#But still like. Yeah. I did not expect this and it's bizarre

[moongothic]

There's something so bizarre about not having touched the One Piece fandom with a tenfoot pole in almost 10 years, so going into any character tags for content is just. It's bizarre.

Like I go into the Crocodile tags to find posts about the Trans Croco theory (because that's what my brain has decided to get obsessed with right now)

And I end up coming across lots of Old Man Yaoi feat. Buggy

And like. Maybe it is just that it's been like almost a decade since I interacted with the fandom, and the fact that I wasn't looking for content of these specific characters ever before, so maybe this is perfectly normal and nothing new

But also a part of me feels like I can tell the fandom is getting older when we get Old Man Yaoi of Sir Crocodile and Buggy the Clown

[ange1heavensent]

An inch away from more than just friends

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Pairing: loser!ellie x loser!fem reader

Content Warning: making out, mentions of sex scene in film, fic loosely based on Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan

w/c ≈ 1200

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Jackson had a way of making the world feel still. Days came and went, each one blending into the next with the simplicity of routine. For you, that routine often involved ending your day at Ellie’s place, curled up together watching whatever strange or offbeat movie she’d dug up. Tonight, like so many nights before, you’d settled into that rhythm, expecting nothing more than the usual.

Ellie greeted you at the door, her hair messy from what you imagined had been a lazy day of reading or sketching. You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to shake the feeling that something was a little different tonight.

“Everything alright with you?” Ellie muttered, hands in her pockets. Her voice was casual, but you noticed the tension beneath it, something unspoken in the way she barely met your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, following her into the “bedroom” where she’d already set up the movie Mulholland Drive. You threw yourself onto the bed while Ellie stayed standing, fiddling with the remote. She seemed more on edge than usual, fidgeting with her sleeves, avoiding looking at you for too long. You tried to shake off the weirdness, focusing on the movie as the opening credits rolled. For the first half, things were mostly normal. Ellie made the occasional comment, and you both laughed at the more bizarre parts of the plot. But then… the scene happened. A sex scene hit the screen, and the air between you two shifted in an instant.

You felt it immediately, the awkwardness that spread like wildfire. Ellie stiffened beside you, eyes glued to the screen but not really watching. Your heart pounded as your mind raced, hyper-aware of how close your bodies were. The heat from her leg brushing against yours suddenly felt like too much, like it was burning through your jeans. 

You weren’t exactly a stranger to sex scenes in movies, but this time it felt different, more intimate. Too intimate. You risked a glance at Ellie and saw the tension in her jaw, her hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. She wasn’t handling it any better than you were.

God, why did this feel so… charged?

You looked away quickly, trying to focus on literally anything else. But the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. When the scene finally ended, it left an awkward tension that lingered long after. The rest of the movie passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention anymore. All you could think about was Ellie, how her hand was so close to yours, how your heart was still racing even though the scene had long since ended. 

When the credits rolled, Ellie jumped to her feet like she couldn’t handle sitting next to you any longer. “I, uh- I’ll get the couch ready for tonight,” she said quickly, moving toward the closet. You frowned. “The couch? You’re not coming to bed?” Ellie paused, looking over her shoulder, clearly flustered. “I just thought… maybe I’d sleep there instead.”

That didn’t sit right with you. Sleepovers had always been the same, you’d sleep together, limbs tangled in the small bed. The thought of sleeping apart felt wrong, but you didn’t argue. Not with things already feeling this weird. You crawled deeper into the bed while Ellie busied herself with blankets, but neither of you seemed able to sleep. The room was too quiet, too still, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her direction.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“Ellie?” You heard her groan, and then she shifted, turning over to face you. Even in the darkness, you could sense her eyes on you, wide and uncertain. “What?” she asked, her voice strained. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. This had been eating at you all night, maybe for longer than that. “What’s going on?” Ellie didn’t respond right away, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, after what felt like forever, she sighed.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The answer didn’t surprise you. It didn’t make things easier either. You bit your lip, unsure of how to put into words what had been slowly building between you two for weeks, maybe months.

“You’ve been acting… weird tonight,” you said, feeling vulnerable. “Is it because of… the movie?” Ellie groaned again, this time louder, like she was frustrated. “No… yes… I don’t know!” She exhaled sharply. “That movie just… it got me thinking, okay?” Your pulse quickened. “Thinking about what?”

Silence filled the room again, thick with tension. Ellie seemed to be wrestling with something, and you held your breath, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice was soft and uncertain. “Us,” she whispered. “Are we… are we more than just friends?”

There it was. Out in the open. The question hung between you like a heavy weight. It was something you had never allowed yourself to think about, not really. But now, with Ellie lying there, so close yet so far, you couldn’t avoid it anymore. Your heart hammered in your chest as you sat up slightly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie shifted on the couch, and suddenly, she was standing. She climbed into the bed beside you, moving slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there. Your breaths came out shallow as she lay down next to you, her face inches from yours, her expression unsure.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, and you swore you could hear both your hearts racing in the silence. Then, finally, Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing yours tentatively, like she wasn’t sure this was real.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. You kissed her back, your hands instinctively finding their way to her hair, pulling her closer. The dam had finally broken, months of tension spilling out in that one kiss.

Ellie’s hands slid to your waist, and she pulled you against her, deepening the kiss. It was soft but intense, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You didn’t know how long it lasted, time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the feel of her lips, her hands, her warmth.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “This is… weird, right?” Ellie whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her. You smiled, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, your own heart still racing. “But good weird.”

Ellie grinned, her hands still firmly on your waist, as though she was afraid to let go. “I don’t know what this is,” she said softly, “but… I like it.” You leaned in and kissed her again, the warmth of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too.” The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft kisses, whispered words, and gentle touches. Whatever you and Ellie had now, it was real, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to question it.

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Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[butchtoads]

People are blazing the strangest things

[inkspiredwriting]

Double Trouble: Five vs. Five

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The Umbrella Academy mansion was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of activity coming from the living room. Five Hargreeves, his wife Y/N, and his brother Luther were sitting on the couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us for dinner?" Y/N asked, looking at Five with a warm smile.

"I'll pass," Five said, sipping his coffee. "You know how I feel about sitting through long meals."

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're impossible."

Just then, a bright flash of light filled the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of temporal displacement. When the light faded, an older version of Five stood in the middle of the room, looking slightly disoriented.

"Well, this is unexpected," Old Five said, straightening his tie. "Hello, Luther. Hello, Y/N." His gaze lingered on Y/N, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait a minute—you're married to him?" He pointed at his younger self.

"Yes, we are," Y/N said, exchanging a puzzled glance with Young Five. "Who are you?"

"I'm Five," Old Five said with a smirk. "But from a different timeline."

Luther stood up, towering over both versions of Five. "So, what brings you here, old man?"

Old Five ignored the question, his attention still fixed on Y/N. "I must say, I never imagined I'd end up with someone like you, Y/N. You have excellent taste." He stepped closer to her, his smirk widening. "Tell me, what do you see in my younger self?"

Young Five narrowed his eyes, standing up to face his older counterpart. "Watch it, old man. She's my wife."

Old Five chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Relax, kid. I'm just curious. Besides, it looks like I've still got it." He winked at Y/N, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Don't call me 'kid,'" Young Five snapped, his fists clenching at his sides. "And stop flirting with my wife."

Luther, sensing a potential fight, stepped between the two Fives. "Alright, let's all calm down. We don't need a Hargreeves showdown right now."

Old Five laughed, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll back off. But it's interesting to see how things turned out in this timeline."

Y/N, trying to ease the tension, placed a hand on Young Five's arm. "It's okay, Five. He's just being... well, you."

Young Five took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Yeah, well, I don't like it."

Old Five raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, are we? That's new."

Luther rolled his eyes. "Enough, both of you. Why are you here, Old Five?"

Old Five shrugged. "Curiosity, mostly. Wanted to see how things turned out for me in this timeline. And I must say, I'm impressed." He glanced at Y/N again, his expression softening slightly. "You got lucky, kid."

Young Five scowled. "Don't call me 'kid.' And yes, I did get lucky. Now, if you don't have any pressing business here, I'd appreciate it if you left."

Old Five chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But just remember, don't take what you have for granted."

With another bright flash of light, Old Five disappeared, leaving Young Five, Y/N, and Luther standing in the living room.

"Well, that was awkward," Luther said, scratching his head.

Y/N turned to Young Five, wrapping her arms around him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Five said, though his jaw was still clenched. "I just didn't expect to meet my older self today. And I certainly didn't expect him to hit on you."

Y/N laughed softly. "Well, I only have eyes for you, Five. No matter what timeline you're from."

Five's expression softened, and he kissed her forehead. "I know. And I love you for it."

Luther, trying to lighten the mood, clapped Five on the back. "Hey, at least now you know you'll age well."

Five rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

As they settled back on the couch, the tension slowly faded, leaving behind a strange sense of camaraderie. They had faced yet another bizarre situation, and once again, they had come out stronger together.

[solxamber]

Chasing Fairytales || Neige LeBlanche

Neige is convinced that you're either allergic to him specifically or he's done something to offend you with the way you're avoiding him. You're just trying not to get blinded by his smile.

Neige LeBlanche is baffled. Every time he sees you, your face contorts like you just bit into a lemon dipped in hot sauce while sitting on a cactus. It's a new look, and honestly, it worries him. You used to at least smile at him, maybe even nod, like normal people do. But now? Now, you treat him like he’s carrying some weird medieval plague.

He thinks back to every interaction. Did he step on your foot? Spill something on you? No, nothing comes to mind. One day you were acquaintances—maybe even teetering on the edge of friendship—and the next, you were bolting out of rooms faster than a cat hearing a vacuum.

Which brings him to his current situation: sitting in the house he shares with his friends. They’re all squished together on the couch, and Neige is surrounded by blank stares. These guys are his sounding board, but right now, they’re as useful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane.

“Did you sneeze on them?” Grum suggests, not even looking up from his game console.

“No, no, that wouldn’t be it,” Dominic pipes up, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe you accidentally sent them a weird text? Like one of those autocorrect disasters?”

Neige shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “I haven’t texted them anything strange…”

Hop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nods sagely. “Maybe they saw you at a buffet once and you took the last of the mashed potatoes. People hold grudges over that kind of stuff.”

Timmy just blushes and mumbles something unintelligible while Snick chimes in with, “Could it be allergies? Maybe they’re allergic to you?”

At this point, Neige is spiraling. Allergies? Mashed potatoes? Is there a secret mashed potato incident he forgot about?

Toby simply taps Neige’s shoulder, holding up a drawing of two people holding hands with a big smiley face. Neige squints at it and tries to translate Toby's silent wisdom. “So… I should hold their hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

The group falls silent for a moment, pondering this profound suggestion. Then Shelpie yawns and says, “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. People are weird.”

Neige sighs, still no closer to figuring out why you’ve suddenly started acting like he’s carrying the plague.

Neige comes back to the club room after a long day of shooting and classes, ready to grab his bag and head home. As he's packing up, something catches his eye—a boxed lunch sitting right there on his desk. He blinks at it, confused. Is this...lost and found material? Was someone in too much of a hurry and just ditched it here?

But then he sees the note. "I’m cheering for you, Neige!" followed by a heart and a little smiley face. The handwriting is unmistakable—it’s yours. He stares at it, even more confused now, and kinda flattered too.

He scratches his head, wondering if he's entered some bizarre alternate universe where the person who avoids him like he's contagious is also sending him homemade lunches. "What did I do to deserve this?" he mumbles to himself, half expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and yell “Surprise!”

Another day, Neige is stranded on campus, waiting for the rain to stop. His umbrella? Oh yeah, he gave that to a girl with a cold earlier because he's just that nice. Now he’s soaking and shivering under a tree, watching the downpour like it personally offended him.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps and sees you walking by, your jacket pulled tightly around you. It's the perfect chance to finally talk to you, to maybe say thanks for the mystery lunch. He smiles at you, hoping this might be the icebreaker he’s been waiting for.

Your reaction? You freeze like you’ve just seen a ghost, eyes wide and panicked, and before he can even get a "Hey, how are you?" out, you launch your umbrella at him like it's a grenade. "Wha—?" he barely gets the word out before you're gone, running away with your jacket awkwardly balanced over your head like a makeshift hood.

Neige stands there, soaked and confused, holding your umbrella and thinking, "We could have shared that, you know…"

The next day, he spots you again, this time crouched in the courtyard, petting a cat. You're cooing at it, making all those weird sounds people make when they think no one's watching, and the cat?

It's loving it, basking in the attention like it's at a spa. Neige sees an opportunity to approach—no rain this time, no excuses. He kneels beside you, reaching out to pet the cat too. "Cute, isn’t it?" he says, smiling softly.

You, on the other hand, barely look at him. "Yes, cat," you mumble like it's some kind of mantra, eyes darting nervously. Then you do a quick check of your phone and blurt out, “Oh no, I’m late for our class!” before bolting upright and sprinting off like a marathon runner.

Neige watches you go, utterly perplexed. "That class is in five hours," he says to the cat, who just looks up at him with a smug purr, like it's in on some cosmic joke that Neige will never understand.

Neige is lost. He's been called naive before, but this? This is a whole new level of confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little heartbreak. You used to treat him like an actual person, not just a walking photoshoot waiting to happen.

Now? You're acting like he’s got some sort of rare, contagious celebrity plague, the kind of thing you’d catch from standing too close to a red carpet. Every time you see him, your face scrunches up like you just bit into an entire lemon, rind and all.

