stomach, his hips bucking into the movements of his hand, and he knows he’s getting close. He really is tired so he doesn’t try to draw it out, just squeezes at the head harder and tries not to whine at the pressure. He thinks about your hands on him, god, your mouth on him, and imagines your voice telling him to cum. 

Vernon almost drops the phone on his chest with the force of his orgasm, trying to decide if he should turn the camera to show the cum shooting out of his cock and pooling in the ridges of his abs. He leaves it facing him instead, knowing his face is screwed up in pleasure and his moans are echoing throughout the room. Staring at the ceiling, Vernon tries to catch his breath and wonders why he just came so hard. He can feel his eyelids drooping, mind going hazy with sleep and oxytocin, and blows a kiss into the camera, saying goodnight. 

You haven’t texted him in a week.

Vernon’s messaged you, selfies and thoughts and questions, but you haven't responded. He even checked your profile, just to make sure you hadn’t canceled your membership. He doesn’t know what to do; you’ve only been a subscriber for a couple months and you’ve only been gone a week, but he misses you. He misses waking up to a random philosophical question from you, or a picture of your latest A, or a video of your cats play(?) fighting. 

But Vernon also doesn’t want to bother you, or overwhelm you, so he’s cooled it down a bit. He only texted you once yesterday, and he hasn’t texted you at all today. He just wishes he knew you’re okay, that nothing bad has happened to you, that you’ll come back. He knows now that being a pretend boyfriend is no fun if you don’t have someone whose boyfriend you want to be. 

For now, he’ll just keep checking his phone and hoping to see a message from you. 

Vernon's knee bounces, jaw clenching as he listens to the phone ring, waiting for you to pick up. He can't wait to hear your voice, it hasn't even been two weeks but that's more than long enough for him. You just soothe him, quiet his brain and still his hands. He's not sure if it's how gently you speak, or how your voice feels like a soft, warm blanket right out of the dryer, or how your words slide over him like silk, but he's missed you and as soon as you pick up and say hello, it's like his entire body relaxes.

He chats with you a bit, catching up on your classes and telling you about the work he's done for his project (little to none), letting you scold him for having done no work on his project and enjoying it.

The conversation draws to a natural conclusion, both of you having exhausted every possible topic in an effort to avoid the reason for the call. Vernon takes a deep breath and tries to steel himself; he's never been good with uncomfortable situations or feelings talk but he's willing to try, for you.

"So, you thought this was like a... pen pal situation? Didn't you have to put in your ID to prove you're over 18?"

"Well, yes, but I thought it was just so we could talk about adult topics, not because it's porn!"

Vernon blanches, he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was basically a porn star and he's not sure how he feels about it. He's not ashamed, sex is normal and human and he needs to make money somehow, but he does wonder how much longer he'll want to keep doing this. It's not easy to act like a boyfriend to so many people at once when he knows there's only one person he wants. And he does know it now, he wants you.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? That I do this?" Vernon worries, knowing he doesn't want to stop but also knowing he doesn't want to lose you.

"No, I mean, a job is a job and you get to make your own schedule and devote all your focus to school. It seems like a great gig, and you're good at it obviously..." You trail off, sounding sad for some reason. He hasn't heard you like this before, your voice a bit thready and foggy, like you're suppressing tears.

"What's wrong?" Vernon asks urgently, becoming more and more concerned with every sniffle that escapes you.

You stay silent for a while, Vernon tries to be patient but he can hear your breath catching, and he's about to start crying too just so you don't cry alone. He breathes out your name, hoping you'll respond.

"Ugh, I just-" you stop yourself, sounding... embarrassed?

"I..." you take what sounds like a very deep breath, and Vernon feels like he's at the edge of a cliff, just waiting to jump.

"I like you! I like when you call me babe and flirt with me and call me and I liked the face you made when you came and I liked how you sounded and then I wanted to make you sound like that! But this is your literal job, acting like a boyfriend, and I didn't know that so I let myself have a crush on you not knowing that it was all fake!"

It takes Vernon a second to process what you said, you'd said it all in one breath and spoken so fast, your voice shaking with the cutest mix of nerves and annoyance.

"Nononononononono!!! It wasn't fake! It was fake with everyone else but never with you," Vernon spits out in a rush, desperate to make you understand. He's pacing in his room now, phone pressed to his ear, arms crossed and fingers taptaptapping at his elbow. He wonders what he can say to make you believe him, to make sure you know that you've always been different, been special, to him.

"I look forward to your thoughts every day. Whenever you text me, I literally kick my feet like a little kid. Every time I streamed - they're not all like that, by the way - I couldn't stop checking to see if you'd joined. Patrons can only ask for three selfies a day, I send you like five, unprompted-" he could go on, but you interrupt him with a call of his name. He's not sure he's heard it on your lips before, but it does something to him. Something that's very inconvenient for him to deal with now, during this very emotional conversation. He's tempted to send you a picture, maybe that will convince you.

"Vernon," you call again, bringing his focus back to your voice and away from what your voice was doing to him.

"So, what are you saying?" you continue, starting to sound a bit less sad and a bit more like yourself.

"I'm saying I want to be your actual boyfriend, and not for money, so you'll have to cancel your membership, sorry."

There's silence for a few beats; Vernon feels himself teetering on the cliff again as he waits for your response.

"I mean- is that... allowed?" You seem unsure, sounding slightly hopeful but a bit apprehensive still. He wishes he could see your face, wishes he knew what you look like at all (knowing would definitely help at nighttime or in the shower or when he wakes up for ... reasons). He shakes his head to bring himself back to the conversation before you notice that his mind had wandered.

"Yea, I mean, my friend does cam shows with his partner and another friend of mine found out his roommate was watching his shows and now they fuck everyday! That could be us!" Vernon tries to reassure you, hoping you're willing to at least try.

"Ummmmm I don't know about that just yet but we could try... dating, I guess? It may be difficult just online but I like you and you say you like me so, why not?"

Vernon thinks that if he jumped out of his window right now, he just might fly. He won't because he's not trying to die now that you're letting him be your boyfriend, but the feeling is there.

"Yes! I do like you, I like you a lot. I like you so much. Please date me." He knows he's practically begging at this point, but he doesn't care. Vernon's willing to beg, on his knees if he needs to, if it means he can be your boyfriend for real.

"Okay! Okay," you giggle, a bit muffled as if you're covering your mouth. "I'll date you if you date me?"

Vernon can't contain his grin, spinning in circles around his room even though he's already dizzy.

"Deal."

Vernon squints, sitting in his 9 am and staring down at the purple pen in his hand, the one he’d found sitting on the desk when he came in.

There’s no way though, right?

Right?

Vernon tries not to freak out as he looks under the desk to find a water bottle. One with your name on it.

Vernon has a choice to make. He could sit here, try to focus on class, while he thinks about you somewhere on campus, struggling through an exam and dehydrated and sad. Or …

Not on my watch, Vernon thinks, shooting up from the desk and grabbing his stuff and yours. He’s jogging across campus before he knows it, dodging frisbees and dogs on the green, weaving through hammocks and hopping over sleeping students. He’s not sure what lecture hall you’re in but he knows the chemistry building, and if he books it, he’s sure he can make it.

