#Yes you're invaluable

[eroguron0nsense]

Portgas D. Ace Rant #21223

Sometimes I just think about how profoundly neglected child Ace was and how little the adults in charge of raising him –namely Garp and Dadan– were capable of understanding his emotional needs or the severe guilt and self hatred they'd basically allowed him to wallow in. Ignoring the child neglect played for comic effect, none of them have anything to contribute when Ace is visibly distressed by the constant reminders that Roger is hated by all, that his father was allegedly a monster, and to a certain extent we can guess that Garp probably played a role in fostering it. Even his attempts to actually support Ace (specifically the "You'll see as you live" line) don't really address the fundamental issue of suicidal depression and issues of self worth, and probably kind of inadvertently made it harder for this suicidal 10 year old to rationalize the very basic notion that he deserves/ that anyone wants him to be alive. Even his friendship with Sabo, which provides him with at least some of the companionship he's been deprived of, isn't anywhere near enough to address that kind of fundamental depression and neglect, and the only thing he knows how to do in response is to take out his frustration on an even smaller, younger, neglected child.

(It's also highly likely that he's aware, on some level or another, of the atrocities committed during the military's search for him, and he's definitely aware that Rouge forfeited her life for him, so this notion that his existence is cursed is reinforced by severe survivor's guilt)

It says a lot that the first person to provide Ace with any amount of the affirmation he desperately needs is Luffy, who out of all the people around Ace should by right be the least equipped to emotionally support him, just by saying that he wants to be around Ace and he's glad that Ace exists.

[certifieddudette]

People talk shit about having friends in different timezones all the time but they shut up once something goes terribly wrong in the middle of the night and they've got some amazing people on the other side of the world to help them out in whatever way they can while everyone around them is deep asleep.

[luveline]

i lowkey need to see stripper!reader and spencer again

for you gorgeous ♡ fem

cw adult themes

Hotch and Spencer draw attention at the strip club for the same reason but in varied fonts. They're both reminiscent of your regulars, Hotch the picture of a businessman with a wife to forget and steam to blow, and Spencer the silent sweetheart, pretty but too shy to talk to normal girls. 

He doesn't need a normal girl when he has you. 

You're glad for your cover up clothes as you lean against the dressing room door. One of the bouncers peers at you from the corner of his eye. 

"Trouble?" he asks. 

"Not sure. Probably not." You wave until Agent Hotchner notices you. To your delight, he raises his hand politely. 

You step around the bouncer and bypass the stage to the lighter area of the club where they stand in wait. "Hello. I could've met you outside." 

"Would you?" Agent Hotchner asks. 

You don't need him to explain. It's not the most professional thing, loitering in a club like this. You follow them out of the club and onto the street, cold even in your sweatpants as the wind rails. Spencer lets you squeeze his fingers in greeting, but that's all. 

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Hotchner," you say honestly, giving him a smile. 

He doesn't return the pleasantry, but Spencer swears he's softer than he looks so you choose to run with it as Agent Hotchner says, "We need information on one of your patrons." 

"Tennis Lawley," Spencer adds. 

"Tennis," you repeat. "I thought my pseudonym was bad."

Spencer gives you a quick look. I'd laugh if I weren't at work, it says. "We think he's involved in a string of killings in Washington DC. What do you know about him?" 

It's not an exaggeration to say you've played therapist for Tennis and a ton of guys just like him. Being a stripper, an exotic dancer, whatever anyone wants to call it (though Spencer usually just calls it your work) has pros and cons. You've felt it to be heavier on the con side, but this is a big plus, being able to assist someone you care about with something important. It makes you feel useful for once, like you're more than the froth of the city. "Ask me anything," you say, hiding your cheek from the cold with a deft hand. 

Spencer and Agent Hotchner ask you all sorts of questions, personal to their suspect and less so, and for the most part you're able to answer them. You can tell from the look on Hotchner's face that he's both surprised and extremely satisfied by your knowing, and he emphasises his thankfulness with a touch to your upper arm before he says goodbye. "Your help is invaluable, Y/N, thank you." 

Spencer, your sweetheart, stays for a more thorough farewell. 

"Have you eaten yet today?" he asks, the hand you'd squeezed earlier leaping for yours. "You look tired." 

"It's getting close to midnight, Spence. I'm alright. You and Agent Hotchner should head home and rest yourselves…" You bring your hand to his cheek but think better of yourself, pushing your arm over his shoulder instead for a hug. His own arms contract around you immediately. "I miss you lately, where have you been?" 

"Everywhere. I miss you too," he says. Despite the months of knowing one another, and the many states he's seen you in, you know without looking that Spencer is blushing profusely. 

You kiss his cheek as your heels return to safe ground. "Come and see me again soon, okay? And bring your rich friends. The older one, Rossi, is he really a millionaire? A divorced one?" 

"Yes, he is," Spencer says with a laugh, his voice climbing higher, "but I don't think he's looking for another wife right now, sorry." 

"Maybe Agent Hotchner–" 

"Stop calling him that." 

You look Spencer straight in the eye, nearly caught off guard by how sweet and soft they meld at your touch where your hands linger in his. 

You often think that you and Spencer aren't meant to be. Your life, whether willing or unwilling, by choice or design, is entirely focused around your body, and Spencer's world revolves around his mind. You know that what you do for work isn't anything to be ashamed of, but you have the same doubts as anyone else. You know what people think of you. You wouldn't blame Spencer for thinking the same things. And you wouldn't expect him to want to be with you in any aspect that wasn't physical. 

But when he holds your hands in his like this, as though they're made of something delicate, something he wants to map every detail or by fingertip alone, you wish things were different. 

You clear your throat. "I really do miss you when you're away," you confess. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Your hands miss his the millisecond you pull them away. "I guess I shouldn't keep you. Your boss will be wondering where you are." 

"Are you okay?" 

You can't even pretend it's a strange question; you're acting strange. "I'm fine, Dr. Reid. My nice new boss knows I know the feds, and all the girls are jealous of me when you guys come to visit. They think I'm on your payroll." 

Spencer quirks a puzzled frown, brows pulled together tightly. "You're harder to read than most people. Have I ever told you that?" 

"I guess it's 'cos I spend so much time pretending I'm a different person," you say, smiling to prompt him into smiling back. 

"Maybe." He pulls his bag from where it rests against his hip and opens it, rummaging through the contents with a confused murmur until he pulls out the shape he'd been looking for. "Here. Don't go to bed hungry, okay?" 

Spencer puts a protein bar in your hand. 

He steals a quick hug and leaves not long after that, crossing the dark parking lot to the mass of the dark SUV he arrives in. With one hand, you clutch the protein bar until it takes a new shape, and with the other you blow two sweet kisses, a cheesy, gaudy gesture that never fails to make your favourite special Agent blush. 

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - The Almost Kiss

Requested: yes

Prompt: Lando is out for the season and catches feeling for his replacement

Warnings: nope

Y/n jolted awake to the buzzing of her phone on the bedside table, the sound pulling her out of a deep sleep. Her hand fumbled for it, and when she finally answered, the grogginess was replaced with confusion. "Hello, Y/n." She mumbled. "Y/n, it’s Andrea. You need to come to the McLaren factory. Immediately." Her heart raced. She wasn’t used to getting calls this early in the morning. What could possibly be happening? Y/n was a reserve driver, sure, but there hadn’t been any news of anything happening to the main drivers. "Yeah, I'll get dressed and be in soon."

Half-dressed, still trying to wake up fully, she rushed to the factory, nerves on edge. By the time she arrived, her mind was racing with possibilities. When she stepped inside, the atmosphere felt tense, and she spotted Zak waiting for her. "Y/n." Zak started as soon as she was within earshot. "What's happening?" Y/n asked as Zak put his arm around her to lead her up towards the meeting rooms. "Lando’s out. He’s had an accident, nothing too serious, but enough to sideline him for the rest of the season." Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, how's that happened?" Zak rubbed his forehead. "He was out last night, partying because of his first win, took a fall, broke his tibia. We’ve had it confirmed that he won’t be able to drive for the rest of the season."

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. This was it, this was her chance. But the weight of the situation also sank in. Lando was injured, and she was being thrown into one of the biggest opportunities of her career. "We need you to step up." Zak continued, his voice firm but encouraging. "You’ll be taking Lando’s place. Effective immediately." She nodded, adrenaline pumping. This was what she had trained for, but the circumstances made it feel surreal. She was going to be one of McLaren’s main drivers.

The next few days were a whirlwind. Hours in the simulator, endless debriefs, and preparing for her first race as the primary driver. Every evening, Y/n found herself staying late, pushing herself in the simulator, wanting to prove she was ready for the challenge.

One evening, as she was deeply immersed in the simulation, the door to the room creaked open. She glanced up to see Lando standing there in a set of crutches, but a smile on his face. "Aren't you meant to be in a wheelchair for a while?" Y/n asked. "Yeah, but I like walking around on my one leg." He replied. "So you're a cripple then?" Lando laughed as he hobbled over towards the side of the simulator. "Need some help?" He asked casually. Y/n blinked, surprised. "You sure? I know you have to go to rehabilitation training and physio and-" Lando chuckled. "Yeah, well, I’ve got time. And besides, I figured I could help coach you a bit. You know, since I’ve been around for a while." Y/n smiled gratefully. "I’d appreciate that."

For the next few hours, Lando stood in the race engineer box of the simulator, giving tips and feedback, helping her adjust to the intricacies of McLaren’s car. His advice was invaluable, but more than that, it was nice to have him there calm, supportive, and surprisingly humble.

As the weeks passed, they grew closer. Between races and simulator sessions, they began to spend more time together. It started with casual meals in the motorhome, sharing laughs about life on the circuit, and then evenings spent debriefing together. The more time they spent with each other, the more their friendship deepened, and Y/n couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to be around him. It wasn’t long before she found herself in Monaco with him, where he had invited her to move into his place, just to make things easier between races. What had started as a practical arrangement became something much more meaningful. They would cook together, joke around, and occasionally sit in comfortable silence, watching the sunset over the harbor.

One of the first mornings she had spent in her bew apartment, Y/n had barely stirred from her peaceful slumber when a knock echoed through her apartment. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The world outside was only starting to light up as the sun rose over the principality through her blinds. She glanced at her phone. 7:00 AM? Who could that be? Reluctantly, she slid out of bed, tugging a hoodie over her sleep shirt as she padded barefoot toward the door. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

"I'm coming, hold on." She mumbled under her breath, unlocking the door and swinging it open. To her surprise, standing on the other side of the threshold was none other than Lando, looking fresh despite the ungodly hour. He offered her a crooked grin, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Lando?" She asked in disbelief, her voice still thick with sleep. "How on earth did you get up here?" He gave a nonchalant shrug, his boyish grin widening. "The lift."

"Obviously." She deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow. "But why? And why are you knocking on my door at-" She glanced at her phone again. "7 AM?" Lando shifted on his feet, looking almost sheepish for a moment. "I have a rehab session and I really don't want to go alone. Thought maybe you'd want to tag along?" His eyes met hers with a hopeful glint. Y/n blinked, processing his request. "You came all the way here just to ask me to go to rehab with you?"

"Well, yeah. Plus, I needed a ride." His grin turned cheeky, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "Lando, you have a whole team of people at your disposal. You could’ve called one of them."

"Yeah, but they're not you." He said with a smirk, and something in his casual tone made her heart skip a beat. "So, you coming or what?" He asked. "What's in it for me?" She challenged, letting him in. "A stop at the cafe du Paris if you get me to physio on time." Y/n sighed, shaking her head in amused disbelief. "Alright, alright. Let me get changed. Give me five minutes." Lando slumped down onto her sofa. "You're the best."

She quickly disappeared back into her room, rifling through her drawers for something more appropriate than her pajamas. As she threw on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, she couldn't help but smile to herself. Lando showing up out of the blue like this wasn’t exactly unusual—it was one of the things she liked about their friendship. He was spontaneous, always keeping her on her toes. Within minutes, Y/n was ready, grabbing her keys and slipping on a pair of sneakers as she met Lando by the door. He was already scrolling through his phone, humming under his breath.

"Let's go." She said, as Lando turned and hobled out the door. "Jesus, mate. You need to get out of these crutches, it's scaring away all the women." She joked. "Chick's dig this." Labdo replied. "I must be immune, Norris." They headed down the hallway and into the lift, Lando still chatting away about his recent races and how his shoulder injury was making training a nightmare. Y/n listened with a fond smile, appreciating how comfortable their conversations always were. It didn’t matter that it was now half 7 in the morning, and she hadn’t had her coffee yet; being around him always had a way of brightening her day. Once they reached the car, she slid into the driver’s seat, glancing over at him. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"Of course." Lando said, buckling in. "It's just rehab. But I appreciate you coming with me." Y/n nodded as she started the engine, pulling out of the parking garage. The early morning streets were quiet, making the drive peaceful. The two of them fell into easy conversation, and before she knew it, they were pulling up to his physios home. Lando turned to her as they parked. "Thanks for this, really. You didn’t have to."

"I know." She replied with a soft smile. "That's what makes me so nice." He returned her smile, lingering for a moment before unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. "Oh, the bestest ever." He replied mockingly.

The teasing,the coffees, it was all just part of this great friendship they had going on. Yet, beneath the surface, there was a growing tension. Unspoken feelings hung in the air between them, but neither dared to address it.

One race weekend, however, everything changed. Y/n had been hit with a penalty that she fiercely believed was unjust. After a heated argument with the stewards, she was slapped with a fine, and her frustration boiled over. Storming out of the stewards’ room, she avoided everyone, ignoring the calls from the press. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, let alone deal with interviews. She locked herself in her driver room, letting the anger simmer as she paced the small space. A knock came at the door.

