byunparks-archive

[bluespring864]

Grigor Dimitrov defeats Holger Rune 7-6 (5), 6-4 to win the Brisbane International 2024

[watchingtennis]

I want to watch the Thiem v Zeppieri match but it’s not being televised so I’m using an illegal stream to watch a match that’s being held live in my own city 🙃

[luxaofhesperides]

Danny accidentally appearing out of Duke's shadow. And doing it purposely every time after that. ; requested by @kyrianclawraith! (deviated from your original prompt a bit, sorry! the ghostlights brainworms got away from me)

Traveling through shadows has become second nature for Duke after using them so extensively over the years. He even uses them as a civilian, hopping between shadows when he’s running late to class so he doesn’t have to stress out over traffic. 

Not even Batman’s scoldings can stop him from making it on time to his classes. Risks need to be taken for the sake of his education!

The shadows are comforting. They hide him from sight, get him to where he needs to go, and gives him the alone time he needs when he’s been around people for too long and desperately needs some quiet to recharge. Duke would say that he’s well versed in the shadows at this point, no longer stumbling out into the light.

Even with all his practice and confidence, he still can’t prepare himself for tripping over someone in the shadows while he’s trying to escape some of The Riddler’s goons. 

They both go tumbling out of the shadows, landing in a corner hidden by storage shelves. The poor tripping hazard of a person is under him, groaning lightly as he reaches up to press a hand to the back of his head, where he hit the concrete floor. 

“Oh, shit,” Duke whispers, “I’m so sorry. What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I was hiding,” the guy hisses back at him. “I wanted to get out of the rain and dozed off and when I woke up, guns were being shot! I was up in the rafters, so excuse me for thinking no one would find me up there!”

Another gunshot rings out, alarmingly close to where they are.

Duke curses under his breath, then picks up the guy and hauls him over his shoulder. “Time to go!” And then he’s disappearing into the shadows again, following the line of them outside the warehouse and down the street. 

As soon as they’re safely away from the goons, Duke steps out of the shadows and carefully sets the civilian back onto his feet.

“So sorry about that,” he says, “But I need to get back and deal with them. Stay safe!”

He’s gone before the civilian can say anything else, and though it’s embarrassing that he tripped over someone while shadow hopping, at least it ended relatively well. It’s not like it’ll happen again.

Duke, sweet, naive Duke, doesn’t think much of the civilian again. He’s a busy guy with a busy life! Lots of things to do! Lots of embarrassing moments to keep secret from the other Bats! No one has mentioned it at all, so he thinks he’s safe from being teased about it.

That is, up until he’s training with Dick and a hand pops up out of his shadow.

“Um,” Dick says, backflipping away from Duke’s punch. He lowers his escrima sticks and squints at the space behind Duke. “Are you… trying something new with your powers?”

“...No? I’m not using my powers right now.”

Dick looks more and more alarmed. He won’t look away from the space behind Duke, and it’s making him nervous. He doesn't want to look, but he knows he has to. 

Steeling himself, Duke takes a deep breath, then turns slightly to see what’s behind him.

Nothing. 

His gaze goes down, and he sees a pale hand sticking out of his shadow, moving back and forth. It then comes out some more, up to the elbow, and the hand pats the ground Duke’s shadow lays on, a stiff mat perfect for sparring.

Behind him, Dick turns on his escrima sticks, the electricity crackling through the air.

The hand disappears for a moment. 

Then two hands appear and grab the ground, hauling up a body from Duke’s shadow.

Duke is very well versed in shadows. He travels through them almost daily. He thinks he would know if there was some strange netherworld hidden in the shadows where other beings could pop out of shadows like portals. This is alarming, to say the least.

“Don’t move, Duke,” Dick warns, creeping closer, ready to attack.

A head pops out of his shadow. Whatever it is glows and their white hair moves softly as if underwater. They’re facing away from him, so he can’t see their face, but he can see the black, skin-tight suit their wearing as they float up from his shadow, no longer needing their hands to pull themself out. 

“Huh,” they say, looking up at the ceiling.

Dick grabs Duke’s arm and pulls him back, shielding him with his body. “Who are you?” he demands, voice cold. 

The creature/person startles and whips around to stare at them with wide green eyes. His gaze darts down to the electrified escrima sticks, then back up again, visibly nervous.

“Um, hi! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be here. Wherever this is.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was practicing a new portalling method. I found a ghost to teach me how to move through shadows, since my usual portals are very bright and noticeable. Not great when you’re trying to be stealthy! I did not mean to end up here.”

Duke stares at him. “You came out of my shadow.”

“Sorry,” the guy repeats. Then he squints at Duke. “Hey, didn’t you save me the other day? From the warehouse?”

It’s been a while since Duke’s saved anyone from a warehouse. Criminals and goons have moved on to condemned apartment complexes and the back rooms of bars. The only person he’s saved is the tripping hazard…

“Man, what is up with you and getting caught in my shadows?”

“This is your fault!” the guy insists. “I associate shadows too strongly with you! That’s why I’m here! Probably. I don’t actually know how this works.”

“You don’t know how it works but you did it anyways.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.” The guy floats down to the ground and offers Duke a hand. “I’m Phantom, by the way! Figured I should introduce myself because this will happen again.”

Duke considers introducing himself as the Signal, but Danny is looking directly at his bare face, so it’s lost cause. Talk about an unexpected security breach. “Duke. You looked a little different when we first met.”

“Yeah, that was my human form. This is my ghost form.” A watch on his wrist, some clunky looking thing that looks like it came from the early 2000s, beeps and Phantom frowns at it. “Shoot, I need to go. I’ll see you later!” And he dives right back into Duke’s shadow, disappearing.

Duke blinks at the empty space where Phantom used to be, still reeling from the shock of it. He’s so busy processing the last few minutes that he doesn’t hear the escrima sticks turn off until Dick is dropping a heavy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s not happy; it’s a warning that he’s at his limit and is barely hanging on to niceties.

“So,” he says as Duke cringes, “Looks like we need to have a talk about the things you’ve been hiding from us, Duke.”

He can’t do anything but resign himself to his fate.

After that conversation, he’s instructed to let them know when Phantom pops up. Which is fine until he realizes that Phantom really did mean it when he said that it’ll happen again. 

Phantom pops up constantly. Most of the time, Duke is lucky enough to be at home, or in the Manor, or in the Batcave away from the public where no one will freak out about a glowing boy popping out of his shadow. Sometimes, he’s in the middle of the street as a civilian and has to sprint away, ducking into the first empty alley he can find in order to climb up onto the rooftop where no one will see him.

It’s stressful and confusing and he wishes he could be more upset about it, but Phantom is fun. He’s funny and charming and tells the craziest stories about ghost fights that Duke can’t help but hang onto every word.

He dutifully updates his Phantom Log, noting each time he’s portaled through Duke’s shadow, any information he’s revealed, and an injury count after Duke noticed a concerning pattern of Phantom often showing up after he’s been in a fight.

Duke begins to get a feel for when Phantom is about to show up. A shiver runs down his spine and his awareness of the shadows around him grows. Sometimes, he could swear he could feel something tear apart in his shadow. He feels it then, a tear that stitches itself up almost instantly, a ripple in the shadow, before that familiar hand pops up again and Duke grabs hold of it to haul Phantom out into his bedroom. 

He is, once again injured. There’s a large gash running down the length of his other arm, bleeding a toxic, glowing green. 

“Dude,” Duke says, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“You should see the other guy,” Phantom snorts. “I slammed him through five streets, then ripped his limbs off.

“Dude…”

“Just to be clear, they weren’t his real limbs. He has a robot suit he uses like a body because he’s like a tiny little bean.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to take that. Anyways, have you still not figured out how to open portals that aren’t connected to my shadow?”

Phantom shrugs. “Nope. And I’m not really trying to figure it out. I like hanging out with you. Plus, it’s nice to see a friendly face after a fight.”

“Can’t you like, go home and have your family take care of you first.”

“Uh, better not,” Phantom laughs nervously. “They’d probably kill me for real if they saw me like this.”

Duke quietly notes to himself to add that statement to the Alarming Things Phantom Says list. 

“Does it… bother you? Me always coming to you?” There’s a smallness to his voice, a fragility that makes Duke want to beat himself up for making Phantom feel like that.

“No! No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you from anyone else.”

Phantom brightens. “Oh! Well, no need to worry about that. No one’s worried, back home. They know I disappear sometimes.”

…Another concerning thing. Duke is considering bribing Phantom into staying in Gotham forever, living in his shadow, just so he can take care of him. Just to be sure Phantom’s safe. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Phantom’s bleeding wound.

Phantom futilely tries to hide the wound with a hand. The green blood leaks out from between his fingers, and he applies more pressure to the wound with a faint wince. “Nope! All good here. I’ll heal in no time, honest.”

“Then, do you want to just hang out? I really don’t know why you’d chose to keep coming to me.”

“You’re good company, dude. Very chill. Very fun. And you’re a hero! That’s so cool. Why wouldn’t I keep coming back?”

Duke shrugs, not sure how to put his insecurities into words. He’s already starting to get the Bat-specific inability to communicate emotions, which is definitely a problem. He’ll need to spend time with other people to be normal again. 

As if sensing that Duke’s mood is falling, Phantom launches into another tale, complaining about people who bother him, teachers who are terrible at teaching, having snark-fights with the embodiment of Time itself, and so on. He always has the craziest stories, and he tells them so casually that Duke has to second guess himself, wondering if he’s overreacting when he’s shocked by what Phantom tells him. 

He starts telling his own stories as well, mostly fun civilian interactions he’s had since they last spoke, villain fights, the ever changing theories on the ‘Who is Batman Sleeping With Now?’ shared document all the other Bats have. By the time an hour passes, Phantom’s arm is fully healed and he’s flying in lazy circles above Duke.

His watch beeps again in the middle of him recounting the insane drama happening at his school. Phantom sighs and sinks back to the floor, hovering just above Duke’s shadow.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he says, voice warm.

Duke shrugs. “You’re good company. I like when you visit.”

A slow, soft smile spreads across Phantom’s cheeks, making him glow even brighter. “Sweet talker,” he accuses fondly, then flies in for a quick, tight hug. He pulls back before Duke can reciprocate, and salutes him with a cheeky, “See you soon!” and is gone, flying into Duke’s shadow before he can respond.

Shaking his head fondly, Duke falls back against his bed.

Despite how unconventional their friendship is, he is glad Phantom keeps coming back. He hopes he’ll get to see Phantom’s human form again.

…And get more used to the horror movie scene that is Phantom clawing his way out of his shadow. No matter how many times he sees it, the sight still makes him jump.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that.

If Phantom thinks he’s cool, he’s going to do whatever he can to keep that impression from changing. It’s only reasonable, really.

(“Shut up, Dick,” he says later when he recounts this encounter with Phantom. Dick just keeps laughing, endlessly amused that Duke got ‘jumpscared into a crush’ as he phrased it. That’s definitely not what happened.

Next time, he’s definitely convincing Phantom to scare Dick with him. 