He’s walking through campus when he spots you with Vil. Now, Neige likes Vil. He admires him, even. Dreams of the day they’ll sit together, drink tea, and discuss which highlighter makes you look “ethereal but approachable.”

But right now, all he sees is you laughing and waving your hands like you’re auditioning for a role in a one-person circus, and Vil? He’s smiling at you like you’ve just told the funniest joke on the planet. And Neige feels something... alien.

It’s not heartburn from that extra-large mocha frappuccino he had earlier—no, this is worse. His stomach twists, his heart sinks, and it’s official: Neige, the cinnamon roll of the universe, is jealous.

Back home, he gathers his trusty team of consultants: Timmy, Toby, and the rest of the gang, who are sitting around the table, looking like they’re about to solve world hunger or invent a new kind of pizza. Neige dumps the whole story on them, his head in his hands.

“And then,” Neige groans, “they just ran away, like I had some kind of... I don’t know... ‘Famous-People-itis!’”

Timmy leans back, strokes his chin with all the fake wisdom of someone who has never solved a problem in his life, and says, “Neige, it’s obvious.”

Neige perks up. “It is?”

“Oh yeah.” Timmy nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “They’re sick.”

Neige stares at him. “Sick?”

Hop jumps in, wide-eyed like he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “Yeah! It’s so clear! They’ve got a classic case of... uh... ‘Stage-Fright-itis.’ Happens all the time when regular folks meet people like you.”

Neige blinks. “That’s... not a thing.”

Hop waves him off, undeterred. “Totally a thing. Maybe they’re allergic to fame. It’s like how some people get hives around cats. You’re like a walking award show, man. Just your presence makes people break out in nervous sweats.”

Dominic nods sagely. “Or worse. They could’ve caught ‘Starstruck Syndrome.’”

Timmy gasps, clearly thrilled by this new theory. “Yes! Classic symptoms: sudden avoidance, inability to make eye contact, randomly throwing umbrellas at you instead of saying hello—textbook case.”

Neige stares between them, confused but desperate. “So... you think they’re avoiding me because they’re sick? Like, fame-sick?”

Snick shrugs. “I mean, what else could it be? You’re Neige LeBlanche, man! Maybe they’re just overwhelmed by your... Neigeness.”

Neige feels like he’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality where this actually makes sense. He nods slowly, trying to absorb it. “Okay, so... they’re not mad at me? They’re just... allergic to me?”

Timmy grins. “Exactly! Just give it time. Maybe bring them a cup of tea. Or like... a calming crystal. And if it gets worse, well, maybe invest in a hazmat suit. Just in case.”

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re chatting with Neige, all sunshine and sparkles, and the next, you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing you are absolutely, horrendously down bad for him. It’s not even subtle. It’s like a piano fell from the sky and crushed your chest with feelings.

But you? You’re... well, you. Neige is a celebrity, practically a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in a Disney Princess aura. Birds sing when he passes by, small woodland creatures would probably braid his hair if they had thumbs. And you? You’re the person who trips over their own shoes and talks to houseplants like they can solve your problems.

So, naturally, you do what any responsible person would do when faced with a crush that could upend their entire existence: you avoid him. Completely.

You’ll still be polite, of course—leave him the occasional lunch with a cute note, chuck an umbrella at him when it’s raining—but actual conversation? Nah.

That’s just asking for trouble. You’re already too attached, and the last thing you need is for this crush to grow into a full-blown romantic disaster.

One day, you’re chatting with Vil—well, "chatting" is a strong word. You’re pacing back and forth like a caffeinated squirrel, ranting about Neige and gesturing so wildly that Vil could probably make a whole meme compilation of just your hand movements.

“And he’s just so... pretty! It’s not fair! How can someone be that perfect? I swear, he’s like—like—” You flail dramatically, trying to find words for the cosmic injustice that is Neige LeBlanche.

Vil, who has been quietly sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow and watches the spectacle. At first, he’s mildly entertained. But the more you rant, the more he realizes something: you’re down bad.

You, who have somehow mastered the art of functional chaos, are completely, hopelessly in love with Neige. And Neige, poor, oblivious Neige, probably thinks you’ve contracted some rare, Neige-specific allergy.

Vil starts to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, head-back, hand-over-mouth, this-is-the-best-day-ever laugh. He finds it hilarious that you, despite being tangled in your own feelings, have the emotional awareness of a potato. And Neige? Well, he’s just confused, which is even better.

“You’re fools,” Vil says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Both of you. Foolishly in love.”

You don’t even register his comment. You’re too busy waving your hands around, grumbling, “It’s just... it’s not fair! Why does he have to be that pretty? I mean, does he wake up with that face?”

Vil sips his tea, smirking. This is prime entertainment. And that’s when he notices Neige across the way, glancing over at you two with wide, unsure eyes. Ah, poor, innocent Neige.

With a bit of mischievous spite—and maybe a touch of pity—Vil lets out a soft sigh and shifts his expression. He stares at you with the most lovesick gaze he can muster, his eyes practically glowing with “adoration.” It’s a look straight out of a romance drama, and he knows it’s Oscar-worthy.

Neige sees it. And Vil sees him see it. The realization hits Neige like a freight train. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in a soft, shocked “O,” and Vil? Oh, Vil is living for this. The confusion, the dawning horror, the jealousy—all of it.

Neige, who probably hasn’t had a jealous bone in his body until this moment, now looks like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, death, and why Vil is looking at you like that.

Meanwhile, you’re still pacing, completely oblivious to the emotional chaos you’ve just triggered. “And another thing—how does he smell that nice all the time? It’s not normal, Vil. It’s witchcraft. I bet he’s got a secret team of scent specialists just following him around.”

Vil stifles another laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite the mystery.”

Neige, on the other hand, is staring at the two of you like you’ve just declared war. He doesn’t understand it yet, but for the first time in his life, he feels something dark and uncomfortable curl in his chest.

Vil catches his eye again and gives him the tiniest smirk. Neige stiffens.

You, still on your rant, throw your hands in the air. “I just... I don’t get it. It’s like... he’s too perfect. I can’t deal with it.” And Vil can't even muster the energy to get offended. He thinks this is prime entertainment.

Vil pats your shoulder, thoroughly amused. “Perhaps you should... have a word with him.”

You stop, finally noticing Vil’s smug grin. “What? Why?”

Vil just smirks and takes another sip of tea. “Oh, nothing. Just a hunch.”

You’ve finally decided that enough is enough. You’re going to talk to Neige. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say—probably something awkward about feelings and how he’s so perfect it makes your head spin—but the important thing is that you’ve made up your mind.

It’s time to stop running away like a scared cat and face him like a grown adult. Or, at the very least, someone who’s pretending to be a grown adult.

So, you walk to his house, your heart hammering in your chest, rehearsing about a dozen different ways to break the news. "Hey, Neige, I think I might be a little bit in love with you..." or maybe, "So, uh, funny story, I can’t look at you because you’re too attractive and it’s ruining my life."

But just as you raise your hand to knock, the door flies open, and there’s Neige, looking frazzled and... holding a hazmat suit.

“Here!” He thrusts it at you like it’s a life-saving device. You blink at the suit, then at him.

“Uh... why?”

“Because you’re allergic to me!” Neige says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare. He stares back, eyes wide and earnest, and you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or cry.

“Neige, that’s not... that’s not a thing that happens to people.”

“But you’ve been avoiding me!” he blurts, clutching the hazmat suit like it’s his last defense. “Every time I see you, you run away, or—” he frowns slightly, “—you throw things at me, like umbrellas! I just thought... maybe you were... allergic?”

You feel a pang of guilt seeing the hurt in his eyes. Here’s Neige, genuinely thinking he’s the problem, when really the only issue is that he’s so perfect it makes your brain short-circuit.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Neige, I’m not allergic to you. I just...” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been avoiding you because... I like you. A lot. Like, in a romantic way.”

For a moment, the world stops. Neige blinks, his face blank as his brain processes your words. Then his heart stutters, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee.

You panic. “Wait—what are you doing?!”

Is he skipping directly to a proposal? Is he about to reject you so hard he’s physically collapsing? You stare, horrified, wondering how things escalated this quickly.

But then Neige laughs, a bright, happy sound that immediately sets your heart racing in a different way. “No, no, I’m not proposing! I mean—unless you want me to—but, um, I was just going to ask if you’d be my partner.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then before you can stop yourself, you grab him by the collar and kiss him. His lips taste like cotton candy and a dream come true, and for a moment, everything feels like a fairytale.

When you finally pull away, Neige’s smile is so blinding it’s a wonder the sun hasn’t given up trying. “I think I was... jealous?” he says, almost like he’s surprised by the revelation. “That’s never happened to me before. When I saw you with Vil... I didn’t like it.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Vil? Don’t worry about him. He’s my friend. He was just messing with you for fun.”

Before Neige can respond, there’s a loud achoo from behind a nearby bush. You both turn to see his friends slowly emerge, looking sheepish. Snick is rubbing his nose, and Grum is pretending he wasn’t just crouched in the bushes like a nosy little spy.

“Well, this is awkward,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.

But they aren’t even phased. They burst out cheering, clapping and whistling like they’ve just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic drama. You can’t help but laugh as they chant congratulations, even though you want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment.

Neige turns to you, smiling that bright, pure smile of his. “Maybe this is a fairytale ending after all.”

And for once, you think maybe—just maybe—you’ve finally found your happily ever after.

Masterlist

[cottonlemonade]

Six And A Half Minutes [part 2]

word count: 1758 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: University!AU Suna x chubby!Reader

genre: Smut. Dunno what else y’all were expecting. Smut. Like. Smut smut. Lowkey also works as porn without plot.

warnings: mdni, nsfw, swearing, loving degradation(?) - Any coherent, non-horny thoughts have left the building. You have been warned.

here is part 1 for context

You were blushing looking at his cock and because you didn’t know what else to do you just said a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t cum, did you?“

“Well… no but … A for effort?“

He scoffed but there was a careful edge to his voice now.

“I told you six and a half minutes weren‘t enough.“

Your head was still swimming and quite frankly, you still hadn‘t been able to take your eyes off of the bulge in his gray sweats.

You really really wanted to touch him but you couldn‘t just reach out and… take him, could you? Gosh, you imagined he‘d feel so warm in your hand. You wondered if he was hard because he had just been holding some breasts or because they were yours… Your eyes focused on his outline again and you all but licked your lips. Mmh, what would his cock taste like?

“Six and a half minutes is plenty.“, you suddenly hear yourself say, finally tearing your eyes away and meeting his gaze, “I‘ll show you.“

You saw the twitch in his sweats.

Rintarou didn‘t move, probably scared to break the spell. His eyes widened when, with pink dusted cheeks, you scooted closer and began raising his shirt. Another throb went through his dick.

You swallowed at seeing the lean muscles of his torso. Of course you‘d seen him without his shirt plenty of times. At the sea or after a game but this was definitely not the same. You never… looked until now. And you scolded yourself for what colossal a waste of time that had been.

You were about to run your fingers along the ridges of his muscles when you snapped out of it.

“Uhm, timer.“, you said and tapped around on his phone to set it again.

Then you reached for the blindfold and held it out to him.

But he shook his head, still staring at you.

“A-alright. Uhm, let‘s go.“

You felt the wetness pooling in your panties when you leaned in and kissed his chest. How had he kept his thoughts straight, this was absolutely insane!

Flicking your tongue and fingers over his nipples made him hold his breath.

You couldn‘t help but keep throwing glances downward to his sweats. In all fairness the twitching was a great indicator if you were on the right track - like the world‘s most bizarre metronome. You giggled at the absurdity of the thought and felt his hand gently settling on the back of your head, stroking your hair. After a few pats, his fingers slipped lower to caress the back of your neck and you shuddered, clenching your pussy around nothing. You were sure you had soaked through your pajama shorts at this point and would not be surprised if you felt your juices drip down your thighs. He smelled so good having just come out of the shower…

A glance at the timer told you you only had four minutes left. But you were having so much fun! Letting your teeth gently tug at his nipples, you ran your hand over his stomach, delighted to see another twitch.

And then his free hand slid into his sweats and your eyes widened when you saw him pushing the waistband further and further down.

“What are you…“, you trailed off, too mesmerized to look away or to stop letting your tongue wander over his chest.

“I don’t wanna nut in my sweats.“, he groaned.

Oh God, his cock looked so good. Thick but not too thick it lay hard against his stomach. You wanted to touch it so badly, but that might be pushing it, you thought. Instead you tried to focus on his nipples again, but watching him twitch like that… you were actually starting to drool a little. Maybe you could suggest it somehow, but how on earth would you make it sound casual that you wanted to milk him dry?

Another minute down.

Rintarou felt drunk watching your every move as you licked his chest. He wanted to touch you, wanted to see how wet you were, feel you, taste you. His cock had never been this hard. He needed to cum right this second. Preferably inside of you but he would settle for whatever you would offer. But as sure as he was that you could make him cum untouched if he waited a little longer, he couldn‘t take it anymore and wrapped his free hand around his cock.

“Rin-“

“Just helping you…“, he said, closing his eyes for a second to focus, putting his head back and letting out a needy pant before focusing on you again, slowly pumping his shaft.

Maybe you could … if you… hm. With a clear goal in mind you ran your hand again over his chest and stomach. But further this time, brushing your fingertips against his lower abdomen in the process.

And then did it again.

This time your hand stayed there, massaging the new territory you just reached.

