#that jaunty little lean

[danielashdotcom]

hmmmm cut my hair super short and though i feel the Gender happening i know i can't tease my hair out all crazy and the volume of my hair is directly related to how i feel about myself

but the thing is, i have a split dye and the bleached half.... botched it. like 3 inches just straight melted off and i've been trying to trim it to be even with the black half of my hair but it's just so fuckin dead so klaus cut it short i have like 2 inches of hair left

how can i serve cunt in these conditions

[murdockparker]

Of the Same Mind

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A mutual distaste in a certain author—should he even have the grace to be called that—leads to an unexpected meeting.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of drinking/alcohol, pregnancy, fluff, time skip

A/N: a cute lil request! made me actually read a little Byron myself to get the gist! and it wasn't that terrible I'm so sorry to disappoint

Dull. 

Everything was dull. What was supposed to be the social event of the season was shortened due to poor weather—an outdoors event of sorts, it seemed, Benedict really didn’t pay his mother much attention when she explained the whole ordeal. Thus, half of the ton was crammed into Lord Whitehill’s home instead of his luscious grounds, all due to the pouring rain. Most conversation was boring, most of the ladies were whining about the rain, the men whining about their whining wives and daughters. 

At least the drinks were good. 

“…seriously think that fodder is worth your breath?”

Benedict’s ears perked up, focusing on a conversation that was decidedly not about the current weather. A breath of fresh air. 

“I-I did not mean to insult you, miss,” a young gentleman sputtered, his face rosy red. “I only meant to indulge you in poetry of the highest regard—” 

“If that was your intention, you would have chosen from a finer list of poets. Byron?” The lady nearly laughed out loud. “Byron is the bottom of the barrel, as it were, so your intention was ill-placed.”

“Byron is a well-regarded poet—”

“By who? Chamber pots?” 

Benedict nearly spat out his drink. The action alone brought the attention of the arguing couple to him—both sets of eyes trained on the tall Bridgerton at once. “Oh,” he fake coughed, “it seems the drink went down the wrong way, please, forgive me.”

The man—who Benedict now recognized as Lord Whitehill’s son—scoffed. “Bridgerton. You are well versed in the arts, are you not?”

Benedict nodded. “I dabble.”

“Would you please explain to Miss (Y/L/N) that Byron is a novel poet,” Mr. Whitehill asked, “and that she should be flattered I recited poetry for her, regardless of the poet?”

Miss (Y/L/N). So that was the lady’s name. 

“But that would be lying, Whitehill,” Benedict gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “And I am ever a gentleman, raised to never lie, especially to a fine lady such as Miss (Y/L/N).”

She smiled at that. 

“You do not agree?”

“Oh I certainly agree with Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict said quickly, setting his glass down. “Byron is a mockery to the art—meaningless words and jaunty titles, why, I tried to read his latest and it put me right to sleep.”

“I fear I had the same reaction,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, turning to Benedict in earnest. “Right before I decided to throw it to the flames.”

They both laughed.

“Imbeciles, the both of you,” Mr. Whitehill said, pushing past the newly acquainted pair. “Keep insulting me like that and I’ll have my father throw the both of you out into the storm.”

“Mr. Whitehill,” Miss (Y/L/N) said softly, her eyes melting into puddles of apology. “I fear we were not insulting you, but rather your taste in poets. I also fear there is a stark difference in that, for if I were to insult you, I’d make a more fitting jab, more educated in that regard.”

The shorter gentleman stormed off, steam nearly pouring from his ears. Benedict laughed.

“I must say, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict leaned down. “You have quite the sharp tongue.”

“I am known to be rather well spoken,” she beamed, standing a little straighter. “Perhaps it is my taste in literature?”

“For that, I believe we are in agreement,” Benedict said, grabbing a fresh glass from the table beside him. “May I offer the lady a beverage?”

“Only if you decide to share whatever’s in that pocket of yours,” she pointed to his chest. Benedict’s ears went pink. “Do not think I did not see you pour an added flavoring into the lemonade—it seems impolite that you would neglect to share.”

“It would be impolite,” Benedict said, carefully pulling his flask out of his coat. “I am surprised you saw that, though, given the crowded room.”

“You are a tall man, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, taking the glass from his hand. Benedict poured a healthy amount of clear liquor into her cup before adding the rest to his own. “I would have found it hard to ignore you.”

“Your first season? I presume?”

“Technically,” she said, looking up into his blue eyes. “My family, we just moved to Mayfair. My father came into some money and relocated us here this year, my brother is set to study at Eton in the fall.”

“And you?”

“I am now expected to marry a rich and eligible bachelor,” she laughed into her glass. “Which I really have no problem doing, save for the fact that gentleman is nothing like Mr. Whitehill.”

“Mr. Whitehill is rather rich,” Benedict smirked. “Would that not placate you?”

“And listen to him dribble about Byron? Perish that thought,” she said. “When I do marry, I expect my husband to be of the same mind, a similar taste in the arts.”

“You know,” Benedict nearly whispered, “that is an admirable thought. But how will you find this man?”

She looked him up and down, quickly and all at once, returning to drink from her glass.

“I suppose I will know when I find him,” she smirked.

Benedict smiled back. “Well, please let me know when you do, I feel rather invested in your prospects.”

“You will be the first to know, I assure you,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, nodding her head. “But, if I may be so bold, if you are not currently preoccupied, would you care to further our discussion on Byron? It is hard to find someone who agrees with such a… contrasting opinion of the poet.”

“Why, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict finished his glass, offering his arm, “I was afraid you’d never ask.”

—

The gardens on the property were lovely, so lush and full of life. She made good on her promise to keep them well maintained, only keeping the finest blooms and plants in their care. It was always the perfect place to spend time on days like today, sunny, a gentle breeze. 

They had given the governess a day off, her mother had fallen ill, it was the least the Bridgertons could do for her.

“Mother!” 

The lady looked up from her book, eyes meeting with her eldest daughter. Blue eyes, just like her father.

“Yes, darling?”

“Might I go inside to grab other books? Aunt Eloise recently sent some to Father and I want to read them.”

The lady gave her daughter a trying look. “Do you not think they may be above your comprehension level, my love? They were intended for your father, after all.”

“No need,” a looming voice bellowed. “I have them right here.” 

She didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. “Benedict, I thought you were spending time in the studio this afternoon.”

“And miss spending time with my darling wife and children?” Benedict grinned, the crooked way she fell in love with. “That seems foolish on my part.”

“Father!” Their eldest exclaimed, running over to the tallest Bridgerton. “You brought the books?”

“Indeed,” Benedict nodded, handing the parcel off to his daughter. “Aunt Eloise thought we may have better use of these than her and Phillip do.”

Their daughter lit up with excitement—ever the reader, she was. It took a village to keep their library stocked with appropriate books for her age, but she was quickly out-reading her entire family’s collection. “Thank you, Father!”

“Well,” Benedict said modestly, “you must write to your Aunt Eloise and thank her, I had little to do with such a gift.”

“What about me, papa?” 

Their son, only a few years younger than their daughter came bounding up past his escaping sister, clearly having been playing in the mud. “Do I have any gifts from auntie?”

(Y/N) opened her arms. “Not this time, sweetheart, but come here, let mama wipe that dirt off of your nose—” 

“No!” He exclaimed, turning from his mother. “Dirt makes me ruggable—like Uncle Colin!”

“Rugged,” Benedict corrected gently. “And, no, dirt makes you dirty. You need to stop spending so much time with Colin…”

“Once baby brother is here I will,” their son nodded, putting both hands on his hips, looking down at his sitting mother.

“Oh darling,” (Y/N) said, trying to raise to her feet. Benedict quickly offered his hands, pulling her up. “Baby will not be here for a few more months.”

“Then more time with Uncle Colin!”

Benedict and (Y/N) sighed, watching their adventurous son run back to the mud. “We must write Colin, tell him of the monster he has created.”

“Our eldest is such an easygoing flower,” Benedict said, noting how she was carefully skimming through the various books on her lap. “Our son tests our patience.”

“And how do you think this one will be?” (Y/N) asked, placing his hand on her swelling stomach. She only had two or so more months until the delivery, if she had been correct on the conception. The latest Bridgerton wedding seemed to be the culprit, stolen kisses and a romantic rendezvous to the greenhouse away from the party—it was a perfect recipe for baby number three. “Calm and collected? Devilish and adventurous?”

“I pray they are just like their mother,” Benedict rubbed her belly affectionately. “And perhaps a bit more behaved than their brother… I suppose I should also write my mother an apology.”

“Whatever for?”

“I reckon my brothers and I acted much like our son,” Benedict said sheepishly. “Acting like Bridgerton boys, I am afraid.”

“As if that is the only explanation,” she giggled, leaning into his side. “But I am sure your mother would appreciate such a gesture. Perhaps you should send her a bouquet from our garden, too?”

“An excellent idea, my love,” Benedict said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “What a brilliant mind you have.”

“Father, Mother!” Their daughter called out, waving them towards her. “Aunt Eloise sent a book by an author I have never heard of before.”

“Oh?” Benedict quirked his brow, walking with his wife over to her. “And what author may that be?”

“A Lord Byron,” she said, showing the book with a deep brown cover to her parents. Benedict scooped the tome quickly from his daughter’s grasp, holding it close to his chest.

“And you shall never read such filth,” Benedict said seriously.

“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) laughed. “Perhaps we should allow our daughter to expand her mind—come to her own conclusions on the matter? Surely Aunt Eloise meant the gift in kind.”

“Aunt Eloise clearly meant to send it as a cruel prank,” Benedict corrected.

“What is so wrong with that author, Father?”

“A shorter conversation would be what is not wrong with this author,” Benedict said, turning to call his son. The little boy ran over to his father’s side, ever eager. “Take this and bury it, preferably far away from here.” His wife could not stop her laughter, watching their son hurriedly run over to the new rose bushes, making good work at digging a deep enough hole for the book. “You,” Benedict pointed at the girl, “are forbidden to read anything written by that lowly man.”

“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) admonished, trying hard to stop her laughter, “forbidding her from reading seems silly—”

“Are we not of the same mind on Byron?” Benedict asked. “I rather think that is how we met, is it not, dearest wife?”

She pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “We are.”

“Besides,” Benedict stood a little straighter, “the roses could use a bit more sustenance.”

She could only roll her eyes.

[cloverfarm]

— read you like a book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 5k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, mention of alcohol, flirting, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering, implied squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: had the thought that Harvey would know just how to take care of you, and wanted to explore that idea (and still deep in my Harvey-is-a-dirty-talker era)

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” Harvey rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

“I was thinking-,” A finger slips beneath the band, testing the elastic. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

(Or - Harvey overhears about your past lackluster experiences, and can’t help wanting to lend a hand)

There’s the clack of pool balls colliding in your corner of the Stardrop Saloon. The jaunty piano music muted, your fingers wrapping around a sweat-dewed glass.

A late-night Friday evening, the conversation already turning debauched as your off-handed remark of feeling frustrated was quickly misinterpreted and took another turn. Spiraling away from you, with their overlapping ideas.

Your nose crinkling with a suggestion to use the community board, one that has them bent-over with laughter - you could only imagine the shock at seeing such a message.

Help Wanted: Farmer looking to get ploughed. Used to getting a little dirty. If interested, please call…

“Could use an app. Been a while, but I used to do that.” Shane’s wiggles his phone at you, keying in the website for FerngillFlings. Flashing the front page at you, all while you try to ignore the clench of jealousy that flares to life in your stomach.

Sam leans over you, squinting at the screen, “You can’t tell me that works. Your matches come all the way out here?”

“Sure do.” Shane’s shoulder lifts in a shrug, from where his arm rests on the couch behind you. “Haven’t heard any complaints.”

The double-innuendo isn’t missed, your tongue poking into your cheek as your head shakes in exasperation.

“Haven’t heard, or haven’t listened?” Abigail shoots back with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Any matches from here?” You can’t help but ask, glancing sideways at him in curiosity.

He slumps a little further in his seat, knee knocking against yours, “Wouldn’t you like to know, farm girl?”

Thick fingers curl around the can before it lifts it to his lips, hiding his own smirk as you stiffen beside him.

Shane infuriated you. Always teasing, never answering a question directly. Deflecting a sly comment with a dry one of his own, until you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

You’d given up a while ago.

Your heart now quite taken with another.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Abigail chimes in, and you send a grin her way.

“I thought we were still talking about Miss Grange Queen?”

Your look turns apologetic - you know Pierre has been prepping all week as well - but she brushes it off, “I don’t care. Honestly, I hope you win this year. But he is right…”

A chipped polished nail taps her lip, before she fixes you with a look of concern, “When was the last time you got laid?”

The gulping swallow of your drink goes down wrong, making you splutter. A solid hand thumps you on the back, as your palm swipes across your mouth.

“What?” You manage, through watery eyes.

“Okay, we definitely gotta know.” The hand still rests against you, pinned against the plush cushion of the couch. Fingers tapping expectantly between your shoulders.

Yoba almighty.

