#anyway i really like what i did with this fic even if it is on the lighter side of things

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out??

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[softidiotsposts]

Anyone Can Cook

as the wise tale of ratatouille states "anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great"

{Hello! Second fic, this time pure fluff for recovery! Warnings: kitchens being messy, mentions of bland food, cooking, mentions of the french and reader is french, picky eaters, incorrect cooking terms (probs) // word count: 2.2k}

masterlist

Leah always mentioned Ratatouille around you, like a little disease that you could never shake. The little blue rat named, Remy, had become a staple in your household- even earning you a nickname based on the rat. She thought herself funny, with you being French and all- even a native Parisian, which apparently made it even more of a gag. One that you didn't enjoy very much.

You didn't get it- the film, while good in a general sense and clearly a children's film- had no idea of what a professional kitchen actually looks like and you liked to point out the serious misconceptions to Leah every time she forced you to watch it.

"Seriously, Lee- I have had enough of this film!"

You grumble when Leah once again picks Ratatouille to watch on your weekly movie night- this makes it twice in a row that she's picked this. Making you absolutely devastated that watching Notting Hill was being put on hold, once again.

You wonder whether revoking her TV rights on film night would fix the problem but then remember that Leah could do absolutely anything and you'd probably let her do it anyway. Even if it's a chef rat based torture.

Still, it's actually getting to the point that you remember practically every single line of the film and the plot never surprises you. Not when Leah insists on watching it all the time.

You don't even think she actually enjoys the film enough to watch it all the time either so it must only be to see your reaction.

"But it's so good- really lets me get the idea of what you do at work," Leah giggles and presses start and the obnoxious "French" sounding music starts to play.

You groan, "This is not what I do."

"Yeah, yeah, Remy- You do some cooking with fancy things, I know."

"Actually, I-"

You're about to correct Leah with the most attitude you ever have when she presses her lips against yours and you melt like butter in a pan. She knows that you can never resist her when she has her soft lips against yours and it works without fail each time- even when you're terribly angry.

Leah smirks and wraps an arm around your shoulders. In turn you sigh, knowing that there is no winning when Leah has her mind set on something or whenever she uses her ultimate weapon.

It's around half way through the film, when the famous line is said that you come upon the genius idea. Taking Leah through cooking something that cannot be made via a machine- a cooking lesson with the most inept chef you've met.

The words anyone can cook are true... to a certain extent- It comes down to personal opinion mostly, what does one truly classify as cooking? In theory, if making toast with butter was considered cooking then Leah was the expert but when it came to the taste department- that is where your girlfriend falters.

Before Leah, when you still lived in France, you swore up and down you could never date anyone with the taste buds of a five year old- saying that it was the ultimate deal breaker. Now here you are, dating a famous Arsenal footballer that has the diet of a primary schooler.

At first, it had come as a shock- you went to a restaurant on your first date (not your ideal place for a date but Leah insisted) and she ordered the plainest thing on the menu. You were in such shock that you double checked the menu to see if you weren't misreading because who orders chicken nuggets at a Michelin star restaurant? And why did they even serve such a dish?

It also happened to be the moment that you fell head over heels for Leah, so you learned to get over the food very quickly.

Yet, this was a moment to teach Leah a lesson in taking you seriously... or maybe at least putting a stop to rewatching Ratatouille every single week.

So you take a week to prepare everything perfectly, you plan out what you're going to teach Leah to cook, even survey your kitchen staff before opening with a little questionnaire.

Then you make sure that all knives are sharpened, pots and pans are present- even though you're the only one who uses them- and that all other additional equipment is on hand if needed.

After all the prep work, you go out to the market early on Friday morning to buy a whole chicken since Leah is most likely to actually eat it after it's cooked- you're against wasting food in any circumstance. Then circle around to the other side for fresh vegetables. Once you have acquired all that is needed, you return home perfectly on time.

It leaves you enough time to get your chef coat that you wear when working and find the spare one you had borrowed for Leah, then set out all the ingredients on the marble countertops. It looks absolutely perfect and tickles that ocd part of you brilliantly.

In hindsight, you should have given Leah a slight pre-warning as to what the two of you were doing today but the expression on her face when she walks in is priceless- so priceless, you wish you had recorded it, so you can show it to all her teammates and your co-workers.

“What’s all this?” Leah says, clearly confused as she drops her training bag by the discarded sneakers. 

You fan your hands out, presenting all the different things across the countertops with a large grin- just as large as Leah’s everytime she picks Ratatouille over any other mildly interesting film. 

“This, my love, is your cooking crash course with the best chef in London.” 

It’s true, the London’s society of restaurateurs had voted you best chef for the third year in a row and you couldn’t be happier to flex it in Leah’s face. It’s your personal victory and you like to compare it to her Euro win with England- just to watch her turn a little red as she fiercely defends it to be harder. 

You'd normally agree but maybe she won’t be so quick to correct you next time though because as soon as she’s in the white coat with you (and after you had taken a photo of her that will be posted on instagram later.) the two of you are off, cooking what you think is going to be the driest chicken ever. 

“No- not like that!” 

You’re quick to correct her, it’s automatic and you feel as though it’s a little harsh but this is payback for making you suffer through a cartoon rat cooking. 

You place a hand on top of hers and you swear she blushes just a bit but you ignore it, instead guiding her hand to correctly dismantle the chicken into its individual parts. After helping her with one side, you watch as she tries to complete the other- and to her credit, it is not a total disaster. The cuts are a little jagged and some of the chicken looks more like it’s been massacred rather than taken apart but albeit still looks edible. 

Then she looks up at you with proud eyes and you forget about everything for a moment- all the mental gymnastics- and focus on her sweet smile that warms your heart. You come a little closer and give her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to touch her since you've just been cutting chicken.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart."

Maybe it's an exaggeration but the blush appears on Leah's cheeks after it is completely worth a white lie.

"Thanks, Remy, I have the best teacher," Leah wiggles her brows at you suggestively and you roll your eyes in return.

"Well, I do have three Michelin stars to my name," You grin and Leah smiles back at you.

Then you add, "It's like having three of those golden ball thingys that you all pine after."

Leah's face drops a bit, "You mean a ballon d'or?"

Your face lights up and you nod rapidly, "Yes, exactly!"

Leah pulls a face and furrows her brows, "Okay, baby... maybe we should focus on the cooking?"

You nod and turn your attention towards the dismantled chicken in front of the two of you- You resist the urge to cringe and put all the different parts into a bowl that you then place into the fridge.

"Let's wash hands before the next part."

The two of you take turns washing your hands, Leah flicking water at you playfully when it's her turn and you frowning when she does so.

"Take this seriously, Lee- In my kitchen-"

"Our kitchen-" She corrects you.

You raise your brows in question, "Who uses it the most?"

Leah suddenly fiddles with her coat and looks anywhere but you, you scoff but a smile finds it way to your face anyway- then you wrap an arm around her waist.

"Whatever, just focus- as if it were a match!"

Leah chuckles but steps up to the cutting board where various different vegetables are laid out with one of your personal knives that you bring to work besides it.

"So what now?" Leah asks, evident confusion in her voice.

"I want you to cut the peppers julienne and the carrots paysanne."

Leah looks at you with the most confused expression you've seen to date when the French leaves your mouth and all you can do is sigh.

"Peppers thin like matchsticks and the carrots into circles, please."

"Now that, I can understand," She laughs and begins to chop the peppers, first gutting them and throwing the seeds in the bin beside her then slicing them into strips.

You're leaning your head on her shoulder and your arms are wrapped loosely around her waist as you watch what she is doing- Leah's fingers are wrapped around the wooden handle and she guides the blade down each pepper part with some kind of precision.

You smile and encourage her by giving a light squeeze that you feel she leans into-

"Focus, that knife can cut your finger off."

You hear Leah scoff, "Maybe you shouldn't distract me then?"

You don't say anything nor do you move your arms away from her waist instead focus on the way she's slicing the various peppers- somehow, Leah begins to stray from the very thin slices into thick chucks without even acknowledging it.

You smile, "Stop for a second, Lee."

Leah pauses instantly and turns her head to look at you from where you stand behind her, she raises a brow in question and you grin in return. Then pick up a slice of pepper, holding it up for the two of you to inspect.

"Too thick, darling."

You press yourself closer to her back, forcing her to face the board again- this time you place your hands on top of hers, they are slightly warmer than yours and the heat immediately spreads, then begin to slice as you had instructed.

The rest of the vegetables go smoothly and you let them rest to the side before taking the chicken out of the fridge again-

"We are going to bake the legs, use the bones to make a sauce with the peppers and boil the carrots."

You explain, pointing to all the different elements as you do so and all Leah does is nod before stepping closer to you so she can wrap her arms around your neck.

"Yes, chef Remy," Leah chuckles when you scoff.

She gives you a quick kiss that you so desperately want to deepen but she pulls away before you can. Instead, she turns to the board and looks at you with the same focus you see on the pitch.

"Alright, let's start."

The rest of the evening goes... as well as you'd imagine- the kitchen is thankfully still standing, but in a state of utter disarray. The sauce that Leah made under your guidance had boiled over after she turned the temperature up, so that it would "cook faster". You didn't even get the chance to explain that it doesn't work like that, when a blob of sauce landed on the floor.

So there was a large spillage of sauce all over the stove and countertop but that was the least of your worries since the fire alarm had rang... once... twice... and a third time when the chicken was in the oven. Turns out that Leah cannot preheat an oven to the correct temperature either- so that chicken wasn't even dry, as you'd predicted, it was just simply not even there anymore.

All the meat had burned into crispy back sludge and the bones smelt disgusting- so disgusting that Leah had to stand on the balcony as you threw it out. Stating that she would throw up if she had to do it. 

It turns out that nothing was safe from Leah's horrid cooking skill since the carrots suffered a death by over boiling- turning into mush rather than keeping their shape after the plunge in the steaming hot water of the pot.

In the end, Leah and you end up on the plush sofa with white styrofoam take out boxes in front of you and the normally tidy kitchen left in a rather untidy state, much to your dismay- but none of you had the energy to clean on an empty stomach.

You're shoveling food into your mouth when Leah picks up the remote and you dread what's coming. You see disney being opened and the pit in your stomach turns into sickness-

"So... Ratatouille?" Leah giggles and presses play, you music ringing out of the speakers. 

"Darling- No, please!"

[traincat]

i’d pay you real money for that “maybe baby” fic.

You can have it for free, but I do have a ko-fi if anyone is interested: https://ko-fi.com/traincat.

