#because sometimes the moment i was writing for just passes. and then it would be weird to drop it like it's still current

[bauwhores-blog]

Impulsus

emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: Since childhood, she has stood by Geta’s side, offering him quiet devotion he never fully returns after becoming emperor. Realizing she can no longer chase a love he refuses to share, she leaves Rome forever, but not before writing him one last letter, a farewell he may never read.

contents: no warnings, just a bit depressing and sad

a/n: its been a while since I’ve published any of my writing but I got emotional so I incorporated something personal of mine in this piece. (a story for another time lmao) It’s small just a little something for shits and giggles

She had loved him for as long as she could remember.

Not in the way the poets spoke of, not with grand declarations or gilded promises, but in quiet moments, in unspoken understanding. Yet love, unreturned, had a way of wearing one down.

They had grown up together. From the moment they met, there was something about him a quiet intensity, a sharpness in his gaze, and a mind that always seemed to be far ahead of everyone else. He and he is was a bright individual sharing her interests.

They laughed together, played together, shared secrets no one else knew. But as time passed, their bond began to shift. The weight of obligation and loyalty to the crown and his twin brother Caracalla weighed him down.

He began to pull away, confining himself away in his champers or swimming in alcohol and women. And she, always the quiet observer, found herself left in the space he once filled with warmth and trust.

It wasn’t sudden. No, it was gradual, like the slow movement of the seasons. She waited for him to let her in, to show her the part of him he kept so carefully guarded. But he never did. And somehow, she kept hoping. Hoping that her Geta, the little boy she met once and her first love would be back.

Now, with ink-stained fingers and a heart too heavy to carry any longer, she wrote to him one last time before she was gone forever, leaving him to drown in his newly found position as emperor.

Dear Geta,

It’s been more than a year now. You and Caracalla have been ruling with an iron fist. You’ve become unrecognisable, a different boy than the one I met years ago. I have missed you. I mourn you Geta as if you are no longer here.

There’s still a dull ache accompanying the thought of you, your face, your voice, which I’ve started to forget, and the quiet, almost imperceptible laugh you’d release under your breath every time you found something amusing or challenging. But it was always subtle. A half-breath. A signal, you could say. Never a full smile, always a smirk, a fleeting exhale that might resemble a laugh. But never a carefree expression. Never. You never let me in that way.

You entrusted me with things you’ve never shared with anyone else. Your words, not mine. And yet, you refused to offer me something so insignificant, or better yet, something so simple as a genuine smile. Was I not enough? A patient listener, but never the one being heard, am I right?

Anyway, you’re resilient. You don’t need it. That’s what you thought, right? After our discussion in your champers, the moment my expression shifted, became guarded, distant, cold.

You were surprised to see that I had now built the same walls you’ve always carried. You were surprised to see that maybe I wasn’t feeling as much as you assumed I did. You were surprised to witness the weight of your actions etched into my face. My face, a testament to your naïveté and impulse.

Impulse: a sudden, fierce, and unrefined urge to act without reflection.

I am your mirror, your unrequited desire, and the one thing you curse fate for bringing into your life. Sometimes, I hope you stop what you’re doing to think of me of what it could have been, or what it couldn’t and wouldn’t. I’m almost certain you do, but not for me. Not to mourn us, but for yourself. For your impulse.

Because I believe, no—I know—you regret it. But your pride, your ego, as always, holds you captive. Because you’re infallible, and your carefully constructed plans, your ambitions, are the only ones that matter. You see emotion not as strength, but as a distraction. Desire as a vice, and love as a weakness.

What is there left for you? Your obsession with perfection and validation will destroy you just as much as you claimed love will destroy me. Or perhaps your plight is far worse, you’re cursed. Cursed in a cell made of gold and power.

Love is not merely a fleeting emotion it is a way of living. A path to something greater than the cold perfection and calculated order you so desperately cling to in your world. It is a way to either freedom or enslavement.

The difference, my love, is that love, seen through a different lens, is beautiful. Perfection and calculation, no matter how meticulously you arrange and observe them, are prisons. Your prison. Your undoing.

Goodbye Geta,

I love you.

