#If I could be there to support him I would be!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

i saw a tiktok of a heavily pregnant woman saying “maybe i dont give him butterflies anymore but i do give him high blood pressure” then they walk by their S/O with a latter and power tools. and i have been thinking about how the guys would react ever since

Oh, anon. This is so cute! I love this. I know the trend you're talking about, but I feel like I haven't seen it with pregnant women specifically, but I find it even more hilarious if it is. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you for sending it in!

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Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, dad!141, pregnancy, married life, parenthood, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Get off the ladder, cabbage.” John exhales, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

You’re standing just high enough on the ladder to rest your pregnant belly on the top rung. John stands directly behind you, both hands firmly planted on either side of you against the rail. It’s not to support the ladder but to catch you if you fall. A potentially likely possibility since you’re carrying extra weight in front of you. You could easily tip back enough to lose your balance.

“I’m fine, John,” you reply, continuing on as if he’s not worrying.

It’s maddening how relaxed you are, like the potential factor of danger is a completely foreign concept.

“Please,” he emphasizes. “Get off the ladder.”

“Why?” you ask. “I’m more than capable.”

“You are,” he agrees. “But you’re also pregnant.”

“So?”

“Cabbage,” warns John.

“Fine,” you exhale.

John keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. When you’re back on solid ground, some of that tension melts away, but his heart still thumps quickly.

You lightly cup his cheek, batting your eyelashes at him. “Were you worried about me, John?”

John places his hand on your belly. “Worried about all three of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle sits at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail. With a heavy sigh, he opens the energy bill, removing the paperwork, reading over the breakdown of energy usage for the month.

From his peripheral, Kyle notices movement. Glancing away from the itemized bill, Kyle’s gaze softens when you walk into the kitchen. You’re pregnant, close to your due date. Even waddling around, Kyle can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

He leans back in his chair, appreciating you for a few languid seconds, then his heart drops into his stomach.

“Damn it all. Put that down, love.”

Kyle shoots out of his chair, trying to calmly but quickly make it over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, attempting to walk by. “I can assemble it.”

“No.” Kyle’s tone is firm but gentle. “Give it here.”

His heart is pounding, anxiety spiking from not just the power drill you carry, but the cardboard box full of wood you’re attempting to guide down the hall.

“You sit here.” He points to the chair. “Sort the mail. I’ve got this.”

You slowly ease down into the chair, and Kyle breathes deep, trying to calm his nerves. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He hears your footsteps first, and then your voice as you curse under your breath.

Johnny lounges on the sofa, reclining against a fluffy pillow. At his feet are his two-year old twin daughters. On the television, a Bluey episode plays. The girls aren’t watching. They’re smashing their dolls together and running them over with the yellow toy excavator.

Sitting up, Johnny glances over the top of the couch

At first, he smiles. Then frowns. Then launches himself off the couch.

“Put it down,” commands Johnny. “Drop it.” He steps on a doll and winces, wobbling slightly.

You turn toward him, pregnant belly coming into view. You’re carrying a ladder, the large one, and you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over a certain weight.

“Down,” he repeats. “Put it down.”

You roll your eyes and turn away. Johnny makes it to you quickly, grabbing the ladder and placing it on the floor.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “You’re bloody pregnant.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m—I’m not yelling,” soothes Johnny, cupping your face in his hands. “But you gave me a right scare, yeah?” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Go sit with the girls.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is curled up on the sofa, a precious bundle in his lap. His two-year old daughter rests her head against his chest, gaze focused on the colorful pages.

“He started to look for some food,” reads Simon from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On Monday he ate through one apple.” His daughter traces the outline of the apple, and then runs her finger over the caterpillar. “But he was still hungry.”

As Simon turns the page, he hears your soft but determined footsteps. He briefly looks away from the book, his gaze falling on your belly, round and full of his child. Inwardly, he smiles, knowing that the family you’ve created together is about to grow by one.

“On Tuesday he ate through two pears,” continues Simon. “But he was still—”

His voice disappears, and his stomach flips, blood pressure spiking as he watches you turn the corner. You have a step stool tucked under your arm and a drill in your hand.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, lifting his daughter out of his lap and placing her on the sofa. “Daddy will be back shortly, doll.”

He kisses the top of her head, and then takes off after you. With the added weight, your steps are slow, and it only takes Simon a few strides to walk past you and cut you off before you make it to the nursery.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for the drill.

“Hanging a painting,” you reply like it’s no big deal.

Simon sighs. “Give it here.”

“I can do it,” you insist, turning away from his reaching hands.

Simon plucks the drill out of your hand and holds it out of reach. “Give me the step stool.” With a pout, you surrender it. “Gonna give me a bloody heart attack.”

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@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @glassgulls @miaraei

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@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part one)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: steve rogers is your best friend, which means that inherently bucky should be yours too. somewhere along the way, it became more than that for you. for bucky, it's just tolerance. he likes you, but not like that. not in that way.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, protected sex (yeah wrap that up), rough, choking, fwb, mean bucky, mutual pining, not proofread

notes: thank you guys for the support on the snippet as well as for waiting for me as i got this done! i just finished finals so i plan on locking in on this one and circuit breaker bc i cannot stop thinking about them.

ps. i swear bucky and reader are friends, just had to hit the angst and give some background but there will be cute moments along with smut probably every chapter...I'm hoeing out.

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

“Steve?” You called out to him, steps pounding behind you as you hurriedly moved toward his pinged location. “Steve, oh my god.” Your voice trailed off, shock evident. 

People brushed by you and pushed toward Steve’s figure on the ground. You’d never seen him like this. Sure, Steve Rogers was a super soldier and the most physically strong man you knew—but this was different. Mentally, he seemed destroyed. 

He called your phone, short of breath and muttering for help. It immediately sent you into action. You were normal—the most civilian anyone could be. There was no other option but to call someone, plead with them to find and help your friend. He’d been washed up on the shore, lying in the dirt and clearly out of it. 

You watched him get worked on, staring into the distance. 

“What happened?” You kneeled next to him,  “Who did this?” 

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall which offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed, “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beelined to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky showed up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you, “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lied his dog tags that he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something—but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushing you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, this side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden, but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell him?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something but again he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

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[sakuraszn]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader (they aren’t together yet) but Luffy has a big crush on the reader without realizing and he’s always super touchy with her without thinking anything of it, like always holding her or picking her up when they’re on adventures and protecting her too all without realizing until the crew makes a comment about it to him, I think it would be super adorable. thank you!

unconscious affection, ft. monkey d. luffy

note: OMG YESSS, this will be my first time writing something for luffy so I’m excited! I hope you like ittt🥰.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Sunny as it glided through the calm waves. The salty breeze carried the sound of laughter and the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. It was a peaceful day at sea, the kind that made adventures feel like dreams rather than dangers.

And yet, something entirely different was happening right under the crew’s noses—something that had been going on for weeks, if not months.

Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates, was smitten. Not that he realized it, of course. Luffy wasn’t the type to dwell on his emotions, much less recognize them. But to everyone else, it was painfully obvious.

Especially with the way he was holding you right now.

“Luffy, put me down!” you huffed, though there was no real anger in your voice—just exasperation.

“Nope!” Luffy grinned, his arms locked securely around your waist as he carried you across the deck like a sack of treasure. “I wanna sit up on Sunny’s head, and it’s more fun if you’re there too!”

Robin chuckled behind her book, Sanji rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette, and Zoro muttered something about “idiot captain behavior.” The rest of the crew wasn’t even fazed anymore.

This had become normal.

Luffy, whether he realized it or not, had a habit of keeping you close. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing—he would sling an arm around your shoulders, grab your hand while running through a town, or, in moments like this, just pick you up and take you wherever he wanted to go, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And the most infuriating part?

He never acted this way with anyone else.

It wasn’t just on the ship, either.

On an island you had docked at a week ago, you had been walking through a dense jungle, eyes scanning the towering trees for any signs of danger. It was an unfamiliar place, and caution was necessary.

Luffy, however, had decided that caution was boring.

He had climbed ahead, jumping from tree to tree with his usual reckless energy, leaving the rest of you to navigate the ground below. But just as you were stepping over a tangle of vines—

“Wha—Luffy!”

Without warning, he had snatched you up, one arm hooking under your legs and the other supporting your back as he launched into the treetops.

“Look at this view!” he had laughed, holding you securely as he perched on a thick branch.

You had been too stunned to respond at first, but once the initial shock wore off, you smacked his chest lightly. “You can’t just grab me whenever you feel like it!”

“Why not?” he tilted his head dumbfounded.

“Because I have legs,” you deadpanned.

Luffy had only laughed again, tightening his hold just a little before leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

“But I like carrying you.”

Your heart had skipped a beat at that, but before you could even process what he had just said, he was already stretching an arm to swing to another branch, completely unaware of how flustered he had just made you.

Then there were the fights.

Luffy was always protective of his crew—fiercely so. But when it came to you?

It was different.

He never let you fight alone. Not if he could help it.

On a recent island, you had been fending off a group of enemy pirates, your weapon clashing against theirs. You were holding your own just fine—until a particularly nasty opponent lunged at you from behind.

Before you even realized the danger, a rubbery arm shot past you, stretching at lightning speed before slamming into your attacker’s gut.

Luffy landed beside you in an instant, standing between you and the remaining enemies. His usual carefree grin was gone, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous.

“Hey,” he had said, voice dark with warning. “Don’t touch her.”

The fight had ended quickly after that.

It took the crew making an outright comment for Luffy to even begin noticing his own behavior.