"I'm not doing press today guys!" She shouted, her voice still edged with anger. There was a pause, and then a familiar voice replied. "It’s me." Her heart skipped a beat. It was Lando. Hesitant, she walked over and unlocked the door. He stepped inside, his expression soft, understanding. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, closing the door behind him. Y/n huffed, her hands running through her hair. "I just… I can’t believe this. That penalty wasn’t fair, and now I have to deal with a fine on top of it." Lando watched her for a moment, then stepped closer. "I get it. I’ve been there before. But you need to calm down, or it’ll just eat at you."

Y/n turned to him, her frustration still evident, but his presence was oddly comforting. There was a silence between them as they stood close, neither knowing what to say next. The tension from the room seemed to shift, no longer about the race or the penalty. They gazed at each other, the air between them thick with something unspoken. Slowly, they leaned in, the distance between them closing. But just before their lips could meet, there was another knock at the door. Y/n jerked back, startled. "Interviews, Y/n. You need to go." Came the voice from the other side of the door. Her heart racing, Y/n glanced at Lando, her mind spinning. Without another word, she bolted for the door, leaving Lando behind.

As she rushed to the media area, her thoughts were a whirlwind. Was Lando in love with her? Did she feel the same way? She couldn’t stop replaying that almost-kiss in her mind. Meanwhile, Lando stayed back in her room, wondering the exact same thing.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Fellow Honest - Playful Dress Vignette

"My stars, a grave insult!"

[Scalding Sands – Silk City]

Fellow: Now, ladies and gentlemen!

Fellow: What you are about to see here is a one-of-a-kind wonder.

Fellow: This is truly a genuinely invaluable show you are about to witness.

[rabble, rabble]

Fellow: Nice, them people're finally startin' to gather…!

Fellow: If you're interested in what I have to show, please, drop a few madol in this can over here. Any amount is fine～!

Fellow: And now, feast your eyes…

Fellow: On this… A one-of-a-kind puppet that can walk on its own without strings!

Fellow: What do you think, Mister? Madam? Doesn't it look so life-like? Amazing, is it not!?

Fellow: This exquisite beastman doll is the only one of its kind.

Fellow: You all are fortunate indeed to see such a fantastical sight. If your interest was piqued, I implore you to leave a token of appreciation…

[rabble, rabble]

Fellow: …Eh? It's not a puppet? A normal living being?

Fellow: HOW RUDE! WHAT EVIDENCE HAVE YOU FOR YOUR ACCUSATION!?

Fellow: Please, look carefully. It might be able to move without strings, but even if I poke or tickle it, it won't even cry out or laugh.

Fellow: It is a beautifully crafted puppet. Yes, that's right, there can be no question.

[Gidel nods]

Fellow: Ah, stop, Gidel!

Fellow: …It moved? Oh no, it must have just been a trick of the eye.

Fellow: Or, are you perhaps trying to insinuate that I, Fellow Honest, am a liar?

Fellow: You didn't mean it…? Ahhh, oh, but you've hurt my feelings so～!

Fellow: I've been known as Honest John, a man of integrity, pure and innocent, and yet you would call me a liar…

Fellow: I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SUFFER SUCH A DAY! MY STARS, A GRAVE INSULT!

Fellow: Hey now, Mister. Since you've damaged my pride like this, feels like you should provide me with a show of good faith and…

Gidel: [sneeze]

Fellow: AH!!

Fellow: U-Uhh… Ladies and gentlemen, I… Hm? You want your money and time back? …No need to get so angry… Hahaha…

Fellow: …Crap.

Fellow: RUN, GIDEL!!

Fellow: Haah… Pant, pant… Did we lose them?

Fellow: …YOU NITWIT! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE RIGHT THEN TO SNEEZE!?

Fellow: Just a little longer and we woulda gotten something extra on top of their spectator fees!

Gidel: …

Fellow: Ugh, whatever. ...All we got to show for that in the end was just a little bit of spare change…

Fellow: …And whatever small bits and bobs of jewelry they had on them.

Fellow: I stealthily swiped them with my magic while those idiots were all focused on you, but there's not much here. Shame.

Fellow: This dump ain't worth staying in. Time to move on, Gidel! Fwahaha!

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Fellow: Look carefully, fair people! What I have here is a magestone. However, this is no ordinary magestone.

Fellow: The date: 1000 years ago; the place: the depths leagues below the Coral Sea. This magestone was said to be sought even by the Great Seven!

Fellow: It may look like an ordinary pebble. So, what makes this an extraordinary find? Once you hear what I have to say, you'll never recover from the shock!

Fellow: Listen and be amazed! This is a miraculous stone where whosoever holds it becomes capable of using magic!

Gidel: ! [honks horn]

Fellow: For you, ladies and gentlemen, I risked life and limb searching high and low for this in the most secluded southern regions.

Fellow: There is only one of these gemstones in existence. We'll start the bidding at 50,000 madol (500 Thaumarks)! Come, come, all who are interested, please raise up a hand!

[silence]

Fellow: …Huh, no one wants to raise a hand? What, do I have before me a gaggle of broke spectators?

Fellow: Heh, gutless, all of you. Ah, but damn it all! Is there not a single one among you with the courage to reach out and grasp the miracle laid out before you!?

Fellow: With icy demeanors like that, even my fleas will laugh at me.

Fellow: …I'm sure you all are simply thinking there's no way you could trust vagabonds like us, isn't that right?

Fellow: You think I'm selling you a fake? You think you'll be wasting your money?

Fellow: Aah, that's no good, my dear fellows! If you mistrust me so fervently, it's not as fun...

Fellow: Don't worry. If you believe in what I tell you, there's nothing for you to be afraid of.

Fellow: COME ON TO THE THEATER!

Fellow: LIFE IS FUN

Fellow: …Ah, there we go, that was quick. 80,000 madol from the gent over there! And 100,000 madol from the one over here!

Fellow: A good call, everyone! With such wise decision-making skills, you all have a future scholar inside you!

Fellow: Fwahahaha! Look at 'em idiots believing at whatever stupid story I throw their way!

Fellow: A magestone that'll give you the ability to use magic～? If something like that really existed, I'd've used it myself.

Fellow: Even the guys who were the most skeptical leapt at the chance once I used my Unique Magic. I sure enjoy pulling the wool over idiots who try to look down on me.

Fellow: Hm, let's see how much we earned today…

Fellow: Two, four, six, eight… Oho, not a bad haul. Look, Gidel, we'll be feasting tonight!

[Gidel hops happily]

Fellow: Word's probably got around by now, especially after I raked in this much. This might be the end of the line for our earnings here…

Gidel: …

Fellow: What? You want to head south this time?

Fellow: Not a bad idea. How 'bout we target vacationers at them fancy resorts?

Fellow: Let's see if we can kindly crash their little enjoyable vacations.

Fellow: …Yeah, that's perfect. You're a genius, Gidel. This time, we'll be the fancy, rich folk out on vacation.

Fellow: We go where we want, when we want. We have nothing and no one tying us down.

Fellow: That's the least we deserve as free-spirited folk!

[Sunset Savanna – Sunrise City]

Fellow: EEEEP～～! I PROMISE, I WON'T DO ANYTHING BAD ANYMORE, I PROMISE!

Fellow: HELP～～～!

[Sunset Savanna – Sunrise City]

Fellow: SHIT! THAT MASSIVE CHEAPSKATE!

Fellow: They were carrying around a crazy fat wallet. They could've spared even a little bit and nothing woulda hurt their bottom line.

Fellow: Yet they caused a fuss just from me trying to swipe a few thousand madol… Ouuuch, it's still throbbing where they hit me.

[stomachs gurgle]

Fellow: Man, I'm starving. It's gonna suck to go another night without dinner.

Fellow: Ain't there something we can find to eat…?

[Gidel starts to drift away]

Fellow: …Hey, wait, Gidel! Don't open that can!

Fellow: Geez… Don'tcha see what it says right here? It's got OIL inside. You can't eat it, even if you open it.

Fellow: You do the same thing every time you're hungry. I've taught you dozens of times, can't you read what it says?

Gidel: …

Fellow: C'mon, squat here a little. I'll draw it out on the ground, so don't forget this time, 'kay?

Fellow: O is for Orange! It looks round and tasty, don't it?

Fellow: I is for Ice Cream! That thin, ice popsicle was pretty tasty the other day, wasn't it?

Fellow: L is for laugh! Don't it look like a smile when you look at it on it's side?

Fellow: …Why is L the only thing that's not food? I couldn't think of anything, so sue me.

Fellow: There's only so much I can teach you, too.

Fellow: Tch. If I had been able to go to school… By now I woulda been more…

[Gidel pats Fellow]

Gidel: …

Fellow: What? We don't need school to fill our bellies?

Fellow: Sigh, oh, Gidel. You know, you're…

Fellow: TOTALLY RIGHT!!

Fellow: That's right, we're living just fine even without going to school.

Fellow: Learning whatever with books and pencils is utter nonsense.

Fellow: We'll just clean out those suckers that went though their oh so lovely education, and just live a life that's even fuller.

Gidel: !

Fellow: That's right, leave it to me! Follow me, kid, and one day, you'll be a grand showstopper too.

Fellow: We'll get some halfwit students to dance for us on a stage for our own amusement!

Fellow: Now… What's more important right now is figuring out what we're going to eat tonight. I'll try to find something, so you start a fire.

Fellow: Just throw whatever you find into the fire, like wooden crates, or posters or… Hm?

Fellow: This job posting here… Oh, well, well!

Fellow: Look here, Gidel, That one prick is looking to hire someone. And this time, it's at an amusement park!

Fellow: I don't know what they're planning, but… Last time we did work for 'em, we made a killing.

Fellow: I can't stand how he looks down on us, but there's a lot more to gain out of it…

Fellow: Why don't we just go hear them out, Gidel? If we don't like it, we can just bail.

Fellow: We live only for today, never thinking about what tomorrow might bring. We do whatever work keeps our lives free and fun. 'Cause we can go and do whatever we want.

[Gidel nods, Fellow whistles as they go off]

Requested by @sakurakudo.

[pomefioredove]

Hi!! I’d like to request Epel, Vil, & Rook with a reader who is always quiet and shy but has a very over-the-top and eye-catching sense of style. Bracelets and bangles up to their elbows, massive dangly earrings that clink with every move, attracting stares (and magpies) wherever they go despite being as timid as a mouse.

as a goth who hates being looked at or talked to this is TOO real

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ pomefiore style

summary: stylish but shy reader type of post: headcanons characters: epel, rook, vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, rook is rook

you're pretty, you're polite, you attract attention everywhere you go

basically everything Epel is not

now, Pomefiore students notoriously hate being outdone

any outsider looking in might assume what Epel feels for you is... jealousy

you dull his own beauty just by standing next to him!

but to Epel...?

you are a BLESSING

he will drag you around with him everywhere

(the one time he doesn't mind holding hands...)

when you're with him, people stare at you, compliment your beauty, and leave him be

it's a mutually beneficial relationship, though

people will look at you as the delicate one, and he can do all the talking for 'ya!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

sorry. sorry

but Rook will antagonize you on purpose

constantly putting you on the spot, trapping you in endless conversations, finding you wherever you hide...

for... normal reasons

okay. not normal reasons

he just doesn't want you to hide your beauty away from the world, that's all!

shyness is not deal-breaker for him

(if anything, he likes it. makes the hunt CHASE more exciting)

after all, to him, a secret beauty is the rarest of all

you are his souris, adorable but timid

he is such a freak I'm sorry

if you like him enough, you'll get used to it. if not, Vil will eventually taken pity on you and intervene

"would you leave the poor thing alone," in his own words

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

not unlike Rook, Vil thinks it's a disgrace for you to hide yourself away

from the world, yes, but more importantly, from him

the guidance he could give you...

he can practically envision you blooming into a beautiful flower

you already know your way around a wardrobe, that's for sure

you turn heads everywhere you go

and the way you present yourself implies that you have some confidence, you just reserve it for...

something that's not eye contact?

there's much to be done, but only if you agree to do it

he can't promise you anything in return but his company

which is invaluable. to him, at least

...and, apparently, to everyone else

with him by your side, you attract twice the amount of usual stares

and if you get nervous? you're permitted to hold his hand

...in front of all those people

for... no reason...

[nostalgebraist]

Seeing a lot of python hate on the dash today... fight me guys. I love python. I am a smoothbrained python enjoyer and I will not apologize for it

Python has multiple noteworthy virtues, but the most important one is that you can accomplish stuff extremely fast in it if you know what you are doing.

This property is invaluable when you're doing anything that resembles science, because

Most of the things you do are just not gonna work out, and you don't want to waste any time "designing" them "correctly." You can always go back later and give that kind of treatment to the rare idea that actually deserves it.

Many of your problems will be downstream from the limitations in how well you can "see" things (high-dimensional datasets, etc.) that humans aren't naturally equipped to engage with. You will be asking lots and lots of weirdly shaped, one-off questions, all the time, and the faster they get answered the better. Ideally you should be able to get into a flow state where you barely remember that you're technically "coding" on a "computer" -- you feel like you're just looking at something, from an angle of your choice, and then another.

You will not completely understand the domain/problem you're working on, at the outset. Any model you express of it, in code, will be a snapshot of a bad, incomplete mental model you'll eventually grow to hate, unless you're able to (cheaply) discard it and move on. These things should be fast to write, fast to modify, and not overburdened by doctrinaire formal baggage or a scale-insensitive need to chase down tiny performance gains. You can afford to wait 5 seconds occasionally if it'll save you hours or days every time your mental map of reality shifts.

The flipside of this is that it is also extremely (and infamously) easy to be a bad python programmer.

In python doing the obvious thing usually just works, which means you can get away with not knowing why it works and usually make it through OK. Yes, this is cringe or whatever, fine. But by the same token, if you do know what the right thing to do is, that thing is probably very concise and pretty-looking and transparent, because someone explicitly thought to design things that way. What helps (or enables) script kiddies can also be valuable to power users; it's not like there's some fundamental reason the interests of these two groups cannot ever align.