You know they won’t back down. Even Sam lingers, eyebrows raised as his hip rests against the edge of the pool table.

“It’s been… a while.” You hedge, glancing around the room before you can answer. Voice lowering - not worried about the bar, it’s too far away.

More concerned about the booth that sits just across the room. Occupied when you arrived - your gaze flicking to Elliot often as he had sat alone, waiting.

Knowing who would be coming - a little flip in your stomach with Harvey arrived late, red-cheeked from the run, the novel pinched between his fingers.

You thought it was cute. Their little weekly book club. On another night you would have hoped to eavesdrop - figure out what the choice was for this month.

“You talking weeks? Months?” Sam asks, ignoring the glare from Sebastian, the hip check that follows - indicating his turn.

“Pre-farm,” Your head shakes, “Two years, maybe?”

“Years?” Abigail screeches, as your eyes widen - a hand coming to press unconsciously against a burning cheek.

Unable to help the sidelong look at the table across the way. The heat in your cheek rising to your ears when your eyes meet hazel ones, before you’re dropping your gaze.

“It’s not worth it,” You try to rein them in, all but pleading, “It’s not like it’s all that satisfying either, you know?”

“You mean you don’t…?” Abigail suggests - looking at you dubiously, and even Sebastian is turning to give you a pitying look.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess?” Your shoulder lifts, and then drops, “It’s not a big deal.”

You could get there yourself just fine. Have certainly managed, with your current dry spell. Before, you sometimes would afterwards - alone - easing the unresolved pleasure that licks in your belly.

But you’re sure it wasn’t the same as having someone there with you. Having their focus so solely on you.

It’s not something you’re about to explain. This has gotten too deep. You’re used to the tales of Shane’s old one night stands. The occasional complexities that come from Sam and Abigail both dating the same person, but these talks rarely focus on you.

“What kind of guys are you fucking?” Shane asks bluntly, making you gasp.

“Normal guys.” You hiss, “Besides, it’s probably just me.”

Taking a sip of your drink then to deflect, the sharp flavor making you cough.

“You don’t starfish, do you?” Sam pipes up, helpfully.

It has you almost choking again.

Shane smirks, “Maybe it is you, Farm Girl. Should have someone here take a look-”

You miss the end of his comment with the sudden, loud scrape of wood. Heads turning to where Harvey half-stands, his chair pushed back. Staring your way, with lips parted and brow furrowed.

“You got something to say, Doc?” Shane scoffs, his voice a little too loud.

Harvey blinks, and reddens. Coming back to himself, a sharp click of teeth as they close - swiping his half-full glass from the table.

Mumbling something about needing a refill - before his head is dipping, and he makes towards the bar.

Your eyes follow him, before your hand is scrubbing over your face - the heels pressing into your eye sockets. And finally, mercifully, the subject is changed, a collective groan as Sam accidently knocks two stripes in the corner pockets.

But even as the evening fades - you can’t quite shake Harvey’s expression from your mind.

The air is cool, hinting at the coming frost. Your jacket shrugged on as you step outside, before plunking down on the cobblestone path outside of the Stardrop.

It’s dark, late. The scattered streetlights outside offering pockets of the town, the rest cast in hazy shadow.

There’s a flare of light to your side. Sebastian sneaking out for his smoke break, now that Robyn and Demetrius have called it a night. You sometimes go with him, keeping silent company.

Content to let your legs dangle, to listen to the croak and groan of the frogs near the river. To let your mind wander.

Tonight though, it’s still so singularly focused.

You don’t feel embarrassed about what you said, only that he overheard it. Harvey had so much of his life together - surely a man who was there to discuss books and drink wine would not want to spent his evening listening to the lewd gossip of folks younger than him.

What if he took your words to heart, and thought you were not interested? What if he thought you weren’t good? A sigh to yourself then, as you pull yourself together with a reminder. Not that he thinks anything of you.

But… you admit that you had hoped.

It’s only now that you hear voices just down the path, two friends bidding goodbye. That shade of green you’ve come to associate with Harvey has your ears pricking up - catching where they linger, near the park benches.

Bravery steeling itself, in your belly.

“I’m gonna head out,” You hear yourself saying, as you push to your feet, “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks, with a smoky exhale.

“Yeah.” It’s distracted. Giving him a wave, just as you skirt around the door that opens behind you.

Missing the pair of eyes that follow you as you leave.

Too far out of earshot to hear the murmured words, as he exhales another held drag from his cigarette, “You’re missing your chance, man.”

And then the answer, growled out as Shane’s hands shove deep into the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

“Never had one.”

“Harvey!” You call out, as he splits from his companion.

Missing how Elliot settles amongst the trio of benches, his book cracking open to finish the chapter under the streetlight.

Harvey lingers, in the middle of the cobblestone path. His expression almost wary, your explanation coming in a rush.

“I am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Your hands clasp together, fingers twisting, “We should’ve been more considerate. You and Elliot were there first.”

His expression clears at that, a slight mark between his eyebrows. He’s tall, you’re realizing. Not that you didn’t know, not that you haven’t stood next to him on occasion.

But your heart had never quite pounded like this, never so acutely aware of your proximity - too used to the barrier of the counter in his office.

“No, uh, not at all. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Harvey clarifies, his voice soft, “I certainly didnt mean to try to interrupt. I’m afraid that was rude of me.”

His answer sends your mind careening into overdrive. Not quite taking his half-hearted excuse earlier, but too wrapped up in your embarrassment to truly process it.

That has you thinking - realizing that he had some sort of intention. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, unable to help but wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Your eyes search his, voice quiet in the night, “You don’t have to answer.”

The slight curve of his lips fall, an almost uneasy look passing his features - though he does not deny you, “If you’d like.”

“What were you going to say?” You ask him “Back in the bar. You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your words hang, for a moment. And then silence, enveloped by the soft sounds of the night.

“Oh.” He hedges, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s, ah… it’s just a shame.”

Your eyebrows lift, worry flooding through you as you wonder what he means.

“That you haven’t had a more… positive experience.” He finishes lamely.

The worry transforms, turning into a heated curiosity.

“Why would it be a shame?”

The shade of pink deepens across his cheeks, hidden in the shadows. A finger unconsciously hooking around his collar and tugging.

“Because there’s no reason satisfaction can’t be mutually inclusive,” He manages, “From uh, the point of view of a medical professional.”

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, charmed by his careful answer, “How I wish that were true.”

And that had him fixing on you, catching you in the brunt of his gaze, “It could be. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

It makes your breath catch. That hope flaring to life again. Reading into his meaning, daring yourself to ask, “Is that right? You know anyone around here?”

Only to watch the way his face goes carefully blank - his words slow, “I’m sure… I’m sure you don’t need my help to find out.”

It’s hard not to feel disappointed. Hoping that there was an offer, woven into his words. The bit you had clung to leaves you, with the next exhale of your breath.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Your smile is small. Deflecting with a joke, because it’s all you know, “I don’t starfish, by the way. If you heard that part.”

He huffs a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I didn’t think you did.”

The look he gives you is at odds with his hesitance in answering. A soft, amused smile that makes your heart flip.

Yoba, you have it bad.

“Goodnight, Harvey.” You smile back - intent on ending the night before you make it worse, “And, thank you.”

His answer echos yours, his feet firmly rooted as you disappear into the night. Silence lingering under the soft glow of the street lamp, as his mind races.

“If you were looking for an invitation, old friend,” An amused voice comes from the benches - where Elliot still sits, his book long forgotten.

“That was it.”

The television blares as you stretch out on the couch - intent on unwinding a bit further, after a long day. Immediately stripping down to your loungewear as soon as you stepped in the door, cracking a window to let in the autumn air.

Your head rests on a pillow, an old quilt pulled haphazardly around your hips as you watch a rerun of The Queen of Sauce - something that fortunately required little attention.

Because your mind is occupied elsewhere, thinking back to the square with both chagrin and disappointment. Hoping that maybe Harvey had drank more wine than you thought - that maybe he wouldn’t remember how you all but threw yourself at him.

Gentleman that he is, he probably just wouldn’t bring it up in the first place. You don’t know if that’s more preferable, or less - perhaps you owe him yet another apology.

A timid knock at the door draws your attention, your feet silent as you slip from the couch. You really should move it - giving yourself a view of the small, narrow porch. Maybe installing another light outside.

But this was Pelican Town, you remind yourself - you’re not in the big city anymore. It was probably Abigail, not wanting to head home yet.

For now, you move to the door, pausing to shrug on the worn, plaid barn coat that hangs by the door, buttoning it in an last-minute attempt at modesty.

Your hand on the frame of the door as you crack the front door open, close enough to grab the old wooden bat you have tucked next to the rickety side table.

Eyes going wide when you realize who it is.

Harvey. His face half-turned away, looking like he’s second-guessing himself from your delay - half-way ready to book it down the steps that lead to the packed dirt road.

“Hi again,” You nudge the door open wider, leaning against the frame.

He turns back, surprise crossing his features again when he sees you. Eyes dipping down, snagging - slowly dragging back up over the bare skin of your legs, the low dip of the collar, as if he has forgotten himself for a moment.

“Hi.” He answers belatedly, blinking as he comes back into the present.

You wait a beat for him to explain, for any sort of sign as to why he’s here. Wondering why he travelled all the way in near-darkness, you knew more than anyone what a trek it could be.

And he must realize, because he blinks again, worry pulling down the edges of his brows, a small crease appearing in the middle.

“I-, well, Elliot-,” Harvey begins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder into the darkness, his other hand still clutching the book from the Saloon. Starting over when he realizes he’s making zero sense, “Back, in the square.”

His lips pressing together for a moment, an inhale of breath before the words rush out, “Am I misreading this?”

An emphasis on ‘this’, a small gesture with his fingers between the two of you. It makes you smile, relief flooding through you - enough to where you’re reaching out, tapping a fingernail against the solid cover of the book.

“I think you’re reading this just fine.” Your head tilts up to look him in the eye, seeing the relief on his own features as well, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” He breathes, and you’re stepping aside with a smile - taking his book from him to rest on the little side table.

Hanging his moss-green jacket on your one good hanger by the door, showing him where to put his shoes.

Steps that make the floorboards creak because he doesn’t know which ones to avoid - not yet - as he lets you guide him to the couch. Carefully sitting on the middle cushion, the sharp, white starch of his dress shirt standing out against the worn, rust-orange fabric.

Your own feet following until you’re standing in from of him. Not quite believing, as your face tilts down to meet the upturned angle of his own.

Harvey was here.

The man who got more than a little bossy with you when you came in to the clinic with a bad scrape, or a cold. Who always has a smile, who listened intently when you keep him up to date about the new crops you’re growing, even though he knows nothing about farming.

Who you never had let yourself daydream about too often, because he had always kept you at arms length. You had always thought it was part of his profession, or that perhaps he just didn’t see you like that.

Like he’s looking at you now - like you’ve hung the stars.

You really want to kiss him.

You hope he’ll let you.

Slowly, like when you’re approaching a new calf, you move toward him. The slight, automatic spread of his knees as you step between them, before your own knees are bending.

Hands resting on the wooden frame of couch as you lower yourself - until you’re straddling his thighs, bare knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side.

“This okay?” You ask, close enough to smell a hint of his aftershave, the solid weight of him beneath you.

Hands that slide from their place at his side, up the curve of your calves, until they’re resting on the bare expanse of your thighs.

“Yes.” The word comes out low, fingers pressing against your skin as your own drop to the thick buttons of your coat, slowly working each one open.

Until you’re shrugging the fabric off to pool on the wooden floor - all bare arms and legs beneath in your too-large t-shirt, a pair of cotton underwear.

About to apologize for your choice in clothing - never actually expecting to take someone home - but the hands rise, cradling your face as he tips it to meet his.

A low sound in your throat at his lips touch yours, your hands resting on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric. A feather-soft brush until you shift, pressing yourself against him as you lean in.

His groan matches yours. Hands moving, skating down your arms, curving around your hips. Your hips roll on their own, seeking the friction of his trousers. Something warm pooling in your belly, when he deepens the kiss.

Encouraging you, as those hands guide the roll of your hips again. As his tongue brushes against lips that part without thought.

There’s the sharp punch of fruit on his tongue, paired with the taste of him. A heady mixture, making you feel like you could get drunk off just this.

You can feel him harden beneath you. Pressing against your cleft as your thighs inch further apart. It’s only when your hands leave his - reaching for the bottom of your shirt, that he breaks away.

His lips kiss-swollen and pretty. Disheveled, his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled from your fingers. Equally dazed, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then further again.

“Not here.” Harvey’s voice is a low rasp, unmoving despite his demand.

It has your pausing, until you catch the way his first two fingers slip under the hem, petting against skin.

“Bedroom?” You offer, and he’s smiling. Leaning forward to kiss you again. Easing you off him but it’s reluctant - his fingers twining with yours as you stumble into the next room.

It’s darker in there, the light from the television flickering against the floor. Dissolving as it reaches your bed, your knees parting this time as he stands between them.