He’s speedwalking down the hall, peeking in windows and listening at doors, trying to find your class. His eyes catch a paper taped to a door, warning, “EXAM AT 915. DO NOT DISTURB.”

He could jump in glee but, glancing at his phone and seeing that it’s 9:10, he knows he doesn’t have time.

Vernon’s hoping, praying you’ll listen to him when the door opens a smidge, and the most beautiful face he’s ever seen peeks through. It's like heaven’s light is shining down on him, he thinks he can hear angels, and is that wind? Blowing through his hair?

Staring back at him, your eyes shoot open in disbelief, before landing on your pen and water bottle in his hands. You squeal, bouncing in your shoes and throwing your arms around his neck. He breathes you in, reeling at the weight of your body against his, and you pull back before he can return your embrace. Vernon misses you instantly but he knows you have to go be a genius so, handing you the water and pen, he accepts a kiss on the cheek and watches you leave.

Hiiii!! Would love to know your thoughts, whether they come in a like, reblog, comment, or ask! Please feel free to come talk to me i will cry and smile all day!! Planning a pt 2 for this but i'm hoping to get pt 2 of like a cowboy out first!

Part 2

And check out the rest of SVTHub! A good few fics are out and you’ll still have something to look forward to as more will be posted over the next few weeks ☺️

I am so grateful to @sapphichui for trusting me with this and I’ve had such a great time collaborating with and getting to know other awesome authors on here!

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[forest-hashira]

also fuck it LEMME GET A DRABBLE TOO WHY NOT….. >:3 kenji + flying ehehehehe 🤓🤓 mwah mwah congrats once again <33

EEEEEEE TY LOGAN!!! kissing u on the forehead ily smmmmm 💜 the randomizer i used rlly said "hmmmmm. i know this is for logan. give her The Boy" AHAHA so i hope u enjoy ur lil romantic gojo drabble 🥺

“Toru?” you called, stepping into the apartment you shared with your boyfriend; the lights in the entryway were off, and it seemed like only the kitchen was dimly lit. Odd, you thought, knowing he usually steered clear of the kitchen. You’d had a long day at work, though, and decided not to dwell on it. Instead, you toed off your shoes, tucking them away into their proper spot, and hanging your keys on their designated hook by the door before stepping further into the apartment.

Before you made it more than a few steps, though, Satoru was in front of you, a bright grin on his face and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. “Hey, sweetheart!” he greeted cheerfully, though he dialed back his enthusiasm a bit when he saw the exhaustion that weighed your body down. “Bad day?”

You gave a small shake of your head. “Just long.” You gladly accepted the flowers as he offered them to you, leaning in and closing your eyes for a moment as you gave them a sniff. “Thank you, baby. The flowers are nice.”

“I made dinner, too,” he told you with a smile, placing a hand lightly on your back and guiding you towards the dining room.

“You… cooked?” Satoru tried his best, you knew he did, but cooking was not his strong suit, which is why he was generally relegated to prep tasks when he helped you in the kitchen. Because you loved him, you’d eat at least a few bites of whatever it was he made, but you were already mentally running through your options for places to call and order something for delivery.

“No, I know better than that,” he replied with a small chuckle. “I’m not very good at cooking without supervision.”

As you stepped into the dining room, you saw that the table was set, with candles lit in the center, and this time it was your turn to laugh. The dinner your boyfriend had “made” for you was still in its little white takeout boxes, each box placed neatly in the center of a plate, with chopsticks and a glass of wine on either side – well, you thought it was wine at first, but them you noticed the bottle of sparkling grape juice Satoru had placed between your place settings.

“It looks delicious,” you said, looking up at him with a soft smile. “Thank you, Toru. I really appreciate it.”

Just then, your stomach decided it was the perfect time to make the most ungodly gurgling noise, making heat rush to your cheeks with embarrassment.

“Maybe you should stop appreciating it and start eating it,” Satoru teased, kissing your cheek and taking the flowers from your arms. “Sit, eat. I’ll put these in a vase and then join you.”

Finding no reason to argue, you did as he said, taking your seat at the table and picking up your glass, taking a small sip of the sparkling beverage as you turned to watch your partner move around the kitchen, looking over your small collection of vases before picking one, carefully trimming the stems of the flowers, then placing and arranging them in the vase once it had enough water in it.

You’d never felt luckier to have him in your life.

for my 100 followers milestone event!

[rallentando1011]

hi! Saw the inbox was open, and wondering if I could slide in with a rise donnie boy x readerone-shot..

So essentially- donnie is STEM smart right? What if- what if reader was the opposite, like lit/history smart? Like, reads a lot, and almost never puts there book down, even when people talk to them (puts it down for donnie and gives him their full attention tho-) knows a lot about almost any point in history and adores archeology. (The only thing they understand when donnie goes science mode is biology.)

And so what if- what if reader, who's oblivious to almost everything and is a huge hopeless romantic bc of ✨️books✨️, decides to try and come up with ideas to ask donnie out in a more STEM way? But like, before they can donnie sees the list and is just like "smh ur math is atrocious/aff" and then fluffy stuff yaknow??

Lol sorry, went on a tangent. Anywhizzle, love ur writing! Don't forget to take a break, stretch and get some food and water if you need to!Have a good morning/evening/night!!! :))

U + Me = Date?

(this took a minute, but it’s such a fun and sweet request that I had a wonderful time with! Tysm, and please make sure that you’re taking care of yourself as well! Enjoy! Request guidelines are located here btw) Word Count: 2371

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything on earth has a niche, a designated function it gets to act out, a role it gets to fill. The Cape May Warbler, Bay-Breasted Warbler, and Yellow-Rumped Warbler have the top middle and bottom of a spruce tree to eat in, respectively. Humanity has its niche of expansion, whether it be out through the globe or up in towering metropolises.

If you had to specify your niche, it would just about have to be reading. Now, of course your life is filled with numerous aspirations, but your multifarious interests can all be classified under your affinity for books.

Any form of literature, thrillers, epics, romance novels, they all did it for you, enveloped the entirety of your attention in an immersive world.

That was without a doubt: they entertained you. 

At least, they made you feel inspired to do things, take action in your personal life, possibly commit to confessing certain feelings to a certain softshell turtle. Actually committing to the bit, though, was a completely different story.

In the extensive library you had under your belt, there were many a meet cute and innovative confession. However, just because it worked out in literature, it didn’t mean that you could actually do it. What if it ended up weird or cringe or downright friendship shattering?

The status quo was comfortable, subsisting off of shared time in your turtle-in-question’s lab, the two of you simultaneously performing your own tasks. You would sit and enrich yourself with a book, Donnie would tinker until he had something that piqued his interest, which happened rather frequently, and your attention would suddenly be on him. It was simple. It worked. Taking action could complicate things.

So, your inspiration remained squandered by doubt, an inkling of hope staying concealed internally.

At least, inspiration wouldn’t make anything occur unprompted, and, luckily, that nudge came swiftly.