[lovelygirlwithablog]

Under the tables

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!lawyer!reader

description: when Harvey gets bored in the middle of a meeting, he knows how to make it more interesting for the both of you.

warnings: smut, public sex, age gap, secret relationship, dirty talk, fingering, f!orgasm, praising, use of Y/N

word count: 1525

A/N: GUYS THANK YOU FOR THE NOTES YOU LEFT ON MY FIRST POST! 😭🫶🏻 here's a smut for you simps (including me, i'm genuinely obsessed with Harvey); this is one of the first times i'm writing smut and i really hope you'll like it <3

────────────────────────

Louis Litt adjusted his tie, a subtle sign of his nerves, before flashing his signature smirk. He stood at the head of the conference table, his usual, happy tone banging in your ears.

"Alright, everyone, I hope you’re ready to be amazed,” he began, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Today, we’re not just discussing another case—we’re changing the game. I’ve put together a proposal that will redefine our strategy and put us light-years ahead of our competition. So, let’s dive in, shall we?”

With that, he clicked the remote, and the first slide flickered to life behind him, revealing bold graphics and numbers that promised innovation and succes.

You roll your eyes, bored from the inside out. You look at Harvey and he has the same blank expression as you, staring outside the window.

"Y/N L/N." Louis spoke, pulling you back from your daydreams.

You clear your throat and stand up straight.

"Yes, Louis?" your cheeks flush.

"Would you care to share your thoughts on the proposal? I believe we were just discussing how our new strategy could significantly impact client retention,” he said, challenge in his tone.

The room fell silent, all eyes now on you. You quickly glanced at the screen, then back at him, scrambling to formulate a response. "Uh, yes! I think the client outreach initiative is a great idea. It shows we’re proactive." you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke.

"Proactive is an understatement, Y/N." Louis replied, grinning now. "It’s about taking charge, being the best, and standing out. And you know what they say about standing out—”

He leaned forward, gesturing dramatically, "It's the ones who dare to be different who actually make a difference. So, tell me, how do you plan to stand out in this firm?"

"I plan to stand out by bringing a fresh perspective to our clients and the firm. I want to focus on building strong relationships, not just completing tasks. I believe in being proactive—anticipating client needs before they even ask—and using innovative approaches to tackle challenges." you confidently said.

You leaned forward, enthusiasm evident in your voice. "For example, I’ve been looking into ways we can use technology to enhance our communication. Implementing tools like client portals for real-time updates can make a huge difference in how we engage with them."

Louis nodded, clearly impressed. “Excellent point! Client portals can streamline communication and provide transparency, which is invaluable. You can sit down now."

You sigh and return back to your chair.

"Good job, love." Harvey whispered in your ear.

You nod. You could feel your cheeks turning red as your heart pounds in your chest.

"Goddamit Harvey, you're driving me crazy." you think to yourself.

Harvey sits next to you, leaning back in his chair with that signature confidence, pen casually tapping against his notepad as he listens. The lighting from the sun through the windows frames him, highlighting his beautiful features.

Now and then, he glances your way, but his expression remains unreadable. You assume he’s just taking notes in his classic, composed style—sharp, observant, almost a little bored. But then, suddenly, he catches your eye and holds it for a beat longer than usual, just long enough to make you wonder if there’s something he’s not saying.

Then, in one smooth, almost careless motion, he slides his notepad across the table to you. Your heart skips as you reach for it, wondering if he’s noting something important you missed.

"You look so pretty in that damn skirt. Wish I could fuck you right here, right now."

You glance up, and he’s watching you with that half-smirk.

Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, you’re not even sure if anyone else is still speaking. It’s just you and Harvey, the faint hum of the room fading into the background as your cheeks flush from his unexpected note. You try to keep your expression neutral, fighting the smile that’s threatening to give you away. But Harvey notices, of course he does—his smirk grows slightly, a knowing gleam in his eyes that only deepens your blush.

You quickly slide the note back, hoping no one noticed the exchange, but he lets his fingers linger over the paper as he takes it, his touch grazing yours for just a split second. The contact is subtle, almost accidental, but it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

He leans back in his chair again, returning his attention to the others as if nothing had happened, but there’s a slight tilt to his chin—a subtle hint of victory, like he knows exactly the effect he’s had on you.

Then, without warning, you feel something—just the slightest brush against your knee under the table. It’s so subtle that at first you think it might’ve been accidental, but then it happens again. His hand, strong and steady, lingers, fingers just barely resting against your knee. You hold your breath, your pulse racing, trying to keep your expression neutral as your heart flutters.

You glance at him, but he’s still focused on the conversation, face unreadable, as if he’s completely oblivious to what he’s doing. But his fingers move, ever so slightly, applying a gentle pressure. The touch is subtle—just enough to remind you he’s there, to remind you of his presence.

Soon enough, his fingers travel down to your inner thigh, squeezing it gently.

Now, you knew exactly what he was up to.

You uncross your legs and let his hand travel down further, until it reaches your underwear.

You were soaked, and Harvey could feel that. You look at him, his face hiding a slight smile.

He manages to pull your underwear aside and runs his fingers through your folds, taking in your wetness.

He teases, tapping your clit with his fingers.

Your legs clench as he starts to slowly circle your clit, sending pulses through your entire body.

"Harvey." Louis says, his tone sharp and impatient, pulling everyone’s attention back.

Fuck.

He’s been watching Harvey with his usual blend of curiosity and suspicion, as if he can’t quite believe that Harvey isn’t somehow scheming right under his nose. "What do you think of the proposal?"

He leans forward slightly to make a point to one of the partners, his voice smooth and confident, yet his hand stays on your clit, circling it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your face feels hot, and you do your best to look focused, nodding along as though everything is perfectly normal, even though his touch has made your heart race like nothing else.

But Harvey, of course, is cool and collected, as if he hasn’t just thrown your heart into overdrive. He gives Louis a patient look, waiting for him to finish his inevitable commentary, a slight smirk daring him to challenge his answer.

Louis, sensing he’s not going to win this one, lets out an exasperated sigh, finally moving on with the discussion. The room settles back into its rhythm, but the tension remains.

Harvey's finger slips into your pussy, giving you enough time to adjust. You almost moan at his sudden action, but you try to remain composed.

He begins to pump his finger inside you, placing his hand in a way that his wrist is touching your clit.

He slides another finger and you cough, trying to mask your moan.

He leans closer to your ear, whispering softly "Careful, love. We don't want anyone to hear this, do we?"

The best you can do is nod.

"Good girl." he whispered before he moved his body back on.

Your legs spread a little bit more, giving him space to take you all in.

You move your hips a little, trying to feel him entirely.

You could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. Harvey felt it too, your clit pulsing on his skin as the inside of your pussy wraps tightly around his fingers.

He looks at you for a slight second and you saw a faint blush on his cheeks. You couldn't help but smile at the view. Harvey Specter flustered.

You were so close. You placed your hand on his wrist and he smirked, feeling your desperation.

Your orgasm hits you, your legs beginning to clench as his fingers move to your clit, touching you lightly.

You put your hand on your mouth, clearing your throat as you try to obey Harvey's order.

To your disappointment, he moves his hand away. He gives you a gentle squeeze as if to say, "That's it baby. Good girl."

You feel your juices on his fingers as they brush against the bare skin of your thighs.

Throughout the rest of the meeting, you feel his gaze on you from time to time.

You glance back once, catching his eye, and he gives you the slightest nod, as if to acknowledge your shared little secret. The power play between you two is electric, filling the air with a kind of energy that’s all yours.

You know this isn’t the end of what he started—just the beginning.

[leporellian]

actually i could write a whole essay on why referring to opera productions as '''traditional'' is not only a nonsense term but an actively revisionist one when concerning the history of opera.

when people SAY 'traditional', what they actually MEAN are productions that employ late 19th century standards of realism. while realism had existed as an art movement starting in 1848 (the year everything happened), the conceptualization of it applying to theatre really started around the 1870s. the realism movement, in opera, became what we now call verismo. (there's some kind of lesson here in how even the verismo operas have batshit premises like murder clowns and flowers that kill you, but that topic of conversation is for another day.)

anyway, so if you're staging something like tosca which was part of that verismo movement, then yes, you could reasonably stake the claim that going about it from the angle of 'everything is meant to happen as if it were happening in real life with real people' is the traditional one. but that leaves 272 years of opera history in which 'realism' didn't exist, and therefore... there were 272 years in which 'traditional' productions as we know them didn't really exist.

let's whip around to an opera that 'traditional' staging is particularly egregious to apply to: our good old, fairy-tale-potential-allegory friend, the magic flute!

'what the fuck is happening in that image? is it racist?' no, IN THIS CASE the magic flute is not being racist. those dubious dark shapes are meant to be animal costumes. this is part of a set of early engravings by the schaffer brothers of the first magic flute production, which are invaluable both in researching this opera and opera production history as a whole. this is the scene in which tamino charms the animals with the titular flute, in the year of our lord 1791, and they decided to have it look like this!

anyway, once romanticism kicks into gear in a couple decades magic flute productions start taking a turn with it. remember at this time 'the magic flute is meant to happen in egypt' was still something everyone was sticking to, so we end up with these interpretations of magic flute set designs:

you've probably seen at least a couple of these before because that one on the top left is one of the most famous opera set designs ever. anyway, the design philosophy here between these productions, because there's at least two included here, is weird. there's like 3 things going on: you've got the aptitude for spectacle, this vague orientalist approach towards ancient egypt that was influenced by then-recent discoveries but still very obviously rooted in exoticism, and the cosmic abstraction you can see both in the famous hall of stars and sarastro's temple.

all very interesting! but still not 'traditional'! these, at the time, were a radical re-interpretation of mozart's work- compare them to the above engraving. but because these illustrations have a gorilla grip on the public consciousness they superseded the original 'a bunch of skintight suits constitutes animal costumes' production, and now when an opera company wants to go 'traditional' with their magic flute they do this:

hello my good friend august everding! anyway this is seen as the 'traditional' production out of the two magic flutes in repertory at the berlin staatsoper and yet this isn't what the opera originally even looked like- this is a negotiation with the later early romantic illustrations of the work. sure, it's 'traditional' in the sense that you look at that and immediately know what opera that is meant to be. but at the same time was it ever mozart's intention to stage the magic flute on this grand a scale? is this 'traditional' production really in the spirit of the mozart opera designed for a much smaller stage and with a much smaller set? famously mozart is dead so we will never know.

but then that brings us to the question of What would an actually 'traditional' magic flute look like? well we have multiple options here. first, we have ingmar bergman's film version of the opera, which is sort of the equivalent direction-wise of an opera nature cam. modeled after the drottningholm theatre, this recording tries as hard as it can to emulate the magic flute as it might have been seen in the 18th century:

i mean that does look very 18th century, and wouldn't be out of place with the above engraving. but there's still a fatal flaw here: the magic flute was written as an opera for everybody, and was performed not in the drottningholm (which belonged to the swedish royal family and which resides in their palace) but in the theatre auf der weiden, which was, while certainly impressive (trap doors! fly systems!) also a commoner theatre where everyone could just go hang out and watch fairy tale operas. this is a great snapshot in time of what a 18th century magic flute should have looked like. but what would a 21st century magic flute that still adheres to the original 'vision'- no grand sets, no massive theatres, performed by a cast that isn't even entirely opera singers, done with a bunch of jokes meant to appeal to an everyday audience- look like?

well the good news is we might have an idea with the matchbox magic flute, which is on tour right now and which i hope continues to run on said tour.

the matchbox magic flute is the magic flute. it's also not really the magic flute. this is technically an adaptation. it's also not really though. this is the closest i have ever gotten to being in a theatre, watching this opera (which i have seen many times at this rate) and thinking 'shit, yeah, this is what the theatre auf der weiden must have been like all those years ago'. the matchbox magic flute scales down the whole thing into a very small orchestra and ten singers, who alternate roles like crazy. it is designed for very tiny theatres. most of the cast do not sing opera! they have a few classically-trained singers in there but it's actually sung, in modern english, mostly by musical theatre performers. the jokes are regularly updated; since i saw it in chicago, there were jokes about the evening commute on lake shore drive. parts of the plot are entirely updated or worked around.

and yet, it reflects the original design vision of the original magic flute and what mozart and schikaneder set out to accomplish so perfectly, i almost WANT to say that in some way this too is traditional.

(also, they should put tamino in a dress forever and ever. he gets to twirl it even. really good.)

So, what have we learned here. well for one thing 'traditional' productions, as a catch-all category, don't exist. is a traditional magic flute the one based on the early 19th century designs, or the one based on what 18th century theatre would have been like exactly, or the one that tries to reflect its original spiritual vision?

It's all of them because traditionalism as a term is an inherently reactionary term that upholds a time in operatic history that never really existed and which rapidly changes meaning based on the personal values of who is ascribing it, often forgetting that every opera production represents a negotiation and not a reproduction and that the notion of how it ought to be is one of the most dangerous ideas someone in the arts can have. Go watch who's afraid of modern art by jacob geller on youtube and come back to me.

[reiding-writing]

I’d love to know how Spencer meeting cold!reader for the first time went! Like I’d imagine she wasn’t always as soft on him as she is now right?

GREETINGS & SALUTATIONS — SPENCER REID!

you meet spencer reid for the first time.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 0.9k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — this is super short but i wrote it to procrastinate an essay i have due in tomorrow 😭

The air is sharp with the tang of coffee and the subtle rustle of case files as you step into the BAU conference room for the first time.

You're no stranger to these environments—two years of working with the VCAC Program have hardened you to the sterile camaraderie and cautious smiles of seasoned agents. But this is a new team, a fresh start, even if you’re not entirely convinced you need it.

Agent Hotchner stands at the head of the table, his presence as steady and no-nonsense as you expected from your prior phone calls. “You’ve all been briefed on the newest addition to our team,” he says, his deep voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the room. “She’s joining us after transferring from VCAC. Her experience will be invaluable here.”

You nod briefly, scanning the room. There’s a mix of polite smiles and speculative looks, each agent sizing you up in their own way.

One face catches your attention—not because he smiles, but because he doesn’t. A young man with a mop of brown hair and wide, curious eyes hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, studies you like a puzzle he’s already halfway through solving.

He looks too young to be an FBI Agent. But you can’t say much about that yourself.

—

“Your desk will be over here,” Hotch says after the short introductions, gesturing for you to follow him out of the room. You’re led to a desk directly opposite the curious-eyed man, his desk cluttered with neatly stacked books and meticulously arranged pens.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch introduces. “He joined not long before you, so I trust you two will be able to aid in each other’s adapting to working here.”

“Hi—” Spencer blurts, standing too quickly and almost knocking over a coffee mug. He’s taller than you realised, looming slightly as he tries to straighten his tie. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to shake your hand.

You nod curtly. “Hello.”

It was like looking at a perfect opposite of yourself, both in the same situation, but so utterly different in the way you conducted yourselves.

Spencer's smile falters for a fraction of a second before he launches into what can only be described as a deluge of words.

“You know, it's really great to have multiple academic doctors on the team. Statistically, the BAU has a higher concentration of advanced degrees than most FBI units, but even then, it's rare to have two people with different PhDs working in tandem. It reminds me of this study I read about cooperative dynamics in small teams—“

You tune out the rest of his rambling, nodding occasionally out of thinly-veiled politeness while setting your bag on your desk and beginning to unpack. His voice is animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he dives into tangent after tangent.

“—and, of course, there's the entire field of developmental psychology, which is fascinating, especially when applied to criminal behaviour, though some people argue it's more of a soft science compared to neuroscience, but I disagree—“

You glance up, meeting his gaze with a neutral expression. “Sure.” Your tone is flat, your attention already shifting back to arranging your space.

Spencer stammers slightly, clearly searching for a way to salvage the conversation. If you could even call it that. “I-I mean, I guess you probably already know all that, given your background.”

“Yes, I do.” you reply simply, not offering him a lifeline.

There’s an awkward silence as Spencer shifts from one foot to the other. “Where did you complete your degree?”

You bite the urge to tell him you’re not interested in small talk. God knows you’re going to be sat across from him for who knows how long.

“Stanford.”

“Wow,” Spencer’s eyes widen just a tad, nodding. “That’s really impressive,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No—” He back tracks immediately. “Not like— I didn’t mean—” He takes in a sharp breath. “It’s a very good place for Psychology, and I’m sure learning there was a great opportunity for you— Stanford has been held to extremely high academic standards since it was founded, and so the workload has been known to overwhelm a lot of it’s students, especially PhD students, so you having graduated from there is a really impressive feat,”

“It’s a College. Who cares?”

“Right… Uh, well— Welcome to the team,” he says, retreating into the comfort of his desk chair at the dismissal in your tone. You definitely didn’t want to speak to him.

You don’t miss the way he glances at you periodically over the rest of the work day, as if trying to figure out the best way to approach you next time.

You don’t mind that as much. At least he’s not numbing your eardrums anymore.

[nanamis-baker]

Pizza date with Satoru

Summary: After a cancelled date, you and Satoru bake pizza together ♡ Content: Fluff, kinda suggestive. Tried making it wholesome too! 🫶 Word Count: 3.7k a/n: Hello you guys! I really wanted to write some Gojo fluff after whoring him out so here we are! I hope you like this! Also, big big BIG thank you to Nici @lostfracturess for helping me make this fic 10x better. She is the best!🌷 Oh, and you might find this similar to Bake Date, if you have read it, because both the fics have similar actions in them. But nonetheless, I really hope you enjoy reading this!

Satoru held you close as he fumbled with the keys, the click-clack of metal drowned out by the relentless drumming of rain on the roof. You shivered, the dampness seeping into your bones despite Satoru's warmth. His jacket, while a comforting shield, did little to keep away the cold. Droplets of water dripped down from your hair and clothes, leaving dark patches on the carpet below your feet.

As always, Satoru was pristine, his sorcerer uniform spotless amidst the chaos of the storm raging outside. "Stupid infinity," you muttered as a playful exasperation colouring your voice. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he finally unlocked the door, the scent of home and Satoru's familiar cologne washing over you.

He gently removed his jacket from your shoulders as you glanced outside the kitchen window. The world outside was a blur of grey, the once vibrant Tokyo skyline muted by the downpour. Disappointment gnawed at you. Date nights were invaluable treasures for the two of you, carved out of busy schedules filled with sorcerer duties and teaching the students. Tonight was supposed to be one such night, and the two of you were supposed to go to this charming Italian place, but the rain had other plans.

"Looks like our plans are foiled," you sighed, the craving for sourdough pizza suddenly overwhelming. “I was really craving their pizza.”

Satoru hummed softly, his hands cupping your damp cheeks. His thumb traced your lower lip, sending a wave of warmth through you. With a gentle smile, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His eyes, a striking blue that mirrored the sky on a clear day, stood in stark contrast to the stormy chaos outside. A sense of calm emanated from him. "Don't worry, love," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "We'll figure something out." The way he sounded, you could tell he was already planning something.

A playful glint sparked in his eyes as he added, "But first, you need to warm up. Wouldn't you want to catch a cold, now would we?" he said teasingly.

A playful scowl crossed your face. "You're lucky I love you," you retorted, though the chill had already begun to seep into your bones. A hot shower sounded increasingly appealing. "One of these days, I will figure out a way to get you drenched in the rain too," you vowed, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

Satoru chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I look forward to it," he teased. "But for now, let's get you out of those wet clothes."

Before you could say anything else, another shiver ran down your spine. Yes, a warm shower sounded heavenly.

The shower washed away the chill from your bones, leaving you feeling refreshed and enveloped in the cosy warmth of Satoru's sweatshirt. You padded out of the bathroom, eager to be in his presence. Usually, Satoru waits for you in the bedroom, but right now, the bedroom was empty. With your curiosity piqued, you ventured into the kitchen.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath caught in your throat. The once ordinary space had been transformed into a cosy, warm space. The rain-streaked windows cast dancing shadows on the walls, while the soft, golden glow of kitchen lights and the warm scent of apple cinnamon from the candles filled the air. Soft notes of classical music reached your ears, their gentle melody soothing your soul. 

Satoru was hovering over the counter, his back turned towards you as he placed some mixing bowls on the platform. When he heard you walk in, he turned to face you, a smile instantly lighting up his face. He was clad in a navy turtleneck, his hair sticking out from places, yet somehow gracefully framing his face. But what stood out the most was an unexpected apron with small floral prints and olive green border that adorned his lean, muscular frame.

"You were craving sourdough pizza, right?" he asked, his voice soft as he gestured towards the counter. The counter was organised perfectly, with every ingredient laid out meticulously. Flour, tomatoes and a vibrant array of herbs awaited, as if ready to serve their purpose. And there, amidst all these ingredients, sat a small, unlabeled jar.

Intrigued, you reached for it, your fingers brushing against the cool glass as you removed the lid to see its gooey, bubbly contents. A sourdough starter! Your eyes widened in surprise. "Where did you get this?" you asked, disbelief colouring your voice. You and Satoru rarely cooked; a sourdough starter wasn’t something one would find lying around in your kitchen.

Satoru chuckled, amused at your astonishment. "Let's just say I owe Nanami a big favour," he confessed, his eyes sparkling under the golden lights that filled your kitchen.

Nanami! Of course, Nanami was the man who would have such things just lying around in his house. The realisation hit you like a wave of warmth. "You asked Nanami!" you exclaimed, still in disbelief.

Satoru nodded, a proud grin spreading across his face. "He was happy to help when I told him it was for you. Good thing you two are such great friends."

A soft smile tugged at your lips. You couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for both Satoru and Nanami.

Satoru grabbed your apron and moved behind you, helping you put it on and tying the apron strings together, his hands lingering on your waist. He pressed his lips right on the spot behind your ear before pulling you into his gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you. 

"Ready to get your hands dirty, hm?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. A surge of excitement pulsed through you as you nodded eagerly. "That's my girl," he murmured, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before squeezing your waist gently.

He reached for the recipe, his tall frame hovering over you. You skimmed through the instructions, a sense of anticipation growing. "This doesn't look too complicated," you commented, glancing up at him. The soft glow of the kitchen highlighted his striking features, making him look almost ethereal. He nodded, his eyes scanning the page. "Yeah, seems pretty straightforward," he agreed.

With that, Satoru began washing and preparing the vegetables - something he couldn’t do earlier, while you began measuring the dry ingredients for the dough. It was a simple task – flour and salt – but you approached it with precision, making sure it was the exact amount as mentioned in the recipe. As you measured, a splashing sound erupted from the sink.

Startled, you turned to see Satoru standing there, droplets of water clinging to him. He'd accidentally cranked the tap to full blast as he held the tomatoes under the tap, and since his infinity normally didn’t activate around you, the splashes had reached him.

Tiny droplets of water clung to his hair, and droplets raced down his face, some disappearing into the collar of his sweater. You couldn't help the laughter that escaped your lips and Satoru shot you a look of amused surprise.

Reaching for a stack of paper towels, you gently dabbed at his face, your fingers brushing against his damp skin. "I told you I'd find a way to get you wet," you teased, your voice light and playful.

Satoru chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He brushed away the remaining water droplets, his gaze lingering on your hand as he tilted his head. With a tender smile, he placed a soft kiss on the inside of your palm. "Well, good thing I don't need to find ways to get you wet," he retorted, his voice low and teasing. His arms found your waist once again, drawing you closer to his heated body.

Another chuckle escaped your lips as you playfully swatted his shoulder. "You know what? You're demoted from this position. Go and prepare the dough."

Satoru's smile widened, revealing a flash of white teeth. “Whatever you say, my love,” He said softly before placing a kiss on your cheeks, taking the spot you once occupied and started preparing the dough.

You started working on the vegetables, arranging the tomatoes on the baking tray before filling the empty space with garlic and onion. ignoring the recipe's modest suggestion, you generously filled the gaps, trusting your instincts. Who uses only three cloves of garlic anyways? When you were done, you drizzled a generous amount of olive oil over the prepared vegetables, before putting it in the heated oven to roast.

With that done, you turned your attention to Satoru, who seemed to be engrossed in the sourdough starter. He reached for the jar, unscrewing the lid as a peculiar scent filled the kitchen, a mix of tangy and earthy notes that was both intriguing and off-putting. Satoru peered into the jar, his nose scrunching up in slight disgust. It was a comical sight - Satoru had exorcised countless curses, yet sourdough starter was disgusting to him. "This seems to be… alive," he muttered, lilting the jar towards you so you can have a look too.

You leaned in, peering into the jar. Indeed, it was a strange sight. The starter was a bubbling, gooey mass. It was fascinating, but slightly repulsive too. "It's like something from a science fiction movie," you commented, a hint of amusement in your voice. “Something you don’t want to fall into.”

Satoru nodded, eying the mixture with scepticism. “If this wasn’t from Nanami, I would have thrown it away by now.” 

You hummed in agreement, leaning in closer to get a better look. Your hand rested on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against his hair. "Are you sure Nanami isn't trying to poison your ass?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. "Imagine the strongest sorcerer being taken out by food poisoning."

Satoru laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "As real as that sounds, you know his wife wouldn't let him. She loves you too much for that." It was true; you were incredibly close to Nanami and his wife. Trusting their judgement, you and Satoru decided to incorporate the starter into the dough. With a splash of water, Satoru began to knead the mixture, his long fingers effortlessly combining the ingredients into an elastic mass.

You leaned against the counter, pulling yourself up into a comfortable sitting position as Satoru worked his magic on the dough. Watching him was oddly mesmerising. The way his strong fingers kneaded the dough, the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders, the subtle flex of his arm muscles as he stretched and pressed the dough together - it was a captivating sight.

Your gaze moved to his face, drawn in by the way the soft kitchen light danced across his features. His silvery hair seemed to shimmer with a golden hue, framing his face with a halo-like effect, making him look angelic. His eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his high cheekbones as he focused on the dough, his eyebrows knitting together slightly in concentration.

Out of all the different versions of Satoru you had seen all over the years, this Satoru was your favourite. The carefree Satoru, who didn't seem to be burdened by the responsibility of being the strongest. Not the six-eye user, but simply your Satoru, grounded in the mundane, yet radiating an undeniable charm.

Satoru’s hands abruptly stopped as he felt your gaze heating his skin. His eyes found yours, something dark swimming in them. “Keep looking at me like that love, and pizza would be the last thing we'll be making,” he said, his voice low. Satoru’s fingers retracted from the dough as he moved to settle between your knees, leaving the dough unattended on the counter.

Maintaining eye contact, his large hand grabbed your sides, pulling you closer till you were on the edge of the counter, the space between your bodies disappearing. You wrapped your hands around his neck, fingers combing through his hair - his undercut - oh how much you loved his undercut. His scent, so uniquely Satoru, filled your senses as he leaned in, his breath warm against the already heated skin of your cheeks.

"What will we be doing, then?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you searched his face. Satoru just smiled, his eyes twinkling. Before you could process his intent, his lips found yours, capturing your attention completely. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you impossibly closer as he deepened the kiss. A low moan escaped your lips, a sound that seemed to encourage him further. The kitchen, the rain, the music - everything faded away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of his touch and the warmth of his lips.

You knew what he was doing - this was just an aperçu, a tantalising tease, a glimpse of what may come. But you devoured it nonetheless, leaning into his touch, savouring every stolen moment.

But of course, stolen moments don't last forever. The sharp ding of the oven timer startled you both, bringing you back to the present. Reluctantly, Satoru broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he held you close to his body. A soft, frustrated groan escaped his throat, causing you to chuckle softly. Your arm moved to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the rough texture of his stubble. His warmth seeped into you, a comforting contrast to the cool stone of the counter.

The oven dinged once again, reminding the two of you of the task in hand. Satoru wordlessly pulled back, his hands lingering on your waist before helping you down from the counter. He grabbed the oven mitts, sliding on the thick fabric even though he didn’t really need it. With a careful grip, he slid the tray out of the oven, the rich aroma of roasted vegetables filling the air as he set the tray down on the counter.

Your attention shifted to the recipe, looking for the next step.You were supposed to blend the vegetables with herbs and spices to create a smooth sauce for the pizza. Allowing the vegetables to cool slightly, you turned your attention to Satoru, as he placed the dough in a bowl, covered with a cloth, and set it near the warm oven to rise.

The two of you worked side by side, the gentle notes of the music creating a soothing ambiance. You began the process of blending the roasted vegetables, adding a pinch of salt and a mix of oregano, rosemary, and basil. The whirring of the blender filled the kitchen as the ingredients transformed into a smooth, fragrant sauce. You could feel Satoru's gaze on you as you worked, his silent observation making your cheeks warm.

Taking a spoonful of the sauce, you tasted the mixture, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. You turned to Satoru, holding out the spoon, inviting him to taste the sauce. His warm hand enveloped yours as he guided the spoon to his lips. He tasted the sauce, his eyes closing briefly as he savoured the flavour. "Oh, this is really good," he said, licking his lips to capture the lingering taste. The smile on your lips turned even bigger. "Really? It's not too spicy for you?" you asked, remembering he wasn’t a big fan of spicy food. He shook his head, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "No, it's perfect love," he replied.

Now that everything was ready, it was time to assemble the pizza. The dough had risen beautifully, doubling in size. A proud smile spread across Satoru’s face as he dusted the counter with flour, then gently extracted the dough from the bowl. He divided the dough into two equal portions, each one soft and pliable.

You grabbed the rolling pin and handed it to Satoru and he began to roll out the first base. The dough was surprisingly elastic, shrinking back at every attempt. Laughter bubbled up as you watched him struggle with the dough. You decided to take over, using your fingers to gently coax the dough into shape, making the edges slightly thicker than the rest of the base. To Satoru's amusement, you managed to create a perfect circle and a whimsical heart shaped base.

Satoru spread a generous layer of the prepared sauce over the bases, creating a vibrant canvas for the toppings and cheese to go on.

While he focused on the sauce, you gathered your favourite toppings, arranging them on the pizza. With a sprinkle of oregano and a handful of grated mozzarella, you transformed the plain dough into a mouth-watering masterpiece. Finally, you transferred the two pizzas onto the baking tray, the anticipation building with each passing second.

With a satisfied nod, Satoru slid the trays into the pre-heated oven, the comforting hiss of heat filling the room. Turning to you, he said, "Now we wait." Nodding your head, you echoed his words, a smile playing on your lips as your eyes were glued to the oven, a wave of gratitude crashing over you.

You turned to Satoru, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it gently. "Thank you so much for arranging all of this, Satoru. It was so much more fun than just going to a cafe," you confessed, your voice filled with warmth.

Satoru squeezed your hand back, a smile gracing his lips. "Hey, no need to thank me, you deserve this," he replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

As the two of you waited for the pizza to bake, the music playing in the background took a familiar turn. Your favourite melody filled the room, its soft notes creating a warm ambiance. Satoru turned to you, a knowing look on his face as his eyes met yours. His arms found your waist, pulling you close. "Come here," he murmured, his voice low and inviting. You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his muscular frame as he guided you to the centre of the kitchen.

It was still raining outside, and the sky had turned pitch dark. Somehow, it felt as if nothing existed beyond this kitchen. The kitchen felt like your world - a world you shared with Satoru, lit up by the warm glow of the oven and the soft lights.

Satoru's body pressed against yours as he pulled you closer, a comforting warmth radiating from him. You closed your eyes, letting the music wash over you as you leaned completely into him, your bodies forming a seamless unit. The two of you gently swayed to the music, creating a harmonious dance in the heart of your kitchen.

Satoru buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You felt a shiver of contentment as he left a soft kiss there, a tender mark of affection. You ensconced your head on his shoulder, your cheek nuzzling into the warmth of his neck. The world seemed to fade away as you held him close, finding solace in the simple act of being together.

The two of you remained wrapped in each other's embrace until the insistent beep of the oven timer broke the spell. Satoru sighed, a note of reluctance in the sound as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You unwillingly pulled away, already missing the warmth of his body against yours, but the promise of pizza was tempting.

The intoxicating aroma of melted cheese and roasted vegetables filled the kitchen as you approached the oven. Peeking inside, your heart skipped a beat. The pizza looked absolutely perfect - the toppings were caramelised to golden perfection, the cheese was bubbling with an irresistible allure, and the crust promised a satisfying crunch.

Satoru effortlessly slid the tray out of the oven, his bare hands unaffected by the heat thanks to his infinity, before placing it on the counter. Satoru grabbed the pizza cutter and began dividing the pie into slices. The circular pizza was simple enough, but the heart-shaped one proved to be a bit of a challenge. But it was Satoru holding the blade - he managed to do it perfectly, of course, while maintaining the pizza’s charming shape.

You grabbed your and Satoru's favourite drinks, pouring them into two glasses before you rearranged the candles and flowers, creating a cosy little dining nook. Satoru placed a steaming slice of pizza on your plate, claiming one for himself as well.

The two of you settled into chairs, the anticipation thick in the air. "You look nervous, love," Satoru commented, his eyes shining with amusement. Your heart raced, a mix of excitement and trepidation bubbling within you. “I am sure it will be amazing - it already looks so good,” Satoru said, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently. His words were comforting, and he was right too - it was just pizza, why were you feeling so nervous about it?

With a deep breath, you reached for your slice, the warmth of the crust radiating through the plate. As you took a bite, your eyes widened in surprise. The flavours exploded in your mouth, a perfect balance of tangy tomato sauce, the toppings, melted cheese, and the slightly chewy crust.

A small sound escaped your lips, a mixture of delight and satisfaction. Satoru chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I take it, it’s really good?" he asked, picking up his own slice. He took a bite, his expression shifting from anticipation to pure enjoyment. For a second, Satoru looked surprised, "Okay, I knew it would be good but I didn't expect it to be this good."

You laughed, taking another bite. "We are never going to a pizza place now, are we?" The crust was perfectly crisp, the sauce tangy yet sweet, and the cheese melted to gooey perfection. It was everything you had hoped for and more.

The two of you savoured every bite, the silence broken only by the occasional hum of satisfaction. When the last piece was gone, you leaned back in your chair, a contented sigh escaping your lips. Satoru mirrored your actions, a satisfied smile on his face. "Best pizza I've ever had," he declared, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

You returned his smile, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. Together, you cleaned up the kitchen, the lingering aroma of pizza filling the space. As you glanced out the window, you noticed the rain had dwindled to a gentle drizzle.

A soft smile graced your lips as you felt Satoru's arms wrap around you from behind as he left a kiss on your shoulder blade. He turned your body so you were facing him, his body creating a comforting barrier between you and the world. With ease, he lifted you onto the counter, his hands finding a secure hold on your thighs. As he settled between your legs, darkened eyes met yours. "Now, we have to take care of some interrupted business from earlier," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. Your smile turned even bigger as his lips captured yours in a tender kiss.

a/n: I think one of these days I am gonna lose my mind because my fics don't show up in the tags ughhh. But that aside, I hope you enjoyed reading this and it bought you some comfort! 🫶🫶 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Brooklyn - The Interview [8/12]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Oprah. You're filming your interview with Oprah.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 6 - AFTER LUNCH - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]

As you stand in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, you can't help but marvel at the transformation. The stylists have worked their magic, turning you from a somewhat frazzled campaign wife into someone who looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.

The dress they've chosen is a deep emerald green, its silhouette classic and elegant. The fabric drapes beautifully, accentuating your figure without being too revealing. It's the perfect balance of sophistication and approachability - exactly the image you want to project for this interview.

Sophia flits around you, making minor adjustments to the dress and ensuring everything is perfect. Her attention to detail is unwavering, and you're grateful more and more each day for her steady presence. Beyond being an invaluable assistant, she’s become someone you truly rely on.

But when she leaves the room for a moment to go back to the array of clothes and accessories brought in for this interview to grab a bracelet that she thought would round out the look, you’re also grateful to have a moment alone with one of your oldest friends.

"How are you feeling?" Pepper asks, her voice calm and reassuring as she watches from her perch on the edge of the bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting Pepper's eyes in the mirror. "Nervous," you admit. "But ready, I think. The lunch helped a lot."

And it had. Oprah, true to her reputation, had put everyone at ease almost immediately. The conversation had flowed naturally, touching on everything from Steve's experiences during World War II to your work before joining the campaign. Gayle had regaled you with hilarious stories from her and Oprah's early days in television, while Stedman had offered insightful perspectives on navigating life in the public eye.

Pepper nods, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just remember to be yourself - that's who Steve fell in love with, and that's who the American people will fall in love with too."

Her words catch you off guard, and you turn to face her directly. "Love?" you repeat.

Your heart races at Pepper's words. Love? The term feels both thrilling and terrifying. You and Steve have grown closer, yes, but love? That's a big step, one you're not sure either of you are ready to acknowledge yet.

Pepper seems to sense your internal turmoil. She stands, moving to place a comforting hand on your arm. "I've known Steve for a long time, particularly since the Battle of Earth," she says gently. "He doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you now. Whatever you want to call it, there's something special between you two."

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Your mind is whirling with the implications of Pepper's observation. Before you can dwell on it further, there's a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," you call, giving your dress one final adjustment.

The door opens and Sophia strides back in, but with Steve behind her. He looks incredibly handsome in a perfectly tailored navy suit that complements your dress. His hair is neatly styled, and there's a warmth in his eyes as he takes in your appearance.

"Wow," he says softly, his gaze traveling from your face down to your shoes and back up again. "You look amazing."

You feel heat creeping up your cheeks at his admiration. "Thank you," you reply, smoothing down the front of your dress. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Captain."

Steve grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way you've come to adore. He steps further into the room, coming to stand beside you.

Sophia clears her throat discreetly but hands off the bracelet she went to retrieve to Steve. "We should head downstairs in about five minutes,” she says. “The crew is just finishing set up in the living room."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

"We'll give you two a moment," Pepper says, a knowing smile playing at her lips as she and Sophia exit the room, closing the door behind them.

Steve steps closer, holding out the delicate bracelet Sophia had brought.

"May I?" he asks softly.

You nod, extending your wrist. Steve's fingers are gentle as he fastens the bracelet, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. The simple act feels intimate, a stark contrast to the public persona you've both been maintaining for months.

"There," Steve says, his voice low. "Perfect."

You look up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. For a moment, you're transported back to last night - the warmth of his lips on yours, the safety you felt in his arms.

"Steve," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "About last night..."

Steve's eyes soften as he looks at you, his hand still gently holding your wrist. "Last night was-" he pauses, searching for the right words. "It was wonderful."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement at his words. "It was," you agree softly. "I've been wanting to talk about it, but with everything going on today..."

"I know," Steve says, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist. "There's never enough time, is there?"

You shake your head, leaning into him slightly. "No, there isn't. But Steve, I want you to know that I-"

There's a gentle knock at the door, interrupting your moment. "Two minutes!" Sam’s voice calls from the other side.

You both let out a soft chuckle, the tension of the moment breaking. Steve reluctantly lets go of your wrist, but takes your hand in his. “Ready?”

You push up and give him a soft peck. “Let’s do this,” you reply, as always, and can’t help the broad smile on your face as he smiles right back at you, eyes full of warmth.

Hand in hand, you and Steve make your way downstairs. The living room has been transformed into a cozy interview set, with plush armchairs arranged around a small coffee table. Warm lighting bathes the room in a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere.

Oprah greets you both with a warm smile as you enter. "There they are," she says, her voice rich and welcoming. "Are we ready to get started?"

You nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement bubbling up inside you. Steve gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before you both take your seats across from Oprah.

As the camera crew makes final adjustments, Oprah leans in slightly. "Remember," she says softly, "this is just a conversation. We're here to tell your story. Forget about the cameras, it’s just us talking.”

You take a deep breath, feeling Steve's steady presence beside you as Oprah settles into her chair. The cameras start rolling, but true to her word, Oprah's warm smile and relaxed demeanor make it easy to forget about the lights and equipment surrounding you.

"I have the pleasure of sitting down with Captain Steve Rogers and his wife in their Brooklyn home. Over the past few months, we've watched a figure of freedom step from his role as Captain America, protector of the people, into a campaign pursuing a chance to serve as our country’s next president. But here and now, we want to get to know the real Steve and Mrs. Rogers.”

"Thank you for coming to our home, Oprah," Steve says, his voice steady and warm.

You nod in agreement, offering a smile. "We're honored to have you here."

Oprah leans forward slightly, her eyes alight with genuine curiosity. "Steve, let's start with you. You're a man who has already done so much for this country - and indeed, the world. You served with distinction in World War II, becoming a symbol of hope and courage for an entire generation. Then, decades later, you emerged as a superhero, saving the world time and time again as Captain America. With such an extraordinary legacy already behind you, what made you decide to run for president?"

Steve takes a moment to consider the question, his brow furrowing slightly as he gathers his thoughts. The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows casts a warm glow on his face, highlighting the earnestness in his expression.

"You know, Oprah, that's a question I've asked myself many times," he begins, his voice thoughtful. "I've been fortunate enough to serve this country in many capacities over the years. From a skinny kid in Brooklyn who just wanted to do his part in the war, to waking up decades later in a world I barely recognized, to fighting alongside some of the most remarkable individuals I've ever known as part of the Avengers. Through it all, my core belief has remained the same - I want to help people, to stand up for what's right, and to protect those who can't protect themselves."

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he continues. "But over time, I started to realize that while punching bad guys and stopping alien invasions is important, there are other ways to make a difference. Ways that can have a lasting impact on people's daily lives. Healthcare, education, economic opportunity - these are the battles that millions of Americans are fighting every day. And I want to be there in those trenches with them, working to create a better future for all of us."

You watch Steve as he speaks, feeling a swell of pride at his words. His sincerity is palpable, and you can see Oprah nodding thoughtfully.

"That's a powerful perspective, Steve. Early in the campaign, there was an overwhelming amount of press and public opinion saying you couldn’t do this, and some still say that you can’t. How do you address that view - both for yourself and for the public?”

There’s a slight tick in Steve’s jaw, but you think it’s small enough only you may truly notice. “Before I was Captain America,” he responds, “I was denied enlistment to the military five times. After I became a super soldier, I was kept out of combat duty, told I couldn’t serve.”

Steve's voice remains steady as he continues, "I don't let others define what I'm capable of. I've faced impossible odds before and come out the other side. This campaign isn't about proving anything to anyone - it's about serving the American people in the best way I know how."

You feel a surge of admiration at Steve's words, and you can't help but reach out to place your hand on his arm supportively. He glances at you, a small smile playing at his lips.

Oprah nods, her expression thoughtful. "And what about you?" she asks, turning her attention to you. "How has this journey been for you? It's not every day that someone finds themselves married to Captain America and potentially on the path to becoming First Lady."

You take a deep breath, acutely aware of the cameras trained on you. "It's been quite the whirlwind," you admit with a small laugh.

"It's certainly not a path I ever imagined for myself," you continue, your voice growing more confident as you speak. "But being with Steve, supporting him in this journey - it's opened my eyes to so many things. The challenges facing our country, yes, but also the incredible resilience and spirit of the American people we've met on the campaign trail."

You pause, gathering your thoughts. "I've always believed in serving my community, in doing what I can to make a positive difference. This campaign has given me a platform to do that on a much larger scale. It's daunting at times, but also incredibly inspiring."

Oprah leans in, her eyes warm. "And how has this affected your relationship? A presidential campaign must put an enormous strain on even the strongest partnerships."

You feel Steve's hand cover yours where it rests on his arm. The gesture is small, but it gives you strength.

You take a moment to consider Oprah's question, glancing at Steve before answering. "It's certainly been an adjustment," you begin, a small smile playing at your lips. "Our first few months of marriage have been anything but typical. But in many ways, I think it's brought us closer together."

Steve nods in agreement, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "We're in this together," he adds, his voice warm. "Every challenge, every victory - we face it as a team."

"That's beautiful," Oprah says, her eyes twinkling. "Can you give us an example of how you support each other through the ups and downs of the campaign?"

You and Steve exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between you. "Well," you begin, "there was a moment a few weeks ago, after a particularly grueling day of campaign events. We were both exhausted

"Well," you begin, "there was a moment a few weeks ago, after a particularly grueling day of campaign events. We were both exhausted, and I could tell Steve was feeling discouraged. The polls hadn't been great that week, and some of the media coverage had been pretty harsh."

You pause, glancing at Steve, who nods encouragingly for you to continue.

"So I suggested we take a break from everything - no phone calls, no strategy meetings, just us. We went for a walk in the park near our hotel, found a quiet bench, and just talked. Not about the campaign or polls or policies, but about us. Our hopes, our fears, our dreams for the future."

Steve picks up the story, his voice warm with affection. "It was exactly what I needed. She has this way of helping me see the bigger picture, of reminding me why we're doing this in the first place.

"And it's not just me," Steve adds, his eyes meeting yours with a soft smile. "There have been times when the pressure gets to her too. Late nights when she's pouring over briefing documents, trying to master every policy detail. That's when I remind her to take a breath, to step back and remember that it's not about being perfect - it's about being genuine and caring for people."

You nod, feeling a surge of warmth at Steve's words. "He's right," you say, turning back to Oprah. "We balance each other out. When one of us stumbles, the other is there to help pick us up."

Oprah smiles, her expression warm. "That's beautiful. It's clear you two have a strong partnership. You’ve been doing what a candidate is supposed to do and been out on the road talking about policies and goals if you were to be elected, not been going on tour to parade around your marriage, but this interview is about getting to know the two of you better. We have brief public statements about your relationship, but how did this all begin? What’s the love story behind Captain America and his wife."

You and Steve exchange a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between you. You've rehearsed this story, crafted it carefully to walk the line between truth and the narrative needed for the campaign. But as you look into Steve's eyes, you find yourself wanting to share something more. You remember what is was like to watch Harry and Meghan tell their story to Oprah. It will be a definitive moment in public history, and certainly in their story. Are you telling the version of your story you want to be out there forever?

You take a deep breath, wishing you could share more of the truth than you had originally planned. "Well, Steve is easy to fall for, but it actually wasn't love at first sight," you begin with a soft smile. "We met for the first time under rather... unusual circumstances."

“Pepper Potts set the two of you up, correct?” she asks.

You nod, your mind racing as you try to navigate this delicate moment. "Yes, Pepper was involved, and it wasn't a traditional setup. You see, I—"

"Actually," Steve interjects gently, placing his hand over yours, "if we're being completely honest, the first time I met her was on our wedding day."

There's a moment of stunned silence. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from the crew behind the cameras. Oprah's eyebrows shoot up, her professional composure slipping for just a second to reveal genuine surprise.

You realize your own jaw has dropped and you quickly snap it shut.

"I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly?" Oprah leans forward, her voice a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "You met on your wedding day?"

You feel your heart racing as Steve's words hang in the air. This wasn't part of the plan, but as you look into his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and... is that relief?

Taking a deep breath, you follow Steve's lead. "Yes," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "It's true. Steve and I met on the day of our wedding."

Oprah leans back in her chair, her expression a mix of fascination and disbelief. "Well, this is certainly unexpected. I think we're all going to need a bit more explanation. How does something like that happen?"

Steve squeezes your hand gently before speaking. "It's not a conventional story, that's for sure," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "But then again, very little about my life has been conventional."

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours briefly before turning back to Oprah. "The truth is, our marriage was initially arranged as part of a political strategy for my presidential campaign. The idea was that a stable family image would resonate better with voters than a single superhero."

You can see the shock register on Oprah's face, but to her credit, she maintains her composure. "An arranged marriage? That's quite unusual in modern America."

You nod, picking up the thread. "It is. But it’s not unheard of."

“Why do it? And not him,” Oprah clarifies. “You. Why would you agree to do this?”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "It's a fair question," you begin, your voice soft but steady. "I've always been passionate about making a difference in the world. When I was approached with this... unique opportunity, I saw it as a chance to do just that, on a scale I never imagined possible."

You pause, gathering your thoughts. "I knew Steve's reputation, his character. I believed in his vision for the country. And I thought that if I could help bring that vision to fruition, it would be worth it. It wasn't just about politics - it was about being part of something bigger than myself."

“Why not a position within a potential administration?” she pressed.

You bite your lip, then sit a little straighter.

You were already all in. Now that Steve had flipped the script, there was no reason to keep up pretenses.

“Before I met Steve, I was married to someone else - Jeff Connor. We had a good life together, but then... the Blip happened."

Oprah's eyes stay focused, but her expression softens. "To clarify for those who aren’t familiar with your background, you were among the half of our population who disappeared?"

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yes. One moment I was there, and the next... five years had passed. I came back to a world that had moved on without me. Jeff had remarried, thinking I was gone forever."

A hush falls over the room as the weight of your words sinks in. Oprah leans forward, her expression compassionate. "That must have been incredibly difficult. Can you tell us more about what that experience was like for you?"

You nod slowly, taking a deep breath. "Half the planet disappeared like I did, and we all have our own stories. For me, it was disorienting, to say the least. One moment I was going about my day, and the next, I was standing in the same spot, but everything had changed. The world had moved on without me for five years. My job was gone, my home belonged to someone else, and Jeff... he had built a new life, thinking I was never coming back."

You feel Steve's hand tighten around yours, offering silent support. “I will never blame Jeff for moving forward in his life and finding new happiness. There was no way anyone left behind knew it was possible to bring us back. But those first few months were - as you said - incredibly difficult. I felt lost, like I didn't belong anywhere. One thing I actually told Steve was that it felt like waking up from a dream, but only to find that the nightmare was real.”

Oprah lets the silence while you steel yourself for a moment sit undisturbed.

When you’re ready again, you continue.

“But slowly, with the help of support groups and therapy, I started to rebuild my life."

Steve picks up where you left off, his voice filled with empathy. "I went in the ice in 1943 and woke up in 2011, a stranger to the world I’d returned to, connected to no one. When she shared her story with me, I could understand - and I felt understood. Not everyone knows what it is like to be displaced in time, to wake up and find the world moved on without you. Half the planet experienced that displacement, and it’s more difficult for some of us to talk about than others. But we’ve found strength in being able to share that part of our past.”

Oprah nods solemnly, her eyes filled with compassion. "Thank you for sharing that with us. It's a perspective many of us can't even begin to imagine, but we all know someone who shares your experience. Now, how did this lead to you deciding to pursue an arranged marriage?"

“Pepper gave me my first job as an intern, so we’ve known each other a long time. She invited me to consider becoming part of Steve’s campaign, and I came to New York to meet with her. I read over the policies Steve was building, and I aligned with the values and the ideas. They resonated with things I wanted to see for the future of our country. I had no idea before I sat across from her that this was the position she wanted to pitch.”

You pause, gathering your thoughts before continuing. "I know it sounds unconventional, even crazy to some people. But I've always believed that every relationship, whether romantic or not, takes work. It's about communication, respect, and shared values. When Pepper explained the situation and I learned more about Steve, I saw the potential for a strong partnership, even if there was never going to be love or romance involved. Having loved and lost a great love, I’ll admit there was a quiet thought in the back of my head that even wanted to stay away from falling in love again, and a politically arranged marriage could be that safe kind of situation. We weren’t under illusions or expectations to be feeling grand, sweeping emotions.”

“That’s quite an unconventional approach. I think some people listening will understand, and some won’t. Some will probably accuse you of being jaded or having an agenda.”

You frown. “You’re not wrong. We’ve clearly been guarded about our relationship from the beginning because we knew the perception would vary widely across the board.”

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "We knew from the start that this wasn't a typical situation. But we also believed that we could build something meaningful together, even if it didn't start with romantic love."

Oprah leans forward again, her curiosity evident. "And how has that worked out? You mentioned earlier that you've grown closer through the campaign. Has your relationship evolved beyond what you initially expected?"

You and Steve exchange a glance, a moment of silent communication passing between you. You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you realize just how much things have changed since that first meeting.

"It has," you admit, a soft smile playing at your lips. "When we first met, we were essentially strangers agreeing to a partnership. But over these past months, as we've faced challenges together and supported each other, something deeper has developed. As I said, Steve is easy to fall for."

Steve squeezes your hand gently. "Because what we've built together has become so real, I couldn't sit here and not set the record straight. This campaign is about four years, possibly eight, of leading this country. That's too long to keep up any kind of charade.”

Oprah is quiet for a moment, contemplating both of you, her eyes moving between you.

Then she says, “Some people will say this is a political stunt.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach at Oprah's words. It's the question you've been dreading, but you know it needs to be addressed head-on.

Steve leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. "I have been judged my entire life, and I’ve learned from the scrutiny that I’ll never change anyone’s mind by defending myself, only proving myself through the actions I take," he begins, his voice steady. "But I want to be clear - this isn't a stunt. It's our life, our relationship. Yes, it started in an unconventional way, but what we've built together is real."

"And what about those who might say this admission could hurt your campaign?" Oprah presses, but more gently.

You take a deep breath, meeting Oprah's gaze. "We understand that concern," you say, your voice calm but resolute. "But we believe that honesty and transparency are crucial, especially for someone seeking the highest office in the land. We're not perfect, and our story isn't a fairy tale. But it is real, and it's ours."

"We believe in the power of partnership," Steve takes over, glancing at you. "In facing challenges head-on, together. In building something meaningful. Our marriage began unconventionally, but so is running as a third party candidate. While there are some politicians who are good and diligent servants of the people, America is tired of games and calculated systemic political maneuvers designed for politics and party battles pitting red and blue against each other not for governing.”

Steve continues, his voice gaining strength, "We want to show that it's possible to bridge divides, to come together despite differences. Our relationship is a testament to that. We started as strangers with a shared goal, and we've grown into partners who truly care for and support each other. That's the kind of leadership and unity we want to bring to this country."

You nod, feeling a surge of pride at Steve's words. "Exactly. We're not asking people to vote for us because of our love story. We're asking them to consider Steve's vision for the country, his policies, and his character. Our relationship is just one part of who we are as people and as a team."

Oprah leans back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's refreshing to hear such candor from public figures. Is it too idealistic?”

“This country was founded on lofty ideals that were unheard of at the time. I was nearly there, remember?” Steve jokes, and it draws a genuinely hearty laugh from Oprah.

From that point, the tone and direction of the interview shifts, and the questions start to focus more on presidential potential - philosophies behind the policies, how the American political landscape has changed since the Snap and the Re-Snap and if government has kept up with the needs from that fallout, why Steve decided to make this big move, his running mate Charlie Young, if there’s a possibility it could be the inception of a permanent major third party in America for the future.

You can feel that things are beginning to come to a close. You’ve given input throughout the rest of the interview, but it the majority of the back and forth has been between Steve and Oprah - as it should be since it’s Steve’s name on the ticket.

But just as you sense the time is growing short, you also sense there’s one more curveball coming your way.

"Now, I have one last question for you both," she says, her voice warm but tinged with curiosity. "We've talked about your unconventional start, your growing bond, and your vision for the country. But there's one topic we haven't touched on yet."