Your eyes greedy, focused on his fingers as he loosens his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt. His own drifting over every inch and curve of you. A short intake of air as you tug the shirt from your shoulders, leaving it to drop on the floor.

It feels like you’re on display, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with the way he looks at you - his eyes snagging on the damp patch between your thighs, the pale fabric darkening with your arousal.

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” He rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

You’re near-mute. Left nodding, as the bed dips. As he urges you back into the pillows, folding himself onto the mattress with you.

“I was thinking-,” He tests the band, a finger slipping beneath. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

You feel yourself clench down around nothing. A low whine in your throat at the tone of his voice. So matter-of fact. Like he knows how to do just what he says.

“Can you?” It comes out strangled, your breath held as his eyes fix on yours, “Could you show me? What it’s like to be taken care of?”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He asks - his gaze searching. Slipping a second finger under, the blunt nails grazing sensitive skin.

“Yoba.” Your hips feel like they lift on their own, seeking him, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He smiles again, the moonlight catching on his glasses. A hand running through tousled curls, mussing them further. Fingers joining yours as your panties join the floor, baring yourself fully.

You expect him to touch you and he does - but not in the way you’re thinking. Lowering himself next to you, guiding your mouth to his again. His hand skimming the inside of your thigh. Fingers slipping along the crease where it meet your hip, inches away from where you ache for him.

“Harvey.” You sigh into his mouth. Chasing it when he pulls back, hearing the pleased hum in his throat. Carefully removing his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.

Then his mouth is dropping to your neck, where your pulse flutters. To your shoulder. All while his fingers trace your skin, making you squirm in anticipation.

When his tongue peeks out to brush against tight, peaked nipple, you hear yourself cry out. Clinging to him again, as teeth graze against your breast - followed by a soothing kiss, his mustache tickling against the soft curve.

“I need you to touch me,” You pant.

Long forgetting what it was like to feel like this. The anticipation swirling in you like a dam about to burst. The desperation - knowing after all this time of wanting him, that tonight he is yours.

Your own hands grasping at him - tugging at the buttons. Pale skin and dark hair appearing with each one that loosens, trying to pull the hem from where it tucks into his trousers.

The hand against your thigh twitches, his gaze dark as he glances up at you. No longer hidden behind frames, you can see how his pupils are blown wide, inching out the hazel.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready, sweetheart.” He rasps, inching closer - fingers parting on either side of your mound.

“Want you nice and wet for me.”

It’s too much. You’re too wound up, needy. In your daydreams you’ve thought of him - in your bed, bent over the table in his office. Everything pales in comparison to this, turning you into a begging mess.

“I am,” You breathe, “Fuck, Harvey. You know I am, I’m-”

The words break off, turning into a ragged moan as he finally touches you. Parting your slick seam, where you’re dripping from the press of his mouth and the teasing glide of his fingers.

“There you are.” He hums, though you can feel the way his hips press against yours. Chasing his own urges, seeking friction where he strains.

Your eyes flutter half-shut as he teases as your entrance. Fingertips slick as he brings them up to circle your clit, sparks going up inside your belly.

Watching as he moves, the careful ease from where he lies next to you - now settling between your thighs.

“Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, almost as if in awe. Your thighs start to clamp shut around his hand but he’s smiling - his left palm pressing your leg to the bed, opening you further.

Not used to his gaze like this. It flicks from your face, down to where his hands shift - his thumb rolling against your clit, as his middle finger sinks inside you.

He can feel how you clench around him already. Movements slow, drawing himself out just to sink further each time.

“So fucking pretty.” He says it again - you think, just to see you squirm. The way your eyes pull from his, the flex of your muscle under his palm.

Transfixed by the way his fingers move. The pressure against your clit, the way he presses deep. Your small room filled with the little sounds you make and the slick plunge of his finger.

Your panting breath catching, turning sharp as his finger crooks on the next pass. Carefully stroking against your inner walls, a throb of pleasure following.

He catches your sounds, a mark forming between his eyebrows. One you’ve seen before, in the way he focuses when you’re explaining something about your farm. A sweet stretch of pressure when he adds his ring finger, opening you further as he strokes again.

You haven’t felt anything quite like this. A ghost of it, with past lovers. Something that made your muscles tighten, but never so focused.

Like he’s intentionally searching for this spot that makes sparks arc up your spine. Making you ache for more - to be filled by him.

“Mm,” He hums with satisfaction, “Right there. Does that feel good?”

It’s hard to think, with the thrust of his fingers. The circling pressure against your clit. Your own fingers curling - one in the sheets, an anchor. The other drifting up to cup at your breast, unable to help leaning into his ministrations.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

There’s an edge to his voice. One that he uses in his place of authority, one that only stokes the roaring flame in your belly. Everything winding tight in anticipation, each steady pump of his fingers hurtling you towards your peak.

“Yes,” You moan, “Yes. Oh, Harvey-”

His head dips, mouth pressing a kiss against your abdomen.

“Good girl.” He husks, with your answer. The words shoot straight to your cunt, just as you begin to arch into his touch.

“Oh, please-” You whine, eyes sliding shut, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

The pinch of your fingers harsh against the tight bud of your nipple. The flicker of pain melding with the tight swirl of his thumb.

“Good.” He all but growls, the words low and rough in his throat, “Come on, honey. Show me.”

Your next moan turns high and long - as that tight string inside you finally snaps. A throbbing pleasure that begins at the apex of your thighs, radiating outwards as you bear down around him.

The hand in your sheets grasping and slipping on your way to him - his hand leaves your thigh to twine with it. Anchoring you as your hips buck into fingers that have gone still, giving you something to clench around.

“Just like that,” He coos, “Ride it out, I’ve got you.”

His breath warm against your skin, a kiss pressed to your stomach again, then hip.

“It’s not you,” Harvey tells you, each kiss moving lower, “You know that, right?”

Your breath catching - it feels like your cunt is still pulsing, when his mouth dips further. Not waiting for your answer this time - driving his point home with the talented tongue that suddenly presses against the bud of your clit, wet and warm.

Ensuring you won’t forget.

A moan is ripped from you, as he teases. Tight pointed licks, a flat lick following. A rough groan as he tastes your orgasm that coats his fingers, only just how beginning to move.

You’re too sensitive, squirming at his touch. Panting breaths and little jerks of your hips, the tight twist of overstimulation bleeding into something smooth and sweet as honey.

He’s ruining you for everyone else. The thought is a blurry one, something you can barely snatch. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’ve already come harder than you ever have.

And is already working you towards a second. A rough groan when you let your fingers leave his to twist in his dark curls. Grasping onto his shoulder with the other one, his shirt wrinkling further.

You want it off. You want all of it off, want him bare and on top of you. Want to taste him on your tongue. Taste yourself against his lips, after this.

Unsure how he’s able to do it. Bring you to the edge again so quickly, but maybe it’s because you’ve never desired someone like this.

Deeper than desire, though you’re not quite ready to admit it.

You’re brought back, as his palm presses beneath your thigh. Hiking it over a shoulder, opening you to be devoured. Those fingers more confident now, sure and slick as they pound into you. Louder now, with the way you coat them, your release smeared across your thighs.

This time when you come, it’s against his tongue.

Brought over with the way his lips close sound and suck. The way he groans at your taste, his clever fingers leaving you breathless.

Choking on your heartbeat as you shatter. His wide palm curled around your thigh, keeping your cunt pinned against his tongue.

This time he can feel your pulse. Each throb of pleasure as it resonates through you. Feel the way you gush for him - his fingers dampening further, across knuckles and the flesh of his palm.

“Fuck.” You moan, when you can breathe again.

You expect him to pull away, after this. He must know you’re more than ready. But instead all you can see is dark eyes, a tongue that slips between the fingers that are still buried in you.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his tongue then lifts to curl over your clit again, “Don’t you want to-?”

Doesn’t he want to fuck you?

Isn’t he aching, like you are?

“Tonight is about you,” He answers firmly. Lips glossy with your release, and despite his words you don’t miss the way his hips press into the bed.

“Sounds like I got some time to make up for.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow as you huff a laugh, breath catching as you feel his fingers slip free just long enough to work in a third.

Already finding that spot again, as he begins to build towards a third.

If he can read you this easily already, you think dizzily…

You can’t wait to find out everything else he knows.

So here for the Harvey Renaissance 🙏💕 would love to know what you thought! Are you enjoying 1.6? (If so what are your mod recs???) | part ii is up here!

[beansprean]

introducing Katya Zamolodchikova as Nancy the Relentless!!! a concept @vampireshmampire and i braindumped about like a year ago lmao. far before the rumors about Trixie Mattel being in s6 came out owo!

My Familiar’s Ghost part 80

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Small panel, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on a vague grayish-blue background. Nandor has one hand on his hip and the other pointing upwards as he leans toward Guillermo sternly and says 'Now I will show you how to call long distance.' Guillermo looks up at him, rubbing his arm awkwardly, still flushed from the previous page, and responds 'Ok...' 1b. Chest up of Nandor on a brighter blue background with his eyes closed in concentration, palms held up and out. He clears his throat and says, in a wispy bright blue speech bubble, 'I, Nandor the Relentless, am calling out to the etherrrr to inquire about available familiarsssss...' 1c. Shoulders up of Nandor and Guillermo lurching to one side in shock, Nandor's hands flying up, shoulder crashing into Guillermo's, as a glowing blue bubble suddenly shoves into their panel. Inside the bubble is a thin white vampire in drag with long white-blonde hair styled half up in a high ponytail by a sparkly red scrunchie. She is wearing a thin red dress with a black leather corset, a red-violet leopard fur capelet with gold coins dangling from the hem, a red jabot at her neck with a bat shaped gold brooch decorated with rubies, and shoulder length red gloves with ruby-encrusted gold caps shaped like claws on each finger. She lurches into frame with a huge, devious grin, shouting, 'Nandor, babygirl! Is that you?!' 1d. Repeat of Nandor and Guillermo standing side by side, Guillermo now having moved to stand slightly behind. Nandor slumps and scowls, already looking exhausted by this encounter, and greets poisonously 'Hello, Nancy the Relentless.' Guillermo frowns up at Nancy but stays quiet. From offscreen, Nancy coos, 'Heyy, mama! Still shopping in Turkish Cryptkeeper Kohls? I love that for you.' Nandor replies, irritated, 'This kaftan is not coal, it is made of wool from the sheeps of Al Q-' Nancy interrupts and asks, 'So, you're looking for a familiar?'

2a. Waist up of Nancy in her ether bubble, right arm crossed over her chest to rest on her left bicep, left hand reaching up to tap a jaunty claw on her cheek. She raises a brow and grins, tongue curling around one fang, and asks teasingly, 'Does that mean your scrumptious little slayer-boy is finally availableeee? 2b. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo side by side. Glare fixed on Nancy, Nandor throws an arm out in front of Guillermo and shouts, 'No!! I have told you before, he is mine!' Guillermo startles, a green glow beginning to creep up behind him as goosebumps skitter up and down his shoulders. Nancy replies to Nandor, 'And your title is mine, Nandor the Plagiarist!' Nandor snaps back, 'I have been called Relentless since before you were born, Nancy the- the Pretender!' 2c. Repeat. Guillermo blushes and looks away, lips pursing as if attempting to whistle nonchalantly as his hand reaches up to grip the arm Nandor is holding in front of him and move it away from his body. Nandor's eyes flit over to him curiously, color rising to his cheeks. Nancy continues, 'Ooh, baby, you know how I feel about older men yelling at me. You should call more often.' 2d. Close up of Nandor in profile in the foreground, Nancy's bubble beyond. He glares at her and asks sharply, 'Do you know of any familiars looking for work or not?' Nancy, full body visible now as she perches on the edge of a table and leans back on one arm, legs crossed at the knee to reveal the high slit in her dress, fishnets, and thigh high black leather boots. She closes her eyes haughtily and stretches her free arm outward in a clearly rehearsed pose, replying, 'Well, gorgeous, effortless, beloved vampires usually receive applications directly...' 2e. Repeat. Nandor arches his eyebrows and turns his head away from Nancy toward the viewer, muttering, 'Then you must alert me if you find such a vampire.' Nancy wheezes with shocked laughter, kicking her legs wildly and flapping her arms, delighted rather than offended by the dig. Through her laughs, she declares, 'Read!!' 2f. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo, the latter standing just behind and gripping the edge of Nandor's sleeve. Offscreen, Nancy recovers from her fit and says, 'Well, since I'm nice, I'll forward you a few. But- hello! Is that the slayer behind you? Did you turn him?! You bitch!! Guillermo, call m-!' Nandor scowls and interrupts, saying quickly, 'YesthankyouNancygoodbye.' He then flaps his hand in the air, dispersing Nancy's bubble and ending the call. Behind him, Guillermo frowns, flustered and blushing. 2g. Repeat. Nandor lowers his hand and glares where Nancy once appeared, sneering, 'Yeesh, why could you not have slain her?' Guillermo aims an unimpressed glance toward him, still purple in the cheeks. /end ID

[princessbrunette]

Rafe x shy reader who just nods when he says things and he taps her jaw and is like hey speak when spoken to

i feel the easy option would to be to talk about how this is totally s3!rafe, because you know — it’s just prime daddy material. he would do this kind of thing, all the time infact— but what about this rafe, on a power trip from being given more responsibility lately.