Earlier, as you were straight chilling in a cozy bean bag chair in the lair’s living room, you saw Donnie enter the room out of your peripheral vision. However, he only seemed like a purple blur because your attention was on the thick, dense book sitting on your lap. The cover was of a similar slickness and feel to that of a textbook, the size was as well, but this read was solely for entertainment. The content could practically be summed up as history of the entire world, i guess but fleshed out with more anecdotes and primary sources.

You had been soaking in a finely written excerpt entailing early hominid tool use, accompanied by an image of a related artifact, when you felt a presence leaning over your shoulder. You opted to continue your train of thought through the lines until you heard a familiar timbre clear its throat behind you. With a sigh, you placed a finger on your spot and faced one Donatello.

“Something the matter?” You blinked slowly.

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugged, expression seeming intentionally cool, “just checking out the book choice for today.”

You lifted the book from your lap to display the contents to him.

His eyes skimmed over the page before he grinned slightly. “Ah, prehistoric archaeology? I could dig it.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep your thought from spilling out of your mouth before ultimately giving in to your amusing whims. “Leo ahh humor.”

Donnie gaped. “Gasp, you wound me. I rescind my statement and shall not be partaking in any archaeological reading-slash-discussion with you.”

“I’m just messing around, ‘Tello. I can dabble in some crude wordplay.”

“Crude?”

“Crude. Heck, I’d bargain to say that was more archaic than the sector of human history I’m in right now, and they don’t even have wheels.”

He raised a curious brow, visibly less offended. You could work with that.

“Rather intriguing. Care to join me?” You patted the ample space on the bean bag next to you.

Curiously, he stared at you, then the space you were offering, and back, before slipping beside you.

“Care to enlighten me on this subject?” he parried, and with a grin, you were off, describing the main theme of the page, the early development of primates and humans, as well as outside archaeological examples that you knew of, the whole nine yards.

As you rambled on, you locked eyes with him occasionally, and his eyes were intrigued saucers every time you did. It made something in your brain click.

He played along with your banter. He was sitting right beside you, absorbing your words so vehemently and genuinely and ohmigosh this guy of all people wouldn’t judge you for trying something that could be weird. Heck, he’s a fanatic of oddities, anything mystic or scientific, so if he didn’t like you asking him out, at the very least he’d admire the effort. So, you were inspired to try something, finally take some action.

You were going for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You set to work on your asking-out endeavor as soon as you arrived home.

At first you tried looking at STEM-related pickup lines.

Sardonically, of course. You wanted something that got your point across without seeming too vulnerable, something you could play off in the scenario you got completely and irrevocably rejected.

“I less than three you… That’s not that bad,” you scrolled through the results of your search, perched at your kitchen table.

You only made it down the list to ‘the square root of all my fantasies is you’ until you actually needed to call it quits on that route. There was a fine line between being intentionally corny and the monstrosity that was that line.

So you took the next completely logical leap: concocting a page full of intricate mathematical and scientific questions, the answers of which spelled out an encrypted message.

It was the sane thing to do. 

4  1  20 5          20 15 13  15  18  18 15 23 ?

D  A  T  E          T   O   M   O   R   R  O  W ?

You scribbled the message on a scrap piece of paper. You entertained the idea of writing a whole sentence, but just these two words covered the gist clearly and concisely. Plus, coming up with questions for only two words was enough to melt your brain.

“Limit as x approaches sixteen of the square root of x… equals… yeah, four. That works,” you mumbled. “One down,” you sucked in a deep breath, “eleven to go. Crud.”

The next few hours blended together aimlessly, riddled with just about every mathematical scenario you could conjure up. Sure, derivatives and Planck’s Constant and the unit circle (the bane of your existence) were all ambitious topics to have on the totally inconspicuous worksheet, but, to quote a phrase, go big or go home. When in Rome also works.

By the time you reached ungodly hours in the night, you had curated a functional way to surprise and ask out your best friend. With your brain oozing out of your ears, you put the paper somewhere safe and collapsed face down on your bed.

You would have mentally prepared yourself to give him the paper tomorrow if not for the calculus-derived headache already splitting your mind.

Instead, you immediately dozed off.

You could deal with the minutiae of tomorrow… tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day when you waltzed into the lair, he was conveniently seated at the desk in his lab.

“Heya D! I come bearing gifts.” You presented him with the paper as coolly as you could, keeping all the panic and nerves internal, and took up the chair beside him.

“A calculus sheet?” He grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”

After a moment of looking at it, however, his eyes dimmed and smile lessened. “...You shouldn’t have.”

You faltered. “Oh, gosh, is it that bad?”

“Which letter corresponds with negative one?”

“What?” you exclaimed. “Oh nononono no, I checked my math like five times, it’s not even possible-”

“The derivative of cosine theta is negative sine theta. Not positive. Simple mistake, really. It was a valiant effort of- whatever you were trying to do.”

You blinked, smacked your lips. Well, that was the end of that. You would just take your leave and move out of the city and change your name and never feel anything again. Easy.

“Just forget I did anything, forget this paper exists- like, what paper even?” You reached for the sheet of paper only for him to use the mechanical extensions on his battle shell to hold it out of your reach.

“No, my interest is piqued,” he smirked. You could almost feel the mischievousness emanating from him. “I will gladly continue, if you do not mind.”

You complied and sat stiffly, anxiously glancing about the lab, until you saw him pick up a utensil and start marking on the paper.

“Are you correcting it with a pen? Are you seriously grading this right now?” you muttered. You weren’t mad, just thoroughly panicked.

He stopped writing momentarily. “What? No, not grading, per say. This is just how I’m deciphering this.”

You knew that tone and you knew that was a lie. 

“I- ugh,” you flopped your head down on his desk and closed your eyes. “Just tell me when you’re done fixing it. I spent a needlessly long amount of time on this just for it to be terrible.”

He didn’t deny that it was terrible, though you excused that to him being busy and hopefully not him agreeing.

Although, with how quickly his pen was scratching marks on the page, the latter seemed more feasible.

You focused on taking deep, steadying breaths, relaxing to the sounds of the busy pen until it suddenly stopped.

Lifting your head from its place, you saw he had completely stilled, staring at the paper with wide eyes and upturned lips.

“What? Did you spot another comically egregious mistake?” you mumbled, halfway intrigued.

He took another few seconds to answer you. “Something like that.” And with that nothingness of an answer, he started writing again, much more fervently.

“Okay then.” You went to put your head down again before he slammed the paper down before you.

“Boom! Here is the revised and finalized version of the worksheet,” he grinned.

You narrowed your eyes at the comments about your inability to include units, corrections on when something was supposed to be negative, but the markings at the bottom of the page were what caught your attention the most.

When you looked at the corner of the page, you saw an odd combination of zeros and ones. 

01101111 01101000 00100000 01111001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 

“Actually, what is this?” You gestured to the code.

“It’s my response.”

“And you had to put it in binary?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk in codes.” He sounded frustratingly nonchalant.

“Yeah, but-” you considered asking him to directly tell you, but maybe this was slightly less nerve wracking. Ripping off the bandaid be darned, you took the coward’s way out and pulled out your phone. “Man, I let you get away with way too much stuff. Has this interaction not dragged on painstakingly enough?”