Anyway, the baby fic! Based on Fantastic Four Annual 2010, set nebulously post-Secret Wars (2015). I started this in 2016, so we didn't have any definitive answers for the Fantastic Four's return, but it's not really relevant to the fic anyway. I'm still putting together a list of the other WIPs I'm willing to release, but this is one is easy, so here it is.

Baby fic!

***

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h well this is still less complicated than the time i rescued a highlander

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h aw she likes her uncle benjy @clobberintime #rockstar

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h good thing about this is @peterbparker never checks his phone so he's still gonna be surprised

--

The first thing Peter registered was the vaguely defensive look on Johnny's face. The second was the baby.

"Wherever you found it, you put it back right now," he said.

The look Johnny gave him was venomous. "Oh, sure. Let me just toss the helpless infant back where she came from! What a great idea, thank you, Peter!"

"I'll get the portal ready," Val said. She was sitting crosslegged way on the other end of the room, holding a tablet computer like a shield and eyeing the baby like she might try to bite her.

"Shush," Johnny said, but it wasn't clear whether he meant it for the baby or Val or possibly for Peter, whose jaw had started making a strange grinding noise of its own volition.

Peter leaned forward to get a better look. The baby had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and she was squirming in Johnny's arms even as he hummed and hushed and bounced her up and down, still dressed in his costume. She was so small, wrapped in what looked like one of the shock blankets from the Fantasticar's emergency kit.

"If I put her down, she starts to cry," Johnny confessed.

Peter's heart was doing something disturbingly close to melting. He tugged off a glove and reached out with tentative fingers, stroking soft cheek and wispy dark hair. The baby yawned, barely batting an eye.

Peter looked at Johnny and said, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Johnny wasn't looking at him, though - his gaze was fixed on the baby, eyes soft.

"Look, Peter, you need to know before this part gets out - Reed ran all the tests. She's mine, Pete."

That threw Peter for a loop, but looking for traces of Johnny in the baby's face - yeah, he could see it.

"How? And don't tell me the usual way. Where did she come from?"

Johnny told him: the club, the girl, the supervillain. Peter hissed in sympathy when he hit the part about Psycho Woman spending two months hanging around in Johnny’s brain, touching his fingers to Johnny's temple. Johnny's voice wavered as he got to the end: the fall, the jump, Amy's disappearance through time.

"But time travel's weird. And we've torn everything apart and rebuilt it so many times… Amy never came back after she made the temporal jump," Johnny said, sliding Peter a cautious look, like he thought he might - what, upset? "I've gone looking for her before, but if she was out there, she didn't want me to find her. And then today we were just looking between dimensions, you know?"

"Just your typical Sunday," Peter said, mouth on autopilot while the rest of him was stunned. Johnny's child, here, safe in Johnny's arms - and to think Peter had swung in to ask about dinner and beating up the Shocker.

"Reed found traces of a familiar cosmic radiation signature," Johnny said, shaking his head. "Mine. And then we found her."

"So," Peter echoed, feeling lost. "She's yours. Really yours."

"Yeah," Johnny said, nodding. "She was all alone and in between. But she's alive and she's mine."

Peter leaned his head against Johnny's. "She's a little small for the Future Foundation."

"Well, the weird thing is," Johnny said, smiling, "they don't stay that way for long."

Val put the tablet down and said, "Oh come on, are we seriously not going to throw her back?"

--

Peter Parker @peterbparker 15m he promised me life would never be boring…

--

It had been at the end of the world. The incursion had been fast approaching, and this time - this time Peter could feel it in his bones. The end, just over the horizon.

It had scared him more than he ever wanted to admit.

"You're coming with us," Johnny had told him in a voice that brooked no argument. He'd caught Peter's hands in his own inhumanly warm ones, squeezing. "Reed says we'll have time once we're beyond. We'll work something out. We can fix it."

Peter had wanted it, so badly - but. Always the but.

"I should stay with the city. You've got room for, what, a hundred people?"

"Sixty," Johnny admitted, forehead creased in worry. "Peter - you're one of the big brains. You belong with us."

"One of, but not big enough," Peter said. "You need my spot for someone smarter, someone who can help fix this -"

The kiss had been unexpected, a tentative thing, just the soft press of Johnny's lips against his masked mouth, Johnny's fingertips careful as anything underneath his chin.

"You're family," he said, breaking apart, his forehead resting against Peter's. "And you're coming with us. We'll have time."

Peter took a deep shuddering breath and said, "Okay."

He let himself have this one selfish thing, standing on top of the Statue of Liberty with Johnny Storm the day before the end of the world.

He let himself be selfish, and then the raft split apart and Johnny paid the price. He knew it deep in his bones, every second he watched Johnny fall away. Maybe that was why he didn't say anything when they were returned safe and sound to their own world. Or maybe it was cowardice, him waiting for Johnny to make the first move a second time. Maybe it was the way he still remembered blinking the spots from his eyes down in Battleworld, staring at the sun in search of a familiar face.

It didn't matter. He had Parker Industries, and Johnny had moved on with Medusa. Peter had gotten one kiss at their usual spot - if that was all he was granted, well, it was more than enough for two lifetimes. He could live with it.

Except he lost the company, Medusa worked it out with Black Bolt, the missing members of the Fantastic Family returned with a fairly literal bang, and Johnny and Peter ended up crash landing in a rooftop hotel pool.

Parker Luck, doing its very finest.

He'd taken the brunt of the hit, thankful for it - he was more durable than flamed-off Johnny - but the rush of cold water made him gasp, fighting his way to the surface. Johnny surfaced beside him, gasping, and Peter grabbed a handful of his collar. He dragged them both to the shallow end as tourists scattered left and right.

"We're fine, thanks for asking!" Peter shouted after them. "Can anybody grab me a towel?" Johnny was laughing by the time Peter collapsed against the steps, languishing in knee deep water. "New Yorkers. What's so funny?"

"You," Johnny said, looking at Peter with shining eyes. He started laughing again when Peter groaned, shoulders shaking with it. Peter slid a hand over the back of his head, checking for bumps.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Peter said. He told himself to take his hand off Johnny, but he didn't. He just kept touching him, pushing Johnny's soaked hair up off his forehead. Johnny was staring at him, all traces of humor gone from his face. Now or never. Peter swallowed hard. "Johnny, you know I -"

"Just shut up," Johnny said, climbing into Peter's lap. He shoved Peter's soaked mask up over the bridge of his nose, twining his arms around Peter's neck. "Shut up, shut, god, Pete, why don't you ever say anything important?"

The kiss made Peter's head spin -and he had to grab Johnny by the shoulders and put some considerable strength into prying him off just long enough so he could talk.

"Me? What about you?" he said. "I thought - you never said anything when we got back."

"What about me?" Johnny said, pouting a little when Peter wouldn't let him lean forward again. "You're supposed to be the smart one."

Peter couldn't argue with that without walking straight into a trap.

"Dammit," he said, and pulled Johnny back on top of him until security showed up.

--

May Parker-Jameson @mayparker 3m When you learn important family news from TWITTER of all places

--

"May - May, I am telling you, I did not know about this," Peter said, standing in the doorway with the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear, one hand in his hair, the other on his hip. "Because I'm pretty sure you knew before me, is why. No, I don't know - I got home and he was holding a baby, okay, that is the extent of the story. He found her. Yeah, like, with a dog - I'm not calling your grandchild a dog, your grandchild, what, whose side are you on?!"

Johnny was laughing at him from the other room, which he thought was completely unfair. Peter threw strangling motions at him, scowling. Johnny stuck his tongue out. The baby cooed.

"Can I put him on the phone? Can I make him explain this to you?" he said, listing to the side until his head hit the doorframe.

"Hi, May!" Johnny called cheerfully, making the baby wave. He was a monster and Peter deeply hated his coalition with his aunt. He zoned back in time to hear "- you're my nephew, I want to hear it from you."

"I'm your nephew, yeah, but he's the one who went time hopping and found his kid." He sobered, rubbing at his forehead. "Honestly, May, I'm telling you, I know as much as you do."

"Well, I could do with knowing her name," May said, clucking her tongue.

Peter blanked. He cupped a hand over the receiver and leaned forward. "Johnny. What's her name?"

Johnny blinked, then looked down at the baby. "Um."

"Yeah, May?" Peter said into the phone. "We're actually going to have to get back to you on that one."

--

Jennifer Walters @jenatlaw 30m Some days it's just not worth your custom ordered MAC foundation. "Crocodile” btw.

Jennifer Walters @jenatlaw 30m Told the woman I was really more of a shark. She didn't laugh. It's not easy being green, folks.

--

Jen dropped off paperwork with a lot of eyerolling, a threat of resignation, and an order that the baby be kept away from her.

"This is Stella McCartney," she said, gesturing to her blazer. "You keep that thing out of range."

"Hey!" Johnny protested.

(...)

Jen gave the baby one last warning look and then whirled out on her heels, moloid kids flocking in her wake.

"Auntie Jen is a scary Hulk," Johnny told the baby. The baby gurgled in agreement.

"Auntie Jen heard that!" Jen yelled from the hall. "Start with picking a name! Jennifer's a great one!"

"Have you considered Petunia?" Ben asked nonchalantly.

"I have never and will never consider Petunia," Johnny said blithely. "Next suggestion."

"Howzabout Benjamina?" said Ben.

"No," Johnny said. Peter made a hemming noise and he repeated, forcefully, "No."

"Benita?" Ben said, rocky brows raised high. Peter stifled a snicker with a fake cough, ducking his head.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Johnny asked Ben, scowling.

"I came back from space for this family and this is the treatment I get," Ben grumbled, getting up off the sofa. He paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His gaze went all soft at the sight of Johnny and the baby. Peter couldn't blame him. "Hey, kid. I'm really happy for ya."

Johnny looked up at him and smiled, tired and real. "Love you too, Rocky."

Ben heaved a great sigh like Johnny's love was some kind of terrible life sentence - Peter knew the feeling - and left the room.

"This is hard," Johnny said, throwing his head back. The baby was asleep in his arms, blissful in her ignorance. "Can I conference in Victor?"

"Please don't," Peter said. He stroked the baby's soft, downy hair with one gentle finger, feeling an equal mix of awe and terror. "Marie?"

"Like Mary?" Johnny said, contemplative. "My mom's name was Mary."

Peter shifted. "Uh, sure. But also like - Marie Curie?"

Johnny looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you serious?"

"She discovered two elements!" Peter said, defensive.

