#t: flying solo

[fereldanwench]

ughhhhhhhh

i think i might

i think

i think i might romance c*llen in this run

it's just feeling like it makes the most sense for this inquisitor

but i dont want to hear his stupid voice lmao

im gonna have to mute the game or something when he talks bc it ruins everything dfgjhdfgjdfgfdg

[tuesdaytothursday]

v excite to finally be going to california for the first time!

heading to berkeley in august for a fleet foxes show (yeah yeah but I’ve loved em since college)

no idea what to do there, I know nothing about california, but yeah I’m really lookin forward. any of y’all have any suggestions lemme know 🤘

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.  

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

.

.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.    

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

.

.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

.

.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

.

.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

.

.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.  

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[cevansbrat0007]

What's Eating You, Mr. Barber?

Summary: You decide to test your man's patience with a prank you saw on TikTok. CLICK HERE to check out Ari Levinson's reaction to the same prompt.

Warnings: Mature Themes, References to Smut, Andrew Barber Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, TikTok Hijinks, Bickering, Manhandling, Ass Slapping, Daddy Kink, Allusions to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt brought to you courtesy of a Reader Request. This fic features Andrew Barber from my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s hard for you to put into words just how much you love playing pranks on your unsuspecting husband. And after downloading TikTok, you’d discovered that the app was home to an online treasure trove of practical jokes designed to make your loved one’s head spin. While it had taken a few days for you to settle on the right prank, you were pretty confident that the one you’d chosen would earn you a fun reaction from Andy without you having to risk your ass in the process. 

You find yourself grinning as you take your time prepping dinner, humming a little tune as you peel and press even more fresh garlic for your homemade tomato sauce. Tonight’s family dinner of spaghetti and meatballs promised to be very interesting. Which was why you’d also taken the liberty of setting up two hidden cameras – one in the dining room and one right here in your kitchen. 

As of now, you had no plans to post this on your channel. But you also didn’t want to miss a minute of your man’s reaction. Until then all you had to do was play it cool for a couple more hours.

Later that Evening…

“Baby Girl, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Your husband asks after watching you make what easily had to be your third trip from the kitchen into the dining room. 

Any other night you would’ve said yes, but not this one. Tonight you were flying solo. The cameras were already on and recording – you’d taken care of that before you’d started setting the table – and so far Andy hadn’t noticed a thing.

Hopefully you’d be able to keep it that way until it was time for the big reveal. 

“No thanks, Big Man. This Mama only has to make one more trip and then we’ll be ready to eat.”  You tell him before sitting two plates on the table in front of your two youngest children. You were down a kid tonight thanks to your oldest, Bianca, being away at a sleepover.  

Andy nods before leaning over to adjust the small hand towel you’d previously tucked into the front of your three-year-old son’s t-shirt. Not that it really mattered all that much since you were positive he’d be swimming in sauce before the meal was over. But what kind of mother would you be if you didn’t at least try?

Biting your lip in anticipation, you scamper back into the kitchen to grab dinner for you and your husband. Andy’s plate was piled high with a generous serving of spaghetti and meatballs. Meanwhile, you give yourself hardly any. 

And therein was the so-called prank. Earlier this week, you’d spent the better part of several hours gleefully watching as dozens of girlfriends and wives proceeded to serve their man impressive looking portions before sitting next to them with virtually empty plates for themselves. Many of the reactions had ranged from hilarious to heartwarming, with only a few dickish exceptions. 

Glancing over your shoulder to ensure you weren’t being watched, you pick up various pans and quietly place them in your oven and out of sight. For this to actually work, Andy would have to believe that there wasn’t enough for seconds or leftovers. Once that’s done, you square your shoulders and confidently march back into the dining room with dishes in hand. 

“I’m back.” You announce, placing a piping hot plate in front of Andy before taking your own seat at the table. “I tried something different with my sauce this time, so everybody dig in and tell me what you think.” 

Andy absentmindedly rubs his palms together as he stares down at the fragrant heap of spaghetti before him. Silently, you will him to look over at what you’d served yourself, but you force yourself to remain quiet so as not to give yourself away. 

“This smells amazing, sweetheart.” Your husband tells you, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. “I’ve been excited for this meal since you told me you texted me at 10:00am.”

“Glad to hear it, Daddy” You pick up the little bowl of parmesan you’d set out and hand it to your middle daughter, Katrina. “What does everybody else think?”

You take a brief glance around the table while you wait for feedback. And although you make a point of not looking at your husband, it’s impossible to miss the way he’s now staring at your nearly empty plate.

“Ooh.” You inwardly squeal, stopping just short of clapping your hands. “It’s starting!” 

“What’s up with this?” His tone is rife with confusion, which only grows when you decide to ignore him in favor of dipping a small piece of bread into some sauce. “Hey – stop!”

“What?” When you finally deign to return his gaze. You have to choke back a laugh as you watch a bewildered Andy comically gesture between your two plates.

“What the fu–fudge,” he swiftly corrects, “is going on with your plate?”

“What do you mean?” You aim to keep your tone light and breezy.

Your husband lets out a frustrated sigh. “Where’s the rest of your food?” He jabs at your plate with his fork, holding up the half of a meatball you’d allowed yourself.

“This was all that was left.” You tell him with a shrug.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His confusion continues to mount even as pauses long enough to grab a napkin to wipe at his son’s increasingly messy fingers. “There was plenty of spaghetti left on the stove.” While he’s occupied you quickly check on little Rory, who appears to be faring slightly better.

“Not really.” 

“Baby…” Andy pins you with a knowing look, one that you readily return.

“What? I…” You trail off, pretending to think. “After I realized BiBi wouldn’t be here tonight, I made some adjustments to the recipe. Turns out I didn’t make enough, so…” Another shrug. “This was all there was after I made everyone else’s plates.” 

Andy is uncharacteristically quiet as leans back in his chair. Meanwhile, your children are busy staring at you, each of them sporting tiny, furrowed brows. Pursing your lips, you set your fork down on your plate and reach for your drink. 

“You can have some of mine, Mama.” KitCat offers before sweetly pushing her plate towards you. The unexpected gesture touches your heart in more ways than one. Not to be outdone, your three-year-old twins also follow suit. 

“That’s okay, babies. I’m perfectly fine.” You reassure them, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Besides, this is all I need and –”

“Thanks kiddos.” Your husband kindly interrupts as he places his napkin on the table. “That was very sweet of you, wanting to take care of your Mama like that.” His brilliant blue eyes beam with pride as he speaks. “But Daddy’s got this one.” 

You’re momentarily taken aback when he stands, picking up his plate as he does. And you’re even more surprised when he motions for you to do the same.

“Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Andrew, sweetheart, it’s okay. I promise.”

“Now, please.” It’s an order, that much you know. But at least your handsome ogre has enough sense to take on the word “please” at the end of it.      

“Fine.” You huff before standing and following him out of the room, although not before encouraging your children to keep eating while you’re gone. Just because it was Friday doesn’t mean it was time to dispense their normal bedtime routines.

You were only playing a prank, not embracing total anarchy. 

Once in the kitchen, you each take up residence in opposing corners. But of course, you’re careful enough to avoid blocking the view of the camera. 

“Baby Girl.” Andy exhales, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you really mean to tell me that there’s no food left? You really made all that pasta and there’s nothing?”

“Yes, Andrew.” You lie without missing a beat. “I already told you. I trimmed down the recipe because –”

“Because Bianca is gone. Yes, I heard you.” He sets his dish down on the counter, openly scrutinizing it. 

“So then what’s the problem?” You rest your back against your pantry while you wait for him to respond. 

“The problem – my problem –” Andy is quick to amend, shaking his head. “– is that you expect me to sit back and watch you starve while everyone else eats. And I don’t like it.” He scrubs a weary hand over his beard. “Hand me your plate, beautiful.”

“Why?” It’s impossible to keep the suspicion out of your voice. 

“Because I don’t need all of this.” He grunts, taking the plate out of your hands when you don’t comply fast enough. “In fact, I don’t need any of it. You eat and I’ll order myself a pizza after we put the kids down.”

“Andy!” You scoff, which comes out on the heels of a laugh. 

“What?” The man is clearly confused by your dismissal of his offer. “I am capable of handling myself, okay? My hands work just fine.” He grates out, making a show of holding up a large, lightly calloused palm.

“But I…I made that plate for you.” You were seconds away from caving and you both knew it. 

“And I’m telling you, my wonderful wife, that I want you to have it.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to –” You begin, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was time to fess up.

“Fine.” Andy breathes, taking a second to roll his broad shoulders. “Then we’ll split it.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you into his warm embrace so that he can whisper in your ear. “And then, after we put the kids down, we’ll order ourselves a pizza. Maybe open up a bottle of wine while we wait.”

“Yeah?” You murmur, relaxing as you bury your face in his chest. 

God, he always smelled so good.  

“Mhm.” He continues, nuzzling his nose against your curls. “And then, once we’re all giggly and buzzed, I’ll convince you to let me make love to you in front of the fireplace. We can even set up a booby trap so that we pretend like the children don’t exist.”

“Wow.” You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles its way past your lps. “Andy Bear, that sounds amazing. But I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” He rumbles as his brawny arms tighten around your smaller frame. You were pushing your District Attorney beyond his breaking point.

“Because.” Squirming out of his hold, you dance your way towards the oven in preparation for the big reveal. Hopefully your husband would be a good sport about all of this.

“Because?” 

“Because…” You draw out the word, even as you go to open the oven to show him what’s inside. “There’s actually plenty of dinner leftover. See?” You throw your arms wide, but force yourself to stop just short of adding spirit fingers because you suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Baby, I swear…” Andy sighs, his hands slowly sinking into the pockets of his charcoal-colored slacks as he rocks back on his heels. Most likely to keep himself from strangling you, his lovely wife. “Why–what would possess you to lie about something like this?”

“First off, sweetheart, it’s called a prank.” You bridge the gap between your bodies so that you can wrap your arms around his trim waist. “And secondly, I saw it on TikTok. Ever heard of it?” 

He glares down at you, which has you instinctively clenching your thighs together. That’s part of the reason you loved riling up your Big Man.

Being a brat got your motor running. 

“I take it you have.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss away his frown. “Well, I fell down the rabbit hole the other day while the kids were napping. There’s this whole, like, subsection that’s just pranks. And the latest one involved these women pranking their guys by serving them a huge plate of food, and then pretending like there’s nothing left for them to eat. The reactions were super entertaining, so I figured I’d test it out, you know? Just for fun.”

You grace him with your most dazzling smile, but unfortunately, he’s still having none of it. His frown only deepens as he tilts his face up towards the ceiling in an effort to summon all of his remaining patience. 

“Are you mad?” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip while you wait for his answer.

“Yep.”

“C’mon, Andy Bear!” You pout before placing your hands on his biceps to give him a light shake.”Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Pretty sure I lost it the day you decided torturing me was your new favorite pastime.” He grumbles, although there doesn’t appear to be any heat in his words. “In fact, I have a feeling you just gave me several new grays.”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for those.” You tell him, playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “I’ll have you know that you came home with those. I spotted ‘em the moment you walked through the door.” Your sassy response earns you a sharp crack to your ass, making you wince.

“Ow!” 