“The greater the hardship, the greater the reward,” he commented with a shrug.

That pleasant surprise of a response made you copy the ones and zeros faster into the binary decoding website you’d searched up.

Just as you had everything in and your finger steadied over the button that would tell you what he was saying, you hesitated, steadied yourself with a deep breath, and hit it.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of adrenaline and euphoria that washed over you at seeing his answer.

“Ohmigosh, you’re serious?! Because you cannot be joking like this, Donatello.”

“As the plague.” One of his hands rested on his chest, the other was in the air as if taking an oath.

“Haha, yes!” you cheered, spinning the desk chair you were in. The late night and headache had paid off, and it felt great!

“So, where am I accompanying you tomorrow?” He mused.

Immediately, you paused. You’d only spent time thinking about the part where you ask him out, not the actual going out part.

“Where? Uhh, I hadn’t really gotten to that point of the planning stage.”

“You were too focused on biffing a math paper to actually plan out its intended purpose?”

“Yeah, not my brightest decision, nor my best work. It was a rather dumb decision on my behalf.”

“You are a dum-dum, but just because of how needlessly complex you made this, not because of your mathematical errors.”

“I genuinely don’t know if I should take offense to that or not.”

“Maybe you should be thinking about where we’re going tomorrow? Just a thought.”

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, uhh coffee?”

“A little trite for a first date, no?” Donnie propped his elbow up on the desk and rested his chin on his hand, smiling widely.

“Okay then, coffee and we go to the library?”

“Don’t we normally do that anyway? What about it makes it a ‘da-”

“Donnie, I am running on fumes from making the erroneous atrocity that is that worksheet last night. If you don’t have any suggestions, coffee at the library works. If you have a contribution, go right ahead.” You put your hands up in surrender.

Donnie’s smugness faded slightly and he lightly nudged your elbow. “Coffee at the library sounds great. And for what it’s worth, I appreciate that you tried to do something innovative. It was truly a highly admirable effort.”

“Thanks, D.”

“Of course.  But from now on, let’s leave the math to the professionals.”

There it was again: the sass.

“Oh, that’s a low blow.” You shook your head, still smiling.

“A low blow would be mentioning how you confused the natural logarithm for a standard logarithm. You see, when you have e to the power of…”

The corrections and banter flourished on from there, the both of you giggling and getting mockingly, lightheartedly angry with each other.

Despite your interests in different subjects, the two of you understood each other. It was wonderful to have a partner that you could be niche with wherever and whenever.

It was almost worth all the math and science it took to get there.

(I actually made inconspicuous math worksheet that reader made for Donnie, and it is linked HERE!)

[theromcommotel]

Hii can you write the hosts with an idol reader? like a popular one

HOST CLUB X READER !!

IDOL READER !!

prompt: hosts with idol reader

requested by: anonymous

warnings: you didn’t specify whether it was poly or monogamous and if you wanted a oneshot or headcanons so I’m just gonna do headcanons :) i’m also taking this request as like one of those japanese singers so hope that’s chill!!

TAMAKI SUOH:

tamaki thinks it’s literally the coolest thing ever

he wants to go the whole nine yards to support you!

he’ll be sure everyone goes to your concerts/events, buys your merch, etc!

he tries to be like your own personal mori senpai but he’s just too sweet XD

HARUHI FUJIOKA:

haruhi is probably the most laidback about it

she’ll go to your stuff and support ya

but her opinion of you doesn’t change because your an idol yk?

she might feel a slight pressure becuz of crazy fans but other than that she’s chill!

KYOYA OOTORI:

i think kyoya personally actually is really chill about it on the outside but in the inside he is kinda scattered

like he’s worried about how both of your reputations could or will get ruined by the two of you being together

ultimately he wants the best for the both of you, no matter what it is, but he wants u to know he cares

he also is really big on you getting the respect that you deserve

by that i mean he will D E S T R O Y any haters who wanna fuck with you lmfao

TAKASHI MORINOZUKA:

definitely the most nervous about it, no doubt in my mind

similar to kyoya, but i think he’s a lot more nervous about it

he goes to all your concerts/events as a security guard fs

gets really worked up at times because he doesn’t always know how to help you with this because it’s very new to him

HIKARU HITACHIIN:

this might be a bit surprising but he is definitely the least worried of out the boys about how people see you two

he like, has a idgaf attitude

the best believe this bitch will be jumping and screaming at your concerts

he also loves wearing your merch like everywhere

he also probably designed and modeled it with kaoru but yk

KAORU HITACHIIN:

kaoru wants to help you in every sense of the word

he’ll advertise, design and model your merch, go to your concerts (either as a security guard or a fan), etc!

he doesn’t worry about the public eyes idea of you too much, but it’s definitely a thought in the back of his mind

i can see him begging for any kind of sneaks peeks for your upcoming works xD

MITSKUNI HONINOZUKA:

honey (as we all probably know) isn’t as immature as he may show, he’s pretty darn smart

so i think he takes a lot of things into account when it comes to your idol career

although yes, he does love and support you and your dreams no matter what

he is also one of the boys who gets nervous a little

i think he worries a little bit about your mental state because being as popular as you are can get a bit exhausting

so he always makes sure you sleep well and have some cake :)

hey hey

it’s hermy

sorry i haven’t posted in a bit

i’m about to update my page!

after i get my next two requests done!

so be ready becuz i’m adding more fandoms and things i’ll write!!!

-hermy<3

[hey-kae]

Only Yours

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x female reader (ft. Charles and Charlotte)

Request: hello!!! hope you are doing well :) thank you soooo much for already so perfect. it was amazing, definitely one of my comfort reads right now! this is a weird request, but maybe a pierre fic and the storyline being like you’re dating pierre but he and charles always joke that you and charlotte are dating because (naturally) you two are really close?

Warnings: slight mention of alcohol but nothing besides that.

Sidenote: I honestly didn’t expect to enjoy this one that much but i definitely did! I hope u guys will like it as well! (Please keep in mind that I don’t know much about Charlotte…)

Pierre had fallen asleep last night with you wrapped up in his arms and weirdly woke up the next morning to a cold, empty bed and an even emptier bedroom.

It was the F1 summer break, a time of the year you've come to impatiently anticipate since it granted you Pierre's constant presence for about a month. Through the years since the two of you started dating, it had somehow become a tradition to plan at least a brief vacation during that time with your boyfriend and Charles and Charlotte whose company you truly enjoyed. The four of you almost inevitably ended up on some tropical island or at least in some beachside cabin, swimming or tanning all day long then drinking and chatting the night away by a makeshift fireplace you'd build on the beach at night. During these days, you had experience invaluable love, true friendship and made the best memories of your life.

This year was no different.

The four of you, after long weeks of planning and days of packing, had rented a beautiful villa by the ocean that would grant Pierre and Charles some much-needed peace of mind. Through its beautifully designed backyard, it had access to a peaceful, calm beach with crystal clear water and melodic waves crashing on its shore.