"She died from radiation poisoning!" Johnny said. "I don't care if it worked out for you!"

(...)

"Just in the grand plan for my life, this is not how I thought it'd go," Peter said.

"And then you got bit by a radioactive spider and all the rules went out the window," Johnny said, yawning. "Old news. Pete, you know I'd never ask you to do anything you're not ready for. I want this, but if you don't -"

The sincerity on his face was unbearable. Peter cupped a hand to his face and shut him up the only way that ever really worked.

"Aimee," Johnny said at last. His head fell to Peter’s shoulder; Peter curled a hand in his hair. "After her mom."

"I like it," Peter said, watching her sleep. "Aimee it is."

Aimee Benni Storm was what was written on the birth certificate in the end. Johnny looked Peter straight in the eye and said, "You tell Ben and you're a dead man."

--

(...)

"See?" Sue said, humming. "Living with the in-laws has its perks. I remember this age - it's a good one. Just wait 'til they can talk back."

"I love you," Peter told her. "Leave Reed and run away with me to Majorca."

Sue smirked, leaning over to palm his cheek. "You're adorable."

--

"Whoa," Miles said, flipping out of nowhere and matching his swing with Peter's. "Is that a baby?"

"Here," Peter said. "Why don't you hold her for a sec?"

"Oh, I don't, um, okay, wow, hi, baby," Miles stammered when Peter didn't give him much of a choice. Aimee was a sucker for anyone in webs, so Miles ended up making alarmed sounds when tiny hands tried to grab his mask. "When did you get a baby?"

"She's the Human Torch's baby, technically," Peter said, stretching.

Miles looked down, clearly alarmed through the mask. "Is she gonna light on fire too?"

Aimee cooed.

"Nah," Peter said, arms high above his head. "Probably not."

"Peter!" Miles said.

"I am like 98% sure she will remain flame free," Peter said. "But fine, give her back."

Peter was pretty sure the only reason Miles didn't thrust Aimee back was because he was too afraid to make any sudden moves. She made a sleepy, annoyed noise when Peter lifted her from Miles's arms.

"Why do you have the Human Torch's baby?" Miles asked, a very quiet version of shouting.

(...)

"Last chance to keep her," Peter said.

"I'm good," Miles said.

--

“Okay,” Sue said when she found them in the kitchen at three in the afternoon. Johnny was still in pajamas; Peter was wearing half his spider-suit. Aimee was wearing brunch. “Enough is enough. When was the last time either you left this building?”

“Carjacking,” Peter said, yawning. “Guy dressed like a possum knocking over a Chase. Do I need to go on?”

Johnny was trying to get mashed banana out of his hair. “I don’t know, I think I did something - Tuesday? Was it Tuesday? I had that interview.”

“You cancelled that interview,” Sue told him.

“Huh,” said Johnny, then made an outraged squawking noise when Sue swept in and grabbed the baby from him. “Hey!”

“You’re going out tonight,” Sue said, eyes narrowed. “Together.”

Johnny and Peter stared at each other.

“Together, like, him and me?” Peter said, gesturing between them.

“I think we used to do that,” Johnny said faintly.

“Save the comedy routine,” Sue told them, bouncing Aimee in her arms. All the mashed banana didn’t seem to bother her. She jerked her chin first at Johnny, then at Peter. “You, put on something nice. You - try to do the same. I’m making a reservation for you someplace nice, without supervillains or babies.”

“Do we have to?” Peter asked.

“Can’t we just sleep instead?” Johnny said.

“No,” Sue said. “It’ll be good for you.”

“This is not paying me back for all the times I babysat for you!” Johnny called after her as she carried Aimee from the kitchen down the hall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sue said. “Ben owes me a favor.”

Johnny scowled at her back. “She took my baby.”

“Aw no,” Peter said, plucking at his spandex. “I’m going to have to wear a dinner jacket, aren’t I.”

--

Peter came through the door so tired he couldn't see straight, only to have a baby shoved into his arms. Aimee gurgled happily when Peter's arms came up around her automatically.

"Oh no," he said. "Johnny, I'm about to fall over -"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Johnny said, not sounding very sorry at all. He leaned into kiss Peter - that Peter kissed back was muscle memory, he was pretty sure, because the only thing he felt towards Johnny in that second was the sleep-deprived urge to strangle. "I've got that photoshoot, remember? I'll be back soon, I promise. Love you!"

Peter watched him go with narrowed eyes.

"Should we tell him his shirt's on backwards, Firebug?" he asked Aimee. She put her head down against his shoulder with an annoyed sounding little sigh. "No? No." He hummed to her, heading for the couch. "I'm gonna go evil and I'm gonna kill your dad, yes I am. This is my supervillain origin story."

(...)

"Peter? Are you awake?" Franklin whispered.

"M'just resting my eyes," Peter replied.

"Okay," Franklin said hesitantly. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Peter cracked an eye open. "Do you have a Galactus stashed in the basement?"

"No," Franklin said, looking a little put out about it.

"Then go for it," Peter said, yawning.

Franklin was quiet for so long Peter had almost drifted off when he spoke.

"When Dad and Mr. Reece and I were putting the universes back the way they should be… I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I knew Uncle Johnny was going to be lonely without us, and I think I maybe accidentally gave him Aimee back."

Peter rolled over onto his back, fully awake now. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, thoughts tumbling - how unfair it was that any kid in the universe should be able to do what Franklin could. How glad he was that if any kid could, it was Franklin.

"But I think I messed up," Franklin said. "She didn't end up where she was supposed to."

(...)

--

"Okay," Peter said, "I know this might not be the best kind for this conversation -"

"You are gifted with the understatement!" Johnny shouted as he streaked by a little too close for comfort, a rush of flames and heat.

"Spidey," Johnny said, swooping down to hover in front of him. "Get to the point, please."

"My point," Peter said, as best as he could with Johnny so bright and so hot and so close, "is that we might need a nanny."

Johnny turned his face towards him, his eyes glowing embers and his face barely more than an outline in flickering flames - and then he burst out laughing.

"Oh," he said, darting away. He circled a group of bugs, leaving them huddled together and clacking while Ben bagged them. "Now he wants a nanny. Do you believe this?"

(...)

--

Ben Grimm @clobberintime 1m when you wanna watch the game and the marrieds + kid are asleep on the couch. what a revoltin development.

--

Peter woke slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness, too warm and content to care.

"Ben took a photo of us and put it on the internet," Johnny said, waving his phone.

***

And that's the WIP! Not much action, just Johnny and Peter being cute with a baby.

[lynn-writes-things]

a god’s obsession

aizen x reader

TW: TOXIC!!!!!!!, nsfw, possessive behavior, sacrilegious/sacrilege, god kink, fingering, penetration, cheating, slapping, choking, biting, hair pulling, a little bit of blood is mentioned?, rough sex, bruises, degradation, dirty talk, brat behavior?, slight dacryphilia, Aizen might be obsessed with you, corruption, mating press, petnames used condescendingly

WC: 2.8k

notes: I haven’t written a full length fic in like several years, please be kind and excuse any mistakes in pacing 😭

He fucks his subordinates a lot.

It’s not like he tries very hard to safeguard that little secret - that he’s screwing most of the girls who follow him behind your back. In a way, you feel pity for them, because they don’t know that he still slinks back into the bed you share after each encounter with one of the little girls that he doesn’t even deem worthy of learning their names - but you’ve been the only “woman” in his life, as he puts it, since you first met him forever ago, back when you both were subordinates to Captain Hirako in squad five.

At first, you resented him for the fact that he was a serial cheater. But, to be fair, you had known fully well what you were getting into when you agreed to marry the man, back in the Soul Society. You knew him - the real him - even back then. Because once you had made the mistake of gaining his trust, there was no going back. He told you everything, never hiding a single detail of his master plan from you. By then, it was already too late for you to even consider leaving him - he’d kill you, you knew it - and nobody would believe you about your claims of his evil deeds anyways, because once he was promoted to Captain, nothing could touch him. He knew it, and so did you, so you let him corrupt you instead. It was an easier task than you’d like to admit.

So now, after growing too tired of his adultery, you decided that you’d even the playing field, but you took it further than he had. He’d sleep around with Arrancars that he considered nothing more than canon fodder, ones who weren’t impressive in the slightest, who could never really join his ranks - but who had a pretty face. But you? Well, you fucked Grimmjow. You fucked him a lot, actually. Any time Aizen pissed you off, or you caught him reeking of another girl’s perfume, you’d seek out the Espada and drag him off somewhere to take out your frustrations.

Needless to say, it infuriated your husband when you came to bed with bite marks on your shoulder and blooming bruises on your thighs and on your hips. He gripped your chin hard enough to hurt, the look in his eyes something you had seen countless times, though never directed at you before, cold and sinister. “Who?” He demanded through clenched teeth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You had the nerve to snark back with a smirk. The hand on your chin had wrapped around your neck before you had a chance to register it, and he had you pinned to the bed, glaring at you with a fire in his beautiful golden eyes that would’ve surely put the fear of God in anybody else, but only stoked a very different kind of fire within you.

“Yes, my dear, I would in fact very much like to know who is sleeping with my wife.” He growled, low and menacing.

“Well, considering every other woman in Los Noches is sleeping with my husband, I’d consider us even. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair, my love?”

He smirks, a cruel and evil look that only serves to further excite you. “I’ve told you, darling, those aren’t women. They’re merely insects to me, little playthings. Nothing more. You, on the other hand, are quite the woman indeed..”

“If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I believe I’ll keep my little plaything as well.” Your coy smile enrages him, his grip on your neck tightens.

“Only one?”

“For now.”

“Tell me who it is.”

“One of your Espada.” The way you say it so proudly, the sweetness in your tone like a deceptively delicious venom. “I’ll let you guess which.” He doesn’t have to. He knows.

Setting his jaw, you catch the barely perceptible twitch of his right eye as he sneers. “Grimmjow..” His voice is a low growl, you know that you’re in danger, but you like it that way.

“Ohhh, look at that - we have a winner! You know, Sosuke my dear, it’s no fun if you guess right on the first—“ His hand collides with your cheek, leaving a stinging pain in its wake from the force of the slap. Turning to face him once more, you blink at him, your expression down right incredulous, as his is simmering with rage.

“You little whore..” His voice is a warning in itself, yet so very addictive. “Fucking someone like him? I had no idea my own wife was so pathetic.”