𝜗𝜚₊˚⊹♡

talking midsummers rafe, in that powder blue suit dragging around his pretty little girlfriend to show off to all of his fathers business associates that he claims will one day be men he works beside and above.

you’re overwhelmed just a little, which is why you’re happy to stay pinned to his side, a large hand splayed across your back to keep you there. he does all the talking thankfully, charismatic and knowing all the right things to say to get the men laughing in that uppity jaunty manner with their drinks clutched in their fist. he was still rafe, still always a little too obscene and immature around the edges — but ward didn’t give him nearly enough credit on how good he was at being a guy, and that seemed to charm the crowd especially the more they drank.

you do as you were instructed, stand there — smile, look pretty, nod when necessary, but of course as expected some questions were often directed at you out of pure politeness. you were painfully shy, so you’d often squeak out a response with as few words as possible. it mostly didn’t seem to bother rafe in the slightest, and if he thought your answer required more words he’d give your waist a squeeze where his hand rested to force more of a response out of you.

after a while, rafe walks you to a corner where there were no eyes on the two of you— deciding now was the time to check in on you. “you good? you’re real quiet… you know that?” he leans forward a little, bending ever so slightly at the waist to be heard over the music.

“yeah, just shy.” you shrug, not meeting his eye. you were a little intimidated by him at times, but it was mainly due to how attractive you were finding him in the moment.

“would you like another drink? t’help you out with that?”

you think, staring off away from him dreamily and he doesn’t like your lack of attention on him — so he draws it back with a sudden tap to your jaw, leaning even lower to look at you. “hey, you speak when your spoken to, yeah?”

you were used to this kind of thing from rafe, and call it what you want but the messed up side to you let it continue due to the way it drenched you each time. you would have moved on from it quickly in your brain, but just as he’d done it — you’d locked eyes with ward from across the room.

“no thank you. no drink.” you instinctively bring your hand to your jaw where he’d tapped you and he lightly bats your hand away like he wanted to hide any evidence that he’d just given you a little slap in the corner of a heavily populated party. he nods, teeth sunk in his bottom lip with a wash of guilt and he looks around for a moment, double taking at the sight of his father headed straight towards the two of you with an eerily plastered on grin. all for show, the cameron way.

“ah, shit.” the oldest cameron scratches behind his ear, suddenly not feeling so big. his father approaches, clamping a hand down on his shoulder.

“the rowans are just dying to talk to you, son. over there.” ward grins, fake as he nods towards a smiling and waving couple at the other side of the room. rafe opens his mouth to speak, and wards jaw clenches, yet his smile remains. “go.”

rafe traipses off towards the pair, and as you go to sheepishly follow him— ward places a hand on your back, looking down at you with a kind smile, a tinge of something else in his icy eyes. perhaps concern? he was potentially disturbed by what he’d seen his son do just now in public, but perhaps more disturbed by the fact he reminds him so much of himself. you weren’t too sure.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and there’s something else in his voice. you smile, unbothered because you genuinely were. it was rafe after all, you knew what he was like and sickeningly enough — you liked it.

“yes sir! just a little tired.” you shrug bashfully and he nods slowly, smile fading as he watches his son interact enthusiastically, adjusting the older gentleman infront of him’s tie charismatically, much to his amusement.

“alright… you won’t let him bully you. okay?” he stares you down with wide eyes and you freeze slightly, giving him a smaller, shyer nod. with that, he lets you go — running along back to rafe’s side where you knew you belonged.

𝜗𝜚₊˚⊹♡

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; series masterlist.

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader series synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you. wc ; 105.3k and counting! themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers warnings / includes ; drugs, alcohol, depictions of abuse, mentions of death, hospitals, a lot of sexual jokes and general foul language, sexual situations, reader is logan's goddaughter, a lot of business talk, roman being an asshole, emotional constipation

main masterlist.

chapter one. “Jump, you fuckin’ pussy!” exclaimed Roman, though he was quick to shut his mouth when his therapist flung himself into the pool face-first.

chapter two. “I’m supposed to slip this under your pillow while you’re sleeping, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna let me get up for the rest of the night,” you whispered, crawling back to him and throwing a leg over his waist. He curled his own legs around you as well, leaning his weight into you. His head throbbed, his jaw throbbed harder, his heart throbbed the most.

chapter three. “We were kids,” you mumbled tiredly. Blurry memories of leering, smoking men and jaunty laughter crossed your mind. “How could I have known?”

chapter four. Kendall’s expression seemed to soften, recalling how the two of you would always argue over the last remaining strawberry popsicle during the summers you were still little children. When you would grab it from the freezer before he could, he’d tug on your pigtails and call you mean as you denied ever taking them, and you’d hide the wrappers in Rome’s room so he’d never know it was you. But he could always tell from the sticky red on the corners of your mouth and your sugar-highs that seemed to last for a little too long.

chapter five. “Dad,” Roman said, disrupting the eerie, tense silence. “Please?” He was a child asking for a dog again. He was a teenager asking to come home from military school again. He was a young adult asking for his dad to stop hitting him again.

chapter six. You sipped on a glass of champagne that Kendall handed you. There was more chatter—amicable and light and teasing. You poked fun at Kendall’s lame hat whilst Shiv plainly told Roman that his shoes were a size too large for his feet. That his feet were small and dainty and he would fall over if they were any smaller. More drinks, more giggling, more stories. You learned that fresh-faced college Kendall once puked on Stewy’s bed and cried at the foot of it after drinking too much. You told the siblings that you once slept with Angelina from accounting during your first year at the company, to which they responded with shocked snorts. There was a point where Roman grabbed your face and kissed you and kissed you until the rest of the siblings began faux-gagging, and Connor complained that it was like watching his siblings make out. Goddaughter-and-son incest, he’d said.

chapter seven coming soon!

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey there! Just found your profile and I really love your content, and since I saw your requests were always open, what about a Deadpool x Fem!Reader were their first encounter is during one of Deadpool's battles, and once the reader takes up an offer of rooming she saw on the newspaper, she finds out she's roommates with him now and has to put up with his antics? I noticed the CRIMINAL lack of Deadpool fanfic and it hurts😭🙏

Unexpected Roommates

The sound of gunfire echoed through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable crash of metal hitting concrete. You peered cautiously around the corner, heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before you.

There, in the midst of the wreckage, stood a man in a red-and-black suit, dual katanas in hand, surrounded by a small army of mercenaries. It was like something straight out of a comic book, except it was happening right in front of you, in the gritty underbelly of the city.

“Alright, who’s next?” the man—Deadpool, you realized with a start—quipped, twirling one of his swords with a flourish as he eyed the remaining thugs. Despite the danger, there was an almost playful air about him, like this was just another day at the office.

You had only heard of Deadpool in passing—rumors about a mercenary who was as unpredictable as he was deadly—but seeing him in action was something else entirely. And yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

One of the mercenaries lunged at him, but Deadpool was faster, sidestepping the attack with ease before dispatching his opponent with a quick flick of his wrist. Blood splattered across the alley, and you winced, pressing yourself against the wall to stay out of sight.

Unfortunately, your attempt at stealth was in vain. The last of the mercenaries fell, and Deadpool, now apparently free of distractions, turned his attention to you. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, sheathing his swords as he sauntered over, “what do we have here? A damsel in distress? Or just an innocent bystander with a bad sense of timing?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his masked face tilting slightly as he examined you. Up close, he was even more intimidating—taller than you expected, with an energy that crackled in the air around him.

“Uh… neither?” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky. You cleared your throat, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I was just… passing through.”

“Passing through, huh?” Deadpool echoed, leaning in slightly. “Interesting place for a midnight stroll, but who am I to judge? I mean, it’s not like *I* ever do anything reckless.” He straightened up, giving you a mock salute. “Well, don’t let me keep you. But if you ever find yourself in need of a charming, devilishly handsome mercenary, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he spun on his heel and started walking away, whistling a jaunty tune as if he hadn’t just left a pile of bodies in his wake.

Shaking off the encounter, you quickly decided it was time to get the hell out of there. You took one last glance at Deadpool’s retreating figure before ducking out of the alley, eager to put as much distance between you and whatever mess you had just stumbled into.

A few days later, you found yourself standing outside a dingy apartment building, clutching a newspaper ad in your hand. The headline read, “Roommate Wanted: Cheap Rent, Great Location, No Serial Killers (Probably).”

It was, admittedly, not the most reassuring advertisement, but you were desperate. Between the sky-high rent prices and your recent run of bad luck, you couldn’t afford to be picky. Plus, you figured it couldn’t be worse than your last living situation.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and made your way up the narrow staircase, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You reached the door marked “6B” and hesitated for a moment before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by the sight of the same red-and-black suit you had seen in the alley. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Midnight Stroll!” Deadpool exclaimed, his voice laced with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Or, you know, ever.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “*You* put out the ad?”

He grinned—or at least you assumed he did, given the way his mask crinkled around the eyes. “Guilty as charged. Didn’t think I’d find a roommate this fast, but hey, the universe works in mysterious ways. Come on in, make yourself at home!”

You stood frozen in the doorway, struggling to process the absurdity of the situation. “You’re Deadpool,” you finally blurted out, stating the obvious.

“The one and only!” he replied, stepping aside to let you in. “But you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or hey, Roomie! I’m not picky.”

Part of you wanted to turn around and run, but the more practical side of you— the one that knew how hard it was to find affordable rent—reluctantly stepped inside. The apartment was a bit of a mess, cluttered with weapons, comic books, and various other oddities, but it was surprisingly homey.

“So,” Wade said, closing the door behind you, “what do you think? It’s got charm, right? Or, at the very least, it’s got four walls and a roof, which is really all you need.”

You glanced around, taking in the chaotic but oddly inviting space. “It’s… something,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re the one who put out the ad.”

“Why, because I’m a world-famous mercenary with a questionable moral compass and a penchant for breaking the fourth wall?” he quipped, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, turns out even world-famous mercenaries need someone to split the bills with. Plus, the last roommate bailed after, like, a week. Something about too many explosions and not enough peace and quiet.”

“Shocking,” you muttered under your breath, but Wade caught it and laughed.

“Hey, I can be a great roommate when I want to be!” he said, holding up three fingers like he was making a pledge. “I’m clean, I’m considerate, and I almost never bring work home. Unless, of course, it’s convenient. Or funny.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the absurdity of the situation starting to wear down your initial reservations. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” you said, shaking your head.

Wade leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. “Look, I know I’m not exactly a normal roommate, but I can promise you this: I’ll always have your back. Plus, if anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to answer to me. And trust me, they don’t want that.”

It was strange, but there was something oddly reassuring about the way he said it, like beneath all the jokes and bravado, there was a real person who genuinely cared.

“Okay,” you said finally, the decision made. “I’ll give it a shot. But no explosions inside the apartment.”

Wade’s eyes crinkled again as he gave you a thumbs-up. “Deal! Welcome to the madness, Roomie. I have a feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked around your new home, your mind already spinning with the possibilities of what living with Deadpool might entail. It was going to be wild, unpredictable, and probably more than a little dangerous.

[solitary-traveler]

Tags: cursing, established relationship, shitty writin

Scaramouche x gn reader

"Here, have one!"

With a teasing grin and a jaunty bounce, your fingers practically poke and prod at Scaramouche’s face, a cream puff perched in your palm. "It tastes so good!"

The man’s face merely recoils at the horrifying sight in front of him. What an absolute disaster. The saccharine filled treat was an abomination, and the longer he stared, the stronger the urge to vomit. He swats your hand away in disgust. "No. Get that sugary garbage out of my face."

"It’s not garbage” you protest, batting your eyelashes as if that would help your case. "You just have terrible taste."

Scara rolls his eyes, crossing his arms with his usual scowl. “Please, I’d rather not die of diabetes”

With a sigh, you conceded. For now. Much to your dismay, your boyfriend was stubborn. Fortunately, you were relentless. With an impish sneer, you unleash your award winning puppy eyes, your lashes flutter for good measure. "Just one bite?"

Scara nearly disintegrated. How he scorned you, the idiot who’s somehow well educated when it came to his weakness. "Just one bite? You’d better not expect me to eat the whole thing” he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He snatched the treat with a frown, he narrowed his indigo eyes at the devil’s work that was now perched on his hands,  "Now stop pouting. It's annoying."

He gingerly inspected the cream puff, like a soldier facing battle. The sheer sweetness radiating from it was already making his stomach turn. Oh the stupid things he does for this stupid feeling called love. Still, with a defeated sigh his teeth make contact with the bread. His eyes widen momentarily, his senses sent to overdrive by the honeyed confection. He sputters and gags, spitting out the small piece he reluctantly bit into, before glaring at you as if you’d just posioned him.

"Too. Fucking. Sweet" he growls, wiping his pink lips. You laugh, watching him recoil as though he’d been physically attacked. You then yoink the rejected pastry from his hand, not hesitating to scarf it down your throat. "Mmm, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The crust is perfect—crispy and buttery. And the cream? Oh, the cream is smooth, rich, and just the right amount of sweet…"

As you ramble on about the wonders of the cream puff, Scara watches you with a raised eyebrow. His mouth was still reeling from the burst of flavor. His frown deepens, and finally, he cuts you off.

"How can you eat that without gagging?" His voice is a mix of irritation and fascination. "I don’t get it. You actually like that stuff?"

You shrug, still munching on the treat. "Everyone has their own tastes. Is there any sweet you do like? Or are all desserts banned for my grumpy boyfriend?"

He pauses, pretending to think it over, though something mischievous flickers behind his indigo eyes. "Well," he starts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "there is one."

You perk up, genuinely curious. "Oh? What is it?"

Scaramouche leans in a little, eyes glinting with that familiar deviousness you know all too well. His gaze travels over you slowly, taking in your innocent expression. And then, with a low, husky voice, he delivers his answer:

"Creampie."

Notes: This was just for me to get back into writing lmfaoo. Sorry for the shitty punchline 😔

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Kinktober Special Part 8

Mo’s Kinktober Special 

The Crew’s Whore (Part 8) (+18)

!!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

WC: 2600 lol

TWs: IT’S FOOT TIME! FOOT FETISH WARNING! Man I am not even into feet but this kinda did it for me. In my brain Law is canonically into feet in a weird way. Unprotected sex, p in v sex, table sex, alcohol consuption, toe sucking lmao, just fetish shit yeah.

——

The trip to the next island was turning out to be longer than anticipated due to poor weather. The Straw Hat pirates had allied themselves with now-warlord-of-the-sea Captain Trafalgar Law and were harboring him on their ship as they sailed towards the next part of their plan as an alliance. The weather had finally turned pleasant so of course Luffy ordered Sanji to prepare a huge feast, complete with piles of steaming food and barrels of cold booze. 

Eating and drinking were two of you favorite activities, second and third only to fucking, so you were thrilled at the prospect of a little party. No one had approached you yet and asked you for your time tonight, everyone being so busy setting up for the party and all… but you expected that to change as the night went on. Because you anticipated being taken for your services tonight, you took the time to bathe and clean yourself up a little extra nice. 

You curled your hair into soft waves and spent half an hour caking your face and painting your lips a glossy sheer crimson before heading to your closet and picked out an outfit. You settled on a flouncy little baby pink dress, the layered fabric sheer and light. The soft pink hem swished high up on your thighs, leaving very little of your legs to the imagination. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you decide to play it up even further and crouched down to grab a pair of red high heels from under your bed. You slipped on the pumps and with a final twirl in the mirror headed out to the party. 

The deck of the ship was buzzing with the sounds of your crew mates enjoying themselves. Brook was serenading the party with a jaunty tune to which Chopper and Nami were dancing, Luffy was busying himself with the sumptuous spread Sanji prepared, all while Zoro was ahead of the game and drinking himself into oblivion. Law was seated at the same table as Zoro, seemingly having much less of a nice time. The mysterious doctor was hunched over and stared emotionless into his drink, puffy brim of his hat shielding most of his face. 

You noticed your friend Robin leaning up against the back wall of the Sunny with a glass of red wine in hand and bit of a scowl on her face. 

“You don’t look pleased with the festivities.” 

“See that target they put up at the end of the ship?” Robin nods behind you. 

You turn and do indeed see a large target placed near the head of the Sunny. 

“Yeah?” You inquire. 

“Usopp and Franky keep having shooting contests. Franky keeps losing but he won’t give up. I don’t think they’ve sat down all night, and his face is as red as a tomato. Kind of embarrassing…” Robin giggles a little. 

“Are you surprised? I guess they’ll be out of our hair for the rest of the night then.” You laugh.

“That’s my point.” Robin rolls her eyes. Your brows raise in realization. 

“Ohhhh… you were trying to get laid! I get it now! Well no one’s approached me if you’re still up for it later…” You wink.  

“Thank you sweet y/n, always so thoughtful!” Robin sips her wine. “I’ll see if I can find you later if I’m still feeling up for it. Go get a drink and enjoy the party, dear!” Robin waves you on to the kitchen. 

You enter the galley and are immediately met with a very sweaty, stressed out Sanji. 

“Hi handsome.” You purr as you approach the blonde at the stove. 

“Oh, hello my love. I’m afraid the voracious appetite of our captain has rendered me incapacitated for the rest of the evening, the fucking glutton…” Sanji sighs. 

“Aww, my poor, tired, love cook.” You coo as you push his bangs out of his eyes. You place a kiss on his cheek. A droplet of blood escapes Sanji’s left nostril. “Well I’ll leave you to it then.” You grab a bottle of cold wine from the fridge and a glass from the shelf and carry them both out to the deck with you. 

You stroll over to the table where Law and Zoro were seated, now joined by Luffy whose cheeks were stuffed to bursting with various meats and cheeses. 

“You gentlemen mind if I sit with you?” You ask while already sitting down across from Law. 

“Not at all, pretty thing. Come have a drink with us.” Zoro smirks at you, holding his hand out to take the wine bottle from you. You oblige and he unsheathes a single blade to pop the cork off for you in dramatic fashion. 

“My hero.” You chide as the swordsman fills your glass to the brim. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk, Mr. Roronoa.” 

“And what if I am? You say the filthiest shit after you’ve had a whole bottle of wine and it’s fucking incredible.” Zoro shoots you a hungry look as he downs another cup of sake. Luffy giggles. Law straightens up and gives Zoro a confused look. 

“Not much of a talker, are you, Trafalgar?” You turn your attention to Law. 

“I didn’t know the two of you were a couple.” He states blankly. 

“We’re not. I’m seeing everyone.” You smirk across the table at the foreign captain. He looks even more confused. “It’s what I do. I love making my crew mates happy, you can understand that, can’t you?”

Without time to answer, Luffy interjects. 

“Haha you should give her a try, Traffy! She’s really something hehe!” 

Law’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah why not, Tra-Guy? You’re already here eating our food and drinking our booze, why not sample some of the other amenities we have here on the Sunny.” Zoro chuckles as he pours himself another cup of liquor. Zoro must be quite fond of Law, as sharing you is never something he likes to bring up. 

“I’m sorry… are you offering me… her? Shouldn’t she be doing that?” Law looks a bit offended. 

“Would that make you feel better? My services apply to guests of the Straw Hat pirates as well, and I assure you I can meet whatever needs you may have.” You swirl you wine in the glass and take a long sip. 

“Um… No.. that’s.. that’s quite alright, thank you.” Law stutters out his refusal. 

“You don’t know what you’re turning down, man. Whatever you’re into, and I mean whatever, she can do it. Sweetest pussy in the Grand Line.” Zoro leans back in his chair. 

“Zoro! Don’t be so vulgar around our guest.” You scold the swordsman. 

“Whatever, his loss.” Zoro shrugs and slams another drink. 

— — 

After hours upon hours of dancing and drinking, the party had thinned out quite a bit. Now that things were winding down, you notice the painful ache in your feet from wearing high heels all night. Most everyone had headed to bed and you were considering doing the same until you spy your unfinished bottle of wine on the table with Law still dated at it, alone now. 

You sit down across from Law and take a swig from the bottle directly, your glass having been lost several dances ago. 

“Classy.” Law remarks from across the table. 

“Never said that was part of my resume.” You smirk and take another swallow of alcohol. You pull your feet up into your lap and groan. “God this is the last fucking time I wear these heels.” 

You slip off one of your shoes and behind massaging the heel of your foot with both hands. You pause your ministrations to grab another sip of wine when you notice Law’s eyes on you. They weren’t on your breasts close to spilling out of your low cut dress, or your plush thighs squishing against the wood of the bench you were sitting on… they were on your foot in your lap. 

There it is.

Ideas filled your head on how to finally break this stoic stranger. 

“You’re a doctor, right?” You ask innocently. 

“Huh?” Law responds, having been snapped out of what seemed like a trance. “Um, yeah.” 

“Could you maybe feel right here? I think it could be swollen.” You extend your nearly naked leg across from you and push the table to the side so that there was nothing between the two of you. 

“It..i-it doesn’t look swollen… but if you really want I could… I could take a closer look…” He hesitantly up at you before returning his gaze to your perfectly pedicured foot. 

“I’d love that. Thank you.” 

Law gingerly takes your foot in both hands and presses firmly into where you were pointing. You squirm a bit, feet incredibly sore from dancing all night. Law starts to rub up and down from your toes to your heel, intently examining every inch. You couldn’t help but notice how his mouth was now parted and his breathing quickened as he stroked your foot. 

He stopped abruptly and released your foot from his hold. 

“I-it seems fine. You should be fine.” 

You drop your foot directly into his lap and push it firmly against the crotch of Law’s jeans. 

“Are you sure, doctor? I think you should check again.” You flash him a devious smile as you take another swig from the bottle. 

“W-what are you doing, y/n?” Law sputters out, sweat forming on his temples. You feel his cock begin to stir under the sole of your foot. 

“You know, Traffy, we could have a lot of fun together…” You push harder against his erection with your foot. 

Law winces but he doesn’t respond. 

“Y-yeah?” He manages to pant out. 

You begin to slowly stroke your foot over his denim clad member, feeling it from base to tip, hot and aching to be freed. 

“Mhmm… Why don’t you take him out so we can play? You’re so hard Traffy, must hurt… We’re the only ones left out here, no need to be shy anymore…” You giggle. 

Law sucks in a breath before eventually undoing his belt and jeans buttons. His cock springs up as he pulls it out his pants and briefs, laying rigid against his abdomen. 

“Wow… you have such a pretty cock, Traffy…” You coo at him as you slip your left shoe off your foot and allow it to join your other foot in his lap. 

“D-don’t call me that…” Law whispers out. 

“Sorry…” You begin rubbing both of your feet up and down Law’s now exposed length. He watches your movements in awe as his mouth hangs farther open than before. “You’re just so cute I can’t help but tease you…” 

Law pays your words no mind as he is mesmerized by the sight of your pretty little feet stroking his cock. Soft pants leave his lips as you continue working him over. 

“You wanna cum like this, or do you wanna fuck me, Law?” You ask as you slide the ball of your right foot over his leaking tip. 

Without responding verbally, Law grunts and leans forward to pick you up by your waist and lay you down roughly on the table you had scooted out of the way earlier. He rips his shirt over his head, keeping his hat in place. He wastes no time and flips up your frilly pink dress to expose your panties that had grown wet from merely giving a powerful man a foot job. 

“I’m not waiting-“ Law says as he pushes your panties to the side and slides the head of his cock from your hole to your clit and back again, coating himself in your wetness. He pushes himself inside of you quickly, causing you to moan and arch your back. After a few experimental thrusts, Law picks up a quick pace and rams his hips into yours, curved cock hitting all the right places inside of you. 

“Oh, fuck, Law that’s so oh-!” Your eyes snap open at the foreign feeling only to see Law standing between your legs with the outside few toes of your right foot in his mouth. Eyes slammed shut, he doesn’t falter in his thrusts as he savors the taste of your skin on his tongue. He uses one hand to rub at your clit as he caresses your ankle with the other. 

“Dirty boy…” You coo up at him as you rake your nails down his abdomen. “You like sucking on my toes, you filthy boy?”

“Mmmm” Law manages to groan out as he peppers wet, sloppy kisses to the sole of your foot now, making sure every inch gets his attention. 

“Make me cum and I’ll let you blow all over them.” You demand as you wrap your other leg around his waist and pull him closer. 

“Fuck… swordsman wasn’t kidding…” Law grunts out as he picks up the pace of his hips, plowing into you with an ungodly force. He untangles your legs from his body and pushes them up to your chest, allowing himself the perfect angle to heighten your pleasure. 

With hands under the crooks of your knees, Law brings you tumbling over the edge of your high and you cried out his name to the starry sky above you as your orgasm overtakes you. With your cunt still pulsing, Law pulls his aching, throbbing cock begging for release from your tight hole and begins stroking it in front of you. 

Law grabs both your ankles in one hand and proceeds to blow rope after rope of hot white spend all over your delicate, pink painted toes. 

Breathing heavily still, Law takes a few moments to admire his handiwork. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You quip from your exposed state on the table. 

Law shoves himself back into his pants and puts his shirt back on. He surprisingly takes the time to gently put your panties back into place and pull your dress down before helping you off the table. 

“You aren’t.. going to tell anyone about this… right?” He asks, hiding his eyes again with the brim of his hat. 

“About what? You liking feet?” You smirk. 

“Y-yeah…” 

“You’re secret is safe with me, Traffy.” You say with a wink. 

xx

*A/N ........ sorry :)*

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your    elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

[aringofsalt]

💘 and buddietommy for the prompts 👀👀

HELLO DARLING

💘 - fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

“That one,” Eddie said, pointing to a man at the bar.

They didn’t do this often, but he had Tommy’s type down pretty well at this point: tall, buff, hair long enough to run his fingers through. It helped that that was also Eddie’s type, of course; that they agreed on this like they did on so many other things. It made things easier on nights like tonight, when they had the house to themselves thanks to his abuela wanting time with Chris, and could indulge a little. Usually that just meant a date night at a restaurant that didn’t offer a kids’ menu, but tonight they’d both admitted to feeling the urge to play.

So.

“Tall and curly?” Tommy asked, a little uselessly since his eyes were already locked on the guy’s ridiculously broad, plaid-draped shoulders.

“Tall and curly,” Eddie confirmed, laughing a little internally that he’d called it so well. “C’mon, babe… I dare you.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Tommy’s lips, stealing his beer from in front of him and draining the last few mouthfuls so he had no choice but to go get a new one. Tommy just rolled his eyes, swatting playfully at his shoulder as he got up and made his way up to the bar.

This was the part that made it fun: watching Tommy work his magic. They hadn’t really had a conventional dating experience—they’d met in the army, were a long-distance on again-off again thing after he and Shannon imploded and he had a toddler to take care of, a handful of brief visits when they managed to both have time off. And then there’d been the tentative offer from Tommy for Eddie to move to LA when he was talking about switching careers and being closer to Shannon and his abuela for Christopher’s sake. To be something permanent. They’d made it work, somehow, and he’d never regret it, but he still had occasional pangs of wishing that they’d had this, the heady, carefree flirting phase.

But seeing it happen from across a crowded room was a whole other kind of thrill.

He watched as Tommy slid into the space next to the other man with a practiced ease, gently nudging their elbows together so he had an excuse to apologise and say hello. Oldest trick in the book, but damn if it didn’t work on this guy. He was hook, line, and sinker before Tommy’s beer even arrived, leaning into him, staring appreciatively and reaching out to gently stroke the scar on Tommy’s ribs when he pulls up his shirt to show it off—must’ve mentioned the firefighter thing. He even reacted well when Tommy nodded in Eddie’s direction, throwing out a jaunty little wave that Eddie returned, so it wasn’t a surprise when he looked down at his phone for a second and then back up to see them kissing.

It wasn’t like the view was super clear from where he was sitting; the booth was hardly a front row seat. But he’d been kissed by Tommy enough that he could practically feel the heat of it, even from that far away; the way his fingers were gently lifting the other guy’s chin, how they were leaning into each other. The kiss was gentle and relatively chaste since they were in public, but seemed to be rocking this guy’s world anyway if the way he chased after Tommy’s lips when he pulled away was any indication.

Smirking, Eddie looked back down at his phone. What happened after this was up to Tommy; sometimes this was all they wanted, sometimes they’d bring people home, but it was Tommy’s dare and therefore his decision.

He certainly wasn’t expecting the shocked little “Eddie?”

“Buck?” He was sure his eyes were practically falling out of his head. He’d managed to pick the guy he’d spent a shift pissing off before they nearly died together. How the hell hadn’t he recognised him? Of course, he'd only ever seen him at work, when he was in uniform and kept his hair slicked back, not dressed down in a flannel with unstyled curls. Shit, he was going to be in so much trouble, Buck would probably hate him again after this and go to Bobby and—

“Wait, Evan is—Buck? Is—this is bomb guy?” Tommy asked incredulously, interrupting the spiral.

“Wait, you called me bomb guy?” To Eddie’s surprise, Buck looked happy, delighted, even, as he leaned his hands on the table and met Eddie’s eyes. “So I’m hot enough you sent your boyfriend to kiss me, and you told him stories about me and gave me a cool nickname? I thought you hated me for a minute there.”

“You hated me, asshole,” Eddie protested. “And I didn’t know it was you tonight, I swear! I’ve never seen you so—” he gestured at Buck’s outfit, his hair.

“Hot?” Buck filled in smugly. “Yeah, Tommy mentioned that.”

“Well, not like it’s not true,” Tommy shrugged at Eddie’s scandalised look as he slid back into his seat.

“Not helping, babe,” Eddie groaned. “Look, Buck, I’m sorry, this was totally inappropriate and a complete accident, can we skip to the part where we forget this happened and we never, ever mention it again? I’m sure you’re here with friends, you must have something interesting going on.”

“Oh, trust me,” Buck said with a grin as he sat down on Eddie’s other side, “my friends are nowhere near as interesting as this is gonna be.”

—

look, we're just gonna be a little handwavey about eddie and buck not recognizing each other. it was across a bar, they'd only known each other for a couple days, it was dark and buck was dressed differently, whatever 😂 either way they're gonna be soooo normal about this whole thing.

in this universe eddie realized he was queer earlier and it was one of the reasons he and shannon split but it was way more amicable and she's totally fine and alive and they're friends now 💕

[steelsartcorner]

If you wouldn’t mind sharing your secrets, can you drop a quick tutorial for the hades art style? You seem to capture it very well!

Hey anon! Thanks so much, I’m flattered you think so!

To be honest there's really no secret, just a lot of trial and error. I am an amateur, but I’ll point out a few of my observations of the amazing Hades team’s work that I attempted to incorporate into this Astarion drawing, especially SuperGiant Games art director Jen Zee. Everything below is just my layman’s observation of her much, MUCH better work. You should check her out yourself!

First off, here’s a simple split out of the whole process (this will be long, more below the cut:)

POSE & PERSONALITY

Hades art is full of personality so the first challenge was to pick a pose that illustrates just one or two aspects of the character. For example, Dionysus from Hades 1 below has a languid, draping pose that reflects his chill-guy party vibes. Just looking at him you get an immediate idea of his personality.

And as much as I love the later wet-cat version of Astarion as he matures as a person, for the purposes of illustration in this style I chose a pose and expression that leaned into his early, less complex, more wily self. The dagger, wink, jaunty hips and head tilt are meant to communicate, without additional context, that he’s both trying to be appealing and is not trustworthy. 

LINEWORK & SHADING

Next is the linework and blocking! The Hades art team tends to use a combination of near-mono-thickness black lines, where exterior lines are thicker and interior lines are thinner or have no lines at all. They will often forgo an interior line to communicate form via color blocking instead. The style also makes heavy use of absolute black for the deepest shades, especially on more sinister characters or spooky aspects of a characters design. (See: Zagreus’ three dog head skulls and his red eye perpetually cast in deep shadow.)

It took some back and forth to find the right balance of black shading for Astarion. Too much and he looked too sinister and not approachable enough. Too little and he looked too innocent. 

Picking a strong light source helped with determining the direction and placement of the shadows so that just enough was obscured/revealed. It also helps in differentiating forms from each other so that, for example, the arm doesn’t disappear into the chest and become unreadable.

Using heavy black shading was a particularly useful trick in Astarion’s case, because his camp clothes color palette is fairly monochromatic between his light hair, pale skin, and white/cream shirt. That much light color can easily blend in too much and become boring: the flats I used were slight variations of white, from a warm reddish-peach to a yellowy cream to a cool light gray for the dagger.

COLOR & LIGHTING

Last is color! In Hades 1 and even more so in Hades 2, the lighting schemes are deceptively complex. There are often multiple light sources and use of bounce lighting to add a lot of visual interest. For example, check out this lighting on Polyphemus from Hades 2:

Not only does he have a cool moonlight hitting him from above, he also has a warm orange rimlight lighting him from the left, AND cool lavender bounce light bouncing off the ground and hitting him from below. All these combine and layer on top of one another to help emphasize the forms of the cyclop’s musculature and the textures of his sheep wool coat. 

I don’t think I was as successful in my own lighting scheme, because I’m an amateur, but I determined that the scene in which I was placing Astarion has a high sun and was outdoors. This means that the light hitting him from above would be a light, warm yellow and the bounce light hitting him from the left would reflect the nearby water and blue sky of the environment. 

To achieve this, I made use of different layer modes in my art program (Clip Studio Paint) to apply purple shadows (via the Multiply layer mode) and highlights (via the Soft Light layer mode) in a light sky blue and a light yellow for the primary and secondary light sources.

I ran into trouble with the blade, because it was also a light metal in an already light-color-heavy color scheme. At first, it was blending in too much and hard to read. So I decided to give it a bit of a magic teal glow to help it stand out, which meant adding a few specks of magic light reflecting back onto the face and clothes as well. 

INTEREST & DETAILS

Speaking of, Hades style art makes extensive use of adding little speckles of high-saturation color to add visual interest and cohesion. See this Zagreus portrait which is primarily made of grays, a tan bone-color, and reds: 

But sprinkled in are neon teal and magenta that don’t relate to the lighting at all. It’s just there to break up the blocks of color, bring unique colors like his green eye into the rest of the portrait, and direct the viewer’s eye. These highlights are slightly less bright in Hades 2, but still there, such as in this depiction of Apollo, who mostly glows with a warm sunlight but also has random pops of sky blue and green flecking his armor and hair.

The pops of color are often placed more centrally on the figure to keep your eye on the important parts of the portrait, like near Apollo’s face and on his armor. The color pops aren’t as frequent at the extremities; too much on the arm and your eye would be drawn away from his face.

I took a similar approach where I grabbed some of the brighter colors (like Astarion’s red eye, and the teal glow of the dagger), to add dabs of color that normally would not “make sense” from a lighting perspective, but add a little visual interest:

Also I totally studied their approach to Apollo’s curly hair to create the impression of Astarion’s curls!

Anyway, I think that's all I got for now, I hope this helps! There's more but this is already REALLY long so I'll stop here. In the end, it's really just a process of observation and replication of things you love in artwork you admire. Give it a try, it's a lot of fun :)

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.6

My mother taught me that sometimes it rains. Sometimes it pours, and you’re soaked through and miserable and it feels like it may never stop. But no matter how heavily the rain falls, no matter how drenched you get, you are not the rain.

Some day you will be dry again.

Things have been easier since I blocked Paul, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache, barely noticeable as long as I don’t dig too deep. I try to keep myself distracted, reading Lucky Girl for what must be the fifth time. It’s my comfort read, Evie reminds me a little of myself. I think we could have been friends, hanging out and agreeing that being in love is the absolute worst, actually, while we yearn for our respective idiots.

The memory of Paul is not the only thing I’m trying to escape. With all my channels inactive, even the haters have gone quiet and my views are dropping every week. I’ve toyed with the idea of simply abandoning everything and starting a new brand, but I don’t want to rebuild my follower count from scratch. I don’t have time for it. My bills are starting to pile up, and while I can still pay them for now, it won’t be long before I have to either crawl back to mom and dad and ask for help, or get one of those real jobs people keep talking about. I’m not even sure which option I would hate the most, so I hide in my book for now.

A sharp knock on the door jerks me away from Evie admiring Jude in an art gallery and back to reality.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea who it could be, and I don’t want to see anyone, especially not some smarmy salesperson – or worse, my landlord. With a sigh, I put my book face down on the armrest and shuffle to the door.

Miranda is leaning casually against the doorway, her high heels making her look almost as tall as Samara. At their feet, a couple of large shopping bags are threatening to fall over and spill their contents on my doormat.

“See, Samara? I told you she was still alive.”

“So you did. Then I sure hope she has a very good excuse for refusing to see her best friends for almost two months!“

I feel my cheeks get hot. “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I disappeared, I’ve just had a rough time since, you know. But I promise to call you, maybe we can make plans soon?”

“No need, we’re here now, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Samara’s smile is cheerful, but her tone is resolute. Even so, I try to object.

“Seriously, it’s not a good time, I haven’t even showered for like three days, and the place is a mess.”

“Girl, since when do we care about mess? We’re here because we love you – stinky or not.” She wrinkles her nose, making the freckles on her face dance.

“What is this, some sort of intervention?”

Miranda smirks. “Pretty much. Sorry, but someone’s gotta save you from yourself, and we’re not letting you waste any more time moping over a man who didn’t deserve you. We’ve got snacks and a box of rosé with your name on it, so you might as well get out of the way.”

“Fiiine, but no judging the absolute state of the place.” I roll my eyes and invite them in with a dramatic flourish of my arm, but I can’t help but smile. Samara bounces through the door despite the heavy shopping bags, and Miranda goes straight for my laptop.

“What’s your login?”

“It’s just my birthday, and before you come for me, yes, I know that’s bad.”

Miranda shakes her head as the laptop plays a jaunty tune and lets her in.

“You’ll get the full security lecture another day, right now it’s time to declare inbox bankruptcy. We’re getting rid of all this bullshit so you can get back to business.”

“Miranda, there are literally thousands of messages. It’ll take days to go through, maybe weeks.”

She doesn’t even look up, her perfectly manicured fingers a blur over the keyboard.

“Give me an hour. I’m going to delete anything that contains profanity, and then I’ll sort the rest into folders, so don’t worry, you won’t be losing anything permanently. But I’m going to mark everything as read and archive it so you can get a fresh start. If anyone wants something important from you, they’ll reach out again, trust me.”

I stop myself from protesting further. Miranda knows what she’s doing, and it really would be a relief not to worry about everything.

Behind me, Samara has stopped unpacking the groceries.

“Just let Miranda work her magic and get your smelly butt into a bath. And make it a nice one, soak for a bit and pretend you’re a mermaid or something. We’ll get everything set up in here while you scrub off the sadness.”

I feel a slight pang of embarrassment as I walk into the bathroom. The sunlight is creating little islands of warmth on the black tiles, but it also mercilessly illuminates the limescale in the shower and a couple of cotton swabs that missed the bin. The sink is decorated with a few dried clumps of toothpaste, each of them outlined in red from last time I dyed my hair.

How did I let it get this bad?

I turn on the taps and leave them running while I undress. Then, I lower myself awkwardly into the tub and let the water cascade through my fingers. It would be nice if it was this easy, washing away the sadness and frustration, the longing and the hurt.

The gentle sound of flowing water is mesmerising, and before I know it, the tub is full. I add a small handful of bath salts and swirl it around. A soothing scent of lavender rises with the steam.

When I lie down, the hot water envelops me like a hug. It feels like it’s thawing something in me that I didn’t even know was frozen. I close my eyes and listen to Samara and Miranda laughing about something. It’s almost like being home and hearing my parents talk softly in the other room. It always made me feel safe. Less alone.

As the water begins to cool, I scrub down, slowly, methodically, running soapy hands along every inch of my body. It feels good, like I’m massaging life back into my limbs. Tonight will be fun, I decide. We’re going to stuff our faces with junk food, get absolutely smashed on cheap wine, and pretend that my heart was never broken by some has-been actor from Tartosa.

I watch as the tub empties, imagining that all my sadness is flowing down the drain with the water and the tiny undissolved purple specks from the bath salt. Finally, I move to the shower to wash my hair and rinse off.

When I get out, I stop and examine myself in the mirror. I look a little tired and worn, like I’ve been sick. In a way, I guess I have. But the black tiles are radiating warmth under my feet and there are birds singing outside my window and I’m beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.

Samara’s blue face glitters in the candlelight. The packaging from the masks we’ve applied is littered with adjectives like “rejuvenating” and “revitalising”, bold statements, but they do actually feel pretty good.

“Sorry, Julia, I know you love this crap, but I just can’t get over the cake tongue. Who decided cake would be the best bait for people? Are we really that obsessed with desserts?”

I look over my nails one last time and put down the file. “I’m actually more disturbed by the whole chin udder situation. I mean, who came up with that?”

Samara makes a disgusted face, but she’s not ready to change the subject. “Seriously though, even if you were absolutely starving and cake was your favourite thing in the whole world, would you really approach a plant shaped like a giant cow head with huge teeth? Really? And then try to grab what is obviously its tongue?”

Miranda giggles tipsily. “No, but can we talk about how Ned’s relationship with the cow plant is super toxic, though? I mean, it always starts out slow, right? Oh, so it eats meat, little bit of a red flag there, but it’s probably fine. And before you know it, you find yourself luring your neighbours to their deaths just to keep it happy.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, the way he keeps making excuses for her? She didn’t mean it, she’s just misunderstood! She only bites me because she loves me! I’m like, Ned, your girlfriend is eating people, you need professional help.”

Samara laughs. “I guess some men would literally rather feed their neighbours to a plant than go to therapy.”

My phone vibrates on the armrest behind me.

“Sorry, it’s Marten again, I better let him know I’ve got company. He’s been super busy with his exams so we haven’t had much time to play lately.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow.

“And he’s still fine just being your friend, is he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, he was fine being my friend even though I was dating Paul. Besides, I haven’t even seen him in person since GeekCon, it’s been almost a year…”

I stop. Almost a year since I met Paul. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder what would have happened if I’d cosplayed as someone else, or if Paul hadn’t been there that day. Maybe I could have been dating Marten instead of having my heart trampled by some fickle celebrity. Nice, normal Marten with his mousy hair and his robot facts. I smile.

“Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Marten. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Miranda sends me a mischievous grin. “That reminds me, you know that hot bartender from The Rooftop? Super flirty, cheekbones that could cut glass?”

“The one who gave us free refills on Samara’s birthday? Shane or something?”

“Yeah, him! He asked about you last time, wondered why you hadn’t come with us for like three weeks in a row.”

“How does he even know my name?”

“He didn’t, he just asked about our red-haired friend but you’ve clearly made an impression.” Miranda winks. “Maybe he’d be willing to help you get over Paul.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m pretty sure he’s slept with like half the regulars. And I’m not looking for hook-ups, not now. I need to get my so-called career back on track, but I want to do something… different.”

I think of Paul, of late nights in hotel rooms, laughing at the most ridiculous b-movies before having amazing sex and falling asleep with his arms around me. “I don’t want to do cosplay again, absolutely nothing with movies or comics or superheroes.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “What about just fashion stuff? I started out with just my shoe reviews and now it’s more general style advice and outfits to match your heels, but you have an eye for it and you know a lot about cuts and materials and design.”

“I guess? I don’t really know a lot about classic fashion, though, like couture and such. And it’s a really tough business to get into, plus I’d kinda like to keep the expenses down for now.”

“You could always just jump on one of the big trends. I bet you’d make bank as one of those clean girl aesthetic influencers or something.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I mean, I can probably get pretty far with just the makeup and clothes I already have. And I could move my sewing machine and rearrange the room, set up my camera and the lights…”

Miranda laughs. “We can start right now as long as it means we don’t have to watch any more terrible movies tonight.”

I reach for the remote. “Not a chance.”

beginning / previous / next

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 117

Part 1 Part 116

Things should speed up after that, but they don't. Life drags, the way it always does when you're caught up on it—the minutiae of days slipping by in inches.

Eddie revels in it. Every day, at home, at school, in bed, at Steve's side. He revels even more when their school sentence is stayed for a few weeks of uninterrupted quality time. 

It should feel new. They’ve redefined the lines that lie between them, tied a red string of fate between both their hearts. 

It should feel new, but it doesn’t.

Not much changes, really. Steve was right. They were already everything, and this doesn't change that. The kisses are nice though, warm, and soft, and wanting in the morning light filtering in through the curtains.

They’re nice in the dark, too, fingers fumbling to try to find faces. Eddie likes all of it, everything, as long as it’s with Steve. 

Steve, who never takes the ring off. It makes something squirm in his stomach when he looks down and sees it there. He finds himself reaching out to touch it, spinning it around and around in quiet moments.

Steve always lets him, leaning into Eddie’s space like he likes it. Eddie’s always leaving spaces in his life for Steve and hoping he’ll fill them up. 

So, when Carol kidnaps Steve in the middle of a lazy afternoon spent twined around each other, Eddie waves a jaunty goodbye as Steve climbs into Barb’s backseat and gets to work. 

He starts with their nicest set of flannel sheets, some scissors, a sewing needle, and a dream. They won’t have money to replace them for a while, but needs must. 

It takes hours, long enough that he’s been periodically feeling for Steve’s location, checking he’s not on his way home. It takes so long that he’s starting to hate the red plaid of the sheets he’s transforming. 

He tacks them up, anyway, tucked back into what Eddie can loosely call a free corner of their bedroom, pressed up to the overflowing dresser. He tries to make it flow nicely, make the flaps he’d cut and sewn overlap just enough to make a hideaway, give them enough space to be entirely pinned back like curtains with the ties he’d sewn on. 

The Christmas lights are harder to pin down. He spirals them through the top of the curtain, liberally using safety pins to keep them in place, stretching the plug past sanity to get it to reach the closest outlet. 

For his final contribution, he rushes out to steal one of the cushions from the side of the couch, pushing it tightly into the small space. Hopefully it takes Wayne a while to notice its absence and come looking for it. 

The effect isn’t pretty. It’s misshapen, and wonky, and Eddie’s just glad the sheets are a dark enough red to hide the blood from his pricked finger. But when he turns off the light and climbs in, the lights are that same comforting white that bathed Steve in the Upside-Down. And they cradle him in their embrace, just the same as Steve’s closet used to when he’d had all his clothes hung neatly within it. 

Eddie’s bedroom isn’t big enough for a closet, but it’s big enough for this. 

Steve threw away his last Harrington key and in the process he’d lost the one bastion of safety he’d had in that house. If what happened on Halloween happens again, where will Steve run to?

He’d carve out a closet for him if he could, but he doesn’t have wood, or spackle, or whatever the hell he’d use to make one. He’d carve one in his heart if could, but Steve won’t be able to squeeze his way in. 

It’s ugly, and cheap, but he hopes it’s enough. He lets the sheet close around him, and settles in to wait for Steve to come home.

Eddie wakes up to Steve’s warm hand brushing his shoulder and gasps, momentarily breathless at the sight of his angel bathed in all that white light. Steve himself looks floored as he looks up at the lights safety-pinned to the roof of the little shapeless structure. 

“What is this?” he asks, reaching his hand out to brush the sheets delicately, as if afraid they’ll shatter.

Eddie pauses, suddenly terrified this is rude, somehow. Like pointing out Steve’s proclivities for small spaces  is a step too far. But then Steve smiles, the lights flickering against the gold in his eyes, and the gold in his hair, painting him with the holy light Eddie always sees in him.

“I don’t have any money,” is the first thing Eddie inexplicably blurts out. But, Steve’s still smiling, so he keeps digging. “So, sorry if it’s shitty. But my room’s not really big enough for a closet?”

Steve’s smiling, bright and angelic as he finally turns and meets Eddie’s eyes. “Did you cut up our warmest sheets to make me a fake closet?.”

Eddie grabs a curl to hide his lips as he nods, abashed when Steve paints what he’s done with such stark lines. “Merry Christmas?” he says, even though Christmas is still weeks away. 

Eddie’s hair gets caught between them when Steve leans in for a kiss. 

Steve spits it out of his mouth, and it lands wetly against Eddie’s own cheek, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Steve’s beaming as he says, “I love it,” and leans in to plant another one on him.

It turns out to be just big enough for two.

[cambion-companion]

from the prompt list, 26, give me that overpossesive and jealous aemond 🤤

Of course, Anons! Aemond would be an incredibly possessive lover.

Aemond x reader | Kiss Prompts

Masterlist here

26. Jealous kiss

"May I have this dance, Y/N." You were expecting Aemond to approach you with this question, so it was with surprise you looked up into Jacaerys' face.

You were sure the boy had some ulterior motive for asking you to dance, as he fully knew the intimate nature of Aemond's affection for you. You hesitated only a moment before taking Jace's proffered hand and rising from your seat, you were a little miffed that Aemond had not yet asked you to dance.

The Targaryen prince sat at the end of the long oaken table, drumming his fingers on the wood, staring daggers at Jacaerys' brother, Lucerys.

You felt Aemond's gaze shift onto you as you let the Velaryon boy lead you into a jaunty two-step. You weaved around each other merrily, keenly feeling the heat of Aemond's eye upon your back. You made the mistake of glancing in his direction as, with a hand against Jace's, you circled around each other. Aemond's expression made your face blanche, he looked absolutely murderous. Aegon had apparently noticed as well because he was looking between you and his brother with barely concealed mirth.

Jacaerys took both your hands in his, interlocking your fingers and pulling you closer. You heard a clatter and looked over your shoulder to see Aemond rising from his chair, which had been pushed so hard it toppled to the stone floor. The music faltered as the voices chattering within the dining hall quieted momentarily, curious gazes watching as Aemond approached you and Jace with purposeful steps. You felt Jacaerys' grip on your hands tighten.

Aemond's hand gripped your elbow, pulling you slightly away from his nephew. "This dance is over." His voice was low and calm but promised swift violence if Jacaerys did not let you go.

Your eyes searched Aemond's face as he stared down at him, Jace hesitated only a moment before relinquishing his hold on you. Aemond's lip curled with ill-concealed loathing. "Perhaps your...attentions are best suited for your betrothed." He said it loud enough for the room to hear, easing the tension radiating off the onlookers. King Viserys was still in the room, having just given a toast to the family having peaceful interactions, and you sensed Aemond didn't want to instigate anything in his presence.

Jacaerys raised his chin in defiance, voice lowered so only Aemond and yourself could hear. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to your lady if you want to keep her."

You opened your mouth ready to defend both yourself but were cut off as Aemond hissed through his gritted teeth, leaning into Jace's personal space, making the boy look up at him. "The next time you touch her, I will take that hand and make you wear it around your neck."

You had never seen Aemond so livid, and his imposing stance was drawing attention again, so you tugged on the waist of his tunic. "Aemond..." You made eye contact with Alicent over his shoulder. She was looking at your small group, stress evident on her features. "Aemond, come. Let's not make a scene with the King here."

Aemond yielded to your touch, stepping away from his nephew and letting you pull him to the stairway at the end of the room. Jacaerys made a hasty retreat to where his brothers were gathered by their mother. You led Aemond, now holding his tense hand, down the stairs away from prying eyes of nobles and servants alike.

His hands grabbed your waist as you turned to him, looking up into his still-angry face. You reached up, trying to smooth his furrowed brow and frown with your caress. It didn't work, Aemond's violet eye was hard as he scanned your features. Without warning, he grabbed the back of your head, twisting long fingers in your hair, and pulled you in for a scorching kiss.

It was rough, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip as he pulled at you. "You are mine." He kissed you again, causing you to whine softly into his mouth. "That bastard is never to so much as glance in your direction again."

Oh, he was very angry. Aemond's ungentle embrace, almost desperate, told you as much. He pulled back slightly only to catch your chin in his hand. "Say it, Y/N. Tell me you belong to me, as I to you."

"I am yours, Aemond." You reached up to place a gentle kiss to his lips, Aemond groaned into your mouth as you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. He opened to your searching touches, allowing you to deepen the kiss. You combed your fingers through his long lustrous hair, reveling in the feel of him all around you, his smoky scent filling your nostrils.

"Aemond? Y/N? Please rejoin us at the table!" Alicent's voice called from the room above.

You reluctantly pulled away from Aemond, noting how he followed your movements with a hooded eye. "Come, my love." You took his hand in yours. "Let's try to get through the rest of this evening peacefully."

You noticed how Aemond didn't offer an answer as the two of your ascended the steps.

[storydays]

Dad Beat Dad P2

(3rd POV)

*With the tour*

"So, once we have proof that redemption is possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into Heaven. We just need a little more time to prove it." Charlie rambled to her father, "The sharing circles haven't been working as fast as I hoped..." 

" 'Ey, Boss? Can I have a word?" Husk whispered to Alastor. The Radio Demon watched as the tour continued, before turning to the cat demon with a raised eyebrow. "What is it?" He asked, turning the radio effect off on his voice. 

"You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs somethin'." Husk's wings ruffled slightly showing his irritation. "That bitch is trouble, and who knows what kinda demon she fucked with to come running to you this time?"

"It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry, Husker. Who in their right mind would cross me?" Alastor said smugly. "I mean...you've been gone a while and it's not like anybody knows why." Husk raised an eyebrow.  "They don't need to know. And don't worry your fuzzy little head about it." mocked Alastor as he rubbed one of Husk's ears. 

The cat demon shoved his hand away, and growled, "You may own my soul, but I ain't your fucking pet!"  "Hmhm! But you are! Haha!" Alastor giggled, walking away. 

"Big talk for someone who's also on a leash/" muttered the bartender.  Static filled the hallway as the lights flickered, Alastor stopping in his walk before side eyeing Husk. "Aha, what did you say?" he demanded, eyes now radio dials. 

"Oh, fuck!" groaned Husk as a green chain formed around his neck before pulling him to the ground. "Nothing, I um--" Alastor pulled on the chain, making the cat choke. "If you ever say that again," the deer started, playing with the chain in his hands, "I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams," He briefly grew to a bigger size, towering over Husk, "For every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me."

"Understood." Husk muttered, trembling in fear. "Lovely. Good talk, my good man. Always nice to catch up." Alastor chuckled, jaunty music playing. 

*Back with the tour again*

"And we've almost been able to find all of Angel's drug stashes." Vaggie looked to the side as she added, "Almost." The three had now made their way to one of the balconies, to talk more privately. Vaggie leaned against the railing as Charlie took over. 

"Soo, once that's out of the way, it should be much smoother sailing." Charlie chimed in. "Well, that certainly is, uh...is-is something." Lucifer commented. 

"So..What do you think?" the princess asked hopefully. "About what?" The king asked lazily.

"The hotel." Charlie replied, slightly desperate. 

"Oh yes, it does....it does look much better now, doesn't it?" Lucifer sweatdropped nervously, looking for an excuse, before messing with the railing in front of him. "Ya know, but I'm thinking this railing needs work, one good push and you'd just go right over the edge. Whoopie, bye-bye." 

Charlie blinked at her father's weirdness. "What? No, no, the plan, Dad!" 

The princess was so frustrated, she didn't seen the forlorn look on her father's face. "What do you think about using the hotel to help sinners?" she asked. 

"Ahh..." he sighed before turning to look Charlie in the face. "Alright, I mean, look, I love that you want to see the best in people, but these sinners..." He made a face, "You know, they're just the worst. I-I don't know how much you can realistically expect from them in Heaven. Hohoo boy, Heaven is not exactly carefree as you might think." The king draped himself over the railing at the thought of his old home, before standing straight. 

"Yeah, they have rules. Lots of rules. And they aren't very open minded as you'd hope." 

Vaggie looked away, as Charlie tried again, "These are our people, Dad. I...I have to try." 

" 'Our people, Charlie, are awful! They got gifted free will and look what they did with it! Everything's terrible." exclaimed Lucifer, gesturing towards the city. "I just don't want you to put yourself on the line for people like---"

A loud thud shook the hotel, making the three grip onto the railings.  "Geez! What now?" Vaggie groaned. "Well, like that." Lucifer gestured to the shark demon gang outside the hotel, holding a battering ram.

"Mimzy! We know you're in there you lousy bitch." 

*In the main foyer*

"Oh shit." whimpered Mimzy, ignoring the looks (Y/N) and Angel sent her. Lucifer opened a portal, allowing him and the women to run down quickly. 

"Que carajo?!" cursed Vaggie, the royals running out of the portal after her. "What's going on?" Charlie questioned.

"I maaaaaaay be in trouble with some loan shark's, I may or may not have borrowed fifty grand from--eep!" The flapped squeaked and hid behind the bar, before peeking out and flinching at the looks she was getting. "You better come out!" called one of the sharks. 

"And I may have also stolen a car..and crashed it...into the loan shark's girlfriend. But that bitch had it coming!" She growled, just as fireballs were thrown into the hotel breaking the windows, much to Niffty's horror. 

"My windows!" she shrieked.  "Ah! We're under seige! Ah! Take cover!" cried Pentious. "Look out!" Vaggie cried, dodging another. "What the fuck?!" Angel yelled, picking Niffty up from being hit. 

(Y/N) growled and used his wings fly up to the windows before using his magic to close the them before grunting when a spear was thrown at him, slicing his cheek. "Fuck!" He hissed before flying outside, hands glowing with magic. "That was a lucky shot, bitch! Now I'm going to fuck you up!" He laughed manically.

Charlie looked at her father as he smirked, "Ya see, this is exaaaactly what I'm talking about Charlie. You build something nice, you invite people in and offer them everything, and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep. It doesn't matter how well intentioned  you are, they're always going to disappoint you." 

Niffty giggled as she scooped up glass before being picked up by Pentious, "Niffty, come along!" "All of you, get a safe distance!" Vaggie called, angelic spear in her hand.  "I'll take care of this." she raised her spear, ready to join the manically laughing prince. 

"No, my dear, leave it to me. It's time I remind everyone why I am here." Alastor grinned, radio dials for eyes and a dangerous tone in his voice. 

"Oh, finally! Took ya long enought!" Mimzy snapped from behind the bar. "A reminder to all," Alastor called, the hotel glowing green, as tentacles came out from his back. "Not to mess with the Radio Demon!" his evil laugh echoed in the air as he climbed out of the hotel in his demon form.

His tentacles started to kill the shark demons, making (Y/N) grin. "Yes! Let's fuck shit up, Alastor!" He cackled, drawing his angelic sword before flying down to continue his attack. "I will devour each and every one of you!" Alastor exclaimed, gladly catching and eating a demon that the prince had thrown his way. 

*Back with Charlie*

"Mhm, ya see?" Lucifer hummed, wincing at his son's sadistic side. "What I tell ya? Charlie, sinners are violent psychopaths, hell bent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There's really no point in trying." he chuckled before the princess snapped. 

"Dad, stop! They're defending this hotel! It may be a little more.....sadistic than I'd hope." Charlie cringed at the two demon's actions. "But they're doing it for me! How come they can have faith in me, but my own father can't?" She sobbed, making Lucifer look down. 

"Ooh, drama." Angel grinned, taking some popcorn from behind the table, Husk taking some as well.

*Outside*

"Oh, I missed getting to let off steam." Alastor shrunk to his normal size, smiling as (Y/N) landed next to him, putting his sword away, and snapped his fingers and he was all cleaned up,and the cut on his cheek as now healed. "Huh, we'll have to team up more often, Alastor." "Indeed, prince (Y/N)."

(Y/N)'s smile dropped as Mimzy came out. "Oh Alastor! Princey! What a fantastic show! Bravo!" Mimzy clapped her hands, posing. "Thanks for helpin' lil' old me outta a tough spit, you're always such a pal." She flinched as rumble fell nearby. 

"Oops." She shrugged, as (Y/N) crossed his arms, glare on his face. "Heheheh, sorry about the mess. But I'm sure the lil' bug can take care of it for ya." "I think you should go Mimzy. Now." Alastor demanded. 

"Oh, pfft, Alastor, you're such a kidder you! Haha, you are so funny. " laughed the flapper demoness.

"I mean it. You deliberately brought danger to this place just to have me clean up your mess." The deer glared at Mimzy, "I can't have that here."

"But you love takin' care a' me! What? You don't actually give a shit about this tacky place, do ya? Come on. I know you. You heartless son of a bitch." Mimzy giggled, poking Alastor's chest. 

"Okay, I had enough." (Y/N) interrupted, hands on his hips, "You can stay here if you want to actually try and redeem yourself, but we can all see that's not you aren't willing to change your ways, so get out of here." The prince stood at his full height, glaring down at the demoness. 

Mimzy looked curiously at Alastor, waiting for him to deny what the prince was saying. 

Alastor merely blinked. "Fine! Who needs ya? Have fun with ya lil' royals and ya lil' hotel. See if I care." Mimzy flicked the men off before leaving. 

"Ugh, finally. Thought that bitch would never leave." (Y/N) rolled his eyes before turning to walk over to the damaged hotel entrance, watching his father and sister with a thoughtful look. 

"This is getting really good." Angel smirked, as he and Husk continued to smack on popcorn, Pentious rolling his eyes at the two.

"Dad..just..help me." pleaded Charlie. 

"I...I can't." the king replied, facing away from her. 

"Why can't you?" pressed the blond princess.

(Y/N) smiled softly from where he and Vaggie were standing near the door as his father and sister finally talked about their feelings.

"Okay," Lucifer relented, "I can get you the meeting, but once you're in Heaven, I won't be able to go with you. Will you be okay?" He asked, looking into Charlie's eyes, waiting for her to answer. "I'll be fine." She promised. 

"That's my girl."

Lucifer held a hand out for (Y/N) to come and join them. The prince took his hand and smiled when the King cupped his son's cheek, looking at Angel briefly before turning to his son's mismatched eyes. 

"Eisai eftychismenos gie mou (Are you happy, son?)"  He asked. "Eimai, bampa. Me kanei...pio dynato. (I am, Dad. He makes me...stronger.) Ton agapo. (I love him.)" (Y/N) replied softly, pushing against his father's hand,just like he did when he was a little boy. Lucifer's eyes widen slightly before he smiled softly, "Kalos. (Good)." 

He took a step back, smiling proudly at his children. "Good luck, kiddos." With that, he teleported away. 

(Y/N) wiped a tear away, smiling up at Angel Dust as he came over and pulled the prince into his side, with a soft smile.

"This next part is going to be scary..." Vaggie sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck as she approached Charlie. "Are you ready?" 

"I am ready." Charlie pulled her girlfriend into a hug. " 'Cause you and (Y/N) will be with me." "In spirit, right?" Vaggie asked, still hugging the princess. 

"In Heaven." confirmed Charlie confidently.  "Yay!" Vaggie replied dryly.

*With (Y/N)*

The prince and the spider were hanging on (Y/N)'s balcony, each sitting in their respective spots, (Y/N) playing with his magic in his hands. 

*Timeskip*

The couple was sitting on top of one of the highest buildings in Pride ring, holding each other as they watched the lights below. "Mia cara...." (Y/N) started, fidgeting slightly with Angel's fingers. Angel hummed in acknowledgment, running a hand through (Y/N)'s hair. 

"We've been together for a while, a-and w-well, I um..uhh..." Angel looked down at the prince questioningly as he stuttered. 

"It's okay, amore. Take ya time." He soothed, (Y/N) sighing softly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny box.

Angel looked at the box in confusion. "Bambino..." 

"I-I know it's too early to get married, but this love that we share, I haven't felt since Archer," (Y/N) continued to play with the spider's fingers, ignoring Angel's soft gasp at the mention of his last lover. 

"This is a engagement ring, and I will wait for you. And I want to protect you, and keep you smiling because you are such a beautiful soul who deserves everything and I--" Angel pressed a kiss to the rambling prince's lips. "I will happily marry you." He whispered, holding (Y/N) close as their foreheads pressed together. "Whenever you are ready, amore mio." Angel chuckled to himself at the flustered look on (Y/N)'s face, before kissing the blond demon, turning it into a heavy make out session.

"Angel..." moaned (Y/N), gripping onto the spider's shoulders. "Mm, let's go to your room, and let me make those wings flap." Angel giggled.

*End!*

Tbh, I'm not too sure about this chapter, might do a rewrite. Let me know your thoughts!