The four of you had spent the last evening exchanging stories and memories there as the moon shone down on you and the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. Regardless of the fact that Pierre and Charles' stories seemed a little bit more interesting, they still listened so carefully to you and Charlotte's tales, making you feel as appreciated as you truly were. At some point, they were shocked as your stories progressively showed how much time the two of you spent together without them.

After that, each couple retreated into their room where you got the chance to spend some private time with Pierre, kissing and talking until sleep overcame you, hence why he was so shocked to wake up without you beside him. It didn't help that waking up to your arms hugging him was arguably his favorite part of being on vacation.

Pierre sat up in bed, a deep set frown of confusion painfully obvious on his face. The enchanting sound of waves nearby seemed to try to sing him back to sleep, his eyes threatening to close again as his thoughts swayed with the steady rhythm of the ocean. He felt himself slouch back against the pillows, groaning at how comfortable the bed was as his body desperately begged him to snooze off again.

In his half-asleep state, he reached for you to pull you to him but his arm hit the mattress once again.

He jolted awake, fully conscious this time, his mind just now registering the fact that you weren't in bed with him like he assumed you would be.

Muttering to himself im confusion, he forced his body out of bed, put on some shorts and headed out of the bedroom to search for you.

Much to his annoyance, he tripped on his shoes from yesterday on his way out, a complicated combination of french curse words effortlessly leaving his mouth as he pulled the door open, rubbing his sleepy eyes to see clearer.

Pierre struggled to walk properly, his brain wishing he was still wrapped up in the soft sheets instead of having to search the whole villa for you. He swayed as he walked the crisp white hallways, not noticing Charles leaving his and Charlotte's room, looking much more awake than his French friend. It took almost bumping into him for Pierre to notice his presence.

Charles took in Pierre appearance, hair all over the place, barefoot and only dressed in a pair of loose shorts.

"Tu resemble à un idiot." You look like an idiot. He smiled at Pierre with amusement.

"Ferme ta gueule, blaireau. Je n'trouve pas y/n." Shut up, asshole. I can't find y/n. Pierre, grumpy as hell in the morning, snapped at his friend.

"Bah je n'trouve pas Charlotte aussi mais je m'suis habillé avant d'quitter la chambre." Well, I can't find charlotte too, but I got dressed before leaving the room. Charles taunted him in a playful manner.

Pierre looked back at Charles, only now noticing that he was indeed dressed in his swim shorts and a tshirt. Hell, he even had his shoes on and his sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his shirt. Then, he acknowledged the monégasque's words. Charlotte being missing as well meant one thing: the two of you woke up way earlier than your respective boyfriends, got bored of waiting for them and therefore made your own plans. That wouldn't be the first time that happened.

"Ça signifie qu'elles sont ensemble quelque part." That means they're together somewhere. Pierre groaned, realizing his freak out session was unreasonable.

"Évidemment. Vas t'habiller et nous les chercherons ensemble. Je pense qu'elles sont deja à la plage."Of course. Go get dressed and we'll look for them together. I think they are already at the beach. Charles patted Pierre's back and left him alone in the the hallway.

Pierre sighed and went back to the room, already having a self-conducted debate on if he should wear his swim trunks or something else as he heard Charles rummage in the kitchen.

He closed the door and started digging through his suitcase, trying to put together a decent outfit that he won't sweat through. He ended up wearing a tank top and his swim shorts as he was already planning on taking a dip as soon as he figures out where the hell you were.

He put on his clothes and headed for the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face, finally feeling himself wake up completely.

Now he understood why Charles had called him an idiot. His hair was looking rather messy in a unique way.

"Merde." Shit. He mumbled, running his damp hands through the strands to tame them. The process took way longer than usual, his locks absolutely refusing to cooperate.

"Pierre, dépêche toi. Je m'ennuie ici." Pierre, hurry up. I'm getting bored here. Charles' voice echoed through the hallways.

Pierre rushed to join his best friend in the living room, both of them heading out onto the vast beach stretched out in front of them.

It was still significantly early, so it was doubtful that you and Charlotte would already be in the water. The relaxing sound of crashing waves became clearer as Pierre and Charles walked, their eyes scanning the area for you and Charlotte.

They had walked for a more than a few minutes before Charles tapped Pierre's shoulder and pointed at a spot by a big rock, an umbrella and towels occupying it.

"Là bas." There. He gestured, their steps now more hurried.

Pierre instantly smiled when he spotted you, dressed only in a bikini, sunglasses on your eyes and a big straw hat on your head. You were sat next to Charlotte, chatting and giggling as you snacked on a bowl of strawberries. If it wasn't so early, cocktails or martinis would have probably been involved.

Pierre and Charles exchange a brief look that confirmed that they were feeling a bit left out, not in an annoyed way, more in an entertained kind of way. They loved seeing their girlfriends get along so well, they just hadn't been expecting the two of you to ditch them so often after you had gotten comfortable with each other.

"What a cute couple!" Pierre teasingly cooed once they were within hearing distance for the two of you.

You instantly looked up at the sound of his voice, your smile quickly mirroring his as you watched him cross the small remaining distance with Charles by his side.

Charlotte interrupted your brief admiration session by draping her arm over you shoulder.

"Right? Now if you'd back off..." She shrugged in suggestion.

Pierre shook his head with an entertained smirk as you leaned into Charlotte's touch, slyly smiling at your boyfriend before popping a strawberry into your mouth.

"Ouch." Charles' face furrowed with a pained look, his hand clutching his chest.

Charlotte burst out laughing at her boyfriend's dramatic behavior and got up to properly greet him, hugging him and giving him a brief kiss.

Meanwhile, Pierre took a seat beside you on the spread out towel, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

"Hi." You beamed at him, cheeks a bit blushed from the heat.

He reached over and removed the sunglasses off your face, giving you a soft smile before puckering up his lips and gesturing for you to go ahead and kiss him.

Chucking, you pressed your lips onto his in a small peck and pulled away. Pierre wasn't having that this morning, he needed a few more seconds of your lips against his own. He leaned in more, resuming the kiss but also making you lose your balance. You laughed into the kiss, propping yourself on your arms so you wouldn't fall back.

"Eh, watch out, mate. You don't want to upset the girlfriend over here." Charles' voice sounded from beside you, referring to Charlotte.

Pierre pulled away with a laugh, looking at his best friend, pointing to him to let him know that the joke was a good one.

"Yeah, you're right. We already interrupted their little breakfast date." Pierre joked back, glimpsing at you out of the corner of his eye to see if you had laughed at his joke.

Instead, you gave his shoulder a little shove.

"Oh please. As if they haven't had enough dates this vacation. I don't even know why we're here honestly." Charles, who now had Charlotte sat between his legs, carried on with the joke, much to Pierre's delight.

"Exactly. Next thing you know, they start sharing a room and throw us out."

Charles burst out laughing, joining in on Pierre's loud cackles as you and Charlotte exchanged entertained looks that you both thought would go unnoticed.

"Regarde, elles ont même des messages secrets et tout." Look, they've even got secret messages and everything. Pierre pointed at the exchange between you and his best friend's girlfriend.