“How very rich of you to call me a whore. Do you forget your own sins so easily?” The venom in your voice is the sweetest of poisons, Aizen wishes he could drown in it. He’d give a reply about how he has every right to anything that he wants, as his God-like status demands of him, but at this point in his life, he cannot bring himself to place you below him in such a way. If he’s God, then you are the Goddess he defaults to; you rule beside him, but he would carry out your will with all of the power he possesses - he would destroy the entire world with himself in it if you wished him to. You don’t know that Aizen is truly capable of feeling love, but you once thought Sosuke was. You aren’t entirely sure if you are either at this point - but you do believe that you are as close as he could ever get. He hates it. So do you sometimes.

Instead of speaking, he crashes his lips against yours, hungry and possessive, like he’s trying to claim you all over again. He will remind you of your place - of who you belong to - the only way that he knows how, by absolutely ruining you. He’s more civilized than to rip your clothing off of you, instead he very slowly frees you from your confines, each touch as possessive as it is teasing, like he’s branding you with nothing but his bare hands. Unlike Grimmjow, Aizen knows your body like the back of his hand - knows exactly where to touch, and how to touch, to make you fall apart over, and over, and over again. First, on his fingers, the rough pads of such deft fingers curling into your core, he knows exactly where to hit to make you cry out, and he knows that he’s hit his mark when that telltale gasp leaves your lips - breathless and eager for more, like always, and he’ll give you exactly what you want. His thumb presses lightly to your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves with pinpointed circles, varying the pressure he applies so that you can’t quite get used to how he touches you, but the way that your body responds to each touch tells him that he’s doing a good job.

“Did he touch you like this? Tell me, darling, did his fingers feel better than mine?” The man above you asks, his voice low and daring. All you can do is shake your head, a soft “No, sir,” leaving your lips, and he rewards your answer with a sinister smirk and an increase in the ministrations that you’re sure will make you lose your mind before too much longer. But he won’t keep you waiting long, not tonight - no, in fact, he wants to set a new record for how many times he can make you come undone for him tonight, he will unravel you thread by thread until you’ve completely lost yourself in his silken sheets. Then, like an expert seamster, he will put you back together again, only to thoroughly destroy you once more. Once, twice, three times he sends you over the edge with his skilled hands, until the majority of his forearm is covered in the sweet nectar that he considers sacred. All the more reason he’s enraged that you would dare to give it to another, much less someone he considers to be so far below himself.

His stamina is parallel to none, and you can’t tell if that’s a blessing or a curse right now, as each girthy inch of his cock enters you so slowly that it nearly drives you mad, the smirk on his lips is sinister and smug, his eyes just a touch feral. “Tell me, my love, did he feel as good as me?”

You’d sass him if you didn’t fear for your safety if you pissed him off any further tonight. “No, sir - nobody could ever feel as good as y-you..” Your voice hitches as he bottoms out with a low growl at the way that your warm walls engulf him so nicely. He leans over you, with your legs wrapped snugly around his toned waist, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “You flatter me, dear.. Though, none of my playthings could ever hold a candle to you, either..” It makes you question why he has such an affinity for them, then. You don’t ask - can’t ask - as his hips begin to grind against yours, slowly at first, because he knows the way his trimmed hairs grinding against your already overly-sensitive clit, coupled with his cock buried deep inside of you, drives you absolutely insane. He relishes in the way you writhe beneath him, trapped under him so you cannot get away, not like you would try anyways. He doesn’t care, he won’t take the chance. He’ll keep that pace for only a little. His discipline is usually something that he takes great pride in, but right now he only cares about proving a point, and that becomes obvious as he pulls back until only the tip is left inside, and slams back in with a force that reminds you all too well that this man is, in fact, the most powerful being in this entire realm - perhaps even in all three realms. He sets a steady pace, fast and rough but easily sustainable for him, and his hand once again wraps around your throat, squeezing at the sides until your vision starts to blur, and all you can see is that evil, reverent look in his golden eyes as he sends you over the edge of bliss for a fourth time tonight. A dangerous growl reverberates in his chest from the way you try so very hard to cry out in ecstasy, but are only able to just barely squeak out his name instead.

“Such a good girl you are.. It’s easy to forget what a cheap whore you are as well,” He sneers, his pace becoming more ruthless, expression colder. “Running off and fucking one of my men? You dared to let that overgrown house cat leave such filthy marks on your perfect skin?” You’ve never heard him so angry before. It should not be this hot. His fingers find the bruises Grimmjow left behind, pressing into them harshly, glaring daggers at the bite mark left on your shoulder.

“I’m s-sorry..!” All you can do is gasp, his pace is too punishing to even consider taking a much needed deep breath of air, not with how he has your thighs pressed to your chest - he’s always had a preference for having you in a mating press.

An incredulous scoff leaves his lips, the look in his eyes growing progressively more feral as he speaks.

“You’re sorry?” He echos, laughing bitterly. “I’ll show you sorry - my precious, little, slut..” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, he slows his pace just enough for you to catch your breath, just for a minute, because he can’t have you passing out, not this time. No, you won’t learn if you pass out. Once you’ve had what he deems sufficient oxygen, he bends your thighs further back, your lower back lifting up with them, but he effortlessly holds you in place as if the weight is nothing to him (it’s not), his hips falling back into that brutal pace that’s sending you into orbit. Blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, threatening to break the skin that the man above you had only just called perfect moments before - but if Grimmjow left marks on you, then it's only fitting that your husband leaves more, right?

“Sosuke, I—“ For a second time tonight, your voice is cut off by a slap across your face, this time slightly harder. He doesn’t want to actually hurt you, he’d never dare use any more strength than this on you - you’re still his most precious treasure, after all.

“You will speak only when spoken to.” He demands, one arm wrapped around your leg to keep it over his shoulder, meanwhile the hand that had just slapped you moves to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling a bit harder than he means to, glowering down at you. You’re close again, and he knows it, he knows every sign your body gives, no matter how subtle it may be. A cruel smirk once again graces his full lips. “As a matter of fact.. Apologize to me. And I expect you to do it properly this time.”

The brutal pace of his thrusts slows to allow you to speak, though these slower ones are no less intense.

“I-I’m sorry, my love, I—“ He yanks your hair once more, the smirk dropping from his face almost immediately, eyes narrowing with a warning that you dare not ignore. “Please forgive me, my lord.. I’ve sinned, I- I’ve done something terrible, and I’m so- so very sorry..!” The words tumble out of your lips, and for just a moment, you feel like a child apologizing to a priest in a confessional booth. This might be just as cramped as one of those small booths, just as suffocating - in both instances, you’re still hoping that your words might reach the contemplative ear of a God, only yours is the beautiful man above you, and he is far more vengeful. “I’m sorry, Lord Aizen, I’m sorry!” Your words rise in pitch as you approach yet another little death. The God-like man above you smirks once more, you can tell that he’s pleased.

“Pray for your forgiveness, and I may just look past your insolence.”

“Please grant me mercy, my lord.. I’m so very sorry, please— please forgive me for my sins..!” A rich groan leaves his lips as a tear runs down your cheek, his own release nearing from hearing your desperate prayers, from feeling the way that your walls threaten to squeeze the life out of him, because you love it just as much as he does. His hand leaves your hair, his touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender, as he wipes away the tear from your cheek.

“You’re forgiven, my delightful little whore,” He practically purrs, his pace speeding up once more - although not nearly as punishing as it had been. “Now, cum for me. I want you to scream my name, make sure everyone hears you..” And you do. Oh God, you do - your hands finding purchase on his strong shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to worry the skin, but it only provokes Aizen to go even harder, only pushes him that much closer to his own release. Sounds of your desperate cries of his name echos off of the walls, and you’re certain others can hear, not that you can be bothered to care at this given moment. Aizen follows you over the edge soon after, a deep groan and a heated husk of your name leaving his lips as teeth find your neck, biting hard enough that he can taste a hint of your blood, but you don’t dare stop him, not when it feels this good.

Slowly, he stills on top of you, lets himself lean over you as he balances on his forearms, letting your legs carefully fall to your sides as his eyes take in your beautifully ruined expression. Once again, his hand comes to your cheek to brush away a few more tears that had fallen in your throes of pleasure. His eyes are softer now, his smile almost gentle, and for just the most fleeting of seconds, he looks like the man that you fell in love with again - he looks like your Sosuke. But you know that he’s not. He never really was. It doesn’t stop you from reaching up, your own trembling hand touching his cheek, thumb gingerly stroking over the peak of his cheekbone.

“You look especially beautiful like this, you know?” His voice is softer now, too. “Such a pretty little thing.. I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?”

“No.. Not too badly..” You answer, still a good bit out of it. But that’s okay. He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“You did well, my love. Now, let me get you cleaned up.”

[vandme12]

Maybe a fic abt Ronin from Angst to Fluff ? ?

comfort him?

It starts with silence. A rare thing for Ronin, who lives for noise—the crack of bone, the wet slap of a heart hitting the pavement, the scream of someone who thought they were safe. But not now.

Now, he’s quiet.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching for a cigarette, a blade—something to fill the emptiness gnawing in his gut. But all he has is you.

And that should be enough.

“Should be.” His voice is raw, torn up like he’s been screaming, but you know he hasn’t. Not aloud, anyway.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur. Soft. Too soft—he hates it, and you know that. He thrives on your fire. But tonight, even your flame isn’t enough to burn through the wall he’s put up.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at you. Just presses the heel of his hand against his temple like he can squeeze the thoughts out if he tries hard enough.

“…Ronin.”

It’s the way you say his name that cracks him open—like he’s human. Like he’s something worth worrying about. And that shouldn’t matter, not to someone like him, but it does. Fuck, it does.

“I shoulda done something to...help..” he says, voice like gravel. “Shoulda made it faster”

Ah...

You should’ve known. It always comes back to him, Them. It's someone from his past.

You don’t ask if Ronin’s blaming himself—he is. Even when he’s laughing, when he’s carving his name into the world with bloodied hands,

“You did what you could,” you tell him. The words feel hollow—but they’re the truth. And Ronin’s a bastard, but he doesn’t lie to himself. Not about this.

He snorts softly. “Ain’t that a sweet lil’ line, baby. You should write it in a fuckin’ Hallmark card.”

You don’t laugh. Not this time. You just reach out—slow, careful—and brush his blood-streaked hair out of his eyes.

He flinches. Like he isn’t used to being touched gently. Like it burns.

“…I’m here,” you say. A simple thing—but it shakes something loose in him, a thread pulled too tight finally snapping.