One evening, you were all gathered around the dining table, enjoying one of Sanji’s extravagant meals. Luffy, as usual, was sitting next to you. And, as usual, he had an arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as he talked with his mouth full.

At this point, no one even blinked at it.

Until Nami, eyes glinting with mischief, casually said, “Y’know, Luffy, you really can’t keep your hands off her, huh?”

Silence.

Luffy blinked, swallowing a mouthful of meat. “Huh?”

Usopp leaned forward, grinning. “She’s right, man. You’re always touching her.”

“Like, constantly,” Zoro added with a smirk.

Sanji, who had been stewing in silent jealousy for weeks, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s honestly impressive how oblivious you are, dumbass.”

Luffy frowned, confused. He turned to look at you, as if seeing you for the first time. You were staring at the table, face burning as you tried to focus on your food.

“Wait,” he said slowly, eyes widening. “Do I really…?”

Robin smiled knowingly. “Oh yes. It’s quite adorable, actually.”

The realization hit Luffy like a punch to the gut. His eyes flicked between you and his own arm still draped over your shoulders. His grip on you had always been instinctual, like second nature. He had never thought about it before.

But now that it was pointed out…

He felt warm. Too warm.

His fingers twitched against your skin, and for the first time in his entire life, Monkey D. Luffy blushed.

“oh.”

The crew burst into laughter.

And you? You just covered your face with your hands, knowing that things were never going to be the same after this.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[solanumflare]

answered these for one of my characters for fun...

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

an hour, probably?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

hard, unless it’s in a mocking way. he scoffs and sneers and laughs mirthless laughs a whole lot.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

taking sleeping pills and pacing around his room until he inevitably collapses.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

almost impossible.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

If you arent mistrusted by aki, you are not real.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

laws do not EXIST for him. he’ll break any rule with a smile.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

he hates the feeling of nostalgia. usually, it’s triggered by reading books.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

stop caring so much! stop crying so much!

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

he says hell and damn a lot. no other words. he started swearing at too young an age to recall.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

“I want kaie nakata dead.”

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

pretend he understands, and snap at the confusing person if they try to call him out.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

dig a dagger into it. It’ll be fiiiine.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

black. he looks much better in red and pink, though.

What animal do they fear most?

anything that lives in the sea.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

some mixture of the two. he speaks on impulse, but only says things that fall in line with his rehearsed persona.

What makes their stomach turn?

deep flesh wounds.

Are they easily embarrassed?

no.

What embarrasses them?

acting out of line with his persona

What is their favorite number?

four, probably

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

romantic love is when you want to kiss somebody, platonic love is when you want to hold somebody, and familial love is when you stay with someone even when they call you worthless.

Why do they get up in the morning? 

because the only other option is to surrender, and he can’t do that.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

he becomes downright murderous towards the person he’s jealous of

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

resentful, yeah.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

absolutely nobody.

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

it’s just getting papers and saying empty words to join yourself to a person whose relationship with you could change in an instant. pointless.

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

taking the train, though it’s rarely possible.

 What causes them to feel dread? 

inevitability. the concept of fate. walking down a dark, forked road where the only paths that lie ahead are death and insanity. so, his entire life!

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

not particularly.

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

he doesn’t have ideals. but if he did, there would be no way in hell he’d live up to them.

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

kaie nakata. he hopes that bastard burns in hell.

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

…

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

he doesn’t really…make conversation. ever.

 Could they be considered lazy? 

no.

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

almost impossible, but he’s good at acting unaffected.

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

he doesn’t, and can’t, care.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

romance is pointless. why care? why do either?

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

giving each thing an initial and making sentences out of it.

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

the first time he ever saw a beast.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

hard. he’s nitpicky and unkind at default.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

quite.

How do they feel about children? 

uncomfortable around them.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

to kill kaie nakata? with all his heart.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

he doesn’t really have time nor energy nor interest to think about the whole relationships and attraction thing.

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

How easy is it to earn their trust?

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

What animal do they fear most?

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

What makes their stomach turn?

Are they easily embarrassed?

What embarrasses them?

What is their favorite number?

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Why do they get up in the morning? 

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

 What causes them to feel dread? 

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

 Could they be considered lazy? 

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

How do they feel about children? 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them? C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? H) What trait do you admire most? I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

[softtdaisy]

need your touch / Aaron Hotchner

summary. Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until he became touch-starved.

words count. 2 776

what to expect. kind of grumpy x sunshine, very sad, mention of foyet and the attack, but very sad

a/n. I had this idea reading a book and I felt so sad about the man suffering from that, that of course I wanted to do with Hotch too so here it is

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

The shivers. The disgust. The sudden need to wash his skin.

Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until it was too late.

It wasn't until he actually became touch-starved that he realized this. 

The first time he realized something might be wrong was after a case. One that they all thought would take days but was surprisingly done after a few hours. After they finished packing, Rossi walked behind him. “Well done,” he congratulated Hotch by patting his shoulder. 

He had a slight and unconscious movement of recoil. Something Rossi didn’t notice, already focused on someone else. But something that stayed in Hotch’s mind and didn’t leave him. 

Soon, he realized how every little moment where he was touched by somebody else made him feel sick. 

He had to fight against the need to run to the bathroom after shaking hands with anybody.

He started avoiding every form of affection from the team, not that they were numerous but still present.

And if after his divorce with Haley, Hotch stopped the whole dating process, the idea of being intimate with someone became a real anxiety issue. Hands getting lost on his body, the feeling of lips leaving wet marks on his skin… this was too much for him. So much so that he didn’t even know how to get over this now.

And with months spent staying away from any type of physical contact, he started to feel the consequences on his mental health. He was the one avoiding it, but in his mind, the idea of being repulsive started to grow.

The thing was, he knew exactly where it came from. 

It could have been “the best part” of this if he could find a way to fight against it.

But it was definitely the “worst part” of this whole mess.

Because there was nothing he could do about the memory of almost dying in the hands of George Foyet. Every physical contact was a reminder of the worst night of his life. His brain ended up associating it with the feeling of dying. Again and again.

If he had been feeling better, he probably would have found it funny that the universe decided to put you in his life at the exact moment he was starting to lose it.

Just like that, one day, when he arrived in the meeting room, you were there next to Penelope.

“Let me introduce you to the most amazing little fairy you will ever meet,” she said, her hands on your shoulder like a proud mom. Which, of course, caused some laughter from the team. Not that they doubt you could be some kind of fairy, especially if you were the one Penelope chose to work with her. 

“As you know,” she pursued, “I asked to have another pair of hands to help me, and so here is my little ray of sunshine.” 

“Ok,” you laughed, patting her hand gently. “I think we can stop with the cute nicknames; they got the idea.” 

The whole time you spent explaining what your job would be, basically supporting Penelope in her office but also going more on the field with the team to be the connection between them and her, Hotch never stopped looking at you.

Penelope was right: you were a pure ray of sunshine. You lighted up the whole room in a way he forgot was possible after years of discovering the worst cases between these walls. You kept smiling and laughing, joking with Derek at his silly remarks and blushing when you heard Emily’s compliments on your hair. You were already a part of the team in less than five minutes.

And when you walked to him to shake his hand, he realized there was something even more special about you.

For the first time in months, he was able to touch someone else without feeling any disgust. It was even pleasing.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a low voice, still in shock from the lack of reaction his body gave. He got lost in the beauty of your eyes when you looked at him. More than the color of them, which was straight from a painter’s palette for him, he found some peace in it. You didn’t know all the struggle he was going through. 

You were like an open door to something new. To feel like himself again.

Of course, it would have been too easy if he could have just started to feel at ease next to you and put his touch revulsion away in a flash. 

Hotch was still the boss, and you were working for him. If he were being as responsible as he felt he had to be, he would put a respectful distance between the two of you. He couldn’t be there, longing for your touch.

But, without meaning to, you were making things way harder for him.

You were the affectionate type. And soon the team learned that they couldn’t escape your overflowing need to have physical contact with them to show your appreciation. Even Spencer, who made it clear from the start that he wasn’t comfortable with this type of affection, ended up asking for some of yours. 

Like the high five when the team progressed in the case, the handholding—or grabbing, in your case—for the person next to you in the plane or the comforting touch when you felt like one of them needed it. A hand on the shoulder, a squeeze on the arm, your fingers patting your thighs softly when a meeting was going wrong, or even a hug when it was necessary. It was a normal habit for you, and soon it became one for the team too.

You weren’t sure Hotch was appreciating it though. He was your boss, and for obvious reasons, you tried to keep a distance so you wouldn’t get fired for sexual harassment. But if you felt like some of them barely needed your affection—yet, still appreciated it—like Emily or Derek, and some truly loved having you around, like Penelope, there was something different with Hotch.

That man was the incarnation of sadness, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first time you overpassed your feelings about it was during a case involving children. The meeting with the sheriff went terribly wrong, and Hotch, who always seemed so calm and composed, let his anger out when he got up. Slamming the chair against the desk and closing the door just as hard. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before running after him. “Hotch!” you yelled, a little louder than intended since people turned around. Well, most did, except for the one concerned. You had to run after him outside to finally be able to grab his arm. “Oh god, I’m not trained for this stuff,” you said, out of breath. 

He stayed silent. Still in shock that you went after him. Still in shock that your touch didn’t make him feel sick. Once again. He even found some comfort in the way your thumb was naturally brushing his wrist; he could feel your tenderness even through the tissue of his shirt.

“Are you ok?” you asked before laughing. “I’m stupid; of course you’re not. But…can I do anything?” 

Hotch was impressive for many, many reasons. He was your boss, sure. He was older than you; it was a fact. But he was terribly and undeniably handsome. It wasn’t easy to be in front of him most of the time. But right now, alone in the street, facing his eyes that were leaving your face and his deep silence, it was even harder.