“Brat.” He grouses, even as he presses a sweet kiss to your nose. 

“Guilty as charged.” You hum, weaving your arms around his neck. “Besides, I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me starve.”

“Not sure it’s even possible to fail that challenge, Baby Girl. I mean, you’re my wife. My partner in crime. Did you really expect me to just let you go hungry?”

“You’d be surprised.” You mutter, making a mental note to show him a few videos featuring some of the men who’d actually failed the test. “But thankfully you didn’t. And neither did the kiddos. Which is why I will graciously allow you all to sleep inside tonight.”

You let out a tiny yelp when Andy suddenly grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing hard as he lifts you up. Unsure of what else to do, you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Right now you were just going along for the ride.  

“Now is that any way to talk to Daddy?” Andy lovingly captures your mouth, lightly stroking his along the seam of your lips. “Especially after you played such a mean trick?” His once clouded blue eyes are now filled with mischief. 

“Oh, I’m not sorry. But if it helps, I am willing to delete the video.” Your husband’s eyes go wide, letting you know that he hadn’t even considered the prospect of being recorded. So you keep talking, hoping to distract him. “And I still wanna get you drunk and take advantage of you after we put the children down for the night.” You run your fingers through his neatly coiffed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nail.

“I don’t know if I should trust you.” He eyes you warily, making clear that he still hasn’t quite recovered from your earlier betrayal. 

“What if…” You lean in close, lightly nipping at his earlobe. “I could find it in my heart to apologize between then and now? How does that sound, Big Man?”

“I mean I might be interested.” Andy shrugs, gently setting you on the counter before bracing his muscled arms on either side of you. “Out of curiosity, just what kind of apology are we talking about?” He gazes at you with lust-filled eyes, eagerly anticipating your response.

“The kind that’s best offered while on my knees, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of thigh highs and garters.” You know you’ve got him when you hear him groan low in his throat.  

“Fucky, baby.” Your husband hisses, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his imagination suddenly kicks into overdrive. “Can you be sorry enough to wear the heels too? You know the ones I’m talking about.”

Oh. You knew exactly which ones he was talking about.

“I think so.” You murmur, stroking a tender hand along his back as he struggles to regain his composure.   

“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.” He grips your hips before kindly helping you down. “Now let’s go get those kids fed and off to bed.” Andy grabs your hand, tugging you behind him as you head back to the dining room to see about your babies. 

“Slow down, Andrew.” You laugh as your legs scramble to keep up. 

“No can do, Baby Girl.” He grunts, picking up his pace. “Daddy’s really looking forward to that apology. So be sure to eat up because…” He trails off when he comes face-to-face with his sauce covered little ones. “...You’re gonna need all of your strength.”

“You can count on it.”

END

[arc-misadventures]

Dancing Partner

Summer: Hey, Jaune you okay, you look nervous?

Jaune: Like hell I am... I'm waiting for my date, and I'm scared as hell...

Summer: You have a date?! I thought you, and Qrow were flying solo for todays school dance?

Jaune: That was the plan, but my date said otherwise.

Summer: Otherwise?

Jaune: She said I was going to take her to the school dance as her date, or she'll castrate me.

Summer: Oh gods...

Jaune: I don't understand why she's doing this?! Raven is the last person I'd expect to want to go on a date, let alone to a dance!

Summer: R-Raven...? As in, Raven Branwen 'asked' you to the dance?!

Jaune: Yeah... She did... technically…

Summer: Why the hell would, Raven ask you out on a date? Hell, why would she ask anyone out on a date?

Jaune: How the hell am I supposed to know?! Ever since I beat her in that CQC bout we had she's been giving me odd looks. I think she's trying to tell me something in her own socially awkward way.

Summer: What do you think she's trying to tell you?

Jaune: Hell if I... know...

Summer: Jaune? What are you... Oh gods...

Raven: Hello, Jaune~! Summer, are you looking forward to today’s dance?

Summer: Yeah.. I am...

Jaune: Wow, Raven... you look gorgeous...

Raven: T-Thank you, Jaune...

Summer: Oh... oh that's interesting...

Raven: Ahem! Thank you, Summer for keeping my date company.

Summer: Oh... No problem.

Raven: Shall we take our leave, Jaune?

Jaune: Of course, I'll see you on the dance floor, Summer.

Summer: See you.

Raven: Oh wait, before I go...

(Raven walks over, and whispers in, Summer's ears.)

Raven: Tonight he's all mine~! But, in the future I don't mind sharing~!

Summer: W-W-What?!

Raven: Till later, Rosebud~!

Summer: ...

Summer: I-I don't think I'd mind sharing either...

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Sky High.

(pilot!harry x airhostess!yn)

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here x

in which, your an airhostess for british airways, and harry’s been a pilot for british airways for the last four years, and your both working on the same a380 to the big apple.

word count - 2.8k

"So, which lucky city are you off to today?"

Cabin crew had always been a passion of yours since you were a child.

When you were young, you used to adore gazing at the impeccably dressed flight attendants as they moved gracefully through the aisles of the plane. That longing to be among them, to embody the essence of professionalism and hospitality, never wavered, even as you grew older.

So when you turned eighteen, and were fresh out of college, you signed up for flight attendant school and not once have you looked back.

The course took ten weeks and they were the best of your life, because at the end of it, you gained your wings and was ready to fly.

That was when you met Samia, your bestest friend, the two of you were in the same cabin crew training classes and had practically been inseparable ever since, it was a friendship that was made to last.

You and Samia make your way through the bustling terminal of Manchester Airport, where families were executed to finally have a nice holiday that they had waited all year for and people who were solo-travellers ready to embark on a boring old work trip.

With a grin, you respond, "New York, simply feels like forever since I’ve been there.”

Samia feigns a dramatic sigh, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ugh, why do you get all the fun flights? I'm just headed to Dublin."

You chuckle at her mock disappointment. "Hey, Dublin's pretty great too!”

She rolls her eyes playfully. "I guess you're right. But next time, I'm definitely snagging that New York flight!"

You nudge her teasingly. "Deal!

As you and Samia continue your leisurely stroll through the bustling terminal of Manchester Airport, she suddenly stops in her tracks, a perplexed expression crossing her face.

"Wait, did you say you're heading to New York?" she asks, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

You nod in confirmation, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I've got a three-day layover there before heading back. Why? What's up?"

Samia's eyes light up mischievously as she leans in closer. "You know who the pilot is, right?"

You shake your head, curious about her sudden intrigue. "No, who is it?"

With a smug look on her face, Samia leans back, relishing the moment before dropping the bombshell.

"Captain Styles," she says, her voice laced with amusement.

Just like that, your eyes widen.

The dim lights of the party cast a warm glow over the room as chatter and laughter filled the air. You stood at the bar, holding an almost empty drink, observing the festivities around you. It was a celebration for the graduating pilots and cabin crew, and the excitement was palpable.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the noise, and you turned to see a handsome young man approaching you. His brunette hair had a slight curl to it, and he wore an open t-shirt with only the bottom buttons done up, showcasing his tattoos along his chest and right arm. He flashed you a charming smile that set your heart racing.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "M’Harry. Can I get you another drink?"

His flirty demeanor caught you off guard, but you couldn't help but be intrigued by his confidence and his striking appearance.

With a smile, you accepted his offer. "Sure, that would be great. Thanks."

As he ordered the drinks, Harry leaned in closer, his playful banter making your heart flutter. "So, what brings you to this party? Celebrating y’graduation as well?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement at his attention. "Yeah, I just finished my cabin crew training. It's been quite the journey."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on you. "Well, congratulations. Y’must be excited to start flying high."

You chuckled at his pun, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his flirtatious remarks. "Thanks. And what about you? Are you one of the graduating pilots?"

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guilty as charged. But tonight, M’more interested in getting to know you."

As the night wore on, the energy of the party only seemed to intensify, fueled by the pulsating rhythm of the music and the electric chemistry between you and Harry.

With each exchange, the attraction between you grew stronger, igniting a fiery passion that neither of you could ignore.

Before you knew it, the party had come to an end, and Harry suggested continuing the festivities at his place. Eager for more time together, you eagerly agreed, your heart racing with anticipation as you made your way to his doorstep.

As Harry fumbled with his keys, his lips found yours in a heated kiss, igniting a firestorm of desire that burned hotter with each passing second. The world around you faded away as you lost yourself in the intoxicating embrace, the hunger for each other driving you forward.

Finally, the door swung open, and Harry pulled you inside, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. With a sense of urgency, you stumbled into his apartment, the desire to be close to him consuming every fiber of your being.

And as the door closed behind you, the outside world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you entwined in a passionate embrace, lost in a whirlwind of desire and longing.

As you approach your gate, you come to a halt, a wave of anticipation washing over you. Turning to Samia, you give her a final hug, the warmth of her embrace a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

"I'll see you soon," you say, your voice tinged with both longing and determination.

Samia returns the hug with equal fervor, her support unwavering.

"Text me when you land, just so i know that you got there safely." she tells you you, her words a comforting reminder of your shared journey and the strength you draw from each other.

"Take care up there, and don't forget to enjoy New York," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement. “You deserve it.”

During the embrace, your gaze drifts past Samia, and that's when you spot him. Captain Styles, striding confidently towards the gate, his navy blue pilot uniform impeccable, a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes from the fluorescent airport lights.

The women around him stare in awe, admiration evident in their eyes as they admire his striking looks and commanding presence.

As Captain Styles catches your eye amidst the throng of admirers, a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow harshly, feeling a sudden rush of nerves at his knowing gaze, his presence commanding attention even in the midst of the bustling airport terminal.

As you bid farewell to Samia and take a step towards the bridge leading to the plane, your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

Captain Styles stands nearby, engrossed in conversation with the gate control personnel, his commanding presence unmistakable even from a distance.

As you approach the bridge, you catch Captain Styles' eye, and he immediately breaks off his conversation, his gaze fixed on you as he strides towards you with purpose.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't m’favorite cabin crew member," he says with a playful grin, his tone laced with flirtation.

You can't help but return his smile, the familiar spark between you reigniting with each step closer.

Ever since that night you spent together four years ago, the two of you have sort of started an arrangement, when one of you needs the other your there and vice versa.

But your feelings grew above just meaningless hookups.

His as far as you were concerned didn’t.

"Captain Styles, always a pleasure," you reply, your voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

He falls into step beside you, his presence magnetic as he matches your stride.

"So, headed to the Big Apple, are we?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You nod, a surge of excitement coursing through you at the prospect of flying to New York with Captain Styles as your pilot.

"Yep, three days of layover in the city that never sleeps," you say, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

Captain Styles chuckles, his charm on full display as he leans in closer, his voice low and intimate.

"Well, if you need a tour guide while you're there, y’know where t’find me," he says with a wink, his flirtatious demeanor sending a thrill down your spine.

You play along, matching his flirtatious energy with a playful smirk of your own.

"I might just take you up on that offer," you tease, the familiarity between you sparking with every word exchanged.

As you reach the entrance to the bridge, Captain Styles stops, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of intensity and longing.

"Until we meet again, m’cloud member," he says, his voice husky with promise.

You meet his gaze, the unspoken understanding between you hanging heavy in the air.

"Until next time," you reply, your heart racing with anticipation as you step onto the bridge and make your way towards the plane.