His breath shudders as he grabs your wrist, dragging your hand down to his mouth. Biting. Not enough to hurt—but enough to feel real. To feel alive.

“Yeah?” he breathes, voice rough against your skin. “Y’gonna stay?”

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

And that? That breaks him.

One second, he’s a knife’s edge—sharp, unyielding. The next, he’s burying his face in the curve of your neck, arms locked around you too tight, like he’s holding himself together with nothing but blood and sheer spite.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice muffled. “This ain’t fair, baby. You—yer too good for me.”

You laugh—quiet, breathless—tilting his head up so he has to meet your eyes. “Says the guy who just handed me a human heart.”

He grins, but it’s shaky. “Hey, I’m a romantic.”

And maybe that’s what kills you the most—he means it. In his own fucked-up way, he really, truly means it.

“You’re mine,” you whisper, because it’s the only thing that matters. “And I’m yours. Got it?”

For a second, you think he won’t answer. That he’ll slip back behind his teeth, all sharp grins and sharper knives. But then—

“I got it,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “I—fuck. Yeah. I got it, baby.”

And when he kisses you, it’s not wild. Not cruel. Just desperate.

Like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

[ivesdio]

AGAIN . . ? ⋆.˚

summary: after a night out, you wake up in a bed you know all too well.. again.

warnings: single mention of vomiting (she’s hungover let a girl live smh), reference to previous sexual activities, ending leads to sex, but no details are given - lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hi lovelies!! this is my obx fic writer debut, so pretty please go easy on me :,) my requests are open 24/7 and i’m really excited to be in this amazin community! enjoy this lil thing xx

wc: 922

you groan, your head feeling like it’s being, repeatedly, banged against a wall, lids heavy with sleep and an impending hangover. the morning sunlight shining in through the covers was blinding, another tired sound slipping past your lips.

you think nothing of it when you notice that the messy sheets surrounding you are different from yours - that’s ‘cause you’d changed them not too long ago.

but when the sound of movement behind you breaks your thoughts, you sigh in.. disappointment? anger? anyway; the feeling was targeted towards yourself.

your phone vibrates next to the pillow your head was resting on, an alarm chiming in the warm room. you turn it off, taking it in your hands. a text catches your eye.

ah, fuck.

sar 🤍

pls don’t telk me that u lrft wit my brotger again

Delivered: 01:54 AM

well.. that confirms your suspicions.

you and rafe had an.. interesting relationship, to put it mildly. glances around tannyhill soon became hook-ups in his bedroom and truck after parties. sneaking around the cameron household, stolen kisses and sweat beaded bodies slowly becoming a norm.

but, damn it, was he fucking imposs—

“fuck you doin’ up so early?” rafe’s voice invades your hearing, making you wonder if killing yourself would be a good option right about now.

“how much did i have t’drink?” you grumble as you put down your phone and press your cheek against the cool pillow, your face slightly squished.

“why?” he asks, his tone lacking any sign of patience. shocking.

“‘cause i’m here. again,” a dry scoff leaves your raw throat (probably from the vomiting. great fuckin’ job!).

“..a decent amount,” he answers, chuckling with no emotion behind the small laugh “way too early for this shit, baby,” the nickname spills from his lips before he could even think about it - a habit, almost.

“told y’not to call me that, rafe,” you mumble, groaning hoarsely when you sit up and stand up from the plush bed. you catch a glimpse of yourself in his mirror, brows furrowing as you gaze into the glass.

yesterday’s clothes? gone.

panties? still there.

what was new, though, was the black tee framing your body. the fabric was soft and smelled of.. him. fuck, his perfume was intoxicating. what did he use again? eh, whatever - all you knew was that it smelled divine. and expensive.

“did we..?” you ask carefully, turning to face him from your place on the floor. he simply shakes his head, huffing.

“nah. drunk outta your mind.”

you nod in acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

“did you.. want to?” another question from you fills the room. he shrugs, sitting up. the white covers fall from his bare upper half, crumpling in his lap.

“no shit,” he scoffs, scratching his nose before he continues, “didn’t wanna.. y’know— take advantage of you. basic human decency and stuff. would’a been wrong.”

he was rambling. a bit, at least. you’d never seen him like this and.. to be completely honest? it was kinda cute. you nod again, the corners of your mouth tilting up a bit. you try to fight the smile starting to break through, but god, was it difficult.

“right, yeah. uh.. thanks,” you mutter and chuckle quietly. to your complete surprise, his lips turn up an inch, a hint of a smile playing on them. he stands up and the duvet falls behind him, a pair of boxers being the only thing on his toned form. he steps closer to you, towering. bastard.

“sarah texted?” he asks, tilting his head. fuck him and his fucking teasing, and his fucking smile, and his—

“mhm. jumble of letters, really, but yeah. why?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. you don’t miss the way rafe’s baby blues flicker down to the movement, before meeting your gaze again.

“think we have some time ‘fore she scolds us again?” his voice was just barely above a whisper, a small smirk grazing the corner of his mouth.

“maybe,” you reply, shrugging.

before you could fully finish saying the word, his lips were crashing into yours, big hands cradling your face. his ring was cold against your heated skin. an audible hitch of your breath travels into his mouth as you kiss him back, your own hands brushing up his muscular arms. his biceps flex underneath your touch, the feeling sending a jolt up your spine.

he’s devouring your fucking face at this point - like a man starved. your back meets a wall, a soft gasp leaving your mouth. rafe swallows the sound, a small grunt escaping his throat. he pulls away after a few moments, his forehead resting against yours as he pants.

“fuck, baby.. can’t stay away for t’long,” he whispers, “that okay with you?”

you chuckle, slightly out of breath, “d’you hear me complaining?”

“that’s my girl,” he drawls, his signature smirk filling your sight.

in one swift motion, his hands reach down and grasp your thighs, lifting you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. he leaves small wet kisses on your neck, his breath hot against yours skin, all while his thumb rubs circles into the small of your back.

your back meets his plush bed again, the man in front of you already on his knees. his eyes flicker from your panties to your eyes, that fucking proud smirk plastered on his smug face.

“you got time, right?” he chuckles, kissing up your inner thigh.

you nod, breathing heavily.

oh, you were definitely sober now.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Based off of a comic that I swear to God I can't find. Soapghost where I think it is Ghost that slips a ring onto Soap tags and doesn't tell him. Only when someone pointed out to see freak out and ask what kind of proposal was that.

Anyways that but deadclaws courtesy of @shy-canadian-snowflake for starting off this version of the idea and @orcadork4ever for helping

When the tags get thrown to the ground when Logan quits he pauses as he sees the ring. He stares wide eyed before taking the ring off and putting it on. He knows who did it but he's not here right now.

He leaves and when Wade finds the tags he sees the ring gone and smiles.

THEN THEN THEN AFTER EVERYTHING he put the ring on his new tags and where is it. But after the memory wipe half of what he is trying to learn about what happened to him is also about learning with a ring is from.

The idea of rogue when she's in the car looking at his tags and seeing the ring 😭😭😭

Does Jean still try to make moves despite it? What happens what do people think?

"Does it count as cheating if you don't even know who the ring belongs to?" Then Logan getting pissed because he might not know where it belongs. But he sure as hell knows the feeling of love he gets when he looks at it.

What about the other people whispering about how someone could ever marry someone like him

Logan has no idea where the ring came from but somewhere in the recesses of his mind he feels so much love for whoever the ring is from.

He knows whoever gave it to him means the word to his past self so he wouldn't dare taint it

I also imagine this is a similar universe to the other fic where Wade is in the X-Men movies.

So Wade but not origins just ends up our normal Wade. He's probably searching for Logan too

Rogue being so curious about the ring and asking incessantly. In Logan not so secretly hopes it will jog something in his memory.

Out of everything Rogue pities Logan for the ring is the worst one. How horrible it is that something so special to him is lost from his memory. How dare the world take away this obvious source of happiness.

Imagine her finding Logan outside one night crying silently as he clutches at the ring and muttering curses at the world for taking away the love of his life 😭

Rogue demanding Xavier to figure it out because Logan doesn't fucking deserve to be dragged along with the carrot on the stick being his happiness

Od-

Xavier tries to use the essence from the ring but can’t find him because he’s mutated by now and shows up different he tells Logan he can’t find him and they take that to mean he’s dead

He just lives in a haze. Going through day to day. He knows by now that he can’t kill himself anyways, even though he wants to. He’s lived this long in misery before, he can keep doing it.

He hears about Deadpool and goes along with Colossus and NSTW to make sure this guy isn’t a total fuckhead.

Seeing him fight… there’s something so familiar about it. A dancer’s grace, the lethality and deliberateness of his movements.

He watches as Colossus warns him about not taking the life of the man who tortured him. Already knowing it’s a lost cause even not knowing the backstory. Whatever this fucker did, he deserves it.

Snorts to himself when Deadpool just shoots the guy in the head. A snicker cutting off short at the harsh call of “Wade!”

“Wade…?”

This close he can hear him. Hear the constant stream of innuendos and puns. And it comes flooding back. All of it. Nights spent pressed together on a too small cot in the too hot jungle heat. Slipping off to swim in the river. Promises breathed against parted lips of a future and forever.

Dropping to all fours he gallops at Deadpo- at Wade. His Wade, knocking him over and sending the two of them tumbling.

“Whoa! What the fuck?!”

Sobs ripping out of the yellow mass gripping him, a ragged and familiar “Wade!” making him freeze. “L-Lo? Is it really…!”

Logan ripping off his gloves and cowl with tears streaming down his face. “They made me forget. I forgot. I didn’t know who it came from but I still Knew”

Wade watched him in awe, his mask growing wet with his own tears as he reached to hold Logan’s hand with the ring. “You kept it…~”

“Of fucking course I kept it. You gave it to me.”

Me: Logan's face just buried into Wade's scare neck as he sobs and clutches at his back. Wade isn't much better off as he claws at Logan's back in a vain attempt to crawl inside the other man

Wade hesitantly stopping Logan when he goes to take his mask off. “It’s not what you remember, Peanut.”

“Good thing I don’t remember. It’s just you”

Me: the others watch on is stunned silence because this is the most emotion they had seen either man exhibit ever

Vanessa watching from the side and just crying in joy for her friend. She’s his best friend. They fuck around, but they’re friends first. He’s spent many a-night whispering to her about his Logie Bear

Me:

She then devoted herself to trying to help him find Logan but got caught in the crossfire

Logan couldn't be fucking happier. He won't let Wade out of his grasp and doesn't plan to for a long while.