Y/n

[mysoulbelongstothe60s]

Pairing: FEM!Reader x Caregiver!Elvis Presley (Late 70s)

Warnings: Age regression themes, tantrums, crying, mild angst, hurt/comfort, sweet and fluffy moments, babyish speech (e.g. replacing "l" with "w"), emotional reconciliation

Summary: After a month of Elvis being away on tour, the reader is left at Graceland feeling abandoned and neglected. His cold phone calls only add to her frustration, leading her to throw a tantrum when he finally returns. Accusing him of not caring, the reader lashes out at Elvis, the Memphis Mafia, and everyone around her. But as the dust settles and she reflects on her actions, she realizes that Elvis was simply doing what he loves—singing for his fans. In an attempt to make things right, she writes him a heartfelt apology letter and goes to find him, hoping to patch things up and show him how much she truly loves him.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Graceland felt bigger when Elvis wasn’t there.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. You knew his tour schedule by heart, marked the days with little stars in your head, whispering, One day closer. The first week, his absence was manageable—his voice still fresh in your ears from late-night calls, the lingering scent of his cologne on his pillow. The housekeepers doted on you, Red and Charlie checked in, and the routine stayed the same.

But then, the days stretched. The calls got shorter.

By the second week, Elvis was different on the phone. Tired. Distracted. Sometimes, cold. You’d cling to the receiver, voice soft and needy, only to be met with clipped answers and heavy sighs. “I know, honey. I miss ya too. But I gotta go, alright?” The dial tone would ring in your ears long after he hung up.

By the third week, you stopped expecting warmth. You stopped hoping he'd say something sweet before hanging up. You still answered every call, still waited by the phone like a lost puppy, but the excitement had dulled into something else. Something bitter. Because even when he was there, he wasn’t really there. “Ain’t got time for this, darlin’. You know I love ya. Don’t make me feel guilty.” And just like that, the conversation would be over before it ever really began.

The house felt colder. The staff—bless them—tried their best, but they weren’t him. They didn’t fill the empty space in your bed or stroke your hair when the quiet got too loud. They didn’t hum soft lullabies when the world felt too big, too lonely.

By the fourth week, you were mad.

Mad that he left. Mad that he didn’t sound sorry. Mad that no matter how bratty you were, how much you stomped your foot or refused to eat dinner, he didn’t see it. He wasn’t here to fix it, wasn’t here to scoop you up and tell you he understood. You could cry all you wanted, but it wouldn’t reach him through the wires of a telephone.

But today, he was coming home.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted to run into his arms or make him suffer the way you had.

The day passed in slow motion.

You should be happy. You should be running to the front door, counting the minutes until you saw him again. But all you could think about was every cold phone call, every rushed goodbye, every moment you spent staring at the ceiling, waiting for something—anything—from him.

So you didn’t bounce out of bed. You didn’t even rush to get dressed. You stayed curled up under the blankets until one of the housekeepers came in, gently coaxing you up with soft words and a warm smile. You let her dress you, comb your hair, but you didn’t say much. You just let it happen, your mind somewhere else.

Downstairs, the staff was busy. The house had been cleaned top to bottom, fresh flowers in the vases, food being prepped in the kitchen. The Memphis Mafia moved through the halls, making sure everything was perfect for Elvis’ return. Someone made a joke about how you must be counting down the seconds until he walked through the door, and you just forced a tight-lipped smile, gripping the hem of your dress between your fingers.

You weren’t counting. Not this time.

By noon, you could hardly sit still, but not in the way they expected. There was no excited bouncing, no impatient peeking out the window. Instead, there was a slow burn in your chest, something bubbling under the surface. You pushed your food around your plate at lunch, barely answering when someone asked if you were okay. You ignored the fond looks from the housekeepers, the way they seemed to expect you to light up at any moment.

But how could you?

He was gone for weeks. Left you here, alone, with nothing but half-hearted phone calls and clipped goodnights. And now, he thought he could just walk back through the door like nothing happened? Like you hadn’t spent the past month missing him so much it made your chest ache?

No.

You weren’t going to run to him. You weren’t going to let him think it was okay.