Standing at the entrance of the plane, you greet passengers with a warm smile as they board, checking their tickets with practiced efficiency.

Beside you stands Suzie, a petite blonde cabin crew member from France, her cheerful demeanor adding to the welcoming atmosphere of the aircraft.

"Bonjour! Welcome aboard," Suzie chirps in her melodious French accent, her eyes sparkling with genuine hospitality as she assists passengers with their carry-on luggage.

You nod in agreement, echoing her sentiments with a friendly greeting of your own.

"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. If you could please have your tickets ready, we'll get you settled in no time," you say, your voice projecting confidence and professionalism.

As passengers file past, you and Suzie work in tandem, ensuring a smooth and efficient boarding process. You exchange glances and quick smiles as you assist travelers with finding their seats and stowing their belongings in the overhead compartments.

"Next please," you say, gesturing for the next passenger to approach, your attention fully focused on providing top-notch service to everyone boarding the aircraft.

Suzie chimes in, her cheerful demeanor infectious as she assists an elderly couple with finding their seats.

"Right this way, monsieur et madame. Allow me to help you with your bags," she says, her gentle touch earning her grateful smiles from the passengers.

As the last few passengers board the plane, you and Suzie share a brief moment of camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done.

As the final passengers settle into their seats and fasten their seatbelts, you and the rest of the cabin crew begin to make your way down the aisle, ensuring that everyone is safely secured for takeoff. With practiced ease, you exchange reassuring smiles and nods with passengers as you pass, checking seatbelts and offering assistance where needed.

Once you confirm that all passengers are securely strapped in, you make your way to the front of the cabin, ready to perform the mandatory safety demonstration. Standing in the aisle, you and the other cabin crew members demonstrate the proper use of seatbelts, oxygen masks, and life vests, your movements fluid and precise as you emphasize the importance of safety during the flight.

As the plane taxis towards the runway, you continue the safety demonstration, pointing out the locations of emergency exits and demonstrating the brace position in case of an emergency landing. Your voice is calm and reassuring, your demeanor projecting confidence and competence to the passengers seated before you.

Three hours into the flight, you find yourself in the crew mess area, diligently preparing warm nuts for the passengers as part of the in-flight service. The gentle hum of the aircraft fills the air, a comforting backdrop to the routine tasks at hand.

Suddenly, the sound of the call button interrupts the steady rhythm, prompting you to glance up from your task.

With a quick exchange of glances with your fellow cabin crew members, you make your way towards the source of the signal, ready to assist the passenger in need.

Approaching the row where the call button was activated, you find a mother and her little girl, the child looking pale and visibly uncomfortable.

Concern washes over you as you inquire, "Is everything okay? How can I assist you?"

The mother looks relieved at your arrival, her voice tinged with urgency. "My daughter isn't feeling well. Do you have a sick bag?"

You nod empathetically, understanding the urgency of the situation.

"Of course, let me grab one for you right away," you assure her, before swiftly making your way back to the crew mess to retrieve a sick bag.

Returning to the passenger's row with the sick bag in hand, you offer it to the mother with a sympathetic smile.

"Here you go. I hope this helps. Is there anything else I can do to assist you and your daughter?"

The mother gratefully accepts the sick bag, her expression conveying a mix of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you so much. This should do the trick. We'll let you know if we need anything else," she says, her voice soft with appreciation.

You nod, reassuring her that you're available should they require any further assistance.

Just under four hours into the flight, you find yourself tasked with delivering the pre-ordered meals to the cockpit crew. Carrying a tray with their dinner selections, you make your way to the front of the aircraft, where the cockpit door awaits.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knock lightly on the door before pushing it open, revealing the familiar sight of Captain Harry and First Officer Max at the controls.

"Dinner delivery," you announce with a smile, stepping into the cockpit.

Harry looks up from the control panel, his eyes lighting up as he sees you. "Ah, if it isn’t the queen of the clouds herself," he says, his tone playful yet subtly flirtatious.

Suppressing a smile, you approach him with the tray, presenting him with his sushi and a glass of apple juice.

"Here you go, Captain Styles. Enjoy your meal," you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of excitement in your chest.

You bend down in front of the captain, knowing that it will simply drive him crazy, and because we’ll….your a little tease, your skirt isn’t that short, because it’s not aloud to be but it certainly does the trick, because you softly hear him take a small intake of breath which has you trying to surpress your smile.

You then stand back to a normal height and give the first officer his choice of food for the night.

Max looks up from his own console, offering you a polite nod of acknowledgment.

"Thank you," he says, his tone professional as he accepts his lasagna and a glass of milk.

You return his nod with a polite smile, acknowledging his presence before turning your attention back to Harry.

"Is there anything else I can assist you with, Captain?" you inquire, trying to keep the conversation light and professional despite the underlying tension between you.

Harry's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don’t think there is no." he replies, his tone teasing yet filled with underlying sincerity.

As you turn to leave the cockpit, you catch Harry's gaze and offer a sheepish smile.

"I should probably go wash my hands," you say, feeling a sudden need to break the tension in the air.

Harry chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Of course, can't have our cabin crew getting their hands dirty," he teases, his tone light yet tinged with a hint of flirtation.

You laugh along with him, grateful for the playful banter that eases the atmosphere.

"Exactly," you reply, eager to retreat from the intimate confines of the cockpit before things become too heated.

You make your way towards the bathroom as you had initially intended. Pushing open the door, you step inside, grateful for the momentary solitude the confined space offers.

Turning on the tap, you let the water flow over your hands, the cool sensation refreshing as you lather them with soap. With practiced efficiency, you scrub your hands clean, ensuring every trace of dirt and germs is washed away.

Once satisfied with the cleanliness of your hands, you rinse off the soap and reach for a paper towel to dry them.

As you pat your hands dry, you take a moment to glance at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your uniform and smoothing down any stray hairs that may have escaped your notice.

As you are preparing to leave the bathroom, the sound of the door opening behind you catches your attention, causing a slight flutter of nerves to rise in your stomach.

Without turning around, you sense someone entering the small space, their presence filling the air with an unspoken tension.

Gulping nervously, you finally muster the courage to turn and make eye contact with the newcomer.

The sight of the familiar uniform and the commanding aura that surrounds them leaves you momentarily speechless, your heart pounding in your chest.

You swallow heavily.

“Hello, Captain.”

[odiesdayoff]

Fly Boy

Pair: Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader

Summary: Frustrated with Neil's rule about the employees being required to cosplay, you decide to mess with him.

Warnings: SMUT; 18+; Neil is a bit pathetic and mean at points; he can't find the clit but has a big dick lol

“Surely, you’ve seen something by Milos Foreman.” Neil held a stack of VHS that needed to be reset. It was mostly older stuff, you saw the worn copy of Persona in the middle. He and Jonathan had a heated argument (or discussion, as they referred to it) about why the customer would stop watching in the middle, but you understood. Only the men deeply involved in film could possibly enjoy something so bad. Too trained to think black and white meant that it was a good movie automatically. 

You shrugged, continuing to put the tapes on the shelf. “Never heard of him.” Paisa slid in right next to the edge of the shelf and The Red and The White. Only this place would have a section dedicated to foreign language war films. Like it would kill him to buy a copy of Shrek 2.

He nearly dropped the tapes on the counter and looked at you as if you just admitted to a horrible crime. “How have you never heard of him? One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? The Fireman’s Ball? ” Just because you heard of the movie didn’t mean you knew every production assistant’s name. You watched movies for fun. They just weren’t your taste.

“More like The Fireman’s Balls.” You stifled a laugh at your own joke, though Neil was far from impressed or amused at all.

He put a tape into the rewinder and shook his head. “We’re gonna fix that. This Saturday.”

“Can’t do this Saturday.” He continued his quite bewildered stare at you. Of course, he forgot. “It’s your little Star Wars marathon night.”

He nodded with realization. “Right.”

His slight frown made you feel guilty, as it always did. Somehow, the grown man always managed to use puppy eyes on you successfully. “We’ll watch them. Soon.” He continued to rewind the tapes with a smile.

Star Wars wasn’t exactly your cup of tea. Boring was the descriptive term that rested on the tip of your tongue whenever the topic was brought up in the store. Not that you would ever admit that out loud. All three of them gave you a college-level lecture when you suggested that the Chanel boots-wearing Luke might have been into men. God forbid you had fun.

The costumes for women were slim, at least they were on Amazon. Your options were Padme, Leia, Rey, or some random obscure character from a show or cartoon you’d never heard of. A part of you wanted to make felt ears and be Jar Jar Binks just to piss them off.

There was still a way to mess with them, Neil especially. Hopefully, the extra you paid for overnight shipping was worth it and actually pulled through. 

By Saturday, you walked into Gumshoe with a large coat covering your costume. You braided your hair to the best of your abilities, trying to get as accurate as possible. The fabric of the costume was uncomfortable, digging into your skin and surely leaving marks you’d feel for days after.

Nerds crowded the small store, much more than usual. It was events like this one that made you reconsider your employment and how much you were a fan of movies in general. A Darth Vader brushed by you with a red solo cup of beer. Not many women were there, other than a few of the regulars dressed as Padme and Ahsoka. 

Neil, in Han Solo’s iconic white shirt with the navy blue vest (the version from Return of the Jedi ), waved you over to join the couch with him, Jonathan, and Lucian. A New Hope was in the VHS player and ready to start, the original cut before George Lucas made revisions of course. He was so proud of winning the Etsy bid for the original set of VHS tapes. 

You dropped the coat as you walked over and draped it on the front counter, locking eyes with the group as the costume was finally revealed: The bikini Leia wears at the beginning of Return of the Jedi. A part of you was anxious about the amount of skin you were showing and the people who were staring daggers into you. All you cared about was Neil’s reaction.

None of them said a word as you sat down on the couch next to them. “So, when’s this movie going to start?” Three pairs of eyes just looked back at you, more specifically, how your breasts bounced when you sat down and the thin straps that held the cloth that covered your panties. All you wore to work were t-shirts and jeans, along with the occasional tank top that left much to the imagination. You leaned over to the table and took the can of beer that Neil had been drinking, bringing it to your lips.

Neil cleared his throat. “Um, right now, actually.” He called everyone to the couches and rug, made a quick introduction to the night and thanked everyone for coming, then started the movie. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hands were clasped in front of his crotch and the bulge he was trying to hide.

Another person, dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi in the third film, sat next to you. Only fifteen minutes in, he did the classic “fake yawn” in order to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He wasn’t slick, but as much as you noticed the attempt at flirting, Neil did as well. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his attention back to the movie and trying not to make his glances towards you too obvious.

The can of beer didn’t last you too long, only until they were in the trash compactor. There was no way that you would get through the rest of these movies sober and a half-can of beer wasn’t going to get you there.

You got up and walked to the storage closet, where you knew that a full case of beer was hidden. Finally alone, you pulled out a can and opened it, allowing the lukewarm liquid to coat your throat. The beer was still a bit disgusting, but it got the job done. “What the fuck are you wearing, Princess?”

Neil stood in the doorway, closing the door behind him. You shrugged, even though you knew that he knew you were getting to him on purpose. “I’m participating. You never let me live down the Lord of the Rings night when I wore my regular clothes.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to whore yourself out and wear practically nothing.”