"Oh, please. As if people online don't ship you two. There's a ship name even." You broke your silence, interrupting the two guys' laughter at an impressive speed.

"Wait, what?" Pierre asked so quickly, it made you chuckle.

"Oh yeah!" Charlotte leaped out of Charles' arms as excitement overtook her. "You two? Piarles." She gestured above her head as if the name had magically appeared in the air, then she reached over and high-fived you.

It was your turn to laugh now.

The two of you had exchanged links to some posts in the past, finding them rather entertaining, especially given how close Pierre and Charles actually were.

"Wait until we tell you about the fanfictions and-" You started telling a shocked Pierre, but he wasn't having it.

“Yeah, no…” He said, picked you up and sprinted into the nearby water. You threw your hat onto the sand and held onto his neck, laughing furiously while still hearing Charlotte's laugh until he dropped you into the warm water, dipping underwater himself right after you.

You held back the laughter until you broke the surface again, Pierre immediately pulling you to him and moving your legs to wrap around his waist, his lips immediately finding yours.

"I'm yours and you're mine. D'accord, ma chérie?" Okay, darling? He mumbled into the kiss.

"I don't know, babe. You and Charles..." You pulled away and said, shaking your head from side to side questioningly.

"Oh mon dieu!” Oh my god! Pierre groaned in annoyance.

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, his lips crashing against yours once again, giving you small successive pecks as the waves swayed the two of you.

"Yours, babe. Only yours." He spoke between kisses.

You sighed, smiling against his lips as you felt your heart fluttering. You loved the sound of that a bit too much.

"I know, chéri. I'm only yours too."

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[assiraphales]

HELLO HI let me start this off by saying i love your posts so so much they are so silly

Anyways since opla season 2 has been confirmed, what are some things you REALLY want to see? Im genuinely curious

so i'm assuming they will start off with loguetown and end with alabasta. i'm hoping that since the first season was so successful netflix will order a FEW more episodes (ideally ten or more) but I have to stay realistic so I know every detail won't translate to screen

a lot of the anime loguetown arc was filler (zoro mopping the marine's floors, luffy running around lost and drinking milk at a bar, sanji entering a random cooking competition) and I know there's a few things they're unlikely to skip (zoro aquiring kitetsu & hopefully throwing the sword in the air to see if it'll chop his arm off, luffy on the executioner's platform, smoker) but i really they have time for

-nami n usopp bonding. especially the moment where usopp faced off against daddy the parent bc not only was nami there supporting him/willing to fight for him, but it also was a glimpse into his complicated relationship with his father. daddy the parent quit his job so he could spend more time with his daughter, while yasopp completely abandoned usopp. it was also so cute when they were fangirling over sanji together -i'm so excited to see inaki laughing with his head in the stocks seconds away from death I just know he's going to devour that scene -there probably won't be time but it would be funny if we see luffy n zoro on their lunch date with a combined zero dollars in their pocket and buggy ends up covering their bill without knowing who they were -i'm can't wait to see who they cast as smoker!!!! their casting has been honestly great so far so i'm looking forward to the reveal

laboon the giant whale. LABOON THE GIANT WHALE !!! I know in the grand scheme (at least from a standalone season perspective) he's not that important to the plot. but by god !!!! give us the depressed whale that luffy gives the will to live back to!!!! practical effects are very important to the one piece team I think they can figure it out

whiskey peak is going to be controversial but I hope luffy n zoro's fight goes EXACTLY like it does in the anime & manga (aka they're so in sync that they're punches are meeting in the middle and they're yelling in unison & five minutes later they're laughing about the prospect of meeting a warlord). this arc also requires the writers to let zoro have his funny guy routine because him hecking the agents is so good

while I don't know if we'll see zoro fighting a triceratops and saying "oh so u do three sword style too" we NEED to see him do his stupid pose in the wax. season ruined if not. (jk but its very high on my list)

chopper my wittle cutie. I know we'll see him no matter what but I'm banking on a puppet. i'm pretty sure its already confirmed that they're using practical effects for him, but I heard maybe prosthetics which could be a hit or a miss

nami and vivi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! karu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm truly on the edge of my seat to see how they'll handle zoro n sanji's rivalry considering they've made the decision to base it around their relationship with luffy. the girls WILL be fighting

similarly excited to see live action sanji fawning over not only nami but also his little meow meow luffy (fantastic change from the anime imo)

crocodile better be the greasiest motherfucker I hope he's absolutely vile. i can't wait to see him wearing a FUR lined coat in a desert

I also know they're going to go off with pell's character design

ACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jaxypaxyhaxy]

You said we don't want to hear your essay about the symbolism in this picture, and actually, I wanna hear it.

(Omg literally marry me 🥹 nobody ever cares or like wants to hear my symbolism rants🥹🫶)

After it wrote this: just letting yall know, I’m sorry, you asked for this, you’ve brought this on yourself. Much love, I apologize

Ok so I’m gunna break it down by the most obvious to least obvious (at least to me)

1) the “APPEAR”

Ok ok ok, so we all know this is something Tori does around Charlie often. Yk, “older sister magic”? Yeah so I think there could be like 2 things going on here. A) Micheal has been able to appear the whole time, Or B) Micheal has picked up this trait from Tori. If the former is true and Micheal has been able to appear the whole time, like how can you tell me they aren’t perfect for eachother. Not even necessarily romantically either but like they are soulmates. I think the original appear of Tori symbolizes how people don’t always notice when she enters a room. Like there are people who have all eyes on them, and then there’s Tori who you might not even know is there because of how she enters a room. Idk I just think it’s a good way to describe her, a silent entrance. BUT if the latter is true, and Micheal picked up this trait from Tori, hoo boy like I could literally talk abt this for an hour. Ok ok so I think I present a good argument abt how Tori and Micheal both kinda want what the other has (at least at the start) if that makes any sense. Like Tori is this “manically depressed psychopath” who doesn’t seem to give a single shit about what others think or feel or dislike about her ( granted it’s because she’s too busy struggling to keep herself alive and worrying about her siblings but still she just doesn’t seem to give a single flying fuck ). But as all my solitaire girlies know, Micheal gets extremely angry at times because of his performance on the ice and how he’s perceived by other people (like judges definitely). I think it almost seems like Micheal cares so much about how he’s perceived, and what others feel about him, or what other people have to say about him. I think (at least it feels a bit like this to me) that Micheal aspires to have Tori’s level of IDGAF and he kind of analyzes and watches her and how she is just herself. ( And like obviously we know Tori’s life is extremely fucked up and depressing and I think we can all agree we would just like to comfort her endlessly, so I’m not saying Micheal romanticizes her life and wants it and wishes it was his, but I think that’s part of what caught his eye abt her at the beginning. ) that took a really long time to get to my point but like yeah I think if he did pick it up from her is because he (not in a creepy way) watched her and how she moves through everyday life. Like HE PAYS ATTENTION! He pays attention to her and has continued to pay attention even more so after the events of the book because he cares about her and loves her.

2) the lines showing how he appears

Ok so we all know that Tori appears like this:

But Micheal is much more animated in his appearance, with longer lines and no asterisks. This is true and translates nicely into their individual personalities as well. 1 way is Tori appears like she wasn’t there but then she was, and Micheal appears like he popped up from the ground. I’m gunna break down my other point because it’s a lot.