Revenge will be his.) . . .

[send me ghostlights prompts! one day left before they close on 11/17]

[sanguineterrain]

Feel like I’m so basic but Jason Todd with a crush and him having zero social skills and just being super clumsy despite being highly competent when he’s in the field. Crush is like real sweet and kind maybe a service worker ✨

anon u are so true and real for this bc jason is definitely an unsocialized cat when he has a crush 💓

jason todd x gn!reader. shyish/anxious jason with a big fat crush. baker reader. annoying customer. the duality of jason todd. 1.6k words.

also i fully believe that silently leaving huge tips as a way to flirt is like. a wayne trait. 100% that family does that bc of bruce.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

Business has been slow.

It's not like you expect your cafe to be packed to the rafters all day long, but you've had a grand total of four customers today. One of them only came in to ask where Starbucks was.

Frankly, you're not sure the cafe can afford to stay afloat for much longer. Gotham isn't known to preserve small businesses, and the conglomerates (cough, Wayne Enterprises) are taking over the world anyway.

So today is a reading day. You might even close early.

You're at a table in the back, so absorbed in Poirot's sleuthing that you don't hear the door open. It isn't until you turn the page and look up that you see your resident lurker waiting quietly at the display case. You flinch so hard that you spill iced tea on your jeans.

"Shit," you murmur, grabbing a wad of napkins and patting yourself dry.

Jason (as is written on his coffee cup) looks up from the pastries, teal eyes wide. You smile briefly at him. For such a big guy, his footsteps are astonishingly soft.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, voice rough like he doesn't speak much.

"Yeah, fine. You just startled me—I didn't hear you come in. Were you waiting long? Sorry about that."

"Oh. No, I wasn't. Sorry." He shifts weight between his feet. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book. I didn't, uh, want to disturb you."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about that! It's literally my job to be here," you say, though you can't help but melt over how freaking sweet that is.

Jason visits you a minimum of twice a week. He's been coming for a couple of weeks. You know a whole three things about him: he's a university student, he pretty much only dresses in red or black, and he's unfairly cute.

At first, you were reasonably wary of him because it's Gotham, and he's so damn quiet. It's a little scary. You thought maybe he was an undercover spy casing the joint. Now you know he's just awkward.

"Slow day?" he asks.

"Slow year, more like. How are you? How was your exam?"

He blinks. "Exam?"

"Didn't you have an American lit exam last week?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Wow. Yes, I did. It was okay. Got an A."

"That's great! I knew you'd ace it."

His cheeks turn pink. Okay, you actually know four things about him: he blushes a lot.

You go to start the coffee machine. "Do you think you'll—"

"I-I have to go."

You watch, stunned, as he hurries out the door. That's when you notice the fifty dollar bill in your tip jar.

You don't know if you should bring up yesterday. Jason's back; that probably means everything's fine, right? You're not sure if you said something wrong, though. You've gone over the interaction a hundred times since and you can't figure out why he's so skittish around you.

"Hi. Hibiscus tea, please," he says, stoic as always.

You prepare his order, yesterday's interaction still fresh in your head. You should say something, shouldn't you? Or...

"Sorry about yesterday," Jason blurts, so fast you almost miss it. "Running out, I mean. I was, uh—I forgot something."

Well. Looks like he's going to bring it up for you.

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! If I said something wrong..."

Jason shakes his head fervently. "No, God no. You're perfect."

Your eyebrows shoot up. He turns red this time.

"I mean—not perf—well, you're amazing, don't get me wrong! Except, like, what is perfect, y'know? My brother has gotten into the habit of calling everything perfection like some kind of sitcom character. Alfred will make pie, and Dick'll go, "Alfie, that was perfection." And I feel like it's such an exaggeration—"

Jason's mouth snaps closed. He rubs his forehead.

"Um, I actually have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It gets really, stupidly bad. Sorry."

You're trying hard not to giggle. You want to smother him in frosting and take a bite.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you say.

"I'm really not," he says with a sigh.

"Not true. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

You go into the kitchen and return with your latest experiment: matcha cream puffs.

"Do you mind trying these for me? You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Jason's shoulders hunch. "Are you sure you want my opinion?"

"Of course I'm sure," you say happily. "I trust you."

"You trust me," he repeats quietly.

"Yup!"

Jason takes a puff and bites. He starts to nod.

"It's really good. You're really—all your creations are—yeah. It's good."

You squint. "No notes? Really?"

"They're perfection, as my brother would say."

Fuck, you like him so much.

"Have another one," you say, pushing the tray towards him.

"I shouldn't—"

"Wait! I'll pack you some!" you interrupt, flitting back to the kitchen to get a Tupperware.

Jason helplessly accepts the container of puffs you shove into his hands.

"Let me pay-" he tries to say, but you shake your head.

"Nope! I won't accept payment for these. Not from my favorite customer."

"Your favorite?"

"My favorite," you confirm, grinning.

"Oh." His ears turn pink as he walks to the door, cream puffs in hand. "Uh, right. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Jason? Don't you want your tea?"

"Shit. Yeah." He returns to the counter and takes his drink. This he insists on paying for, so you let him, because you do have rent to pay, after all.

"So nice to see you!" you add, because the stiffness in his gait is kind of throwing you off.

He just nods, slipping out the door as quietly as he came.

Today, Jason's in a red workout tank. You have to make the conscious effort to not ogle his arms.

"Hey, Jason!" you say cheerily.

"Hi," he says softly.

"The usual?" you ask, and he looks up in surprise.

"You know my order?"

You gently roll your eyes. "Of course I know your order, silly. Favorite customer, remember?"

"Oh." He looks away, brow furrowed. Then he turns to you and his expression smooths over. "Yes, please. Thanks."

"Sure. Give me one second? I just have to finish decorating some sugar cookies."

"Take your time," Jason says, then goes to skulk by the window.

The door is suddenly swung harder than necessary, thumping the glass.

"Hey!"

You look up from the cookies. A man in a suit is waving his phone impatiently.

"I ordered a dozen muffins. Where are they, huh?" he demands.

"Oh, right! Well, you called ten minutes ago, so they won't be ready till six, sir. Can I get you something while you wait?"

He scoffs and stomps to the counter. You almost back down, but you don't; that's exactly what these bullies want.

"This is exactly why no one eats at dinky cafes like yours. You can't even do this!" he fumes, shoving a finger in your face.

"Sir, like I said, the muffins are baking..."

"I know the city's health inspector personally," the man spits viciously. "One call, and I can—"

"Say one more word."

You blink as Jason is suddenly between you and the customer, stood at his full height. He's all muscle and broad shoulders, looming over the guy. You peek around him.

"What the fuck, man?" the angry customer squawks. "Move!"

"No, you move," Jason says, tone lethal. "Sit quietly at a table and wait for your muffins to bake. Then you can thank the nice baker for waiting on your sorry ass and you're not gonna come back. They have far more patience for entitled fucks than I do."

"Fuck you," the man spits.

Jason calmly closes the distance between them and whispers in his ear, hand like a vice around the jerk's shoulder. You watch as he turns pale, eyes growing wider.

"Sound good?" Jason asks pleasantly, all teeth. The man gapes at him.

Wow. Yeah. This is really doing something for you.

The oven dings. You go to retrieve the muffins, packing them as quickly as possible. You give him the box and the man nods.

"Thanks," he mumbles, then scurries out of the store.

Jason turns to you, and it's like looking at a completely different person.

"You okay?" he asks, posture stiff like he's still prepared for a fight.

You nod, a little dazed.

"Yeah. Wow. Jason, I... you didn't have to do that. I mean, thank you for doing it, but..."

"Hey, that guy was a jackass. And if you have trouble with him or anyone else, call me, okay?"

This side of him stuns you. If you didn't know better, you'd think he had this exchange regularly.

"Call you?" you ask, smiling. "How will I call you if I don't have your number?"

He freezes, eyes wide. "Oh. Uh. Um..."

You lean over, elbows on your counter. He watches you. You cup your hand around your mouth, pretending to divulge a secret.

"This is where you, the cute guy who frequents my struggling cafe, gives me your number."

"You think I'm cute?" he asks.

"Devastatingly so," you say, grinning.

He's quiet for a long moment. Your smile starts to dim.

"Did I read this wrong?" you ask. "If I came off too strong..."

"No!" he says a little too loud. Jason winces. "Sorry. No. I... you're... fuck, I'm not good at this. I don't even really drink tea or coffee, to be honest. I just come in to see you."

"You do?"

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Shit. That's creepy, isn't it?"

You laugh and he visibly softens.

"No, Jason," you say warmly. "It's sweet."

"So can I still ask you on a proper date? Not coffee."

You grin. "That would be perfection."

[ace-turned-confused]

shiftin' gear | part one

joel masterlist | series masterlist

pairing: mechanic!joel x f!reader series outline: a slacker of a boyfriend, no job, and now your car needs serious maintenance. heading to the mechanic’s, you’re just expecting him to rid you of your car troubles and move on — you’re certainly not expecting him to change your life chapter summary: your dad finally takes you to have your car fixed, where you meet joel miller — dangerously handsome and charming beyond words word count: 3,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied and wears a dress, description of a rather useless boyfriend, strained father-daughter relationship, probably highly incorrect information about cars, smutty thoughts a/n: i watched one single fifteen minute video about changing brakes, so if anyone needs a bootleg mechanic you can hmu and i'll be there 🫡 endless hugs & head pats to @frannyzooey for not only all the help on this chapter, but all the kindness & encouragement overall 💜

Your car’s had warning lights on for probably a dangerous amount of time. You’d told your dad numerous times what was going on, not that it mattered all that much to him because the car still gets you from A to B and maybe if you drove a bit more delicately then these things wouldn’t need maintenance so often.

If you turn the music up loud enough it just drowns all that out – both the warnings and your dad’s constant berating. Coming home one night, you try one last time to ask him for help.

“Some jackass cut right across me on the freeway, I made sure he knew exactly what I thought of him though. Lucky I didn’t fly out through the windshield when I slammed on my brakes, considering there's more warnings on my dash than on a fuckin’ storm-season weather report.”

That seemed to do the trick, God, if only you’d done this a month ago. Suddenly he was scouring his search and call history for some mechanic he’d been to for his own car – “Miller’s Auto Repair”, though he doesn’t know who the Miller in question is, saying he dealt with some young boy named Eddie with greasy hair and stains on his shirt to match.

He found some time in his oh-so-busy schedule to go with you. Was he about to lecture you on your attitude? Definitely, but at least your car’s going to be fixed.

-

You park in the street behind your dad and haul yourself out of your car, walking up to meet him. Taking in the place, it looks decent enough – tools scattered around, a young guy working on a car on a lift, plastic chairs and a steel leg table off to one side. Maybe decent is a slight exaggeration, but it’s spacious and airy and doesn’t reek of sweat and toxic masculinity. You’re certainly out of place, the sun blazing down on you in your simple daisy-print dress and you feel slightly overdressed.