“It’s accurate, not whoring out. Are you mad that I’m wearing it or that people are looking at me in it? What is it, Fly-boy?” You crossed your arms, unknowingly pushing your breasts together and creating more cleavage than there already was.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Y/n.” His hands cupped your cheeks and he pulled you in, crashing his lips against yours. It was a side of him you’d never seen before, his eyes were dark and only focused on you. Your back hit the wall and Neil’s hands traveled lower, pulling the string that held the bra together and ripping fabric until it fell to the floor.

“Now, beg me to fuck you like the whore that you’ve been parading yourself as all night. I know that’s what you want.” His hot breath burned your neck as he trailed his lips from your mouth to your collarbone. His words cut deeply, like nothing you’d expect to come from his mouth. Who knew sweet Neil could turn into this?

You nodded. “Please, Neil. I need you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He moaned against your skin as you spoke and hastily unbuckled his belt, freeing his aching cock. You untied the bottom of your costume and dropped your panties with it.

His chest pressed against yours and you winced as the cold wall came in contact with your bare skin. He wasted no time in lining his tip with your entrance and pushing in, softly moaning into your neck. “You’re so warm. You’re not a whore, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Fuck.”

So, he really was all talk. Once he felt the touch of a woman, he became a needy mess. “It’s okay, Neil. Just, ah!” It was now that you finally understood the saying about nerdy boys and the size of their cocks, feeling him hit spots you didn’t know existed. You only hoped that the ongoing battle within whatever galaxy or solar system was louder than both of your unholy gasps and moans.

You would never hear the end of it if Jonathan or Lucian heard. They gave you enough shit for Neil’s unbelievably obvious crush on you that you chose to avoid on behalf of keeping peace in the store. Clearly, you had failed miserably in that aspect. Look at Neil’s cute face.

Not to mention his cock. The same cock currently driving into you and knocking the wind from your lungs. Neil fucked into you like he was on a time limit, chasing his climax and nearly sinking his teeth into your bare shoulder. “Your tits are mesmerizing.” You held back a laugh at his comment, reaching down to your clit before he slapped your hand away. “No, let me do it.”

A part of you wanted to deny it, but you let him. He blindly reached down and rubbed your labia, thinking he was on the money. You squeezed your eyes shut and gently guided his fingers to your clit, jolting when he found the right spot. “Oh, Neil…so good.”

His pace slowed and became less controlled. “I’m so close, sweetheart.”

“You’ll pull out, right?” He bit his lip and nodded. By the way he held tightly onto your hips and breathed in your scent, you knew that he barely heard your request.

The suspicion turned into fact when he stilled, pushing himself further into you as he came. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll pay for the pill. You’re just…so warm.”

You nodded along with him, not caring as you crossed the finish line as well. As you both came down from the high, the realization kicked in. He tucked himself in his boxers and buttoned his pants. You picked up your shirt, well, bra. The straps were broken. “Shit, Neil. I can’t wear this.”

He furrowed his brows, then rummaged through one of the boxes in the corner of the room. A large, baby blue t-shirt with the Gumshoe logo on it was in his hands. “Put this on. Say you got too cold.”

You caught the shirt and put it on, watching the fabric fall to your knees. “Great.”

“You still look sexy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down.

You rolled your eyes. “What does Leia say to Han Solo? Nerf-Herder? You’re that."

[mrpldiddles]

"I mean, everyone already thinks we're dating"

still not my best work but this one's fun :)

summary: when trevor shows up at the party with the matching costume to yours, setting you guys up to look like a couple, sparks fly

word count: 827

warnings: none :)

"I mean, everyone thinks we're dating"

"My lip gloss is all over your lips"

Despite what everyone else at the party thought, mine and Trevor’s corresponding costumes were not at all planned. It was simply coincidental that he happened to be dressed as Flynn Rider while I had dressed up as Rapunzel. But no matter how many times we denied it, absolutely no one was convinced.

“Y’know, I can distinctly remember Jack wearing a very similar costume to yours at last year's party,” I shouted over the music, clutching onto his shoulder to keep him crouched at my level. His hair brushed my cheek as he turned to look at me, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

“Well I did tell you my costume was a bit last minute since it didn’t get here in the mail until yesterday.” His voice sent shivers down my back as his lips barely brushed my ear. I raised my eyebrow at him as he sent me a wink. Jack’s costume last year had been the inspiration for mine this year and he just so happened to be one of the only people I had told about who I had planned to dress up as tonight. 

“He told you, didn’t he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, blondie,” Trevor attempted to deadpan but his mouth betrayed him as it turned up into a smile. “Yeah, he told me. I needed an idea and he let it slip that you were dressing up as your favourite princess.” My heart fluttered slightly, knowing that he knew my favourite princess off the bat. It wasn’t even something that was all that important to me but it meant that he had remembered such a small factoid that I had told him. And that meant everything considering the crush I had been secretly harbouring for him practically since we’d met.

“So you decided to pretty much do an unofficial couple’s costume with me?”

“I mean, everyone already thinks we’re dating,” he shrugged. “What’s the harm in kidding them a bit?” I paused. This was my opportunity.

 “Why stop at just dressing up as a couple?” His brow quirked up over the rim of his red solo cup. “Or am I kidding myself by saying this?” My words came out quieter but the look on his face was enough indication that he had managed to hear me over all the background noise. His eyes were big and round as they bore into mine, his mouth slightly open as his cup lowered. My breath hitched and my heart pounded against my ribcage as he stepped even closer and bent down slightly to be eye-to-eye with me.

“Am I kidding myself if I kiss you right now?” My cheeks flushed as his eyes dragged over my face. My head shook slightly as my eyes flickered from his eyes to his pink lips that quirked up at the corners at my reaction. “I’m gonna need words if I’m going to do this, babe.”

“You’re not kidding yourself, Trev,” I uttered, meeting his eyes through my lashes.

“So?”

“So if you’re gonna kiss me: kiss me.” His face parted in such a large grin I was sure his face might split in half. His unoccupied hand came up to cup my cheek as his lips met mine. His other arm snaked around my waist, cautious not to spill any of his drink over my costume. My arms wound around his neck, my hands finding their way into the soft curls at the back of his head. His lips were soft as they moved against mine. I could taste whatever he was drinking on his tongue but I was too deep into the haze of my emotions to care. With him this close, practically flush to my body, I was engulfed in everything that was Trevor. His scent, his taste, his hands. Everything that made up the boy I fell for. The boy who remembered my favourite Disney princess. Who took me for McFlurries at three in the morning. Who made me laugh more than anyone or anything else but who I also trusted with my most precious secrets.

His lips turned up in a smile causing my own to do the same until the kiss was more teeth and laughter than anything else. I pulled away only for him to follow and place one, two, three more soft kisses on my lips. His forehead came to rest against my own, my arms still wrapped around his neck as his dropped to my waist and pulled me even closer to him. His face was flushed, his lips swollen and red and his eyes bright as they looked into mine which I’m sure held a similar quality. 

“Y’know my lip gloss is all over your lips now,” I uttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Good. Now everyone will know who I’m here with and who I’m leaving with.”

“Like our costumes don’t already give that away.”

“That was the plan all along, blondie.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

If Music Be The Food Of Love

Laia Aleixandri x Reader

Summary: Leila can't quite believe that Laia's bringing her to see the orchestra

"Since when were you into music?"

"I've always been into music."

Leila gave her a deadpan stare, one perfect brow raised. "Not classical music. You told me when you moved in that classical music was the bane of your existence and if you found out whoever played it in the locker room, you would come down upon them with a vengeance."

Laia had forgotten that but she awkwardly clear her throat, trying to brush the comment away. "Things can change," She said," Maybe I've matured."

"Matured? Ha!" Leila replied," Sure, and pigs can fly."

"Look, if you don't want to be here then fine! Leave!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Leila held her hands up in defeat. "I never meant that. Thank you for the tickets, really. I was just questioning your newfound love for the orchestra. Sorry if I hit a nerve or something."

Laia ignored her friend as they filed into the auditorium, finding their seats in the box. "Hi," She greeted the other people in the box with familiarity as she took her seat, dragging Leila with her," Hello. It's good to see you."

"Who is your friend, Laia?" A much older woman asked, hands wrapped tightly around the walking stick between her legs.

"This is Leila, we play together. For club and country," Laia said, indicating to Leila who looked incredibly confused as to just how many times Laia, the self-proclaimed classical music hater, had been to see this orchestra.

"A different type of playing than this," The old woman joked.

"Very different to this," Laia agreed.

A hush descended upon the audience as the curtain rose and revealed the orchestra, a group of smartly dressed individuals in all black.

Instantly, Laia's eyes sought you out. She had no problem finding you. She never had a problem finding you - even though you sat closest to the audience in the first chair to the conductor's left. She was drawn to you no matter where you were and could find you in a crowd without a second thought.

Your face was a mask of professionalism but, when your eyes glanced to the box, the barest hint of a smile poked at the corner of your lips.

"Don't tell me that's why we've come," Leila hissed in her ear," Because you've got the hots for a violin girl."

Laia didn't get time to respond (not that she would, lost to the world staring into your eyes despite the distance between you) because the conductor cleared his throat, hand up to begin the concert.

Music of angelic quality filled the room but Laia didn't turn her gaze from you. Your eyes were slightly closed as you counted your beats and rests. Your violin was a snug fit under your chin and your bow moved over your strings with such experience and skill that it was obvious why you were the concertmaster.

Laia didn't stop watching you even when there was a flute solo. You caught her eye several times but mainly stayed focused on your conductor. But, every so often, your head would tilt the slightest bit to the side, towards the box that Laia was sitting in.

Your eyes would meet for a moment and you would instantly be transported back to when you first met her, in a hole in the wall café that served the best coffee in the city.

She had asked to sit at your table as everywhere else was full. You would later learn that it was just an excuse so she could finally pluck up the courage to speak to you.

You welcomed her into your booth and got to talking, about her football matches and your orchestra concerts. She confessed her hatred for all things classical and you invited her round to your place to listen to good classical music - because only people who heard bad classical music ever swore off the genre entirely.

Things had blossomed easily from there and soon she was sat in the family box with your fellow musicians' families, listening to you play with a soft smile and warm arms to welcome you at the end.

You adjusted your positioning as the introduction to your solo began to build. The music swelled before, one by one each of your fellow string sections dropped off. Your first violins accompanied you into the first few notes before stilling, letting you take the lead - your shining moment of the song.

You kept your eyes on Laia as you played, not really needing the conductor when you had played this particular solo many times to perfection.

It was actually the first solo you had ever played in Laia's company when she had demanded to hear your excellence on your third date, curled up in your apartment after a warm meal.

●～●～●～●～

"Are we allowed to be here?" Leila asked in a hushed voice even as she took a flute of champagne from the waiter offering it to her.

"For the last time, yes," Laia said back, sipping her own champagne. It wasn't her alcohol of choice but your events tended to be fancy like this so she had gained an appreciation for it.

Leila let out a breath as she surveyed the room where the afterparty was taking place. "You never told me how much I owe you for the tickets. I mean, a box Laia? How much did this cost?"

"Nothing." Laia was only half paying attention, eyes focussed on each of the doors, trying to guess which one you were going to walk through. "They were free."