The X-Men can't comprehend it. This was Logan the man who hated people just existing. Why is he now sobbing into a mercenaries neck?

Od:

Colossus being the one Adult insisting that Vanessa come to the mansion to be checked out and make sure she’s okay.

Logan and Wade settled into each other in the back seat of Dopinder’s car with Ness in the front

Me:

"lo lo fuck." Wade mutters as he pulls back to cup Logan's face. Logan just melts into Wade's grapes and he purrs fucking purrs. LOGAN DIDN'T KNOW HE COULD DO THAT!!

"There is the good kitty I have missed so much."

Od: They’re just in each other’s laps, completely tangled together

Logan just purrs harder to the point he coughs and Wade just laughs delightedly and pepper kisses across Logan's face.

Logan's claws sneak out when Wade pulls back slightly and Wade gasps as he grabbed at Logan's hand. "What??? Metal?! What happened baby??"

Logan just blinks stupidly up at him. "I don't remember." Wade frowns and pulls Logan close

Od: “It’ll be okay. We’re okay. Were together. You’re here. Fuck, I missed you so much. There’s so much I have to tell you.”

"it doesn't matter what happened right now. What matters is your here. We can figure out everything else later."

Od: “Exactly. Fuck, Lo. Can I kiss y-“ just getting cut off by Logan pouncing and kissing him senseless, the two of them laying down in the backseat

Rogue is beyond extatic when Logan comes in with wide wonder filled eyes dragging a man behind him. She knew then this was who the ring was tied to and she wasted no time launching herself at him in excitement.

"YOU DID IT YOU DID IT!! LOGAN YOU FOUND YOUR OTHER HALF!"

Logan just hold her close as he cries silently into her hair before yes he did.

Od: “Omg Lo-Lo! You have a kiddo?! I knew you were Daddy material, both ways~ I’m Wade~”

Rogue is definitely surprised by Wade. She must admit she hadn't expected someone like him to be who Logan had tied himself to. However the way they looked at one another and interacted was undeniable

Jean and Scott are LIVID and discussed because really this? THIS?! Was who Logan had chosen all those years ago??

Od: Wade: Wow. Jealous, judgmental, AND prejudiced. Yall are the whole fucking package ain’t ya.

Rouge does not take kindly to them. She had quickly become super protective of Wade. She had quite a few times tore into them for daring mess with what she had worked for for years

Od: Rogue: He wasn’t yours even then. You do not get to shit all over his happiness!

Rouge: have you ever seen him smile like that??? Have you ever heard him purr??? No? I didn't think so. So why are you plotting against him?

(You might get more later but that's it for now)

[jemgirl86]

Posting the full fic here, ‘cause why not? 🤷🏾‍♀️

******

Sam was already frowning when he walked out of the restroom. It had been a long battle, an even longer day, and all he really wanted was to get in his bed and stay there for the next two days at least. He and Steve had been apart for over a week though — separate missions — and Sam had foolishly promised they’d hang out as soon as he returned. Of course, at the time he’d made that promise, Sam had expected to return way earlier, and with a way better outcome. But, still, Sam couldn’t beg off their night out, even if he wanted to.

Well, sure, he could have, but he would’ve felt guilty about it, and he already had enough guilty feelings where Steve was concerned, so he forced himself to come hangout.

It wasn’t too bad. Sam liked the place. It was their place after all — their kind of place. A roadhouse so out of the way that it never attracted much of a crowd, shady enough that the crowd it did attract was very adept at minding their own business, and small enough that it was pretty easy to always see who was coming and going, so they’d never be caught off guard.

And yet, here was Sam, being caught off guard before the door to the restroom he’d just exited had even swung shut behind him, because there was Bucky leaning against the opposite wall. Now, unless Sam had gotten the team’s assignments mixed-up, and he’d never gotten the team’s assignments mixed-up, not since he’d started being the one handing them out anyway, Bucky should’ve been halfway across the world tracking some new not-so-good witch who had just shown up on their radar. But, nope, here he was, just standing there; staring at Sam unashamedly, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

As soon as he caught Sam’s eye, his lips turned up into what could only be called a smirk, and Sam’s frown morphed into a straight up grimace.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the music.

Bucky pushed off the wall and closed the already minimal distance between them to lean into Sam’s space.

“Well, I could make something up, but we both know I’m here to see you, sweetheart.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit,” he said, ignoring the treacherous way the endearment went straight to his heart, just like it always did. “I mean, what are you doing here?” He repeated, looking around, pointedly. “How are you here? How’d you even know I’d be here?”

It was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“How do you think? Your boyfriend told me. Invited me along on your date actually,” he added, shaking his head. “I could hardly believe my luck.”

“Me either,” Sam bit out.

“Aww don’t be like that, Sammy,” he said, and Sam could hear the amusement in his voice. “The witch’s trail went cold and I wanted to see you.” He shrugged. “And I knew you and your boyfriend—

“Stop calling him that,” Sam snapped.

“— had made plans,” Bucky continued, unfazed by Sam’s demand or his annoyed tone. “So when Steve called me earlier and asked how I was doing, I might’ve exaggerated a little, maybe even might’ve let him think I was feeling kind of lonely, and wanted some company.”

Sam scoffed. “And he actually bought that from your antisocial self?”

“I’m here aren’t I?” He laughed. “Besides, Steve is the only person who remembers when I was a social butterfly, so it wasn’t quite as hard to sell as you might think.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re an asshole, you know that right?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, dipping his head briefly, before looking up at Sam through his eyelashes. “But I’m an asshole who’s standing here next to you, while he’s drinking alone at the bar, so I don’t feel all that bad about it.”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. Why did he find this cute? He definitely should not be finding this cute. The only thing he should be doing right now is telling Bucky off and finding Steve, in that order.

“Barnes—

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Bucky interrupted, and Sam opened his eyes to see him smiling at him all sweetly, the kind of smile he only ever gave Sam when it was just the two of them alone together.

And Sam’s plan to give Bucky a piece of his mind started to crumble. He sighed again, tiredly.

“You really do have to stop calling me that,” he said, but it sounded weak even to his own ears, and Bucky, that asshole, shook his head in response.

“Nah, not even if you stopped letting me kiss you.”

“Wha—

Sam started to speak, but Bucky cut him off with a kiss.

He kept it short though, and as soon as he pulled back he shrugged again. This time the smile he wore was pure smug satisfaction.

“It’s worth it, Sammy.”

“Huh?” Sam murmured, feeling a little dazed. Bucky’s kiss might’ve been quick, but like all of Bucky’s kisses it was intense.

“Kissing you; talking to you; teasing you; hell, just spending time with you — it’s all worth it. It’s all worth me being the asshole. And I’ll keep being the asshole, happily, if it means I keep getting to spend time with you.”

Sam wanted to smile, but he also kind of wanted to cry. Yeah, Bucky’s words were sweet, and Sam could tell he meant them, but that didn’t mean they were a good idea, or that this thing between them wasn’t a good idea. It was a terrible idea. In fact, it was just the type of idea that could get someone hurt, maybe a lot of someones hurt, primarily the best friend they had in common.

The smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do, would be to just end it, before things went any further, and feelings got any deeper, than they already were, and if there was one thing Sam Wilson had always prided himself on, it was being responsible.

“Look, Bucky, man, I—

“Sam,” Bucky interrupted, and he sounded serious enough that Sam stopped speaking and let Bucky’s gaze pull him in.

“I’ll do anything if it means I keep getting to spend time with you like this,” he swore, and laced their fingers together. “These past few months have been everything — they’ve been perfect. So, please, don’t make us stop.”

Christ. Bucky was biting his bottom lip, eyes all wide and bright, and his voice was just about as earnest as Sam had ever heard it.

And, ultimately, it all had Sam’s last little bit of resolve crumbling completely.

Sure, it wasn’t perfect. Frankly, it was about as far from perfect, as far from ideal, as Sam could have ever imagined. The entire situation was so volatile, so unsustainable, so… so… fucked.

But, despite all that, sometimes it did feel perfect. And, worse, even when it didn’t, every time they were together still felt… good. Good enough that Sam knew he wasn’t going to stop, even as he shook his head and pulled away from Bucky and started to walk back towards the bar.

He didn’t make it two full steps though, before Bucky grabbed his left arm to hold him in place.

“Sammy?” He questioned, sounding worried.

But Sam didn’t even turn his head to face Bucky when he said:

“Wait a couple of minutes before you come out, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, quickly. “But—

“And wait at least an hour after we leave before you show up at my door tonight,” he said, then snatched his arm loose and walked away without another word.

Bucky didn’t care though. All he cared about was the fact that Sam was still his, at least for another night.

[fall0utmind]

I'm very picky with abo fics in general but your sick fic au? God it hits the spot perfectly!!

It has everything: Marc hiding that he's hurt, the people around realising that he's hurt but not Just How Badly Hurt he really is, dramatic and public reveal of just How Bad things really are. The guilt!!

Good god the guilt!!! The flavours of it, Marc who has been living with it and internelising that this is somehow his fault and that he's a bad omega, for a decade, (doubt that'll just disappear overnight!) maybe when Marc eventually wakes, barely aware and delirious from pain, He apologisees to Vale for having to deal with him again.. (you did say Marc blamed himself for Vale rejecting him, might as well twist the knife. Just hope Vale's alone when he says that cause Alex might just murder vale on the spot if he hears that).

Vale's guilt hitting him like a truck at first once his alpha realises that it's his fault that that his omegas in pain!! Seeing Marc unresponsive in a hospital bed, so small and fragile, and it's all because of him.. is it bad that I kinda want Vale to think deep down Marc hates him for doing this to him? Potentially Even More miscommunication? Because in vale's mind why wouldn't Marc hate him? Vale has been making his life a living hell for the past decade! Why would Marc want anything to do with him after That?

The guilt from Alex, and the other people close Marc, over not realising just how badly he was hurting, Pecco and the rest of the academy boys realising that by being around Marc they were causing him pain!!

Also speaking of the academy boys, you mentioned that Honda were a makeshift pack for Marc, and since Lucas now with Honda would someone accidentally say something to make him even more suspicious? I doubt anyone would intentionally say something, wouldn't betray Marc's trust like that, especially not to vale's brother, and I assume Marc would have been very careful with making sure noone fully knew just how serious things were, but like surely they noticed some things? Like Marc doesn't nest, doesn't scent, straight up disappears for days when he has a heat and comes back looking like hell?