An older man comes out of a partitioned-off room, the drywall not quite reaching the rafters and sheet metal above. He’s wearing well-fitted and surprisingly chic black coveralls — a hint of skin peeking from behind the lapel, cuffs buttoned up below his elbows, belt around his hips and there are even pleats in the pant legs. And you thought you were overdressed. You mindlessly smooth out your dress, suddenly feeling like you haven’t made enough of an effort.

It’s not that you were expecting someone unattractive, but the man waltzing towards you is criminally handsome — if only you could find a boy your own age who looked like this. A part of you is actually jealous your dad found this place before you did.

He reaches out to both you and your father with a firm handshake, “Name’s Joel. What can I do for ya?”

“My daughter here’s been having some car troubles.” He gestures to you and you notice Joel gives you a once-over and nods.

Taking the silence as your queue to speak, you start listing everything gone wrong with your car. “First it told me the brake pads need changing, and that was about, what, six weeks ago now?” You glare at your dad, your tongue in your cheek and arms tight across your chest.

“Told you I’ve been busy, you know this.” He matches your look and you turn your attention back to Joel, rolling your eyes and he smirks ever so slightly.

“Aircon needs regassing, and the headlights don’t seem to want to go bright anymore.”

“Well, lights and aircon are quick fixes, can do both right now for you, not expensive. I’ll take a look at the brakes and see if we have sets here that’ll work and let you know about that.”

Your dad excuses himself when his phone starts ringing, leaving you alone with Joel.

“So why’d you bring your dad with? You seem capable enough to me.” He crosses his arms, tilting his head.

“I’d rather not have some macho mechanic clock me from a mile away, and end up getting handled for knowing fuck all about cars. No offence.” Joel smiles at your brash commentary, leaning closer towards you. “Wouldn’t do that to a pretty girl like you. Cute dress, those your favourite?”

You’re not quite sure what he’s talking about, to be honest — a fog came over your mind after ‘pretty girl’ fell from his lips and you stand there in silence, mouth hanging open in a daze.

He leans to the side and points to your chest, snapping you back to reality. “The daisies on your dress? That your favourite flower?”

“Oh! No, uh…” Your voice fades off, unsure of what to do about the heat creeping up your neck and into your ears.

 Joel just smirks at you. “You can bring in that car of yours onto the lift, sweetheart.”

You nod and start walking away, your dad ending his call and he’s already asking questions about the cost of all this work. Getting in your car again, you’re flustered. All this man has done is call you sweetheart and pretty once and it’s all you can think about. You pull your car up to the shop, lining up with the lift as best you can and roll down your window.

Joel leans into the open window with a slanted smile, voice low enough for just you to hear him, “Lined up perfectly there, just go slow and I’ll tell you when to stop,” and God if that doesn’t have your mind racing. You give him a weak smile and manoeuvre your car onto the lift, stopping when he raises his hand. Pulling the bonnet lever and climbing out, you move to stand with your dad again, stepping over discarded rags and dried oil stains.

Joel does what looks to you like a whole lot of fiddling and tapping and knocking of random car parts under the bonnet, and takes the light covers off to change the bulbs; he takes a wheel off and checks the brakes and you watch him the whole time. Skilled and calloused hands moving with ease, your mind wanders off to what else he’s good at with his hands. Crouching down to feel around a toolbox, his coveralls pull tight around his ass and thighs. That heat you felt a few minutes ago only getting worse just from watching him work, embarrassment washing over you – though not enough to look away.

Everything looks like it’s back in place and he lowers the lift, walking towards you and your dad. “Gas and bulbs are done, should be good as new now. Brakes you’re gonna have to come back for, though. Eddie just used the last of the pads and discs you need on that car there, but we can get 'em easily enough, should be here next week.” You nod at him, not sure if it’s easier to look him in the eye or avoid him altogether.

“And you can’t get them any sooner? Or, how long are these current ones gonna be safe for? I’m out of town again next week and–”

“It’s fine, next week is fine.” You put a hand out to cut your dad off and shake your head. You’re really not in the mood for his entitlement, and truthfully you’re looking forward to the chance to come here again without him.

“You gonna manage on your own?” he asks, his tone almost mocking and eyebrows raised.

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” you chirp back, voice curt and monotone.

“You sure?” Of course, he wasn’t going to believe you were capable.

“I’ll get Jake to come with me. It’s fine. Really.”

Right, Jake – your boyfriend. Someone you should’ve been thinking of a long time ago, when instead you were all but undressing Joel with your eyes, imagining the nice things he’d do for you, with you, to you.

You and Jake have been together just over a year now, slept together a handful of times, and all around he’s a decent guy. You met while you both were in training and were given the same placements for industry experience. He’s never done anything inherently bad to you, but lately, you’ve found yourself putting more and more distance between you — subconsciously initially, but now it feels more like a chore to spend time with him.

He’s been sweet and kind to you from the start, but it would be nice to have him make an effort every so often, brag about you, show you off. His grand plan for celebrating your anniversary was taking you out for lunch and calling it a day; if he visits while your dad’s around, the two of them spend more time talking than you do. It’s been about two months since he fucked you, if you could even call it that, and you’re tired of either faking an orgasm or reassuring him it’s fine you never came when you forget to put on the act at all.

You can’t picture someone like Joel giving you such mediocre treatment and being satisfied with that, living life so blissfully unaware.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your fog and you notice your dad’s already walked out.

“See you then,” and he retreats with a tilt of his head and a wink.

Fuck it’s going to be a long week.

-

Joel already texted your dad three days ago to say you could come in, and you’ve been oddly nervous about it, your mind racing: what’s gonna be the quietest time to go, I wonder if Joel will be too busy with another job, I should make sure I’m not wearing the same dress again. You even made sure you washed your hair the night before in preparation, scolding yourself the whole time – he’s some random guy fixing your car, not to mention you do have a boyfriend.

Eddie’s nowhere to be seen, Joel’s wearing those same coveralls and there’s music playing from a worktop speaker.

“Afternoon, princess,” he holds your door open, eyes following you across the room, just the same as the week before. “Thought you were bringing a friend – what was his name?”

Fingers toying with the hem of your top, you only hope you made the right decision coming here alone. You’re not worried about something that Joel would say or do, no, but worried about something you yourself might. You never were good at hiding your feelings; you pray he can’t see through you.

“Oh, Jake?” You could keep it a secret and enjoy Joel’s attention a while longer but weighing up your options, maybe it’s better to just be honest with him. “He’s my boyfriend. He was uh, busy… today. So, just me.” He doesn’t need to know you never even asked Jake to accompany you to begin with.

“Is it cool if I stay while you work?” you ask timidly. “I can get a ride home though, if you’d prefer.”

“It’s no trouble, here.” He pulls a stool towards you, wiping it off with a smile. Joel gets to work on your car and it’s like a show, just for you. Definitely the right choice to come alone, you smile to yourself.

“So this boyfriend of yours, what’s he like?” he shouts out from the far side of your car and your smile drops.

“Oh, uh… he’s nice.” He is nice, but you can’t be bothered to think of anything worthwhile to say about him.

Joel rounds your car to stop and look at you. “Sounds to me like you don’t want ‘nice’.” His eyes trail up and down your figure and you gawk at his remark. Okay, maybe he actually can see right through you.

“Well, my dad really likes him. Says it’s good to have someone to ground you, or whatever.” Joel simply nods in response and turns his attention back to your car.

You take the opportunity to really take him in this time, with no dad around as a source of shame. Thick curls that you would love to run your hands through, sculpted nose, well-trimmed moustache, grey and patchy scruff for a beard, wide back and broad shoulders and firm chest and—

God, you need to think of something else before you get carried away. Again. You look around the room to refocus on something more appropriate, taking in all the arbitrary decor. Dog-eared posters of old rock bands, exposed bulbs dotted between fluorescent lights, a chain of mini chequered flags strung up along the wall.

You risk another look at Joel and see he’s taken two wheels off already, doing more twisting and turning of car parts you never even knew were there in the first place.

“What’s that?”

He looks to you over his shoulder, coveralls pulling tight again over his arms and back.

“What, this? Called a calliper. Holds the brake pads that squeeze against the disc, stopping the car.” You purse your lips, nodding slowly and Joel huffs out a laugh, facing away again. “Got any siblings that need car part lessons?” He continues, “Or better yet, maybe they can teach you instead.”

“Nope, just me. What about you? Any other Millers gracing the town?” You see him shake his head and he chuckles to himself. 

“Got a brother, Tommy. He’s in construction. I worked with him a while back — much prefer this, though. What’s a girl like you do? Working your dream job?”

‘I’m uh, in between jobs, actually. I’m a chef — was a chef.” You look down to your lap, picking your nails. “I quit. Place was full of sexist dickheads. They suggested I put myself forward for promotion, then gave it to some egotistical asshole with both less experience and qualification. So I told them exactly where they could shove their promotion and never went back.”

You sigh and look up and see Joel’s already watching you, a faint smile on his face almost like he’s proud of you for standing your ground. His eyes are a mix of sympathy and understanding — not something you’re often on the receiving end of.

“I know I kinda fucked myself quitting like that, but I was tired of constantly being treated like shit. And not a fuck was I gonna stick around and take orders from a guy like that.” You crack a smile and Joel matches it.

“You keepin’ yourself busy?”

“Trying to figure out what’s next. Not sure if maybe I should do some more training somewhere, expand my skill set y’know, or just find another job. Not very easy with my dad breathing down my neck.” Joel nods, and his keen attention spurs you on. He’s one of few people who have actually listened to you about all this without giving you his own unwanted opinion or unsolicited advice.

“Only real silver lining is having time to pick up some old hobbies again. And talking to you, I guess.” Joel gives you a skew grin and you smile bashfully, lowering your gaze as you feel your cheeks redden.

“So what do you get up to when you’re not talkin’ to me, then?”

“Bits and pieces here and there. It’s been nice to get back into piano again.”

“Keen musician, are you? Play guitar myself, do a lot of the stuff that’s been playing here.”

The mental image of Joel playing guitar is not good for keeping your mind out of the gutter, and you're soon thinking about what one hand looks like plucking away at the strings, the other in a firm grip around the neck. One hand plucking away at you, the other in a firm grip around your neck. You stop yourself before that runs rampant in your mind, focusing on the song playing in the background.

“Wait, can you play In The Gallery?” You lean forward, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, a grin spreading across your face in shock and amazement.

“You know this?” Joel points off in no direction, giving you the same bewildered look, and your expression changes from that of awe to insult.

“Of course I do, it’s Dire Straits. Look, I may know jack shit about cars but I do know other things. Do you sing, too?”

He shifts his weight to one leg, cocking his head to the side. “Do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You flash a smile and he faces away again.

Joel’s bolted the front wheels back and is busy removing the rear ones when a phone starts ringing above the music.

“Hands a little full here. Can you answer? It’s just on the bench there.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but you stand and make your way to find it. Sliding to answer, you hold the phone to one ear and press a finger in the other to drown out the noise, slinking off towards Joel’s office.

-

Joel watches as you walk into his office, phone pressed into your ear. He’s been thinking about you since you arrived with your dad last week, and he’s glad to spend some time hearing what you have to say. And, you know, getting to really look at you without your dad around. 

He thought you looked beautiful in that dress last week — thought what you’d look like out in public with him in that same dress, with his jacket over your shoulders as the air grows cold, you writhing underneath him behind closed doors and waking up in his shirt next to him the following morning. He scolded himself when you drove off last week for allowing himself that indulgence, that twisted fantasy about a girl as young as you — but seeing how you are today, maybe he was right all along.

You’ve been staring at him since you parked, and the way you bite your bottom lip and openly ogle at him when you think he doesn’t notice tells him you’re thinking about the same things, too. 

You seemed shy, scared even, when you first stood in front of him, overshadowed by your father and his clear frustration with you. It seems you have no issue with pushing him, but he can see in the way you stand, closed off, and hear the unease in your constant defence that maybe this eats away at you more than you like to admit. He’s spent a mere two hours with you so far, and you shine when you’re free to say whatever you want, be whoever you want.

Your boyfriend Jake, however — he might be a challenge. Your smile faded when he was mentioned, saying your father’s fond of him, that he’s nice. Maybe you haven’t been together all that long, or on the contrary, been together too long, but if ‘nice’ is his most redeeming quality… He took your indifference and curt response as a sign to not push any further for now, but that boy, whoever he is, clearly doesn’t know how to keep a girl like you happy.

He’s considering fabricating some story of something else that needs repairs on your car just so you’d have a reason to come back, even if under false pretence. You probably would believe him given the evident gaps in your knowledge, but the risk of breaking your trust might not be worth it. He should keep his distance.

He focuses on the task at hand again and finds himself paying extra attention to his work. You won’t recognise good handiwork, but he knows you’ll be excited about having a fully functional car again. It’s not much, but seeing that winning smile spread across your face will be enough for him.

-

Much like Joel himself, it seems, his office is pleasantly well-kept, bar a few too many half-empty coffee mugs and stray papers littering the desk. A tatty plaid-print couch against the back wall, a mini fridge tucked next to the desk, a leather jacket hung over his chair. Blinds drawn and with no sign of Joel approaching, you trace your fingers across the collar, wondering what it would feel like hanging over your own shoulders, arms drowning in the too-long sleeves and you drowning in him.

You leave his office to walk back towards him and Joel raises his eyebrows questioningly, wiping his hands off on a rag. “So?”

“Woman named Hazel? She didn’t leave much of a message, she just asked if you could call her back. Said you’d have her number.” You hand the phone to him, his hands cool compared to the heat burning under your skin.

“Ah, guess I should,” he mumbles, a hand coming up to scratch the nape of his neck.

“Hm, so who’s Hazel? Is she pretty?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him, a cheeky grin on your face.

Joel scoffs a laugh. “Nobody you need to worry about, not my type.” You feel an odd sense of assurance at his admission. “Well, everything’s done, you’re good to go. Your dad paid last week already.”

“And what about all the hard work you put into this? Surely I owe you something for that?”

“You spendin’ the afternoon was payment enough.” He smiles at you, eyes softening. “I’ll see ya round, sweetheart. Come by any time, I mean it. And hey, if you ever need a change of scenery, you’re welcome to come answer the phone for me.”

You’re not entirely sure if he’s seriously offering you a job or just passing it off as banter. It would get you out of the house and put a bit of extra cash in your pockets; you’d get to spend days on end around Joel, watch him work, and maybe get a glimpse into who he is beyond the charming mechanic you know so far. 

It would certainly test your resolve being so close to him. You consider all the afternoons that may look like the one you’ve just had — easy work, no Eddie or other customers around, just you and Joel and the tension between you. You suppose you’d have to find something to do to pass the time on days like these… Then again, do you really want to risk having him see you as just the girl who answers the phone?

Maybe you can fake something, an excuse to bring you back here to see him again. The ruse wouldn’t last long, not when Joel takes one look at the car and sees clear as day there’s nothing wrong, but you can pin it all on inexperience. Either way, you won’t be forgetting him any time soon.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[flametrashiraarchive]

dom!giyuu x big titty reader

I had two asks for this specific thing. idk if you're the same person or not but here it is...

(I'm sorry if this sucks. I struggled so bad, I'm sorry.)

Content warning for spanking (boobs) and being tied up.

NSFW under the cut!

Tomioka Giyuu x boobs

Giyuu is good with ropes.

"Come here."

He pats his lap and watches as you make your way toward him.

Your arms are tied behind your back, ropes wound around your chest, crisscrossing intricately but leaving your breasts fully exposed.

He barely has to tug the rope tethered to the center of your chest to make you obey.

He loves the way your cheeks and tits blush when he binds you like this.

They sit so prettily and he loves the way they move when you walk.

His cock is already rock hard, but you wouldn't think it from his calm exterior

You sit astride his lap and he holds your hips, helping you balance.

"So, what was it you were mouthing off about earlier?" he asks. "You want to remind me?"

You hold his gaze, refusing to admit you were in the wrong.

"You're going to make me do it, aren't you?" He circles his fingertip around your nipple, loving the way it makes you squirm.

"You're going to give me no choice but to spank these pretty tits."

He loves your whimpers as he spanks them, nowhere near hard enough to actually hurt, but enough to make them bounce and blush.

"You feel like playing nice now? Or are you still being a brat?"

He'll happily spank your tits and your pussy all night to get you to behave.

Keeps you in his lap the whole time so you can feel how hard his dick is.

He'll have you bound in any position he fancies

Throws a rope over the rafters and hoists your arms in the air as he teases your breasts with his tongue.

He likes to see how hard he can get your nipples

Holds them between his lips and licks and licks until you can't hold back your whimpers.

Loves to feel the weight of them in his palms.

He'll stand behind you, one in each hand as he kisses your neck.

Rolling your nipples between his thumbs and fingers

Your gasps only make him harder.

If you're good, he'll fuck you

Keeps you tied up throughout, hoisting you onto his hips and burying his face in your chest

Those deep blue eyes watching you, waiting for you to crack and beg him.

"Giyuu... please."

"Use your words, brat. Please what? Are you gonna say you're sorry for before?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please let me cum."

"Good... you're so good for me."

Sucks your tits as he fucks you, knowing it'll help get you off

He'll leave hickeys on the underside of your breasts so no one can see, but you both know you belong to him.

And once you come he lets you down.

Gets you on your knees and cums on your tits, loving the sight of his spend dripping from them.

Will have you put your uniform back on without your bra.

Can't get enough of the way they move and strain against your clothing.

You mesmerize him

He'll never get enough.

[breannasfluff]

Talia is teaching them both a new skill: Sneaking. It is to be very quiet, which Jason already is. Not just with voice, but with body, she explains. 

Damian is good at the Sneaking. He is small and climbs a lot. He can hide in the rafters and jump down on Jason when he walks by. It is good for Jason to learn to be on alert and look up. 

He learns to listen to the silence and hear when it is full. He scans the hallways and the ceiling for Azizi. It has become a game now. 

When Jason finds him first, he holds out his arms for Dami to fall into. There is no worry of the child hitting the ground, not with his brother to catch him. 

It is harder for Jason to hide in the rafters. He is awkward and always, it feels like his body doesn’t fit right. Training puts on muscle and food adds weight and he’s unbalanced in a way he wasn’t before. 

The sneaking is good for him, then. He learns how to carry himself quietly, to climb into the rafters, to prowl after Damian. 

This is a new game; they can hunt each other across ceilings. They are both very good. 

“You need to learn to watch for attacks,” Talia says. 

Jason Watches, the way he always does when Talia speaks. The words make more sense, but he is still too slow for her patience. 

“Protect Damian,” she says, pointing at the child. “No danger.”

Silly. Of course, he will protect Dami. That is his purpose. 

“Safe,” he says and pats the child’s head. 

Talia just shakes her head and throws up her hands. “You will both learn.”

Read the rest here

[deathmetalunicorn1]

HI ITS ME THE ANON THAT ASKED FOR HUMAN READER RASING THOR AND LOKI! it was awesome and i was wondering if we could get another part with odin thor and loki being in the side of humanity during ragnorak. Pleas and thank you!

-It had been so many years since you rescued your adopted sons, rescuing them from a Frost Giant, before Odin found you with his children.

-They were no longer babies, no longer children, they were adults now, powerful warriors, but to you, they would always be your babies, and they knew it.

-Loki was more open with his affections, calling out happily to you as he hugged you, enjoying your affections as you greeted him. Thor was more reserved for behind closed doors, but he was very protective of you, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands with anyone if they disrespected you.

-Odin, your now husband, was much like Thor, preferring things to be behind closed doors, but occasionally he will hold your hand in public.

-All three of them were fiercely protective of you, as you were a human while they were all gods; they knew you weren’t weak by any means, you were a warrior in your own right, and all three knew not to cross you, not wanting to incur your wrath, which was you usually pulling off your shoe or grabbing a broom, but they knew you could be dangerous if you wanted to be.

-You doted on all three of your boys, pampering them with affection, always making sure they were fed, and being there for them if they needed you.

-Odin wouldn’t allow Ragnarok to go any further, as you were a human, he wasn’t risking you, even when Zeus offered to make sure you would be spared if humanity were to fall.

-Zeus arranged the tournament anyway, despite the 3 Norse gods voicing their displeasure with it, and Zeus just joked, “If you don’t like it, then fight for humanity yourselves!”

-Zeus was not laughing when Brunnhilde presented her roster, with all three of them on the list, fully ready to defend humanity, as they knew that not all humans were bad, just like not all gods were good.

-Faced with the prospect of facing Odin or Thor himself, Zeus was quick to call off the tournament, calling an emergency meeting to get everything fixed.

-When they arrived home that night, Loki flew over to you, “Mama~” you giggled softly, hugging him back, “I was wondering where you three were today.”

-They all froze, looking a bit panicked, as they didn’t tell you about the tournament, not wanting you to worry, but Loki just rubbed his cheek against yours, “Just had a lot of meetings with the other gods today.”

-You patted his cheek softly, “Well then it’s a good thing I made plenty for dinner since you all worked so hard!” You saw Thor smile softly as Loki cheered before Odin came over, bending to peck your cheek in greeting.

-He froze when you grabbed his beard, holding him there while your eyes blazed into his own. You knew.

-All three froze, looking at you with fear in their eyes as you smiled sweetly as Huginn and Muninn were quick to move from Odin’s shoulders to the rafters as you reached down to pull off a shoe, giving the three about a 5 second head start.

[magnoliasandarson]

Happy Birthday

“Surprise!”

A knife was in Jason’s hand in the heartbeat it took for the lights to flicker on. His eyes darted from laughing face to smiling face until he had checked over everyone in the room- all in the time it took to drop his bag and raise his knife-wielding arm. 

Bruce was hovering like an uncomfortable shadow behind Damian and Tim, Stephanie lounged on his kitchen counter like a heathen with Cass predictably at her side, Alfred was filming with a gently scuffed phone, Kori and Roy were blowing party horns, Babs was even next to Tim, and Dick was of course at the center of it all. All in all, Jason was now faced with ten unwanted guests in his home. Go fucking figure. 

Dick was the one to step forward, wasn’t he always?, still grinning like a fool as he gently took the knife from him, “Took you long enough to show up, Little Wing,” the acrobat wrapped an arm around the larger man’s shoulders, “Figures you’d be late to your own party.”

Jason’s tongue felt leaden as he took in the red streamers hung from his rafters and the large Happy Birthday spelled in silver balloons. His hands felt clammy and he itched for the knife now safely tucked in his brother’s pocket. Unconsciously, his fingers curled into fists as he croakily said, “Didn’t ‘spect an ambush, Dickie.”

Dick tutted like Jason had just said he didn’t expect the sky to be blue, “C’mon, Jaybird, you know better than that.” He did, he truly did, but he didn't expect something for today of all days.

Roy stepped forward, grinning like a fucking idiot in a way that made Jason’s chest tighten, and pulled him into a bro-hug, “Happy birthday,” the archer’s grip tightened, and his voice lowered as he continued, “Star and I can blow this bitch to hell if you want to get out.”

Jason, while not religious, was ready to thank whatever higher power was out there that he had Roy and Kori in his life. Jason forced air back into his lungs and squeezed his fellow Outlaw, “I’ll be okay. They need this,” he patted the redhead’s back, a clear signal for get the fuck off me before I stab you, and accepted the armful of Tamaranean princess.

Kori, ever the least subtle of her teammates, gleefully exclaimed, “Happiest of birthdays, dear one.” She lifted them both off the ground and squeezed hard enough to make something in Jason’s chest creak, “I have informed the Bats that I will burn them if they don’t behave,” she pulled away enough for Jason to see her eyes glowing a fiery green despite her large smile, “and I have brought a present!”

Jason huffed a half laugh as he was lowered back down. Tim offered him an odd sort of half-hug that was followed by Damian's frankly ridiculous handshake. Dick tried to snag him in one of his nightmare hugs of doom, but Roy distracted him with some gossip about the old Titans. Stephanie fully attempted to spear tackle him (fortunately missing), and Cass managed to pin his arms for a hug. Babs simply gave him a stern look, and he was forced into a squatted embrace. He and Bruce just exchanged nods. 

But Alfred, Jason let himself be tugged into the old man’s gentle embrace, and he was immediately reminded of better days. Back when every single breath didn’t hurt, back when he could see an action movie without being tossed into fight or flight, back when he could work on a car without having a panic attack, back before he ruined everything.

Jason sniffed a little as he pulled away, blinking hard to push back tears that physically would never appear. He sat down at the table, tolerating the half-noogie Dick tried to give him before Kori nailed him with a star bolt, sending him staggering back a few steps. His smile turned genuine for a few seconds, right up until the cake came out. 

There was a large 20 emblazoned across the top in chunky red letters.

That can’t be right. He felt his face fall in real-time as he stared at the burning candles.

He wasn’t twenty. 

He had died when he was fifteen, four months before his sixteenth birthday. He came back in October, but he was catatonic for almost two years. 

He wasn’t twenty.

He hadn’t aged when he was dead. He hadn’t really aged when he was walking around brain-dead. Right up until they dunked him in the pit, the lights were on, but no one was home. 

A dead boy can’t age, right?

He wasn’t twenty- he didn’t even have a driver’s license. 

The candles on the cake burned all the way into the icing before he was aware again. Roy was on one side, Kori on the other, as they tried to pull him out of the darkness in his own mind. He loved them both so much it made his chest ache. Jason’s eyes flickered between the other faces at the table, and blurs of memories, shadows, and nightmares looked back at him.

He wasn’t twenty- he couldn’t be.

The world shattered around him in a ghoulish kaleidoscope of greens and reds, fire and blood reaching out and pulling him under. He never turned sixteen, he never turned seventeen, he never turned eighteen, he never turned nineteen- he couldn’t be turning twenty.

The monsters around his table lurched forward in a horrifying swirl of colors that made bile rise up his throat. The hand on his left arm was gently shaking him, but he was beyond that. Jason couldn't breathe there was fucking laughter coming from somewhere and he was scared-

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and bit firmly down on his tongue, trying desperately to regulate his breathing and heart rate. Blood filled his mouth as he shot up from his chair- I’m alive, I’m okay, I’m alive- His hands reached out for Kori and Roy, but they came up empty.

His eyes shot open-

HERE LIES JASON TODD

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Happy Birthday @forget-me-maybe !!!! Please enjoy the little Rolan treat I've cooked up for your special day (o゜▽゜)o☆ SFW Rolan/Reader It's your Birthday, and Rolan is hosting your party.

Rolan had been so flattered that you invited him to your Birthday celebration, and was all too eager when you asked if Ramazith's Tower could act as the venue.

Cleaning, decorating, cooking-- Rolan neglects his work for an entire week to ensure that your party is just as elegant and extravagant as you deserve.

Dressed to the nines in a new suit he purchased just for the occasion, Rolan pats the carefully crafted letter in his breast pocket as guests begin to pour in.

Hosting comes easy to him, especially when all of the idle chatting consists of compliments to the party-- how delicious the food is, how beautiful the fresh cut flowers are, how impressive the spells of dancing lights are high up in the rafters. He feels in his element--at the top of his game.

At least, until you show up.

You're an absolute vision with your hair done up and a gorgeous red dress accentuating your body. All of the confidence he had garnered suddenly dissipated at the sight of you. He had put on airs to seem elegant, but you do it so effortlessly. The decorations he had carefully picked suddenly feel inadequate, the food poor. It all seems cobbled together and holding on by a thread when compared to you.

The flow of conversation turns from the party to you instead, and though it's one of Rolan's favorite subjects, he hangs back, downing glass after glass of wine as he watches the guests flock to you and demand your attention.

It seems like you're having a great time. He drinks and watches you from across the room, face lighting up as you speak with your friends and former companions. He catches your laughter from above the music and idle chatter, and his heart sings with it. He smiles himself, face warm with wine and affection.

Your eyes fall on him from your spot amongst your friends. Rolan's smile falters and his blush deepens as he quickly turns around, busying himself with straightening the napkins on the table. His heart is racing as his hands flutter along the spread, realizing just how rude he may be coming off as. He needs to formulate a game plan-- a casual sauntering over and a few words of congratulations. He's watched countless people do it at this point, he just needs to muster up the courage--

"Hey you."

Rolan stiffens and turns around, his palms going damp with just how close you are to him.

"H-Hello," He manages out, his tongue feeling slow and sloppy from wine and nerves, "And the happiest of Birthdays to you."

Your eyes roam his face, lips pouting out just the slightest, "You haven't come to talk to me yet."

"Yes, well--" Rolan can feel himself floundering, his cheeks positively burning, "You were chatting amongst your friends--"

"You're also a friend, you know."

"Yes, well..." Rolan starts again, but he can't seem to think of a response. Instead, he draws his eyes away from you, looking out at the gathering of people, trying his damndest to slow his heart, "I hope the party is to your liking."

"It's phenomenal." Your eyes follow his, "I can't believe you did this all for me."

"It was no trouble."

You laugh softly at that, and his tail sways happily behind him.

"Liar. I can see that you went through a great deal of trouble." You pluck a flower from the table and hold it between the two of you, a smile on your lips, "This amount of fresh orchids? You're a madman."

Rolan's hand raises to take the offered flower, but he thinks better of it. "Do you like them?"

"I do." You twirl the stem between your fingers, eyes on him all the while. "What do they mean?" Rolan isn't sure if it's the wine in his system or how flustered he is, but he doesn't understand the question. You laugh again. "Every flower has a meaning, right? Do you know what orchids mean?"

"Oh, I believe they mean beauty," Rolan clears his throat, feigning his ignorance, "And strength...or something to that effect."

"Aren't they also a symbol of love?"

Rolan feels like he's been caught red-handed. He clears his throat again and straightens his shoulders, eyes anywhere but your face, "That may be the case. It's not really my area of expertise."

"I see..." He doesn't miss the disappointed note in your tone. "Well, either way, they're beautiful. Thank you, Rolan... I really appreciate all of this."

He nods, a flush of happiness warming him. "Of course."

Your eyes draw him in again, and he can see something written on your face that he can't quite figure out. It seems as if you're about to say something, but with a small shake of your head, the look passes.

You lean in close, and Rolan makes a small noise of surprise in the back of this throat. Your soft fingers brush against his chest and find the breast pocket of his suit jacket. You slide the orchid into the pocket, straightening it just right so that the delicate petals are facing out.

"There." You say, hand lingering against his ribs before finally pulling back, a flush of your own pinkening your cheeks. "Perfect." There's a moment of weighted silence before you take a step back, "I guess I should get back to the par--"

Your words are cut off as Rolan's tail slinks forward, the flared end sliding over the side of your dress, clearly looking to wrap around you. Horrified, Rolan snags his tails and shoves it behind himself.

"S-sorry," He stammers, straightening his jacket to keep his hands occupied, "Please, go enjoy yourself."

You raise an eyebrow, your cheeks still rosy. "If you want me to stay, you only need to ask."

"N-no, it's fine." Rolan's hands brush over the letter still hiding in his pocket, and his stomach flips uncomfortably. "I shouldn't keep you to myself."

You stay in place, like you want to stay. Or perhaps it's only that Rolan wants you to. Seeing you standing before him, so beautiful, so perfect, so clearly expecting something that he can't quite put his finger on...

Rolan drags in a shaky breath and digs the letter from his pocket and jerks it out to you, his claws indenting into the envelope and bending it.

"Here."

He has to will his hand to open as you take the letter. You're clearly confused by his sudden outburst, but it doesn't matter. All will be revealed to you shortly. There's no going back from this point.

Even with the enormity of what he's just set in motion, Rolan's shoulders feel lighter as he draws back, tail swishing nervously behind him.

"Please, don't read it until you're home." He inclines his head, "Now, go and enjoy your party."

You're still thoroughly confused, but you tuck the letter away and promise him you won't read it just yet. With a parting smile, you leave him and are instantly roped into another conversation.

Rolan's breathing returns to something resembling normalcy, but his heart is thundering. He did it. He really did it.

He pours himself another glass of wine, thinking over the contents of the letter. Even after countless revisions, he still finds himself cringing at just how unabashed it is. But he wants--needs-- you to know exactly how he feels. All of these grand, encompassing emotions that you bring forth in him. Just how much he loves you.

Whether you accept his confession or not...well, that's another matter.

With that monumental task out of the way, Rolan hangs back, sipping at his wine and absently petting the soft petals of the orchid you placed on his chest.

[bluespring864]

What percent of Australia think Roger Federer is hot?

Or: Andy Murray thirsting over Roger Federer and Pat Rafter and telling us all about the Spanish and South American guys parading around naked in the locker room.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 3)

18+ plus only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult themes, angst, discussions of alcohol consumption, etc

Thank you all so much for your patience while I was out of town…I love you and never intentionally keep you waiting! You’re my babies!! ❤️❤️

“Why am I always the last to know everything?” Sam slips into Josh’s dressing room, shirtless and as always, slapping along on two bare feet “Is it because I’m the youngest, or are you just an asshole?”

In contrast to his brother, Josh drips in beaded satin; glitter swept deftly across his eyes; rhinestones grabbing at the light until he winks and flashes like a star against its midnight sky.

No one would expect anything less. He is always the first to be found wandering the hallowed arena halls, made up and shining like old Hollywood royalty. It soothes him…a lullaby masquerading as expensively tailored glitz. You used to help him…zipping up jumpsuits he could have easily secured himself, fussing over his hair, lint rolling velvet, laughing and chattering away to keep his mind off that unforgiving anxiety of his. They are memories he cherishes and thinks of nearly every time he primps.

They each have their rituals - Daniel bangs around on a kit until his arms are loose and his mind is buzzing with adrenaline. Sam terrorizes the crew and his brothers with his trusty four-legged sidekick, shaking off the jitters with hijinks. And Jake scrutinizes his gear meticulously, checking the work of techs and roadies who definitely know what they’re doing. He usually finds something to pick apart anyway. It sharpens his focus and quiets his mind.

Josh steps into costume and becomes someone else. Someone he often doesn’t recognize…who is this person with such charisma and grace? He who commands the attention of crowd after crowd roaring and shaking the rafters? He who is worthy of such primal, hungry fervor?

That is how he finds the spotlight night after night. While the others do their own things, Josh quietly dresses and becomes someone, something, else.

And so, draped in his finery, he watches Sam through the mirror as he flops into a chair, all legs and attitude. “By all means, Samuel, make yourself at home.”

“Were you even going to tell me that she’s here? She always liked me best, you know? She was just too sweet to mention it to you idiots.”

Josh turns with a chorus of clattering glass beads, and leans back against the vanity, arms folded “One, I haven’t even seen you since I found out, so you’ll forgive me. Two, I knew Daniel would break his fucking neck to be the first to tell you,” He shrugs, “figured I’d let him have his moment.”

Popping open a White Claw, Sam ignores his brother's carping in favor of a question “You see her yet?”

“Yes,” Josh turns back to his reflection, patting a fingertip lightly over his eye makeup.

Never in possession of any patience to speak of - the baby of the family rarely is - Sam immediately prods him along. “And?”

He’s met with a sigh, “And what? I went to see her, we caught up for a little while, and then I left. That was that.”

“I went to see her,” there’s a mocking, obnoxious quality to Sam’s tone as he parrots Josh “we caught up for a while and then I— would you shut up? What happened? How is she?”

“She’s...I don’t know. She’s herself and not herself. She looked sad.” The revelation comes with a sadness of its own. “She’s getting married, so she shouldn’t have looked so damn miserable...but she did, and I hated it. It almost made me wish I hadn’t even knocked on her door.”

“I’m usually sad when you knock on my door, too.” Sam deadpans, attempting to lighten the mood at least a little.

“Must you lie, Samuel? You’re stricken with joy when I enter a room, just like everybody else.”

“Christ,” Sam mutters, tossing Josh a white claw to match his own, “I swear, if you could suck your own dick, you would.”

Josh cracks it open and slurps with a dramatic flourish, “Obviously.”

“Why do you think she looks so miserable?” Sam is pondering, turning something over in his mind with worry evident in his eyes.

“Probably because she knows she’ll likely have to see you. That’d be my guess, anyway.”

Josh is disguising his own knotted up stomach with humor. Sammy knows it, and chooses to ignore the dig.

They settle into their drinks until Sam speaks up once again, “She’s getting married? That’s just…” he quiets, unsure and still bristling with concern, “How are you gonna tell him? You gotta wait until after the show, that’s for sure.”

For once in his life, Josh has been rendered temporarily speechless, and that answers the question just fine.

“Are you serious?” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knobby knees, “You can’t be serious.”

“How am I going to tell him?” Now they’re just lobbing questions back and forth at one another. “You can’t be serious!”

Sam’s eyes widen, shocked and hurting for Jake in his absence. It would almost be comical if the situation could lend itself to anything other than this crushing weight, “We have to tell him, Josh. This isn’t okay. He has the right to—“

Suddenly, Josh pushes away from the vanity and the energy radiating from him shifts until he looks nearly frantic, “He has the right to what, Sam? To know? To see her? Have you lost your fucking mind? Put him in a room with her and we’re right back where we started. Three years progress,” his fingers snap harshly, “Poof! gone in a goddamn second.”

Matching his energy, Sam is on his feet in an instant, “Progress? Now whose lost his fucking mind? What progress are we talking about here, Josh? Because from where I’m standing, he’s made none. For his twin you’re remarkably ignorant.”

“I’m not ignorant,” this is bad, especially right before they’re expected to perform. They both know it, but on they march. “I know him backwards and forwards, Sammy, so just fucking listen to me for once. She stays in the past for him and that’s just the way it’s gonna be, end of discussion.”

“She stays in his past, or yours?” Sam counters, sizing his eldest brother up as though he can see right through him.

Shoulders slumped, Josh shakes the venom in Sammy’s accusation off “That isn’t fair.”

“I don’t give a shit. Answer the question.”

Sometimes, Sam readies for battle in a manner that always comes as a shock no matter how many times they’ve seen it happen. When he sheds that goofball demeanor in favor of a game face, it hardly seems real.

He is fierce in his love and loyalty to those he holds close, and tonight, Jacob has earned his favor.

“This isn’t about me, I promise you that.” The truth rings out clear in Josh’s vow. “I loved her once, I love her still, just differently now. I couldn’t do that to him. Not ever. The way he loved her canceled me out a long time ago.”

“Loves her.” Sam corrects, with a finger pointed at his brother to drive home his point.

“All the more reason to keep your mouth shut.” Josh’s timbre is threatening in a way it almost never is. It sounds and feels strange…out of place. “She’s getting fucking married, do you really think he can handle that? Use your fucking head, Sam. Leave it alone.”

Hand on the door handle, Sam watches Josh as if he’d very much like to hurt him, “Who are you to decide what he can and can’t handle?”

~

The show is their worst in their collective memory since their days as greenhorns, though it’s doubtful the fans have taken notice. Each mishap is small and easily disguised, but present all the same. They are unsteady and off-kilter, but only Jake is oblivious as to why.

He snaps a string, misses a mark, foils a riff or two. Josh falls flat and overcompensates, vibrato ringing out sharp. Sam refuses to look in his eldest’s brother’s direction, leaving them detached and removed in an unsettling way. Danny is on point from a technical standpoint, but robotic…their chemistry has vanished tonight and they can all feel it.

The moment they stalk off stage, Sam is clamoring for Jake’s attention as Josh fights to intercept.

Most nights, they’ll filter off into their respective solitude for a time to bask in the quiet before the noise of the bus. Tonight, Sam follows Jake, and Josh follows Sam.

“Jake,” Sam jogs along, easily closing the distance his brother has gained ahead of him with those lanky legs of his. “Hold up, I need to talk to you.”

“It can wait.” Jake is on a mission, clearly in a hurry to close a door and shut out the world. To find a bottle and make love to the whiskey inside it.

“No, it can’t because—“

“He said it can wait, Sam.”

Josh’s admonishment, and the viciousness it’s crackling with, is what turns Jake around. It makes no sense for his twin to be this hostile over something so innocuous; over some random conversation Sam would like to have that doesn’t even involve him.

He turns to find Josh’s glare burning murderously in Sam’s direction. The air emanating from him is in such dramatic contrast to the sunny ray of entertaining light that has just been beaming around the stage, and immediately, Jake senses the urgency of the moment.

On his part, Josh feels the switch flip inside his twin and knows that they’re about to head into dangerous territory. Fucking Sam.

“What?” Jake is furiously fumbling with his hair, shoving sweat soaked snarls away from his face, suddenly overstimulated and on edge. “What is it?”

Sammy speaks up, fighting to be heard clearly as crew members dart around and rush by in a flurry of tasks. “She’s here. Well, not here, but at the hotel.”

Defeated, Josh admits his loss with a quiet “God damn it, Sam.”

Jake somehow manages to catch it over the din and he knows. Or at least, he thinks he knows. He can feel it coming off of Josh like ghostly fingers stretching out to claw at his chest. Still, he doesn’t quite understand, the pieces are just this shy from falling into place.

“Who?” His query is tentative…filled with hopefulness and also a strange terror. A fear he’s only ever felt once before, when, helpless and shattered, he had to watch you say goodbye. A torturous longing only you can evoke.

Sam’s lips part to speak, but Josh shoves past him, grabbing Jake by the arm with black beads shaking about on his shoulders. “No one. Go shower. Have a drink.”

Somehow, Josh’s grip tells Jake everything. All that feverish panic seeps into the fabric of his jacket, somehow chilling his flesh with its burn. “She’s here?” His entire body is rattling with frenetic energy and he wonders if he might crumple to the ground and spark like a downed power line if Josh were to let go of him.

“Jake,” his name is a coddling whisper on his twin's lips, “Leave. Now. C’mon, I’ll go with you. You know what’s best, I know you do.”

As it turns out, Jake doesn’t hit the ground like a live wire, because when he shoves Josh off, his footing is sure. “How did you know she was here? You knew? And you weren’t gonna fucking tell me? Have you seen her?”

Ashamed, and afraid of what’s to come, Josh remains silently stoic under his brother’s eager and furious scrutiny.

“I said, have you fucking seen her?” Now Jake’s body is vibrating with a fury so out of control it’s threatening to boil over and scald anyone in its path.

Suddenly, Danny appears as though summoned by the gods of intervention, as he so often seems to be. He steps in, tugging Jake away from his brothers while staring daggers at Sam.

Sam never fucking thinks…or is he the only one who is actually thinking clearly this time around?

“Come on,” Jake is stumbling around on his feet to keep up with a much larger Daniel, as he drags him along to his dressing room.

It feels like a fever dream when at last he pushes Jake into a chair before shutting their brothers out with a door slammed in their faces.

“Look,” he finds a seat in front of Jake and places a hand on his bouncing knee. “You’ve got to calm down and think for a minute. Do you really want to see her? I mean…”

He isn’t given the chance to finish his sentence, because nothing any of them can say will matter anyway.

“Take me to her.” Neither of them could have any way of knowing that Jake’s plea mirrors the one you had struggled to swallow down in Danny’s arms.

“I don’t know where she is.” He speaks in honesty, and Jacob can sense that.

“Find out.” He rises to his feet and straightens his back, resolved and ready to fight for this. Ready to fight for you. “Josh knows, that fuck. Go find out.”

“Alright,” Daniel nods because what’s to be done now? What’s to pointlessly fight? “Shower in here. I’ll go talk to him.”

~

You’re mindlessly staring at the television screen, gaze blurring and focusing in and out as some chef with a lovely accent you can’t seem to place tosses ingredients round a hissing wok.

The entire room is awash in the scent of the shower you’ve just wept your way through, and the robe you’re swaddled in feels stiff and scratchy. You should change, you know, but you haven’t the energy. Better to lie here uncomfortable and twisted up in aching sadness, that old friend of yours whom you’ve denied for far too long.

Lie to yourself all you want. Shove it inside a box and lock it up tight with chains and latches until it rusts shut, but that throbbing agony will wait patiently for you. Never losing focus, ever vigilant for the moment it can blast its way back into your broken heart.

How you’ll ever rise and put on a professional face for brunch in the morning is a cipher you don’t care to decode tonight.

He’s all you can think of; memories of him. Loneliness for him. The need, so real and palpable. It’s as if you can smell him on your skin though he hasn’t swept his fingers across it in years.

Years? How is that even possible? It seems laughable that you’ve managed so long without him. It seems impossible. A nightmare that you’ve been muddling through.

When the knock sounds out, clipped and sure, at your door, you’re tempted to ignore it - and you even give it a go, but it comes again along with a cheery greeting “Room service!”

You haven’t ordered room service at all, but there stands a smart looking hotel employee, dressed to the hilt in his crisp uniform, waiting patiently beside a cart, when you peer through the peep-hole.

Tightening that terrible robe, you crack open the door, readying to let him know he’s made a mistake, when a hand darts out to push several folded up bills into the server’s hand.

Stunned and struck silent, you manage only to stare as Jake gives thanks and sends him on his way, eyes never straying from your face.

He reaches for you instinctively, but thinks better of it and drops those hands you know so well to his sides, flexing them as if to shake the need to touch you away.

Instead, he opts to offer a soft smile and a gentle joke “Hey, sugar, how’d we get to this place where I’ve got to pay off hotel employees to knock on your door for me, hmm?”

“I—“ You give your head a tiny shake, begging the thoughts rattling around inside it to make sense.

He looks so different. His hair is shorter, and he’s filled out, thickened in a way that makes your throat constrict for all you’ve missed. He’s as beautiful as ever. Alluring and changed, but still just him. Familiar and breathtaking. Perfect and right. Yours. But yours no longer.

Strangely, it’s what he’s wearing that makes you weakest and a little unsteady. He’s dressed in tattered sweats and a beaten up t-shirt. Thrashed vans that were stark white in another life, and damp hair, clearly brushed in a hurry. You love this so much more than if he’d strutted back into your life dressed to the nines. You’d hate to think he’d forgotten you enough to think that sort of thing might impress you.

“Are you gonna invite me in or should I just stand out here in the hallway all night watching you?”

A laugh, breathy and dumbfounded, huffs out of you. You remember the first time he’d said those words to you, and surely he does too. Was that a calculated effort on his part? To remind you of where you’ve been together? Of who you were together?

It’s an awful, self-destructive idea, inviting him in, and you know it is, you do. But when he steps into the room, you can smell him and the fist that has been cruelly clenched around your heart for countless days and nights, relaxes and finally, finally, you can breathe.

The door closes with a click and he’s suddenly so close you could taste his breath if you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into it.

“Hi, pretty girl,” He hushes, and you wish his mouth was pressed against your ear so you could secret that quiet greeting away and live on it for the rest of your days.

All that white-hot closeness morphs into a hug. He’s hiding behind the platonic gesture, and so are you, but he can feel it, the way your body tenses and then melts against his own.

He feels as if he might disintegrate into a puddle of blackened anguish if he ever has to let you go, forever staining the horrendous hotel flooring where you once stood like an ethereal phantom sent to mend his heart. But a hideous reminder of where you once existed in this room with him for a few precious moments.

His hands have touched too many bodies to count since he last held you, but he has felt nothing until this moment.

No, he loathes the thought of letting you go, but he pulls back anyway, readying to let you lead this interaction. Alas, his palms find your cheeks all on their own, cupping the beautiful face he’s bartered with the devil for, that he’s prayed to god for, that he’s raged and begged for.

“My girl,” he wonders, like you can’t possibly be real. “My fucking girl.”

Your hands are molded over his, how did that happen? And then he’s releasing your face in order to lace your fingers together…he longs to touch you everywhere, but that isn’t okay any longer, is it? So he’s desperate for a way to latch onto you innocently.

He feels it then, and holds fast when you try to pull your hand away. Gaze - gorgeous honey swirling with caramel and horror - locked in on yours, he turns your hand to inspect the ring perched there like a weapon sent to destroy him.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @profitofthedune @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake

[in1-nutshell]

AYYAYAAY REQUEST ARE OPENN :DD

Now I can actually say this since I’m curious

I want to see Ophelia snap, like get really angry since we barely see her getting anger :3

Ophelia doesn't snap too often, but when she does... it isn't pretty.

Hope you enjoy!

Ophelia snaps

SFW, Romance, Slight Angst, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

RID 2015

Ophelia was working on some of the Decepticon hunter’s while the others were out on their daily patrol.

Even Fix-it joined the team, leaving Denny and Russel.

Ophelia happily explained some of the repairs to the humans when the sounds of engines roaring came in.

Ophelia smiled to herself as she and the human went to the main area.

She was not prepared to see the team all battered up.

And noticing the absence of their leader and her Conjunx.

Ophelia racing over to the team gently guiding them to the med bay. Ophelia: “Where’s Bee and Steve?” Drift groaning: “We were ambushed. Bumblebee and Steve stayed behind to buy us all some time to escape. They have been captured.” Ophelia clenches her servos before going to the main console before grabbing a Decepticon hunter and marching to the entrance. Grimlock blocks the exit with his tail: “Lia? What are you doing?” Ophelia: “I’m getting our leader and Conjunx back.” Sideswipe: “You? Alone? Fat chance.” Strongarm: “If the 7 of us barely got out of there what makes you think going there alone is a good idea?” Ophelia gives them all a harsh glare. Some of the bots step back. Ophelia: “I HAVE a plan Strongarm. And I WILL get them out of there with or without the team. So, who’s with me?”

The team was surprised seeing how serious the minibot was on their way to the location.

They arrived at an abandoned warehouse.

Steve and Bumblebee were both tied up and gagged in the middle of the room.

The team began to run towards them, when the traps got triggered.

One by one each member got tied up, rendering them immobile.

Out of the shadows the leader of the small group of cons had shown his face.

It was during the monologue that the team realized that they were a member short.

Leader: “And then when I—I, I’m sorry I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re ignoring me.” SLAM! The rafter above the Cons opens up and a familiar minibot lands. Steve in pure panic: “OPHELIA!” Drift: “So that’s where she ran off to.” Bumblebee noticing Steve on the verge of a panic attack: “Drift, not the time.” The leader and his crew laugh at the minibot holding the smaller version of a Decepticon hunter.

Leader: “HAHAHAHAHA! And what is the little minibot going to do with that puny toothpick?” Ophelia: “…Have you forgotten who I am?” She activates the Decepticon hunter turning into a mace. Ophelia: “Let me give you a reminder of who’s team you decided to hurt.”

The team stared in shock at the brutal beatdown the pacifist minibot laid on the Cons.

Steve had flashbacks to the ‘training’ sessions he had seen on the Nemesis.

Not very good flashback either.

Once Ophelia had finished beating the Cons up and putting them in their respective stasis cuffs, it was as if a switch had been turned on.

Ophelia ran to Bumblebee with fear in her optics. Ophelia: “Is everyone okay?! Hold on, I’ll get those things off you!” Ophelia unties Bumblebee and then Steve. Steve immediately pulls her in for a hug. Ophelia responds with an equally strong hug. Steve: “Don’t you EVER do something like that again! Please… don’t do that…” Ophelia just hugs him tighter. Steve pulls her closer and carries her bridal style. Ophelia: “My Spark, I can walk.” Steve: “I know.” Ophelia just looks at his face with love. Sideswipe: “Since when can you do that!?” Ophelia: “You don’t become the temporary leader of the Decepticon’s without knowing how to fight Sides.” Strongarm: “You were the what?!” Ophelia looking over at Grimlock: “Did no one really know that?” Grimlock just shrugs before patting her helm. Drift nods and joins the others. Bumblebee goes up to her side: “You did good Ophelia, but like Steve said—” Ophelia rolling her optics playfully and tiredly: “I know, I know… but I don’t regret it.” Steve squeezes her a bit before joining the others on the walk back home.

snap!

[yanderecrazysie]

Happily Never After (Prologue)

I know, I know, I have too many stories going, but I just have been put in a chokehold by the Time Princess game and I can’t help it. Forgive me.

This book will have characters from different fandoms for each story, starting with Jujutsu Kaisen for the first arc. You do not need to know anything about each fandom to enjoy the story, as these are all AUs.

Your home was deadly quiet after the funeral. You drove yourself and your siblings home, since your mother was staying for the reading of the will. You knew your grandmother was only giving money, items, and a share of her old house to her direct children, so you would not be included.

Your siblings had already gone to bed, but you waited up for your mother to return home. You felt hollow inside, but you were hoping your mother would bring you something you could remember your grandmother by.

The two of you had been so close… it was hard to believe she was gone.

The door to your house opened and your mother came inside, holding something in her hands. She looked at you and her eyes softened, “Hi, sweetie, how are you holding up?”

You burst into tears and your mother flew forward to wrap her arm around you, “I know, I know.”

She let you cry until you were finished and you looked up at her, “Did Grandma will you any items?”

“Yes,” your mother reassured you, “We’ll be using a UHaul to get it all over to our house. However, I thought this might cheer you up. I think Mom would have wanted you to have it.”

She handed over the thing she had been holding and your eyes filled with tears again. You sniffled and wiped them away, a smile gracing your face for the first time in weeks.

Grandma’s old storybook. The book she had read to you every night before bedtime throughout your childhood and even when you had gotten too old for fairytales.

You couldn't voice your gratitude with your throat closing up like this, but your mother understood, gently patting you on the back. You headed up to your room, holding the storybook with reverence.

As soon as you retired to your room, you ran your fingers down the spine of the book before opening it to a random page.

Immediately the world went black.

“Wake up! Wake up! Get up you lazy…”

You woke suddenly, the blackness still swimming in your vision. You didn’t recognize the voice that had been yelling at you and, as you sat up, you quickly realized you didn’t recognize your surroundings either.

It looked like you were in an attic- with cobwebs sticking to the rafters and dust on every surface in the barely-furnished room. The bed you were lying on was extremely uncomfortable and you wondered how you had been asleep in the first place.

Also, where the hell were you?

[bookmaker-untaken]

you do your job, but your boss hates it

ayato kamisato x guard!reader // Genshin Impact

Summary: You want Ayato Kamisato to fire you. Too bad you’re his best guard, right?

Authors Note: Spellcheck kept changing “my liege” to “my life” and like… yeah.

Word Count: 831

You want Ayato Kamisato to fire you.

Scratch that, you need Ayato Kamisato to fire you. It is paramount to his safety that he fires you – but he won’t.

You’re his best guard.

You’re quiet and you’re stealthy and you’re swift and you get the job done, so he won’t fire you.

But you need him to fire you, because you’re in love with him.

There are no rules against it, per say – but you think there should be.

You look at him too long, for example, and everything around him fades a little until there’s only a soft focus. Which is bad! You’re a guard! You need to be aware of your surroundings, that’s like rule number one!

Well, rule number one is actually “remain unseen”, but you’re on a roll, so what’s one more broken rule?

You drop from the rafters to jump an assassin going straight for Ayato. In your mind you’ve already killed this person and accepted your punishment for breaking the aforementioned rule.

But don’t see the other assassin behind you, though, only feel the knife burying itself into your back.

Ayato catches you as you fall forward. You have half a mind to thank him, but something else comes out instead.

“Oh, my liege,” You say. “Your beautiful white robes…”

And then you slump in his arms, the darkness swallowing you before you can even start to enjoy it.

~~~

You come to, floating on a cloud.

Your eyes are too heavy to lift. A gentle hand carefully brushes the sweat-damp hair from your forehead. Automatically, you snuggle into it. This is what heaven must feel like, you think. Wait! You’re a royal guard! You’re not going to heaven!

You try to sit up, but a pain shoots through you and you fall back.

“Be careful,” Comes a smooth voice that washes over you like a summer rain. “You /are/ injured, you know,”

That teasing lilt, you’d know that anywhere! Your eyes dart to the man at your bedside so fast you’re surprised when they don’t fall out.

“My liege!” You jump and break into a fit of coughing and Ayato leans over his lap desk to pat your back.

“Calm down,” He orders, though it is soft.

You lay back down to placate him. “Where are the preparators?”

“You killed them. All the better, too,” There’s a hard look in his eyes.

“My liege,” You say, lowering your head. “I apologize - “

“For what?” He waves his hand. “Saving my life?”

“I didn’t stay hidden,”

“For good reason,”

You can't argue with that, so you lower your head again. Could you feel them, you would be shifting your feet. “I do not think my liege needed my assistance taking down such… sloppy assassins,”

“So why did you jump down?”

You freeze.

“Tell me…” He leans forward, and you can feel his breath and the full weight of his gaze. “Do you feel nothing but agency toward me?”

You had long since thrown away your feelings, as a guard has no need for such things.

The shriveled thing in your chest could hardly count as a heart.

“My liege -”

“My liege, my liege. I stay vigilant at your bedside and you still do not call me by my name?”

You almost pass out right there.

“I -” You look away. “Cannot.”

“And if I give you permission to?”

Your blush warms all the way up to your ears. “I still cannot,”

“Why?”

“Because… It is beneath you,”

He’s quiet for a second. “I could just order you, you know,”

All of the air leaves your lungs and he hides his smirk behind his hand.

“Please, do not,”

“Why?” He says, smirk dripping into his voice. “Because you would have no choice but to obey?”

You cough a little.

“Oh, sorry, you /are/ a sick patient,” But he doesn't sound very sorry at all.

“…If I say it, will you let me be?” You do not look at him.

Ayato looks at you, and again the weight from his gaze again squeezes what little air you have from your lungs.

“I cannot agree to that, really,” He said, voice soft. “But I would treasure it dearly,”

You want to say that he is exaggerating, that he is making fun of you.

“But, I understand,” He says, pulling away - sitting up straight.

Wait, you want to say. You almost apologize, but your tongue halts. You can see a subtle shift in the way he holds his shoulders, despite his proper form.

You don't say anything for a long time. You are mustering.

“What?” He says, not to tease, but truly because the quiet rasp of your voice may have just been a rough exhale.

“Ayato,” You repeat, soft like falling snow and his eyes widen.

And then he smiles, gentle and feather light.

You swear to protect that smile with everything you have, not that you can say something as such.

You’d combust - and he’d never let you live down.

[bastigone]

Useful Pest (18+) (NSFW)

GN!drow x Kar'niss (Bg3)

-- -- -- -- --

Summary: An unnamed drow thinks of a better use for Kar'niss than just holding a lantern

Warnings: BDSM, restraints, degradation, pincer-fucking, unspecified genitalia, oral sex, drider sex, like can't stress enough they are fucking a half spider

-- -- -- -- --

A drider, pale of flesh with a halo of odd-blinking eyes around his face, crouched in the corner of the old horse shed. The stall was cramped for a creature of his size, made to house hooves and manes, not eight legs and an abdomen. He kept his hands folded nervously over his chest, fingers twitching with purposelessness.

“Our purpose, She gave us…” the drider whispered unbidden.

“Silence.” The drow, tall, lanky, built of shadow and silk, commanded. The drider cast all seven eyes blankly to the dirt floor of the shed. With deft practice the drow unhooked the white, glowing lantern from the staff, giving the caged pixie a shake for good measure. “What She asked of you is irrelevant, Kar’niss.” The drow looped the lantern’s ring onto one of the rafters, sending the last traces of green shadow from the shed.

“Our purpose,” Kar’niss insisted, eyes never straying from the dirt floor.

The drow paused, black boot tapping once, twice, then stilling. “Your purpose is whatever I damn please.” They took a determined step toward the drider, taking his bowed chin in their hand and wrenching it upward. “Unless you wish to return to your duties, unsatisfied. Alone.”

“N-no, we did not mean-“ Kar’niss stammered. The drow smiled, patting the side of his face.

“As I thought.” They let their nails dig into his cheek, only briefly, before standing back to their full height.

They moved next to the drider, deftly stepping past his cramped limbs. An absent hand moved to his protruding abdomen, caressing the side with practiced precision. The drider let out a desperate whimper at the contact, causing the drow to click their tongue. “Patience.” They chided, reaching their other hand to coil the silken thread that protruded from the drifter’s spinneret.

“We are patient,” Kar’niss said, nodding and placing his hands out in front of him. “We await a new purpose.”

The drow took the coiled thread and turned, wrapping it expertly around the drider’s wrists. With a flick of their wrist they tossed the rest of the thread over a rafter, pulling it taught. The drider’s arms rose above his head, suspending him so his legs scrabbled on the dirt flooring.

“Good pest,” the drow said, running a finger down the chitinous plates on the drider’s abdomen. “Can’t have you touching me unbidden.”

“W-we would not touch,” Kar’niss said, his arms straining just enough as he took a breath to speak, “Know not to touch.”

“You say you know better,” the drow said, dragging their finger down the drider’s abdomen and stopping just shy of his waist, “You know only what I let you.” The drow folded their arms, tilting their head as if thinking. “I could make you watch tonight. Leave you strung up like a slaughtered beast while I take my pleasure.” Kar’niss’s waist pincers seized in response, a faint clicking noise rising from the back of his throat unbidden. The drow laughed, reaching out and cupping under his chin. “But perhaps I desire to touch tonight. Perhaps,” they paused inches from his face, allowing their lips to hang slightly open as their words hung in the air.

With a tug they yanked the thread, wrenching his arms above his head and pulling him back from their face. They chuckled, wrapping the thread around their palm and keeping it taught. The drider’s abdomen hovered above the floor of the shed, his legs straining to keep some contact with the ground. The drow leaned down, letting out enough thread to keep the drider suspended as they moved. With a practiced hand they ran their fingers along the crease where the humanoid abdomen fused with the chitinous hide of the spider half. Their fingers danced across the waist pincers, focusing on the claw-like protrusions at the end. Kar’niss’s many eyes blinked asynchronously, a clicking hiss rising in his throat. 

“And to think, some say driders have no sex organs,” the drow said softly, more to themself than to the drider, “Avid lovers of Our Lady of Spiders, yet they know nothing of their dance.” They leaned in, their tongue darting over the end of the pincer. Something close to a purr escaped the drider’s mouth, only to break into a yelp as the drow’s teeth closed around the pincer, though briefly.

“C-cruel,” the drider whined, scrabbling backward only to run into the back of the stall. The drow scoffed, releasing the pincer and licking up the drider’s chest. They paused as they neared his mouth, With their free hand they pushed up his lip, eyeing the sharp fangs lining the inside of his mouth.

“What is cruel is a mouth unable to pleasure me,” the drow said, “I may use my teeth as I wish, as you are nothing but teeth,” they wrapped their hand around the drider’s long, white hair, pulling his head further down to meet them, “I will bite and rend until all that’s left of you is a chittering skeleton aching for a lantern. And you will thank me.”

“Y-yes,” Kar’niss hissed, “We are th-thankful.”

“Good,” the drow said, “I want you to taste me tonight.”

“W-we have many teeth,” Kar’niss said, unable to keep the shock from his voice, “You have not-not allowed us to-“ 

The drow gave the long hair a yank, causing the drider to stumble forward, leaning against the rope. “I have asked one thing of you and you dare refuse me?”

“N-no, no we will-“ the drider stammered, sticking out his long tongue as an answer. “We will taste.” 

“Good pest,” the drow said, disrobing. They let the rope fall slack. Kar’niss bent down, head low, pincers bowed against the ground until he matched with the drow’s waist. The drow placed a hand on the back of the drider’s head, wrapping their fingers in the long hair. Kar’niss began with a nervous flick of his tongue along their sex, followed by a second. “Useless thing.” The drow snarled, pushing the drider’s face against their sex. 

Kar’niss’s tongue moved hesitantly, then quicker as he struggled to keep himself upright against the drow. His inexperience led way toward pure devotion. The drow moaned as his tongue explored their body, gripping his hair tightly. 

They pushed him back, panting, a satisfied smirk on their face. “Good pest. I see you’re not all teeth.” They placed a hang under Kar’niss’s chin, raising him up from the dirt. They pulled his face close, darting their tongue out to taste themself on his lips. “You will fuck me until I’m satisfied. Then perhaps,” they paused, looping their arm behind the drider’s head and threading their fingers through his hair, “Perhaps you can cum.” 

“Y-yes, we will s-satisfy,” Kar’niss said, breath caught at the closeness of the drow. 

The drow reached to their pack for a knife, cutting through the bounds on the drider’s hands. With practiced elegance the drider lifted the drow, resting their legs on either side of his waist. His pincers shivered with delight, clawed hands gripping the back of the drow as he drove inside of them. “Good, my vermin,” the drow crooned, their hands gripping against Kar’niss’s hair. With a shudder the drow fell forward, their body spasming against Kar’niss. Kar’niss caught them with his hand, his legs shaking.

“Please, we are…close. We cannot—“ he chittered, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

“Cum for me, pest,” the drow panted, “Do it.”

Kar’niss pushed back from the drow. With an eerie, chittering cry that echoed off the walls of the shed, Kar’niss climaxed, sending a web of shimmering liquid into the dirt of the shed. His legs buckled, sending the drow spilling onto the dirt of the barn. 

“Useless thing,” the drow snapped, standing upright and looking over the shivering, panting drider. “We will go again until you learn not to drop me!”

“We are sorry,” Kar’niss hissed, his seven eyes lidded in bliss, “We will make up for it, yes, we will pleasure until the Queen calls, we will not fail.” 

“Good little pest,” the drow said, running a nail along Kar’niss’s jaw, “Now, again.”