You heard him swallow and etched closer to his hand going up and down on his cock.

He knew what you were doing. His movements slowed and as if by accident he let his fingers brush yours, then lifted his hand to his tip so that the base of his shaft was now touching your hand. You gave the cutest little gasp but didn‘t move. You stopped paying attention to his chest and just watched him jerk his cock over your chubby little hand.

“Go on.“, he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You didn‘t need to ask what he meant and you didn‘t hesitate.

“Fuck, y/n.“, he moaned when your fingers closed around him. He let go off his cock, only to tenderly cover your small hand with his.

Directing your motions he guided you up to the tip, wetting your palm with his precum.

“Just like that…“, he breathed, stroking your hair again with his other hand.

You moved closer, fascinated. Of course you had given handjobs to your ex but this was definitely not the same.

“Can I suck your tits again?“ The almost desperate question caught you off guard. You looked at him for the first time since the timer started.

You nodded and as if in a trance straightened up a little. The position was rather awkward, he would have to strain his neck to the side too much.

When you moved to straddle his thigh, Rintarou was about to give up. You could have him - body and soul. He was yours. Fuck. With his help you lifted your shirt again.

His hands were pretty full now so he had to use his teeth this time to pull down the cups of your bra.

“Hold this for me.“ He brought the hem of your shirt up to your mouth where you obediently took it between your lips. This allowed him to snake his arm around your back and hold you close while also groping your other breast. You were so fucking soft.

The marks he left behind before on your skin shone brightly. He took your nipple into his mouth again, barely holding back a moan - like the one you would let out when a long day’s craving was finally met - he bucked his hips when your hand twisted a little around his cock.

In the process his thigh forced its way up between your legs and you surprised him with a downright filthy gasp.

He cursed with a chuckle, lips attached to your flesh and made sure to keep his thigh where it now very clearly belonged, pressing rhythmically against you.

A wet patch quickly formed on his sweats when you started to ride him.

The timer chimed.

“Don’t stop.”, he begged immediately, pulling you even closer to him and taking your other nipple between his lips.

“A-ah… mmmh…!“

The ignored timer got a little louder.

“Cum for me. Cum on my thigh, baby.“

And you did.

He was ready to burst when you rode out your high. Letting your shirt hem drop out of your mouth, you slumped over, your forehead resting on his shoulder, panting cutely, your hand still on his cock. He turned off the timer, flexing his thigh a little once again. Rintarou kept his hands under your shirt, gently playing with your nipple, “Usin’ my thigh like that and now yer hiding yer face… yer just the most adorable little slut, aren’t ya?”

You looked up and he panicked, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

You squeezed his cock.

“Say that again.”

You felt him twitch in your hand.

Then he smirked. “My sweet“, he set a gentle kiss on your neck, “gorgeous“, brushing up your shirt for the third time tonight, a kiss landed between your breasts, “delicious“, he sucked on your nipple, “perfect“, finally he set a kiss on your collarbone and brushed his lips up to your ear, running his tongue along the shell, “little slut.”

You ground your clothed sensitive pussy against his leg again for a moment before climbing off, your hand not leaving his cock, the tip of which was the most angry red by now. He was about to throw you on your back and pump you so full of cum it would leak down your plush thighs for a week, when you knelt on the couch and, brushing your hair behind your ear, lowered your head.

“Oh my fuckin’ god…”

You kissed his stomach a few times, then started gently suckling at the bulbous head in your hand, tasting the salty precum and pushing the tip of your tongue to his cock slit.

“Ahhh, y/n the fuck … don’t stop, shit.”

You took him deeper. He soon hit the back of your throat but you had only taken maybe a third of him. So you gripped the base of his shaft tighter and twisted your chubby hand again.

“Wait, nngh, ahh, wait… I’m gonna cum.”

You didn‘t stop, pressing your tongue flat against him, rubbing the vein running along the underside.

At the first sound of gagging around his cock, you felt Rintarou‘s cum spurt down your throat.

You swallowed it all. With a wet plop you released him and met his eyes, a small satisfied smile on your lips.

He looked completely dazed.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”, he managed to croak, after a few endless moments, voice raspy and breathless.

“Wha- why?”

“Cause I want you to be comfortable when I make you cum on my tongue.”

part 3

✨ @priv-rose @nyctophilicroses ✨

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Here’s the thing: Jeff isn’t actually a meddler by nature.

He’s perfectly content to let people be. He keeps himself to himself and is happy when others do the same. It’s not that he’s never curious, it’s just that he asks personal questions sparingly. And he’s probably going to ask them even more sparingly in the future, because the last time he’d asked one, he’d accidentally broken up one of his best friend’s relationships.

In fairness to Jeff, that relationship was going to blow up sooner rather than later (that is, in fact, exactly what Eddie had said to him when they’d talked a few days after the incident in question; Eddie had even said that he thinks he’d needed the wakeup call, though he’d have preferred it hadn’t happened the way it did – the way that hurt Steve so much. All the same, he seems determined to make things right, so– maybe not the worst thing in the world?), but still, Jeff feels a little… guilty isn’t quite the word, but he doesn’t have a better name for the squirm of emotion in his gut when he catches sight of Steve at Melvald’s one evening.

He hasn’t seen Steve in over a week, now – not since he’d abruptly left Eddie’s place after being unceremoniously informed that his boyfriend (Jeff’s pretty sure that’s the train Steve had been on) is apparently not actually his boyfriend.

And it isn’t as though he or Gareth or Oliver had really hung out with Steve sans Eddie before, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be willing; Jeff’s experience with Steve Harrington in high school had been peripheral at best, and though he hadn’t had the best impression of him at first, he’d actually come to enjoy his company since he started hanging around Eddie after that disaster of a spring break. He doesn’t know much about D&D (though Jeff suspects he knows a lot more than he lets on), and he’s not particularly into fantasy or sci-fi, but he does have a bizarrely encyclopedic knowledge of sports, and had been excited to learn that Jeff is into baseball and hockey.

He's just as bitchy as Jeff had always thought he was, but he’s also unexpectedly kind, and funny in a way that had caught all of them off guard, and largely seems like a solid sort of guy.

And Jeff just feels kind of shitty that the last time they hung out had ended the way it had, that’s all.

That is his main excuse for why he approaches Steve in the cereal aisle at Melvald’s at 8 p.m. on a Friday.

He clears his throat. “Hey.”

Steve turns, brows furrowed as he looks to see who’s trying to get his attention, clearly not expecting any kind of social encounter, but his expression clears a bit when he sees Jeff. “Oh. Uh– Hey,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t seem like the type to eat breakfast cereal?” Jeff teases, and a little bit of the tension in Steve’s shoulders seems to ease away.

“More like I thought I was the only person lame enough to be grocery shopping on a Friday night,” he counters with a smirk.

“You might be,” Jeff says, though he keeps his voice warm. “I just stopped in to pick up some snacks for the weekend after– uh,” Jeff stops short; shit, why did he bring that up?

Steve stares at him for a moment, calculating, and Jeff sees the moment he makes the connection.

“Hellfire tonight, right?” Steve asks, his tone almost unnervingly neutral as he looks back towards the shelves.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, still watching Steve carefully. “Just ended about half an hour ago.”

Steve gives a slow nod. “How was it?”

And – well, there are two options from here. Jeff could take Steve’s polite interest at face value, tell him it was a good session, and let them both awkwardly get on with their nights, or… He could be truthful, and maybe see how Steve’s really doing (which would also be awkward, so it’s not like Jeff really has much to lose).

“To be honest? Not great.” Jeff shrugs. “Eddie hasn’t been in good form lately.”

He can see the curve of a sad sort of smile cross Steve’s face, just briefly.

“That sucks, man. Hope he, uh… gets his head back in the game soon, I guess?” Steve offers.

Whether he does or not will probably be entirely dependent on how his plans to fix things with Steve play out; Eddie hadn’t told Jeff much (apparently, he’s done accidentally flying his dirty laundry for the time being), but he had said that Steve had asked for a little time, and that they would be talking again soon.

“I think he’s working on it,” Jeff says, rather than digging into that particular can of worms. “And, uh… How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Steve says a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Jeff pauses for a minute, pursing his lips and staring up at the ceiling. Is he really doing this? On a Friday night at fucking Melvald’s?

“It just sucks,” he finally says, “that…”

“That you all had to see that I’m actually an oversensitive loser when you realized I’d basically made up an entire relationship and then ran out over it like an idiot?” Steve suggests, his tone so false and light that it sets Jeff on edge.

“That Eddie couldn’t see that he had something really good in front of him. That he completely fumbled it,” Jeff corrects him.

It’s only after he’s spoken that he remembers they’re in a public place, and that talking to one guy about his relationship with another guy isn’t particularly safe. He glances around, hoping it’s not too little, too late, and is relieved to find that the store is just as empty as it had been when he’d first stepped in. When he looks back to Steve, he finds him staring, brows furrowed like he’s trying to puzzle something out.

“Isn’t Eddie one of your best friends?” Steve asks at last.

Jeff shrugs. “Makes me qualified to point out when he’s been an idiot.”

Steve says nothing, just pins Jeff with that confused stare for a moment longer before turning back to the shelf, as if he might finally decide on what cereal he wants.

“If it helps at all,” Jeff says, more quietly this time, “the reason we were even talking about it is because I asked Eddie how it was going – the two of you dating. We all thought you were. We were– well, probably not just as surprised as you, but pretty damn surprised when Eddie said you weren’t.”

“That… actually does. A little,” Steve answers softly, cutting a quick glance at Jeff. “Thanks.”

Jeff shrugs. “It’s just– Eddie’s not– he’s not a bad guy. He gets caught up in things, and he forgets to pay attention, but he wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.”

“I know,” Steve says, not quite sharp, but not quite gentle, either.

“Sorry, I’m not… trying to talk him up. I swear I’m not here advocating for him, or whatever.” Jeff sighs. “You’re totally within your rights to tell him to fuck off—hell, you can tell me to fuck off—I just wanted to say that if he tells you he’s sorry, if he says he wants to fix it, he really does mean it.”

“Yeah. I know,” Steve says again, and this time he sounds gentle – a little soft and distant.

Jeff reaches up and clasps one hand over Steve’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before releasing him. “Anyway, if we’re not going to be seeing you at any of the regular places, you should come over and catch a game sometime.”

It seems like a given that Steve won’t be sitting in on anymore Hellfire sessions for a while, or coming to see their gigs at The Hideout like he had been (he’s already missed one, and they had all pretended not to notice the way Eddie had completely ignored the side of the room with the table where Steve would usually sit and watch), but Jeff finds himself unwilling to let go of his friendship entirely.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, glancing over again.

“Sure.” Jeff shrugs. “Offer stands. Gareth and Oliver’d be happy to see you, too.”

“They’re not into sports,” Steve says.

“But they can be bribed with snacks,” Jeff answers, and Steve gives a huff of a laugh.

“Cool,” he says, the first real smile Jeff’s seen from him all night beginning to cross his face. “I’ll give you a call sometime.”

Jeff smirks at him. “Will you have your people call my people?” he teases, and Steve reaches out to give his shoulder a light shove.

“Fuck off, man,” he snickers.

“Only because I have other things to do,” Jeff says, heading back down the aisle the way he’d come. “Night, Harrington.”

“Night,” Steve calls back after him, sounding a bit lighter than when Jeff had found him.

Feeling a little lighter himself, Jeff snags an extra package of Ho Ho’s on the way to the register. He figures he’s earned it.

Part 6

-

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[apomaro-mellow]

Steve’s parents are in a cult and sacrifice him for their own gains. Yall can thank @whoevenknowsdude for giving me the motivation not to give up on this version.

The party was going on as usual. Steve had been to many of them before. The earliest he remembered was being five and led around by his mother’s hand, then eventually being handed off to a nanny for the rest of the evening. It was always some sort of parade. As a young child, he was the cute baby version of his father. Something for the women to coo at.

Around 11 he was a growing lad who was expected to cause a little trouble. Then at 14 he was a young man with a promising future. 

Growing up, there was one part he was always dreading. The point where people tried to set him up with their daughters, or granddaughters, or nieces. He heard pieces of such transactions all the time. 

‘Oh you must meet my daughter.’ 

‘You know Celia is about your age...’ 

‘So have you got a girlfriend?’

Steve caught glimpses of the older boys either politely rebuffing or ending up engaged with someone. This was a very insular crowd, he knew that. Still, he hoped he’d have something resembling a choice when the time came.

And yet, as he got older, no one rushed to introduce him to anyone. It confused him to no end. He had no trouble attracting girls at school and all of his parents’ friends thought he was charming. He came from good stock. Why did no one want him to marry their daughter?

He tried not to feel so offended by it. But it was just so bizarre. 

But back to tonight. It was going like it always did. Steve spent most of it by his parents’ sides, only occasionally going off on his own. He made nice conversation, had a drink or two, despite being nineteen, and kept the Harrington name good and golden.

As the hour got late though, it got to the point where most of the men split off to have cigars. Steve was usually excused at this point but this time his father put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the next room. He took part in more conversation about his prospects (not going to school but who needed to when he was planning on succeeding his father) and drank some brandy.

“Steve, it’s time we discussed your future”, his father said, letting out a puff of cigar smoke.

“What about it...exactly?”, Steve asked.

“That sometimes we must defer to a higher power.”

“....Right...”

“Steven”, one of the other men started. “You ever take one for the team?”

“Yeah, plenty of times. But what are you guys talking about what’s going on?”, Steve asked.