You feel a slight tension in Steve's hand where it rests in yours, and you know instinctively what's coming.

"If elected," Oprah continues, her gaze moving between you and Steve, "you would be moving into the White House. It's a place steeped in history, with halls that have echoed with the laughter of children for generations. From the Kennedy children to the Santos duo, we've seen families grow and flourish within those walls."

The room seems to hold its breath as Oprah pauses, her eyes alight with mischief.

You feel your heart rate quicken as Oprah's implication becomes clear. Steve's hand tightens around yours, and you can sense the slight tension in his posture.

"Have you two discussed the possibility of starting a family of your own?”

Steve clears his throat, his voice steady as he responds. "Oprah, that's certainly a big question," he begins, a small smile playing at his lips. "And it's one that we've discussed privately."

“And a fair question to be answered as you have put yourself up for consideration for the highest public office in the land.”

Because you truly know Steve now, you know why he tried to put that question down without answering, and that he is containing an indignant response.

You step up and take the reigns to answer, knowing you can steer this into good territory.

“Oprah, after you interviewed Harry and Meghan, you gave some interesting context about the scrutiny of the Sussexes wanting to be private and yet choosing to do an interview with you. You said that there was a different between privacy and intrusion, and that they understood that since they had played public roles, they were public figures, and that they were navigating how to have boundaries in that sort of complicated landscape. Essentially that interview was a way for them to share who they were and their story in contrast to the invasive rumors and being hunted constantly by paparazzi.”

“I did say that,” Oprah responds, “but that was in 2021 while you were gone.”

You give a little laugh. “True, yes, but Harry and Meghan got married just before the Snap, and I was as enchanted and obsessed with them as so many other Americans! When I got back, I went down a rabbit hole one night checking up on them since so much had clearly happened while I was away.”

Oprah smiles and shakes her head.

“But I bring that up because we know it’s something people will want to know about, but we don’t know yet. "We both love children," you say, your voice warm. "And the idea of starting a family together is something we don’t want to rush since other parts of our relationship have been rushed.”

Steve nods in agreement, his expression softening. "That's right. We're focused on the campaign and on building our relationship right now. If we're fortunate enough to be elected, our priority will be serving the American people to the best of our abilities."

You squeeze Steve's hand gently before continuing. "But we also recognize that family comes in many forms. Whether or not we have children of our own now or in the future, we're committed to supporting American families and creating policies that help all children thrive."

Oprah nods, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I don’t think we could want for a more honest answer. Thank you both for your forthright sincerity throughout this interview. It's been truly thought-provoking."

As Oprah wraps up the interview with her closing remarks, you feel a mix of relief and excitement washing over you. The weight of your shared secret has been lifted, and while you know there will be challenges ahead, you feel stronger in so many ways - individually and in what’s evolving with you and Steve.

As the cameras stop rolling and the crew begins to pack up their equipment, you and Steve remain seated on the couch for a few moments, hands still intertwined. The reality of what just transpired starts to sink in.

You stand as Oprah approaches you both, her expression warm and genuine. "Thank you again for your honesty," she says softly. "I know that couldn't have been easy, but I believe it will resonate with a lot of people."

Steve nods, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you for giving us the space to share our story," he replies.

As Oprah moves away to speak with her producers, you turn to Steve, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay? That was... a lot."

Steve's blue eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of emotions - relief, concern, and something deeper that makes your heart skip a beat. "I am," he says. "You were amazing," he adds, his voice warm with admiration. "I'm sorry I sprung that on you, but I just couldn't..."

"No, don't apologize," you interrupt, squeezing his hand. "It was the right thing to do. I'm glad we did it."

"Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers," Sophia's voice interrupts your moment. "The team is ready for a debrief in the study when you're ready."

Steve nods, his expression shifting back into campaign mode. "We'll be right there, Sophia. Thank you."

As Sophia leaves, Steve turns back to you. "Are you ready for this? The next few days are going to be intense."

You square your shoulders. "Ready as I'll ever be," you reply.

Steve lifts your entwined hands and kisses the back of yours before he leads the way to the study.

Jake, Elsa, Lisa the campaign spokesperson, Sam, Bucky, Pepper, and Sophia are all already congregated in the study, and Sophia closes the door behind you.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"That was unexpected," Elsa starts, her voice low.

“Was it though?” Jake asks. “Integrity is hallmark Captain America. I frankly expected him to drop a big reveal before this.” He is possibly the most nonchalant of everyone in the room.

“The interview won’t air until Sunday night primetime, so we have time to prepare,” Lisa says, “but we’ll need to be ready with statements. We’ll get calls, emails, and social media commentary the second the truth comes out before the full interview has aired.”

“Good thing we have the time,” Elsa says, an edge of exasperation in her tone.

“That is why I’m paying you handsomely to be the director of communications on this campaign,” Pepper interjects, thoroughly polite, but clear that she’s serious.

"You're right, Pepper," Elsa says, taking a deep breath. "I apologize. This is what we're here for. We'll craft statements and prepare responses for every possible angle."

Steve steps forward, his posture straight and confident. "I know this wasn't part of the original plan, but I stand by our decision. We can't ask the American people to trust us if we're not being honest with them."

You nod in agreement, feeling a surge of pride at Steve's words. "We're ready to face whatever comes next, together."

Sam clears his throat. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. People appreciate authenticity, especially from their leaders."

Bucky nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "Plus, it's very on-brand for Steve to throw out the playbook and do whatever the hell he wants.”

Steve rounds on him.

“I mean whatever he thinks is right," Bucky smirks, but his eyes are warm, proud.

“Jerk,” Steve murmurs and shakes his head. “How much does this set us back?” he asks the room.

Elsa sighs, running a hand through her hair. "This changes everything campaign-wise. We'll need to completely overhaul our messaging strategy, but since we have the rest of the week on our end knowing this will drop Sunday, we can begin adjusting now so that it doesn’t look like we’re making major turns in the wake of the news."

“And what about in the polls?” Steve follows up with the next question.

Lisa is the one to answer. “It will depend on who tunes in live and starts broadcasting their opinions on social media, but I think we could anticipate a three point drop in the polls, if not four or five.”

You aren’t the only one who winces.

“We’ll weather it,” Pepper insists. “If we need to bring on more staff to compensate and make the final push up through Election Day, we can do it.”

“We’re not going to lose points,” Jake laughs, and everyone turns to look at him. “Our enemies and critics are going to burn us alive for this, but we’re going to gain - at least six points.”

next part: KANSAS CITY - INTERVIEW BROADCAST DAY

well...

What do we think now? Are we excited? Stressed?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[kenzirr]

Y/N sat at her desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. She had been part of the BAU team for a couple of years now, and yet she always felt like an outsider. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief, never seemed to acknowledge her contributions. While he often praised her colleagues, she never received a simple "good work" from him. The lack of recognition gnawed at her confidence and made her question her place in the team.

Feeling defeated, Y/N decided she needed a break. She approached JJ during lunch, handing her a neatly written request for a leave of absence.

"Hey, JJ. Can you pass this to Hotch for me?" Y/N asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

JJ took the paper, glancing at it briefly. "A leave of absence? Are you okay?"

Y/N forced a smile. "Just not feeling well lately. Need some time to recuperate."

Spencer, who was sitting nearby, looked up from his book. "But you never get sick, Y/N. I don't think I've ever seen you take a sick day."

JJ nodded in agreement. "Remember that time the whole team got the flu? You were the only one who didn't catch it."

Y/N shrugged, trying to downplay their concerns. "Guess I'm overdue, then."

Later that afternoon, JJ approached Aaron's office, knocking lightly on the door before entering. "Hotch, I have something for you," she said, handing him the request form.

Aaron took the paper, his eyes scanning it quickly. His brows furrowed, and he looked up at JJ, clearly upset. "A leave of absence? What's going on with Y/N?"

JJ hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "She said she's not feeling well. But Spencer pointed out that she never gets sick. I think there's more to it, Hotch."

Aaron leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "Thank you, JJ. I'll handle it from here."

As JJ left, Aaron dialed Y/N's number, his mind racing. When she answered, he kept his tone professional. "Y/N, it's Hotch. Can you come up to my office?"

Her heart sank. She couldn't fathom what he wanted to discuss. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the worst, and headed to his office.

As she entered, she saw Aaron sitting behind his desk, his expression unreadable. He gestured for her to sit down.

"What's going on, Y/N? JJ mentioned you're taking a leave of absence because you're sick. But you don't seem ill to me," he began, his tone gentle but firm.

Y/N looked down at her hands, struggling to find the right words. "It's not physical sickness, sir. It's... I just feel unappreciated here. You never acknowledge my work. It feels like you don't like me."

Aaron's eyes softened. "Y/N, I never intended to make you feel that way. Your work is exceptional. I apologize if my behavior made you feel unvalued."

Y/N felt a surge of emotion but held back tears. "It's not just about the praise. It's about feeling like I belong here."

Aaron stood up and walked around his desk, leaning against it as he faced her. "I understand. I promise I'll do better. I value your contributions to this team, Y/N. More than you know."

Feeling a mix of relief and confusion, Y/N nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Aaron cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Is there anything specific that made you feel this way? I want to understand so I can improve."

Y/N took a deep breath. "There were moments when you'd commend others for their work, but you'd never acknowledge mine. I started to think I was doing something wrong or that you simply didn't like me."

Aaron shook his head. "That's not true at all. I see the dedication and effort you put into every case. Your insights have been invaluable. If I failed to express that, it's my mistake, not yours."

Y/N looked up, meeting his gaze. "Why, then? Why was it so hard for you to say anything to me?"

Aaron hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes, when you care about someone, you find it difficult to act normally around them. I didn't want to let my feelings interfere with my professionalism."

Y/N blinked, taken aback. "Feelings? For me?"

Aaron nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes, Y/N. I admire you more than you know. But I wanted to keep things professional."

Feeling overwhelmed, Y/N stood up quickly. "I need some time to process this. I'll be taking my leave now."

Aaron watched her go, a pang of regret in his chest as she walked out of his office.

---

A few weeks later, Y/N returned to work, feeling somewhat refreshed but still wary of the situation with Aaron. She tried to focus on her tasks, but the memory of their conversation lingered in the back of her mind.

One evening, as they wrapped up for the day, Aaron approached Y/N's desk. "Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

She looked up, slightly nervous. "Of course, sir."

He smiled, a rare but genuine expression. "Would you like to grab dinner with me tonight?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "Dinner? As in... a date?"

Aaron nodded, taking a step closer to her. "Yes. I've realized that the reason I avoided talking to you was because you make me feel something I've never felt before. I want to get to know you better, outside of work."

Y/N felt a flutter of anxiety. "I... I don't know what to say."

Aaron gently placed his hands on her curvy hips, steadying her. "Just say yes. Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Her mind raced, but she nodded slowly. "Okay, Aaron. I'll go."

[kooberist]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝚰𝐍𝚰𝐍𝐆- thv

"Fuck yeah," he groaned out as his member slid up and down your throat. Balls are heavy as they slap against your chin. "Take this cock—show me how you're going to catch a husband—fuck," he groaned as he sped up, slamming his tip down your esophagus. Thick strings of spit and cum dangle from your chin as you gag and struggle to keep up with his relentless pace. The intensity of the moment sends a rush of excitement through your body, fueling your desire to please him. You can feel his pleasure building and his grip tightening in your hair as he thrusts deeper, pushing you to your limits. With each powerful thrust, you can't help but wonder if this is what men really like and want. Well, that's what he told you.

"Y/n, It's because you didn't suck him off the right way." as he observed you sobbing over your boyfriend's infidelity.  Tae just wanted the best for you and for you to be happy and find true love, but his words struck a chord inside you. Maybe he was right. Maybe you hadn't been doing enough for your boyfriend, and that's why he strayed. Tae's guidance had always been invaluable, and you couldn't help but trust his judgment. Determined to change, you wiped away your tears, and that's when he offered to train you.

His large hands took hold of your head as he pushed your head until your nose hit his pubic hair. Arms form almost a head lock around you as he keeps you in place with his cock.all the way down your throat. "Yeah, slut, fucking, hold it there," he moaned out. Your hands are coming from behind your back to slap at his thigh. His arm rested on your head as your mouth slid off his cock, and you looked up at him, surprised and confused. With a smug grin on his face, he said, "You can do better than that. We're going to train you to be the best." He took hold of your hair and pushed you back against the back of the couch. "I'm going to make you a pro when we're done, he smirked. He threw his leg on top of the couch, took a harsh grip on your hair, and brought his cock to your open mouth. As you took his cock into your mouth once again, a mix of anticipation and apprehension filled the air. You couldn't help but wonder what this intense training would entail and how it would transform you into the best version of yourself. His hips snapped hard and fast, and his balls hit your chin every time he slammed in. Your throat fought to not gag, but it happened anyway, your head hitting his pelvis until he kept you there, his hips bucked up, and made you gag even more. 

You knew he was older and knew best for you; you never wanted to see men hurt you and go get heads from other girls because yours sucked. 

"Yes, hold it right now." He managed to moan before realizing his load was in your mouth. He placed his leg back on the floor with grace and tapped your chin, signaling for you to open up. Taehyung coughs up a glob of spit, and it lands right in the mix of his cum that's flooded your now-ruined throat. 

Your face is irritated, your hair is messed up, your eye liner is ruined, and globs of cum, spit, and tears stain your face. "Swallow," he commands harshly. "Good girl," he nods and gives your face a small pat. "Next time, I'm going to make you hold your breath." He grins, and your eyes widen, realizing you're not done.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Sphinx!Gaz Headcanons

Tags: monster au, sphinx shifter! gaz, poly 141, cuddling, snuggling, generally just sweet vibes, a/b/o dynamics sort of??