So you stayed stubbornly curled up on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the front door but refusing to move toward it. The sun dipped lower in the sky. The hours stretched. The tension coiled in your belly, tighter and tighter.

---

You heard the door open.

He was here.

The sound of voices downstairs made your stomach twist even tighter. You gripped your stuffed bunny, pressing it against your chest as you listened to the laughter, the deep rumble of Elvis’ voice mixing with the Memphis Mafia’s greetings. He was happy to see them. Chatting. Taking his time. Not rushing upstairs to see you.

Your bottom lip trembled.

You knew this was going to happen. He left you alone for a whole month, barely called, acted all cold on the phone, and now he was taking his sweet time saying hi to everybody else before coming to see you? Like you weren’t the one who missed him the most? Like you weren’t up here, waiting and waiting and waiting—

A sob bubbled up in your throat, hot and angry. You kicked your legs against the bed, gripping your bunny tighter.

"Stupid Ewvis!" you huffed, voice thick and wobbly. "Don’t even cawe ‘bout me no mowe!"

You threw your bunny across the room, watching it flop onto the floor with a huff. Then you kicked your feet against the mattress again, just to make noise, just to make somethig happen.

Downstairs, the voices kept going.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

He was still down there.

Tears pricked your eyes as frustration boiled over. You scrambled off the bed, snatched up the closest stuffed animal—a big ol’ teddy bear Elvis gave you last Christmas—and hurled it at the door.

THUMP.

The sound was loud, but not loud enough.

You grabbed another toy, a soft little puppy, and threw it next. Then another. And another. Each one hit the door with a dull thud, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. You wanted him to hear you, to know you were mad, to fix it.

Then, finally—

Footsteps. Heavy boots on the stairs.

You froze, breath hitching, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The doorknob turned.

Elvis stepped inside, still in his travel clothes, dark sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. He looked tired, but when he saw the mess of toys scattered across the floor, his eyebrows shot up. His lips parted, like he was about t’say something but then his gaze landed on you.

Curled up in the corner, face red, hands trembling.

And that’s when it hit him.

You weren’t just mad.

You were still little.

His expression softened instantly. "Aw, hell, baby…"

You sniffled, curling in on yourself. "Don’t wanna tawk t’you."

He sighed, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. "C’mon now, sweetheart, ain’t gotta be like this. Daddy’s home."

You glared at him, bottom lip jutting out. "Don’t cawe! Didn’t even come see me! Tawked t’evewybody ewse f’so wong!"

Elvis exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I know, baby, I know. Was jus’ tryna—"

"Don’t cawe!" you interrupted, voice cracking. "You weft me! You was mean on da phone! Now you back ‘n you don’t cawe!"

His jaw tensed, guilt flickering across his face. He took another step toward you, slow and careful, like he was approaching a skittish little thing. "Sugar, y’know that ain’t true. Missed ya somethin’ fierce."

You huffed, turning your face away, curling tighter into yourself. "Don’t bewieve you."

Elvis let out a breath, then crouched down beside you, close but not too close. His voice dropped to that soft, low drawl he used when he was trying t’calm you down. "Baby, look at me."

You refused.

Elvis was patient. He always was with you. But right now, that only made you madder.

You didn’t want him to be soft and sweet, not after what he did. You wanted him to hurt the way you did, to feel as bad as you felt all those lonely nights when he didn’t call, when he sounded cold and distant.

Your little hands balled into fists, shaking with frustration. "No! Don’ wanna tawk t’you! Don’ wanna see you!"

Elvis sighed, staying crouched beside you, reaching out again. "C’mon, sugar, I know y’mad, but—"

"No!" you shrieked, smacking his hand away before grabbing the nearest stuffed animal—a big ol’ floppy-eared puppy—and hurling it right at him.

Elvis barely flinched. The toy bounced off his shoulder and hit the floor. "Ain’t gonna help nothin’, baby."

That only made you madder.

You grabbed another stuffed animal—your big teddy bear—and threw it even harder. "You weft me!"

THUMP.

"Didn’t caww me!"

THUMP.

"Was so mean t’me!"

THUMP.

"Bet you was wiff otha giwws!"

That made him pause. His brows pulled together, lips parting slightly like he couldn’t believe what you just said. "What?"

You were breathing hard now, chest rising and falling fast, eyes blurry with angry tears. "You heawd me!" you spat, voice shaking. "Bet you was wiff pwetty wadies ‘n you didn’t caww ‘cause you didn’t cawe!"

Elvis’ jaw tightened. He exhaled slow, like he was trying to keep his patience. "Ain’t never done that, baby, and y’know it."

You sniffled hard, shoulders rising to your ears. "Do I?"

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, darlin’…"

But you weren’t done.

"Bet you was huggin’ ‘em, t-touchin’ ‘em, givin’ ‘em kisses—"

"Now stop it," Elvis cut in, voice low, firm. "Ain’t never been like that, sugar, not ever."

You huffed, tears spilling over as you reached for another stuffed animal. "Wiar!"

You threw it at him. Then another. And another.

One hit his arm. One hit his knee. One bounced off his boot and landed in the middle of the floor.

Elvis sighed. Long and heavy.

Then, without another word, he stood up. Straightened his jacket. Adjusted the sunglasses still perched on his head.

And walked toward the door.

You froze. "W-Where you goin’?!"

Elvis didn’t turn around. "Ain’t gon’ sit here ‘n let ya scream at me, sugar," he said, voice calm but tired. "Y’need t’calm down, ‘n I ain’t helpin’ none by sittin’ here lettin’ ya throw things at me."

Your chest tightened. Panic bubbled up, mixing with the anger. "Nuh-uh! No weavin’!"

Elvis opened the door.

"Daddy!" you wailed, voice cracking.

That made him stop. Just for a second. His shoulders rose, like he was taking a deep breath, but he didn’t turn around.

Then, just as slow, he stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

And just like that—

He was gone.

The room was quiet now. Too quiet.

You sat there, knees pulled up to your chest, surrounded by the mess you’d made. Stuffed animals scattered across the floor, the covers on your bed twisted and thrown aside, little sniffles still hiccuping out of your chest.

Elvis was gone.

For a while, you were still mad. You sat there, arms crossed, glaring at the door like you expected him to come crawling back, begging for your forgiveness. He should come back. He should feel bad. He should be the one apologizing, not just leaving you like that.

But he didn’t come back.

Minutes ticked by.

Five.

Ten.

And then, slowly, the stubborn little fire in your belly started to cool.

You rubbed your face with your sleeve, sniffling again, and thought about what you’d said. Bet you was wiff otha giwws. Your own words rang in your head, sounding smaller now, weaker. Elvis had looked hurt when you said that. Not angry. Not mad. Just… tired.

And maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t been fair.

You peeked at the door, like maybe he was standing right outside, waiting for you to call for him. But there was nothing. No footsteps. No voice. Just silence.

You flopped back onto the bed, gripping the edge of your blanket, heart twisting in your chest.

Elvis did love you. He always made sure you were safe, made sure you had everything you needed. He built you this room, filled it with your favorite things, just so you’d never feel alone when he was away. And yeah, he’d been mean on the phone sometimes, but maybe he hadn’t meant to be. Maybe he was just tired, worn out from all the traveling, the singing, the meetin’ fans—

Oh.

Your breath hitched.

That’s what he’d been doing.

He wasn’t ignorin’ you. He wasn’t bein’ mean on purpose. He was just doin’ what he loves.

Singing for his fans. Performing. Being Elvis.

And what had you done when he got home?

Thrown a tantrum. Yelled at him. Threw things at him.

Your stomach twisted into a guilty little knot.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your puffy eyes. You had to say sorry. But words were hard, and you were still too shy, too stubborn to just go find him and say it out loud. No, you needed somethin’ else.

An apology letter.

You scrambled off the bed, digging through the little desk in the corner of the room. Crayons, paper, scissors—there! You grabbed a sheet of pink paper and started cutting, tongue poking out in concentration as you shaped it into a big, wobbly heart. It wasn’t perfect, but neither were you.

Then, gripping a chunky red crayon, you started writing.

