#finally dusting off some wips

[needcake]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: England/Portugal (Hetalia), Wales/Portugal (Hetalia), France/Scotland (Hetalia), England & France (Hetalia) Characters: England (Hetalia), Portugal (Hetalia), Wales (Hetalia), Scotland (Hetalia), France (Hetalia), Female Ireland (Hetalia), Northern Ireland (Hetalia) Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern Era, Miscommunication, Personal Growth, Adulting is hard, Romantic Comedy, (maybe not much of a comedy) Summary:

Arthur didn’t need dates, or boyfriends, or long-term stable relationships. He didn’t need a handsome bloke on his arm to take to meet his siblings, and he absolutely didn’t envy his brother and sister for having that. No, in fact not only did he not need a boyfriend, he didn’t even want one. His life was perfectly fine as it was.

#engport #portwales #scotfra #hws england #hws portugal #hws wales #hws scotland #hws france #hws ireland #hws northern ireland #hetalia #a wild fic appears #fake dating #miscommunication #all the fun things! #finally dusting off some wips #can I finish this one? maaaaaaybe

[forgeofthenine]

If you're still interested in requests (feel free to ignore, since you've got a lot of 'em!)

How would everyone's favorite tieflings react to their Tav *not* being at the tiefling party, because they've ended up spending the night keeping the tiefling kids entertained in Mol's hideout? Celebrating with them, having fun and goofing off with the kids (and making sure Mol isn't trying to exhtort who she can, by selling firewine around the camp by doing so)

Bonus points if s/o is a bard class~

(2) Asfgghkkkl I was the ask for the s/o/Tav who spent the tiefling party just playing with the kids - I (maybe) forgot to mention that I had the idea of them doing it secretly, or like, getting stuck escorting Mol back because the kids!!! Want to see the hero too!!!

Hi Anon, thank you for the great request! This one was a blast to write and I really enjoyed it, I hope it's what you were after :)

For anyone wondering, this was the WIP referred to as 'adopting all the kids'

The bachelors finding you in the kids cave at the grove instead of at the party

General

The party was just starting to ramp up, making your rounds and catching up with everyone when you see it from the corner of your eye

A small tiefling with a cunning grin and an eye patch sitting on a rock at the edge of the clearing

Sneaking off to the edge of the firelight, with only a sideways glance from Halsin, you finally reach Mol

It really didn't take long for the girl to convince you to leave the party, her threat of upselling stolen firewine was almost enough convincing on its own

The two of you make your way back to the familiar cave that the children like to hide in, cheers being the first thing that meet your ears as Arabella and Mirkon happily rush up to you

The other children stay back but look excited in their own ways, Silfy peeking out behind a blanket wrapped around her, Mattis turning his attention towards you, and Doni letting out a small grunt in greeting

With some light begging from some of the kids (and some egging on from Mol and Mattis) it's not long before you pull out your instrument of choice and start your own party for the group of children

It might've been minutes or hours you were there, you're not sure until you're interrupted

Dammon

Dammon had no intent on going to the party, not only is he not a particularly social person but he also has an entire makeshift forge to pack down

It's when he's stuffing his things into a pack that he sees you and Mol sneaking back through the grove and into your hidey hole

At first he chalks it up to the kids shenanigans but he grows curious at the sound of music emanating from the crack in the wall

Dammon is actually pretty quiet when he starts to make his way down the very tight, very craggy tunnel

That is until he slips and slides the rest of the way down, tumbling out covered in dust and letting out a small cough

The silence is absolutely deafening

"So this is where the real party is? Hope you don't mind me... Dropping in-"

The pun was bad enough for Mol and Mattis to want to kick the blacksmith out but you're quite happy to defend him

Soon he's joined your little group of rascals and you've scrounged him up a drum and the two of you are serenading the kids with a very one of a kind concert

It's only once all of the kids have finally fallen asleep that the two of you clamber your way back out of the cave, Dammon helping to dust you off afterwards

Dammon himself is stuck thinking about how good you were with the kids and how unexpectedly nice the night was, but he knows tomorrow they all get back on the road and he might never see you again

Zevlor

Zevlor, to no one's surprise, had been standing off to the side near Halsin when you left

Ever the wallflower in social situations, he'd seen you sneaking off with Mol

Knowing how much of a handful those kids are, Zevlor decides to go find you both soon after

He's spent this whole time letting the children believe he had absolutely no idea of their secret hiding place, but Zevlor isn't blind

Zevlors careful with making his way down the rocky tunnel, listening to the music that slowly fills the air

The paladin is so quiet in his descent that no one actually realises he's there until he claps at the end of your performance

The kids are all quick to scurry away, except for Mol and Mattis, and it's up to you to try and convince them to let Zevlor stay

It takes a fair bit of convincing but it ends with the two of you regaling the kids with stories of wild adventures

Those stories include musical interludes too at the kids instance

Once all the kids have fallen asleep, curled up around each other or lying on large stones, you and Zevlor make the rounds covering them all with blankets

It's when Zevlor is helping pull you back out of the cave afterwards, feeling the warmth of your hand against his, that he realises how alive you make him feel and how effortless it is to be around you

Rolan

Rolan had spent most of the night drinking and putting on magic shows for his siblings

At some point in the night you'd come and given him applause but the next time he went to look for you, you'd already disappeared

It was Lia that pointed him in the right direction, mentioning you'd gone back to the grove

And so a tipsy, affection-starved wizard decides to stumble his way back to the grove to find you

It's both the sounds of music and the light bleeding through the cracks in the stone that draws him in

And if you think Dammons entrance was grand, Rolans is grander

Accidentally sliding down the last part like a surfer before quickly using his magic to make sure he doesn't fall flat on his face

Of the three bachelors, Rolan is the only one able to convince the kids to let him stay by himself

Showing off a little extra magic helped somewhat

It's then that the kids insist you both entertain them, putting on a join concert/magic show

For Rolan it was like Cal and Lia were little kids again, looking out at the little tiefling faces that are 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing at the magic firework displays

"Ah, my adoring crowd, if you think that was good then behold this-"

You two made a good duo, bantering between yourselves and some of the kids, and putting on a good show till the early hours of the morning

It's only when the two of you make your way back out of the cave, hauling Mols smuggled wine she was planning on upselling, that you sit at the beach and indulge in a shared bottle

It's then that Rolan looks in your eyes, smiling and fatigued, that he realises how much he wants to kiss you

Whether or not he does is something neither of you can remember in the morning

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader

[ridestomars]

GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is.  𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it! 

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”. 

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ. 

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do. 

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him. 

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable. 

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest. 

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about. 

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it. 

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price? 

It all makes days like today even more unbearable. 

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at. 

This was starting to get depressing. 

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop". 

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything". 

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her". 

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about". 

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside. 

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.  

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face. 

But then, he breaks. 

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip. 

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares. 

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring. 

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer". 

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is. 

This was what she wanted to hear. 

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'". 

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to. 

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it". 

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection. 

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right. 

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it". 

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding. 

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list. 

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you. 

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay". 

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice. 

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics. 

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time". 

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again. 

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that". 

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie". 

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction. 

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know". 

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified. 

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner. 

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you". 

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back". 

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information. 

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life. 

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles. 

"We have so much time to make up for". 

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie. 

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

#liv talks about stevie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

[jojissalsa]

here are some wips i'm desperately trying to finish! (if you're curious ;P)

✞ Vendetta Leon:

‪‪❤︎‬ Pretty When I Cry:

☆ summary: you find out leon cheated on you with ada, and with that comes denying him of any kinds of affection. until he takes matters into his own hands, leon knows how to fix his pretty girl ;)

You couldn't believe it when you found out, you knew Leon could get distant. But finding that stupid fucking teddy bear keychain that woman gave him was enough to start a fight between you two, let alone the date offer tucked inside. How sweet. You thought that was it, when it initially happened. A quick spat when you found it a couple days after he came home from that horrid mission, and then some makeup sex. God, you wished that was all it was. All it amounted to. That was until you saw the keychain again, for some odd reason. Even more odd when curiosity got the better of you, and you unzipped it again. Empty.

‪‪❤︎‬ And if you were my little girl:

☆ summary: you've never been close to your dad on a surface level way, or even in a deep way. but after he finds out some of your illicit activities, you guys share your deep, twisted ways <3

Leon’s been single for a while, and ugly girls like you have been ugly for a while. And he looks at you like an ugly girl. Tells you not to get tattoos, shit like that. Like it's still the 50s. Probably because that's the only time he could get pussy. That's why he treats you like shit, and why you and him are addicted to sex. It's all you do ever since you turned 18. And you clean up nice enough. But deep down you're still an ugly girl. What's that saying? Lipstick on a pig. That's really who you are.

❤︎ Anything you Like:

☆ summary: you're excited to meet your new stepdad, and he seems like a great guy. unlike you, who definitely has some issues. good thing leon has a fix for that ;)

Your mom finally got a new man. You're pretty happy about it, really because she is. You're not excited in the slightest to actually meet the guy, just because your mom is happy doesn't mean the guy isn't as bad as your dad. She didn't really learn her lesson after him, sure, she was smart enough to get a divorce, condemn him for all the shit he put you two through. but the damage was already done, honestly. At least the daddy issues make you cute? They don't. They make you so fucking depraved, and in a way it kinda concerns you. The porn you look at, the guys you fuck, you know it's probably some deep seated issues, but it doesn't make any of it less hot.

✿ Death Island Leon:

❤︎ Give you the world:

☆ summary: leon works way too hard, and of course the years of trauma still cause those pesky nightmares. thank god you're there for him, and you don't mind it at all.

“You don’t need to tell me, you know I just wanna help.” You sigh, your hand making lazy circles on his toned stomach. “You go through so much, too much if I’m being honest.” Leon chuckles, a pink hue starting to dust his cheeks. “Hey! I’m being serious. If it were up to me, I’d give you the whole world. You really deserve it, Leon..” You prop yourself up on your elbows, a puppy love look in your eyes that you know looks only a tad obsessive. Leon doesn’t answer for a moment, just letting his wide smile speak his mind as his hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. You sigh and nuzzle your cheek against his palm, your hand slowly making its way to the waistband of his sweats. “Can I? Wanna take your mind off it.” You murmur against his palm, that sweet look in your eyes making him blush even harder.

❤︎ Lipstick Stains:

☆ summary: it was small at first, but it's always the small things with leon. they always drive him crazy, eating away at the sane part of his brain and just making him wanna be around you all the time. maybe it's a side effect of marriage?

He was fine seeing it at first, seeing the smudges of your lipstick on the glasses that he’d clean in the sink or throwing away napkins colored the same rouge in certain spots. He’d just ignore the chill that’d run down his spine when the thought of that same rouge being trailed across his neck would pass. It's just lipstick, is he a teenager?

❆ Re4 Remake Leon:

❤︎ A Girl can Dream (Part 1)

☆ summary: you work closely with ada wong, and leon knows a thing or two about mercenaries. they love to cause trouble.

Leon knew you looked familiar, from the moment he saw you in line at boarding to the second you sat next to him. He also knew you could both feel something. Physical attraction? Nah, he would never get close to another woman like Ada, too many secrets. You on the other hand? You were dying at the chance to run into his arms like a giggling teenage girl, looking at the window as you absentmindedly twirl your hair on your finger. You really don’t wanna pay him much more attention, partly because he’s insanely distracting, mainly because you know he would reject you in a heartbeat. No way a guy like him is single, right? A girl can dream.

𖦹 Re2 Remake Leon:

❤︎ All Mine:

☆ summary: leon's affection has always been nice. but he also has the power to deprive you of it entirely. and when that happens, you can't help but go insane.

You don’t even know what really drives this affinity you have for him, sure, he is definitely a looker. No debate about that. You’d run in front of incoming traffic just to be near him. But why? He’s nice, funny, drives a nice car, you both have a lot in common. But there really is something about Leon Kennedy, that puppy faced freak, that really fucks with your brain chemistry. The way he touches you, it’s confident yet tender. Well, it was at first. It had that tinge of gentleness, like you were a gorgeous porcelain doll that deserved so much care, but he could be rough with you in the most enticing way possible. He would choke you ever so slightly just so he could kiss you deeper, feel your tongue against his, like he needed to remind you of who makes you shudder like that. It was addicting, having that kind of affection that made your brain all syrupy and nonfunctioning.

☁︎ Infinite Darkness Leon:

❤︎ Dangerous Game (Part 2):

☆ summary: now that you're settled in, it's your turn to babysit leon. and you're making it much more difficult to focus when you talk like that.

Suddenly you're getting an incoming call from Leon, and you're kicking yourself when you feel your face heat up. “Hey there, Agent Kennedy. Need anything from me?” There you go again, still not using his name. Such a tease. He tries not to roll his eyes when he notices your smug smirk already.

❤︎ A Girl can Dream (Part 2):

☆ summary: ada has taught you so well, you know when to give up and help leon out when he needs it. that doesn't mean you shouldn't get a reward for it though, right?

You repress a yelp as he pushes you against the desk, his face barely illuminated from the glow of the chandelier in the hallway. "Enough with the teasing," You nearly shiver at how stern he sounds, but you've always been good at poker faces. "I've got a job to do, and it'd be wonderful if you'd shut your mouth and help me out here." Leon's voice is hot against your neck, his large hands gripping your hips, keeping you against him. "And what do I get out of that? You gotta make it worth my time, Kennedy,"

(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ please be patient with me as i finish these! life has been a rollercoaster lately, but making fanfics and writing about leon will always be a passion of mine, so it's not going anywhere anytime soon!

#my wips #wips #writing update #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #re leon #leon scott kennedy

[goosewriting]

Okay, I'm a sucker for these ones, but how about...

Y/N from our world falling into the ROTTMNT world?

Would Y/N explain that they come from a world where the boys are from a TV show, or just keep that one secret for their whole life?

If the boys find out, how would they react?

How would Splinter react?

I can imagine Y/N walking up to their turtle of choice and just breaking down crying, hugging him(especially after seeing the movie) and telling him he didn't deserve that pain.

Falling for you (rottmnt Leo x reader)

summary: reader falls into the rottmnt world and comes across the turtle brothers.

relationship: Rise Leo x GN reader

warnings: kinda meta i guess, this one’s kinda sad u_u sorry 

word count: 2k 

A/N: this fic has been marinating in my wips for almost a year. better later than never amirite? o(-< sorry for the delay! also i couldn’t for the life of me figure out the other turtles, but i liked it enough to post as is. I might come back to this one at some point! this trope is S+ tier btw, thank you so much for the request!

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

There was nothing you were looking forward to more than getting home, taking a nice shower, and collapsing in your bed. This week had been way too hectic for your taste. Recounting all the events in your mind with a slight scoff, you walked down the dim street. Only a couple more blocks and you’d finally be home. If you had the energy, you might even treat yourself to rewatching the Rise of the TMNT movie. You’d definitely laugh and cry just the same as when you first watched it. It was just too good.

You were so lost in thought, that the sudden strong gust of wind took you by surprise. Holding onto your jacket and backpack for dear life, you stumbled over your own feet, knocked over by the sheer force of the draft. With nothing near you to lean onto or take a hold of, you stepped onto the manhole in front of you, which to your horror completely gave in to your weight. With a shriek you fell down the hole, but instead of being engulfed in darkness and having a nasty landing as you expected, you were floating in a tunnel of colours and flashes. As they started to twist around you quicker by the second, you started to feel nauseous, not being able to tell apart up from down and left from right, so you closed your eyes shut and braced for the impact.

After a couple more spins in this strange space, you landed a bit roughly on your side and rolled over. Trembling, you took a couple of breaths to steady yourself. You could feel a slight sting on your hip and elbow where you had landed, but nothing else seemed to hurt. Tentatively opening your eyes, you were sort of expecting to be covered in sewage or at least some dirt, but instead, you found yourself on the ground in what seemed to be a narrow alley. It was dark, so you couldn’t see well, but something was definitely off. The lights coming from the main street were way too bright and neon-y. You also noticed the lack of that typical city smell. Standing to your feet, you dusted yourself off, only to realise that your arms weren’t your arms. Your hands, legs, even your backpack next to you on the ground; it all looked cartoony!

Grabbing your things and running towards the street you spun around to take it all in and concluded that you were, in fact, in a cartoon world of sorts. How hard did I hit my head?! you asked yourself. Because clearly, this could not be real. 

Different characters passed you by on the street, ignoring you. You walked a little farther, trying to recognise the style or some of the shops, but to no avail.

Just as you were turning a corner, you saw a sign that you immediately recognised: Albearto’s. Falling into a jog to check out the shop, you failed to notice the giant vehicle approaching you. And apparently so did the driver, as it came to a screeching halt before you, slightly bumping into you in the process. You were yet again knocked down and on the floor. 

“If I could stop being assaulted for one second, that would be great” you grumbled to yourself.

“Hey, are you okay?” a voice asked from the direction of the vehicle. 

You jumped back to your feet, ready to give them an earful for being so careless, but as your eyes came up to the scene before you, all words left your brain.

In front of you was none other than the turtle tank, four colour-coded turtle bros walking towards you with worried faces. 

And once again, you hit the ground.

You passed out.

— — —

When you came back to, you found yourself lying on a couch. Shielding your eyes from the lights with your hand, you slowly stood up. Taking a look around you immediately recognised that you were in the lair, in the projector room to be precise. 

“Well, someone is finally awake,” you heard a voice behind you. A voice you’d recognise anywhere, amongst hundreds of people. 

You slowly turned around to look at Leo, who was leaning on the back of the couch, looking down at you. 

“Are you okay? You came out of nowhere, we didn’t see you!” he asked and gave you a once over to check for any discomfort. “This is why we don’t let Raph drive” he added with a lopsided grin, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.

You blinked once, twice. And tore your gaze from him to your hands in your lap, fisting the blanket. 

Should you tell him? That he and his family live in a cartoon world? That he’s your blorbo and you love him with the intensity of a thousand burning suns? What timeline are you in anyways? Did… that already happen? 

Daring to look up at him again, you noticed he was wearing the black arm wraps. He looked at you with a quizzical, almost irritated expression, since you weren’t answering. You gave one last look over your shoulder behind you, and there were in fact a couple of abandoned subway wagons in view. So they were at the new lair.

For now you decided to play along.

Turning around back to Leo, who was still waiting for your answer, you gave him a smug look.

“Do you always bring back the people you almost run over to your home?” you asked.

“Only the pretty ones,” he responded. You looked at him in shock. He mirrored your expression, realising how that sounded.

“That was way creepier than I intended, wait,” he groaned and hid his face behind the back of the couch. You heard him sigh, and then he walked around it to sit on the arm rest beside you.

“Let’s start over,” he smiled and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Leo, but you call me Neon Leon”.

Smiling at his self given nickname, you introduced yourself as you grabbed his hand with both of yours, and just kind of held it. You held his gaze as your eyes softened.

“Do- do we know each other?” he asked with an expression that was something between confused and amused. “Usually people don’t react this calm to, well, this,” he explained, using his other hand to gesture at himself. 

“I can’t see why,” you replied, biting your tongue just in time before adding a ‘since I like what I see’. 

“Isn’t that why you fainted though? Out of shock?” he questioned and his eyes fell down to his hand, which was still in yours. Feeling the heat rise up to your face, you immediately let go. 

“No, I, uhm…” You cleared your throat, trying to come up with an excuse. “It was more a shock of almost being run over rather than seeing who it was,” you lied, but commended yourself mentally since it was believable and much better than the truth.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “You’re fine though, right? Donnie ran some tests and we didn’t see any major injuries or anything. Ah, by the way, Donnie is my brother. There’s four of us, actually. Or five, if you count Splinter. Six, if you count April…” he started rambling, counting on his fingers. You noticed he didn’t mention Casey. 

The rest of the day was spent with Leo giving you a tour of the lair, introducing you to everyone, and showing you his Jupiter Jim comic collection. 

When he asked where you were from and other similar questions, you tried to keep it as vague as possible. You hoped that he wouldn’t think you were hiding something because you were a spy for the Foot or something like that. You just couldn’t tell him the truth because if you did, he’d want to know how the show ended, and you don’t want to be responsible for messing up this timeline, whichever it is.

So you tried to enjoy the evening as much as possible, playing games with the turtles, eating pizza and reading comics. 

As the night rolled in, you felt the exhaustion of everything that had happened sinking in. Looks like the lack of energy from your world had followed you even here. With a hearty yawn you stretched your limbs.

“Looks like someone’s tired,” Mikey giggled. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll head home-” you started saying in your sleep-deprived state, only to abruptly stop yourself, eyes now wide open. “Actually, I just remembered I don’t have a place to stay. I got… kicked out” you said, and technically, it wasn’t even a complete lie this time.

“Aw no, poor thing!” Mikey whined and came to hold you in a comforting manner. “You can crash here for now. Right guys?” he looked at his brothers, giving them the best puppy eyes he could manage. Sighing, the others gave in. They weren’t all that keen on letting a stranger stay, but you seemed nice enough.

Once again you were tucked into the couch, this time with more pillows and blankets. They had even offered you some spare clothes to change into. 

Coming out of the bathroom you made your way to your makeshift bed, looking down at your attire. Seeing your own cartoon self in the mirror was weird enough, but now here you were in Leo’s baggy shirt and basketball shorts and it dawned on you that you didn’t know if you’d still be here tomorrow. You had no idea how you had landed here in the first place, or if you were just imagining it. Even then, you wanted to take out as much as possible from whatever time you’d get to spend here. 

So you climbed into bed, and waited until you could hear faint snores coming from the bedrooms. Going over the words one last time in your head, you tip-toed your way as quietly as possible to Leo’s room. Gosh, you looked like such a creep right now. But you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Carefully standing next to his bed, you noticed how sprawled out he was, his sleeping mask kinda askew on his face, mouth open. At the sight, your hand came up to cover your mouth, stopping the emerging giggles. He just looked too cute.

Taking a deep breath, you crouched down and held onto his bed frame. You spoke in nothing more than a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here in the morning, but I just wanted you to know that this was the best day of my life. Never would I have thought I’d meet you for real. You’ve always kept me going when life got difficult, I…” You paused, bitterly smiling at the fact that you were about to profess your love and admiration to a fictional character. “It’s unfair, really. You have no idea who I am, but there’s so much I want to tell you, yet I can’t, I- I shouldn’t. Just know this: You are loved. You are worthy. You are a good leader. You are a good brother. And if I am still here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next… I wish for nothing more than to be by your side.”

Suddenly your mind was flooded with the events of the Krangpocalypse, and you felt the tears building up. You stood up and turned to leave, but stopped in your tracks. For a moment you battled with yourself, but ended up taking a step back again to lean over Leo and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. As you leaned back up he stirred, and you turned to make a quick leave.

What you didn’t know however was that he’d been awake and had heard everything, but was too shocked to react. After some minutes pondering if he should go talk to you or not, he decided it couldn’t wait until the next day; he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyways after what you said, especially the way you said it. 

Climbing out of bed Leo silently made his way to the projector room only to find an empty couch.

You were gone without a trace.

~~~

🐥 taglist: @theoriginalmintyyyshake, @dybynyght, @lieutenantlashfaz, @galaxtic-writings, @Lovestruckfictionadict, @salty-s-r, @sleebykei, @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[if you want to be added to my taglist, fill out this form! if you're in the list but changed your handle, please shoot me a message to let me know!]

#goose feathers #rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt leo x reader #leonardo x reader #rise leo x reader

[moongreenlight]

WIP Wednesday except it's Thursday and I'm using this as an excuse to post something without the imaginary pressure of getting a full fic out. :D

800-ish word excerpt from my Ghoap x Reader nutcracker AU that I meant to finish around Christmas.

The orchestra has picked up about half a beat too fast and the conductor seems not to have noticed.

Too busy salivating at the legs of one of the snowflake girls a few spots to your left. His baton is getting lazy. Long, drawn out flicks and swishes like he’s casting spells instead of directing. Strange, you think. If anything they should be slowing down to match his tempo.

Maybe it’s the strings? They’re nipping into the winds and forcing the entire group forward. It throws off a girl in front of you. She’s younger by a handful of years. Doesn’t quite have the music- even at the right tempo- committed to memory. She drops her arm a full count too early. Even from behind you can hear her curse.

This seems to rouse him. He jerks his head back to center and starts flicking the tip of the baton back on beat. He’s a stern man. He’s got coal-black eyes that seem to house the staggering power to burn a hole straight through someone bone and all. You swear you can hear flesh crackling and sizzling as he casts his gaze out over the stage. It takes a moment, but he’s able to herd the group back onto a single track. Dancers and musicians alike.

Someone has either put too much or too little rosin on their shoes. It’s difficult to pinpoint, but there’s a terrible squeaking sound from somewhere on the stage that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Like nails on a chalkboard. It gets worse during the final round of turns.

And then, by some miracle, intermission. Big cloth curtains draw together. Kicking up dust and loose sparkles and large pieces of fake snow that adhere themselves to your skin. Kept snug in place by the sheen of sweat that collected under the brutal heat of the spotlights and the effort it took to dance for nearly forty minutes straight.

Imogene, the girl who’d just recently championed the superlative of biggest blunder to date, was now heavily crying into the arms of her older sister.

You relish the few moments you get to catch your breath before the mistress comes and begins to shoo you and the other girls offstage. She’s far more stern than the conductor. And unfortunately less handsome, though they share the same deep-set frown lines that cage their mouths. You catch her give a shaking Imogene a whack to the ear before you can duck backstage.

In your hurry to whip your head back around for fear of meeting the same fate, you run directly into someone’s back. You’re quick to hiss out an apology, but it’s drowned out by the sound of a man speaking terribly muddy French.

“- gorgeous. Even caught the orchestra’s attention.” (please pretend this is French I forgot to translate it and I'm too lazy rn)

The girl he’s talking to, Sophie, giggles and he sways slightly from her batting him in the chest.

“Excuse me.”

It comes out a bit more stiff than you mean it to. He doesn’t wait for Sophie to dismiss herself before turning around.

John MacTavish is one of the few men in the company, but even without such slim options, you feel he would still be a standout.

He’s not from France, though it’s not uncommon for members to have made pilgrimage to join such a prestigious group. His accent is horrible, any potential ruined by his upbringing somewhere in Scotland, though he earns himself a few points with native speakers for his enthusiasm.

He’s also granted the cushion of patience because of his undeniable good looks. He’s got great blue eyes that emote just as well as he does. Shining and laughing along with him like they’ve got personalities to match. He’s big. Tall and muscular, which -again- isn’t uncommon what with all the lifts and spins and acrobatics he does, but he packs on muscle in a way not many other male dancers have the capacity to do.

You’re sure it’s a nightmare to source costumes for him. He’s tore the back panel out of his jacket twice this season alone and you’re only about three-quarters of the way through.

He’s gorgeous and he knows it, which makes him insufferable. He’s charming and got fantastic whit, sure, but he’s perverse and a habitual letcher so it all seems to cancel out.

His great beauty makes him the popular option for most all of the company and the patrons of the opera house alike. It’s become a running joke that you’ve not really served your time unless you’ve had a go with John.

Your participation is left widely up to speculation.

“Sorry, hen.”

If he noticed your rigidity, he doesn’t bring it up. Instead he leans down and takes you by the wrists. Brings his face close to yours and plants a kiss on the right corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, John.”

You scramble away, much to his delight.

“Always forget if it’s right or left first.”

He’s snickering like he’s clever. It takes some legitimate effort to wrench your arms out of the manacles that are his hands.

“Funny.”

You say flatly as you shoulder past him, wiping at the corner of your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“I thought so.”

#moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghoap #ghoap x reader #wip wednesday

[inexplicifics]

Tag Game: Find the Words

I've been tagged by the lovely @inahandful-of-dust for the words "sword", "shadow", and "star"! Thank you, this looks fun!

From a WIP currently titled "L/A omega auction", for "sword":

So he waits, snarling under his breath and flexing his fingers in an attempt to resist the urge to just draw a sword and start gutting the bastards around him - which does result in him being given a rather wide berth by the other alphas, funnily enough - until the auctioneer gets around to the Cat.

From "Flung to Catch a Star", the next AWAU longfic, for "shadow":

Yennefer is lurking in the shadows, hidden by a spell, just in case somehow the Nilfgaardians have managed to trick or bewitch Letho and his group, and are actually here to attempt to assassinate Geralt or steal Ciri. And there are Cats and Cranes in the rafters, and Bears in the corners holding halberds and doing their best to look like ceremonial guards, which is remarkably good, all things considered. Milena and Sasha and Vesemir and Livi are standing off to one side, out of the way but still visible, still obviously important, with Lambert and Aubry and Serrit standing guard beside them; Mouse, of course, is not visible, as a spymistress with a known face is less effective by far. They make an imposing picture, all of them assembled just so. Jaskier is so very, very proud of his family and his people.

From the in-beta WIP "Cats Among Wolves: Coën" for "star":

Since he’s known without a doubt that he is the last Griffin, and will never know a brother’s companionship again. Erland’s code does not allow him to lie down in bitter grief and loneliness and let death take him, but Coën cannot quite keep himself from making careless errors, leaving gaps that might allow him to finally put down this aching pain in his heart and join his brothers in their long Path among the stars.

And now I get to pick some words...let me see. How about "kiss" and "laugh" and "snarl", and I'll tag @queerfictionwriter and @kimikocha and @violaceum-vitellina-viridis and @heronfem and @hoomhum and anyone else who wants to play!

#tag meme #find the words

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Blind Dates and One Night Stands [Frankie x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (cishet f!reader)

Warnings: reader wears a thong, cunnilingus (duh, it's frankie!), piv sex, multiple orgasms, frankie is flustered and cute!, but also smoldering and hot! safe sex, also frankie is a big boy but we already knew that, some drinking but not too much.

Summary: Frankie has a blind date that doesn't work out, but maybe the night goes well anyway?

Words: 3,639

A/N: I feel like I haven't written in months, but that's not entirely true. I feel rusty, however. I hope you like this.

Update: There is a sequel! One Night Stands and Phone Numbers.

Frankie's leg is vibrating restlessly, feet perched on the metal footrest of the bar stool. He takes his cap off, swipes his hair to the side, and puts it back on, then takes it off again. Maybe he shouldn't be wearing a hat, it's impolite. But without a cap, he feels formal, and he doesn't want that. He puts it back on, then glances at his wristwatch.

She's late.

Cursing out Benny again for this idea, Frankie shakes his head at the bartender who looks at him with a raised eyebrow. No, he's not ordering yet. He has to wait for his date, the woman Benny set him up with. "She's cute, blonde, and friendly," his younger comrade in arms had reassured Frankie. "You need someone to take care of you, or at least get laid."

Frankie had finally agreed to meeting the woman, if only to get Benny off his case. But he was starting to regret it.

He regrets it even more when the woman finally shows up. She's nice enough, and definitely cute, but Frankie can tell almost immediately that this is not going to work. She seems to want to make an effort, though, and he chides himself for not just excusing himself and putting a stop to this.

Because he doesn't put a stop to it, he ends up sitting with her through two orange umbrella drinks, while he himself nurses a beer. At some point his date seems to understand that there's no future for the two of them, downs the rest of her drink, and calls her friend who's been on stand-by to drive her home if the need arose.

Frankie very dutifully gives her a quick hug and watches her leave the bar before he sighs deeply.

Another one bites the dust.

He takes his hat off, runs his fingers through his hair, scratches the back of his head. This is getting exhausting. Sure, not everybody gets to experience the love story of the century, but how is even just a night of good sex with a nice person so hard to reach?

Leaning against the counter, he gets the attention of the bartender, and orders a Scotch. Might as well get fucked up.

"Comin' right up."

You pour the man whose broad shoulders are hunched in defeat a whisky. He wanted it neat, and you make it a double because you feel so sorry for him.

"On me," you say as you place the glass in front of him. His eyebrows shoot up and you give him a lopsided smile.

"That was a terrible first date."

"First and only," he confirms.

"Good," you nod. "Never waste any more time on bad dates."

"I'll drink to that." He lifts the glass and nods at you. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Over the next couple of hours, you return to the guy with the Standard Oil baseball cap to chat between customers. He's easy to talk to, drinks slowly, is interesting and funny - and really handsome. You feel his gaze on you when you pull beers for the increasingly inebriated crowd, and you find yourself wishing that his eyes could be on your ass (which looks really good in these jeans) and not on the back of your head. It's speaks for him that he clearly finds your intelligence attractive as well, but there's something about him that makes you want him to look at your body and go, "damn".

A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells you that you'll be closing in two hours, and the customers are already thinning you. You sway your hips as you do a lap around the room to pick up empty glasses and wipe down a couple of tables, and when you return to the bar, you find the man staring at you, just like you wanted him to.

And it turns you on more than you could have imagined.

You decide to employ a cheap trick, so when you come back around the bar for a chat, you bend over it for a lazy lean that displays your rack. You even fold one arm underneath your tits and frame them with the other, coquettishly propping your chin on your hand. And bless him, he looks you straight in the eye even with the soft swell of your tits right in front of him. You detect a hint of color on his cheekbones, though, and it makes you like him even more. He's a gentleman, perhaps even shy.

When it's time to close, he stays behind to help you stack chairs on the tables. He easily keeps up the conversation - the topic is baseball, turns out both of you played in high school - and eventually accepts your offer of a nightcap. You hop up on one of the barstools, a whisky in hand, and he slides onto the seat of the one next to yours.

"How did you find her?" you ask, sipping your drink. He raises an eyebrow, not understanding, so you make a gesture in the general direction of the stool where his date from earlier tonight sat.

"Oh. Right. Um, buddy of mine set it up. He thought it was a good idea."

"Your buddy is a terrible matchmaker," you judge. He laughs.

"That he is, but he means well."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't that the saying?"

"I guess it is."

You take another small sip of your whisky, feeling it burn all the way down to your belly. It might be the sleep deprivation in combination with the alcohol, but you blurt out:

"You might still get lucky too, if you play your cards right."

He raises his chin a little as he stares you down. "I've never been good at playing cards."

"That's a shame," you shrug, feeling your cheeks heat.

"So, for the sake of just speeding this up... what do I have to do to get permission to kiss you?"

Your heart is beating so hard and fast that you almost feel light-headed.

"You just need to ask," you manage, your voice a little shaky. He smiles, and it doesn't look like the confident grin of a player, no, he looks like a little boy who just found out he could have another cookie.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks quietly, and he barely has time to make his request before you're nodding:

"Yes!"

The relief is plain to see, and he slides down from the barstool so that he can get closer to you. When he leans in, you can smell his cologne, and when he very gently puts his hand on your arm, you can feel him tremble a little.

There is something about the tentative teasing of his lips,  the bristles on his upper lip, the fullness of the lower one that drives you wild. You're usually not this forward with a complete stranger - you realize that you haven't even asked his name yet - but it's like he makes something just snap in you.

"What's your name?" you ask, and he blushes slightly. Shit, that's hot.

"Frankie," he introduces himself, and you taste his name, let the syllables roll off your tongue, before telling him yours.

And then you kiss him, devour his mouth, take his hands, and place them on your ass, thread your fingers through his hair. His hat falls to the floor somewhere behind him, and he's kissing you back, like he wasn't all blushing and timid only moments earlier. He grabs handfuls of ass and squeezes, pulls you snugly against himself. He's getting stiff, and there's something so primal and pure in that. You're just two people meeting each other by chance and being turned on by each other, and it spurs you into making him harder, so you eagerly rub yourself against him. He moans into the kiss, and it's the sexiest sound you've ever heard. You tear your mouth from his and meet his gaze that is somehow both hazy and intense. Your hands land on his belt buckle.

"Can I?"

"Please."

So polite. You tear open the belt buckle and his fly, and Frankie wants to reciprocate.

"May I?" he asks, as if you aren't ripping his jeans to shreds. You grin.

"Absolutely."

His gaze drops down to your fly as he deftly undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. His breathing is audible, just like yours, and then his hand is down the front of your ass-hugging jeans. One long finger is pressed along your slit, the tip teasing in between your warm, damp folds.

You catch your lower lip between your teeth and exhale in a small moan. So eager that you're almost too rough, you shove your hand down his underwear to find a thick, stiff shaft.

Oh. Working his jeans and underwear down his ass cheeks, you release his cock, eyes widening when you see it.

Frankie notices your reaction.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you assure him, "it's just... you're really big."

He slides one finger inside you as he leans in and nuzzles your neck, before touching his lips to your ear: "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're wet enough to take me."

You are shaken to the core by the smooth rasp of his voice, the words, the way he now inches his finger into you.

"Please do," you manage, and Frankie pulls his hand out of your pants. He grabs you by the waist and hoists you up on the barstool. You hold onto his shoulders, so wide they take up almost all in your vision field, so very secure and you imagine that they're perfect to hold on when life is stormy, and you need something stable in your life. He devours your mouth again, kisses you full of his whiskey breath before he asks you, in that same raspy, low voice that makes the hairs stand on the back of your neck:

"Can I go down on you?"

Mutely, you nod, and he helps you to get rid of your jeans. You're wearing a thong, not your usual underwear but there's just something about the way your ass looks in those jeans without any extra layer underneath, and you hook your thumbs under the thin straps, but Frankie shakes his head.

"Keep it on. Hold onto the counter. Careful, don't want you to fall."

Touched by his concern and turned on by his request to keep the flimsy garment on, you carefully lean back, supported by your elbows, on the bar. Frankie moves in between your legs, spreading them, and kisses you breathless again, before starting to trail kisses down your neck, over your cleavage, his hands pushing up your tits towards his eager lips and tongue. He then skips the part of you that's still covered by your shirt, and comes to his knees, putting him right in front of your displayed pussy. You wait with bated breath, sliding down a little on the stool to give him better access, your cheeks burning at the way he keeps intense eye contact with you. He has gorgeous eyes, beautifully brown, soulful, and absolutely filthy right now, with the way he stares right into your soul, like he's already fucking you. Gone is the bashfulness from before, and the change is thrilling.

"Is this okay?" he asks, still all polite as if he wasn't smirking like a little devil. You let out a breathless chuckle and try to sound sassy.

"You sure talk a lot."

"Hey, consent is sexy."

A retort is forming in your brain, but Frankie doesn't give you time to finish it: without breaking eye contact, he leans in and presses his mouth and chin to your dripping pussy, his tongue probing in between your slick lips. All you can produce is a choked gasp at the sudden intensity, and you grab hold of Frankie's thick hair as he lifts both your legs over his shoulders.

"You steady?" he wants to know, and you nod frenetically.

"Don't stop now."

He grins at you, and then he utterly rocks your world. The way he uses his tongue, his mouth, his prickly chin on you is goddamn magic, you've never had anyone eat you out like this before. He's everywhere at once but not in a disarrayed way, like he doesn't know what he's doing, oh no, he seems to know exactly what he's doing as he alternates with long, stiff licks along your slit, tongue dipping inside you before drawing out your juices and his saliva in a swirl around your clit, ending in a soft suckle, his mustache scratching you just right. His arms are around your thighs, holding you securely to him, and that's good because your arms aren't really doing their part anymore as you writhe on the stool, overcome by the fervor with which Frankie is pushing you towards a release that almost feels intimidating. Holy shit, he's going to kill you with this orgasm, oh God, oh shit, shit, shit, shit...

You don't realize that you've been going Oh God, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck at a steady pace for a few minutes until the volume of your own voice becomes so loud that you yourself are startled by it. Frankie's now focused on your clit, tongue working faster than you thought was possible, and your hips have started to move, seeking more friction, more and more and more.

"I'm cumming," you announce in a shrill gasp, never once thinking about how stupid it sounds in porn when anyone with eyes can clearly see what's happening, no, you must let him know, Frankie has to know that you're about to come apart under his tongue, that he's making you cum now, right now -

The orgasm is just as intense as you feared, and so much better than you ever imagined. You're actually screaming, which has only happened once before and that was that time you got drunk on a Saturday night and edged yourself with your Magic Wand for hours before you finally let yourself orgasm.

When you come back to some form of rational thought, your eyes blinking open against the faint lights of the bar, your ass is cramping, and your neck is sore. Thighs shaking, you nudge Frankie away from you, and let your legs down, a whine finding its way over your lips when he gives your throbbing clit one last lick.

He grunts when he gets up from his knees, and you realize dimly that both of you are perhaps a little too old for acrobatics like these, but there is no mistaking his proud smile when he comes up to kiss you. His lips are unbelievably slick from you, and you hum into his mouth.

"Am I wet enough for you now?"

"So fucking wet, baby," he assures you in a voice that makes you clench. His cock is rock hard against your thigh, and you mumble something about condoms.

"I've got rubbers," Frankie immediately assures you, and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. You take the condom from him and take a firm yet gentle hold of his thick cock. Christ, but it's thick, this is going to be intense. Frankie's eyelids flutter and he lets out a groan when you slowly stroke him a couple of times before putting the rubber on. This is fun, you think with an evil grin, you could do a lot more damage to him if you weren't dying to have him inside you.

"There," you whisper, taking his cock and pushing your soaked thong to the side so that you can slide him through your lips to lube him up. "I want you to fuck me now, Frankie."

He captures your lips in a searing kiss as you nock him at your entrance and let him start inching into you. Even with how wet you are, and how slow he's going, he still takes your breath away.

"You can take it," he growls, his low tone vibrating through him and into you. "You're doing great, baby..."

Holding onto him, you lift your legs and wrap them around him, hooking your feet by his ass, to lessen the angle of entry, but it's still a tight fit, God, he's big but feels so good, you want him to fucking ruin you.

He pulls back a little before pushing back in, and your moan gives him pause.

"Am I hurting you?"

"You're just really big," you blurt out inelegantly, smiling a little at his expression of alarm mixed with pride. "Maybe if we try it from behind?"

He pulls out and turns the stool around. You lean forward and brace yourself against the counter as you slide yourself to the back edge of the stool, angling yourself right. Frankie finds you, pulls your underwear to the side, and pushes in. He can't get as deep this way, but he still takes your breath away.

"Fuck, that's better," you moan, "take me hard, this is perfect!"

He takes orders well. With his large hands on your hips, he quickly finds a devastating rhythm that creates a filthy song of his thunderous panting in your ear, your loud moans, the slapping of skin against skin with each impact of his hips against your ass. Possessed by a new urgency, he paws at your tits, shoves one hand inside your bra to free one breast from the cup, the other hand still holding on to your hip, fingers digging into the flesh. His breaths are burning your neck, his cock is working you mercilessly, thrust after thrust after rough thrust, as his groans rise to a growl. You release one hand from the counter and put it over his to make him squeeze your breast. You want him to bruise you, want to feel him on your flesh, in the grip of your hungry pussy when you wake up tomorrow - later today. You don't know him, but you want to, you've never felt this way before with anyone, it's never been this easy with anyone, this easy and overwhelming. Fuck, you might even be able to cum again.

You slide your hand down to your sensitive clit, bracing yourself with one arm on the counter, Frankie draping himself over you from behind, fingers roughly pinching your nipple.

"One more for me," he huffs, "that's a good girl."

You cum almost immediately, his praise working wonders for you. As your squelching pussy flutters around him, Frankie's loud moan joins your wail. His hips stutter, then still, and his forehead falls to your shoulder as he catches his breath. You're shivering, parts of you stiff from strange positions and holding on, other parts like jelly. As you draw a trembling breath, you realize that you've dribbled saliva from one corner of your mouth, and you quickly wipe at your chin and slip down from the stool. Your legs almost buckle under you, but Frankie quickly catches hold of you.

"Easy."

"Thanks," you mumble, suddenly a little embarrassed. You've never been good at good-byes after the few one night stands you've had. Your thong chafes, your crotch is soaked, and you're feeling a little uncomfortable as the passion wanes and you're starting to feel the late hour.

Frankie's hand rests on your waist. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you hurry to reassure him, "I'm just... tired. It's late."

"It is." He takes off the condom, ties it up, then looks around for a trash can, finding one a few steps away. Having disposed of the rubber, he tucks himself in, and pulls up his pants.

"I had fun, though," he offers, his voice soft. You're just stepping into your jeans, and as you pull them up, you return his shy smile. Look at that, all raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens again.

"So did I," you reply, meaning it. "I had real fun, I mean... it was really good."

Both of you finish getting dressed in silence, then you do your final checks for the night, cash up, and turn off the lights. Frankie's with you as you lock up, and then you turn to him.

"Well... my car's over there." You point in the general direction of your parked car. Frankie gestures towards it, inviting you to start walking.

"I'll follow you to it. Make sure you're safe and sound."

Such a gentleman. It's half a block on a silent, empty street that you've walked down countless times before, but you don't mind the company, not to mention the gesture.

You yawn widely when you reach your car, and Frankie immediately asks if you're okay to drive.

"Sure," you promise him with a tired smile, "this isn't my first night shift. I don't have a long drive home, anyway."

"I could drive you," he offers, but you just shake your head and shoot him a flirty look.

"Then you'll just want to come up for coffee, and we both know how that story ends."

He chuckles, looking down at the ground. When you reach your car, he looks at you shyly.

"I got two questions before I can let you leave."

"Shoot."

"One: can I kiss you? And two: can I have your number?"

You pout and tilt your head, as if deep in thought.

"Yes to the kiss."

He immediately leans in for a surprisingly sweet kiss that ends way too soon.

"And the number?"

You grin mischievously.

"Come back tomorrow night so I'll know you're for real. Then you'll get my number."

He laughs at that, then stands watch as you get into your car, and drive away.

The next afternoon when you return to work, you find his baseball cap on the counter where the cleaner left it.

Now he definitely has to come back.

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #my fic

[gffa]

So, I was probably always going to be fond of TRIGUN STAMPEDE just for new content for a story that I’ve loved for so long, but I wasn’t expecting to be blown away by how gorgeous it was, how well paced it was, or how well written it was. From just fully breaking the dial off when it comes to turning up Vash’s babygirlness to the conflict between love/pacifism and rage/retribution, that two people can fundamentally disagree and yet they love each other because the other one is who they are, and added in some wildly fun side characters, it wasn’t just a ride of a show, it has utterly consumed me. NOW I’M GOING TO MAKE MY PERSONAL FEELINGS HELL EVERYONE ELSE’S PROBLEM by shoving a bunch of fic at you all and crying very loudly about how much I love all of these characters and that, if canon won’t give me a perfect happy soft ending, then by god I will make fandom do it! Thankfully, fandom has been providing, there are fics that have already healed something in me, so I hope they can make things better for you, while we all cry about how long a wait for the continuation is going to be. Join me in crying about the plants, you’ll only cry a little, I promise. (Please read the tags on any given fic, as there is a lot of plant genatalia, transmasc!Vash, omegaverse, pregnant male characters, and just general manipulation fuckery going on, and everyone’s lines in the sands are their own.) TRIGUN FIC RECS: ✦ but your grave was shallow so i carried you home by BeesKnees, knives & vash & cast, de-aging, 7.8k      Finally, he pulls the last bit of debris away. And there’s the body he’s been searching for – but not. He stares. It’s Vash, undoubtedly, but not Vash as he’s known him for so long. It’s Vash as he was, Vash as when they first arrived on this planet, young and even softer. ✦ are things still burning? (or can i come home?) by BeesKnees, knives/vash & cast/ocs, NSFW, 20.1k      Vash is so deeply asleep that he doesn’t so much as stir when Knives steps inside the room. His brother has been missing for months now, and it’s taken Knives longer than usual to track him down. Knives only understands why his brother’s been hiding from him when he sees the baby. Wrapped in Vash’s red coat, she coos up at Knives. ✦ i’m waiting for this house to burn down by BeesKnees, wolfwood & cast & background knives/vash, 6.2k      are things still burning (or can i come home?) told from Wolfwood’s perspective. (Otherwise known as the trials and tribulations of Uncle Wolfwood.) ✦ we’ve got to get back to that stinking garden by thecrazychatlady, knives/vash, NSFW, 9.1k      When Vash wakes up, Knives is dead. He knows he’s dead, knows because a piece of his heart has dissolved into ashes in his chest, and he feels the disintegrated pieces slosh around every time he moves. He also knows that Knives won’t stay dead, and that’s what motivates him into getting up every morning. He can’t be asleep when Knives wakes up. It would be disastrous. ✦ come down now by Anonymous, knives/vash, NSFW, 6.6k      Knives peers down at Vash, chin in hand. “He’s mine,” he says simply. “His first breaths were mine. Our hearts beat in time. And when you and all your kin are dust in the sand of this place, he will be mine still. Does that comfort you?” “No,” Roberto says. “No, it doesn’t. You think he’ll survive that?” “I will make him survive it.” ✦ Overdue spring (Four hundred and sixty nine days) by rizna, knives/vash, NSFW, 4.7k      “I shouldn’t have come.” “And yet here you are.” “Because—” “Because it’s been over a year since the last time we met like this, and you’re a ticking bomb, brother.” Vash winces at such undeniable truth. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t live without his body screaming for Nai. Nights are cold and he’s feverish, and even under the unforgiving sun, the freezing void in his chest leaves him shaking. He’s sick and his medicine is a face he shares and the first name he ever uttered. ✦ Fallen Communion by ibex_ascendant, knives/vash, NSFW, 6.7k wip      Fifty years after the Big Fall, Knives seeks out Vash for the first time. They try to make it work. ✦ affliction shall advance the flight in me by p1nk_x3, knives/vash, NSFW, 3.8k      Every year, Knives & Vash meet on the anniversary of the July Incident. ✦ but you can’t be free (‘cause i’m selfish, i’m obscene) by bukkunkun, knives/vash, NSFW, 14.9k      As the dust settles from saving Hopeland from certain death, Wolfwood finds himself taking care of a barely-cognisant Vash, who experiences a Plant bloom for the first time in ages. Unfortunately, independent Plants have neural links, and Knives, overprotective, madly jealous, and also in bloom, is never far behind. ✦ all that could have been by BeesKnees, knives & vash & cast, 9.6k      After discovering Nai and Vash, the first Independent Plants, Rem is only allowed to raise Nai. Vash is given to the research team for experimentation. There’ll be hell to pay when the twins reunite. ✦ how like a winter hath my absence been by MuseofWriting, knives/vash, NSFW, 4.1k      They bloom once a decade. It’s their time of truce. No matter how bitterly they fight, they find each other for their bloom. The alternatives, after all, are much worse. ✦ three day resurrection by Anonymous, knives & vash, 3.9k      (vash is kidnapped by bounty hunters and forces knives to retrieve him, but as he recovers, it becomes increasingly clear that something is wrong with him, and knives has to find out what it is, exactly). ✦ Contretemps by SerenePhenix, knives & vash & rem & tesla & cast, 2.6k      A look into the things that make Plants and humans so different, and that which unites them. All through the eyes of a reminiscing Vash. ✦ regret by Anonymous, knives & vash, 3.8k      Why didn’t you stop him why did you fail why did you let us die why did this happen why why why why. Vash has to look away, drowning in guilt. Knives only curls his lip at the sight, as if looking at a particularly unappetizing meal. They continue on. Vash doesn’t know where they’re going. It doesn’t matter anyways. ✦ hummingbirds by cloudycats, knives & vash, 3.9k wip      “Have you heard of Millions Knives?” doesn’t usually get a response, but “Have you heard of God?” sure does. Vash runs. It’s never far enough. ✦ Letters in the Bottom Drawer by jaybirddraws (simplestorange), knives & vash, 2.2k      Vash and Nai, throughout the years, between the lines. ✦ Guardian Angel by elisabomb (kurama3173), knives/vash, 5.2k      The death of Vash the Stampede shatters Millions Knives’ world into pieces. Never one to accept a cruel reality, he sets out to rewrite history, until he can have his brother back at his side. As many times as it takes. ✦ bloom by fizzyren, knives/vash, NSFW, 5.6k      Vash goes into heat, finds himself alone and in trouble with a group of humans. The humans don’t know that they have found themselves in trouble instead. They will learn soon enough when Knives appears behind them, razor sharp metal and rage. ✦ You Were Meant To Be Mine by Snakespell, knives/vash, NSFW, 5.7k      “So you really think the mass destruction will stop if Millions Knives gets laid,” Wolfwood laughed as he spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous.” ✦ knives rut twt drabble by fizzyren, knives/vash, NSFW, ~1k      Knives goes into rut, Vash just knows and goes to him to help. ✦ The Stars Would be Ours if Only You’d Let Them by MaladyMoon, knives/vash, nsfw, 3.1k      Or Knives brings Vash into a world of dreams in a desperate attempt to keep him. For a time, Vash is allowed to forget. ✦ Caressing Obsidian Keys Like Your Skin by alisayamin (sh_04e), knives/vash, NSFW, 1.1k      Once every few years or so, Knives reminds Vash who he belongs to. ✦ Carrying an Emptiness so Heavy by tirednbi, knives/vash, NSFW, 12.4k      (OR: Vash goes into heat and drops, but Nai comes along and reminds Vash that he has always been Nai’s mate–it’s just time for them to make it official. A long angsty buildup for a little bit of smut.)

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #millions knives #kv #plantcest #fic recs #trigun fic recs

[iprefertheterminsane]

Ok i'm a lil bit familiar w/ some of your WIPS here but the Sandman Fishbowl WIP is making me 👀👀 Can I ask about that, pls? 💗

ITS LITERALLY ONE OF THE FIRST SANDMAN FICS I EVER WROTE i DID share with you 😭😭😭 this was back whem Fishbowl Fics were still all the rage but i left it behind like 3 chapters in and forgot about it and now nobody is doing fishbowl fics anymore 😔😔😔😔. Basically Hob saves Dream from the Fishbowl and lives with Hob for a little after bc Hob manages to persuade they look for the tools human style. Its very similar to softest punk's Shelter except obviously softest punk actually published it and did it a whole lot better than I ever could. Anyway heres a snippet;

(...)

Through the ringing of his ears, something speaks. 

It resonates through the very bricks of the manor, and it trembles from it. It is from deep within the soul, of the mind, velvet seduction of a nightmare. 

(It is a voice Hob knows well.)

"Roderick Burgess."

It echoes from everywhere, quiet and earth-shaking, from nowhere at all. Hob shakes his head, rapid, like a dog shaking rain off his coat. 

"Do you know what you have done?"

I'm bleeding, Hob registers dimly, hands aching from torn open knuckles and peppered bits of glass, dusting his cheeks, his palms, the cold slick of the wall the blast had pushed him against. He uses it as leverage, hauling himself upwards. 

"For your monstrous greed, and petty arrogance, lives have been lost, and innocents have suffered."

The worst of the shrapnel had exploded forwards, in the direction of the gate, well away from Hob's angle of safety. The heavy mist had spread, spread, spread, and the manor is dead silent. 

Burgess Junior is slumped against the wall, motionless save-Hob notices with surprise-the shaky movements of his chest. 

Hob finds them. 

"No," cries Roderick Burgess, perched on his knees as Johanna Constantine had been in their pub, in 1789. His eyes are fogged white, unnatural, and he twitches violently from visions he cannot escape. "No, no, no, Randall, please-my son, my boy-," 

"You shall live as you had wished, Roderick Burgess." 

The Stranger says, standing with an outstretched hand, stance straight and sure, and his face doused in shadows. Inhuman. The order is made in finality. His lips move, but only barely. 

"And you shall beg for death."

With the sullen proclamation, the Stranger lowers his hand, and with it, it seems, the last of his strength. 

Hob watches as he collapses within himself, like an imposing tower finally reduced to rubble to reveal its cracked foundations at last. He moves without thinking, and catches his Stranger before he hits the ground, gathering him into his lap. The air is no longer so deathly cold as it had been before, but his Stranger shivers still. His greatcoat had been taken from him, but Hob takes off his own shirt to cover him despite his protests, and urges him to stand. 

"We need to get out of here," Hob tells him. "It's dawn soon, and the cops might be here any moment." 

"My tools," the Stranger insists. "They were taken from me." 

Hob is trying to figure out a gentle way to press that they are surrounded by dead bodies, a writhing old man and a quiet party, before he hears it again; familiar bird trills. 

The Stranger perks, head whipping to turn towards the entrance.

"Jessamy."

Before Hob could feel bitter from the reverential tone used for an unfamiliar woman's name, the large white-breasted raven finds them, and Hob almost startles. In his lap, his Stranger places a hand to his chest, and Hob calms despite himself. 

The raven flutters nervously, but decides, finally, to land on the floor by Hob's knee. She titters with worry, bumping against his Stranger's outstretched palm, and he practically slumps further from relief. 

"Jessamy," Hob mutters. "She's yours?" 

The Stranger doesn't answer, turning his head to bury his face in his chest instead, body shaking still, from exhaustion, anger, or the cold, perhaps even all three at once. He doesn't try to get him to stand again. His body aches, but he feels his miracle working already, how his skin begins to knit and spit glass from his flesh, leaving behind silvery scars or nothing at all. He counts to three, and with a single breath, lifts the entity in his arms, cradled in his arms in a bridal carry. 

His Stranger had always been thin, but he is light, lighter than Hob knows he should be. He tries not to panic about it. 

"I'm taking him home." He tells the bird. "Find the tools he's talking about, and follow us."

The bird flaps her wings twice, and caws.

"I'll keep him safe," Hob swears, with inadvisable conviction. "I promise." 

This, finally, mollifies her, and Hob follows her up the stairs. 

The party is silent, and bodies are slumped on floors, against tables and walls. It takes him a second glance to realize they weren't dead, as he had assumed. He hears snoring, even, and quickened breaths. 

"They're sleeping?" Hob asks, walking quickly but treading carefully over their bodies. 

The Stranger nods, eyes closed. 

"For how long?" 

Not dead, Hob surmised. But they might as well be.

"Forever." 

#dreamling #sandman #fishbowl fic #damn #love you yan i missed you sm

[duckie-darling]

(What if I posted a snippet of the slowburn luci hoof care WIP. what then)

Plenty of people in hell were night owls or just slept most of the day, but very few of them would wake up this early in the morning to cheerily cook what, from the sounds of it, was a full-course meal. If there was some kind of royal brunch being prepared, maybe it would be better to stay out of there - lie low, maybe see if that bartender (Husker was his name, you think?) has any cocktail peanuts to nibble on until the place clears out. You cautiously stick your head around the corner to glimpse the source of all the activity.

In no way did you expect that all the activity you heard from this room was coming from just one person.

He stood in front of the stove, whistling a jaunty little tune as he held a skillet in his right hand. He skillfully jerked the skillet, flipping a perfectly browned pancake into the air, which then did an acrobatic little flip before plopping back into the pan. His left hand was whisking some sort of concoction in a red bowl, which itself was being cradled in the air by a swirling golden light. On the counter off to his right, yet another swathe of golden magic was wrapped around a chef’s knife. It was rapidly julienning potatoes into perfect little matchsticks.

He let go of the whisk, grabbing instead - straight from the air above his head - a black spatula. The utensil was decorated with a shiny red apple at the handle. That, it turns out, was your first clue, but when he twirled quickly in place before coming to face you, you were suddenly certain exactly who it was you had just been caught spying on.

Lucifer - fallen angel, ruler of demons, King of hell - stood before you. 

Making pancakes. 

In an apron. 

Patterned with rubber ducks.

“Goooood morning!” he chirped, eyes brightening as he flipped the pancake again into the air, angling it to land gracefully on a platter that was already piled with its siblings. “Oh, haha, you’re a new face! Early risers get first choice!”

You blinked rapidly in surprise.

“Take a seat!” He snapped his fingers and one of the stools at the kitchen’s island pulled itself away from the counter as an invitation. There was a slight swirling sparkle of golden magic in the air above the surface, and a cascade of plates and silverware arranged themselves into a perfect place setting. The napkin was folded in the shape of a perfect origami swan (or duck?) in the middle of the plate.

“Are you thirsty?” He was talking too fast for you to move or even respond. “Apple? Orange? Pomegranate? Pick your poison!” Each word was punctuated by the fruit in question appearing in his hands, which he almost immediately started to casually juggle. Even just the fragrance of those fruits - an absolute delicacy in hell - made your mouth threaten to water.

The awkward smile turned less awkward, and his face lit up again. “Comin’ right up!” His 3 makeshift juggling balls quickly turned into four, five, eight, twelve. After a moment of showboating, each orange in turn hovered over top of your glass, squeezed itself dry, and then helpfully launched itself into the garbage can.

He paused a moment, giving you just enough time to inhale in the hopes of replying before he interrupted.  “Oh, but not REAL poison, heh!” his voice cracked and he looked slightly bashful over the misstep, finally breaking the constant excited chattering and replacing it with a slightly awkward silence.

“I-.....” You suddenly realized that somewhere in all that you had been given a command by the King of Hell, so you promptly sat on the stool that had been pulled out for you. “O-orange…?”

He dusted his hands off on his apron and gave a  brief bow, seemingly ending his performance. Then his eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, stopping your heart until you realized he was staring at your glass. He snapped his fingers, adding both a silly straw and a ruby red paper umbrella. “That’s more like it.” He then spun on his heel, resuming his whistling as well as his work.

You sipped the juice. It was delectable.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #i legit don't know how to tag things #i just need to put something out into the world as motivation to finish this growing monster #no hoofcare yet tho #just a manic episode #hehe #lucifer morningstar x reader

[autisticlancemcclain]

wip tease number 7 i think

Keith hates it when Shiro is right. It’s the worst thing in the world. Second only to coming home after a really long day, looking forward to the leftovers you know you have waiting for you in the fridge, only to discover that some asshole ate them and now you have to go to jail for murdering them.

Ugh.

It really does double suck, because working as a ‘lube technician’ — unfortunately the hilarity of that title wore of quick when Keith discovered that it was, in fact, there so the company could justify paying their workers less than what was standard for mechanics — is kind of the worst, and Shiro is too smug about it to feel the appropriate amount of pity for Keith. It means he spends a lot of time in his lonely, boring apartment after work instead of bothering Shiro and Adam (like he is wont to do) because he’s too proud to admit that yeah, maybe he should have done something else with his certification.

“Kogane! Get your ass over to hoist three, there’s a customer waiting!”

Huffing, Keith drags himself to his feet, preparing himself for yet another person who does not understand that no, oil changes cannot be done with the cooking oil you pick up from the store, yes motor oil is expensive, Keith does understand that, and no, he has no control over the prices and if they could just stop throwing a temper tantrum that would be great.

Keith finally makes it over to hoist three, where a beat-to-hell blue Toyota is parked. A lanky guy sits criss-cross-applesauce on the hood. He wiggles his fingers in a little wave.

“You must be Keith? I’m Lance. My car is fucked up.”

Keith can’t help the amused quirk of his lips. “I would imagine it is, yes. Any ideas what’s wrong with it?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nope. Only that it makes this meeeeerfp noise if I start it without saying several decades of the rosary. Abuela says it’s because God is punishing me for making dumbass decisions, but somehow I think it might just be car troubles.”

The stupid joke startles a genuine laugh out of him, which make’s the customer — Lance — grin, brown eyes sparkling.

“If you make that noise for me again, I’ll check it out,” Keith teases.

Lance winks. “If I make it twice, can I watch?”

“Three times and I’ll think about it.”

Lance makes the noise three times without even a second of hesitation, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head slightly.

“That work for you, Greñudo?”

“Nah, I just wanted to see if you’d make a fool of yourself at my command.”

That makes the slightest flush dust Lance’s cheeks. The sight of it makes something flutter in Keith’s belly.

Gods above. Is he flirting? Like, genuinely? And successfully? He’s never done that before. That’s insanity.

“Alright, round to Keith,” Lance concedes. He hops off the car and digs around in his pockets for the keys, handing them to Keith, looking a little apologetic. “And as much as I really would like to watch you do — anything, I gotta get to work. Can I swing by in a few hours to get a diagnostic?”

“Sure thing,” Keith says, schooling his face back into a mask of professionalism. He’s got a job to do, after all, and Lance is just a cute customer. Keith’ll fix whatever needs fixing, and then he’ll never see Lance again.

Shame, though.

“Thanks! See ya.” He does that dorky little wave again as he leaves, humming as he makes his way out of the garage and down the parking lot.

Keith isn’t going to lie — he watches him go.

#vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #klance #pre klance #flirting #flirty keith #flirty lance #mechanic keith #mess lance #modern au #wip #broganes #fluff and humour #getting together #tall keith #my writing #fic fragment #brown-eyed lance #fic #longpost

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

on time this week! lets goooooo!! thank you to the amazing @thequeenofthewinter and @skyrim-forever for tagging me!! tagging @umbracirrus @your-talos-is-problematic @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @changelingsandothernonsense @orfeoarte @thana-topsy @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @wispstalk @gilgamish @viss-and-pinegar and anyone who feels like joining! no pressure as always <3

since i just finished my rewrite of the early chapters of Cycle of the Serpent and posted a new chapter, i'm bringing an excerpt from another wip. i have no idea when this one will even remotely get finished, as it's one that i come back to and then leave alone for months on end, but i love the slow working of it. so, here's a tiny bit of my dragonborn frothar fic, "Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"! this is an extremely rough draft, but i hope you enjoy!

The dragon didn't entirely sell Dagny on not telling their father, but it sure was interesting. Plus, if it got her moping brother out of Dragonsreach for a night, then maybe it'd be fun to send him on his merry way. The two crept through the halls, down past a locked door, through strange and unused corridors. How many basements and cellars did one castle need? Frothar cursed silently as he followed his sister through the dark, her own cloak concealing her form. He'd donned one for his travels, and was glad he'd done so. The chill under these stones sunk into his blood. He couldn't stop the shivers that raced up his spine at every cobweb, and wondered how many frost spiders he may have been standing above his entire life. Maybe this was where Farengar got some of his ingredients, but he wouldn't pry. That'd give away where he'd been. And he couldn't be sure, he didn't see anything larger than a typical house spider, but… "Stop." Dagny pushed a hand out in front of her. Frothar, lost in his thoughts, stumbled backwards, boots making a loud, metallic sound against his armor. "What? Why?" She turned back, brow scrunched. "Because you're stepping on my cloak, what else?" He hadn't realized how close he'd been walking behind her. Trusting her sense of direction, and losing himself in the examinations of his surroundings, he'd found that he'd been a mere hairs width away from her. He swallowed uncomfortably, scrunching his nose. "Ah." "Come on," she hurried him along, rolling her eyes. She gestured forward, her feet again finding graceful step along the stone, his shambling awkwardly behind her. For his younger sister, she sure was bossy. But, that had always been Dagny, since the moment she was born. The minute the girl learned how to talk, he'd watched her demand things, from her toys to attention to outings. She'd demanded horses to ride and blades to spar with and dresses upon dresses. He snickered every now and again thinking back on the first year of the Dragon Crisis, how one of the ones she'd had tailored had never arrived, and she sulked for weeks after. Last he heard, it wound up in the closet of some Thalmor general's daughter, but that was just gossip.

Frothar did his best to keep a subtle distance between the pair, but not too far as to get lost in the dark. Lanterns were a risk, so Dagny lead by a tiny candle and her hand cupped around the flame. The flickering illuminated the dust, the piles of hay, the musty stench that surrounded them filling his nose. "So, how come you knew of these tunnels, and I didn't?" He finally asked, Dagny stopping momentarily. Before he could ask why, she swayed the candle, dropping the hand that shielded the flame, metal on a small bench catching the gleam. A shrine to Talos, as solemn as the grave, buried deep beneath Dragonsreach. "These tunnels were built for times of war, didn't you pay attention? Farengar taught us all about them, but you just kept dozing off in his lessons." "Not my fault that he taught them on the Great Balcony," Frothar replied, thinking back on the early summer afternoons where the wizard taught them the history of their Hold - much to the dismay of both the children and the wizard himself - and the warmth of creeping sleep that Frothar did his best to resist, and failed fantastically on some days. He figured this must have been one of those days, and instead turned his attention to the shrine. The offerings were simple; coins, snowberries, and tundra cotton. Still, it sent a pang of familiarity through him, of the conversations his father and uncle had in secret, of Nelkir's idle gossip, the youngest being fully aware of their father's worship. Perhaps Frothar was the last of the siblings to become aware of this fact, and in a way, it sent another pang of worry into his heart. Did he miss even more important information? Was he truly sleeping through some of the lessons Farengar departed, the important ones? He didn't have any time to think this over, as Dagny trudged forward through the dark, winding her way through familiar pathways. Frothar fell in step behind her, not wanting to be left behind. He didn't want to know if he was right on the frost spiders being beneath the castle, or whether that was just his paranoia.

The door slid open with a loud, thunderous creak, the kind that made him wince and worry if anyone heard it. Dagny, unfazed, pushed through, blowing the candle out. Frothar looked at her with a knit brow, but Dagny waved it away. "I know my way through the tunnels," she explained. Apparently, she'd been doing this for a while. He looked out on the horizon. Whiterun sat in a basin of wide plains, between the rising mountains, much like the center of a delicate bowl. The wind brushed through his dark hair, and he stepped forward, grass crunching beneath his feet. He'd packed his things for this trek, but he had no idea just how much of his adventure was going to be him tracking down the dragon, or him trying to survive it. "Good luck. Oh, and Frothar? Next time Nelkir offers first, take it up, or I'm gonna have to drag you through the dusty basements again." He watched as Dagny turned and shut the door behind her, barring it. He was truly, completely on his own out here.

#skyrim #skyrim fic #fanfic #tes v #tesblr #tes fanfiction #skyrim fanfiction #bishop.txt #wip wednesday #frothar of whiterun #dagny of whiterun #dragonborn frothar #ldb #last dragonborn #my writing

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday: 03.20.2024

The full scene from last Sunday 😇

Marinette had a soulmate.

Luka stared at the dark pink words on his arm, swallowing thickly as the words rattled around in his head.  It didn’t matter if she didn’t know them.  She had still found them, at least once, and they were out there, somewhere, waiting to find their fairy again.  She’d met them years ago.

…Luka didn’t even remember the last time he’d been in the city.  He had been what?  Three, four when they’d left?  Definitely not long enough to find his soulmate, and he’d only had his words for a few months now besides.

Still.

He had hoped…

That day had been so crazy.  It was only a few weeks into the school year, but there had been a delay and their flight had gotten in late.  The mayor’s daughter was supposed to show them around the school, but even though Chloé Bourgeois always seemed to be sniffing around for social clout apparently Jagged Stone’s kids had nothing on the model son of Gabriel Agreste, some big wig fashion somebody.  She had ditched them the moment she had spotted the model’s golden hair glinting in the sun, and Juleka and him had been left to figure out the bustling campus of Françoise Dupont themselves.

Which was fine.  They were used to being ditched.  Fending for themselves.  That’s what happened when your dad tended to be too famous to bother with you.

But just because Chloé hadn’t been interested in the Rock Giant’s kids didn’t mean others – nearly everyone else – wasn’t.  There had been so many people that day, and it had all been a little overwhelming.  They had been swarmed, because even though Penny had always done her best to keep them out of the spotlight everyone knew Jagged Stone’s kids.  Penny was good, but there was only so much even someone as good as Penny could do.

He’d lost track of how many people had spoken to him that day, vying for introductions and trying to suck up in the hopes of meeting his famous dad.  When they’d finally gotten home and he’d shrugged off his hoodie, he’d been shocked to find the words glimmering on his arm.

Thank you.

They were so…so…generic.  There was nothing special or unique about them, and they could have come from anyone.  There was nothing about them that made any one person stand out, even if one person that day had stood out.

The cute 5ème girl, the one he would later learn was friends with his sister’s soulmate, from the library.  He’d been waiting for the librarian at the desk when he’d seen her struggling to reach something on a top shelf, and he had gone to help.

“Here, let me help,” he’d said, laying a hand on her shoulder as he’d reached above them to snatch the book she’d wanted.

“Th-th-thank you,” she’d squeaked, staring up at him with impossibly blue eyes and the prettiest blush he’d ever seen dusting her cheeks.

He had hoped…he had really hoped…but he hadn’t said anything about fairies, so there was no way the thank you burned into his arm could be hers.  His first words had been an offer of assistance, not a greeting.

And now he knew she already had a soulmate.

Someone she had met long before he’d ever come into the picture.

…he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.  Marinette was an amazing girl with a beautiful song.  He hadn’t been able to get her song – to get her – out of his head since that first day, and even if she was sometimes shy and anxious around him, they had struck up an easy friendship – one that had quickly turned into an easy crush, at least for him.

But Marinette, like Rose, was a romantic.  She firmly believed in all that soulmate stuff, and why shouldn’t she?  She’d had her words for years.

He was happy for her.  He was.

He tugged his hoodie back on, not really wanting to see those taunting pink words anymore.  Either way, their very existence let him know that his soulmate was somewhere in Paris.  At his new school.

…he just…was it so wrong, wishing that that someone was Marinette?

#wip wednesday #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #wip fic #all these signs #soulmate au #hey I said it's endgame I never said it'd be an easy ride getting there 😝

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - A Line-storm Song

tagged by @elfinismsarts @thana-topsy 💚 @viss-and-pinegar @thequeenofthewinter

I am tagging @gilgamish @greyborn2 @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @totally-not-deacon @mareenavee @paraparadigm @polypolymorph

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Genre: Old👏Men👏Yaoi👏 Pairing: Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh

Summary: Pavo and Gat weather a spring storm in the Reach.

My brain has revolted against only working on Aristeia during NaNoWriMo and I compromised by working on this one-shot which takes place in the same 'verse. I needed to let these two Married Forever guys fuck. And oh boy are they. Excerpt below is not explicit.

-------------

“Rain’s coming,” Gat said, leaning against the smelter as Pavo stepped out of the shadows of Kolskeggr mine. Pavo blinked a little in the late afternoon sun. The golden rays were illuminating white pillars of clouds in the east, only the deep purple shadows beneath them hinting at the possibility of inclement weather.

“I suppose I’ll do the evening chores early then,” Pavo said, moving to stand next to Gat. “Get Juniper settled before the tempest.”

Gat slipped his arm around Pavo’s waist, and Pavo leaned into his comforting bulk. Even after twenty years, his touch never failed to send a thrill down Pavo’s spine.

“I’ll finish up here, get everything secured against the wind,” Gat said against Pavo’s ear, his large tusks tracing the corner of Pavo’s jaw.

“Gat, I’m disgusting, at least wait until I’ve rinsed off!” Pavo yelped as Gat turned and took hold of him with both hands, pulling him close.

“Mmmm, if a little mine dust was a problem—” Gat buried his face in Pavo’s neck while Pavo laughed and tried to push him away. “—I don’t think my people would be nearly as numerous as they are.” He gave Pavo’s neck a final nip before releasing him.

“You’re insatiable,” grumbled Pavo. When he turned to head down the path to their cottage, Gat’s laughter followed him.

The chickens allowed him to drive them into their coop with the bribe of some kitchen scraps, but Juniper, their mule, brayed her protest when he came to collect her from her picket, despite the bucket of oats and corn he rattled at her.

“I know it’s early old girl. But you’ll be glad of the roof and walls tonight, mark my words. Don’t go kicking them down if the thunder gets loud, now.”

As he puttered around the small barn, Pavo heard the front door to the cottage open and shut several times. As he was filling the water trough, Gat appeared in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt with water droplets clinging to the fuzz of his shaved head.

“I left a towel and some clean clothes by the river for you,” Gat said.

“Oh? I thought the dirt was an Orc aphrodisiac,” Pavo said archly. “I’m getting mixed messages here.”

“Smelling like ore is one thing, smelling like Juniper is another.”

“Don’t listen to him Juniper, you smell wonderful.”

Gat laughed, and turned to leave. “I’ll get supper started. Don’t take too long—hey!” He whirled and Juniper brayed and tossed her head at his shout. Pavo just grinned back at him, trying to look entirely innocent and like someone who would never dream of pinching an Orc’s arse.

Shaking his finger at Pavo, and walking backwards until he was well out of range, Gat retreated back to the cottage.

#kolskeggr mine #fic: a line-storm song #pavo attius #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim #tesblr #wip wednesday #kb writes #orc posting hours #it's not easy being green #orc #hot orc summer #hot orc always #gat gro-shargakh

[tired0artist]

| ascended astarion x tav |

okay so, @themoonatmingitaw animatic rules my brain. and so here's a little wip, that i did in these past few days. it's not finished and i have no idea if this will become a fic, but i'd love to hear your thoughts!

also english is not my first language! and so there might be some mistakes, as it's also a raw version.

Tav = Tavarra (gave her a name, cause I've seen people do that)

WARNINGS: dark astarion, slavery, abuse

>>>>><<<<<

Tavarra had a porcelain doll once. It sat on a bookshelf in her room, with shiny cheeks and pretty dress in a perfect condition, as young Tavarra did her best to dust her everyday. Throughout the years, the doll remained on that bookshelf and as Tavarra grew, she stopped dusting her as often.

She still loved her dear porcelain doll, it was hers was it not?

So as the years passed, the dust lingered and the doll was no longer as beautiful as it once was. Then, as Tavarra left her home, the doll’s fate became nothing but a stray thought, as it sat on the shelf, all alone. Forgotten with only dust and other pretty things from the shelf to keep her company…

Tavarra once envied the doll, it was so pretty. It didn’t have to study or do any chores… It was a simple task. 

To simply exist and be pretty… 

Tavarra no longer envied her precious doll. 

Not as she sat in a luscious room, surrounded by pretty things, all alone and forever waiting for someone to come and look. To come and dust her off…

She became Astarion’s precious pretty little porcelain doll. Forever chained, not to a shelf, but to a luxurious room. Dressed in the most beautiful of dresses, adorned with the wealthiest of jewellery and with her long hair brushed out. 

It didn’t used to be like this.

In the beginning, Astarion and her walked the same path. Tavarra might’ve been not but a spawn, but oh, she was much more than that. Astarion’s power extended to her, for a while at least…, he shared with her the beauty of immortality and the joys of being a daywalker. 

They danced during the day and fed at night, forever together.

Oh… but how quickly that forever came to an end…

Only roughly over a hundred years, it lasted. Then one by one, changes came. 

It started small, with words of adoration for Tavarra’s light blonde locks. 

“Truly magnificent, my darling.” he whispered that night, as his fingers brushed through her grown out curls. 

Tavarra had been meaning to cut it for some time now.

“Oh you musn’t, my sweet.” he purred, his lips dragging up her tan arm and finally settling against her jaw “I like it long… different from how you wore it before. It makes me appreciate the colour far more, like this.” 

She didn’t cut her hair. Not ever since then, not even when it started to drag behind her, joining the train of her dresses.

Then bit by bit, Astarion took from her. Not only what he gave, but what she herself had.

Her longbow and sword.

Now they hung above his throne, like a prize.

Her throne.

Back when she was allowed to walk amongst the halls freely, she sat beside him. Then a step down. After that it was all the way down the small steps to his throne. And finally she was perched upon his lap, as his hands travelled up and down her body.

Her lute.

It was put away in a crystal display in Astarion’s art gallery. 

Her armour.

Much like the lute, it met the same fate along with Astarion’s old armour. 

Her days in the sun.

Astarion worried for Tavarra’s safety… he wanted her off the streets, and so why should she need to be allowed out in the sun?

Her freedom…

“No!” she screamed, clawing at his shoulders as tears ran down her cheeks.

“No?” he chuckled, cupping her face in his palms “My love. This isn’t a discussion, I only want you with me. Always. Forever—”

“Astarion—”

His face twisted in anger, as his hands moved down, holding her neck “You wanted to be mine. And so you are mine. So why should you want to leave? Hm?” he shook her slightly, his grip tightening “Do you want to leave me?! Do you not love me, my darling?!”

Tavarra sobbed, unable to break the hold he had on her. Still, her nails clawed at his hands as she whispered.

“You’re hurting— me.”

Clarity that rarely came these days washed over him, as his hands retreated, coming to gently embrace her instead “Darling… oh, I am so very sorry.”

She cried against him, not having much of a choice, as the chains he put on her wrists and neck stole her strength.

“I only want to keep you safe. Safe and sound, like you deserve, my sweet Tavarrra.” he whispered, petting her hair slowly “All of this is for you… for us.”

Tavarra just cried, taking whatever moment of comfort that she could from him. 

Stealing from him, just as he stole from her.

>>>>><<<<<

tell me what you think and please go watch the animatic that inspired this! it's so freaking good!

although i don't think that i'd quite follow the ending... no matter how perfect and beautiful it is. i'm too weak for that :(((((

#astarion romance #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x tav #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #dark astarion #vampire tav #spawn tav #wip #tav x astarion #tav x astarion fanfiction #writting #fanfiction #astarion brainrot #Youtube