Anyways sorry for the rambling! I can't wait to read this fic 🫶

Talking about two AUs at once is ruining my brain a bit. I keep buffering and getting confused 😭

Anyways, this has been in my asks bit for do long and I'm so sorry about that.

We sound like we value very similar things in fanfic, ngl. Cause what I really love in fics are:

- lots of hurt, especially when the MC is hiding his pain

- a huge amount of angst and pain - the closer we get to pain levels you can't come back from, the better.

- public realisations of the hurt that's been caused

- followed by loads of fluff

So, about what you said. Oh my God, yes. Marc internalising it is definitely going to happen. He thinks that it's all his fault, not outwardly but somewhere deep inside for sure. And yes, you're right. It's going to take him a long time to get over it and to stop internalising that he's a bad omega, and it's his fault. I can imagine that when he's first nesting again, and he's really struggling to do it, and he just thinks it's because he's a shit omega 🥺🥺 *again, Vale, when i get you 🔫🔫

But YEs what you said..

When Marc wakes up, there is a steady hum of machinery in the air and a steady beeping, which he feels would become irritating after a whole. He is barely conscious, everything's feeling dreamy, and pain still radiates through his body. He turns to his right, wincing as pain shoots through his side, a grimace on his face.

When he opens his eyes again, he meets Valentino's eyes. He has to blink rapidly to ensure he isn't still asleep, pinching himself lightly. Vale bats his hand away and Marc PANICS. Profuse apologies fall from his chapped lips as his eyes dart around in panic. Marc can't believe he's fucking it up again, making valentino sit here with him, when he's already made it clear that he doesn't want Marc. Because Marc is a bad omega. Who doesn't even deserve a pack.

"No, no. This wasn't meant to happen"

"I'm so sorry, valentino, I know - I know you don't want me. I'll leave, make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm sorry. You don't need to deal with me. You shouldn't have to. I'm so bad at this. A bad omega. No alpha should have to deal with a bad omega, " he rambles.

If he was more conscious, less drug-fueled, he wouldn't be saying this. Embarrassment curls in his gut, and yet he can't stop.

When marc drags his gaze back to Valentino, he chokes. There are tears in the older man's eyes and panic written all over his face.

-

Even better if Marc's family are there. Can you imagine Julia and Alex shouting at Valentino, can you imagine the hell that would break loose?

"You. You did this! You don't deserve to be an alpha"

"How dare you. You have no idea what he suffered. Get out!!"

-

I am living for this ask, it's so good. The idea that Vale thinks Marc hates him and the miscommunication is so good. More angst is fantastic.

I am obsessed with the idea that Valentino's alpha is freaking out. Firstly, at the sight of Marc, his omega, small, pale, fragile, and so SO unwell. Because of him. Im imagining that he actually doesn't realise it's his fault at first - instinct just took over when he saw marc collapse, and he ran, refused to leave marc alone, growling at anyone who got too close. Fuckkk. Then could you imagine, the doctors coming back in, saying it's bond sickness and pack withdrawal. Valentino frowning. And then it hits him like a tonne of bricks.

Valentino vomiting everything he's eaten into the nearest bin. His alpha thrashing inside of him, torn between the need to be near Marc and the all-consuming self hatred. Gosh 😭😭

And then yes, the idea that they miscommunicated, that Valentino tries to put space between them because clearly marc hates him now.

-

Then ALEX and MARCS FRIENDS

Stopppp everyone jusy realising they were indirectly hurting marc. The sadness they all feel. The way that he's better, everyone sticks closer to him, scenting him constantly and always keeping him nearby. They all stick nearby in the next, too, constantly touching.

Marc absolutely hating it- the pity and guilt.

-

Finally about luca - yes, I love this idea too. I think maybe he Overhears someone say something about how worried they are about marc. They realise luca is there and panic!!!! And then, yes, they won't tell him what it's about, but he's very suspicious.

So he starts to scout, information gather, goes to hound dani and dovi for information about what's happened. I think he only begins to realise as marc is already getting sicker. By that point, it's almost too late. He tries to warn Vale, but he won't hear it. 💔💔💔

Also, yes, people are definitely suspicious. I've touched on this briefly, but people notice for sure. Only the people close to him notice the lack of scent. His teams and teammates notice the whole no heats after 2018. A couple of people notice the coming back from heats like shit from 2015-18 (there are some theories, also some not nice words from certain people). But no one wants to ask. It's a bit taboo. Plus like it would feel like going against Vale. So people notice, but they don't do anything and don't say anything (it makes the guilt so much worse)

Thank you for rambling. I loved all of your ideas and answering this!!.

[oh-no-its-bird]

I cannot lie to u guys. A big motivator driving me to write the Shang Qinghua in Naruto fic (and specifically to finish it) is that I so desperately need to see one very specific scene of Houhua somehow getting zapped into canon

I genuinely don't remember if I've posted about this yet or only written it out in my notes app but like .

Houhua's gets into a fight and his mangekyou (relating to time shit and directly connected to the 'real' naruto universe via the system) kind of smashes into Obito's mangekyou (dimension travel shit) and also possibly even into Sasuke's own (idk whether he has the rinnegan or not in this au / at that point, but he's also there, and if he does have it, it'd also pitch in w time and dimension)

And basically, all three of them get tossed face first into canon naruto for a bit! I'm sure this can't possibly go wrong.

They get scattered across fire country ,,, They were originally fighting in some 3rd location and Houhua lands back inside of Konoha, and assumes (logically) he just got regular teleported and not hit with the fucking dimension travel beam.

So, yk, he goes 'oh FUCK I lost Sasuke' and goes straight for the Hokage tower to tell Tsunade what happened, bc

a) last uchiha(s),

and b) they were quite possibly specifically sent out on some mission together by her when it was crashed by Obito

Maybe they were going to try and hunt down Itachi ?? Sharingan vs sharingan,,,, idk but if they were then Itachi is also probably around here somewhere due to the dimension zap. No one ask me the specifics I have no idea yet, this would be so down the line in the story

But anyways. Just. Houhua bursting into the Hokage's office then immediately bursting into tears and wailing smthn ab having "lost Sasuke" to a very confused Tsunade and very alarmed team of ANBU agents

More realistically, he'd never be able to make it up into the Hokage's office, so like. Houhua being stopped (by people he knows !! that no longer seem to know him !!) at the doors as he is confused and angry bc WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS HE HAS TO REPORT IN LIKE YESTERDAY !!! THEY HAVE AN EMERGENCY ON THEIR HANDS !!!

Houhua accidentally manages to bullshit his way into the Hokage's office by just acting so confident (bc ofc he is! He fr thinks he's supposed to be allowed to be here!) and also jabbing his finger into an ANBU's face and calling them out by code name like he knows exactly who they are, going SPARROW U ARE NOT DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW !! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS SHIT !!!

Maybe he throws in Itachi's name somewhere in there if the mission he was sent on involved trying to hunt him down

Either way, the ANBU are successfully convinced (and confused) that this guy... must belong here? Is he some higher up? Was he undercover? They dont know but he sure does know them and is acting like everything is ok, so...?

I just need Houhua interacting with canon tbh, au x canon is my favorite thing ever, in the entire world. He deserves to get zapped into naruto canon w Sasuke for a while !!

Meanwhile, Obito is now in an alternate world close enough to the one he left that he doesn't really care (Houhua's existence has not impacted him much tbh) but like. No consequences. Obito doesn't have to worry ab his plans here bc this isn't his world so nothing really matters. But it's still similar enough that the people (read: Kakashi) he might interact with are basically the same to him

So anyways Obito goes to give Kakashi some special 1 on 1 harassment. Could literally go in any direction tbh

Obito probably appears in his room like a little freak and just starts fucking w Kakashi as Kakashi goes through the "who are you how did you get in here" routine (while slowly sliding into an "oh god its Obito" realization fueled panic attack the longer the conversation goes on)

In true Obito fashion, Obito mood swings like no one has ever mood swings before, alternating between making some serious threats to saying straight up creeper shit he'd probably never even voice aloud in his original world

But he can say them all here because there are no consequences, and he wont even have to look himself in the mirror later when he goes home and itll all be fine :DD

Kakashi is having a straight up bad time.

Meanwhile Itachi is just having. A time.

He probably goes back to the Akatsuki only to be faced to face with HIMSELF and immediately checks tf out of just. All of this. He is dissasociating.

The Itachi's haaateeee each other btw, pure self-loathing directed at eachother in such a passive aggressive way. It's very telling, actually.

It would be incredibly uncomfortable for anyone to watch but most of the Akatsuki (Deidara and Hidan especially) are watching with rapt attention while shoveling popcorn into their mouths. Deidara is especially delighted to see that even Itachi himself can't fucking stand another version of him

(As if Deidara could last 1 minutes alone in a room with another him without trying to blow each other up)

Eventually ofc they realize the root of the differences between their worlds (Houhua) tho I think the first real difference they'd note would actually be Jun's existence-- just because he's the easier topic between them, since he's occasionally partnered with (our) Itachi

Idk how they bring up Houhua but like, once he's prought up, (canon) Itachi would be like "Who?" in just the flattest voice as (our) Itachi has a little episode of 'oh. he doesnt exist here.'

Itachi having to describe Houhua to someone else,, but that someone else is himself so he finds himself being more honest than he might have otherwise been w literally anyone else,,, ough,,

(canon) Itachi has Izumi, and mmmayyybe they'll realize that they're just gender bent versions of each other (kind of, anyways) but I kind of doubt it. Either way, thatll be a fun conversation to have

Even more fun of a conversation is the inevitable Sasuke conversation, which I do not even know where to begin with

WHICH ALSO BRINGS US TO SASUKE. WHO IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. IDK WHAT HES DOING BUT MAN IS HE LOST.

Sasuke's part of this arc could go in a lot of directions depending on if he defected from the village or not (still undecided on that but for now lets say he isnt, since Tsunade sent him on that hypothetical mission w Houhua)

Just. A slightly healthier and more stable and sane Sasuke who was raised by Houhua after the massacre. Ok and now throw him at his canon counterpart. I think they would also dislike eachother

Canon Sasuke probably burns with envy at the knowledge that this Sasuke got to keep one of their clansmen, and that Houhua helps to shoulder the burden of revenge. But he also has scorn for the fact that Houhua has seemingly "held him back" from revenge or some shit. Not entirely to mask his jealously, tbh

Idk but like, Sasuke vs Sasuke. It's a mess.