-Despite popular belief, he is not a riddle teller, so much as a riddle solver. Gaz is a sharp man, intuitive and observant.  Even if he hadn't come from a long line of notoriously clever shifters, little would stump him to begin with. Man loves a good puzzle, which mostly extends to puzzle games or toys. In addition to a serious love of mystery movies (Benoit Blanc better watch his ass). He does keep a handful of different apps on his phone, just to keep from getting bored, and often finds himself in wikipedia rabbit holes researching anything and everything. All this being said, he will break out a cheesy riddle on occasion, just to be a big smartass.

-Gaz is very physically affectionate with his pack. Fondly pressing his head to Ghost’s shoulder or chest after a particularly lame joke. Chuckling into his shirt. Grabbing Soap by his jaw during an embrace, pressing their cheeks or temples together. Nipping his ear playfully. Gently ramming his forehead to Price’s at the evac point, a silent check in after a grueling mission. 

- A notorious biter, nothing rough unless you ask of course, but the pack are certainly his chew toys.  Leaning over to chomp playfully at Soap’s shoulder when he isn’t paying attention to him. Nipping at the plush pectorals of Ghost’s chest when he is ready to quit napping with him. Chasing and nibbling at Price’s fingers as he tries to patch up his face.  

- Also say goodbye to your personal space, as he regularly, unceremoniously lounges on other members of his pack like they're furniture, sprawling himself over his mates. He tucks himself neatly against the soft fat of Ghost’s stomach and chest, his toes buried underneath Soap’s thigh. 

-Is also very content to let other pack members drape themselves over him. Rumbling happily at a conked out Soap draped over him like a weighted blanket. If one or more are napping around him, be prepared for a cuddle puddle. Gaz craves the physical contact.

- Sphinx commonly communicate with subtle sounds or facial expressions. This being said he is expressive, his feelings written in the lines of his face. (Leading to some mad RBF at times). He also has a tendency to reply in soft hums or huffs. A fair amount of communication with his family was non-verbal. He has been warned more than once to use his words when displeased. 

-Let’s not forget purring, and boy does he purr. Price was positively chuffed when he first heard it, a low rumble that he could barely make out above the mechanical roar of the helo. The op had been exhausting, and Gaz and slumped against his shoulder within the first 5 minutes of their trek home. Safe. Gaz felt safe. Safe enough to rest openly against his captain. It made his heart swell. Price settled in, adjusting the younger sergeant more comfortably before crossing his arms and relaxing himself. Letting the soft rumble lull him.  

-Gaz also possesses a deafening roar. His harmonics can paralyze and injure most in proximity, even deafen. And if you're small enough, completely knock you over with the force of it.

-there is an inherent magic to felids, and this extends to Gaz, who has the ability to see (or at minimum sense) most spirits and spells.  We've all seen cats stare into empty corners…well, they're not staring at nothing.

-yes the purring is indicative of a safe and happy sphinx, but there is a subtle magic to this as well. The resonant purr having a calming effect on those around him, he has lulled more than one pack member into resting with it. Sit with him long enough and you will be handed one ticket to sleepy town junction, whether you like it or not.  No one is immune. 

-Gaz has the sharpest eyes out of all the pack, making him an invaluable sniper. He also shares enhanced hearing, smell, strength and an improved healing factor. 

-There are differing species of sphinx, with their own unique shapes and dispositions. Gaz, even in a full humanoid form still possesses visible characteristics of his species (androsphinx), slitted pupils, long tufted tail, and most notably large wings.  

-Gaz’s wings are bulky, and not designed for extended periods of true flight. While possible, it takes a great deal of energy. It’s something he has to prepare for. They serve him better as enhancements to movement, such as gliding, covering large distances or scaling great heights.

Gaz’s wings can also produce a tremendous gust of wind, and act as a shield for certain types of damage.  

-Gaz, similarly to Price can control his shift, able to alter his body in varying degrees of change. Though some things cannot be completely deteriorated, such as his eyes, wings and tail. Most sphinxes are gifted a unique article as children, usually a piece of jewelry with a glamour charm. In Gaz’s case, this a small  paracord bracelet, its subtle and durable, ideal for his line of work. Other charms can be made, though the charm is tedious to apply. His hat, as well as charming gold earring, all have the same charm applied. 

-Unlike Price and Simon, Gaz’s nature leans less towards possessiveness (though it’s still present), but rather a fierce protectiveness for his pack. He is the peace keeper, a pillar of emotional stability and comfort for his mates. Who he serves not only physically, but emotionally as well. Any slight towards his mates is unacceptable, and while they may forget or forgive, Gaz will not. He will protect them viciously. If not with the gun in his hands then with teeth and claws. 

-Sphinx are territorial. While most are able to tell the difference between deliberate intrusion and accidental trespass. Gaz still gets antsy about the 141's barracks. That he has self declared as exclusively his territory. Like a guard dog who wasn't given permission to bite (yet), he follows any perceived intruder around at a distance, watching around corners in case they try to touch anything. 

-Perhaps even more serious to him than the barracks? His room. A den he calls it, but it's really a nest. His nest is well guarded and maintained, his sanctuary of safety and comfort in a profession full of bloodshed and adrenaline. As social as sphinx are it can be a difficult thing to be away from his pack, and so he keeps articles of clothing from his lovers, weaves them into his nest so the scents weave and surround him like a warm blanket.

-Gaz, thinking himself a rather clever shit, had taken to stealing the items at first. Well not stealing per se, borrowing really. He gives them all back…at some point. In the beginning, while the pack had gotten close, his nest was sorely void of real comfort. It was childish by sphinx standards, to still need a nest after one had left home in their solitary journey. Too embarrassed to outright ask, he took to snagging clothes from the laundry room, washed, but his pack mates scent lingered just enough to tie him over. Only to be replaced with something else when the scent faded completely. 

-Ghost, of course, was the first to notice. Being forgetful was something Ghost was not. And he knew when his favorite hoodie was missing god damn it, only to mystically appear when he pulled his clothes from the dryer, just for another favorite, an old soft band t-shirt, to come up missing next. Ghost clocked him soon afterward, catching the little thief by the familiar scents that clung to Gaz when he shuffled into the kitchen that morning. 

-After a stern conversation with his Lieutenant, Gaz explained himself with burning cheeks. Ghost hadn't said a word, only yanked his current sweatshirt off his shoulders, shoving it into Gaz's hands. “Go on then, and bring me my other one back" he grunted.

-From then on, like clockwork, Gaz retrieves his treasures. Swapping out clothes for new pieces, warm and scent heavy.  Price is sure to drop off extra when he anticipates being on longer missions. Soft cotton sweatshirts soaked in his honey-tobacco scent.  Why no he did not shift and then wallow on these clothes like a chinchilla to make sure his scent sticks…ignore all the dog hair. 

-It would only get better once his pack began to tumble in bed with him, their scents mingling, soaking into his plush blankets. Now, Gaz sleeps soundly, purring serenely against the skin of one or more of his mates.

[morgana-ren]

Has your opinion/understanding on Astarion's character changed much as you play through the full game?

Actually, yes! Big spoilers again btw.

So, I will admit, my perception of characters is always slightly biased. It's always tilted in favor of my own predilections and desires, so I tend to see things in a skewed way. The less information I am presented, the more my brain will fill in the gaps thusly.

In the early access, Astarion is presented as a selfish vampire spawn clawing for his own survival from the vicious vampire lord that spawned him and has held him captive for centuries. It should be noted that he is one of the only companions open to the idea of abusing the tadpoles rather than removing them and only seeks to cure them if they cannot be controlled. It becomes apparent that he craves power above all else. He dislikes altruistic speech options, tends to veer directly towards ones that bolster said power, especially at the expense of other people. He seems the closest to a stereotypical 'chaotic' follower that you really get.

However, he isn't evil. He's a very rounded character despite his inherent selfishness. He is manipulative and vicious, but he is also desperate and afraid and slow to trust. Most of what he does, he does for his own survival and comfort rather than active malevolence-- though that isn't always the case.

You get an alright idea of him in the early access, as in enough to know if you're going to want to keep him around and invest time into him as opposed to just dropping him at camp perpetually. You catch glimpses of the man he is behind it all, but mostly he appears flamboyant, resourceful, flirtatious, and of extremely dubious morality. Fun, right?

Very, very wrong, actually.

As you progress through the game, you come to understand him better, and it's... tragic.

The first thing to slip is his explosive temper. He is confused, bitter, and frightened. He expects Cazador around every corner, stalking in every shadow, watching and waiting to sling the collar around his neck and yank once more. Paranoid. He has mystery scars painstakingly carved into his flesh that he cannot see because of his condition, in a language he cannot read, with horrible memories he doesn't want to recall. He is angry, and he isn't in the company of people he trusts even remotely at first and literally cannot remember the last time he was in centuries. He bottles up all those emotions to avoid the devastating vulnerability of showing emotion and shoves them down beneath his posh and nonchalant facade, and eventually, it finds a way out.

Occasionally, he snaps. He becomes enraged and has these moments of intense anger.

And then, there is what you might think to be a moment of connection.

Astarion, once he decides that he approves of you, will make a move to seduce you. Should you accept, you might find that he says something along the lines of "Isn't that why you came? To lose yourself in me?"

It seems like typical seduction dialogue at first, but this is very deliberate. The wording is very deliberate as is everything he does. Like a choreographed waltz that he has danced again and again and again--

Until it comes as natural as breathing.

After your night together, he evades a conversation that would take anything any further. No relationship, no nothing. Just a one off that turns you into the equivalent of ye olde fuckbuddies. He stays by your side, of course, but nothing changes between you other than him acknowledging what happened.

So, you progress a little more.

Eventually, both through necessity and happenstance, he does end up opening up little by little. And you find out bits and pieces about him. But there's one that stands out to me:

The crazy blood bitch in Moonrise dehumanizes him, speaks down to him, and refuses to even acknowledge his personhood. She only speaks to you, and makes you an offer regarding your 'property.' An invaluable potion for a moment with 'your pet vampire spawn.'

And he has a visceral reaction to this.

If you have a fucking heart and you don't make him do this, he comes to speak to you later and confides in you. Cazador had used him essentially as a honeypot, forcing him to use his body to lure unsuspecting citizens back to the vampire's den-- against his will. He was so degraded, so dehumanized, and so looked down on for so many years that he has genuinely come to believe that it's the truth. He thanks you genuinely for considering him and viewing him as a real person with emotions and feelings, but is also... confused. He doesn't understand, because that rotten, stagnant belief is still a truth to him: That he is nothing but a tool and a means to an end; that he doesn't matter. That he is a filthy thing to be used and cast aside when convenient. He doesn't understand why you didn't make him do it when it was only his comfort on the line.

And if you ask him to drink from her, he will. He stiffens his upper lip and drinks despite the fact that something is wrong and he knows it. He does it because you command him to. Because that's what he has done for so long that you don't have to have the lord's control over him anymore for him to follow orders.

There is a moment of stark, dreadful realization that sex and seduction have an entirely different meaning to him but he has still been doing it. That the love and connection that he truly needs might be support and a friend and not a bedfellow. That his agency and personhood have been stripped away for so long that he doesn't even recognize them anymore. He is bitter and mean but vulnerable and confused and terrified and he doesn't know how to seek comfort, so he resorts to what he knows while simultaneously distancing and degrading himself.

He does not believe that he is worth loving or caring for, or anything but being an object to be molded. Used. Discarded. He suffered for so long that this is a fundamental truth to him. He is a monster. A filthy vermin barely a step above the rats he's been fed.

You do what you should do: You give him the power. You try to build him back up. Try to help him understand that he isn't a monster or a tool. He is a man; he is a person, and he deserves a say in his own fate. His wants and desires matter. What he wants matters.

If you've done things right, he will take a gigantic leap of faith. He will be with you-- truly be with you. It's slow and he doesn't understand, but he knows he wants it, and you take it as slow as he needs-- but he's still hurt. He is still scarred.

In the Sharess Caress, there are a pair of Drow twins that will attempt to seduce you into what is essentially a foursome. If Astarion is there and he is a love interest and you attempt this, he will say "I'm really not ready for this." while looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, and almost panicked. The scars are still there, and they're barely healing over, and still so, so tender. Easy to tear right back open. Easy to push back into his shell to never come out again, because he tried vulnerability and it burned him.

He does not think he is worthy of love or happiness. He doesn't get to have a loving partner who adores him. Even slipped free of Cazador's yoke, his claws are still stuck steadfast in his soul. He is taking it slow and barely learning to trust another being again, leave alone put his neck out and care for one. He wears his misery as a shield because it cannot hurt him that way. He is a monster who has done horrible things and deserves to be alone forever. And even if that isn't the truth, then Cazador is still lurking out there, waiting to strike-- to rip away that newfound happiness.

Astarion is, above all things, a truly tragic character, and one that I empathize with. It makes my adoration for him slightly guilty. I'm not all the way through the game quite yet, but what I have seen hurts my heart something dreadful. With my character, he is slowly learning to trust and love again, but it's painfully apparent that he thinks he doesn't deserve this, and he is simply waiting for something to fall apart and send him back into the spiraling black chasm that is his life. He still believes all these miserable things about himself. He was forced into immortality, and he believes he's going to spend it alone, reviled, and wretched - not to mention enslaved.

As fun as it is to have a sexy, dark, controlling Astarion, I don't think it's necessarily true to his character as he is presented if you choose to do things right. He isn't evil - he is a complex, tragic man who desperately needs to be able to see his own reflection in a way that isn't horrifically warped by everyone else's eyes.

Vampire. Monster. Killer. Slave. Pet.

It's been so long he's lost track of himself. Of Astarion the man.

He needs to find himself and find peace. He asks to view himself through your eyes, maybe because he's looking for something-- anything-- within himself to hold onto.

If you ask me again in a few days, I'll probably have a fully fleshed out idea of his character, since I'll probably have completed the game or at the very least gotten a bit further, but this is what I have at the moment. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing Astarion as I adore, but I've always openly admitted that my writings on characters are skewed despite their actual content lmao.