“Come with me, son.”

Steve got up and followed his father. The other men came along down the stairs into the basement of the clubhouse. But then it went deeper.

“History is filled with ambitious figures, Steve. People who did whatever it took to reach their goals. Tonight it’s up to you to take us even higher.”

“Up to me? What do you want me to do?”

They came to the bottom of the stairs. His mother was already waiting, along with the other women. There was a large stone slab with restraints on it and Steve felt his stomach drop at the implication. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was too crazy.

“Mom, Dad...what are we doing here?”

“The higher power we worship will give us fortune beyond what we could dream of”, his father said. “But everything has its price.”

Before Steve could utter another question, he felt hands on him, gripping and pushing him towards the slab. He struggled and screamed for both of his parents. For some kind of explanation. For something that made sense. But he could feel his sanity slipping as they got him on the altar and tied his limbs down.

Lawrence, 50, with an unconvincing hairpiece stood over him. Steve never liked Lawrence. He always looked at him weird and his touches lingered like he was inspecting a piece of meat.

He was doing it now, trailing a hand up his tied up arm.

“I can’t thank you enough for your sacrifice, Steven. And your parents for bringing up such good stock. I have no doubt he will be pleased with you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on but there’s no way you’re going to kill me for-for what? More money?”

His mother came into view, her expression mournful and Steve wanted to vomit.

“Steve, my love, we won’t be killing you. We could never do that. We just need a bit of your blood. After that....well after that....”

“Our lord will do what he wants with you. And with their lot I can only imagine he will want to devour your soul”, his father finished.

“So you are killing me.”

“We won’t be dealing the killing blow”, his father said. “And who is to say you won’t survive?”

Steve took a deep breath through his nose. This was insane. But it seemed like they at least didn’t plan to put a stake through his heart. He’d lose a bit of blood, they’d probably chant, and then when their demon lord didn’t show up, he could get a shower and then maybe disown his parents.

That didn’t make this situation any less shitty though.

Then someone ripped open his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest. Both of his parents were given knives. The knowledge that they didn’t intend to kill him quell that instinctual fear. Steve had always been a good kid. But sometimes good wasn’t enough. Sometimes he wondered if his parents regretted having him. So his current view wasn’t helping at all in that regard.

They both cut a slit right in the center of his palms and he hissed. They then took his blood and drew a symbol on his stomach. 

There was indeed chanting but between the alcohol, his bleeding hands, and the general delirium, Steve couldn’t make it out. God, he just wanted this to be over. He just wanted normal parents who didn’t sacrifice their own son to the devil.  He wanted a lot of things but it seemed like life would disappoint him one last time.

“Whoa! You’ve got a real party going on here”, a voice said, coming down the stairs.

“Who the hell are you?”, one of the chanters demanded.

Steve craned his neck to see....some guy. It was just some guy, in a black tank top and ripped jeans.

“Who? Me?”, he came to the bottom of the steps and looked around. “Was I not summoned? I thought I heard my name.”

“Someone get this fool out of here!”

“Oh, I see what the issue is. I’m not in the proper attire. My bad.” He took a few more steps forward, right into the range of the men who had advanced on him. Then flames erupted from his body, burning them in an instant. When the fire dissipated, Steve let out a gasp and started to actually pull against his restraints.

This was real! Fuck this was real! A real demon with horns and claws and fangs and shit-were those wings?! He had to get out of here, even if that meant ripping his hands and feet off to escape.

Turned out that was the wrong move. In seconds, the demon crossed the room on all fours and climbed atop the slab to hover over Steve.

“My lord”, Steve’s father said in an impressively even tone. “We offer you our greatest sacrifice-” He was cut off with a deep growl, one that Steve felt in his bones, being this close.

“You...haven’t...sacrificed....anything.” The demon turned its gaze to Steve, lying under him. “But you still have so much to give.” He touched a clawed hand to Steve’s stomach where the bloody symbol was. “Will you give it to me?”

Steve let out a breath. He was going to die. He was going to die and what did he have to show for it? Actually....what did he have to show for it if he lived tonight? Maybe it would be painless, this soul sucking. He just wanted to be done.

“Just take it”, Steve said. “Take whatever you want.”

The demon laughed darkly. “I always do.” He smeared a clawed hand against Steve’s torso, messing up what was drawn there. He sniffed his hand and let out a sigh. 

“Steve!”, his mother shrieked and he wondered if she had just realized what she was giving him up for.

“They spilt your blood for their own gains. Now to me, that doesn’t seem fair”, the demon said. “Don’t you think they should have to give something up? Don’t you want them dead?”

Steve dared to look the demon in his face. The eyes betrayed nothing. Just a blank, red void. But there was something about his expression anyway. Something in the quirk of his lip, the tilt of his head. Steve wondered if he actually would kill everyone in this room if he asked. As for himself, well, despite everything Steve couldn’t ask that of him. He really only wanted one thing and this might be his single chance to voice it out loud.

“I just want to be free.”

“Now see here”, Lawrence said, wagging a finger. “We have been your loyal servants. Our wishes-cckhk!”

He was cut off when the demon’s tail wrapped around his neck, dragging him closer. The demon brought him over until they were eye to eye.

“I would go ahead and count the blessings I already have. You all get to live another day.” He dropped Lawrence, ignoring his gasps for breath as he looked back down at Steve. “And you’re coming with me.”

Flames swirled around them but Steve didn’t feel any heat. Just a rush of warm wind as his restraints disappeared. The light got too bright though and he closed his eyes. When he no longer felt the light behind them, he opened them up, expecting the fires of hell, or a dark abyss of a pit. Maybe even some combination of the two.

Instead he found that he was in a….cramped apartment. The demon was back to the tank top and jeans and Steve wondered if someone had slipped something into a drink.

“You live here?”

The demon stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Whenever I come topside, yeah. And for the time being, so do you.”

“Me?”

“Don’t tell me you wanna go back to those assholes. Not after they-” He stopped speaking and his nostrils flared. Then he looked down.

Steve followed his gaze and saw that his hands were dripping blood onto the floor. “Ah, shit, sorry I-” He was about to wipe it on his ruined shirt when the demon grabbed a wrist, freezing him in place. His words were caught in his throat when the demon took a long sniff at the blood still slowly dripping out of his palm. He looked Steve in the eye as he slowly licked it clean. When the blood was gone, Steve saw his hand was completely healed.

The demon took his other hand and did the same, but somehow went even slower. The licks were punctuated with what could have been open mouth kisses but Steve wasn’t sure. Either the demon was making out with his hand or trying to eat him with little success.

When that one was finished, the demon looked at him and Steve was taken with how blown his eyes were. Like Steve’s blood was top shelf.

“B-buy a guy dinner first, huh?”

The demon came back into himself and took a step back, releasing Steve’s hand. “Yeah, sorry it’s just-yeah…” He cleared his throat and then turned, going deeper into the apartment. “So my home is your home, until you figure out exactly what you wanna do. Um, bathroom’s over there I’m sure you wanna get the rest of that blood off.”

He looked almost nervous to have Steve here. And the absurdity of that made Steve let out a chuckle. And then everything came crashing down on him and he started to laugh in earnest. The demon’s anxious stance just made more laughter bubble forth. What the fuck had his life become?

“Are you okay?”

“I just realized why none of them wanted me to date their daughters.” Steve pushed his hair out of his face. “They knew they’d be giving me to you.” As he laughed the tears started to fall. The demon looked even more shocked but then he came over and wrapped his arms around Steve.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing. Or why I’m crying.”

“Because it’s fucked up man. Like hilariously fucked up. And sometimes you gotta laugh about that crap.” The demon pulled away just enough to look Steve in the eye. “But you’re better than what you just left behind. You proved that by letting them live.”

Steve wiped at his eyes. “Well you already burned a couple of them. Wait, you killed them!”

“Collateral damage when I let my flames loose. I don’t like being touched.” He seemed to realize he was doing just that and raised his hands in the air before taking two steps away from Steve.

“I don’t even know your name. And you would’ve actually killed them for me?”

“Oh I go by Eddie nowadays.” He turned and looked like he was trying to make himself busy by picking things up and putting them down.

“Eddie? Just Eddie?”

“Short for Edifice. Um, did you want that shower?”

“I….” Steve still had questions. But he felt barely functioning right now. Like if he got one more bit of information his brain would explode.

“Steve….You’re free now. That was what you asked for.” The demon, no, Eddie, his name was Eddie, was smiling at him.

“I want….to go to sleep.”

Eddie started to walk away and Steve followed. He led him to a room where the bed took up most of the space.

“It’s yours for tonight. And tomorrow, well it’s all up to you now.”

Steve collapsed against the bed. He vaguely registered his shoes being taken off but soon fell into oblivion.

Part 2

[mrsdesade]

Hey!! i love your writing, feel free to ignore, but i just wanted to request homelander x reader where he introduces the reader to ryan or how the three of them spend time together, something like that

thank you!!

OF COURSE, I love the idea! Maybe I'll do a part.2 with all the headcanons about how they spent time together! Thanks for the request dear anon! :)

Pretty golden cage;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (Ophera as usual) TW: no one, just bit of tension/angst and Homie being an asshole Timeline: season 4 Words count: 3,6k

You always knew who Ryan was. Homelander's beloved son. Rumors about him were whispered by everyone at Vought Tower, and you had been paying attention over the years. You knew about his powers, about the unfortunate way he came into the world, and how attached Homelander was to him.

You already had your problems, you didn't mean to get close to that too. You never judged Ryan for his choices or his actions, quite the opposite. You felt quite sorry for him.

Trapped in a golden cage, with the suffocating attentions of his father, who continued to demand only perfection from and for him. It happened to you too, at the beginning of your relationship with Homelander. In which you are still trapped with no way out.

You had wondered why he still hadn't insisted on you being Ryan's mother. But that was okay, you didn't want it. Until the day arrived, the day of your official introduction to each others.

"Ryan, theres someone I want you to meet. This is Ophera.''

Ryan glances at you with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, his eyes tracing the features of your incredibly beautiful face. Made for the spotlight. He's clearly intrigued by your appearance, but also a little intimidated by it.

"H-hi, Ophera."

You can feel the weight of Ryan's gaze on you, and you can sense his nervousness at finally meeting you. The situation definitely feels a bit bizarre, considering your complicated relationship with his father. You glance briefly at Homelander, unsure of how to approach this interaction.

He stands aside, watching you and his son, with a hint of trepidation. He seems just as uncertain about how you two will interact. He silently observes your reaction and lets you respond to him.

You can't deny it to yourself, one misstep with the little boy and everything is over for you. But you've never been good with children, and you know her father's expectations are very high. He will not admit any mistakes or flaws.

Trying to break the ice, Ryan smiles at you, even though is a slightly wobbly smile, and asks a question.

"So, you're... the singer, right? I saw you on tv. And my dad speak a lot about you and your music."

His words surprise you a little. You're not used to hearing Homelander talking about you, at least positively. You try to find the right words to respond to his comment with a gentle smile.

"Yes, It's me. And I am surprised that your father talks about me to you. Did he say something nice?" you can't help but wonder what else he's told him.

"Yeah. He said your singing voice is really beautiful and that you have a lot of fans. He also said you can control some kinds of metal and you're really strong. He's lucky to have a woman like you to his side."

''Oh, uhm, yeah-- yes...he's right.''

The situation becomes more and more weird for you, you don't know what the point of the situation is, or because Homelander wanted you to meet Ryan. Out of courtesy or for some other strange reason?

As the conversation continues, you can't shake off the feeling that there's a deeper meaning behind this meeting. Homelander's intentions are unclear and there's definitely something else behind this introduction. He seems to be carefully watching your every interaction with his son, analyzing your reactions and responses.

Ryan seems to be more at ease now, and his nervousness begins to fade away while he walk with you around the room and making you sit beside him on the sofa. But there is still silence between you, you don't know what to talk about.

You take a deep breath and decide that you have to improvise, you lean towards the boy and pretend to whisper something to him, in an gentle and funny way.

''I know it's hard for you too, I understand, it's embarrassing to have to interact like this...but let's say something, anything, so your dad will be happy and he let's us go back to our business.''

Ryan looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and relief. He seems a bit surprised by your casual and friendly approach, but he clearly appreciates it. He lowers his voice too and responds in a whisper.

"Yeah, it's a bit weird. My dad's been talking about you a lot, but I didn't know what to say or what to ask you…"

Homelander, noticing Ryan's relaxed expression and your attempt to break the ice, finally decides to join the conversation. His voice is light, friendly sarcastic.

"I can't believe you're talking about me behind my back.'' he says with a hint of faux-offended tone in his voice. He walks over to where you and his son are sitting, takes a seat on the armchair opposite the sofa.

''Come on, you can ask her whatever you want, she don't bite.''

"Okay, then...um..."

He takes a moment, clearly thinking of a question to ask. He glances at you, then back at his father. It's evident that he's not sure what kind of question will please his dad.

Seeing how Ryan is in difficulty, you decide to take the reins of the situation.

''Listen, Homelander. I really appreciate you wanting me to meet your son...it's really cute from you. And he seems a good little boy. But I don't understand what's happening and why I am here today.''

"Ah, always to the point, aren't you?" he replies, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

"I just want to introduce my son to the woman I care about."

You don't believe his sweet words, you know he only does it to appear like a good person in front of his son. But you can't expose him, you don't want to, you're just trying to understand what's your role is in this show.

Homelander notices the skepticism on your face, but he remains cool and composed.