Their emotions ( including breakdowns and general expression ): ok, so Tori often has an array of emotions and feelings and thoughts all spinning in her head at once (I could talk more abt this so just lmk if u want me to) and it makes it harder at least for me the reader to designer her feelings from time to time yk? But like Micheal, his emotions are intelligible in the book and you can usually put a name or two to what he’s feeling whether it’s hurt or anger yk? I kinda look at it like

Tori: small, silent symbol ( as she doesn’t often talk about her feelings with many ppl ) and many lines that represent her emotion soup. ( each line representing one emotion yk? )

Micheal: long, obvious, concise lines. ( he is emotionally intelligent enough to know what he’s feeling but not necessarily control or understand them ) like Tori each line represents one emotion but also Micheal’s are much larger and obvious. I believe live this can represent his struggle to control and maintain his feelings. I also just wanna say I believe the two long lines represent his anxiety about posing his question, and being angry or upset about the whether society puts on dating (as mentioned in he’s rant to Charlie’s gang) and I think the smaller lines are like part happy or excited almost because like hes at a super fun event with the girl he really likes, and people who are super nice to him; and the other small line I think is sadness because (as previously mentioned) Micheal doesn’t seem to handle rejection well but he also doesn’t have meant friends and he would be so so so sad if he messed it up with Tori the one girl who actually got him and cares about him yk? Idk that’s just my over analysis of the way he appeared.

3) his hair

His hair is scruffy and messy, and I’ve seen Alice draw hair like messier when someone is anxious or upset abt something so I just wanted to put that out there

4) Charlie and Tao

I WANAN FOCUS SPECIFICALLY ON TAO FOR A MINUTE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

Okay look at Taos face!! ( I know ur not gunna scroll all the way back up so I’ll help )

Alr anyways LOOK AT HIM. THE UTTER SKEPTICISM IN HIS EXPRESSION IS JUST SO AHHAHHAHAHHHHHHHH

(This is my head canons and over analyzing just kinda mushed into a pie abt why I think this has so much weight so bear with me) The reason I am absolutely feral about this is because Tao has known Charlie (and inevitably Tori) for years on years on years like he is THE childhood best friend and I have an array of pictures in my head what happened after solitaire. Charlie 100% had a panic attack, no question. I would too, I think anyone would if their older sister tried to kill themselves honestly. But anyways I think Nick helped but Tao helped much more in that certain scenario. I’m not sure exactly when Charlie talks to Tao after the events of solitaire but he definitely does and he blames himself for not noticing sooner she was depressed or suicidal. Tao kinda convinces him there’s not much you can do in those situations and sometimes we don’t recognize it in time if we recognize it at all. But basically long story short Tao knows about everything with Tori and Micheal on the roof. That’s what that was leading up to sry. Ok BUT where I’m going with this is that just like Tao was protective over Charlie with Nick, he is 1000% just as protective over Tori (bc she’s like his platonic older sister in law) so he will occasionally watch Micheal and make sure he’s being good like he did with Nick.

There’s also the very real possibility I’m reading much to far into this and he’s just confused because Micheal appeared and bumped into him BUT STILL, I’m gunna choose to live in delusion

Charlie: Hes visibly confused and I just know in my bones it’s because he doesn’t know why Micheal is with them instead of hanging with Tori and Ollie. That’s it, that’s all I wanted to say abt Charlie bc I just find that rly fucking cute

That’s all I think… for now at least. Much love, hope you enjoyed 🫶🫶

[pastorpresent]

elvis presley with lolita reader. reader is always barefoot in her little flower garden at Graceland, reading her little books and in those cute little dresses,,, can u please elaborate on this <3(reader is OBVIOUSLY of age)

Privacy.

Thank you for the ask my lovely! I hope this is what you pictured at least a little.

{ an escape, a sanctuary, call it whatever. It doesn't matter. All that matters is it belongs solely to the two of you. }

Elvis x y/n, or Austin!elvis x y/n if preferred.

The flower garden was intially created for privacy.

Graceland had long been a famous landmark of sorts for an ocean of fans and sea of paparazzi long before your arrival. Regardless of whether Elvis was there or not, the crowds outside never waned - waiting for hours to see glimpses of anything at all through the tall metal gates.

You had of course accepted this loss of privacy when you accepted his request to be your partner.

It would've been far too naive of you to not consider the fact as part of your acceptance, and so you resigned to spend most of your time at Graceland inside.

Still, you missed the feeling of grass beneath your feet. You missed spending time amongst soft greens and the warm glow of the sun, but it was the sacrifice you had willingly made.

Elvis had a way of sensing when you were unhappy. It was actually quite impressive, really. The reality was you spent far too much time apart with his performing and recording, and so it only served to surprise you when he would return and immediately read you like an open book with all the skill of a pair that hadn't spent a second away from each other since courting.

It was during one of those moments when the initial purpose of the garden was formed.

"You need to tell me what's wrong, sweetness, or I can't help you," he said, and you force your small smile, cuddling into his side and settling against the cushions. You hardly want to ruin your precious time together causing him worry.

He didn't let the topic drop though, and when you finally relented and admitted to missing the privacy you used to have outside, he looks thoughtful. He's uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the evening, and you worry initially that your admittance had upset him.

You wake the next morning to gardeners digging up large patches of grass around the back of the house, and Elvis watching them from the window with a smug grin.

"What's going on?"

You tumble out the covers and join him at the window, eyebrows creasing as you watch the crowd of workers below drink from mugs of coffee and operate machinery.

"Privacy, baby," Elvis announces, gesturing to the current mounds of soil in the garden, and you arch your brow.

"Privacy?"

Elvis looks almost conspiratorial as he winks, tugging you closer by an arm around your waist. He presses a kiss to your head, and nods.

"You'll see soon enough, don't let anyone say I let my girl want for nothin'."

And soon enough, you did see. Elvis admitted upon the gardens completion that he hadn't designed it exactly, because he was no good at that, but he had pitched his vision with the tag line of private, and that it was. The garden was surrounded in dense shrubs and trees, making it all but invisible to prying eyes.

The first time you ventured out, you had a book tucked under your arm in preparation. You kicked your shoes off onto the concrete, and Elvis sent you a funny look which made you laugh.

"Trust me, it feels amazing," you promise, and he leaves his shoes at the door even if he does appear skeptical.

"You're raving mad, woman," he says, but you grab his hand and pull him towards the garden anyway.

It truly was a work of art. The flowers bloomed so bright and colourful. The grass smelt wonderfully fresh, and it felt even better beneath your toes. You spend time admiring everything, until ultimately you feel yourself get tugged down by Elvis, thumping against his chest as he slides down a large tree. A brief playful fight breaks out between you both, as you try to squirm free and he keeps a tight hold of your torso, pressing kisses over your cheek.

Eventually, you relent with a smile, announcing your surrender as you sink into him and flatten your dress.

"Do you like it?" Elvis asks, and you can hear the note of nervousness in his voice, a niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

You arch your neck enough to capture his lips against your own.