“Deaw Daddy,

I sowwy.

Didn’t mean to be so mean. Didn’t mean to frow my toys at you. I miss you so so much ‘n I wuv you so much ‘n I know you wuv me too.

I know you gotta sing and see yo’ fans ‘n do what makes you happy. I jus’ missed you so bad I didn’t know what to do. But I shouldn’ta been a bad giww.

You awe my bestest best fwiend and da onwy pewson I evew wanna be wiff fowevew ‘n evew. I pinky pwomise I’ww twy t’be bettew next time. Pwomise!

Pwease fowgive me?

I wuv you so so so much.

Yo’ baby y/n”

You finished the letter with a big, wobbly heart at the bottom, then grabbed a sparkly sticker from your desk and stuck it right in the middle for extra cuteness. You sniffled, holding the letter to your chest for a moment, trying to build up the courage to go find him.

But you couldn’t just go empty-handed. You needed somethin’ else. Somethin’ that would make him really know you were sorry.

Your eyes flicked around the room before landing on your stuffed bunny—the one you never let anyone else touch, the one you slept with every single night. It was soft and well-loved, its ears a little floppy, but it was your favorite.

Slowly, you picked it up.

It hurt a little, thinking about giving it away, even just for a little while. But if anyone deserved it, it was Elvis.

With a deep breath, you tucked the letter under the bunny’s arm, clutching them both close as you padded toward the door.

Time to find Daddy.

---

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

You peeked down the hallway, then slowly crept toward the staircase, clutching your bunny tighter. You weren’t sure where Elvis had gone, but you had a feeling he was downstairs. Probably sitting in his chair, all tired and grumpy, maybe talking to the guys or drinking a Coke.

Your tummy fluttered with nerves as you made your way down. The Memphis Mafia was still around, lounging in the living room, talking and laughing, but Elvis wasn’t with them. You felt tiny standing there, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, bunny squeezed against your chest.

Jerry spotted you first, his expression softening. "Hey there," he said gently. "Feelin’ a little better?"

You nodded shyly, but you didn’t stop. You just kept walking, poking your head into different rooms until—

There.

Elvis was in the den, sitting on the couch with his head back, one arm draped over his face like he had the worst headache in the world. He hadn’t even changed clothes yet, his boots still on, his shirt rumpled from travel. He looked tired.

Your heart squeezed.

For a second, you almost turned around. Almost ran back upstairs.

But no. You had to do this.

Slowly, hesitantly, you shuffled into the room, feet barely making a sound against the carpet. Elvis didn’t move. Didn’t look at you.

You took a deep breath, then stepped right up to the couch and held out the bunny and the letter with both hands.

A tiny, timid whisper left your lips.

"Fow you…"

Elvis didn’t move right away. For a long moment, he just sat there, eyes still covered by his arm, like he didn’t even know you were standing there. But then—

His arm slowly slid off his face, his eyes blinking up at you, surprised but soft, like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

You stood there, holding the bunny and the letter like it was all you had left in the world. Your fingers were trembling. You tried to keep your gaze steady, but you could feel your heart racing in your chest.

Elvis stared at the bunny for a second, and then his eyes flicked up to meet yours. His voice was low and gentle when he spoke.

"What’s all this, sugar?"

You bit your lip, your eyes going down to the floor for a second. You didn’t know how to say it—how to tell him you were sorry, how to make up for everything that had gone wrong.

But you had to.

"I… I sowwy, Daddy," you murmured, voice shaky. "I didn’t mean to be so mean. I just… I missed you so much, I got mad, and… I know you had to be away, but… I wuv you so much. So much, Daddy. I… I jus’ wanna be with you."

Elvis' expression softened, and he sat up slowly. His big hands reached out to take the bunny from you, fingers brushing gently against your own. He looked at it for a moment—your favorite stuffed animal—and then back at you.

"Sugar, you ain't gotta apologize. I know y’missed me."

He pulled you toward him gently, your body soft and small in his arms. You could feel the warmth of him, that familiar sense of safety, and for a moment, all the tension you’d been holding onto melted away.

He held you for a second, and you buried your face in his chest, feeling a few tears escape. Elvis didn't rush you. He just let you cry.

"I’m so sowwy, Daddy…"

"Shhh, darlin', it’s alright," he said softly, stroking your hair. "You don’t gotta apologize. I should’ve been better, shoulda checked in more. But, sugar, you know I love you, right? I love you more than anything, more than the world. I’d never leave you on purpose. Just had to do what I do, y’know? Sing, see my fans, that’s my job. But you’re my world, baby."

You sniffled, your tiny hands clutching onto the sleeve of his shirt as you nodded. "I know, Daddy. I know you wuv me... I jus’ got so sad 'n mad. I... I wanted to be wiff you, but I was being a big baby."

Elvis chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek, wiping away your tears. "You ain’t a baby, sugar. You’re just... my little girl, and sometimes, little girls get upset. I understand, okay?"

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, soft eyes. "You fowgive me?"

"Course I do," he said, his voice full of warmth. "Ain’t nothing to forgive. I love you. Always will. You’re my girl, ain’t no doubt about it."

You smiled a little, the weight in your chest starting to lift. You’d made up. You’d said what you needed to say.

"Can we pway now?" you asked quietly, shifting from side to side. "I just wanna stay wiff you, Daddy..."

Elvis smiled, that familiar twinkle in his eye. "Course we can, sugar. We got all the time in the world."

He helped you climb up onto his lap, the bunny resting between the two of you. You snuggled into him, feeling his arms around you, secure and warm. You could hear the sound of his heartbeat, and everything felt right again.

"I love you, baby," he whispered.

"I wuv you too, Daddy," you replied, your voice small and soft.

And just like that, everything felt better.

_________________________________________________________________________

Hey everyone! This is my first time posting any of my writing, so I just wanted to say this is my first time posting any of my writting and I’d love to hear any feedback or advice you might have! I’m still learning and trying to improve, so please feel free to point out anything that could make it better ! Thank you! :)

[atissi]

had to watch the new Folding Ideas video twice, read all of the comments, watched Lady Emily's video, watch an AVGN video for the first time (sorry i'm gen z), failed to get through Wavelength (1967), read a bunch about Wavelength (1967), and read through a bunch of Twitter comments, but i think i'm finally understanding the artistry in "i don't know james rolfe"

narratively it's dan olson revealing the rorschach test of media analysis, i.e. there was no way for him to critically analyze james rolfe's career without revealing all of his own obsessions and insecurities, just as james rolfe reveals himself through his film and video game reviews. this concept is lampshaded by the highlighting of Wavelength (1967), an extremely minimal and obtuse film that engages with the idea of inattention — meaning that bored or negative responses to the work are still responses to the theme. which is cool.

and it's cool that criticisms of dan olson's video include people upset that he hyper-focused on specific elements of james rolfe's life and not other, arguably more important elements, such as the Monster Madness controversy or james's time in special ed — almost as though the character of dan olson is cherrypicking aspects of james rolfe's life that are the most personally wounding to him. aspects that expose dan's insecurities relating to filmmaking and failed dreams, expressed through the vessel of AVGN.

but meta narratively, the video becomes a rorschach test for the audience — your response to the video reveals your own obsessions and insecurities in how you relate to dan olson. why does someone find the video mean-spirited? why does someone else think the video is self-serving? why do I feel so awkward watching dan attempt a deeper, more abstract creative work?

where does dan olson end and the character of dan olson as a media critic begin? where do you as an audience member end, and YOU begin?

it's projection all the way down

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) bestfriend enhypen being touchy ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ times where bestfriend enhypen gets too touchy ヾ

bestfriend!엔하이픈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. could you write something about enha's hyung line as best friends with no boundaries? not necessarily yandere, and not even suggestive if you don't want to (though I wouldn't mind), but like that, touchy, needy, everyone thinks they're dating type thing

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

heeseung love to play fight with you , simply because he likes when you inevitably give up , and he can flip you over in his bed , pinning your arms down , sometimes his looks linger longer than they should be , hands tightening around your wrist , he's basically straddling you , anyone passing by would think it's soon about turn into something no one wants to see. "he-heeseung careful before someone see's" he smirks.