"Oh, come on! Can't I be a loving father who wants his son to meet the woman he's dating?"

The word "dating" stings you as soon as it crosses his lips. It's not true, you're not actually dating, not in the traditional understanding of the term. Ryan looks between you and his father, a bit perplexed by the interaction. The boy's clearly not used to this dynamic.

Any other woman would have acted differently, she would have thrown herself into cuddling and giving affecction to the boy without hesitation. Even just for fear of not pleasing his father. But you don't have this instinct. The maternal instinct has never belonged to you. And now you feel the weight of it, you really want to help Ryan get out from this situation, but you are in difficult too. And all your stage audacity seems to vanish in front of a child.

''Sure, sure you can...I wonder why you didn't introduce us sooner.''

Homelander gives a little laugh, enjoying your sarcastic response.

"Who knows..." he replies nonchalant. "I guess I just wanted to wait for the right moment. But now, here we are. And I think Ryan already likes you."

Ryan, who has been quietly following the conversation, nods in agreement. He doesn't seem entirely convinced or comfortable in the situation, his eyes are searching for yours. Subconsciously hoping that you can show more humanity than all the other supers he's met so far.

"Yeah, you're... cool. I listened to your song, I like them."

''Oh, and what's your favourite?---'' you are about to answer to him, finally with a normal kind of conversation, but you are interrupted.

"See? Looks like you've got a new fan!" Homelander gets up from the armchair, walking over to stand behind you on the sofa. His hand rests possessively on your shoulder.

"Isn't she great?" he asks, looking down at you with a hint of malice in his eyes. "She's smart, talented, and beautiful. The perfect woman."

Ryan nods again, trying to look enthusiastic, but something in his expression seems forced.

You can't tolerate this, you sense Ryan's anxiety constantly. You and him are trapped in the same cage. Then you then turn to Homelander and give him a seemingly kind smile, trying to you try to change the subject. You're going to put up with it for the little boy's sake.

''Seems pretty clear that I've been approved.''

Homelander grins, satisfied with your response. He gives your shoulder a light, almost condescending little pat.

"Oh, definitely approved." he says, the possessive hint in his tone still there. "He's a smart kid, he knows a good person when he sees one."

Ryan looks at you from across the room, trying to gauge your reaction. He can sense that you're trying to make things better, but the atmosphere in the room is still a bit awkward.

"Buddy, why don't you ask her to sing a little something for us?" Homelander ask, clearly intending not to let the moment end.

The little one looks surprised by the imprompt request. He glances briefly at you, clearly hesitant about the idea. Seeing his discomfort, you give him a reassuring look, as if to tell that you can handle it. At least that would have been a good moment.

''I don't know dad, maybe she doesn't want to, maybe she's tired...''

''Nah. It's just a little song, it won't hurt her, will it?" Homelander's expression hardens slightly, his tone becoming sarcastic.

"Um…can you sing something for us…please?"

''What's your favourite song of mine Ryan? I'd love to sing for you.'' you gently said to Ryan, leaning in his direction. Trying your best to create a serene moment out of this tense situation. He seems grateful for your attempt to divert the situation from his father's command to sing.

"I like your cover of I Can't Help Falling in Love. Could you sing that?''

You nod slightly, smiling gently at Ryan. ''Great choice.''

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, and then start to hum to warm up a little. Then, taking a deep breath, you begin to sing the opening notes, your eyes closing for a moment as you surrender to the music.

''Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?''

As you begin to sing, both find themselves mesmerized by your voice. Even Homelander, who has heard you countless times before, is once again taken aback by the power and emotion you infuse in your voice. Ryan, seems to forget the situation he's in and the tension in the air. He leans slightly forward, his eyes wide open, listening to your voice filling the room.

''Darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be. Take my hand, take my whole life, too. For I can't help falling in love with you.''

The lyrics of the song seem to echo even more in that room. You're not just singing, you're communicating in the best way you know.

The last few notes of your singing trail off in the air, as the room falls into a moment of reverent silence. Your eyes open, and you look at Ryan, who seems completely enraptured by your voice.

''Wo-hoow! Your voice live is a thousand times more beautiful than on TV.'' the boy lets out a spontaneous and sincere comment, and you find yourself laughing softly, sincerely, this time.

''You're too cute little one, I'm happy you appreciate my version of this song.''

''It's awesome, you're awesome! I'd like to see you live one day, the whole show!''

''Whenever you want kid, I'll get you a VIP pass to have the best seat in the whole stadium.''

''Really?? You're not joking right?''

''Dinner with the celebrity and Meet and Greet included.'' you can't help but gently indulge him, his spontaneity and his desire to escape from routine.

Ryan's eyes light up at the proposition and he felt comfortable continuing the conversation with a genuinely happy expression on his face. It's obvious that this little exchange between you two has lifted his spirits.

Homelander, on the other hand, seems a little taken aback by the interaction. He's not used to see you so... genuine and soft with someone. He claps his hands, disrupting the moment of calm. As if needing to regain some control.

''What a lovely bonding time we had here. You are making me really happy.''

You feel slightly irritated by his sudden interruption. You are still smiling, but now it's a little forced. Your eyes dart towards him, and your expression seems to say "Really? Just when something good was happening, you have to ruin it?"

Nevertheless, your years of experience with the Vought Company and your work as a celebrity have taught you the art of masking your true feelings. So, you don't let your annoyance shine through too much, at least not in front of Ryan.

Homelander, noticing the change in your expression, seems to realize that he might have intervened at the wrong time. He didn't really mean to interrupt the bonding moment between you and Ryan, but rather, he felt a little left out.

As if he wanted to say: "Hey, look at me. I want to be part of this, too."

His sudden intervention seems to be driven more by a need to be acknowledged and included than by a desire to intentionally ruin the situation. Despite the fact that you've been with him for years, and you know he's a narcissistic asshole, the current moment seems to reveal a slightly different aspect of him.

As you notice the hint of vulnerability in Homelander's eyes, your irritation slightly lessens. You know him too well, and you can tell when he's faking his usual arrogant confidence and when he genuinely feels left out.

It's almost comical how someone as powerful and imposing as him can feel left out.

You're trying to maintain your composure, to keep your guard up, but a part of you can't help but find him a bit... cute, in this moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability.

''Don't worry big boy, I have a VIP pass for you too.'' you say laughing, looking at Ryan, as If you're seeking his support after making a little joke at his father.

Ryan can't help but chuckle at your little comment. He looks up at his father, clearly amused to see him taken aback by your joke. Homelander glares at you for a moment, pretending to be annoyed, but there's a twinkle in his eye, as if he secretly enjoys the little banter.

"Yeah, right, very funny... I guess I'll need that front row seat. Like I need your permission to have one.''

''Ooh, someone's getting defensive now, are we?'' you tease.

Ryan laughs even more, enjoying this whole situation. You can tell that the boy has been craving for some lighthearted moments, considering what he's gone through.

"Well, to be fair, it's good to have options, right dad? You can't always rely on your superpowers to grab the best seat."

You and Ryan share a knowing glance, a silent alliance between you.

"Oh, shut it, you two. I'm the one taking care of the both of you, you should be grateful." he says, his tone carrying no real threat.

Slowly the atmosphere becomes pleasant for all three, and so you spend an hour together. The conversation gradually shifts from teasing banter to more casual topics. Homelander eventually starts to relax a bit, his typical guard lowering. Ryan seems to genuinely enjoy the time spent with both of you, and the boy's innocent and endearing presence helps to ease the tension that sometimes exists between you and Homelander.

As the sun begins to set and the shadows grow longer, the day starts to wind down. The room is bathed in the soft, golden light of the evening, creating a cozy atmosphere.

As the evening progresses, you slowly start to realize that you're actually enjoying yourself. Spending time with Ryan, feels strangely...comfortable. Your initial plan of tolerating a child just for Homelander's sake is slowly replaced by the realization that this kid is not so bad after all. You find yourself smiling easily, genuinely enjoying the little exchanges.

The realization is a bit unsettling to you. It's not that you're used to seeing yourself as a particularly warm and compassionate person. You can't help but question your own prejudices and assumptions about yourself. Perhaps, beneath the hardened persona that you've built up over the years, there's a softer side to you that you forgot.

As the last rays of sunlight disappear and the night sky takes over.

''Ryan, you should get some rest. It's late."

''What? Why now? I was showing Ophera my movie collections!'' the boy protests, making you laugh.

''No arguing. Come on, bedtime." Homelander's tone is firm but gentle, and you see Ryan clearly not happy to have to end the fun.

''I'm not a child dad, I mean, I can stay awake more...''

You approach him and put a hand on his back with kindness, then you try to convince him with a more delicate but still original approach.

''Hey Ryan, listen to me, I suppose we're way past your bedtime. And pretty boy need rest to stay pretty. You don't want to wake up tomorrow with dark circles under your eyes, do you?''

"I guess you're right... I don't want to look like a zombie tomorrow." he end the argument with a little joke.

You chuckle with a hint of satisfaction at Ryan's response. Seeing how the boy accepted your words, makes you glad that you didn't have to rely on Homelander's authoritative approach to get him to comply.

''Very well. Now, go and get some beauty sleep.''

He took all of his stuff and then he wave a cute goodbye to you and Homelander before heading off to his room. As the sound of his footsteps slowly fades away, there's a moment of silence between you two.

Time for the showdown.

"Well, isn't this touching. My two favorite people… getting along so well."

You turn to face Homelander, raising an eyebrow at his comment and becoming serious again, like everytimes he try and succeed to manipulate you.

"I'm not doing this for you.''

"Is that so? Funny, I thought you hated children. Yet here you are… playing the role of a loving mother.” he teases.

The moment the word mother leaves his mouth, you can't help but visibly tense up. Your eyes narrow and your jaw clenches, a mix of anger and discomfort showing on your face. Being referred to as a “mother” triggers a deep-seated anxiety within you, stirring up memories and fears that you've worked hard to suppress. The word carries a weight that you don’t want to associate with yourself.

You take a deep breath, trying your best to conceal the inner turmoil that his words have stirred up. It's ironic that he should use that word, given the fact that you, in your mind, you’ve never seen yourself as a motherly type. It feels like a cruel mockery, a reminder of something that you have never been taught and that sadly you will never be able to understand.

''Don't you dare. I know your plan, and no, I'm not going to play the role of a mother for him. Being your partner causes me enough stress.''

He sees the reaction that the word mother elicits from you and he smirks, realizing that he has found a vulnerable spot.

"Don't be so tensed, sweetheart..." he steps closer to you, a hint of mischief in his eyes, enjoying the fact that he's managed to get under your skin.

"You know, Ryan needs a mother figure in his life. Someone who can guide him, care for him. You could be that person. I know you're capable of it, deep down.”

"Oh, spare me the sentimental crap." you snap, your voice filled with irritation and defiance. You know he's trying to manipulate you, to make you feel guilty for not wanting to be what the little boy needs.

"Don't you dare assume you know what I'm capable of. I have my own duties and responsibilities. Being a motherly figure for your kid wasn't part of the deal..."

"You may deny it, but I can see the way you interacted with the boy. You connected with him, in your own unique way. And it would be really cruel from you to deprive him of a mother's love right now that he's bonding with you.''

He's trying to make you feel guilty, and oh God, he's succeeding.

His words touch a nerve, making you inwardly squirm, of anger and guilt inside you. You know he's trying to play on your emotions and make you feel responsible for depriving Ryan of something he needs.

"Besides, think about it as an opportunity," Homelander continues his manipulation, moving even closer to you, his voice becoming softer, his eyes meeting yours.

"The perfect family picture, you and me and Ryan.''

The thought of having a "perfect family picture'' with Homelander and Ryan both disgusts you and scares you, yet a small part of you secretly yearns for the sense of belonging and family that's been missing in your life.

''No, I can't...absolutely not.''

''I know you can be that for him. I saw it with my own eyes. And you're going to be. Or else..." there's a sinister undertone in his chuckle.

''Or else what?'' you answer, facing him, feeling trapped again, without any free will.

''Oh, sweetheart, you don't wanna find out.'' he concluded, slowly crawling with his hand gripping lightly your throat, forcing you to look up at him.

Reminding you once again, that you're the celebrity, but he's the one who directs every show, every chapter of your life.

-------

Thanks again for the request, it was really good to write, hope you like it! Kisses <3

[arminsumi]

Saw this and thought... Mafia AU Gojo & Geto 👀

Share a piece of your juicy brain thoughts please, I'm collecting all the scraps 😗

PRETTY THING LIKE YOU.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ 𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑

NOTE: OH TO BE IN THAT CAR 🛐 anyways, these are just... messy ideas pls forgive me!! 🥲 idk how to write for mafia stuff but i adore the idea sm i wanted to say a lil smth about it

WARNINGS — fem reader, you're Toji's daughter, err mafia stuff warning idk?? implied kidnapping, implied light use of violence, Geto calling u nicknames (sweetheart, baby, etc), i made Gojo a meanie for some reason oops, some vague semblance of a plotline lol

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

Your dad is Toji Fushiguro, he sits on a big throne in this business. Everyone knows him, everyone's scared of him — why wouldn't they be? Except for these two particular men... who consider themselves the strongest 🙄 Big, big severely inflated egos they've got.

Toji hired Nanami to be the loyal bodyguard for his precious daughter. Why? Well, to put it simply — these two men are looking to take revenge on him with you as their playing card.

Geto and Gojo are on the hunt one night for you, and you fall right into their palms. Usually the black car with tinted windows has Nanami behind the wheel, ready to drive you home after a night out. But one night it's those two.

The drive is silent and uneasy. Gojo is flicking his gaze up at the rearview mirror to check you out with those piercing blue eyes of his. Geto is talking to you in a sickeningly saccharine sultry voice, nicknaming you sweetheart, princess, love, baby, etc... and trying his best to keep you calm with simple small-talk.

Gojo? He's more intimidating than his friend behind the wheel. He will not stop eyeing you out, even when you three end up in some fancy penthouse. You blink up at him innocently, it almost makes his heart lurch — he's wondering how such a pretty face came from such a bastard.

Whatever Toji did to them in the past, they were still seething over. Seems their idea of a revenge plot involved you. But you had no idea what to expect. They didn't have intent to hurt you — well, subtract Gojo pulling and pushing you around like a ragdoll when you weren't compliant enough. But Geto always scolded him.

In fact, Geto calmed the both of you so nicely. He put on water to boil and languidly stirred tea in the kitchen. It was surreal and bizarre in some way.

"Sweetheart, we're gonna be transparent with you. We're just keeping you here for a little while to get your dad's attention. You're gonna be treated like a princess, so don't you worry — " he lifted you by the chin so you had to look up at him, "A pretty thing like you isn't in trouble with us."

Gojo scoffed. He had his arms folded. Legs crossed. Spine slacked against the couch.

"Don't mind him, princess. He's just grumpy — your old man wasn't very kind to him in his youth." Geto explained super vaguely.

Gojo chuckled, "Yeah, you're damn right he wasn't kind to me. Sonofabitch wasted me."

"Well she had nothing to do with that, Satoru, so treat her good."

He grumbled in reluctant agreement. But the second Geto was out of sight, when Gojo led you to your bedroom, he entrapped you between two arms and practically pinned you to the wall.

"Listen — princess — " he mockingly impersonated Geto, "You keep those lips shut or I will shut them for you." he threatened, breathe fanning your face.

Well, it was hard to keep your lips shut. A week later, you woke up and went into the kitchen to find Gojo with a bloodstain in his white hair, Geto with a crimson splatter across his cheek, and a gun resting on the table that towered with green stacks of money. You didn't dare ask what was going on. You just looked at them until they said something from themselves.

"Don't worry." Geto's serene smile caught your worried gaze, "Just business, angel."

"What exactly-" you began, but Gojo gave you a sharp look and Geto immediately cut you off.

" — ah-ah, baby. We've already talked about this." he cooed. His smile had the vaguest sinister twist to it, "Keep that pretty mouth shut. No asking questions."

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[anna-the-undertaker]

The living room of the House of Lamentation was unusually quiet, which was never a good sign. MC stood in the center, their expression twisted in frustration as they paced back and forth like a caged animal. The brothers watched from a safe distance, sensing the impending explosion. This wasn’t the usual kind of annoyance, like when Levi hogged the Wi-Fi or Mammon tried to steal their snacks—no, this was something else entirely.

MC suddenly stopped pacing and threw their hands in the air, letting out a dramatic groan that echoed through the room. “You know what? I’ve figured it out! I know what God really wants, dammit!”

The brothers blinked in unison, caught off guard. Satan arched an eyebrow, while Mammon looked around nervously, as if expecting lightning to strike at any moment. Asmo, always the drama enthusiast, leaned in slightly, eager to hear what was coming next.

MC’s voice grew louder, filled with exasperation. “He wants me to kill my motherfucking self!”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Beelzebub paused mid-chew on a sandwich, while Leviathan’s game controller slipped from his hands. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, waiting to see where this outburst was headed.

“But the joke’s on him!” MC continued, their voice rising to a near-shout as they jabbed a finger toward the ceiling, as if personally challenging the heavens. “I ain’t gone give that motherfucker the satisfaction!”

A beat, and then…

“Wait, what?” Mammon blurted out, his confusion clear as day. “Did ya just—what? MC, what the hell are ya talkin’ about?”

MC threw their hands up in mock exasperation. “You heard me! If there’s some grand cosmic plan to mess with my life, well, guess what? I’m not playing along! God can take that idea and shove it right up his ass!”

Belphegor, who had been dozing on the couch, cracked one eye open and mumbled, “Pretty sure if anyone’s getting a rise out of this, it’s you.”

MC shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of getting kicked around by fate, or destiny, or whatever cosmic nonsense is at work here. I mean, what’s next? A divine memo telling me I need to take up knitting to ‘fulfill my true purpose’?”

Leviathan finally recovered from his shock, picking up his controller again. “If God’s out here trying to troll you, then maybe you should just… uninstall?” he suggested weakly, half-joking.

MC’s laugh was more of a snort. “Right! And where’s the ‘leave game’ button, huh? You see it anywhere? Because I sure don’t!”

Asmodeus sidled closer, a playful smile on his lips. “Darling, if the universe really is conspiring against you, it’s doing a pretty terrible job. I mean, look at you—you’re still here, still fabulous, and still driving us all crazy in the best possible way.”

MC couldn’t help but grin at that. “Damn right. I’m not going anywhere. God’s got another thing coming if He thinks I’m checking out early.”

Lucifer, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, finally spoke, his tone dry. “While I appreciate your… spirited determination, perhaps it’s best not to challenge divine entities so casually.”

MC crossed their arms, smirking. “Let them try me, Luci. I’ve got an army of demons, an endless supply of sarcasm, and enough stubbornness to outlast eternity.”

Beel shrugged and resumed eating. “I’m just glad you’re not planning on going anywhere. We’d miss your cooking too much.”

There was a collective groan from the others, but it was clear that the tension had broken. MC’s outburst, as wild and over-the-top as it was, had become just another bizarre moment in their chaotic life with the brothers. And honestly? That was just fine with them.

With a final huff, MC plopped down on the couch beside Belphie, grabbing a pillow to squeeze. “You know what? Forget divine drama. I’m just gonna focus on what’s important—like how to get Mammon to finally pay back that money he owes me.”

“Hey, what the hell!” Mammon yelped, his face turning red. “I said I’m good for it!”

MC’s laughter echoed through the house, and the brothers joined in, the earlier tension now nothing but a distant memory. After all, when you’re living in the Devildom, sometimes the only way to deal with cosmic absurdity is with a good sense of humor—and a lot of sass.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Curiosity

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky has a question. One Y/N did not expect.

Requests Open - See Blog!

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Bucky being a precious little thing..

"Y/N?"

The familiar sound of Bucky's voice drifted from the living room, a mix of curiosity and hesitation woven into the single utterance of her name.

Immediately, Y/N felt the prickle of anticipation that had become second nature since they’d moved in together. Bucky's endless stream of questions had started innocently enough—about pop culture, slang, or even the latest in music. Every day brought a new inquiry as he tried to fit into a society that had changed so drastically since the 1940s.

But every now and then, a question came up that was... a little less innocent.

She made her way down the hallway, half expecting to find Bucky with his phone in hand, ready to show her some bizarre internet meme or picture that had left him puzzled. Yet when she stepped into the living room, what greeted her was entirely different.

Bucky sat in the corner of the couch, hunched over, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. His steel-blue eyes, normally so focused and sharp, were trained on the floor. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if he were wrestling with something in his head. It was an unusual sight—he looked more serious than usual, contemplative in a way that tugged at something deep inside her.

"Yeah?" she prompted gently, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, trying to break whatever spell he was under.

At the sound of her voice, Bucky looked up. His expression softened when his eyes met hers, and a small, almost sheepish smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He seemed relieved to see her, yet that tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully dissipated.

"I just... have a question," he said slowly, as if trying to ease into the conversation.

Y/N raised an eyebrow but moved across the room, lowering herself onto the couch next to him. The fabric gave way under her weight, and she could feel the warmth radiating off his body as she settled in.

They had grown close since living together—comfortably so—but every now and then, he could still surprise her with the bluntness of his questions. Something in his voice, though, told her this wasn’t one of his usual inquiries.

She turned to face him, nodding her head in silent encouragement.

"What’s edging?"

The question was so unexpected that she nearly choked on her own breath. Y/N blinked, her brain scrambling to catch up with what he had just said. Did I hear that right? She turned to him, wide-eyed, as she processed the bluntness of his question.

"You—you what?" she managed to stammer out, her voice strangled as she fought the urge to laugh or cry—maybe both.

Bucky's brow furrowed further, his mouth pulling into a frown as he looked at her with genuine confusion. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, almost as if he regretted asking in the first place.

"I, uh... I read it. Somewhere." He rubbed the back of his neck, an action she had come to recognize as his default when he was unsure of something. "Is it bad? If it is, you don’t have to—"

"No, it’s not... bad. I’ll tell you," Y/N interrupted, cutting him off before he spiraled into some apology about making her uncomfortable. She could already feel her cheeks heating up. "It’s just... kind of inappropriate. But not your fault you don’t know these things." She smiled awkwardly. "Plus, you’re an adult."

Bucky shifted again, this time leaning back slightly, still looking uncomfortable but more curious now. His fingers twitched on his leg, betraying the tension he was holding inside. He glanced away from her, as though mentally scolding himself for making things awkward.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Maybe you could teach me how to use the Google better after this so I don’t need to keep asking you stuff like this all the time."

At that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. His words were so sincere, almost innocent despite the heavy subject. The sound of her laughter lightened the tension in the air, and even Bucky cracked a small, embarrassed smile.

"Sure, I’ll teach you how to use ‘the Google,’" she teased, the warmth of her voice softening the edge of the conversation. But the humor faded quickly as they both remembered the question that had yet to be answered.

Bucky cleared his throat again, straightening himself. His eyes flickered to hers, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the weight of his curiosity palpable in the space between them. "Right," he said quietly. "So, edging..."

Y/N took a deep breath, her palms rubbing against her jeans. Never thought I’d be explaining this to Bucky Barnes of all people, she mused to herself.

She felt a strange fluttering in her stomach as the words began to form in her mind, the awkwardness building.

"Okay, so... edging is... a sexual thing," she began slowly, carefully choosing her words. She risked a glance at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, his attention fully on her. "Basically, it’s when you—or a partner—bring you close to, um, release and then stop right before it happens. You do it over and over again, as many times as you want."

The explanation spilled out of her quickly, almost clinical in nature, but it didn’t stop the deep flush that began creeping up Bucky's neck and into his face. His ears turned a deep shade of pink, and he seemed to stiffen beside her, his breath catching for a split second.

"Oh." His voice was rougher than usual, and he cleared his throat again as if trying to shake off the sudden intensity of the conversation. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away, avoiding her gaze.

For a moment, silence settled over them. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but there was an undeniable tension that neither seemed to know how to break. Y/N glanced down at her lap, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of her sleeve, unsure of what to say next.

It was Bucky who finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "Have you ever, uh... done that?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, bold and unflinching. She felt her face heat up again, and she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or something else entirely. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her pulse quickening as she considered her response.

"Not with another person," she replied honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice low and careful.

"...Would you want to?"

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken words. Y/N’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not today.

[vigilskeep]

Do you have any kind of analysis of Cassandra's character? I find how you talk about her so interesting and different from how the rest of the fandom refers to her

i wouldn’t say i know her very well; i’ve never yet done her personal quest and i don’t bring her out a lot. here are... some notes? displayed messily

cassandra is first and foremost a violent person. when she doesn’t know how to solve a problem, she leads with violence; her interrogation of varric, her reaction when he brought hawke to skyhold, threatening to execute solas simply for failing to produce results with his tests on the anchor when the herald was first found. chancellor roderick says this outright—and you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the chantry—but her use for divinia justinia was as a blunt tool, not capable of subtlety or diplomacy. unlike other members of the inquisition, she is not very capable of exerting power in other ways than violence, and she has spent her entire life expecting to hold power in any situation

cassandra could have been the inquisitor. she’s pretty much the obvious choice. she has to be actively dodging that to go on a wild goose chase to find the hero of ferelden and then the champion, and then still to evade it further and hand it over to the herald, who she may not even approve of. at haven, she at least appears at the war table. at skyhold, she doesn’t, having further and further removed herself from the role. if she does get along with your inquisitor, it suggests faith in your choices, following your lead. but it has a kind of different unique effect if she doesn’t rlly get along with your inquisitor, where it really feels like she’s been pushed out or allowed herself to be pushed out of the movement she started. either way her movement to be divine feels related to not having taken that lead position before

she gets very caught up in her own perspective on a situation. i think often of when she laughs at the herald and says “is that what you see?” when they ask if this isn’t still part of the chantry, which is what literally anyone normal would see. or her infamous comment to lavellan about whether or not there’s room among their gods for one more, completely missing that this would be a bizarre thing for them to ask of her. or describing varric’s andrastianism as “deep down, his heart is virtuous” to a non-andrastian inquisitor. etc, etc. it doesn’t occur to her to censor herself or consider how her words come across to other people who don’t have the same beliefs she does. she probably has mostly only been exposed to people who don’t have the same beliefs she does as idk antagonists and opposition, as the “criminals” she has to interrogate

she overthinks the consequences of her actions, the weight of history bearing down, in a way that suggests a kind of preoccupation with the assumption that her actions and life will be written of. nobody who reads as many of varric tethras’ books as she does isn’t kind of into that, despite her complaints. when a character constantly self-criticises but you only get approval from saying “no you’re totally good and cool and did the best you could!!!” and disapproval and sudden defensiveness from saying “yeah that was a bad move i’m glad you’re thinking about it”, i think i can come to some pretty safe conclusions about what that character really thinks and what they want to hear

her comments about “change” in her vision for the chantry are confusing at best, considering that she distinguishes herself from leliana almost exclusively by saying that leliana would change too much. her point is largely to restore things as they were, but all the things she’s restoring will, you know, somehow be better now. with very little discussion of how that could actually be achieved, as far as i can tell. even if i did agree with her end goal, i don’t think she would instil confidence

i don’t dislike cassandra i think she’s quite interesting but i don’t find her either admirable or sufficiently entertaining in order to want her approval or to hang out with her really so she does get a little left to the wayside in my attempted playthroughs personally

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway I met a new soulmate AU concept and I'm gonna make it the Core Four's problem, natch.

It's kind of weird and awkward when Tim's Pocket shows up, because a) Tim's Pocket is Superman, and b) Superman is dead.

So that's . . . several kinds of weird and awkward, yeah.

"B," he says first thing into the cave, trying to sound professional and reasonable and not like he's kind of freaking out a little. Or . . . more than a little, maybe. "Can we, uh . . . talk?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says, not looking away from the Batcomputer. Tim really wishes he would. It would make some things easier to explain. Like his Pocket. Specifically his Pocket would be much, much easier to explain.

"My Pocket showed up last night," Tim says. Bruce nods in acknowledgement, still not looking away from the computer. His own Pocket is sitting on his shoulder, and at least she's looking at Tim. She also looks a little gobsmacked, which is saying something for her. Cat came from Selina, after all, and is very rarely gobsmacked.

"We'll get them a mask, then," Bruce says.

"Glasses might be better," Tim says resignedly. Bruce . . . pauses. Cat tugs his ear. He turns his head, and Tim tries not to die of embarrassment as his Pocket continues to hover over his head, peering curiously at Bruce.

He's Superman, still. The costume is a little different for some reason–there's black in it and different divisions of color and weird unnecessary-seeming belts and straps and gloves–but it's still undeniably Superman, big red cape and all.

Bruce looks blankly at Tim's Pocket. Tim's Pocket grins confidently back at him.

"What the fuck, Tim," Bruce says.

Tim does not in any way whatsoever blame him for it.

.

.

.

Cassie's Pocket is Superman and she has no idea how to feel about that. Superman's dead, for one thing. And also like in his thirties, at least? If not forties. And also dead.

"Uh, Mom?" she says when she comes down for breakfast. "Something . . . happened?"

Her mom looks up with a frown. Cassie's Pocket chirps a friendly greeting.

Mom stares.

"He's too old for you," she says immediately.

"Mom!" Cassie protests, and her Pocket cackles and swoops a circle around her head. "You–stop that, you jerk! And Mom, don't embarrass me in front of my Pocket, oh my god!"

"He should be embarrassed," Mom says darkly, glaring at Cassie's Pocket. He looks mildly offended. Cassie is very offended. To be fair, she also did not expect her Pocket to turn out to be a full-grown man with incredible alien superpowers and it's kind of freaky and a little off-putting, but that's her business, not her mom's.

Also, like, well . . . he's really cute, honestly. In a very weird way that she doesn't quite know how to reconcile with an adult man, but still. He's her Pocket, so there's no way he's a creep or a predator, and he's also Superman so there's definitely no way he's a creep or a predator, but the situation is really freaking bizarre all the same.

She's never even met Superman, so him being her Pocket really doesn't make sense. Especially because he is, again, dead. That'd be a really strong soulmate bond. Like, scary strong, Cassie thinks.

Though in retrospect, expecting Superman of all people to die was maybe kind of stupid of the world at large.

.

.

.

Bart is pretty surprised when his Pocket happens. It's Superman, he thinks? Which is weird. Superman's, like, super dead. Superman's from like . . . the twenty-first century, and Bart is definitely not.

And like . . . he's also just old. Like really, really old.

Lame.

"I'm gonna call you Soup," he decides immediately, poking his Pocket's curly hair. His Pocket looks just as immediately unimpressed and folds his arms. "What, you don't like it? Seriously? Okay, what about Soupy? Soupers? Soupette? Sou–ow ow ow stop!"

Okay, he's gonna have to workshop the name a bit, he guesses.

[foodiegoogie]

bittersweet reminiscing

james potter x implied fem!reader ✮ 3.2k

summary: it’s a wedding, but it’s not yours. all the while you put yourself into a situation that’s both self-deprecating and weirdly, self-reflective. all because of a certain bespectacled person you’re very much in love with.

cw/tags: friends to lovers to exes to friends :’), initial fluff, eventual angst, buckle up kids

note: HELLO! to whoever comes across this, i’m ngl… idk what i was doing with this one 😭 but all i can say is that it’s loosely based on the apartment we won’t share by niki <3 my queen, my lady <33 with that, i hope u enjoyyyy 🥹

( ♡ )

Inside each of us are two wolves; one is evil, one is good. Those wolves constantly battle against each other, and as for which wolf wins - well, that entirely depends on you.

You apply the same sentiment to James, because while everyone else compares him to the sun - blinding, effervescent, and almost always the center of attention - you compare him to a two-faced maniac. Actually, more appropriately, you think of him as a two-faced maniac.

Because inside of James Potter there are two contradicting sides to his personality; one that’s easy to love, and one that’s easy to hate.

You were fortunate enough to witness both of these sides to his bizarre personality, to put it simply. You can’t forget the very first time you met his warm brown eyes with yours, and the way he beamed at you instantly like he knew something you did not (in the future, you think to yourself that maybe that was true). You first have an encounter with the side of James that’s easy to hate, what with the jokes and pranks he pulled as a young boy in Hogwarts, coupled with the relentless teasing he threw your way each and every time he’d catch a glimpse of you in the corridors of the castle, or sit next to you during classes.

Even then, you also remember the very first time you caught sight of the side of James that was easy to love.

—

“Hey, you,” You don’t need to turn your head to know who it was that sat beside you. And you don’t need to look at him to see the mischievous smirk on his face, because you could already hear it in his voice.

You expect him to bring up something ridiculous that he’s noticed about you in particular today, like he always does in his ‘routine’ with you, but the growing silence between you is void of that. You start to turn your head to look at him out of curiosity when he speaks up again.

“Helloooo?” James drawls, his annoyance is clear in his voice even as he calls your name. “I’m trying to talk to you, and you won’t even look at me? How rude.”

It takes every ounce of your pride not to roll your eyes at him. You wouldn’t give James the satisfaction of showing how much he bothers you. Otherwise, he’d never stop.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t stop.

You hear him scoff in disbelief from beside you, and an image of him with crossed arms and a pout on his lips crosses your mind.

“Wow, you’re giving me the silent treatment? And here I thought we were just starting to get along just fine!” And just as quickly as he starts, James is rambling on about how it was totally unfair that you’re just blatantly ignoring him when the first class of the day had barely even begun.

You decide right then and there to finally turn your head towards him, and James cuts himself off from his rambling as the corners of his lips curl up into an amused smirk.

He’s not even fazed in the slightest as you glare daggers at him. “There you are,” He smiles victoriously, crossing his arms as his chest puffs out with pride. “Took you long enough.”

This time, you allow yourself to roll your eyes.

“You were being loud, and I prefer to wait for our professor in silence,” You emphasise the last word of your statement, looking pointedly at James.

He’s still smiling at you as he says, “Yeah, I know.”

You ought to punch the smile off of his face. “You know?”

James nods his head, and his messy curls follow with the motion. You think it frames his face quite nicely, fortifying his boyish charm. But then you remember that you’re supposed to be annoyed with him, not charmed.

“Of course, I do,” He grins, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“James, we aren’t friends.” You hear yourself speak, although you obviously thought otherwise with the hint of fondness in your tone.

“What?!” He gasps, bewilderment etched onto his face. “We aren’t?”

You could tell that he was just being himself, theatrical with the bewildered look on his face. James’ eyes are wide with mock-disbelief, his nostrils are flaring, and his mouth is hung open like he’s actually shocked.

Before you even realise it, you’re already laughing hard, and your hand moves to clutch your stomach in the process.

James smiles at the sound of your laughter, taking in the way your eyes were crinkled and sparkling with amusement. He looks proud of himself.

“I like your laugh,” He says to you in a soft, honest voice. “You should do it more often when you’re with me.”

The laughter dies down in your throat, and you can’t tell how you feel about his words. But your chest fills with a weird sense of warmth, and it spreads throughout your whole body as James continues to gaze at you like you’re the most interesting thing to look at.

—

You remember it quite vividly, that very moment in time. It happened back when you were just first-years, new to the world of Hogwarts, and to each other. But you suppose you’re able to vividly picture the memory in your head, even after all this time, because James still manages to give you the same warm feeling that fills your chest and spreads throughout your body.

It’s there when he compliments you genuinely for the first time, and it’s there when he smiles at you when you lock eyes with each other from across the room.

It’s not there, however, when he voices out his feelings for Lily Evans to you during your fourth year at Hogwarts.

—

“Honestly, she can slap me with a book, and I’d thank her.” James sighs dreamily as he places his chin on his hand.

“Alright, Jamie. I think we’ve got your point.” Sirius rolls his eyes at his friend’s dazed expression. You snicker at his reaction, and you silently hope it’s enough to hide the disappointment in your eyes.

The boy in question, however, still continues. “No, because – why is she so pretty? And kind? And smart? Bloody hell, she’s perfect! How is she perfect?”

You and Sirius sigh in unison, although for very different reasons; Sirius sighs out of exasperation from James’ dramatic antics, and you sigh out of, well, despair.

You can’t quite place when it all had started. You just remember that once upon a time, James was easy to hate. But then, once upon another time, he suddenly wasn’t.

From then on, James had switched to being relentless in his pursuit of Lily instead of being relentless with teasing you. This had lasted until the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts, but much to no avail, James was nowhere near capturing the heart of the girl of his dreams.

—

The sight of James slumped down against the couch, looking so down on his luck, reminds you of a wilted flower. It makes you sad, and it breaks your heart.

In the midst of your attempts at comforting him, a sickly feeling lies deep in your chest. A selfish voice whispers in the back of your mind, this is your chance, it says. You don’t hear it. You don’t want to hear it.

“It’s not the end of the world if she doesn’t notice you, you know,” You say to him, your voice low and soothing as you allow it to be, in spite of your own feelings.

James just sighs heavily for what seemed like the nth time that day, a deep frown decorating his pretty lips. “Well, it feels like it.”

You sigh in return, more out of exasperation than in sympathy this time. You open your mouth again to retort with another attempt at consoling him, but he beats you there first with another self-deprecating comment.

“I mean, what’s wrong with me?” James looks at you, and you can see the pain in his eyes. It tugs at your heartstrings, and it makes you want to do everything you can to make it go away.

And so, you do.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, James,” You scoot closer to him where you sit on the couch, but keep a reasonably safe distance away from him still. “Absolutely nothing. Sure, you’re a little overbearing at times, but that’s okay. That’s who you are.”

For a moment, it seems like he takes the weight of your words in, and mulls it over in his head. But then, “How do I know that who I am is okay?”

You resist the urge to sigh heavily and cry. Because nothing could ever hurt more than watch the boy you’re in love with beat himself up over his inability to catch a girl’s attention — who, not to mention, isn’t you, but that’s beside the whole point.

“James….” Your voice trails off, it catches his attention.

“Sirius, Remus, and Peter are proof enough that who you are is okay. Merlin– even I’m proof enough that who you are is okay.”

This time around, it actually does seem like James realizes the truth in your words, and allows a small smile to appear on his face.

“You really think so?” He asks sheepishly.

You almost scoff in disbelief. “I know so.”

Now, you think that perhaps that was the time you had inadvertently diverted James’ attention from Lily back to you, because the week following that particular conversation, he appeared before you with a certain look in his eyes that you only saw in your foolish dreams.

Long story short, he says that he likes you. You say you feel the same way, and the both of you step into a new relationship together as more than just friends. This is the nicest feeling ever, you thought at the time. Everything you’ve dreamed of doing with James suddenly became a reality, and selfishly, you think you never want to dream about anything ever again because nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being with James in actuality; holding hands, stealing kisses, casual touches, sharing glances across the room—everything.

The both of you last a month at best.

—

“Hey,” You greet him with a small smile as you approach him on the couch in the Common Room.

You prepare for the conversation that’s about to come as James tears his eyes away from a certain redhead sitting across the room, and shifts his attention to you.

He returns your smile with his own.

“Hey,” James greets back as you sit yourself down beside him. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s... it’s been great,” You chuckle weakly as you nod along with your words, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself that you were having a great day. James catches onto it.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He shifts closer to you, your knees bump into each other. You subtly pull away from the touch, and you thank the gods that James doesn’t notice.

“James, I…” You trail off, struggling to find the words to say. Meanwhile, he remains oblivious to your inner turmoil as he nods his head encouragingly, ready to listen to your thoughts.

How exactly do you break up with someone who you want to be with more than anything? Now that James was yours, you had wanted nothing more to hold him close and never let go. It was selfish, you knew that feeling well enough. But still, it always comes, and it never goes.

It isn’t what you wanted to do—it’s never what you wanted to do—but you notice how James still stares at Lily Evans longingly when she’s in the same room as the both of you are, how it lingers even when you ask him what he was looking at despite knowing the answer. It doesn’t take much effort to understand that James’ heart still lies with Lily’s hands. And as much as it hurt for you to realize that, you knew that you needed to do this. You knew that you both needed this, even if you wanted nothing more than to keep him close to you.

“I think we should end things… between us.” You finally manage to say after a gruesome moment of silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a head with fiery red hair turn subtly towards your direction.

James’ brows pinch in confusion, and his hands reach out to hold you by the arms. You don’t pull away.

“What? Why?” He asks you, pleading for you to make him understand why you’d say such a thing.

“I just…” You take a quick breath. “I just feel like we’re better off as friends.”

You couldn’t believe what you were saying, and it looked like even James couldn’t either. All you could think of was how you wanted to take it all back, take him back.

At first, it seemed like he was about to contradict your statement, and you push down the hope that bubbles in your chest at the sight of it. But then, he sighs, pulling his hands away from your arms and placing them on his lap.

“There’s no spark, is there?” James says with an apologetic smile. You hate it, in spite of the fact that it was his smile.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and force a smile of your own onto your face, shaking your head.

“No. No spark.” You hear yourself say, but you know deep down that it wasn’t true. There was a spark, but it didn’t ignite into a fire because it was one-sided. Unrequited. Unreturned.

“Well,” James began, “It was fun while it lasted, Y/N.”

You try to ignore the fact that the sound of your name on his tongue leaves you with a bittersweet feeling, considering the situation you’ve just put yourselves into. But, you force a smile, and act as natural and casual as you possibly could.

“Yeah, it was fun,” You agreed quietly, not quite finding the conviction you hoped for in your words.

And so, it began; you keep a front every time you were around James, you try not to be bothered by how unbothered he is despite coming from a break up with you, but you suspect you should have known better than that. It wasn’t like he really liked you anyways, right? You had offered yourself up when the opportunity presented itself, and regardless of the magical month that you and James had together, it made you feel like shit.

Because it was still one-sided. Unrequited. Unreturned.

Thinking about it now, you deem yourself foolish for even entertaining the whole idea that you and James actually stood a chance - no, that you stood a chance with him altogether. You beat yourself up over the fact that you’ve had silly dreams that house you and James together in a place of your own, matching rings on both of your hands, little footsteps running around the house, and laughing together because of how pathetically you pined after him, and how much of an idiot he was to realize it later.

You’ve accepted that it’s a dream you won’t ever share with James.

—

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Remus’ voice ripples through the tense air you’ve managed to surround yourself in. He’s studying your face intently, taking in the way your brows are creased with concentration, and how you’ve been glaring daggers at the innocent, folded table napkin in front of you.

You blink rapidly, as if snapping yourself out of your own thoughts, and remembering the present. It was a happy day, a momentous occasion between two beings in love - that’s what everyone else called it, anyway. You’ve managed to convince yourself that it’s what you’re gonna call it, too. Despite it being a momentous occasion between a girl you once wished was you, and a man you’ve loved ever since you could perform the Levitation Spell in first year.

You begin with a sigh, “It’s nothing, Rem. Just doing some last-minute reminiscing before my grand speech,” You hide your bitterness with a soft chuckle.

Remus, ever the observant one, sees through it. But he doesn’t say anything about it, and instead, settles for a sigh and a hand over yours. You’re grateful for his thoughtful gesture of silent support, and so you turn your hand over, palm facing his own, and give it a squeeze.

The intimate moment is shattered by Sirius’ yell for a toast to the groom and bride. You and Remus share an amused glance with each other before raising both your glasses up in the air as a toast, mirroring Sirius and each and every one of the other guests there with you.

“Okay, show’s over, folks,” Sirius slurs, clearly a little tipsy (or more than a little) as he looks pointedly at you with a smirk from up front. “It’s the pretty bird’s turn.”

Most heads turn to follow his gaze towards you, and whisper to each other, asking who it was that the best man was referring to, but some throw you knowing, and expectant looks, maybe even a hint of a smile on some of their faces.

But you don’t care about any of them as you lock eyes with James for the briefest of moments, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest because wow, he looks good in a tuxedo, and wow, his smile is dazzling, and you feel lucky it’s thrown at you, even if it doesn’t mean the way you want it to.

You stand up from your seat, Remus gives you an encouraging smile, and you return it warmly with one of your own. As you approach the front, Sirius hugs you by the side and presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, and you mutter a quiet word of thanks because you know what it means. You silently thank every deity out there for having the kindest friends in the world as you take a deep breath and prepare to say your words for James and Lily.

It goes like this: before you begin, you flash a warm smile towards the newly wedded couple, and with that, you begin your speech. You recount a few silly stories and tell fun facts about James Potter as a person, as a friend, and as a lover (that’s not yours). You tell James directly in front of the crowd how lucky he is to have someone like Lily Evans to ground him, and you tell Lily how lucky she is to have someone like James to keep her on her toes, and to love her like never before. You end your speech with a toast, wishing all the best and all the happiness in the world for the newly wedded couple.

And there was no bitter malice behind your words, no biting envy in your tone. Because whilst in the middle of an ironic situation where you’re on the sidelines again—longing for James, and wishing to be Lily—you accept the state of things, and reach a realization with resignation.

Inside of you, there are two parts of a whole.

The one part that will always love James no matter what, and the unforgiving part that will always long for him.

( ♡ )

WHEW! if you made it this far into the oneshot.... congrats. u r so brave for doing just that <3 and i am eternally grateful that you've decided to give this messy work of mine a chance :] plz feel free to leave a comment, like, or reblog and let me know what u think abt this!!!! <3

[waywardangel-wilds]

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta? If you could please follow me?” The young girl asked

“Well… alright,” Katniss said hesitantly, sharing a confused look with her husband. “But there’s no need for Mr. And Mrs., our names are just fine.”

“As you wish, ma’am” the girl held a door open for them. Where had it come from? “Right this way.”

“Okay…” what a bizarre dream. She had to be dreaming, Katniss reasoned. What else could this possibly be? “Peeta?” She reached blindly for her husband’s hand. Maybe it wouldn’t turn into a nightmare if he came with her?

With Peeta’s familiar hand linked securely to her own she took a hesitant step through the darkness of the strange doorway. She tensed, expecting the worse, but was surprised to find herself in an impossibly bright room with white walls, white tiled floors, and a single white round table surrounded by three equally white chairs.

But it wasn’t the room that confused her, rather it was the only other person in the room with them. They sat at the table, facing her head on, with deeply mistrustful expression.

“What the hell is this?” The other person sneered, glaring at her. “Why are you so old?”

Katniss’s face wrinkled with confusion, “How do you exist?”

“I don’t want to do this, I have enough on my mind,” the other person said, shutting her eyes and opening them quickly. She groaned, “what do I have to do to wake up!”

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta?” Katniss turned in surprise back towards the doorway, where the young girl from before stood halfway into the room, a pleasant expression on her face. “Please take a seat with young miss Katniss. We’d like for you all to have a conversation.”

“I-but- what’s is-“ Katniss stuttered, but the young woman turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Well..” Peeta spoke for the first time. “I suppose that is that.”

Katniss almost laughed and smiled at him helplessly. She turned back towards the table and considered her younger self. “Sit up straight.”

“Ugh,” sixteen-year-old Katniss replied, but she obeyed nonetheless. She watched them with critical eyes as Peeta and her came to take a seat at the table, Peeta pulling out a chair for her and helping her into the seat.

“So we got married after all,” Younger Katniss said bitterly, taking in her older counterparts 9 month pregnancy belly. “And you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah, I am.” Older Katniss smiled softly at her younger self. “It isn’t what you think.”

“It looks to me like you’re doing everything I told you I didn’t want.” Suddenly, her younger self blushed, having just looked at Peeta. “Uh, no offence.”

Peeta grinned winningly, “none taken.”

Older Katniss took her husband’s hand and set them both on the table. “It really isn’t at all what you think. This was our choice.”

“You twos? Are you insane?”

“No… well obviously yes, but also you and me’s. We decided this.” She smiled at herself, “really. I am happy. Things are safe.”

Younger Katniss’s eyes watered, causing her to look self consciously at Peeta.

“It’s okay, we’ve cried in front of him a lot.”

Her younger self laughed, rubbing her eyes furiously. “Everything’s okay?”

“Yes,” she reached out to take her other self’s hand. “I swear it. We’re okay.”

“Thank you,” young Katniss smiled but she was still crying. Peeta reached out to take her other hand. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“Everything’s okay, birdy.” Peeta smiled and young Katniss blushed deeper.

“T-thank you,” she looked down at her hands, taking in both of the adults hands too. “You’re burned.”

“Yes,” Older Katniss confirmed.

“Everywhere,” the young girl looked at their faces. Older Katniss nodded.

“Yes. We went through a lot, I won’t lie. At times, I wanted to die. We both did.” She looked over at Peeta who nodded soberly. “But I’m glad that we didn’t. That we got to keep each other.” She looked back towards her younger self. “I should tell you, this is our second baby.”

“Two?” Sixteen-year-old Katniss chuckled. “How dare you? Our figure!”

“Ha!” Older Katniss snorted, laughing nice and deeply. “You’ll be disappointed to know that we lost our figure a long time ago.”

Peeta grinned at them both, “we all like to eat.”

“We do,” both Katniss’s smiled at him affectionately before turning back towards each other.

“Tell me about your first baby? Is it a girl?”

“She’s perfect,” the adults said in unison. “She looks just like you,” older Katniss added. “But she has the most perfect little blue eyes, and the most adorable little chin. Like her father.”

Young Katniss smiled, “is she happy?”

“She’s never wanted for a single thing,” Peeta reassured her. “She loves to dance and sing and play. She’s never gone hungry, and she never will if I have anything to do with it. She’ll never see a reaping either, no one will again.”

“Really?” Young Katniss asked with a childish type of hopefulness.

“Really.” Older Katniss nodded. She reached across the table to brush her younger self’s cheek.

“W-what about Prim? Mom? Gale?” She looked into her own eyes hopefully.

Older Katniss’s eyes shifted with compassion. “Some things… changed. But… keep Prim close. Don’t leave her side, if you can help it. I know it’ll be hard, but all is not lost. Maybe you can change things?”

“What do you mean?”

“I—”

“Mrs. Katniss?” Katniss turned around in her chair, surprised. The young girl from before was at the door again. “Maybe that’s enough for today. You don’t want to stress the baby.”

“N-no, wait. Katniss, listen to me—“

“It’s time to wake up, birdy.” The young woman said, her voice morphing, changing into something familiar. “You’ve slept like a rock.”

“No, please, five more minutes?”

“It’s already ten in the morning.” The young girl smiled ruefully and Katniss blinked. When her eyes opened once more the room was gone. “Hey? I’m serious, time to get up.”

“Peeta?” Katniss blinked again and her bedroom came into view. Their curtains, which did a poor job of blocking out the morning light. The light fixture, which Peeta swore he installed correctly. And Peeta himself, dressed and ready, sitting on the corner of the bed. “What happened?”

“You slept like a rock is what happened.” He smiled. “I gotta go, there’s some sort of cinnamon emergency. The whole bakery’s gonna burn to the ground if I don’t show my face this instant, apparently.” He pecked her goodbye. “Willows downstairs.”

“You left her on her own?” Katniss sat up immediately.

“Haymitch’s down there, don’t worry.” He helped pull her up. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go already, I got it.” She huffed, having to catch her breath after putting in the hard work required for standing. “Oh! Don’t forget to pick up more diapers!”

“I won’t!” He called back from halfway down the stairs.

“Haymitch!” She shouted as she made her way out of the bedroom. “A hand please?”

“What?” Her mentor replied.

“I’m dizzy! Help me down the stairs!”

“Prim!” Katniss’s heart must have stopped. “Go help your annoying sister.”

“Lovely as always,” and there she was. Smiling. Prim walked out onto the downstairs landing and looked up at her sister as she climbed the stairs. “Are you okay? You look scared.”

“I’m okay,” Katniss whispered in reply.

“Do you feel faint? Katniss! Oh my god,” Prim leapt up the stairs. She looked just like their mother used to, when they were younger. “I got you. Haymitch! I think she’s going to pass out!”

“What?” Her mentor shouted back, and in the back of her mind Katniss knew he must of jumped to his feet and come running for them, but she didn’t notice. It was Prim, her sister. All grown up and right in front of her.

“Prim!” She teared up. She enveloped her in a bone crushing hug despite her massive baby bump. “Oh don’t let this be a dream.”

“Katniss, you’re scaring me. Can you walk? I need you to come have some broth, okay?” Her sister turned to look over her shoulder. “Hurry up!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Her mentor grumbled.

Katniss pulled back, gripping her sister shoulders. “I had the worst nightmare.”

“What happened?” Prim asked, adjusting her grip on her sister as Haymitch managed to shoulder most of Katniss’s weight.

“It was the war. You died, and I burned, and mom left me.” Katniss sobbed miserably.

“Oh, Katniss. I’m so sorry.” Prim combed back her sisters hair. Her fingers were pleasantly cool and familiar. “This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have been watching the news last night.”

“No, no, don’t apologize! It’s just me. I’m—” Katniss made a face. “And I’m pregnant too, so nothing makes any sense.”

“Pregnancy is an emotional time,” her sister reassured her with a squeeze. “But guess what? Someone’s been waiting for you to wake up to show you her new special skill.”

“She’s been yapping non stop since seven this morning,” Haymitch interjected.

“She’s an early riser,” Prim corrected.

“Why’s mama crying?”

“Don’t worry baby, mamas being a little silly is all.”

“I need a drink.”

“Not in my house, Haymitch!”

“It’s just coffee, jeez woman.”

“I’m getting you something to eat”

“But—“

“I don’t want to hear it!”