“Can I offer you a hug? Maybe?” Your voice was so low that you were convinced he didn’t hear you. Which was probably for the better. You could live with the idea of missing the opportunity because you didn’t speak loud enough. Less with the idea that he deliberately ignored you.

But soon, you watched his movement as he made a step towards you. As his arms opened up before closing against your body. As his head is buried in your neck. It took you a second to react, and you held him tight against you. Your hand went to his back to caress it slowly. 

You wondered when was the last time he experienced a comforting hug.

Hotch knew it had been roughly a year. 

The following weeks, you noticed Hotch took some distance with you. You’d like to say he did it again, but the truth was you don’t think he was doing it deliberately before the hug. Now he was doing everything to not be close to you.

It was late at night when your bell rang. The camera on your phone immediately gave you the image of the man standing in front of your door. A tall man with dark hair and a dark coat that you knew well since these days have been cold and it was your boss’ favorite.

You didn’t question Hotch's presence at your door until you opened it and were met by his sad figure. “This has to stay between us,” he immediately said in a hoarse voice. And before knowing what this was about, you nodded. You had the feeling you couldn’t refuse what he was asking for. 

You watched as he entered your apartment. As he took off his coat, putting it on a hanger and hanging it on the coat rack in precise movements. Like he repeated it in his head many times to make sure everything went smoothly. Or to reassure him that if he didn’t mess up here, it meant he was doing the right thing.

And you watched as he faced you, again, and went to your arms immediately. This one took you by surprise. You were used to being the one initiating the hug, not the one receiving it. Or, more exactly in this case, giving it without offering it in the first place.

Because Hotch wasn’t holding you. He was being held by you. More than that, he was holding onto you tightly, craving your touch. You could feel his fingers grabbing the thin tissue of your pajamas. Like he feared you might disappear any second. Fearing that he would lose the only person that made him feel good about himself again.

The hand you put on his back slowly moved to his neck, softly touching and caressing his skin. In any other moment, this was something that would have stressed him. Hotch always felt sensitive in this part of his body. He used to love being touched there, but after these past months, the idea of someone else's hand here was impossible to conceive. But here he was, longing for your touch. Hoping you never stopped.

And when you leaned back, he was glad that your hand didn’t leave its place. “Let’s sit so we can talk, ok?” you offered in a whisper. It seemed right to grab his hand at that moment to guide him, as if your apartment wasn’t small enough that your living room was more than apparent from the door.

You found it funny, once you both settled in your vintage sofa, how you looked like two opposites. You are in your pajamas, far from the professional outfit you wore all day. While Hotch was still in his suit, it looked like his day had just started. 

Except for the tired eyes and the exhausted expression. You knew it wasn’t even caused by work; you had a very casual office day. Maybe that was the saddest part. How life has exhausted him to a point of no return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, suddenly realizing that maybe you should give him the chance to decide instead of imposing an explanation. 

At first, Hotch didn’t reply. His eyes were still on your hand holding his, how little it looked compared to his big fingers. There was something almost fragile in his behavior, how he looked smaller, trying to disappear in your cushion. 

And so, you started to talk for him. You told him what you did when you got home, what you ate, and what you watched during dinner. Trying to keep his mind entertained. And since you had the habit of speaking with your hands, you kept playing with his fingers or hitting his thigh. 

“You’re the first person that can touch me,” he finally said after hearing one of your silly facts about burning your soup the other day. But his revelation didn’t ruin the mood. Sure, you weren’t laughing anymore, neither was he—even if he didn’t truly laugh, simply giggling. But the way you turned to him, your knee falling on his lap and your hands grabbing his in a protective way, he felt at ease. 

Hotch couldn’t look at you when he told you about Foyet, what happened that night, the stabs, and how he actually remembered everything compared to what he said to the others. But he was still looking at your hands. “After that, I realized that the idea of being touched was frightening. I just couldn’t handle it and avoided it at any cost. The feeling of someone else’s skin on mine was just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes at the memory of the sickness it used to give him. 

When you stopped brushing his skin with your thumb, he put his hand on top of yours. “But not you,” he continued, looking up at you. “Being touched by you is like an antidote. I can’t explain it.” 

Now that you were thinking about it, you realized that more than once you saw Hotch step back to not be touched by anyone. Something you never paid more attention to. You weren’t a profiler, not like the team. So you didn’t question his freeze when someone approached him, the tension in his jaw when he had to shake hands, or that the only person he sat next to on the plane was Spencer, the one that wouldn’t touch him without permission. 

“I don’t want to escape your touch.” He said after a long pause. You could tell from his eyes that it wasn't easy for him to say those things. “I need it.” 

This sounded like a confession. It was actually the first time that Hotch acknowledged that more than accepting your skin on his, it became a necessity. An urge to be touched by you. And feel alive. 

“What are you asking me, Aaron?” You asked. You were confused about the situation. “I’m happy to help, and I would have understood if you had asked me to stop being this affectionate with you because it makes you feel uncomfortable. But here…”

Something changed in his eyes; you could see it. And before you could understand, Hotch was up and already walking to your door. “I’m sorry. This was inappropriate.”

Running after your boss in your pajamas and slippers was not on your to-do list today. So you grabbed his wrist, but when you tried to pull him close to you, he stopped at the same moment. And so you fell against his chest. Naturally, one of his hands went on your back to secure your body. You did the same, putting a hand on his chest. 

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. “I want to help you,” you said in a low voice, like a secret you wanted to keep between you. “I’ll gladly do it.” 

Something softened in his body when he couldn’t find the one thing he was convinced people had for his behavior. Judgment. Hotch had been convinced that anyone was judging him. And maybe some did, for what he knew.

You didn’t. All he could see was a comprehensive look and a will to do right. 

“But I need you to guide me,” you added. Slowly, you went for his other hand, held it, and brought it to his chest. 

You stayed like that. Skin to skin, body to body. This moment lasted longer than all the physical contact Hotch had in the past months. And you could feel his fingers untighten slowly, just like most of his body. Accepting your embrace, your touch, your help. You even saw a little smile grow on his lips, very subtle but that meant so much.

Maybe Hotch died a few months ago. Maybe a little part of him had accepted it.

But now, he had the feeling that in between your hands, he could experience life again. And with your help, making it worth living.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[muwapsturniolo]

Cupids choke hold જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 C. Sturniolo

"dad, i think i finally found the one."

⟢Fluff really, Chris just being in love with bun

@bernardsbendystraws for credit

The sun was setting over the city of angels, and Chris was entranced by his own angel.

Bunny.

He stared down at his lock screen, smiling softly to himself as the picture brought warmth to his chest. His admiration was interrupted by his phone ringing, a name popping up that he hadn't spoken to in a while. He answers the call and puts it on speaker, instantly feeling comforted by the voice on the other end.

"Hey son, where have you been?"

The question makes him feel guilty. He was always a mama's boy despite his harsh exterior, his mother being his rock and safe place, and she loved it. The mother and son duo knew to a degree it wasn't fair, but they were each other's favorites, and everyone else knew it too.

"Hey Ma," he says softly, inhaling a bit of the joint before tapping the excess ashes off. "I know it's been a minute since we last spoke...I have so much to tell you."

He begins to feel nervous like he is about to be judged. He knew it was an irrational fear, his mother would never judge him, even when he did something wrong.

"It's going to sound like a bad joke, but Ma...I fell in love, I found the real thing. I got a girlfriend and she's amazing."

A bit of shuffling is heard on the other end before she responds to him, "A girlfriend? Is the same one that- No." Chris instantly cuts her off, not even wanting to bring up the last girl. She was never his girlfriend. He would never say this to his mother, but she was nothing more than a quick fuck to him.

"No no, this...This is someone new and she's the best thing to happen to me. I probably sound like an old person, but Cupids got me in a chokehold. You know me, I've always been scared to let people in, especially girls, but she made it so easy that I threw the towel down. My white flag is waving, and I'm okay with that."

He couldn't help himself, instantly going on a long ramble about the girl he found himself to love so much.

"-I mean, she cooks me pancakes in the morning, the blueberry ones that you make me when I'm back home. God, and I'm starting to think you two use the same ingredients."

"And what are those ingredients?"

He smiles dopily to himself, looking down at his beat-up Nike slides,

"Love."

Mary-Lou finds herself smiling. She had been worried when her boys finally left the nest they call a home that they wouldn't be ok, but it seemed as if they were doing just fine, finding the right people to have in their lives and keeping their heads straight.

"Tell me more." She urges gently, not wanting to scare the boy into retreating his feelings, but also wanting to know more about the special girl who managed to capture her youngest attention and heart.

"When my stomach hurts, she always gets me Alka seltzers. When I'm sick she goes above and beyond to make sure I'm ok. If that ain't love then don't know what love is, it's like we're married."

"Well, it is through sickness and health, they say during the vows."

He chuckles to himself and continues, "We have this secret handshake, we came up with it on our fourth date when I learned she didn't know how to dapp people up. We're always doing it before she goes to practice and it just brings me so much comfort. Oh, and she even gets along with Matt and Nick! You know how close we are, and I don't think I could date someone who doesn't respect them. She even supports the YouTube shi- I mean stuff we do! I know I'm not that much involved, but she's pushed me to participate more, to be something more."

"...You sound in love..." Mary-Lou states softly, trying to hold in her excitement.

Chris chuckles to himself, nodding along despite Mary Lou not being able to see him.

"I am...I really am. If I had to pick her or the sun, Ma, I'm telling you I'd be a nocturnal son of a gun."