"Free?" Leila's voice was steeped in incredulousness. "Have you been donating to the orchestra or something? Those seats were fancy."

"Not quite."

You stepped through the door on her left. Your face held a single-minded purpose as you walked across the room. You took a glass of champagne on instinct, not bothering to look at the waiter as you joined Laia and Leila.

"Hi," You said.

"Hi," Laia said back.

"Hi," You said again.

"Hello."

You broke your gaze from Laia and turned it to her companion. You smiled. "You must be Leila, it's so good to meet you. I'm y/n." You held out your hand.

She took it and nodded knowingly. "Violin girl."

You giggled, taking a sip of champagne. "That's not a name I'm quite accustomed to. Usually, it's just the concertmaster."

Leila grinned. "I'll pretend that I know what that means."

"It means that she's second in command," Laia said quickly. She placed her champagne flute off to the side and wrapped an arm securely around your waist. "I'm very proud."

"I'm glad you could come," You said to Leila sincerely," It's nice to finally meet one of Laia's friends."

Leila looked between the two of you suspiciously, taking in Laia's arm and the way you leaned into her grip, practically laying your head on her shoulder.

"I take it I have you to thank for the box tickets."

Your cheeks coloured. "I get up to four free box tickets for every performance. I told Laia she could bring whoever she wanted."

"And is Laia a constant audience member for you?"

"Always." You pressed a kiss against her cheek. "Laia's been coming to shows ever since I made her fall in love with classical music again."

"Laia? Into classical music?" Leila laughed," You must be some persuader."

"I like to think it was my kisses that really sealed the deal."

Leila roared with laughter but Laia didn't care.

She dipped her head down to meet your lips. You tasted exactly like usual, a mix of fancy champagne and the chewing gum you always used before a performance.

You kissed her back just as sweetly.

"So," Leila said, wiggling her eyebrows," I'm getting the sense here that you two are an item."

"What gave it away? The kissing?" You asked.

Leila shrugged and Laia already knew she was going to regret introducing her friend to you. "And the eye fucking every time she looked at you on stage."

[tkingfisher]

This is Lucky, with his lady Clotho. Lucky is a bantam Birchen Cochin, and Clotho was having a molt but we don’t mention that because chickens are sensitive about it. As you can see, they are small spherical borbs.

Now, Lucky is a perfect gentleman. His ladies love him, he never offers violence to chicks, he is resigned to Kevin picking him up and woogie-ing his wattles, and he was gracious to the ancient Rhode Island Red rooster that lived out his golden years in the same enclosure. (We have two, but they share a fence.)

Also his crow sounds like a kazoo solo.

But Lucky is also a bantam, which means that all the rage that lies in the heart of a rooster has been compressed into diamond-like ferocity. Case in point: we once had a fox going over the fence to grab hens. One day, the fox grabbed Lucky. We learned this when we found Lucky outside of his enclosure, covered in blood—only some of it his—and so hyped up on adrenaline that he immediately tried to fight Ninja, the top rooster, who immediately realized that he had pressing business under a rosebush.

We have not seen the fox or lost a hen since.

I tell you that story to tell you this one. Kevin has a very large Black Cochin named Pot Pie. He’s about three times Lucky’s size, and he doesn’t so much crow as roar like a T-Rex. He is huge. And every night, for months, he would go to the fence and flare his neck feathers out at Lucky—through the fence—going “If you were over here, I’d sit on you, little man,” to which Lucky would reply “Oh yeah? Come over HERE and say that.”* But they never leave their respective enclosures, because neither of them can fly for crap. Lucky because he’s too short to get over the fence and Pot Pie because he’s too heavy to get off the ground.

(Occasionally this standoff would end in someone trying to jump-kick the other one and getting tangled in the fence. I once had to sit for five minutes with a flashlight clenched in my teeth, untangling Lucky’s foot. But he is, as in said, a perfect gentleman and sat patiently while I did.)

Today, Kevin was on a work call and looked out the window just in time to see Pot Pie tearing across the yard at extraordinary velocity, pursued by a tiny wrathful rooster. Lucky must have found a gap in the fence at last, because he came over and immediately set about putting the fear of God into his giant nemesis.

When Kevin came outside to give everyone treats, Lucky was strutting around, calling the hens—there’s a little chuckle roosters do that means “Look, ladies, I found a treat!”—and surrounded by an admiring crowd of both bantam and full-size ladies.

Kevin escorts Lucky back to his own enclosure, where his own hens greet him as a conquering hero. He then searches for Pot Pie, and finally hears a THUD as the T-Rex jumps down from hiding inside the coop, pokes his head out, and is like “Is it safe? Is Satan gone?”

He did not go to the fence to threaten Lucky tonight. Pot Pie, as Kevin said, Found Out.

Meanwhile Ninja, far and away the most intelligent chicken on the property, decided it was another good day to spend some quality time under the rosebush.

*loosely translated from Rooster, a complex and idiomatic language consisting mostly of insults.

[softfem-dom]

paola // 20 // she ! her // spanish // aries MAIN MASTERLIST !!!

requests are : closed!

X MEN BOT LIST : (my proudest works 🫧)

og logan howlett [1,]NOTHING TO COME BACK TO -logan has the bad habit of disappearing for months to go on his solo missions. however, this time it seems like he almost had nothing to come back to. [tw : attempt]. [platonic!]. [2,]HIS CUB -logan presumed of having his 'animal instincts' under control, but all that big talk flies out of the window when some stupid guards try to harm his cubyou. [platonic!]. [3,]LIKE A CRYING BABY -everyone knows logan is not good with kids. But when you, the sweet thing that wasn't aware he regenerated, started bawling your eyes out for him, he realized he had a soft spot. [platonic!]. [4,]LIKE A WILD ANIMAL -when logan realized you had the same mutation as him, he pushed you away to ensure you wouldn't turn out like him. At the end, you ended up just like him just because he left when he was needed the most. Who's the dangerous weapon now, huh, Logan? [younger!reader / not strictly platonic] [5,]BAD TIME TO COME AROUND -logan just wants peace and quiet while his body recovers from a mission, but you're hurt too and just want to spend a bit of time with your fave old man. [platonic!]. [6,]GLITTERY LOVE 🫧-logan is a bitter old man, and you're a ray of sunshine. charles is totally aware of this and that's why he forced him to spend time with you as therapy for his burdened mind. [platonic! / sunshine!reader]. [7,]TEST TUBE BABY 🫧-both logan's and wade's DNA has gotten mixed up to create a brand new weapon x, you. Lucky you, one of your 'fathers' found you and now logan's stuck with cooparenting you. [platonic! / kinda daughter!reader]. [8,]CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT HER T-T-T-T-FACE 🫧-even as gruff as he is, logan is still just a man, and having a coworker with such nice titties is sure as hell distracting. [9,]MATING SEASSON KINDA STUFF -logan hates his animalistic instincts for putting him through this strange rut, but he definetely doesn't hate that you're the one taking care of him. [10,]FLYING PROBLEMS -logan and flying don't get on too well, and you're seated next to a far more grumpy and stressed than usual Wolverine when turbulences hit. [11,]LIKE STRAY CATS -a weapon-x war veteran and a child-supersoldier experiment. can they get along? [platonic!]. [12,]JUST. ONE. NORMAL. NIGHT -there hasn't been a calm night, a normal night, in your life ever since you joined the x-men. with a knock upon your door, you prepare yourself to another announcement for an emergency mission, only to be met by a restless logan that can't sleep. [13,]LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER -logan is always walking around with a cigar in his mouth and faking to be annoyed by everything. what will happen when he catches the certified comic relief troublemaker of the school running around past curfew? [platonic!].

+[14,]DADDY'S FARMHAND 🫧-cowboy!au. your father has hired someone to help him out in the farm and, of fucking course, it had to be this hot man that seems to take joy in the way your eyes wander whenever he's around.

[15,]KITTY CAT, KITTY CAT RUN 🫧-logan just woke up in a strange white room full of medical supplies, the last thing he remembers is getting attacked by some guys that were trying to bring him back to the lab. Believing he is back to be experimented on, he flees the scene, only to bump into somethingsomeone soft. And he doesn't even know what happened, but just at the scent of the mutant he collided into, his claws retracted instinctively and he felt a "mhrp"ing sound building at the back of his throath like the sound kitty cats make when they see something they like

old man logan

[1,]ACHING BONES AND WARM HANDS 🫧-he's getting old and his bones are aching, but you're young and your mutation makes you run warmer, so.. how about you help your old man out, bub? [2,]OLD MAN WITH ANGER ISSUES -everyone has a different way of dealing with grief. while you're one to drown in it, logan burns with it, irremediably burning everyone in a close range due to his own anger. [platonic!].

worst wolverine

[1,]A JOKE TO HIM -when someone who isn't your wolverine discovers a you that isn't his you, thinks can go downhill very fast. especially when you've seemed to fail at everything his version of you had accomplished without a sweat. [platonic!]. [2,]WADE LIKES HIS MERCH 🫧-when, after the 'worst' version of logan moved into your appartment, you wake up in pyjamas you certainly didn't go to sleep with, you're forced to get out of your room with 'wolverine's babygirl' written on your ass. [3,]MOMMYPOOL -after falling into the void, logan discovers that maybe not all deadpool's are that bad. not when he's got the hottest one paying attention to him. [4,]THAT TIME OF THE MONTH -just logan realizing how much wade babies you when you're in that time of the month. +wade wilson [platonic!]. [5,]"I CALL DIBS ON THE KID!" -it seems that, while trapped between grumpy logan and yapper deadpool, you're not going to get any sleep at all during this flight.. +wade wilson [platonic!] [6,]"SORRY, MOMMY?" + "WADE STFU" -since sending wade and logan alone and togheter to a mission is the recipe for murder, they decided to send you to make sure they got the mission done instead of fighting all the time. +wade wilson [7,]GOD'S BEST JOKES -bascially the scene of the angry speech in the car, but instead of yelling at wade he's yelling at you (angst-oriented).

wade wilson (earth-10005).

[1,]ROOKIE WITH A MOUTH -out of the whole X-Team, wade wilson seems to be the one that talks the most. a yapper, rambler, however you want to call it, he runs his mouth day and night. yet, there seems to be only one thing that shuts him up: you. [2,] ELEVATOR PROBLEMS 🫧-basically the elevator scene from xmen wolverine: origins, except instead of being stuck during a mission the whole team is stuck after one. You just all want to take a shower and crash on your bed, but you can still feel Wade oogling you while he runs his mouth.