"I love it. It's perfect. Thank you so much, baby," you hum, and the traces of tension vanish from his body as he plants a small peck to the corner of your mouth.

"Anything for you, mama."

-x-

"I thought I'd find you out here."

You look up from your book, back against the tree, and you can feel the soft smile sliding over your features when you see him approaching.

Something isn't quite right, though. He was supposed to be on the road to LA right about now. You had waved him off yourself, shielding your tears from the boys and the fans as you watched his bus dissapear over the horizon.

That had been a good few hours ago, and yet here he was, still dressed in the clothes he left in with a defeated grimace on his face.

Wordlessly, you shuffle over and pat the ground next to you.

You spent most of your time in the garden over the last few months. It truly was an escape of sorts, and despite his insistence that he could hire someone for the upkeep you loved walking around with your watering can tending the beautiful flowers. You would often sit out here into the late hours, a cup of tea and a book at your side, listening to the hum of activity inside as whatever group Elvis had invited that night chatted and played music alongside him.

The garden had become a refuge for him too, in a lot of ways. You would share picnics together as the sun set over the soft grass. Sometimes he would bring his guitar and strum chords, singing softly. Sometimes you would both race and crouch around the maze of shrubbery, playing hide and seek like children. Other times you would both just lie there, intertwined and lost in the others touch.

Once the house had quietened, he would inevitably make his way outside with a cup of his own, and settle down beside you. You would lay your book aside with a flower pressed within to mark your page, and you would both talk for hours about everything and nothing.

"Got into a fight with the Colonel. He- he swore I wouldn't be singin' in this one. That's why I signed the goddamn contract - thought it would be one of those proper films that people would take seriously," he takes the offered space next to you, all but throwing himself at the ground.

Immediately you open up your arms, letting him get close enough to hide away in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped secure around your waist, and you hugged him as tight as you could manage, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I truly am," your heart aches as you feel the dampness on your neck, and you wish you could wipe away his sadness with the tears.

"I read the damn script and made 'em turn the bus right 'round. Colonel is gonna be furious. So will daddy."

"Screw 'em," you say reverently, and you mean it.

"Screw all of 'em. If you're not happy, it's not up to them to force you."

He pulls back a little, although he's still holding onto you like you're the oxygen he needs to breathe.

"I ever told you how much I love ya?"

You smile, shrugging.

"A few times, but I'm always up for hearing it again."

His face breaks into that child like little grin you only ever see when you're both alone, and it's infectious.

He kisses you deep, hands combing gently through your hair. The kiss leaves you a little breathless, and he seems to count that as a triumph.

"I do love the privacy of this place," he hums, and goes in for another you're more than happy to give.

-x-

Years will pass, and eventually a little girl with his bright curious eyes and his mischievous smile along with your own adoration for the blooming flowers reads under the tree sandwiched between you both.

Years later, you place a small memorial just beneath the same tree. The rest of Graceland is opened to the public, but you fence off the little garden. You hum the tune to a few chords once played on a guitar, and weep.

[nikitaxlee]

Golden hour/ Felix Lee x Reader NSFW Part 1/3 'Home'

NOTES:When writing this I imagined the reader living in a house similar to the picture. If it's not your vibe, totally get it, imagine something else, I just really liked the architecture in this photo. VERY IMPORTANT: There is cheating in this story. I do not condone cheating,I do not think it's right whatsoever. I included it in this story because I felt it was necessary to the plot. WARNINGS: SMUT, ANGST, KINKY SHIT,

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The sun kissed your face as you cooked. The breeze wove through your hair from the open windows. You hadn't felt this good in awhile. Being an architect took a toll on you with the constant late nights being put into creating the designs, to simply just not having time for yourself anymore. It was nice being able to finally be at peace with your work. You had several partners these days who helped you so now you could take time off whenever and actually get a good night's sleep.

As you were lost in thought stirring the marinara sauce for your pizza you were making, you heard a knock on your door. It startled you and almost made you spill your sauce. You walked to the door to open it.

Shit, seriously right now? I swear if it's the neighbors agai-

"Oh, hey felix." You said surprised he even had the time to be here.

Felix and you had broken up on good terms at least. The relationship died after a year as he was an Idol and you were an architect meaning you both had zero time for each other. You decided to part ways a year ago and you hadn't seen him since.

"U-um, Hello Y/N, Chan gave me your address, sorry for barging in on you, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"O-oh yes of course, come on in." You were stuttering like an idiot but you couldn't help it. It was Felix. Sweet old Felix. The one person who felt like home to you. The person you would come home to just to walk in and be bombarded with hugs and kisses. The boy who took all of your firsts. The boy who told you to become an architect knowing that it might affect the relationship but was willing to sacrifice that for your dreams. You loved him. You love him.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? The sunset is exceptionally beautiful around this time of night." You asked.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly intrude on your life especially after not seeing you for a year. I just popped in to say hello and see how you were doing." "Felix, I insist." He looked at you with warm eyes and nodded.

You excitedly gave him a tour of your house and especially your plants. You told him about the inspiration for the house and the layout of everything. When you both made it back to the kitchen the sun was hitting the kitchen perfectly so it created a golden glow.

Golden hour.

You both chatted over some wine and pizza. You caught up and talked about idol life and the rest of the boys who you were pretty close with still.

"So, Y/N, have you been seeing anyone?" You nearly choked on your wine when you heard him ask. What would you say? No felix I've only been with 3 men after you because you were the only person I needed.

"Um.. Well only a couple and that was after drunken nights at the bar and club."

He looked at you with something you couldn't read. A look of hopefulness?

"What about you?" You questioned silently praying he was single.

"Yeah, haven't been with someone since you." he smiled. You let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding in. As you guys finished up conversation. You realized it was getting late. "Felix, are you ok to drive home? You can stay the night if you wish." Hoping he would say yes.

Felix had a look of sadness, "I'm fine to drive, I wish I could stay but my.. um.. mom is staying with me at my house and I don't want to leave her alone. Maybe some other time though?" You nodded

"You're welcome over anytime."

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AT FELIX'S HOUSE

Felix walked into his gloomy apartment. It was a very nice apartment but it just didn't feel like home. I wasn't as warm and cozy as yours.

It didn't have you

"Hey babe, welcome home." Kim said as she hugged him.

Kim was his girlfriend of 2 months. She weaned herself into his life and eventually forced herself into his apartment.

"Hey Kim." He said as he reluctantly kissed her.

She laughed before wiping her face of all emotion "Where the fuck were you."

"Kim, baby, I told you, I was hanging out with Chan and just having guy time." he laughed anxiously.

"Oh, ok. You better not be cheating on me." She switched to her sweet tone "I got dinner for us. Just chinese. I know how much you like Chow Mein!" she said

Felix smiled at her kind gesture. Felix actually hated Chow Mein. It was actually Kim's favorite. But of course Kim dictated his life.

"And then after dinner I have dessert for you." She smirked as she bit her lip. Felix internally cringed. It was like being with you for a couple hours had completely reprogrammed him.

He wanted to go home

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