She laughs at his statement, soon urging him to send her a picture of the girl.

"Oh Chris, she's so pretty! And the way you look at her, it's the same way your dad looks at me. You have to bring her to Boston soon!"

So he did.

His chest was ready to burst with excitement and joy seeing the girl he loves so much getting along with his parents and older brother. She fit right in, doing crossword puzzles with his mom, playing Just Dance with Justin, and even going fishing with his dad.

It was late into the night, Chris sitting outside on the back porch, smoking with a glass of water in his hand. Bunny had fallen asleep on the couch with Trevor, both she and the dog snuggled up into a ball and sleeping peacefully. He looks up hearing the door open, smiling gently when he sees his dad.

Jimmy takes a seat in the empty chair next to Chris, settling down and letting out a deep breath. They sit in silence for a minute before Jimmy speaks.

"Tell me about her."

Chris immediately dives in, never missing an opportunity to talk about his girl.

"Dad, I think I finally found the one, the one that makes me a better person and will make you proud of me. She's like Mom, she's the best... I know there have been other girls; you've heard about them, but she's different, she's on a whole different plane. Just the way she says my name, it makes me want to give her the world, hell, even the universe."

Jimmy listens intently, watching how he talks with such passion about the girl sleeping on the couch.

"I love it when she calls me. I feel like an elementary school boy getting excited about his crush talking to him on the playground. She even has her own ringtone so I know its her calling! We used to sit on the phone for hours, doing nothing but breathing most of the time."

"She's a good girl, a real catch. I can see the love you two have for each other, I saw it when we picked you up from the airport. You two are in love and I hope it lasts."

Chris takes a sip of his water, staring out into the backyard with a smile and eyes full of love.

"I know it will, I'm not letting her get away."

He creeps back into the house softly, approaching the living room and chuckling to himself when he sees both Bun and Trev drooling in their sleep.

He goes to pick her up but stops when Justin enters the living room.

"You went soft on me," Justin voices playfully, gently pushing Chris's shoulder. Chris rubs the back of his neck, sitting down on the arm of the couch and placing a hand on the sleeping girl's shoulder.

"She's the reason, she makes it so easy to be...I don't even know. She could make the most annoying, oldest, senile man bite his tongue and talk calmly. Her eyes are so soft and comforting, it's like the sunrise on a summer day, I could stare into them for hours."

Justin watches with a knowing smile on his face. He can tell from how animated Chris gets when talking about her, that he will continue to do so forever. He's in love, and Justin knows the two will end up happily married, and he can't wait.

" She's a complete ten, the most gorgeous and graceful girl I've ever seen. She has me hooked, and I'm not complaining. She has the best laugh ever, and she laughs at all my jokes, even my dumb ones that usually piss Nick and Matt off. Like I told Dad, before we moved in with each other, we'd sit on the phone for hours not saying a word sometimes. We just wanted to be around each other and it was comforting. "

He looks down at the girl once more, toying with her curly strands gently in an attempt to not disturb her slumber.

"It may be too soon, but when I think about my future, when I think about what I want it to look like, it all surrounds her. I want to be the best version of me for her, and I want her to be happy...Call it dumb, call it luck, call it love, or whatever, but everywhere I go and do, I keep a picture of her in my wallet. I want to remember what I'm working for."

Justin walks over and plants his hand on Chris's shoulder, "I can't wait to call her my sister-in-law."

With that, Justin walks out of the living room, leaving the couple and Trevor alone. Chris is gentle when he lifts the girl off the couch, one of his hands caressing her back while the other holds her bottom. He walks up the stairs and into his room, laying her down gently on the bed.

He strips out of his hoodie, kicking off his slides, and crawling into bed, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

Despite her being asleep, he proceeds to whisper softly.

"I love you so much, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

She opens her eyes softly, smiling at him in a sleepy haze.

"I love you more."

[catbureau]

At this point it has nothing to do with whether he's actually innocent or not. Airtight evidence could come out tomorrow that completely clears his name and there would still be sentiments floating around that he is The Guy, namely because a lot of his supporters want him to be the guy. Before he was ever even arrested, the internet was exploding with hero worship of the masked hero who took out the CEO. So what happens when it comes out that this already beloved hero is actually a very hot, highly educated, polite and generally likeable young man?

In all honesty, no matter what the result of this trial, Luigi is probably going to have this following him around for life simply because it is more convenient for everyone if he is the culprit. For the NYPD it makes them look good because they were able to catch the assassin, and for his supporters it gives them a strong symbol to rally behind and a pretty martyr. It's a really shitty situation to be forced into that will be near impossible for him to break out of, and honestly I just find the whole thing very unfortunate.

it's really funny that even people who support luigi mangione have like fully bought into the propaganda being pushed that he's the one who did it when he hasn't been convicted of shit and is extremely likely just some guy the nypd and eric adams could reasonably pass off as the person who did it to save face. That huge fucking perp walk (that shouldn't have even been legal to do) was to plant the idea in the public's mind that yeah, obviously this guy did it, why would they be doing this if he wasnt, and you all fell for it without even thinking about it.

[bucktommyyendgame]

Back to the Drawing Board

Wasn't that something? Are Buck and Tommy endgame-shaped, or what? I obviously couldn't let that ending go soo...here is a little post ep ficlet.

SPOILERS FOR 8X11: Holy Mother of God

bucktommy - words: 800-ish - rating: gen - complete

It does feel good to get things unpacked, that's for sure. His talk with Maddie helped but he knows she was wrong about plenty of things.

And definitely about the need to be alone. He doesn't want to be alone. He knows exactly what--who--he wants.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up a very familiar text chain.

Hey. Can we talk?

He watches and watches and watches.

And the bubbling starts.

He swears his heart is in his throat and he holds his breath. It feels like it takes forever but Tommy’s answer comes through.

I would like that. Free today?

Buck takes one long exhale in relief. Coffee shop in an hour?

I’ll be there.

Buck makes it in 45 minutes. He orders both their coffees, Tommy’s Iced Flat White with Almond Milk in one hand and finds a table. The feeling of deja vu is so eerie that he looks around to make sure he didn’t also accidentally pick the same table.

He texts Tommy to tell him where he is and waits.

It only takes Tommy about two more minutes before he’s walking up, an uncertain smile on his face. He still looks as sad as he did when he left the kitchen and Buck really really hates that he put that look there.

“Hey,” Tommy says as he sits down. Buck pushes the coffee toward him and he talks a sip, humming in approval.

“Hey,” Buck answers.

They sit in semi-uncomfortable silence for a moment or two before, at the exact same time, they both say, “I’m sorry.”

They each laugh a little before Tommy sobers. “Please let me start.

“Okay,” Buck says, feeling off-kilter.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “I never should have brought up Eddie. It was stupid. I never seriously thought I was in competition with him.”

Buck eyes him. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Tommy sighs. “I-”

“No,” Buck insists. “Look, Eddie is my best friend. We’ve been through some really difficult things together. But I want you to know that there are no, absolutely none, romantic feelings there. When you said you wanted to try again...God, I thought I was getting exactly what I wanted.”

Tommy looks down, fidgeting with his cup. “Until I stuck my foot in it.”

“It was something that was clearly bothering you,” Buck points out. “Is...is that what you thought the entire time we were together?”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I just...Look, Evan, I’ve never...I’ve never been the first. For anyone. You have this huge support network around you and I don’t.”

Tommy holds up a hand when Buck opens his mouth to say something.

“And I don’t say that to, garner sympathy, or something, I say it because when push comes to shove, I don’t have the family that you’ve found for yourself. I guess, maybe, I was unsure of my place in that,” Tommy explains. “I have friends, acquaintances, I’m not alone. I guess I just didn’t know how to fit into your life.”

“Okay,” Buck says slowly. “But what if I said that I wanted to do that? I want to work on us, I want you to fit into my life. I’m sorry Eddie cut off contact, I didn’t know that.”

Tommy shrugs, but Buck continues. “Maybe we just didn’t communicate enough in those first six months. I see that now. But, I want to figure this out. I want to be with you.”

Tommy purses his lips, takes a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Buck holds a hand across the table, palm up. Tommy barely hesitates, sliding his fingers through Buck’s lacing them together.

“Yeah,” Buck confirms. “That night...was everything I’ve been wanting for months, Tommy.”

This time, Tommy’s smile is sweet and soft. “Me too.”

“We slept on the box spring,” Buck says with a laugh, gratified when Tommy laughs too.

“I was a little desperate for you,” Tommy admits.

“I think you could tell I was the same with you,” Buck says wryly. Tommy laughs again.

“So,” Buck says with a deep breath. “What do you say? Can we try again?”

“I would really really love that,” Tommy says, squeezing his hand. “Starting now?”

Buck brings his hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Starting now.”

tag list part 1

@desert--moonchild, @blitzynatural, @multishippinghussy, @mmso-notlikethat, @esendoran

@sunnywithachanceofbi, @sleepywinchesters, @buck-up-buckley, @manifestingchaoticvibes, @corvid-cryptidd

@lbltpsmspenguin, @theotherbuckley, @cliophilyra, @actuallyitsellie, @thecarrott

@louvemeanyway, @misstommykinard, @the-omniscient-narrator, @comfortpilot, @a-mel0n

@hyperfocusthusly, @mayorjack, @weewookinard, @swagmaster9k, @dudedudeduda

@byunbuckjunmy, @adamkaradecc, @retromodgirl, @gaybonesforivy, @cull3nblaze

[xcherryc2x]

You are Kento Nanami’s secretary….he decides to give you a special bonus!!!

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Nanami x femreader Wordcount: 1.2k

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:••

He pats his thigh, leaning back into his desk chair, motioning you to come close to him

“Come here sweetheart, let’s talk”

You slowly inch closer, trying to remember about any mistakes you’ve made recently

Your hands are trembling holding papers, your so nervous you could drop dead. Your boss had been in a bad mood as of late

“s-sir I-I made sure to clear out—“

“calm down…have a seat”

There is no other chair close and you realize he’s serious about you sitting in his lap,

His large hand creeps on to your ass, pulling you towards him, until your knees bend on their own and you feel his cold, sculpted body touching your back

His breath is hot on your neck causing your face to flush. You can’t take this. You’re pussy is twitching on his thigh, getting wetter as he bounces his knee under you.

Both his hands slowly start massaging your hips, rubbing circles on your thighs too. you bite your lips trying to hold back the moan his touches were causing

“hmmm you’ve been doing such a good job lately” he whispers into your ear, smirking

You feel him pulling down your skirt, and unbuttoning your top from the front. He was so gentle, going so slow, he was trying his best not to scare you off.

Once your clothes are off, only your panties remain, he keeps playing with the skimpy piece of fabric, tracing his fingers around it, teasing you.

He places soft kisses on your shoulder, moving your hair to the side making you lean back into him. he’s got you right where he wants

“you know…a good girl like you deserves a reward hm”

His deep voice echos in the room and you start to feel something hard under you

you shamelessly position yourself right onto his crotch. Creating the perfect spot for you to rub your pussy against. You try to be discrete, moving very slowly but he would be a fool not to feel the way your greedy cunt had started to pulse on his covered cock

he chuckles “looks like someone’s ready for their reward”

His hands squeeze your ass causing you to squeal, you immediately stopped moving to look back at him

“Get up on the desk baby” he says

“but sir what about your meeting, it starts soon” your voice is so quiet, you doubt he heard you. Your shaking in fear and anticipation.

You had recently noticed the way your boss checked you out often and the way the words “baby” and “sweetheart” easily rolled off his tongue. But you never expected the situation to escalate this much.

“don’t worry about that princess, we’ll be done here before you know it”

he lifts you up himself, you have no choice but to crawl onto his desk, moving folders and papers aside making room for you to be on all fours

He pulls your underwear down and stands up, unbuckling his belt and letting his monster cock free. precum was dripping out of his swollen tip, he had to be careful not to get it onto his clothes

He slides it in, groaning at the tightness of your cunt. It was so wet that it easily entered, like it was swallowing him whole

the face he made looked like it was actually his reward. He thinks to himself how you have the perfect little pussy just for him.

You’re insides were pressing down on his dick, he slowly started thrusting and you held on to the edges of the desk for support. Each thrust created squelching sounds followed by your gasps and moans

His dick was so big that you could start to feel it ramming against your cervix as he bucked his hips with more force. But he was careful not to make it hurt too bad.

You’re pussy was being stretched passed its limits as his dick violently made its way in and out

You could feel your inner walls molding to the huge size, each vein making it’s mark inside you.

now the desk was really starting to wobble, it could possibly even break

“p-please slower…nnggh…I-want…mphh sir” he was making you mix up your words, fucking you stupid. Does he think you’ll ever be able to continue your job normally after this??

you keep whimpering, he’s going too fast, his thick cock won’t give you a break. He’s keen on getting this over with quickly

You understand he has business to attend to but that doesn’t mean he can break you into two, swelling up inside you despite causing you to orgasm more times than you can handle

Now your body was tingling, burning up, becoming increasingly sensitive to his tight grip on your sides

“f-fuck” he mutters under his breath as your cunt squeezes the bottom of his dick once more

You think you just came, but in all honesty you don’t know anymore, each movement of his hips causing you more pleasure than the last. He was keeping count by the way you clenched hard on him every 2 minutes and how your legs would start to shake

“I know you can take it baby…just a bit more”

You appreciated that he was trying to slow down but it was no use, he had turned your insides into mush and you kept arching your back when he hit your sweet spot. The amount of noise your making is humiliating, you hope no one is nearby to hear

Finally you felt a heavy stream of Nanami’s cum flow deep inside you. It felt so nice you wished he had came sooner, it felt soothing considering how aggressively his throbbing cock was pounding into you previously.

You both gasped for air as the last bit of his semen shot into you

You collapsed on the desk as he frantically rummaged around to find tissues, speed walking towards the washroom in his office, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off his forehead

You couldn’t move an inch of your body and the cold hard wood felt nice on your overheated body. You should really clean up, but his cum kept leaking out of your gaping hole.

He comes out with his hair fixed and clothes neatly back on. Nobody could ever guess he just had rough sex with his secretary. You on the other hand needed serious help

your bun came loose, your knees were bruised and you couldn’t think properly

“I’ll be back soon sweetheart, try not to let anymore spill out” he says followed by a low laugh. He shuts the door behind him

You’re face flushes red, what did he just say?

Well it’s not like your in the state to getup and walk around anyways so you stay sprawled out, feeling filled to the brim and tired

Nanami attends the meeting but can’t wait for it to be over. He stays distracted the whole time thinking about how he’s gonna fuck you even harder

Well seems like your hard work paid off and your boss has taken a strong, a very strong liking towards you. A liking strong enough to keep your pussy constantly pumped full of his cum anytime you would enter his office from now on🙂

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[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialist)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, piv sex, kissing, Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them my photo instead of yours. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[thatnerduknow98]

Being a superhero doesn’t pay.

I tried to find some full time jobs where I could sneak out to combat evil without my bosses noticing, but I simply have no talent outside being an ultimate flying ass kicker.

I tried to be a journalist like that tv show superhero, Clark Kent, but I’m not a good writer. I tried to be a photographer like Peter Parker from the viral social media video, but they all turned out blurry. I tried museum work like Diana Prince from the documentary, but they fired me upon accidentally cracking a 10,000 year old vase.

My parents supported me. They knew my identity and were proud of my volunteer work keeping the city safe. But they died in a tragic car crash, and unlike Bruce Wayne, my parents weren’t rich, didn’t own any companies, and left me with nothing.

I didn’t even get their house because it wasn’t paid off.

I’m really good at tracking things, so I tried my hand at being a park ranger, but I was so good at it my coworkers thought it was uncanny and began to suspect things. That wasn’t safe for me or for them so I told them I was moving to Canada and quit abruptly.

I started training to be a police officer with the hopes of becoming a detective, but it became very clear most of the PD was unintelligent and fearful, to put it nicely, and so it started becoming a conflict of interest with my superhero work because I had to beat the bad guy as a super and then work with the cops as a super to have him arrested, then manage them while detained while I undercover, and sometimes I let it slip that I knew things that were above my pay grade.

The lack of income became pretty overwhelming. Next thing I knew I was homeless, living in our city’s main park, under a bridge by the river. It was ironic - the same lady I saved last week while in tights spit on me without them when I asked for spare change.

I thought about letting the tights go and hanging up the cape. Most of these people I rescued didn’t deserve to be saved. My work was futile in many ways. Maybe if their superhero went away then they’d treat everyone more kindly.

But my heart wouldn’t let me. I watched a guy rob a woman and stepped in to stop him. I successfully kept him from hurting her, but I guess she thought I was intervening to steal her purse too and hit me with it. I huffed and pulled out my mask. She gasped and apologized.

I told her my identity needed to stay a secret but I was angry that she would treat me that way simply because I was homeless. She agreed, and said she actually worked for a church group that fed the homeless and had become so distraught at how rude many of them tended to be while she was feeding them, so she quit.

I said I felt the same way about being a superhero and wanted to quit too.

Now she’s the director of operations at a distribution center nearby. She said she had some openings on the shipping dock if I needed work and offered me a job. She also said their company partnered with a local apartment complex to provide workforce housing at a discounted rate to employees, so if I took that job I wouldn’t have to be homeless anymore.

I asked if she offered that to other homeless people and she said she did, but they often either didn’t want that job because it’s hard or weren’t able to do the job because of a disability. They’d end up evicted, which would hurt any future chances of getting an apartment. The self aware ones knew this and so they chose to stay homeless.

I accepted her offer, and they set me up with a third story apartment, specifically with rooftop access. The job itself was so hard, and I had no furniture in my studio for a while, but it was nice to be somewhere warm for once.

I decided to see how this would go.

You're a superhero. While in your suit, you're beloved by the city, but outside of it? You're a homeless man, unable to get a job nor pay rent because of your duties.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you, @vee-vee-the-starchild, for commissioning [drumroll] FAE NIGHTMARE!!! I absolutely love writing him, he is a mysterious and otherworldly delight! Now please enjoy him searching high and low for his wife.

I highly recommend listening to this winter ambience track on YouTube. I had it on repeat while writing.

---

There was no wind, in the forest. There hadn’t been for some time. The trees were heavy with snow, branches creaking low under the weight, threatening to dislodge upward with the faintest touch... but the powdery white that twinkled in the eternal starlight had seen no wind for days. It was smooth, light, full of lumps and pockets, no signs of the sweeping curves that a strong wind could carve into the ground itself.

Not that it mattered. Nightmare knew that even if the winds had been howling, and the blizzard had been smog-thick, Horror would still be able to follow your trail through the woods like a bloodhound behind a fox. There was nowhere in the entirety of the Winter kingdom that you could go where Horror would not be able to find you sooner or later. 

perhaps that’s what makes you confident enough to run out into the snow like this, Nightmare thought. if you were back in the human realm, you never would have gone so far from home.

The larger fae trudged ahead, heavy cape-like wings dragging behind him, compacting the snow into a sheet. The two fae had let their horses go some distance prior, allowing the steeds to return home as they continued on foot. Horror’s large red iris was turned downward, flickering back and forth across the ground - that eye caught details that even Nightmare would not have noticed. The ghosts of footsteps, corners where cloaks scuffed against the snow, traces where a hand touched a tree for support. A world invisible to most.

Nightmare watched, intrigued. He had no eye for such details. He could track and hunt, of course, as anyone in Winter could. But no one alive could track like Horror.

“... close now, m’lord.” Horror said, softly, breaking the silence.

Nightmare hummed. “good.”

When you disappeared into the forest, it was of no concern. It was not the first time you had taken away into the endless night to explore. Your fur-trimmed cloak and walking boots had been missing from your room, so no one batted an eye, least of all Nightmare; he knew enough his own bride’s affection for his homeland. Your tendency to vanish away for hours-long ‘strolls’ was something of an in-joke amongst his closest courtiers. A newcomer to our realm loves it more than our King himself. You adored to be lost in Winter, finding new marvels and sights, new places to delight in bringing him to.

... So even when your horse returned home riderless, he hadn’t thought to be concerned. Sometimes, you simply wanted to walk alone for a little while, or you worried your steed was growing tired or cold. Your horse had made his own way back enough times for nothing to raise the alarm. All this was notwithstanding the intricate silver ring Nightmare always wore; a marvel of magic craftsmanship that allowed the wearer to instantly recall whomever bore the ring’s twin. You never left home without yours, and he never removed his. In theory, there was nought to fret over.

... But then... Nightmare’s most beloved hunting dog, a shaggy grey wolfhound who stood so tall his shoulders could bump your hips, returned alone. 

That dog was your guardian when Nightmare could not be. Even when you thought you were alone, the hound was close by, ensuring you never had anything to fear. It would have followed you into bear dens, through packs of wolves, it would have followed you to the very ends of Winter to where the shimmering starry filament met the mountains, and yet further still. Nothing could have deterred that beast.

But he came back alone. Head drooped, tail tucked.

Nightmare paused only to assure the beast with a caring touch to its head. He took his own cloak, his own boots, and called Horror to his side. The largest fae obeyed wordlessly and his courtiers parted like a sea. From the hound returning alone, to Nightmare and Horror setting out into the white wastes themselves, little more than two score minutes passed.

... Were his mind not full of the kinds of thoughts that could darken the sky into thunderclouds, Nightmare would’ve thought it heartwarming how eager Killer and Dust were to aid in the search for you. 

“but why can’t we come?” Killer was all but frothing at the bit, pacing in short circles like a caged lion at one of Dream’s ridiculous feasts. “the more eyes the better, surely. we can cover more ground.”

Nightmare fastened his cloak around his neck with a silver moon brooch that glinted like a blade in the low castle light. The cloak was midnight black, lined with thick fur, and decorated with fine embroidery in silver and blue thread. It twinkled faintly, something else sewn into the fabric, something glittering and intangible.

Dust passed him dagger and compass. Nightmare tucked them away into his cloak. Dust said nothing, his face betrayed nothing. But the fact that he was helping Nightmare get ready as fast as possible said more than words or faces could.

“i know my way through the forest.” Killer continued on. “what if she’s been kidnapped? what if she’s in summer? i know both realms. horror’s not the only one with a penchant for travel. we should...”

Nightmare looked down at Killer. Killer’s mouth shut, with an audible clicking sound. 

“horror is the better hunter,” Nightmare said. His voice was carefully controlled. “familiarity alone does not qualify you. you would get in the way.”

Killer’s jaw visibly clenched.

... Nightmare... felt a twinge of something, as he looked at his small underling. Guilt? No, nothing that strong. But he thought of what you would say to how he had just spoken. How you would glance at him. How you would say nothing aloud, to publicly respect his authority, but your eyes would spell out every word of your disapproval.

Nightmare exhaled, through his nasal cavity. You had well and truly wormed your way into his skull, hadn’t you? Even when you weren’t there, he did everything you asked him to.

“... you two are far more useful here,” Nightmare added. “i don’t trust anyone else to maintain the castle while i’m gone. keep everyone calm, say nothing.”

That was all it took to visibly settle Killer’s nerves. Dust did not appear convinced - but he was quiet, for now.

Though Nightmare was the King and founder of the Winter kingdom, he had to admit, Horror was far more capable in the snowy wilds than he. Nightmare took to the cold outlands with boredom; a resigned sort of love, a dull kind of fearlessness, the lack of enthusiasm that comes with knowing every inch of magic that filled the trees and snowdrifts. He knew nothing in his kingdom could harm him, and he treated it thus. 

Horror, on the other hand... Horror lived the cold. He breathed the cold. Winter had welcomed him where Summer had scorned him, and it was clear the wastes were a place of great comfort. Every twitch of his eye, every footstep, it happened with reverence. Nightmare, like the neglectful parent he was, purported to know much about Winter’s outer forests and wilds - yet in reality, he knew very little. He knew what it’d been thousands of years ago. Much had changed since then. 

... You, on the other hand... a smile tugged at the corner of his downturned mouth, like a child tugging at his robes. You saw beauty where he had never thought to look for it. You showed him things about his own home he had never noticed. Like how the aurora glistened in the snow, how starlight glanced in the frost on the corners of the windows. How you could hear running water far below if you pressed your ear to the surface of a glassy frozen river - how the hidden hot springs sent plumes of warm steam up into the sky like bonfires. He never knew why you so clearly preferred Winter to the endless warmth and light of the Summer kingdom, but... he wasn’t about to try and convince you otherwise.

You made him see the world differently. You made him happy.

... Nightmare’s almost-smile disappeared. 

Just like...

...

A thought was itching at the edges of his mind. One that had been itching there for as long as you’d been by his side. One he wouldn’t let fully form, not yet. 

Nightmare looked ahead to Horror’s back. To an outside observer, Horror probably appeared to be a courtier Nightmare didn’t care much for. The two barely spoke, barely even looked at one another, especially when compared with how often Nightmare was around Killer; Horror spent very little time actually in the palace, instead disappearing for days into the snowy wastelands around Winter.

But the truth couldn’t be more different. Horror was one of Nightmare’s closest companions - perhaps the closest to being someone Nightmare considered a friend. Horror had been one of the very first fae to abandon the Summer realm and follow Nightmare into the cold. He had loyally remained by his King’s side for centuries yet. 

... And Horror was the only one who knew the truth about a certain rumour that swirled the court.

Dream, King of the Summer court, took lovers like birds took flight. As one would expect of the handsome and charming ruler of all that was golden and good. A new pretty thing on his arm every season, even you yourself had once been Dream’s favourite. In stark contrast, before your arrival, Nightmare had sat alone for thousands of years. He entertained no touch and treated all flirtation like a personal insult, swiftly removing from the inner court anyone who dared proposition him. 

Why Nightmare had no taste for romance was the subject of endless debate. Nightmare could not love, Nightmare could not feel. Nightmare had no heart, or Nightmare did have a heart, but it was made of pure ice and beat once a moon. 

... And... one rumour, considered farcical by most, circled by the particularly poetic and romantic. That Nightmare did have a lover, once, before the written records began. One that he adored with all his Soul. But one day, that lover vanished. And a heartbroken Nightmare resolved never to take a partner again.

...

Horror was the only one who knew the truth. The one living creature to whom Nightmare had confessed.

Nightmare’s memories of his old love were... foggy, by now. Even creatures of eternity could forget, when time stretched out long enough behind them. But there was no fog thick enough to obscure sunlight. When he closed his eye, it did not matter how long had passed. He could still feel her cheek on his palm.

...

There it was again. That itching thought. Nightmare began to twist the silver recalling ring on his finger. 

... It felt foolish. It truly did. To think such a thing possible. 

... And yet... you looked like her. You spoke like her, you walked like her. You laughed like her. You used the same nonsensical turns of phrase, you wore the same colours. You brushed your hair the same way. You liked to be kissed in the same ways. Everything you did sent vivid shocks of deja-vu through his body. And your eyes...

...

Nightmare had wondered, since the very moment he laid eyes on you in Dream’s kingdom, if you were the same person as all that time ago.

Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps he just had a very rare type. But... there was a reason Nightmare had given you his true name so early into knowing one another. He had the growing suspicion that some strange fate was going to befall you. And there was no weapon he could arm you with that was greater than a fae king’s true name.

Horror eventually came to a stop, ceasing the rhythmic heavy crunching of snow underfoot. Nightmare looked up. The two had entered an area where the trees parted just enough to see a clear patch of sky. It seemed like the sort of place that had once been a clearing, but over the centuries, nature had reclaimed it, closing in over the sky above.

“... trail... ends here,” he said. His breaths escaped as steam from between his massive teeth.

Nightmare came around Horror’s side. The itching was stronger than ever. Nightmare’s eye darted around the clearing, sharp and tense, glowing brightly enough to light some of the strands of fur on his cloak into a glimmering cyan.

“i know this place,” he murmured.

i have been here before.

They were before a stone circle. Five black stones, half submerged in snow, like obsidian icebergs rising out of a white ocean. 

Five stones. 

Nightmare felt... unpleasant. And he could tell Horror was equally as off-put. It was hard to describe to one who did not understand, but the fae had a natural sense and reverence for numbers. It was why they were so fond of threes. Three was a delightfully strong and naturally powerful thing, rich with magic, almost everything important to their kind was done in threes; the number of times an incantation was spoken, the number of ingredients used in concoctions, the number of challenges bestowed upon unfortunate humans, the hour at which the veil between worlds was thinnest.

Five? 

Five was uncomfortable. Five was beyond. Five visible planets in the sky, five fingers on the hand. Five was looking over a cliff edge, stumbling into an ancient tomb, five was calling upon something not yet comprehended. 

... And your trail ended here. In a circle of five black stones. 

“what is this?” Nightmare asked. He wondered if Horror could hear the way he tried to disguise a vocal tremble. Nightmare knew the gnarls of the surrounding trees, the edges of the stones, it was like catching a scent on the wind and unlocking a memory you long thought beyond reach.

“... transportation... circle,” Horror replied.  Neither of them dared step any closer. “old. very old. i’ve... seen some before. but not this one.”

“do you know where it sent her?”

“no,” he murmured. “... could be anywhere. any time.”

Any time.

... Nightmare looked to the ring on his finger. 

“how long has she been on the other side?”

“time... works... differently. hours here. there... could be seconds. or years.”

The day you vanished, all those years ago, you had promised him with such conviction that you would return. 

...

Gods. It had been you, hadn’t it? He almost laughed. He’d always known, but he’d never had the courage to admit it to himself. Not until now, not until the answer was staring him in the face.

This was where he first met you. Thousands of years ago. This ring of five black stones. This was where the love of his life had appeared out of nothingness and stumbled, wide-eyed and confused, into his arms.

Thank the aurora he gave you his name. What better defence against him, than his own true name? 

He was a different beast back then. Back when he was young. He was wrathful, spiteful. He was, by all means, a tyrant. The famous duel with his brother that resulted in the splitting of the kingdoms had happened mere decades prior, and his scars had still been deep and fresh - rivers of blood, both human and fae, ran in the name of his wounded pride. He took what he pleased and cared little for consequence.

... But you tamed him. Just by being yourself, you had bought the storm to heel. He still remembered it, how intensely he wanted you, how much he needed you to like him. How he had felt himself willing to jump through any hoop if it meant you would keep looking at him the way you did.

... 

You were the reason that, in the present day, everyone knew Nightmare as a quiet, stern, but ultimately fair king. A man with an iron fist but a careful touch. Because the day you vanished, you promised you would return. He forged that man he was today, out of the fires of his proud and foolish old self; he learnt to control his temper, to stay his hand. He learnt how to behave like a king. All so that when you came back - if you came back - he would be a man worth returning to.

...

Stars. Nightmare did laugh, quietly, the pieces falling into place. Is that why you put up with him back then, with all his vices, when no one else would? Why you were so loving despite his rage? You were patient, because you knew what he could be. You had already met what he could be. You already knew.

You loved him in the past, despite his foolishness, because of who he was in your time. But he only was this way in the present because you had given him a chance back then. It all came back around again.

...

“... it... was her,” Horror said. He looked a touch concerned. Anyone would, after hearing Nightmare laugh. “wasn’t it?”

Horror was so much more intelligent than anyone gave him credit for.

“yes,” Nightmare replied, simply. He raised his hand, letting the ring catch the moonlight. Magic started to prickle through him.

... He was about to steal you from his past self. The irony of it did not pass him unnoticed. He was about to deal himself the greatest heartbreak of his life. He was about to take the only person who had ever loved his lost and furious young self, the only person who had ever looked beyond the faces he exposed to the world.

...

But... it was a necessity. Because without this, you wouldn’t be given a reason to think him worth loving. 

Power flooded through his body, prickling the long scars on his shoulders, through his arm, and into the ring; his cloak lifted in a sudden wind, the fur on Horror’s hood began to sway, the trees began to hiss and whisper. 

... Nightmare... didn’t know why. But for a moment, he stayed there like that, allowing the ring to simply shimmer on his finger. Perhaps he wanted to give you a warning that he was calling you back. So that you could say goodbye - and say all the things that that foolish young man needed to hear. 

...

Nightmare clenched his hand. A nova of pure white light escaped the ring, gleaming out in all directions, a star bursting. 

There was something like a bang without noise. A pop, a change of pressure in the air. Then suddenly, a tiny human woman was stumbling toward him. You tripped, immediately, likely not expecting the change in scenery; Horror jumped forward, but Nightmare was faster, catching you by the elbows before you were able to fall.

You gasped, grabbing onto his tunic, looking up at him. You were in vastly different clothing to what he had sent you out in. Your eyes were wide and bright, your cheeks rounded and healthy. His past self had taken good care of you, at least.

For a split second, he... he was worried. His eye met yours, and all he could think about was how you must think of him now that you knew how he once was. Would you be ashamed? Would you hold his past violences against him? Would you be afraid, or... what if you didn’t think he had changed enough? What if you were disappointed?

You stared up at him. Wisps of magic rose off your shoulders and hair. 

...

“... Y-you dress so much better now,” you said, stunned.

...

At that, Nightmare could only laugh, and draw you into his chest. 

All those years alone were worth it. Even for just a single moment with you in his arms.

[babyy-blossom]

Jason Todd with s/o who loves to bake

Masterlist

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

Jason swears you took that saying and ran with it.

He’s afraid of gaining 50 pounds just by looking at all the delicious desserts you make.

“Some are from (insert what you call your grandma) and some are from Pinterest.” You’d say with a proud smile when he asked where you get your recipes from.

He absolutely devours everything you make him. If the others are lucky he MIGHT MIGHT share.

Alfred absolutely loves your baking skills. “One can always tell when something is made with love and pride.”

Bruce hides away in the Bat Cave as he eats the apple crisp pie you made. He couldn’t help himself.

Jason is a fiend for berries. No one can convince me otherwise.

He might enjoy the classic apple pie or chocolate cake here and there,

but make him a blackberry cobbler and he’s forever yours. Bake him up a special cherry pie, OOooOoo, he eats it like a starved man.

Now when you start to cook, that’s a game changer. Soups, pastas, oven specials, steaks (“I’m a growing boy” he’d claim)

Will cry like a boy coming home from after school sports if he comes home and sees that crockpot is out.

Absolutely loves cookies. However he likes his basic. Chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, sugar cookie.

Jason Todd would attend a one day cookie decorating class. He wouldn’t be great at it. But he would try for you.

For your birthday the first year you started dating he gifted you different shaped cookie cutters.

For the next birthday or Christmas he may or may not have dug into Bruce’s pockets to buy you a kitchenaid.

Bruce didn’t mind much though when he found out. He gets to also reap the rewards of you having a kitchen helper.

Jason one time bet that you couldn’t use a measuring cup as a weapon after you threaten him with one if he wouldn’t get out of the kitchen. He was proved wrong when you used the handle as a makeshift shank.

You love Jason but there is such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen.

If there is ever an ingredient that you do not have, Dick is willing to go to the store for you. However you have to promise to share what you are making.

“Jay? How do I make 3/4? And how many of those tablespoons do I need to make 1 3/4 cup?”

His honest reaction:

“Do I look like a math teacher? Ask google.”

He’s no help I feel when it comes to anything math related. Especially factions. He knows how to take a car apart and put it back together. Don’t ask him to do anything else.

Don’t ask Dick either. Unless you want to make a disaster. And Tim would probably give the wrong answer on purpose.

Jason loves to watch you decorate your cakes. Sometimes you make birthday cakes for your friends and your steady hands piping the icing is so impressive to him, he could watch you for hours.

He loves watching you get excited about your hobby.

Jason really is a great supporter of your work and hobby. Sometimes he refuses to eat a cookie or cake because “it’s too pretty and you made that with your own hands.”

“MORE FOR ME!”- Dick

[lunajay33]

Over Looked

•🪽🌌🌑•

Summary: Being the youngest Archeron sister was hard and when you’re thrown into a new life as a high fae living in the night court people don’t see your struggle, and the one you crave only has eyes for your sister Elain

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Info: Elain and Nesta always hated reader, Rhys and Feyre adore her, angst with a happy ending

•Masterlist•

After years of living in poverty, sleeping on the cold hard floor while my three older sisters shared a bed, my two oldest sisters hating me, after almost dying trying to sneak into prythian finding myself lost in the woods for months until a tall man with dark hair found me curled up in the autumn court woods almost starving from being lost for so long and running for my life every second, he was like a dark angel as he kneeled infront of me

Flashback

“Your sister has been desperately trying to find you” he smiles as he pick me up and glimmering smoke surrounds us

“Feyre” I whisper when I open my eyes again I’m in a fancy house and there sits my lovely sister but she was undeniable more beautiful, he lays me on the couch as Feyre kneels next to me

“I tried……I tried to save you Fey” I sigh weakly noticing the tears in her eyes

“I’m so sorry, none of this would’ve happened I should have protected you” she cry’s

She filled me in on everything that happened, how the man that found me was her mate and this was the night court, how she was now a high fae

She helped me bath and fed me, introducing me to Mor, Cassian he was like a huge teddy bear, and Azriel he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen but he seemed to be standoffish, quiet and mysterious but his shadows would seem me out sometimes late at night when I couldn’t sleep, terrified of the memories of the monsters that had chased me

Then everything changed, me, Elain and Nesta got taken, thrown into the cauldron and turned into high fae, Elain got powers and so did Nesta, I was yet to discover if I had any ability, even now as we were all in the inner circle Elain and Nesta took any chance they could to jab at me

Present

I’m still having a hard time adjusting to this new life, finding it hard to let my old life go wishing I could have what Feyre had, she looks so happy as she looks into the eyes of her mate as they are sat at the head of the table while we all eat our dinner

I look back down the table noticing the way Azriel would glance at Elain, I’ve caught it a few times and it broke my heart each time, the moment I crawled out of the cauldron and looked at him I felt it in my chest that he was the one for me but he had eyes for one of the sisters that made my life hell

“Y/n dear aren’t you hungry?” Mor asks smiling as she’s sat next to me, I put on a fake smile and shrug my shoulders

“Oh I’ve just lost my appetite is all”

“Probably for the best anyways she could afford to loose some weight” Nesta laughed as Elain joined in like cackling hyenas, I can feel my lip wobble as I try to keep the tears at bay looking down at Feyre for help, she always stuck up for me

“Nesta Elain that’s enough” she said sternly, Rhys next to her shooting them daggers with his eyes

“I think I’m just going to go to bed” I excuse myself going down the hall to my room hearing Feyre scold them but they just kept laughing

Looking in the mirror I hold up my shirt sighing, were they right? Maybe Azriel would notice me then, I feel a shadow swirl along my leg up to my cheek giving me a comforting feeling like it’s my own emotional support shadow

I lay in bed as it dances around my fingers, why is it always her, everyone wants them but no one ever wants me, a knock raps on the door and in steps Cassian in all his cuddly glory, since Rhys rescued me he’s helped nurse me back to health and became like a big brother to me

He throws himself on the bed next to me with a pout as he watches me play with the shadow

“You know I’ve never seen them do that with anyone else” he says

“Can I ask you something?” I ask looking at him now

“Of course”

“Am I……ugly?” His eyes grow wide

“What? Of course not your beautiful, don’t listen to them they’re just playing around”

“No they aren’t, they’ve treated me like that from the day I was born, called me ugly, chubby, no one will ever want me, they pick on everything I do and now……the guy I’m destined to be with doesn’t even second glance at me to preoccupied with someone else, of course he would not even my own mate wants me” I rant finally getting it off my chest

“WAIT WHAT? You’ve found your mate and you haven’t told any of us? This is a huge deal who is it?” He asks like a girl wanting all the gossip

“Come on Cas, why would I wanna tell you it’s embarrassing, they always want her” I sigh shrugging my shoulders

“Want who?” He asks rubbing my back

“Elain, but why don’t guys look at me I’m nice and I’d give my heart to him but all he sees is Elain and how pretty she is”

“Elain? Who’s looking at he….” He stops as a see the realization on his face

“Azriel? He’s your mate” I nod looking away

“Like they said I’m too ugly for someone like him” I try to distract myself with the shadow still around my fingers

“Hey you’re beautiful, why don’t you tell him or talk to Feyre and Rhys”

“Maybe”

I made my way down the hall to Rhys’s office where he and Feyre were chatting

“Hey can I talk to you guys?” I ask nervously

“Of course sit” Feyre says motioning to the chair infront of her and Rhys

“I’m sorry about before I’ve told them to stop talking to you like that” Feyre smiles gently

“Thank but I wanted to tell you something else, it’s really been weighing on me” they give me their full attention

“What is it sweetheart?” Rhys asks

“I’ve found my mate”

“What since when?”

“Since I came out of the cauldron” I say as another shadow comes and plays through my hair and they smile

“Azriel?” Rhys asks

“Not that it matters he only has eyes for Elain”

“Oh dear he might come around just give him time” Feyre says

“Why don’t you tell him”

“I can’t I can’t handle that rejection” they give eachother that look that tells me they’re talking to eachother through the bond

“I’m gonna go, it’s getting late” I say leaving quickly before they could stop me

I head to my room and pack a bag, I can’t stay in this place anymore what’s the point Elain and Nesta taunt me all the time, Azriel won’t even look at me

Waiting until the house is quiet I take my bag and head out to the front door about to leave by I feel a tug on my ankle and wrist, I turn seeing shadows trying to pull me back in

“I’m sorry little guys I’ve got to go” they loosen just enough for me to get out of their grasps and leave walking out into the late night, the streets are empty and chilly

“And what’re you doing?” I hear behind me making me stop sending a shiver down my body

I turn seeing Azriel of course the shadows would tel him

“Leave me alone, you’ve done a good job of that so far why stop me now” I keep walking not even knowing where I’m going

“You have no where to go” he says now walking next to me

“Like you care” I sigh

“Why wouldn’t i” I stop and turn to him

“Just give it up Az, you can’t stand me, you don’t talk to me or even look my way, all you can do is ogle Elain and what’s so good about her hmm?”

“She’s having a hard time”

“She’s having a hard time? Can’t you feel it, can’t you see how I’ve been drowning every second and you don’t even feel me” his eyebrows furrow in confusion

“You never told me your problems”

“I shouldn’t have to you should feel them Az, hell the shadows can, they visit me every night”

“They do?”

“Yes but you didn’t even realize right? I’m not waiting around just to watch you fall in love with my own sister” I brush past him but he catches my wrist

“What’re you saying”

“YOURE MY MATE AZRIEL” the night becomes even more silent as he just looks at me

“Why didn’t you tell me” his voice gentle now

“Seriously? You know why”

“I’m…..I’m sorry just give me a chance” I pull my arm back

“I need time az, you’ve hurt me too much”

•

Part.2

[william-t-sickofyourshit]

Cynthia was very supportive and reassuring, and she had lots of ideas too. Not only the scarves, but also wigs! That was a brilliant alternative, actually. William figured that this would be something that would allow Sebastian to feel at least more normal until his hair grows back after treatment. And he was glad to see that Sebastian smiled at the idea as well. “Oh babe, you would look stunning as a blond.” William snickered, playfully nudging Sebastian. He wanted to cheer him up a bit.

And when Cynthia suggested she could even sew matching scarves for both of them, William agreed right away. “Oh I would love that! Seb, we would look like a pair of pirates, that’s very cool.” he chuckled, again attempting to show his boyfriend a silver lining of this situation. 

William felt a little better as he got to rest for a while and eat a solid meal. Sebastian’s parents’ presence was also relaxing and it made him feel like not everything was on his shoulders for once. And after dinner, all four of them sat down in front of the fireplace, with tea and sweet scones. They pulled out Monopoly to play together, and spend a nice, relaxing evening. 

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[lovelybucky1]

A character of your choice from the Go Greek! Universe reacting to the sweetheart getting back with an ex (or thinking about it) and it ends with smut, showing-you-what-you’re-missing kind of thing 🤭 I’m loving this series so much! Xoxo

i love this so much!!! here’s headcanons about steve, bucky and joaquin in this situation. // go greek! masterlist // 18+ minors dni

Steve would be so against it. That guy was a piece of shit and everyone knows it. He isn’t good for you and you deserve so much better, so why would you even think about going back to him? He would lecture you, going on and on about how terrible he was until you finally snap.

“You keep saying I deserve better but I haven’t found it! How do you know there’s anyone better for me?”

Steve clenches his jaw and you see determination in his eyes. “I’m better.”

Your eyes widen and you find yourself at a loss for words. Before either of you could say anything else, Steve steps into your space and ducks down to kiss you. He holds you tightly, not even giving you an inch of room as he claims your mouth. You melt into the kiss and you’re lucky that he is supporting you, because you might collapse to the floor.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls away but remains close. His nose is almost brushing against yours and he looks into your eyes, seeing the desire in them.

“Let me show you how much better I can be.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, would proposition you right then and there.

“If you need someone to fuck, fuck me,” he says as casually as telling you the weather.

“What?”

“Your ex was an asshole. You said it yourself, the only thing good about him was his dick. If you need good dick, I’m right here, baby.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap with ease. Bucky always takes what he wants. You look down at him, at his light blue eyes, plush lips, and the stubble on his face.

“I’m way hotter than he is, too,” he says. Just as humble too.

“I don’t know, Bucky. What if it makes things weird between us?”

Bucky laughs as shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dyin’ to fuck you since the day we met. Do us both a favor and let me. I promise I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget that asshole’s name.” His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, greedily squeezing it. “We’ll do it however you want. Fast, slow, nice, mean, missionary, doggy-”

“That’s enough,” you stop him, giggling as you slap his chest.

“Are you gonna make me beg? Pretty please let me fuck you, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine,” you huff. Your reluctance is for show. You can’t let him think you were jumping at the chance to fuck him.

Joaquin would be so sweet and try to convince you that you don’t need him.

“We can watch movies together. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and take you shopping. I’ll take you out to dinner and I’ll pay the whole bill. He always asked you to split it!”

“But you’re not my boyfriend, Joaquin,” you say, hands on your hips as you look at him.

“I don’t need to be your boyfriend to do all those things. I still care about you and I know you deserve better than that guy.”

You sigh. “There are things I want that you can’t give me because you’re not my boyfriend.”

Joaquin mimics your stance, cocking his head as he stares back at you. “Like what?”

“Like sex!” you exclaim. You get that Joaquin wants what’s best for you, but you have needs. At least this time you know what you’re signing up for with your ex.

That seems to catch Joaquin off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you, who’s always so sweet and perfect, to like sex.

“I can do that too!” he comes back with.

You furrow your brows. “No you can’t, Joaquin. We’re friends.”

“Ever heard of friends with benefits? I promise it won’t be weird. I can give you everything you want and you never have to see that loser again.”

You consider it. Joaquin is hot and he treats you way better than you ex ever did. You suppose just once wouldn’t hurt, and if it didn’t workout, Joaquin seems like the type to let it go and not allow it to ruin the relationship you have.

“Fine, but this stays between us, okay?”

“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” he asks, teasing.

“Shut up,” you huff.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You step close to him and grab his face. You lean in for a kiss and he eagerly reciprocates. Once he gets the idea, you allow him to take control of the pace. His hands gently trail over your body, clearly hesitant to touch you.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ll gonna do it right,” you say after you break the kiss. You place his hands on your ass and he takes the hint, squeezing firmly.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” he chuckles.

“We’ve never done this before.”