[1,]HANLDE HIM 🫧-after weapon xi, probably the most dangerous experiment in the base, kills his handler. Your boss decides it's you who'll handle him. [2,]NOT JUST A WEAPON 🫧-after logan joined the school, he managed to convince charles of sending an 'expedition team' to the Project X base he escaped from. However, he is met by an old friend that was supposed to be dead and rotting, and that now is stuck to your side like the clingy merc he remembered him to be only.. less chatty.

wade wilson

[1,]SCAR FOR A SCAR -wade seems completely adamant on not showing you his face, while most of the people at the X-Mannor (colossus, negasonic, yukio, and even logan) have seen his face he refuses to let you see it. so, when you're now the one with nasty scars that you won't show him, he pulls an offer to the table "scar for a scar, eh, pumpkin?" [platonic!] [2,]PUSHED TO THE LIMITS (WOLVERINE #22) -after seeing with your own eyes the way wolverine dismembered deadpool to only half-chest and an arm, you the teen-age apprentice of deadpool, spend the whole next night watching him regenerate out of sheer anxiety. [platonic!] [3,]"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KID SAW IT?!?" -deadpool 2. after waking up on the X-Mansion couch with colossus towering over him, wade finds out the one to ditch on him about blowing himself to pieces had been you. And now you're as traumatized by the stunt he pulled as to not want to leave your room. well, sucks. [platonic!] [4,]THAT TIME OF THE MONTH -just logan realizing how much wade babies you when you're in that time of the month. +logan howlett [platonic!]. [5,]"I CALL DIBS ON THE KID!" -it seems that, while trapped between grumpy logan and yapper deadpool, you're not going to get any sleep at all during this flight.. +logan howlett [platonic!] [6,]"SORRY, MOMMY?" + "WADE STFU" -since sending wade and logan alone and togheter to a mission is the recipe for murder, they decided to send you to make sure they got the mission done instead of fighting all the time. +logan howlett

+[7,]A SURPRISE VISIT -marvel future avengers oriented. after getting attached to you since you'd always open the door of the tower for him so he didn't have to break a sweat in avoiding the security system, deadpool comes to ring the door once again only to be met with iron man instead of you. [tw: attempt] [platonic!]

[lithium80writer]

I’m with the Band (Eddie Munson one shots)

Hot Mess

Summary: Eddie is on stage performing when he sees a guy getting handsy with you. A fight ensues and then he takes you backstage for some fun. ⚠️explicit sexual content. 18+ minors DNI⚠️

*******

You were front row at Eddie's concert watching him perform. God, he took your breath away.

Every note he sang. Every bit of rasp in his voice. The way he plays his guitar so effortlessly.

Perfection.

Normally you sit backstage or watch from the side but you had missed seeing him from this angle. Seeing the crowd go wild for him. Feeling the excitement all around you.

People loved him. He really had a gift.

He locks eyes with you and gives you a wink as you cheer along with the crowd. He's so beautiful.

His tight leather pants clinging to his body. His shirt was lost long ago. You could see the sweat glistening on his tatted up chest every time the lights hit him.

He sticks the middle finger up proudly with a wild grin on his face. His curly hair is in disarray from his constant head banging.

His eyeliner is smudged from his sweat. He looks a mess. The hottest mess I’ve ever seen.

You suddenly feel a hand grab your ass and spin around to see a tall guy grinning at you.

You give him a shove and a quick fuck you and spin back around.

The guy apparently couldn't take a hint because you feel his hands on you again. This time even tighter.

"What's wrong beautiful? Don't you wanna have some fun?"

You feel yourself being pressed back against him as the crowd begins to jump around wildly.

"Stop touching me!" you shout at the guy and he just smirks as he leans in closer. You can smell the alcohol drifting off of him.

"Why don't we take this somewhere else?" the guy slurs, grabbing your arm tightly.

You try to pull away as you look towards the stage. Eddie is on his knees playing an intricate guitar solo.

Fuck.

You shout but you know he can't hear you over the screaming of the fans. The guy yanks you roughly and you kick behind you.

His grip loosens momentarily and you bolt for the stage. You scream Eddie's name and his eye catches yours just before you feel the guy grip you around the waist, pulling you back.

You're lost in the sea of people as he pulls you deeper into the crowd.

Then you see him.

His brown curls bouncing wildly as he pushes his way through the mob of people. His eyes are dark. His normal playful expression replaced with anger.

Before you know what's happening you're tossed to the side and Eddie is swinging.

He hits the guy hard in the jaw and the guy stumbles but doesn't fall. He swings at Eddie catching him in the side of his lip.

Eddie spits blood out onto the floor before he looks back at you and winks. Blood smears across his teeth as he gives you a wild smile.

Oh, fuck.

He swings again and connects with the guy's nose this time. The crowd is going insane, forming a loose circle around them but no one steps in.

You see fists flying and Eddie takes a punch to the gut. You run over as he doubles over and he lifts up and meets your eyes.

"Baby?!" you try to shout over the noise. He grins wildly before gripping your chin tightly. He pulls your lips to his and you taste blood before he pulls away. He lightly pushes you back before he tackles the dude to the ground.

You hear expletives pouring from his lips as his aggression takes over. You see blood on the guy's face and he throws his hands up in surrender. Eddie stands up leaving the guy on the ground.

Security arrives and Eddie nods at them to take the guy away. You see him shake his entire body out, trying to release some of the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

You quickly take his hand and he pulls you close. He has a busted lip and a cut above his eyebrow. Blood trickling down his beautiful face. You run your finger across it, wiping it away softly.

"Are you okay?" he pants.

You nod quickly.

"Are you okay?" you whisper as you carefully touch the split on his lip.

"Never better, sweetheart." he grins. He turns around and squats down, motioning for you to get on his back.

You giggle and jump on as he makes his way back towards the front. The crowd clears a path for him and he carries you to the steps of the stage.

"After the show. You're mine." he growls, kissing you fiercely before running back onstage.

"I'm back, fuckers!" he yells and the crowd cheers louder than you've ever heard.

Eddie played the rest of the show like nothing happened. His energy even more rambunctious than before. His eyes kept looking to you, making sure you were still where he had left you.

You watched as the band did their last song of the night. And then there he was. Running off the stage. A bloody, sweaty mess.

He quickly scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder. He makes a beeline for the dressing room and kicks the door shut behind him. As soon as he places you on the ground his lips are on yours.

His hands grip your waist as he backs you into the wall. His mouth tastes metallic from the blood as his tongue swirls wildly with yours.

"Are you.. sure.. you're okay?" you pant in between kisses.

"Mm.. I'll be better once I'm inside you." he mumbles against your lips causing your pussy to throb.

He hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you up as he presses you against the wall. You tangle your hands in his unruly hair.

He moves to kiss your neck as he speaks. "I need you, baby. Fuck, I need you." he moans before biting down against your shoulder causing you to gasp.

He spins around carrying you to the couch. He lays you down and pushes your dress up above your hips quickly. You reach down, sliding your panties off as he works his way out of his pants.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You nod as he settles himself in between your legs. He lifts one of your legs hooking it around his waist as he lines himself up.

He takes his tip running it up and down your slit a few times.

"You're fucking soaked." he moans.

"You know I get turned on watching you fight." you breathe as he rubs his tip against your clit.

"Yeah? You like seeing me mad?" he chuckles as he continues to tease you. He enters one inch inside of you and you feel the slight stretch.

"More." you whine.

"You want more baby?" he smirks as he pulls back out and slides in two inches.

"Yes." you try to lift your hips and he smacks your thigh roughly.

"Beg." he burns as his dark eyes bore into yours.

"Please, Eddie."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me." you plead.

"You want me to fuck that pussy?" he enters you a little more.

"Yes.. I need you, Eddie. I need you inside me." you whimper and he slams into you causing you to cry out.

He grips your thigh tightly as he pumps in and out wildly. You try to cover your mouth as your moans grow louder, knowing everyone can hear you outside.

"You can scream, baby. It's okay." he groans as he continues to thrust forcefully. You let out another cry as he gives you an extra hard thrust.

His hand comes down and grips your throat tightly causing your eyelids to flutter.

"You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?" he hisses as he pounds into you.

You nod and he tightens his grip a little more immediately getting a moan from you.

"Mmm.. you love it like this, don't you?" he hums as he continues ramming into your pussy.

"Yes." you squeak and he grins.

"Touch yourself baby." he says deeply and you reach down and slowly begin rubbing your clit.

"You're gonna cum when I say." he orders, his eyes locked on yours.

You nod again as you feel yourself getting closer and closer.

"Eddie..."

"Not yet." he says sternly.

Your legs begin to shake as he slams into you. You slow down your fingers trying to stop your orgasm from coming so quickly.

"E-Eddie..." you whimper as your legs begin to shake even more.

"Not. Yet." he says as he watches you carefully.

His cock glides in and out at an insane pace.

"Listen baby, fuck.. you hear how wet you are?" Eddie groans deeply as your back begins to arch.

"Eddie... please!" you cry and he chuckles deeply as your eyes fill with tears.

He waits until you feel like you're going to explode, pushing your body to its absolute limit.

"P-please." you barely manage the word.

"Cum." he demands and your body comes undone. Your back arches completely off the couch as you spasm around his cock again and again. Whimpers and cries fall from your lips.

"Fuck.. I love those sounds." Eddie mumbles watching your body jerk beneath him.

You feel almost lightheaded as he releases your throat from his grasp. You close your eyes as your head falls back against the couch.

Eddie leans down pressing his body against yours.

He slows down his thrusts, entering you deep each time. You feel his firm hand come beneath your head lifting it up so you're looking at him.

His eyes meet yours and he kisses you tenderly.

"I love you." he whispers as you feel him deep inside. Your body is tingling all over as he kisses you again.

"I love you." you breathe out.

"You know I'll always protect you." he says seriously.

You nod as you grip him tightly. You press your lips to his, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. He feels so close. His tongue slips in your mouth and he kisses you passionately.

You move with him, your bodies practically melding together. You hold him close, your nails dig into his back as he keeps himself buried deep inside of you.

You cross your legs around his back pulling him in as close as possible as your head falls back. His lips meet your neck and begin sucking marks. He kisses up to your ear.

"I want you to cum with me, y/n." he whispers in your ear. You feel your second orgasm approaching already, his words bringing you closer. His strokes are deep and slow... passionate.. loving.

"Eddie.. Eddie, I'm so close.." you moan and he picks up his speed just a bit.

"Me too, baby. Me too." he hums.

He rocks into you strongly. His lips find yours once again and he swallows your moans as you reach your peak once again.

You feel Eddie's cock twitch as you cum together. He moans into your mouth as you claw at his back. Your body shudders against his as you soak his cock once again.

Eddie pulls away leaving your lips feeling lonely. You grip his hair and pull him back to you and you feel him smile into your kiss.

"I love you, Eddie Munson." you say against his lips.

"I love you, y/n." he whispers bringing his sweet lips back to yours.

Masterlist found here 🖤

[edgrara]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍?

feat - Raiden, Kung Lao, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi

No warnings, sfw, fluff

*DISCLAIMER - this is my opinion of what i think they listen so im sorry if its not to your liking*

𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍

He doesn’t really listen to a lot of genres but definitely listen to Chinese instrumental music due to his culture growing up

Would listen to jazz artists such as Michael Buble and Frank Sinatara 

His favourite songs would be ‘Fly me to the moon’ and ‘Sway’

Maybe listens to a bit of the trending songs like ‘Standing next to you’ and ‘3D’

Doesn’t like Rock a lot as he finds it loud and overwhelming to listen

𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐎

Same w raiden, he would listen to Chinese instrumental music 

He listens to mostly Pop, maybe Justin Bieber and The Weekend?