Don't let Naruto meet the Sasuke who never left Konoha / possibly came back or he'll lose his mind ab it

Anyways yeah !!! Houhua au meets canon ,,, I need it so bad,,, fuck,,

[tyrian-witch]

Prologue: Welcome Home

Everything inside feels heavy, and all you wish for is to be in the warm embrace of your mother. The sun’s warmth is a bitter reminder of what you were now missing, and would forever miss.

Now here you are in Hawkins, a place you hadn’t been to in years. You hardly remember it.

Now it’s your new home.

A/N: Heyyy so basically I was inspired and decided to do my own Stranger Things rewrite? Yeah, so anyways! Here's the prologue before we begin the bumpier bumpy ride, I am seriously going to take my time with this fic. In the meantime, hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: brief mentions of loss, tears, use of y/n (is that last one even a warning? Question mark?)

masterlist • series masterlist

~~~

June 20th, 1983, Hawkins, Indiana

Summer nears the town of Hawkins on a gleaming June day.

A car cruises along the entryway of the small town, passing a sign that reads ‘WELCOME TO HAWKINS.' The driver is mindful of the posted speed limit as she makes her way through.

You gaze mindlessly out the window as the sun’s rays reflect against your features, the light illuminating your tired eyes. The flight from Philadelphia was exhausting to say the least, despite it only being an hour long. Not to mention, athe countless goodbyes made it all the more draining, but now here you are.

“Are you all right, honey?” The woman driving asks you. Her hair is short, dark brown and her eyes were green and full of light, a major contrast compared to your own. Her words are gentle enough to lull you out of your disassociation, and when you turn to meet her eyes, she gives you a small smile.

You look back out the window again as you answer, your voice barely above a murmur. “M’fine, Aunt Marsha. Jus’ tired.”

Marsha knows there’s more to it than just that, of course. However, she understands enough not to push it.

She decides to change the subject, which you’re thankful for. “We’re excited to have you,” she says, her excitement evident. “Barb will be so excited to see you again after all this time; we all are.”

All you can muster is a weak smile, the sentiment providing a small comfort to you despite the ache you feel in your heart. “Yeah, s’been a while.”

Your aunt spares you a concerned glance at the sound of your voice, the lack of your usual upbeat tone stirring some kind of worry in her. Knowing very well of your circumstances, she doesn’t push or force you to open up.

All she knows is that the you before her was not at all the same girl she saw last a couple of years ago; talkative, upbeat, and full of joy. Now the girl before her is changed entirely; your eyes have sunken in slightly, the dark circles around them harsh against your sickly pale complexion, the one that was once full of life and colour. And your voice, so quiet and hoarse, not at all boisterous and gleeful.

If someone asked Marsha Holland, she would probably say she doesn’t recognize her niece at all.

Then again, what did she expect after the recent loss of your mother and little brother? You were grieving, one death right after the other.

The rest of the drive to the Holland house was quiet. You curled your legs up against your chest as you rest your head against your knees, staring at the world through the window, the outside a total blur.

Everything inside feels heavy, and all you wish for is to be in the warm embrace of your mother. The sun’s warmth is a bitter reminder of what you were now missing, and would forever miss.

Now here you are in Hawkins, a place you hadn’t been to in years. You hardly remember it.

Now it’s your new home.

Finally, when you arrive, you stay seated for moment and stare ahead at the house in front of you. You were going to adapt to the situation regardless, but no matter, the reality that you’re no longer back home really hit you like a truck. You decide you’ll just have to tough it out.

Marsha has already stepped out of the car and when you finally snap out of your mindless gazing, you follow her and sling your backpack over one shoulder.

Upon exiting the car, you quickly pace over to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk despite your aunt's insistence that she help you. You politely declined and carefully drag it out, thanking her anyways.

You don't want to bother her with such a task, though she claims she doesn't mind whatsoever.

It seems you've grown more stubborn over the years, she thinks to herself.

Marsha unlocks the door and swings it open to reveal her well kept home which is rather fitting; a well kept woman and a well kept house.

"Barb won't be home for another hour and your uncle won't arrive til dinner time," she informs you while you take a look around. She's pleased that she kept it neat upon your arrival.

You acknowledge what she says to you with a nod and a mumbled 'that's okay.'

She gently touches your arm, beckoning you to look at her, and you meet her warm expression with an exhausted one of your own.

"Are you hungry at all, sweetheart? I can fix you something to eat."

You lightly shake your head and manage a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It's all right, no need to trouble yourself."

"Are you sure?" She double checks anyways, her voice betraying the concern she tries to maintain.

"Yeah, honestly, I just feel tired."

"Oh! Well, let me show you to your room then! I have it all made up for you."

She beams at you with excitement and gives your arm a gentle squeeze. She leads you up the staircase, and for the second time she insists to help you carry your luggage, but you decline once again. She's already done so much for you, you don't want her to exhaust herself on your behalf.

"Here it is!" she sings as she reveals the interior of your room.

It's small but cozy with the carpeted floor and the twin bed that's against the wall near the window. The walls themselves are a gray-ish purple, which makes the room feel a little less small, the curtains, also light gray which gives the atmosphere a feeling of cleanliness. The rest of the room pertains a desk for you to work at which stands opposite from your bed, along with a closet right behind your door, a dresser and of course, a bedside table with a lamp. Just what every bedroom needs.

As you take it all in, you don't know how else to express your gratitude for being received so thoughtfully by your aunt. All you can do is give her a hug, and when you do, you squeeze her just a little tighter before letting go.

She smiles at your sudden display of affection and gladly returns your hug. "I hope you like it, sweetie."

"I do, I love it. Thank you."

"Well, I'll let you rest now." She whispers as she makes her way to your door. Before she closes it completely, she turns back to you and sends another warm smile your way. "Welcome home, Y/N."

The moment she finally closes your door, your shoulders slump and and an exhausted sigh escapes your lips.

Rummaging through your backpack,you pull out the one stuffed animal you brought with you. It's an elephant the size of a newborn baby with black beady eyes and shabby gray fur, dressed in a pink onesie and a bow. Elephants were your mother's favourite animal, so it's the one reminder of her that you carry with you.

You allow yourself to fall onto your bed and curl up in the fetal position, cradling the elephant close to your chest so tightly you're afraid it'll disappear. You lay with your back turned away from the door, leaving you to stare at the wall in front of you until finally the tears begin to fall.

Once you've started, all you can do is weep, the faucet behind your eyes leaking and flooding for a good long while until it becomes too much too handle. It's difficult to stay awake, your eyes burn when they close but you welcome the stinging pain anyways.

The beginning of your new life in Hawkins starts with you crying yourself to sleep.

➢ next part coming soon-ish

~~~

[nausikaaa]

Stats Saturday (and Six Sentence Sunday)

hello! i'm kicking things off a day early because i cannot contain my excitement, I JUST BROKE 100K WORDS!!

i know to some writers this won't seem like a lot, i've certainly read many fics over 100K, but to me this is massive. a huge milestone. i keep whispering "one hundred thousand" to myself and grinning like an idiot. and the novel is about... halfway written, so far? hahah. i'm afraid.

so yeah, i'm posting early to share the excitement! today i offer more Helenus POV, a flashback in fact! here's his first meeting with Apollo, which is... well it's not great. Helenus is fourteen, for a start, and not too long ago Apollo cursed his twin sister Cassandra for refusing his advances, so he knows he can't exactly say no without suffering a similar fate. it's not too graphic a scene, all of this book will be strictly fade-to-black, but i'll put it under a cut all the same in case it's triggering to anyone.

psst- there are also lambs under the cut, feel free to scroll past the snippet if you're just here for them!

I learned from Cassandra's mistakes. I did not flinch or object as Apollo put his hands on me. His mouth was hot, his tongue insistant, but I went boneless in his arms. I wanted my mind to wander, to go somewhere else, but I could not. I was intimately aware of every sensation, his hands trailing paths of fire down my spine, bunched in my hair, slipping beneath my tunic. How any hands did he have? I felt overwhelmed, like I was about to tip over some vast precipice, but I dared not pull away.

i really try to make every character i write understandable on some level, but also not perfect. they are all flawed and complicated, because people are like that. even the gods, as reflections of humans, have their flaws.

so, for all Helenus is really put through the wringer in this novel, he's not without sin. he knows Apollo hurt Cassandra, but he still falls in love with him anyway and she rightly feels extremely betrayed. he later fucks over Andromache almost unforgivably because Apollo tells him to.

was he groomed? yeah. but did he also benefit massively for a while at the expense of others from being a god's favourite? absolutely. and he will ultimately have to make peace with the decisions he made and the ones that were made for him.

meanwhile Apollo is incredibly shady and abusive, but also, i hope, understandable. he's a god, what do a few years difference matter to him? yes, he manipulates Helenus, but he knows that it's to eventually get him in a good position. he does a hell of a lot better than most Trojan men. nobody can deny that Apollo saves his life multiple times.

and he's not just setting Helenus up, he's setting up an entire dynasty, Helenus' descendants include Alexander the Great and Pyrrhus of Epirus, who gave us the term "pyrrhic victory" today. as the god of prophecy and drinking buddy of the Fates, it's not only his job but his cosmic purpose to make sure the pieces fall into place, and he figures soft power is better than simply ordering Helenus about.

also! two more lambs have been born! their mama is black, their dad is white, and they... are one of each! as always, you can see more of them over on my instagram.

i tag @forabeatofadrum @cutestkilla @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @youarenevertooold @that-disabled-princess @noblecorgi @orange-peony @larkral @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @thewholelemon @alexalexinii @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @martsonmars @meanjeansjeans @leithillustration @j-trow-95 and @blackberrysummerblog

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[aromanticannibal]

while I see the appeal of izuku calling kacchan katsuki I think if he does katsuki should be allowed to burst into tears immediately

[nightmarearian]

yk, I want Bludhaven’s Nightwing and Gotham’s Nightwing to be different.

In Gotham, obviously there are. A lot more people. There, he is “the nice one” (compared to the others).

In Bludhaven? Blud-worse crime rate than Gotham-Haven, managed only by Nightwing? There’s no fuckin way.

Personally I don’t think it’s. Mainly a conscious decision or smth? Just he does more in Bludhaven and maybe ends up being generally less cheery? Or smth. He’s more willing to be (externally) tired with Bludhaven than he would be with Gotham.

Idk, smth for him to really embody the Terror of Bludhaven title yk? Nightwing is Bludhaven’s Batman; you know like, before robin and everything. He works too hard and he’s something to be scared of. He is Bludhaven’s Batman - just a bit more flippy & quippy (and a lot more friends).

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes