#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

[maeedrg]

Waiter, a cup of kisses !

ᯓ★

Synopsis : In which Satoru kisses you for the first time, his best friend, and you both can’t seem to stop now.

Words count : 3k.

Warnings : Pure fluff, crack, both of them like to bully each other, reader is mentioned fem once, mention of boobs.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : Omg I’m back from the dead guys ! College is time consuming. It’s a small fanfic because I intend on writing soon a quite big one. But we’ll talk about it later because I will need your opinion on something.

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When Satoru kissed you for the first time, it was in the most “randomly out of nowhere” way possible. Like he would say.

Being physically close to him, sometimes crossing a blurry line, wasn’t something actually bizarre in your relationship with him. Accustomed to having Satoru, or you, dancing on this blurry tango of an unlabeled relationship, you at first didn’t think much of it. He was teasing, wanting to taunt you. Exactly like you did yesterday, and how he did the day before, and you the day even before. Yeah, a kiss meant nothing. After all, why do people care so much about lips touching each other ? You didn’t with him.

Yet, when he did, you still had a confused face. At first you were busy with baking the cookies he begged you to prepare this morning. He even licked your cheek when you accidently put chocolate on your skin. Gross ? He didn’t know this word. But then, the second right after, he chastly kissed your lips. As if it was the natural order of things. First licking your cheek, then kissing you. 

– Hmm ? you hummed surprised. Looking at him with a confused expression only made the white haired man shrug. He went back to form the cookie dough in his large hands like nothing happened.

– What ? he asked.

– What was that ? you insisted, raising an eyebrow. You weren’t mad or anything. Just intrigued.

– What was what ? he answered, acting dumb. Well, he didn’t need to act to be dumb. But you kept that to yourself. You exhale through your nose and nudge him. He almost makes the cookie fall. Thankfully, he caught it in time.

– Satoru… you say through your teeth to show him that you weren’t playing around and wanted him to answer. A real answer.

– A kiss ? he simply explained. As if you actually were the dumb one here, not him. Bloody hell. He could be annoying when he started to act like this.

– No shit Sherlock, you groan. Satoru glances at your irritated facial expression, which results in only making him chuckle. His dimples embellish his cheeks and you end up rolling your eyes playfully.

– Well, I wasn’t expecting you to understand, was I Watson ? he comes back with this arrogant voice of his. You snort, but wisely decide to not follow this little game of his and concentrate on finishing this baking session. It’s already been one hour that you both were at it, only because of your bickering.

 Whatever. It was just a kiss.

A kiss that felt good, actually. Maybe you wanted it to happen again. Why not ? After all, you would simply get back at him.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Barely some hours later, your little sleepover with your best friend came to an end. It was time to sleep, even though whenever you said that, you both would start to talk and giggle in the darkness of the night like kids scared to get caught by their parents for not sleeping in time. After some endless laughing and chatting, you finally fell asleep at the poor expense of Satoru that ached to talk more to you. He knew he had to rest. Tomorrow will be a big day at work. Missions, teaching, missions, meetings with the higher ups, missions, paperwork, and then his possible death due to exhaustion. Not like they would let him die easily. Instead, he decides to gaze at your sleeping form. 

In the middle of the night, Satoru liked to stare at you because of how peaceful the world was at this time. Not in a creepy way or another bizarre staring type. No. He liked to gaze at your pretty face and soft breathing. Because in those short moments of solitude in the chaos of his mind, he wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t pretending to be The Strongest, nor he wasn’t having a semi fake persona that was too loud, too obnoxious, too cheerful and too annoying.

No. He was just Satoru. A simple man that loved his best friend maybe too much. Or his heart maybe had a lot of free space, and he decided to occupy it mainly by your presence. 

He liked those moments too because your face was at its calmest. He could freely admire your beauty with the softest gaze he ever had, not afraid to show how much he loved you, how much he craved for you. It simply was only him and himself in this situation. 

Softly, the back of his fingers caress your puffy cheek from the pillow. His lips form somewhat in between a pained smile and a cracked smirk of amusement at your funny face. It was something you never knew. Never knew how softhearted he was for you. How gentle he could brush his skin against yours. How devoted his stare was on you, as if you were the mere reflection of the universe. How weak he was for you. But, a weakness was something he couldn’t afford to show. Not this one, not even to you, maybe even less to himself.

He kisses your hand.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

In the morning, Satoru was already whining and being grumpy about the busy day that was awaiting for him. While you come back from the bathroom after brushing your teeth, you pat his back.

– You can do it. No worries. And in between you and me, we both know you will absolutely skip your meeting and your paperwork this evening. Am I right ?

– ‘Been there, done that, he admits with this stupid grin of his and his insufferable dimples. You chuckle as you go on your tip toes and peck his lips. The kiss was as simple as that. Something fleeting, volatile. A soft press of your lips against his. Just like how he did it yesterday in the afternoon. But Satoru didn’t expect you to take him back on that, resulting in his dumbfounded face while staring at you.

– Be serious for once, you reply and go back to search for your outfit of the day. You ignore him, trying to not crack a laugh. And why not tease him a bit more ? Satoru always changes his clothes in front of you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You quickly got used to it. On the other hand, you never were as comfortable as him to be nude and change like that in front of his eyes. 

Well, all things come to an end. Today is part of one of them.

You take off the pants of your pajamas and switch to the ones you will wear today. Now, your shirt is on the floor, revealing your nude chest. Satoru thought his eyes were playing with him and he accidentally let out an awkward stutter of surprise. You nonchalantly finish putting on clean clothes as you see a glimpse of his red face.

– Hum, nice boobs, lol, ahah, he suddenly says in what is supposed to sound like a laugh while he pats your back in a manly way. You turn around to look at him with your eyebrows raised.

– What the fuck was that ?

– I don’t know, I panicked ! he exclaims dramatically. Wow, you almost never saw him act like that. It was hard to break down the confident persona of this man. Did you manage to embarrass The Gojo Satoru himself ? You smirk.

– You always change in front of me, can’t I now ? you ask a rhetorical question.

– Of course you can. I didn’t expect you to do it, like, this morning ? he defends himself as he rolls his eyes. He grabs his bag that was on the floor of your bedroom.

– You got flashed. Just like when you flashed me your ass last time while you changed in front of me. You know what is worse ? We literally were talking about bakery buns at the same moment  ! you recall as you laugh. He follows you in your laughter and the two of you end up walking towards the entrance of your apartment.

– We both flashed our buns then. But I know you like my ass, yeah ? he teases while waving his eyebrows charmingly as he puts on his shoes and jacket. It was a bit chilly this morning, but the weather will quickly go up and the sun will warm the city.

– I won’t bodyshame you… you whisper in an attempt to taunt him.

– What is that supposed to mean ?! he scoffs as he pauses in the middle of wrapping his black blindfold around his bright blue eyes.

– Nothing, you mutter looking away. For obvious reasons, you were joking. His ass was hot. But you prefer to be mean. He deserved some ego breaking. It was too big after all.

– Forget what I said about you having nice boobs, hmpf ! Satoru huffs as he turns his back to you while opening the door of your place. It was still early, and he always started his day earlier than yours. Meaning that when he came to sleep at your apartment (almost everyday, as if this man was homeless) he was the first one to leave.

–  Are you pouting right now ? you ask while getting closer, your smile getting bigger thanks to the immense amusement you had when mocking your best friend. His face distorts and his lips try to stay in a thin line of anger. 

– Goodbye, y/n, he answers as he steps outside grumpily. 

– Ahahah, you really are pouting !

Before stepping away, he reluctantly turns around and ends up kissing the top of your head. He never missed doing that specific gesture. It was his sign of affection. But, this time, his lips fall chastity right on yours before he slams the door to somewhat show he still was sulking at you. What a baby. 

In the silence of your place after he left, your fingers softly caress the tip of your lips. Savoring once again in your imagination the feeling of his kiss. You started to really like this new habit of his. 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

11 PM. was the hour when your best friend came back to your (kinda his) place. Seemingly, the atmosphere shifted right the moment he stepped inside. His mood was clearly at the lowest. As you were originally sitting on your couch, occupied with reading a book, the moment you stand up to greet him, Satoru is on you. His long arms wrap around your body, the bickering and him being mad at you long forgotten. Soon, his whole figure is leaning against yours like a cocoon. The tip of his nose shifts against your neck, his hair tickling your skin as his face is snuggled in the crook of your shoulder. His blindfold was already on the ground.

– Had a bad day ? you ask softly.

– I need to recharge. Let me stay like this, he mumbles in an exhausted sigh. He smelled like fresh air, a mix of his cologne and rain. You remember it rained one hour ago. Was he out on a mission ? Thinking about it, you hug him as well and in a comforting embrace you bring him to the couch. He directly sank all his body weight on top of yours. Not like you cared, you were long used to him doing that. As long as you would not show any sign of dying because of a lack of oxygen, he would continue to do this for quite forever.

– Feeling better ? you end questioning after some minutes of silence. 

– Not quite, he whispers. He raises his head, blue eyes staring right back at yours. You feel his breath falling against your chin. You don’t say anything when his mouth lands on yours. Tonight, the kiss lasts longer. Maybe because Satoru is tired, and the feeling of your lips brings him enough comfort for him to want to make it longer than a peck. You didn’t mind. It was warm, soft, like the sun caressing your skin on a summer afternoon. 

– Now, it’s better, he says as he puts his head back on your torso. You smile. Even if that new dynamic was new, it was the most natural thing that ever happened in between the two of you. Maybe because your lips always belonged together. You pet his hair as you think about kisses. His kisses.

– Come on, go take a shower. You stink, you lie as you smile playfully at him. He groans while rolling his eyes at your teasing. Satoru reluctantly rises from you, and stretches his sore limbs in a yawn.

– Bitch, I literally smell better than you, he answers as he waves his hands in front of him to show his body as if he was the incarnation of a bottle of perfume. You can’t help but snicker, holding your nose.

– Ewwww, get away from me ! For the love of God, use some soap ! you exclaim as you push him with your free hand. He immediately wraps his arm around you and grabs your cheeks painfully.

– How can you be such a liar and so mean to me at the same time, when you know I had a bad day ? he asks, raising an eyebrow, strengthening his hold on your poor cheeks.

– Having a bad day didn’t stop you from being stinky. Did you shit yourself ? you counter attack, resulting in Satoru laughing loudly and heartedly at your words.

– Remind me to call you if someone tries to bully me, because you are the worst, he sighs while shaking his head in amusement, rubbing the top of your head before walking towards your shower. You can’t help but smile.

– That’s it, go away, you stinky man, you joke. Quickly, you slap his ass to reinforce your need to annoy him. It was like a drug, and Satoru couldn’t say anything about it since he could be way worse than you when it was about being annoying.

He turns around in a swift move to face you after feeling the sting on his butt cheek.

– Oh, you’re not getting away after doing this, y/n, he chuckles in a threatening way. Sensing danger, you intend to run away. Barely two steps towards your safe place, aka your bedroom, he chases after you and catches your body in no time. You yell of surprise and squirm like a lion in a cage, knowing your incoming punishment.

– I’m sorry, go away ! you try to make him step back but that was near impossible. His hold on you was too strong. It was useless.

– What’s wrong y/n, scared that I will hit too hard ? he teases as he whispers in your ear. You shiver head to toe at the feeling of the vibration of his voice against the skin of your neck. He chuckles, while you stare at him.

– I didn’t hit hard. So if you do, we will have a problem Gojo, you answer intimidatingly as you call him by his family name on purpose.

– Wanna finish that on the ring, l/n ? I mean, the ring is your bed, so… he wanders. His dimples show. You take the opportunity to dash away, but he directly grabs you against the wall and slaps your ass. The sound vibrates in the air as you yelp.

– You morron, that hurts ! you exclaim as you nudge his side angrily and face him when he frees your limbs. The first thing you see is his victory smile. Your heart beats harder instantly. 

– No it didn’t, I barely put any force in it. You’re just weak, he justifies himself, shrugging.

–  Yes you did ! you protest pointing at him. He was having fun. You had less fun.

– Dare I say you’re not into spanking, y/n ? he asks innocently.

– Oh fuck off, you retort as you turn around, walking towards your bedroom. At least you weren’t running like earlier.

– Gladly ! Wanna join me ? he counters back.

– Go to shower.

– Wanna join me ? he repeats.

You slam the door of your bedroom.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

– Let’s play roblox, Satoru exclaims for the seventh time in a row. The moment he came back from his shower and jumped on your bed, it was over for you. How could this man still have energy after having such a long and exhausting day ? That was a mystery. You groan as you turn your back to him.

– No, I’m tired. Tomorrow, you briefly answer in a sigh. You shift in a comfortable position. At the same time he leans over you, two arms caging you on the mattress. You sink on the sheets.

– You hate me, he replies.

– No.

– You hate me, he insists, face getting closer to yours.

– Yes I do, you end up saying, rolling your eyes.

– You hate m- wait what ?

– Yes I hate you. Now, if you may… Good night ! you finish your sentence by turning your face towards the wall and closing your eyes. You hear a snort, and then lips fall on your cheek. Soon, teeth join in. Nibbling your skin was apparently Satoru’s favorite thing to do.

– You don’t really hate me, he whispers, more like to reassure himself. His breath falls on your neck and his mouth lands on your ear. More kisses.

– I don’t, but I will if you don’t let me sleep, you whisper back, keeping your eyes closed. 

– I wanted to marry you on roblox. It would be fun, he whines. Now his cheek rests against yours while he snuggles, pouting against your tired body.

– Can we do that on roblox ? you question, sceptical. He moves his body to swallow yours in the most natural way there is.

– I think so. 

– Then let’s get married now, not on roblox, you sigh, hoping that will make him stop bothering you for the rest of the night. He tilts his head, stopping to kiss and nibble your jawline like a dog. He seems thoughtful, and smiles, but then again quickly gets lost in the track of his thoughts.

– Alright. But we don’t have a priest, and I’m not wearing my special smoking. Oh, and the ring-

– Oh my god Satoru, you don’t need all this ! you exclaim, just wanting to sleep.

– Of course I do !

– Gojo Satoru, do you want to be my husband ? Yes, good. Now, l/n y/n do I want to be your wife ? Yes. Now you may kiss the bride ! Yoohoo ! you say quickly to just put an end to it.

Satoru blinks once, realizing what you just said, before grabbing your face and kissing you as quickly as possible. It wasn’t like earlier. It wasn’t as soft, as fleeting. This kiss was full of force, of hunger, despair and craving. It lasts so much longer as well. The moment you part to breathe, the second that follows, he is back on you. Mouth melting against yours. Urgent, needy, full of love and desire. Satoru was dying to kiss you more, and more, and even more.

You giggle at his eagerness, not losing time to even question why he kissed you like you two were long lost lovers. Maybe you were.

– Satoru, you don’t let me sleep ! you chuckle, but it’s quickly swallowed by his lips.

– I want more kisses, he implores, like a child desperately asking for the most precious thing in the world. Begging to have a greedy taste of the succulent flavor of your skin.

Maybe best friends aren’t supposed to kiss like lovers. Satoru would answer that you two weren’t best friends. You were worse. It didn’t matter to have a label for the sake of identifying your relationship with him. As long as he could freely love you, and you as well, it’s all that mattered. All he wanted was to be by your side and to forever lose himself in your lips.

Before kissing you again, he says : 

– Waiter, a cup of kisses please ! 

[mindmelter]

A Better Marcus Than Marcus

It all started when my sister’s boyfriend, Marcus, did a complete 180. The guy used to be your textbook finance bro—straight-laced, all about stocks, cryptos, and protein shakes. He was also the type who’d casually flex his "intellectual superiority" at family dinners like he was the human embodiment of a TED Talk nobody asked for.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned into this fun, carefree dude. He started to grow his hair and beard and constantly walk shirtless, showcasing his unfairly perfect pair of pecs and set of abs. He even tattooed his arm—something I would never expect from him. It wasn’t just a change in style; it was like he had become a totally different person.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Then it hit me—my sister’s ex, Dylan, a scrawny hippie who could’ve been the poster child for essential oils and “love, man” vibes. Dylan and I had gotten along great back in the day, mostly because he shared a little secret with me: a drug. No, not this kind of drug. This stuff could turn anyone into a bodysuit. Yeah, you heard me. One hit of this thing, and you could empty someone out, leaving behind a perfectly usable, skin-tight vessel. Thanks to him, I solved my bullying problem at school by wearing the jock leader's body.

Then, one day, Dylan disappeared from our lives after my sister dumped him. No warning, no goodbye, nothing. I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Fast-forward to tonight. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house, and Marcus is here, all smiles and carefree vibes, making dumb jokes with my parents. It was the perfect chance to test my theory. I waited until everyone was distracted with dessert and pulled Marcus aside to a quiet corner of the house.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

He cocked an eyebrow but followed me. Once we were out of earshot, I didn’t waste any time.

“I know you’re not really Marcus,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know it’s you, Dylan.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough, bro,"

He opened his robe even more to show me his muscular body, looking like he was showing me an outfit and not another man's skin, “Yeah, it’s me. Poor Marcus never saw it coming. Injected this asshole with the stuff after he dropped your sister at your house, and bam! Marcus went to bodysuit city.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ve been living my best life ever since and with the love of my life."

I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised. But hearing it confirmed still left my mouth agape.

"So, what now? You gonna rat me out to your sister? You wouldn't do that to good old Dylan here, would you? Not after I helped you turn your jock bully into a bodysuit. I even helped you out at faking his disappearance, I had to drive to another state to get rid of that bodysuit."

I smirked. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

Dylan—or Marcus, I guess—laughed. “Alright, how about this: I let you enjoy Marcus’s body anytime you want, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

It was a twisted offer, but let’s be real—I’d had a thing for Marcus since day one. The chance to have him, even under these bizarre circumstances, was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, bro,” he replied, shaking my hand. Before we could head upstairs, my sister caught us in the hallway.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Thinking quickly, Dylan—Marcus—flashed his charming smile. “Your brother wanted to show me his collectible…uh…vinyl record collection. Said he’s got some rare finds.”

She bought it. “Wow, bonding over music. Finally. I’m proud of you two. Don't take too long, we're going to have karaoke." She leaned forward to give Marcus a kiss and walked away.

As soon as we were in my room, the facade dropped. I locked the door, and he turned to me, that sly grin back on his face. “Alright, bro,” he said, taking off his already unbuttoned white shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

I immediately pushed him down onto his knees, grabbing a handful of his long hair to assert control. “You’re going to start by sucking me off like a good slut,” I whispered.

His grin widened as he complied, reaching for my pants and pulling them down. His warm mouth quickly wrapped around me, and I let out a satisfied groan as he worked his tongue expertly. Once my cock was slick and throbbing, I pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me.

“Get on the bed, on all fours, now! You're my secret boyfriend slut now,” I ordered. He obeyed, taking off his pants and crawling onto the bed completely naked with his huge ass waiting for me. It was the sight I've been dreaming of ever since my sister introduced Marcus.

I walked over to my desk and turned on some rock music to muffle what was about to happen.

Climbing onto the bed behind him, I gripped his long hair tightly as I positioned myself. Without hesitation, I thrust into him hard, using his hair as leverage. Dylan moaned as I filled Marcus' ass. This wasn't our first time together. When Dylan was wearing my hot bully's body, he let me fuck him as a final revenge before he dumped the bodysuit in another state.

Marcus' back arched, and he let out a muffled moan, the sound drowned out by the loud music. I didn’t let up, pulling his hair like reins as I pounded into him mercilessly.

I leaned down on his back as I filled Dylan's—Marcus' ass with my cum. “You make a better Marcus."

[oopsiedaisydeer]

your butt is the bomb

fluff, awkwardness, friends to lovers?, light flirting, unintentional flirting, banter, miscommunication, teasing, mild sexual innuendo, lighthearted, platonic? feelings, silly

word count - 1.2k

You’re mid-sentence when it happens.

“I just don’t think the moon landing was real,” Chris says, stretching his legs out on the couch in his room. “Like, yeah, sure, space exists or whatever, but you expect me to believe they had the technology to land on the moon in the sixties? People barely had color TV.”

You roll your eyes. “You wouldn’t believe in the moon landing.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “Are you saying you do?”

“I’m saying I’m an innocent until proven guilty kind of girl.”

Chris shakes his head like he’s disappointed in you. “This is ridiculous.”

And then, just as you’re about to throw another sarcastic comment his way, your phone lights up. Noticing its low battery, you roll onto your side on Chris’ bed, plugging it in. Unbeknownst to you, your oversized shirt rides up, exposing your sleep shorts. Chris doesn’t mean for it to happen, but his gaze flickers and then his brow furrows, his head tilting just slightly.

As you turn back around to face him, Chris can’t help but blurt it out.

He clears his throat. “You have a cute butt, you know. Very round, nice, compact-”

You freeze mid-laugh, blinking at him. “Chris, what the actual-” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did he seriously just say that?

The room falls silent. You blink at him, utterly stunned, while he stares back at you like you’re the one who just said something weird. It takes approximately three full seconds for his own words to catch up to him, and when they do, his face shifts into something between mild horror and begrudging realization.

“Oh. Oh, wait-” He holds up a hand. “That sounded kinda-”

“Insane? Wildly inappropriate? Like something I should slap you for?”

Chris huffs, crossing his arms. “It was a compliment!”

“It was about my butt!”

“Yeah, but in, like, a normal way-”

"There is no normal way to say that, Christopher."

Chris huffs, crossing his arms, but his mind is already racing. It was just a compliment, right? He tries to push the weird feeling out of his chest, but it’s there, like something’s stirring under the surface. It was a compliment.

He clears his throat anxiously. “It was a compliment!” he repeats, trying to sound convincing, but the way her eyes narrow at him makes him second-guess himself. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to phrase it… You’re so smooth, Chris. Real smooth.

“Right.”

 “Whatever, man. I was just making an observation. Like, just, you know, being honest.”

“You sound like Jake Peralta right now.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You literally just recreated a classic Peraltiago moment. ‘Your butt is da bomb. There will be no survivors,’ Christopher.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s a compliment. Second of all, your butt is da bomb- wait, no, that sounded worse.”

You sigh dramatically, before an idea comes to you. “First of all, compact? As a compliment? What does that even mean?” you ask, gesturing wildly. “Second of all, if we’re making observations, let’s talk about your butt. Very, uh… symmetrical. Good proportions.”

Chris chokes on air, his Pepsi not even having reached his lips. “What- wait, seriously? Are we doing this?”

“Yeah, I mean, if we’re handing out compliments, it’s only fair” you say, teasing, but also grimacing.

His ears go pink, his voice a little less certain now. “That’s- not the same thing.”

“Oh? So now you see the issue?”

Chris groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle and twisting it in your hands. The moment lingers, Chris still sulking over your lack of appreciation for his totally normal and platonic compliment.

And then, as if to pivot into something equally bizarre, you mumble, “When I couldn’t sleep as a kid, I used to try balancing my water bottle on my forehead.”

Chris lifts his head slightly. “What? Actually?”

“Yeah, like, I’d just be lying in bed, eyes wide open, and I’d think: What if I could balance my water bottle on my forehead for a full minute? Just... to see if I could.”

He stares at you like you’ve just confessed a strange, deeply important secret. “And?”

“I could do it. Didn’t help me sleep though.”

Silence. Then Chris sits up, slow, thoughtful as if he’s considering your childish admission seriously. “You think you could still do it?”

You narrow your eyes, leaning forward just a little. “Are you… challenging me?”

“No, I just don’t think you can do it.” He smiles at her, his tone doubting but playful.

The water bottle is in your hands before he even finishes speaking. You lie down completely, looking up at the ceiling, and carefully place the bottle on the center of your forehead. Chris watches, elbow on the armrest, chin resting against his palm, looking equal parts skeptical and intrigued.

For a few glorious seconds, you think you might actually pull it off. But then Chris stands up and flops on the bed next to you.

“Hey-”

The bottle wobbles once, twice, and then tumbles off your face, and you catch it with your hand. Chris bursts out laughing, practically folding over, and you groan in annoyance. You throw the bottle at him, the movement dramatic, not even trying to aim. It bounces off his shoulder and hits the floor with a soft thud.

“Okay, rude,” he wheezes, still grinning. “Not my fault you have terrible focus.”

You scowl, but you’re smiling too. “Not my fault you say weird things about my butt.”

Chris opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops. Shuts it. Tilts his head.

And then, for the first time since this conversation started, his brain finally catches up.

“Wait. Hold on.” A little crinkle appears above his nose, like a thought is just starting to bloom. He stares at you for a beat longer, eyes flicking back and forth as if he’s sorting through his words. “Did that… what I said before… sound like flirting?”

You blink. “Chris”, you warn.

“No, but, hold on.” He suddenly looks very, very deep in thought. “Because I was just saying it, like, observationally, but now I’m thinking about it, and…”

Your heart skips a beat at the way his voice falters, and you find yourself wondering if you’re just imagining it. Was he really…? You shake your head. No, this is just Chris being Chris, right? You tell yourself, brushing it off.

“Chris, oh my God.” You throw your head back with a groan, smacking his arm before standing up and walking toward his bathroom.

He calls after you, still stuck in the rabbit hole of his own making. “But wait! If I was flirting… hypothetically… would it have worked? Like, actually?”

He says the last part slower, like he’s genuinely trying to piece it all together, his gaze fixed on you.

You call back out to him. “You’re never getting an answer to that!”

Chris stares at the ceiling, groaning internally. He can’t decide if it was the best thing ever or the worst mistake he’d made all week.

They were friends, he reminds himself. But it was just a half-assed attempt to comfort himself as he waited for you to come back.

thank u rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: this is me coming out as a silly girl. let me know if u enjoy!

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner comment if u would like to be tagged in my main (non-au) works!!

[ange1heavensent]

An inch away from more than just friends

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

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

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

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.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

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

[ronearoundblindly]

Cozy

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: After months of 'knowing' Alpine, Steve and Bucky get to see, hear, and touch you, the real you, for the first time.

Warnings for subtlety and incomplete discussions. They're breezing over some of the deeper stuff since everyone is carefully trying to get to know each other. Forgive them their awkwardness...and my lack of editing. I stuck very close to my standard of "IT'S JUST CUTE, FLUFFY PUNS" which is likely a warning at this point. WC 1.3k

“You cold? Hungry? Thirsty?”

His forgiving, light hold anchors you in place like lead. Steve’s warmth is radiant, heavy without mass or malice. Somehow the weight of expectant words has you tongue-tied as he sits up at the ready.

He’s whispering a long list of possibilities. “I could get you some water. Or coffee? Or do you prefer tea? Have you eaten anything since yesterday?” He reaches for the untouched pile of clothes on the table, reminding you to tuck the blanket tighter around your chest. “I should have brought you clothes,” he mutters absently.

“And how would you—“ Bucky grunts and stretches his neck without opening his eyes yet “—pick out clothes for her?”

“I got a good enough look,” Steve says simply and instantly. “It’s…a skill from my stage days.” He shifts out from under your legs, blushing. “Dancers talk about their sizes all the time, so…let me get you that water, babygi—oh god, I’ve—I forgot your—”

Bucky snorts. “Know her bust and hip measurements but not her name, eh, punk? Oh yeah, you’ve got your priorities straight.”

“I’m just trying to be nice!”

“I need coffee,” Bucky groans, standing. “Guess I’m still the only one using their thumbs in this house.”

You playfully slap his leg, and Bucky jumps in faux hurt.

“Yikes, that’s worse than your angry-tail…Everyone want food? Great.”

“I can do it,” Steve rushes to help.

Perhaps because you’ve never spoken a word in this apartment, perhaps because they’ve never expected to hear you speak, perhaps because…they really, really want to make you some sort of drink in a human container, the men leave for the kitchen and continue to argue.

You look around at the bizarre and tiny difference in the room from your new perspective. The couch is large and deep but doesn’t swallow you whole anymore. The coffee table is not at a height you need to prepare for scaling. The plants are—still in need of water. Why can’t Bucky keep these things alive without you?!

Your fingers feel cramped, still clutching the blanket, so you scoop up the pile of clothing, wrap the throw around your back and skitter off to the bathroom, horrified to find there are bits of leaf stuck in your hair from last night. Once you see them, the grit smeared on your skin makes itself known, and you can’t imagine pulling borrowed clothing overtop this mess.

Fast as you can, you’re in the shower, scrubbing, willing yourself to finish using Bucky’s water and his shampoo and his soap, nervous about using resources you hadn’t before and never asked about and wouldn’t have needed one-tenth this amount of just yesterday.

You hum to soothe yourself. It’s why you purred even when Bucky wasn’t home. It never mattered before that you did. Then the humming becomes gentle singings. You thought you were still so quiet.

In total, no reasonable food could be completely cooked in the same stretch you were in the bathroom, but you exit to find both men staring from the other end of the hall.

Steve wears an expression of great admiration.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says with a smile.

Bucky frown, looking down at the sweats he gave you. “We should have let you go shopping, Stage Boy.”

“They’re great. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

Both of them step closer immediately at the first proper words they’ve ever heard from you.

“You’re not a bother, doll,” Bucky insists while Steve blurts, “you look great.”

Bucky flashes his pal ferocious side-eye, something you like to think you taught him over the last few months.

“Cozy,” Steve corrects. “You look cozy. It’s great that you’re cozy.”

All you can manage is a shrug and crossing your arms over your chest, maneuvering around the baggy shirt.

“Breakfast?”

The sizzling of something in a pan wafts to your less-sensitive ears, and the impulse to raise your head and sniff takes you by surprise. You’ll be doing that for days, at least, moving like a cat, and you wonder how stupid it must look to them.

You nod instead of reply and stalk toward the kitchen.

Bucky, however, does nod.

“Good girl,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee and stopping mid-swallow. The gulp is deafening. “Sorry…”

Nobody responds. All three of you exchange glances, but they aren’t familiar with your body language as you so Steve and Bucky just end up staring.

“You know what,” Bucky breaks the silence, “I’m gonna get my part of the debrief out of the way.” He chugs the rest of his mug. “You wanna check that, Steve—“ Bucky ticks his head to the growing aggression of the popping pan “—while I say ‘bye?’”

Steve, though clearly annoyed at the dismissal, steps away.

“You okay if he’s here? Would you rather be alone for a bit?” Bucky watches the last drops of coffee wriggle around.

“No, I…”

It’s weird to want so much from them and yet be so afraid of saying so. Yesterday, you could walk all over them, literally, and now treading on eggshells in the same room seems risky.

“How did you know my name?” you finally whisper.

“Well,” Bucky sighs, “I did think Alpine was a cat—your family cat—which you might come ‘round to find eventually. I kept the photo your father handed out, just in case, but…” and this part he goes very, very quiet for “…I’ve made people go missing. I know what it does to families. I want you to be happy here—or wherever,—it’s just—“

He looks over his shoulder at Steve.

You say it for him. “I can’t be cozy forever if I’m always running away.”

Bucky bites his lip. “Damn. Nat was right. You’re one smart lady.”

“With great hair,” you add on instinct.

His laugh is loud and unguarded.

Bucky plunks his mug down, grabs his keys, and turns to you at his dying chuckle.

“May I?” His arms open for a hug, and you press yourself in like you used to fall with your whole feline weight. Bucky nuzzles into your hair like he used to, too, giving your temple a kiss.

It feels normal though you’ve never felt it this way before.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Bucky warns, releasing you to stand straight. “He’s not usually this…No, he is always like this. Heart on his sleeve. He just wasn’t expecting, ya know, you.”

After a quick peek at this morning’s chef, you hold up your hands.

“No claws, I promise.”

Bucky reiterates that he’ll be back in a few hours. Steve yells a goodbye to his friend and makes his own promise to ‘take care of everything here.’

You creep up beside his spot at the stove.

Steve’s smiling. “And yes, I know that includes the poor plants.”

He watches as you struggle to say a deeply important thing, one you’ve meant to mention since last night even in the throws of shock and arguments. It’s stupid. It seems so stupid, but you have to tell him.

He’s so patient, carefully removing the pan from the heat and waiting.

“I…I don’t mind—I mean, I…like when you call me ‘babygirl.’”

You don’t get the boyish grin you expect. Steve’s smile turns subtle, a small gesture that swells into his body and makes his eyes light up.

His hand finds yours, his thumb petting your smooth skin.

“Okay, it’s time for breakfast, Babygirl, then I’ll water the plants.”

[Next Part: Artist's Discretion]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: This is...all I had strictly planned for this series, so I'm open to more though I've no clue what it would be... Still, I hope you enjoyed!

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[mikeysonly]

About Time - Nagi Seishiro

♡ I’m meeting a boy I’ve liked for a year in a couple weeks so I wrote this one in celebration of that. pray it goes this well for me ㅠㅠ

♡♡♡♡♡

Nagi sat lazily on the couch, phone in one hand and a half eaten bag of chips balanced on his stomach. His roommate, Reo, was pacing in front of him like a stressed out dad.

“She’s staying for a whole week?” Reo asked for the third time, crossing his arms.

“Yeah.” Nagi yawned, tossing a chip in his mouth. “She said she wanted to see me and hang out.”

Reo gave him a flat look. “And you don’t think you should, I don’t know, clean? Maybe look like you’ve seen the sun in the last six months?”

“Hassle,” Nagi mumbled. “She’s coming to see me, not the apartment.”

Reo groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

Before Reo could start lecturing him again, Nagi’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then lazily pushed himself off the couch.

“She’s here,” he said, stretching his bizarrely long limbs.

Reo shook his head. “Good luck, man. Don’t scare her off with your… weird energy.”

He opened the door and there she was. She had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a shy smile on her face.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a once over. “You’re taller than I expected.”

Nagi blinked, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re shorter.”

She dropped her bag by the couch, looking around. This is… about what she expected. Bare walls, random gaming setup, and oh my god, was that an empty ramen cup on the shelf?

“Don’t look too hard,” he said, flopping back onto the couch. “I didn’t clean much… Or at all, really.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know.”

Their week together was exactly what he’d hoped for: lazy and comfortable. They spent most of their time on the couch, eating junk food and swapping stories.

“Do you ever leave the apartment?” she asked one day, sprawled out beside him while shoveling golden oreos into her mouth.

“Not unless I have to,” he replied, eyes half closed.

She poked his cheek. “You’re a disaster.”

“And you’re enabling me,” he said, catching her hand and holding it still.

Her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t pull away. “Maybe I like disasters.”

“Guess that makes us a good match.”

When the week finally came to an end, and she was packing up to leave, Nagi stopped for a moment.

“You’ll come back, right?” he asked softly.

She grinned, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “If I don’t, who’s gonna make fun of how lazy you are?”

He didn’t smile often, but this time, he did. “Guess I’ll have to wait, then.”

“Guess so,” she teased.

Maybe effort wasn’t so bad when it was for her.

[imstillalexcomic]

WILL YOU PLEASE ANSWER A VERY IMPORTANT LIFE ALTERING QUESTION ⁉️⁉️

Does dress go spinny?💃

Right now, I don't even spinny when I'm totally home alone.  I almost never went to school dances (went to fencing club the night of prom, for example), so... yeah, I'm not a spinner...

While spinning might not be in my playbook, that doesn't mean that it'll be that way forever!  I'm certainly comfortable in who I am socially, but there are aspects of my body that keep me from even desiring to--------------

---

---ok, change of plans here.  Or… change of plans to the change of plans.  Initially I wanted to respond to this question with a drawing of me indeed going spinny...

...but I realized that that didn't feel natural to me, I genuinely don't want to go spinny, at least right now.  So I made the panels above as the answer.  A little bit silly, a little bit self reflective, a little bit hopeful...

The sentence I was typing before the ----------- was going to be something like, "I'm certainly comfortable in who I am socially, but there are aspects of my body that keep me from even desiring to go spinny.”

The first half of that sentence felt totally familiar, but then the second half just began to fall out of me.  I didn’t expect it to flow so easily. 

Part of my questioning journey as I got into my late teens was that while I definitely wished I was a girl, I was “ok” with being a boy.  Like, I was bummed that I didn’t get the starting roll I wanted, but it’s not like I couldn’t make being a boy work.  There were plenty of “boy” things that I liked, and I just started to own the non-traditionally male things I liked too.  I didn’t hide my interests, I was up front about them.  NFL Football?  Love it.�� Computer nerd?  Love that too.  Camera gear junkie?  Yup, also love that.  Getting crazy fit and going to the gym for four hours a day?  Even did that too!

The more I opened up to the fact that I didn’t have to pigeonhole myself into certain “approved groupings” of interests, the more I was enjoying life. 

I didn’t let my gender dictate what I could or couldn’t enjoy, nor would I let myself be embarrassed by the things I enjoyed.  I like the stuff I like and so long as no one is hurting anyone, we should all support each other’s interests, even if we don’t get them.

My decision to start my transition was largely the same.  “I’m a girl inside, so just like me owning everything else I do, let’s own this and start HRT.” 

Dysphoria was never a driving force for me.  But now, just now, typing out that there are aspects of my body that do keep me from doing certain things, typing it out so effortlessly that I didn’t even realize what I had written and when I had, its significance forced me to stop what I was doing and rethink my position a little.

I decided to transition because I am a girl and want my outside to reflect that… but I guess the dysphoria was there all along and I wasn’t paying attention.  It’s bizarre to have missed so glaringly obvious a feeling that I’ve had my whole life, but here we are. 

All because dress go spinny.

Mine still doesn’t right now (nor do I even have a dress), but once it does, I’ll be sure to let you all know.

I’m excited for that day to come.

[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

[blacktofade]

Etho calling gem to say sorry about calling her "homely" in the REPO gaming, it develops into a confession

I slipped and wrote a thing.

---

Gem’s barely ended her stream and closed out of Steam when her Discord starts to jingle with an incoming call.

In all honesty, out of everyone, she expects it to be Grian. Probably still wide awake, needing someone to annoy as he gets ready for bed. But she blinks at the name on her screen.

“Did you misclick?” she asks as she answers the call.

“What?” Etho says with obvious confusion in his voice. “No, I meant to call you.”

She stares at the screen, brows pulling down into a frown. She’s worked with him for years, but she’s still no closer to understanding anything about him — including why he’d feel the need to call her right now.

“Were you missing me?” she asks. “It’s been a whole thirty seconds since we last spoke.”

“I — no,” Etho says with a barely-there laugh. “I just — ”

She doesn’t interrupt, letting the silence stretch as she waits for an explanation from him, knowing he has to crack eventually.

“I didn’t know that’s what it meant,” he says abruptly, and Gem blinks.

“What?”

“Homely,” he clarifies. “I looked it up after everyone — I don’t think you’re ugly.”

There’s a tightness forming in her stomach, a knot of anxiety that grows with every word Etho says.

She waits an extra beat before saying, “Okay?”

“That’s why I called,” he continues, and then falls silent, letting her turn over the words in her mind.

“You called to tell me you don’t think I’m ugly.”

“Yeah, you — I don’t think you’re homely.”

It’s one of the most bizarre interactions she’s ever had with him. Including the time he flat out asked her in the middle of a Hermit Meeting what an ethogirl was. And she’d had to explain the concept to him in front of twenty of her much older peers.

“Thank you?” she replies, adjusting her mic, staring at where his icon flickers, picking up sounds — maybe his breathing — though she can’t hear anything. “You could’ve just said that earlier.”

“I didn’t want to make the game awkward.”

He doesn’t offer anything more than that and Gem purses her lips.

“So, this is an apology,” she says and there’s a long beat where he doesn’t answer, like maybe he nods before realizing she can’t see.

“Yeah. I thought — ” Etho could probably explain his thought process until he’s blue in the face and she still wouldn’t get it. “ — to clear the air.”

“There wasn’t really anything in the air,” she tells him. “I didn’t take it personally.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You sounded upset.”

“I was surprised,” Gem admits. “I expected it from Skizz, but not you.”

She laughs, but he doesn’t follow suit, and it feels like she needs to offer him an olive branch.

“Say the magic words,” she tells him, “and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

She wants to hear him say I’m sorry. She could be the first person ever to get a genuine apology from Etho and she’s not going to miss the opportunity.

“Magic words,” he echoes, and she finds a little joy in watching him struggle to understand.

“Those two little words,” she encourages. “I want to hear you say them.”

There’s a heavy silence from Etho’s end of the call.

“What?”

His voice is weaker, not as boisterous as it usually gets when he’s joking around, trying to rile her up. He’s struggling to keep up, losing her line of logic.

“We were just talking about it,” she presses. “I want to hear you say it. Just for me. No one else has to know.”

She smiles as she hears him pull in a heavy breath, and it’s clear he’s overthinking — whatever it is that’s buzzing around in his mind, he’s twisting it into knots.

“I — ” he starts and then stops. “You’re hot.”

He says it in a rush, almost too quick for her to decipher the words, but then she freezes.

“What?”

“If I’d known what homely meant, I wouldn’t have said it,” he carries on. “But I think — you’re very attractive, Gem.”

Silence fills the space between them and in the corner of her screen, she sees the time tick up by another minute.

“Are you still there?” he asks eventually and Gem finally blinks.

“I meant I’m sorry,” she says with a heavy exhale, her whole face burning as her hands clutch at the edge of her desk. “The two words: I’m and sorry. I wanted to be the first to get an Etho apology.”

She draws in a ragged breath and the silence grows heavy again.

She has no idea what to do with the information, and she’s not sure what’s worse — Etho thinking she’s plain, or Etho thinking she’s hot.

“I — I’m sorry,” he says and she hiccups out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh my god. It’s a little late to say it now, Etho,” she tells him. “I actually think I need another one.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he sounds so earnest that Gem can’t even make fun of him for it. “I didn’t — I thought — ”

He’s going to tangle himself in his own thoughts and find a way to never talk to her again if she’s not careful.

“You thought I was asking — why would the magic words ever be you're hot?”

“I don't know,” Etho starts. “I — are you mad?”

“No,” Gem says quickly, and it's the truth.

The EthosLab just admitted to thinking she's hot. She's not mad at all.

“I think it's a little unfair,” she tells him, taking a breath, and he pauses.

“Why unfair?”

She adjusts her mic again out of habit.

“I don't know what you look like,” she says, “so I can't comment on your appearance at all.”

“Oh,” he replies carefully. “Maybe that's for the best.”

“Are you homely, Etho?” she asks, unable to stop her smile, and she knows he must hear it in her voice because he lets out a breath that's almost a laugh.

“I think I deserve that one,” he tells her gently, and Gem's smile widens.

“I think so,” she agrees. “Though you could always prove me wrong.”

She's pushing at boundaries she never would normally, but she has a feeling his guilt is eating him up inside and that always tends to work in her favor.

“I don't think I could.”

“Still camera shy?” she asks and Etho lets out a breath.

“No, I could show you my face, I just don't think it would prove you wrong.”

She laughs outright, head tipping back, and after a beat, he joins her with his own familiar, breathy laugh.

“That's better than any apology,” she tells him when she finally collects herself again and he hums quietly, not quite an agreement.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and his tone is even and careful — he means it.

“I know, Etho,” she sighs. “Thanks.”

It falls quiet between them, the silence not as awkward as before, but when Etho doesn't try to break it, she knows she has to.

“I appreciate the confidence boost,” she tells him, “but I actually do need to go to bed.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and then after a beat, adds, “Sleep well.”

She can't quite keep the smile out of her voice when she says, “Goodnight, Etho.”

She ends the call, quickly logging out and turning off her computer before anyone else can think to message her. She's had enough surprises for one day.

When her monitor finally goes dark, she leans back in her chair, blowing out a heavy breath.

Her cheeks are still hot with her flush when she brings her hands up to her face, and she can't help but let out a laugh, high-pitched and slightly manic.

Etho thinks she's hot.

She'll be riding that high for a long while.

Carefully, she pushes herself to her feet, stretching out the aches from sitting for so long, and on her desk, her phone dings quietly.

For a moment, she thinks seriously about switching it off, too. But with a sigh, she grabs it and opens her notifications.

It's a DM from Etho on Discord.

“One apology was enough,” she mutters to herself, wondering if he's decided she needs it in writing too.

But then the message opens and she realizes it's not another apology; it's a photo. A photo that's been marked as a spoiler.

Gem's stomach flips as she stares, but after a second, she taps the screen to clear the filter.

It's dark and blurry as hell, but there's no doubt it's a man's face.

Etho's face.

As she stares, their chat shifts and a new message from Etho appears.

Homely? he asks, and Gem's jaw drops.

[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.

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Hello! I have a request. Can I have some head canons about how La Squadra would react if you were disrespected by someone? Let’s say their s/o (preferably female) works at a cafe or restaurant and a rude customer throws the money at her, completely expecting her to pick up the bill from the floor (yes, that is a real experience I’ve had, unfortunately).

How would they react? What would they do afterwards or say?

Would really, REALLY appreciate it. Honestly, I wish someone had stood up for me back then.

Author’s note: Hey hey~

Thanks for the request~

Sorry no one stood up for you, what happened to human decency?

And I can totally relate, the entitlement of people is insane. Two days in to my very first job as a cashier I had a customer say some really atrociously awful things to me and I just took it because I didn’t know what else to do and afterwards my managers told me I should’ve called them wow. Like my manager literally wouldn’t repeat what the customer had said because it was so abhorrently inappropriate and disgusting.

So yeah. Respect employees, we’re all human beings here it’s literally so easy to Not be insanely rude.

Interestingly enough I actually had some thoughts on this written in my personal La Squadra notes, particularly in regard to Prosciutto since he gives me lots of thoughts about stuff similar to that, cool that I get to address that heh.

-La Squadra x female reader: When someone disrespects you

Content, PLZ READ: female reader who works as a waitress, discussion of unhealthy and toxic masculinity paired with sexism (Prosciutto), La Squadra is a group of (mostly) pretty aggressive men who act on that feeling so. Some canon compliant aggression, threats, violence and blood. They’re a group of assassins so Lots of Bad men doing bad things. Melone’s slightly perverse tendencies

Various scenarios involving rude customers, including the example in the ask.

Established relationship: dating/married depending on the character

Ok while writing this it’s finally really hitting me how bizarre it’d be to be a non stand user witnessing or experiencing a stand attack-

Reader is aware of stands and that her La Squadra man is a member of the Mafia

And attempts at Italian hopefully it’s correct but if not please lemme know!

Micro fics style

-Formaggio: Out of all the members of La Squadra he’s noticeably much more chill and relaxed than the others. But he’s still a proud member of the Italian Mafia. And you’re his girl. He’s no knight in shining armor or Prince Charming for you, he won’t intervene when there’s an occasional irritable customer giving you a bit of a hard time. He knows you can take care of yourself.

However, if some entitled customer has the audacity to go too far and say or do something Really disrespectful while he’s around, I think he has a preference for good old-fashioned humiliation, and only results to intimidation if they decide they wanna keep making a fool of themselves.

He plays it up like: “ooh, hey, if you wanted that pretty lady’s attention there are much better ways to get it, buddy.”

You don’t have to add anything. You resume work quietly, but keep your eyes and ears focused on him, in case he decided to get carried away.

After a little bit of back and forth with him using his usual coolness and charisma, the offender gets increasingly frustrated and flustered.

When your boyfriend’s finally had enough of this stupid game he stands up from his table. His playfully mocking expression remains, but his smirk shifts ever so slightly into something more sinister. “If you want we could just take this outside,” he says it so casually, with the tone of a man who wasn’t going to hold back if it actually did escalate into a fight. He was not bluffing at all either.

At full height and with the clear confidence that he was absolutely gonna win the fight, the rude customer wisely decides Formaggio was Not someone he wanted to mess with and awkwardly leaves the restaurant, Formaggio loudly exclaiming taunts as the guy skittered away with his tail between his legs.

He seems awfully pleased with himself after “defending your honor” like that. You let him enjoy that feeling, because honestly that was pretty well done and it didn’t get too ugly. He has some nerve expecting a bunch of praise from you for that though.

-Illuso: Someone saying or doing something rude to you is like insulting him as well. And his stand is uniquely qualified for an entertaining punishment against some arrogant idiot giving you a difficult time.

Illuso doesn’t say anything, but when you look over at him while some jerk is screaming his head off at you like it’s your fault his food took five minutes longer than usual to arrive, you see that he’s pretending to fix up his appearance in a fancy compact mirror you had gifted him on your one year anniversary.

You can tell immediately he’s actually angling it at the guy screaming at you so he can activate Man in the Mirror. You inwardly groan because honestly you welcome your husband’s interference, but it will be difficult to explain a man magically disappearing in the middle of a restaurant, especially while he’s causing such a scene with that excessive screeching.

All of a sudden…silence. Such a sudden silence that the sound of Illuso clasping his mirror shut is audible to you from where you’re standing. Of course all the customers were looking at that guy who was freaking out at you. And he literally vanished before their eyes. So you do the only thing you can think of and spread your arms in an exaggerated manner and go: “Ta-DAAAH~” like the supernatural disappearance was just a magic trick.

In a rather weak attempt to sell it, Illuso starts slowly clapping for you and commenting: “molto bene~”. You can’t muster an annoyed glare at him; the slight smile tugging at your lips gave you away. A few customers join him in clapping, a bit confused, but honesty just glad that the yelling has stopped.

Illuso’s version of torment is to leave the guy completely alone in the mirror world. Confusion combined with isolation is a cruel combination, and given his captor was Illuso who was absolutely bound to prolong the punishment because of his sadistic tendencies, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

“Make sure you let him go by this evening,” you remind him before you get back to work.

“Let who go, dearie?” he says, his acting pathetically bad.

Sigh. So he was going to play it that way…

“I’m serious,” you grumble.

“Me too.”

You meet his eyes at that remark, and his smug smirk tells you he wants to see if you’ll keep nagging him about it.

When you don’t indulge him he’ll get bored and let the guy go. Hopefully that brat learned a lesson. And if not, at least he has a story literally no one will believe.

-Prosciutto: Despite not being a very nice man to you, he’s got that ridiculous belief that only he’s allowed to be harsh to you. It’s “tough love” when he’s hyper critical of you or snaps at you for something small, but if anyone else does it to an excessive degree then it’s apparently unacceptable, rude behavior. Really it’s just his pride as a man and unhealthy view of masculinity that causes him to freak out when you’re disrespected. He’s your fiancé…By his logic, you need him to protect you, and it’s his job as a man to do so.

He’s a big hypocrite.

But at least he stands up for you.

You could usually feel Prosciutto watching when a customer started to get a little ornery with you. He wouldn’t always step in, unless something he deemed entirely disrespectful was said or done; he does think dealing with irritable people is okay for you until they get carried away.

It looked like he wasn’t going to intervene this time over the dirtbag being extraordinarily picky and fussy with you, just because he liked bossing essential workers around apparently. Prosciutto was listening, as usual, but didn’t seem too concerned, drinking his coffee disinterestedly. Until the customer decided to toss a crumpled up napkin at you when you turned around.

Ohhh boy, you didn’t even have to LOOK to know the coffee mug getting slammed down on a table was Prosciutto.

You debate what you should do. He strides past you, and you opt to just…hold still and listen for a moment. Pretend you don’t know him, and let him do whatever it is he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess what it is).

Despite all the tough talk he was doing before, that customer couldn’t hide the slight panic in his voice at Proscuitto’s sudden approach.

Unlike a lot of Passione members who preferred to hide their affiliation to the mafia, Prosciutto wasn’t nearly as subtle with that tailored suit, open shirt and the demeanor of a man who’s killed before and will kill again.

“Hey who the hell do you think you are?! Stay away from m-” the jerk’s nervous ranting is cut off by Prosciutto dragging him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You dropped something,” Prosciutto says in that certain tone you’ve grown all too familiar with. He uses it often when he’s pissed off or teaching a lesson or both at the same time.

Before the man can even squeak out the beginnings of some sort of excuse or counter he’s gagging, and you turn around to stop Prosciutto from straight up choking the guy by shoving the same napkin he tossed at you down his throat, speaking about how disgustingly disrespectful it was to throw anything at a woman.

“Hey, I think he gets it,” you cut in.

You wonder if he’s actually gonna listen to you this time. For a moment it seems like he might ignore you and continue the lesson. But he decides you may have a point and that he’s not worth the trouble. Though it doesn’t stop him from roughly shoving the guy to the ground when he lets go of his shirt.

“Make sure you add an apology when you pay the check,” he says to the sniveling man on the floor desperately telling himself not to make a run for it like a coward now that Prosciutto’s back was turned.

You don’t know whether to smile or roll your eyes, knowing all your fiancé meant was that he better leave you a generous tip as compensation for such disrespectful behavior.

“Go smoke outside,” is all you say to him when you see Prosciutto reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket. He smoked when he was especially irritated; so he went through a lot of cigarettes. He waves his hand dismissively at you, but obeys and goes outside. Though he stays close to the entrance. He’s making it clear he’s not leaving til you’re getting paid well for all that trouble.

The guy ended up practically handing his wallet to you.

Prosciutto internally checks off his: do one good thing for his fiancée today mission.

-Pesci: He’s not the most confrontational of La Squadra, and there’s no love lost between the murderous members of the team beyond a mild respect for each other’s strength (and that’s only sometimes) but he’s more than familiar with how most of the other assassins handle disrespect or things they don’t like in public with violence and aggression (hard glares at Ghiaccio and Prosciutto in particular). And that usually results in them getting asked to leave the premises, how embarrassing-

He doesn’t want to embarrass you either when a particularly volatile customer started screaming at you and freaking out for no valid reason. But he can’t just sit there and let you take that kind of abuse either.

He tries to excuse you from the situation by calling you over to his table like he was a customer and it was something urgent. And well…it might just escalate the irritation of that insufferable jerk screaming at you but…

You go to Pesci anyways, opting to just ignore the jerk, pretending to be busy dealing with some made up issue Pesci was improvising.

To your surprise it actually kinda worked. The guy was steaming for a bit and yelling at you from his table but. You just ignored him. And if anything actually happened Pesci was 100% capable of handling it if he had to. He didn’t usually try to start fights, but if pushed he could absolutely finish them.

“Do you usually get customers like that?” Pesci asks with genuine concern in his voice once the guy finally gets mad enough to leave (without paying but that was a problem for later).

“Well…” more often than someone who doesn’t work in food service would think…

“Sometimes,” you admit vaguely, not wanting to worry him but not wanting to lie either.

He thinks you should find some different job, not that he’s actually in a position to suggest that given he’s literally a La Squadra assassin. And you’ve heard from the few times you’ve met with his coworkers that the money they make in the business of murder is minuscule all things considered. Honestly he should get a new job too. One that didn’t rely on the occasional commission and splitting a check with eight other people.

You both know it’s not that easy to just Find a new job. And he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to suggest you get more involved in Passione for quick but dirty money…sigh…no easy solution…

-Melone: Your boyfriend was the least confrontational man in La Squadra.

Usually you encourage him to not visit you at work…because he always stares at you in such a manner that your coworkers or customers sometimes warn you about a creep in the corner booth who’s been watching you for a while.

As someone who’s used to being yelled at (though only because he’s the one being a FREAK so it doesn’t Really count) he’s sure you can handle the occasional ornery customer who decided to raise their voice at you. He usually intervened only if you directly requested it, because more often than not you got annoyed at him for worming his way into your other problems. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when he’s typing on his laptop at the restaurant you work at and someone starts destructively causing a scene all because you brought them the wrong brand of soda by accident. It’s been a long day, you’re tired, you’re working the evening shift and the restaurant’s about to close. So you don’t bother to try and appease this guy, you know he’ll just complain and give you a hard time no matter what you do. And he apparently took your: “I’m sorry, let me grab you the right one,” as disingenuous and insulting, because you didn’t call him “Sir”. You really don’t feel like dealing with this, and you’re about to just let it go until he has the audacity to knock the soda off the table and onto the floor, staining the floor and even getting soda all over your shoes.

God…just to humiliate you over something small-you find yourself quietly staring at the floor for a moment, trying to register what you should even do…bend over right now to try to salvage your shoes before the soda dried? You had napkins in your pocket. But then the damn customer won…

And you know Melone was watching everything. He’s so invested that he’s stopped typing.

Melone’s no gentleman, and has no shame, but he can’t just let someone get away completely with disrespecting his girlfriend…especially given he had bought those cute shoes for you!

You can only mumble Melone’s name quietly when he approaches the situation, his demeanor energized despite how late it was. You weren’t gonna deny him stepping in but saying his name was a warning not to be too weird.

He clicks his tongue, making a point to not even look at the jerky customer, like he wasn’t there, and focuses all his attention on you.

“You know those shoes weren’t cheap, tesoro mio,” he chides playfully, immediately plucking off some napkins from the customer’s table and kneeling in front of you so he can wipe your shoes clean himself.

You bite your lip. It might seem gentlemanly to onlookers, but you knew he was also using the opportunity to get close to your legs in public. But he manages to behave himself, even putting a few napkins over the spill on the floor once he’s done with your shoes.

When he finally stands back up, he makes a point of leaning very close with an especially devious look on his face.

“What a shame,” he says in a strangely exaggerated tone. “I think I’ll have to buy you a new pair of shoes…”

You just give him a confused look after reminding him you’re on the clock when he leans in for a kiss.

Then he wanders off. But at least he distracted the customer enough to dampen the worst of the disrespectful behavior.

You finish your shift. Melone was waiting for you outside with his motorcycle, as he’s your ride back to your shared apartment.

He looks especially pleased with himself.

“What’d you do this time?” you sigh and yawn, too tired to feel especially concerned with whatever he might’ve done.

“Your next pair of shoes is going to be Especially nice…I’ll even get you a pretty dress to go with them~” he licks his lips.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, you finally notice the wallet that he’s holding up. It isn’t his.

His little kneeling act by the table with the rude customer apparently had many purposes…your boyfriend really was quite a sly opportunist…

“Melone…” you were gonna chide him gently for taking the guy’s Entire wallet but…it was too late to start arguing with him, given he was your ride home. And you didn’t care too much about it in the first place, especially right now.

-Ghiaccio: Everything ticks him off so when you’re working you don’t mind if he doesn’t bother to stop by and say hi even when he’s in the area. He tends to get worked up about something minuscule even during quick visits. And your restaurant is quite popular with tourists, who he has a borderline obsessive type of hatred for. Yeah. You were okay with him NOT visiting you while you were working because inevitably one day he was gonna cause quite a scene-

You feel a very ironic cold shiver down your spine when you catch sight of a familiar red Mazda Miata going way too fast in the parking lot looking for a space to park.

“Dios mio…I don’t need this today…” you mumble to yourself, not realizing a particularly entitled customer was watching you act distracted for a moment by looking at a car from the window.

When you get to his table, you don’t really know what he’s yapping about when he says waitresses these days are SO ditzy and aren’t properly trained. You’re not listening too hard because you’re watching Ghiaccio walk past the window on his way into the restaurant. He gives you an acknowledging glance when he spots you, and it pisses off the customer even more because now he’s complaining about how completely unprofessional it was that you invited your boyfriend into the restaurant while you were working. You have no idea where this guy is even getting all these assumptions, or what was even so terribly wrong with the scenario he’s making up, so you don’t pay it much attention and just brush it off as the customer’s eccentric personality trait.

Until he says that if you were going to be disrespectful by inviting your boyfriend to work, you might as well look busy.

What a freaking idiot, waiting for Ghiaccio to walk in to the restaurant before literally throwing the money for his meal at you, completely expecting you to pick up all the bills.

Ghiaccio doesn’t even need to know the context to react (though it’s probably for the best he didn’t hear what started it because it’d just piss him off even more).

“Hey, hey, hey…” Ghiaccio’s voice from the entrance can be heard from half way inside the restaurant. “If you meant to give the money to her, it’d be MUCH more efficient for both of you if you just HANDED it to her, you freaking moron-“

Oh God, here we go…Ghiaccio wasn’t screaming quite at full volume as he speed walked to where you were standing, his hands twitching slightly, either oblivious or simply ignoring all the customers exchanging nervous glances as they watched him. He has to be literally the WORST AND the EASIEST member of his entire team to piss off…and when he got like this he sometimes didn’t even listen to you.

The customer glares at him, and dares to open his mouth to respond, but Ghiaccio’s rant wasn’t over and it just pisses him off even more to see the guy had the audacity to try and interrupt him.

“Ghia, hey-”

Yeah he was definitely not gonna listen to your attempt to calm him down. You wonder if he even heard you because he grabbed the guy by the back of the head while you were talking.

“IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY DAMN SENSE WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT! I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT OF THROWING MONEY ALL OVER THE GROUND?! YOU JUST GET OFF WATCHING HER WASTE A BUNCH OF TIME PICKING THAT ALL UP?!”

Was he…more pissed about the illogical nature of the behavior or the fact that you were being disrespected…?…It’s kinda hard to tell…this ornery yapper on even more ornery yapper violence was Quite a scene this early in the morning…

“DON’T YOU HAVE A LIFE, IDIOT? OR DID YOU GO OUT JUST TO KILL TIME BY POINTLESSLY INCONVENIENCING A WAITRESS?! YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE BUT SHE’S GOT AN ACTUAL JOB TO DO AND DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO PLAY 52 CARD PICKUP WITH ENTITLED JERKS LIKE YOU!”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that most people would be mortified to watch their boyfriend completely lose it like this in public, you’re so used to it at this point; you’re thinking about how it’s a bit hypocritical of him given how you’ve witnessed him Also going off on a poor server for nothing.

“GHIACCIO!” you finally make yourself shout, reaching out and grabbing the wrist of the arm he was using to hold the panicking rude customer by the back of the head.

You know Ghiaccio. He was about to slam that man’s head on the table.

“WHAT?!” he snaps, but when he whips his head, you can tell the raging blizzard of his soul wavered just a bit when he looked at you.

“Don’t…you’ll break the table, they’re flimsy…”

His physical strength always astounded you, given he wasn’t particularly large, and he wasn’t even resisting your hand on his wrist but you could still feel the power in his arm. “You already made your point…” you whisper, worried about getting in trouble for the scene he was causing.

“BUT-“

“Thank you, it’s okay…”

He REALLY has to debate it, but reluctantly releases the man with an irritated huff and an audible growl. Such a lucky guy…you were one of the few people who could get Ghiaccio to think before taking something too far.

“Is your shift almost over?” he asks, clearly still incredibly irritated, tapping his foot rapidly against the ground.

“About fifteen minutes to go.” You glance at the trembling rude customer, gazing wide eyed and flinching every time Ghiaccio moved in any way.

He checks his watch and the customer climbs further into the booth out of fear of the simple gesture, but Ghiaccio is forcing himself not to pay him any mind.

“I’ll wait for you in the car then.”

“Alright.”

As long as he left the restaurant…

Now everyone knew he was definitely with you in some capacity…damn.

He sends a pointed glare to a couple of the customers on the way out. A “gentle reminder” to keep manners in mind.

And when you give the rude customer one last look, you see he’s on the ground picking up the money he had tossed at you.

He’s trembling a bit. Probably from fear of Ghiaccio changing his mind and coming back to actually break his face. But he’s probably a bit cold too, just from coming into physical contact with Ghiaccio could leave anyone with a chill if he partly activated his stand while touching someone.

You really needed to have a chat with him about his temper but as the previously inconsiderate customer blubbers out apologies and begs you to protect him from your scary boyfriend while shoving the money (and a generous tip) directly into your hands you hesitantly decide today is not the day.

-Risotto Nero: He doesn’t go out in public often, but minus the whole “leader of an assassination division in the mafia with a truly frightening appearance” he’s a pretty normal guy. Keeps to himself and stoic, but he can hold a conversation. You’re fine with him not visiting you at work often, you get that he’s super busy, but when he does stop by you’re glad to see him (and he doesn’t cause any scenes. Bonus points for Risotto).

It was a slow morning for you, and he had finished an early morning mission earlier than he had expected. He even checked to make sure the diner you worked at wasn’t busy before he decided to stop in and see you.

Your face lights up when you see him, running over to him and giving him a quick hug, and bringing him a small cup of coffee on the house, allowing yourself a brief moment of respite to speak with your boyfriend. It wasn’t busy yet…there were only two other customers, but it was just your luck that one of them woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to come over and give you a hard time for taking a moment to spend with Risotto.

“Does your boss pay you to flirt with customers?”

You can’t even believe someone really came over just to say that to you. You weren’t even sitting down to talk to Risotto, and it’s not like you were being loud or obnoxious or anything.

“She’s doing her job,” Risotto points out with that signature stoic nature. The guy seems slightly put off by Risotto’s unique appearance, but was apparently in a bad enough mood to not back down so easily.

“If she was doing her job she’d be bringing me a refill and not wasting her time chatting with a guy she already served,” he points out indignantly. What an insane level of entitlement…Risotto seemed to think the same thing, though he wasn’t a fan of escalating things.

But this guy…he had some audacity talking to you like that.

Risotto puts his hands on the table, and stands up slowly, deliberately, to his full height, tilting his head slightly to better look the smaller man in the eyes.

“She’s just being polite,” Risotto corrects the man. His voice is still calm, but his speaking speed is Slightly slower. Paired with him purposefully emphasizing his full height, the warning that he wasn’t going to stay civil for much longer was clear.

The unwanted visitor inwardly debates for a moment, visibly shaken from Risotto’s intimidation but absolutely too embarrassed to just back off now.

He foolishly decides to keep going.

“She-” he’s cut off by an almost explosive gush of blood coming out of his own nose. You gasp at the suddenness, but instantly realize what’s happening. He slams his hand over his nose, the blood not stopping that easily, almost immediately leaking through his fingers.

“Oh…” Risotto remarks with obviously fake concern, leaning in as if he were examining the “mysterious” nosebleed. “You’d better take care of that before you get blood all over the place…” he states the obvious with complete unconcern.

It was admittedly a bit funny to watch that jerk sprint to the restroom clutching his bloody nose.

There is a minuscule tug to the edges of Risotto’s lips.

“Risotto! Sudden unexplainable nosebleeds aren’t funny at all,” you chide, despite not feeling an ounce of pity. It’s not like Risotto was trying to kill that guy, if he was he would be bleeding out on the ground right now. The goal was just to embarrass him a bit, and he definitely succeeded.

“I think that was just a suitable divine punishment,” Risotto replies with a shrug, as if his stand, Metallica, had nothing to do with it. It’s subtle but…you can tell he’s irritated someone really had that kind of nerve to bother you for no reason. But you won’t let it ruin his whole day, reminding him that you got off work early today and you’ve been really excited to finally have some free time to spend with him.

Author’s closing note: I hope this could bring you some entertainment~it was enjoyable to write and consider how a few of them could use their stands to mess with people but wow I was being sent back to my first job on occasion with some of these customer characters, sheesh-

[mamiobesssionfics]

Of Kicks and Kisses

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: After joining a pregnancy program, you find yourself expecting a baby and Rhea is all in.

Rhea read the email three times before looking up at you with eyes wide like you’d just handed her the universe. "So you're... pregnant?"

You nodded slowly, nervously, watching her lips part in stunned silence before she pulled you into her arms, burying her face in your neck.

"I can’t believe it," she whispered, voice cracking. "We’re going to be parents."

It started with a program, the kind for women wanting to become mothers through donor insemination.

You’d talked about it, dreamed about it, but nothing compared to the reality. That little plus sign changed everything. And from the very first moment, Rhea was all in.

The morning sickness hit like a truck.

You were curled up in the bathroom, head in your hands, groaning as your stomach twisted again. Rhea sat beside you on the cold floor, rubbing slow circles into your back.

“I swear to God, if I could fight the nausea for you, I would.”

You chuckled between gags. “You’d body slam the hormones?”

“Hell yeah. Toss ‘em out the ring.” She kissed your temple, warm and steady. “But since I can’t… ginger tea?”

You nodded weakly.

She was up in seconds, already memorising what calmed your stomach. Saltines, ice water, cold washcloths, and playlists of soothing music. You didn’t even have to ask.

Even though she travelled for work, she made time. Video calls where she’d rub the screen like she could reach through. Voice messages at 3 AM. Little gifts: stretchy leggings, cherry-scented lotion, a hoodie that smelled like her.

“I miss you,” she’d say.

“I’m huge,” you’d pout.

“You’re perfect. And so is our little bean.”

The cravings were weird.

Pickles and marshmallows. Ice chips dipped in fruit syrup. Fried rice with chocolate.

You were constantly apologising.

But Rhea? She loved it.

She’d show up with bags of snacks, dramatic as always. “For my glowing goddess and her bizarre spawn.”

One night, you were half-asleep when she whispered, “Tell me what you’re craving.”

“Cherries.”

The next morning, she had three kinds in a bowl. Fresh, frozen, dried. You cried.

Your belly began to grow more visible, and with it, so did Rhea’s obsession.

“She kicked,” you said one night.

Rhea dropped her water bottle like it offended her. “What?! Where? Let me feel.”

You guided her hand.

The moment that tiny bump nudged her palm, she froze, then smiled so wide it hurt your heart.

“She’s strong,” she whispered. “Just like her mama.”

She started talking to your belly every night. Whispering stories. Promises. Sweet nothings she thought you couldn’t hear.

You always heard.

You waddled. There was no denying it.

Your feet were swollen. Your lower back screamed. You cried at commercials.

Rhea carried you through it all. Almost literally.

She rubbed your feet every night. She ran hot baths, filled them with rose petals, then sat beside you while you soaked. She painted your toenails when you couldn't reach, red to match your favourite lipstick.

“You're doing so good,” she whispered every time you felt like breaking.

She decorated the nursery with soft blacks, cherry reds, and wrestling memorabilia. Little boots. A toy championship belt.

A onesie that read Future Champ.

“Are we ready?” you asked, wide-eyed.

She kissed your bump. “We’ve never been more ready.”

It started with pressure.

Then pain.

Then fear.

You gripped Rhea’s hand so hard you thought you might break her fingers. But she didn’t flinch.

“I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

Sweat poured. You cursed. You screamed. You cried.

And through it all, Rhea never hesitated.

“You’re almost there. Just one more—come on, baby, you got this.”

A cry. Small. Beautiful.

The world stilled.

They laid the baby on your chest, and you sobbed. Rhea kissed your forehead, then the baby’s tiny head.

“She’s perfect,” she whispered. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

You held your daughter close, heart bursting.

Rhea looked down at both of you, tears glistening in her eyes.

And she whispered the words she’d been waiting months to say,

"We’re a family."

[remiratboi]

The Truth Of The Matter - Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 | Previous

Minotaur M Best Friend X Human GN Fat Reader

CW: monsterfucking, clubbing, drinking, slight body insecurity

A few weeks went by, and the dress haunted you from your closet. You had put it on a couple of times, but chickened out each time.

Tonight was the night, though. You were going to do it. You were feeling hot today, and you figured if there was ever a time, now was it. You and Rin were both getting ready for the usual club, respectively.

You spent more time than you normally did on your face and hair. You went ultra femme, the tight red dress and sheer black tights. You put on your favourite strapy black heels and curled your hair. After a final look in the mirror, and a calming breath, you made your way to the living room where Rin was waiting for you.

You felt nervous for some reason. And embarrassed. You tried shaking it.

Rin caught you from the corner of his eye, and did a legitimate double take. His jaw dropped, for the second time.

“You’re wearing that tonight?” His voice cracked.

“Yeah, I mean, if I look as hot as you say I do, maybe I’ll catch someone extra pretty tonight.” You joked. His face went blank. Your normally open friend became unreadable.

“You know, I’m actually not up to it tonight.” He spoke flatly, but his words felt like knives. Did he not like the dress on you anymore? “I… I’m not feeling good. I just can’t take it.” He finished lamely.

Your shoulders sank. “But I was so excited.” You pouted and looked at your dolled up face in the decorative mirror that hung nearby.

“You should still go. Have fun. I’m probably just gonna go to bed early.” His tone was still bizarre. You didn’t understand.

“No, it’s ok, I’ll make some soup, and we can watch a-” you turned back to your room as you spoke, but were interrupted by his suddenly harsh tone.

“No, just go. I’m fine. Go have fun.” He stood and walked past you. The door to his room clicked when it latched. You stood in your living room, bewildered and a little bit hurt.

Fuck it. You thought. You looked hot, felt good, and clearly Rin needed some space. You’d give him as much as he wanted. You grabbed your handbag and headed out.

The club was dead when you arrived. You hadn’t meant to leave quite that early, but after the strange experience with Rin, you’d practically ran there. About 15 people milled around.

Brutus welcomed you with a low whistle when you walked by him. You blushed and twirled, giggling.

“Damn, you poured into that?” He teased and followed it with a chef's kiss.

You received a similar response from Viola. “Baby if I hadn’t paid a fuck ton of money to turn my cock into a pussy, I’d have a raging boner right about now.”

“Ew, Vi?” You replied, screwing up your face. She cackled at your response.

“Seriously though, you look amazing. New dress?” She spoke as she prepped the bar for the night. You reached over and plucked a cherry from a dish, popping it into your mouth.

“Yeah, Rin bought it for me.” Your smile fell as you were reminded of the strange interaction earlier.

“Speaking of the big lug, where is he?” You didn’t reply for a moment, lost in thought. It was long enough she paused, and looked up at you. “Woah, what’s with the face? You guys okay?” She asked. You knew it wasn’t like you two to have conflict? And while you had wanted to move past it, it seemed harder than you’d expected.

“Huh?” You shook your head slightly and looked back at her. “Oh, yeah. Uh, he said something about how he ‘just can’t take it’.” You were about to explain that he wasn’t feeling well when Viola laughed.

“Yeah well, you can’t blame him.” She went back to her prep work. “Honestly, about time he said something.”

Maybe if she had been paying better attention, she’d have seen how confused you were. That she had misunderstood. But she hadn’t been. And she didn’t realize.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Well I mean the guys been in love with you his entire life, and he has to watch you go home with person after person each night. I wouldn’t be able to take it either.” She finally looked back at your face. It was her turn to be confused at your expression of utter shock.

“What are you talking about?” You spoke quietly. The music almost drowning you out.

Viola froze. “… What are you talking about?”

“Rin isn’t feeling well. He said he couldn’t take coming out tonight.” You clarified. It felt like the whole world fell away. The only thing you could see was Viola. “What did you think I was saying?”

Viola laughed awkwardly. “Yeah that’s what I meant too!” She spoke with too much enthusiasm. As if she could trick you into forgetting what she had just said.

“Vi, I swear to god.” You pushed every bit of threat you could muster into your tone. Her shoulders sagged. She sighed.

“I’m not supposed to tell you. It was an accident.” Viola chewed on her bottom lip.

You glared at her.

“Fine. But don’t you dare tell him I told you. I’ll make Brutus ban you.” She pointed to the door you knew he stood outside.

You crossed your arms. “Honestly, I’d like to see you try. He likes me more.” You smirked. “But I’m not going to say anything anyway. Can you please just explain yourself?” You refocused.

“Each night, you go home with someone. And each night, he sits here and drowns his sorrows, complaining about how much he loves you. I think he’s just a coward, but he says you don’t feel the same, and he doesn’t want to risk the friendship.” She looked at you anxiously. “I don’t know, that’s just what he’s said.”

She didn’t even finish the sentence before you were turning around. And then you were running.

[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 ✨

[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