Listens to K-pop sometimes like ‘Love shot’ and ‘Bang Bang Bang’

Would be singing ‘What do you mean’ the WHOLE day to the point where Raiden gets irritated and fed up w him

He would sit for hours listening to music

Johnny probably introduced him to Pop music 

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄

Has white man music taste

Listens to Pitbull, Justin Bieber and Chris Brown

favourite song of course, its ‘International Love’

He secretly listens to Nicki Minaj and tries to rap the lyrics

His go to karaoke song is ‘Last Friday Night’ and ‘California Girls’

Has a great ton of playlist for each mood

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈

Doesn’t really have a favourite song 

He does listens to j-pop a little bit like Fuji Kaze

He would go on strolls while listening to music

Has dad music taste

Prefers to listens to bands than solo artists 

Has a ‘The Beatles’ t-shirt 

reblogs, likes and shares are appreciated!

@edgrara ‘23

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter three: thursday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide

word count: 3.4k

summary: you and carmy finally find some time to catch up and carmy begins to realize that you're more similar than he thinks.

a/n: thank you to all who are reading, reblogging, and commenting omg. i'm so grateful that someone wanted to read this story. i wrote it in a week because i couldn't get these two out of my head. they were begging to be put on the page. i also have a companion playlist that i'll release when the story is done because i don't want to spoil anything! comment below if you'd like to be added to this story's taglist. i did presumptuously add a few of you i've interacted with, so please let me know if you'd also like to be taken off of it.

read: part two | masterlist

Thursday

You’re grateful that by day three, you’d been able to smooth over some of the tension between you and Carmy. You even looked forward to catching up with him, if the two of you can swing it. Instead of going home early, you had jumped on the line this evening. Ebra was out for the night and Marcus had asked to fly solo on prep so that you could give him some feedback before lunch service tomorrow morning. 

It was an easy decision, to fill in and jump on the line. After all, you had checked your bag on the plane so that you could bring your knife roll with you, just in case. There was something about this kitchen – the energy and the people – that you wanted to stick around for. And it didn’t hurt that you got to spend a little extra time with Carmy. When he was in his element, expediting and leading this kitchen… he was… breathtaking. 

“Damn, nice knife, Jeff” Tina comments, checking out the santoku you’re running through some parsley. She can hear the crisp, clean cuts you're making, which is what caught her attention in the first place.

“Jeff?” you question, shooting her a look. 

“Long story, but trust me. It’s a term of endearment,” Sydney interjects, from her side of the prep station. 

You chuckle, “She’s a beauty alright. My first fully Japanese knife. Though the steel is a bitch to take care of. That’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Tina questions further. 

“Well, it’s just a kind of metal alloy that’s super prone to-,” you start, completing your sentence at the same time as Sydney chimes in.

“Rusting,” you both say in unison, sharing a look. 

“Huh,” Tina sounds, suddenly losing interest. “I don’t get it. It’s more work to take care of? Our shit’s part-plastic and does the job just fine.”

“Oh but she’s so smooth,” you playfully swoon, referring to how beautifully the knife performs for you. 

“It’s all about the performance, T,” Sydney adds. 

Tina hums in response, still unconvinced by you and Sydney’s admiration for the fancy tools. 

“So you and Carmy. How’d you meet Jeff?” Tina inquires further geturing her knife towards Carmy’s expediting station, and eliciting another laugh from you and Sydney.

“Uhhhh… we both worked at the same restaurant in New York. I came in to stage and the competitive jerk tried to smoke me. Thought he could show me it was his territory.”

“Like a little bitch,” Tina teases, the shade evident in her voice.

“And you kicked his ass obviously,” Sydney suggests, hopefully. 

“Mhm,” Tina adds in agreement.

“Oh absolutely,” you answer, deviously. “I walked out with a job that night. Carmy and I are the classic kitchen staff case of… enemies turned good friends.” 

You look up from your station, noticing an exchanged look between Sydney and Tina. 

It’s the kind of look that says, Just friends, huh?

“Alright, alright. Enough with the girl talk, gossip girls. News flash: no one gives a shit about fuckin’ Tom Colicchio and Padma Whatserface over here,” Richie interrupts, referring to the you and Carmy, as he passes by with a few empty storage containers on the way to the dishwashing station. 

“Asshole / Fuck off, Richie,” Sydney and Tina shout back at the same time. 

“Hey! Listen up, everyone! Fire two spaghettis, two short ribs, one chicken,” Carmy calls out to the kitchen. You listen attentively, hearing the chorus of the entire kitchen repeat the order back to him, punctuating the order with a ‘heard.’ 

You smile to yourself, as you enjoy the feeling of falling into such a familiar rhythm. 

You’ve missed working in the kitchen, and you’ve missed working in the kitchen with Carmy. This was so different than any of the bullshit you’ve been through together – even when he is arguing or yelling at someone. It’s not some sterile environment that looks more like a science lab or an operation room than it does a kitchen.

No, this place has soul. 

Between the crass kitchen banter, the less than flattering nicknames, and its wild cast of characters, it’s only day three and you feel right at home. Dinner service flies by and you’re eager to check in with Marcus by the end of the shift. Before taking your apron off, you head over to his corner of the kitchen. 

“Hey, how’s everything going, chef?” you ask, curiously. 

“Good, chef,” he answers proudly. “I got the brioche covered and ready to rise overnight and I prepped the cake donuts so we’re ready to roll tomorrow morning. I went with a blueberry cake donut this time around.” 

“Sounds great. I can’t wait to try it, chef,” you reply. “Need anything from me before I head out for the night?”

“Oh no, uh, I’m almost done here,” Marcus answers, inspiring confidence in his ability. “Just workin’ on a curd for the filling, chef. Just like you taught me.”

“Alright,” you chuckle, tickled by how excited he is. “Have a good night, chef.” You pause, wondering if your words will be totally lost on him. “And make sure you get some rest tonight, okay?” 

He responds with a nod, as you leave his station.

You make your way to the locker area, hanging your apron up, and slipping off your kitchen sneakers, before taking a seat on the bench. It looks like most of the kitchen staff got a head start on you and have already left, or are out of their kitchen clothes and ready to head home. There’s a strange feeling in your heart. You haven’t felt this kind of… community… in a professional kitchen in a long time and you try your best to name what it is you’ve felt was missing. 

“Hey,” you hear a voice say, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Hey,” you say to Carmy. 

He removes his apron, folding it over his forearm. It sits further down his arm, right near his tattooed hand, you notice, as he leans his side against the lockers. 

“Thanks for jumpin’ in… you know… on the line tonight,” he starts his gaze practically piercing through your soul. 

“Yeah, it’s uh, no problem,” you reply, placing your knife roll and kitchen shoes back into your locker. “I had fun.”

“You uh, you still want to go for that drink?” he asks, shyly. 

You smile. 

“Yeah.”

*

“It’s fucked up,” Carmy shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Oh please. What?” you groan, shooting him a look.

“You’ve been in my city for… what three days now and you already have a hookup at one of the hardest to get into bars here,” Carmy replies, eliciting a laugh from you. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh with a playful eye roll. “I’m a New Yorker, asshole. You know that’s how we do it.” 

He shakes his head again, before locking eyes with you, “You were always better at it than me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you, Carmen Berzatto, finally admitting that I’m better at something than you? Can you say it again, and I’m just going to-.” you tease, playfully, pulling out your phone as if you’re going to film him saying it. 

“Oh shut up…” he shoots back, gently pushing your phone away from his face. 

“I mean, you could always make friends with anyone. The bodega guy downstairs. The fuckin’ bodega cat. Our favorite butcher? ‘S why we always got the good cuts of meat when we cooked together on our days off.” 

“Which is exactly why I do it,” you point out. 

You had always been so magnetic to him. It’s something that he’s always admired about you – something that always reminded him of Mikey. 

“No, I-, I used to be a regular at this bar when I was working at Gramercy Tavern – actually, I think it closed right before you came to New York. Anyways, found out my favorite bartender moved to Chicago and I sent him a message letting him know I’d be in town. Said he’d get us in even if they were booked up, and,” you gesture towards where the two of you are sitting together, “Et voila!” 

Carmy takes a look around. He hasn’t been in a fine dining establishment since he left New York. It’s as if all the fancy awards and all the dues he’s paid cooking in the best restaurants in the entire world don’t matter anymore. He feels so out of place: the people, the over-the-top cocktails, the overpriced bowls of food called something fancy to justify the high price point. 

“From the kitchen” your bartender had said curtly, a mere few minutes ago. He had placed a few plates in front of the two of you to share that you most certainly didn’t order.

You both had thanked the bartender, before digging into the large bowl of soup, stracciatella, and focaccia bread on the plate. You rip off pieces of bread, dipping them into the salty broth, popping them into your mouth. Carmy’s much more of a gentleman about it, using his spoon to try the soup first. You had only planned on drinking here, but your friend at The Aviary had really come through. You’re sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re here with Carmy, and that these guys definitely know who Carmy is. 

“So…” you start, taking a sip of whatever fizzy strawberry gin thing you’d ordered earlier. “I feel like there are a lot of long stories I’d like to hear.” 

Carmy makes a sound in agreement before taking a sip of his drink. It’s just bourbon on the rocks, and you wonder when he started drinking bourbon like this.

“I mean… we could start here. How the hell are ya?” you ask. 

“I…” he starts, before trailing off. He buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingertips across his forehead. “It’s uh, it’s been a long couple of months. Christ. The restaurant was a goddamn mess, everyone hated my fuckin’ guts. And then Syd showed up and, well, she’s been a big help.” 

You wait a beat before saying, “As much as I want to hear about the restaurant, Carm, I mean how are you doing?”

Your words stop him, and he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes. He takes his time thinking about it, shrugging before muttering something along the lines of, “I’m okay, I guess.”

He’s searching for the right words to explain how the hell he’s even supposed to answer that question.

“I don’t know. Guess I thought if I fixed the restaurant, if I could fix it-. Maybe I could fix him,” he drags out. 

He waits a few beats before finally admitting:

“I miss him. Mikey. And I found out all kinds of shit about him that I-, well, shit I didn’t know. I think-, I think it’s why he kept me away. Why he shut me out.”

You listen as he begins to fill you in: about Mikey, the drugs, the debt he inherited that he now owes to Cicero, how hard it was to win over the kitchen staff that, come hell or high water, weren’t interested in changing their ways. And then he tells you about the meetings he's been going to -- the al-anon meetings. And you begin to understand. While he’s the same old Carmy, this isn’t the exact same Carmy that you knew in New York. The Carmy you knew in New York never would’ve gone to those meetings. He would’ve brushed it off and pretended there wasn’t a problem and taken as much punishment as he could in the kitchen instead of dealing with what he was feeling.

Mikey’s death, and coming home, and this restaurant, it’s all changed him. 

And maybe, just maybe, it’s part of the reason why, after months of no contact, he reached out to you now, but he’s not sure if he should tell you that yet.

You’ve got to give it to him. If anything, he’s exceptionally talented at cutting people out of his life. It’s his M.O – the only thing that’s been consistent in his life – even when those people didn’t deserve it. It’s what he knows to do. It’s something he’s learned… from Mikey, from his dad… 

But this… what he’s telling you, these are stories of connection and community. 

“And Syd’s really helped me pull this shit together. She's kinda like... the glue, y'know? I- I don’t know where we’d be without her,” Carmy concludes.

You agree. Syd is brilliant. You can see just from having been in that kitchen that she’s been the biggest catalyst for the changes — even his.

“I know you only asked me to come for pastry but I’m glad you let me jump in on the line tonight,” you say. “It’s cool to see what you’re doing now and… I don’t know. I know it was a rocky start, but you’ve got something here. Something that could be really, really good, Carm. You’re making real fucking food. Like your mom’s chicken. I haven’t forgotten about that.” 

“How can you remember that?” Carmy asks, a little surprised, his eyes lighting up. He’d almost forgotten that he’d once made it for you while you were both still in New York.

You nod, “Best chicken piccata I’ve had in my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Hands down.”

“You know,” you start, a mischievous tone in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you made me some pretty bomb meals back in New York. And didn’t I say something along the lines of you really shining when-?”

“Oh no,” he groans. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying!” you justify, innocently. “When you cook the food you grew up with, Carm, you’re at your very best. And don’t get me wrong. You’re an exceptional chef, regardless of what you do but-.”

“So what? You’re gonna say ‘I told you so?’” he questions, shooting you a look. 

You shrug, playfully, “I can’t help it if I’m right all the time,” earning an eye roll from him. 

“Especially when it comes to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, because you do know him. You’ve seen sides of him he’s barely let anyone else see. It feels good and terrifying all at once to be seen this clearly.

“Yeah, well, you always were a little more Mozza than French Laundry, huh?” he shoots back, referencing your difference in preference. While Mozza was more family style, The French Laundry, a restaurant Carmy had worked at once upon a time, was anything but. 

“Yeah. Who knew one day we’d switch places?” you reply, a sadness in your voice. Were you… envious of what Carmy had? Was this what you were looking for?

“So uh, you gonna tell me what the hell happened with the restaurant?” Carmy asked, changing the subject – changing the subject to you. 

You sigh, you raise your drink to your lips, finishing the rest of what’s in the glass in one go. 

“That bad, huh?”

“No!” you’re quick to reply. “Well, yes. But no. But yeah….” 

Carmy flags the bartender down, ordering another round for the two of you. 

You’re not even sure where to begin in regards to the existential crisis of sorts that you’ve been having, so you just tell him what happened. 

“I was juicing blood oranges one day. And-, you know we were going to take the juice and do all that fancy gastronomy shit with it… turn it into like, the same consistency of ‘dew in the early morning’…” you began to explain, quoting what your head pastry chef had said that day.  

“And I’m sitting there thinking… what the hell am I doing? I mean, who eats food like this?! Who wants to eat a drop of blood orange juice that’s been turned into the consistency of dew in the early mornings? Like, why the fuck can’t I just make the best blood orange olive oil cake anyone’s ever had, and that be enough, you know?”

“And. I don’t know. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of food I want to make, and what that would mean, and what does any of this shit even mean? Fast forward to a week later, and I don’t feel like I have a fuckin’ clue about what I want to do with my life and I’m quitting the restaurant.”

You pause, noticing that he’s just been listening attentively this whole time.

“I’m tired, Carm,” you admit. “I mean. I’m burnt the hell out. I just. I don’t want to work this hard for something that- something that I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.”

Another beat. 

“I know it sounds totally insane but-.”

“No! No, it doesn’t,” Carmy interrupts, quick to reassure you, as he reaches for your hand. Your eyes flicker from his hand on yours, the small tattoo above his wrist, then back to him, feeling the loss of body heat as he pulls his hand back only a moment later. 

“I feel like I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot of the same shit,” he admits, empathizing with you. 

“I just feel… kind of lost,” you say, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. “I do. I-, I’ve been feeling really lost lately.”

In all the time he’s known you, never could he have expected you to feel lost. He wondered if he’d just put you on a pedestal. You had always been this stunningly charismatic, charming person that could walk into any room and in minutes, have everyone wrapped around your finger. For so long he denied any feelings for you because he knew you were unattainable – that someone like you could ever want someone like him felt impossible. Wouldn’t you be better off with one of those Wall Street assholes that came into the restaurant all the time – wining and dining their clients with their expensive wristwatches and fancy town cars?

But hearing you say it – that you feel lost – it reminds him that you’re only human too. 

He waits another beat, guilt filling up his throat, before he speaks again. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes you want to trust him. Sure, it seems like he’s been apologizing to you for three days straight, but you want to listen. 

You take another sip of your drink. 

“I started volunteering at a Brooklyn community garden so I could like, pull my head out of my ass,” you share with him. 

“Did it help?”

You shrug, “Yeah, a little bit.”

It helped, but it hadn’t fixed anything. You feel like you can confide in him, especially since he told you that he was going to meetings.

“My therapist actually encouraged me to come here,” you confess, gauging his reaction as the words flow from your mouth. “Get out of dodge. Get a change of scenery… give myself some time to think.”

“We both know you do a little too much of that,” he teases gently, and you chuckle. 

Between Carmy’s avoidance, and your neuroses, you’re quite the pairing. 

“Yeah.”

Carmy pauses, not sure if he has the words to give you the explanation you deserve, but he’s going to try. 

“I had… a lot goin’ on. When I got back. And I didn’t know….” He pauses before continuing. “I didn’t know how to do it all at once. How to handle, you know… everything at the same time.”

And it’s just easier to avoid everything – to avoid you, to avoid the way I feel about you, he thinks to himself.

And it’s exactly what he did, he pushed you away, and pushed any and all feelings or thoughts about you into a dark hole, never to be acknowledged ever again. 

Until you quit your job. Until his phone call with Tim. Until his phone call with you. 

“I know, Carm. I know you’re sorry and I appreciate the apology,” you start, taking a breath. “It’s just that-.  I need you to know...” 

You pause, suddenly feeling like you’re in the middle of an anxiety dream where you realize you’re not wearing any pants.

“I need you to know that it hurt. It… it really hurt. Not hearing from you. Being cut out like that.”

“I know,” he admits, remorsefully. “I’m gonna be better. At least I’m trying to be.” 

“I really want to believe that,” you say, softly. 

But I don’t want to get hurt again, you think to yourself.

He looks at you, a soft, shy smile on his face, and it makes you want to take a chance on him. 

Who are you kidding? You’d jump off of a bridge with him if he asked, even if it meant getting hurt all over again.

“Okay?” he asks, hopefully. 

You’re not sure if he’s asking if it’s okay, if you’re okay, if everything is okay between the two of you, and you wonder if he means all three.

“Okay,” you answer, quietly. 

“Okay.”

read: part four

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether

[vintagerpg]

This is Deathtrap Equalizer Dungeon, the second Tunnels & Trolls adventure module, and one that saw several printings. The first two pictures are from the spiral bound 1977 edition, the second set of two from the revised 1981 edition. It is cool to see both the Flying Buffalo production value increase and to see how Liz Danforth’s skill as an illustrator evolved over the four years between the two versions.

I said adventure module, but really, this is an adventure gamebook meant for solo play. It is, I believe, the first “teleport” adventure, in which a quest master—in this case the demon, Umslopagaas of the Shiny Teeth, the fellow on the cover—blinks you in, around and out dungeon situations, rather than adhering to more prosaic methods of exploration and traversal. There are two modes, the frog trail and the lion trail. Frog adventurers dip in to test themselves in a single encounter, where lions proceed through the gauntlet of all sixteen.

The encounters offer a variety of challenges, many of which break the conventional rules of the game (hence the “equalizer” in the title). I don’t really know what to make of it. Characters were supposed to move through a series of solos in T&T, growing as they go, but the teleportation here seems at odds with, say, exploring the City of Terrors or even taking part in the battles of Arena of Khazan. You can use the frog ring multiple times to minimize risk and maximize reward, sort of a gamebook version of save scumming or XP farming. S’weird. On the other hand, this is literally the second adventure gamebook published, after Buffalo Castle, so it seems wrong to hold it a super high standard.

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: HP Daddy Knows Best (Part 2)

HP Daddy Knows Best Fest 2024:

Home & Away by EastWindmlk - T, WIP - While attempting to recover her parent's memory, Hermione discovers something that turns her life upside down. She is pregnant. The father? Draco Malfoy. Knowing the pandemonium that awaits at home, she decides to stay and continue her life without magic and the complications of wizarding Britain still reshaping itself and the relentless quill of Rita Skeeter. The only way she sees how is to vanish completely. Which works flawlessly, until fate decided that one Draco Malfoy should stumble onto her path once more.

Your Husband, Draco Malfoy by acapulcogold - E, one-shot - When Hermione wakes up with no recollection of the past few years of her life, it’s up to Draco, her husband, to help fill in the missing pieces. Just not too many. [Warning: Rape/Non-Con]

Happy Birthday, Scorpius by SunnyWhileItRains - E, WIP - Hermione and Draco have been sucessfullly co-parenting their child for 10 years, but what happens when he overhears a conversation he shouldn't have in Hermione's kitchen during their son's birthday party.

Wight, Wine, and White-blonde by ViridianRynn - E, WIP - Hermione's life is in a state of flux: feeling unfulfilled, she's changing careers and swapping her London flat for a cottage in the Codswolds. To celebrate these changes, Hermione takes a week-long vacation on the Isle of Wight. Things take an unexpected turn when she runs into Draco Malfoy and his son on a muggle ferry. When he helps her out of a bind with her itinerary, she finds herself staying in his summer home for the week- his only request being nightly conversation. This isn't the vacation that she expected, but it might just be the vacation she needed...

Your Wife Calls Me Daddy Too by Etoile_Nabeerie - E, one-shot - Hermione Granger only has a few months left to carry the Malfoy heir before their marriage is annulled. No matter how much they try, every month brings forth a new wave of disappointment. After months of potions and heirlooms, Lucius Malfoy decides to step in. Caught between two daddies, she can only hope for one outcome: to keep her family. [Side Pairing: Hermione x Lucius]

i could never define all that you are to me by llcooljones - E, one-shot - They were two sides of the same coin, puzzle pieces that fit only each other. Whoever had written that Greek myth on the origins of humans — four legs, four arms, a head with two faces, a whole, split in half by Zeus, punished, spending the rest of their lives seeking their matching half, a whole — they had written it of Hermione and Draco. OR, Draco comes home from a work trip to find his wife has broken the rules.

We'll Figure It Out by Ohmorefina - M, 2 chapters - Hermione and Draco have entered the battlefield again – only this time, they're on the same side. Their opponents are clever, creative and downright manipulative. They'll have to trust in each other and hope that when logic and reason fail – as it often does where children are concerned – bribery, pleading and empty threats will be enough to aid them as they face the eternal conflict of parenthood. Or A typical Saturday in the Granger-Malfoy household. Or Hermione and Draco are tired but doing their best. Their kids don't give a flying fu–fudge. Life goes on.

Scorpius Malfoy’s Guide to Being a Menace by Jellylegswriter - G, WIP - After a blissful first year of being stay-at-home parents to young Scorpius Malfoy, Hermione Granger has decided to head back to work! Join her husband Draco on his first full day of being a solo stay-at-home dad. Unfortunately for Draco, Scorpius doesn't plan to let him have a peaceful time. Then, a visit to the Grandparents where Narcissa is all too eager to leave Lucius alone with young Scorpius. Essentially just two chapters of Scorpius Malfoy torturing the Malfoy men.

This fest is ongoing.