"see what? aren't we just playing?"

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

jays hand is always resting on your waist , very low at that , sometimes you have to take is hand , guiding it up just a bit , but it never last long , because his hand is once again low on your waist. "jay people are staring , you're hand his hella low." jay could care less if people were watching , he didn't want anyone to approach you anyway , bringing this hand lower.

"let them think what they want , stop moving i'm comfortable like this , those guys are just jealous anyhow."

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

jake was extremely needy; even as your best friend, you always found yourself tangled up with him while his hand found it's way up your shirt , rubbing on your bare skin while you scrolled through your phone. "jake your hands are cold." you whined. "your body is warm though , so you're helping me." he looked up at you with puppy eyes , you rolled your eyes. "and your members could walk in at moment and this will look weird to them." you said.

"so what , i need this , just sit here and warm my hands."

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

another needy boy ; but he'll pretend his need for you isn't affecting him outside with his friends , his hand resting on your thighs , rubbing his thumb on your bare skin as you both hang out with your friends , gripping it. "hoonie stop." you take his hand off of you and the boy has to fight to not whine. he'll definitely confront you once you're alone. "hoon it's not a big deal , plus , what if they think something is going on?"

"that's not my problem, don't take my hand off of your leg again."

©LUVYENI

[lnfours]

love looks pretty on you | ln4

summary: my pretty baby or 5 silent moments of love between the two of you.

warnings: i fear this is LONG. a shit ton of fluff, reader and lando needing some reassurance here and there, fem!reader, reader is a friend of max fewtrell’s who lando’s always had an eye on, language, pregnancy, and some suggestive content.

radio check: this idea is inspired by the talented @norrissm’s post called ‘behind the visor’ because i couldn’t get the thought of writing about little moments like these out of my brain. please make sure to go read ‘behind the visor’ if you haven’t already! sasha is so talented and all her works are so beautiful.

masterlist | listen

— one.

he was shaky, hands sweaty and he had a nervous pit in his stomach. he was almost 100% sure hadn’t felt nerves like this before. not even when he was behind the wheel of his race car, waiting for the lights to go out.

he had finally managed to work up the courage to ask you on a date after months and months of yearning. he had asked max about you a million times. if you were seeing anyone, if you were interested in him, the whole nine yards. and max, being the best friend and wingman that he is, managed to get you to come with him to singapore.

you had always thought lando was cute, and you’d be lying if you said you never thought about what could happen between you two. back then, you used to think he was max’s annoying, rich and prissy friend when you were younger. but the closer you got to him, the more you saw what max saw.

the guy who’d give you the shirt off his back and would always show up for his friends. the sweet, charismatic guy who would always stop for a fan even when he was having the worst day imaginable.

he made it easy to fall for him.

you pulled him into a hug after the race, not caring that he was sweaty, and smelled like a mix of fuel and rubber. the papaya orange of his race car glowing in the lights of singapore. a race he led every lap of ahead of verstappen. you couldn’t be prouder of the man in front of you.

“stupid question,” he started.

please, let this be it.

“do you wanna get dinner sometime?”

you immediately nodded, the moment you had been waiting what felt like a lifetime for finally unfolding in front of your eyes. of course, you were eager to say yes.

“sure,” you smiled, doing your best to play it cool, “i’d love to.”

he smiled, the boyish grin that made your knees go weak and your heart beat a little faster. he was sure that right there in that moment, there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t make him fall in love with you.

your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him, the prettiest color he’d ever seen.

his new favorite color.

the two of you had made plans to go out once you were home in london and he was back in woking at the mtc. and now, that day had finally come.

in preparation for his big day, he had gone through all the steps to make sure this date was perfect. he pulled all the stops, managed to squeeze in a reservation at the fancy italian restaurant in the city, and he even asked max what your favorite flowers were so he could pick them up on the way to your house.

he tried his best to shake off his nerves as he raised his fist to knock on your front door. he heard rustling behind the wood before the it opened and there you stood. your hair styled just the way you liked it, sporting a gorgeous dress you had bought just for this special occasion, and a pretty shade of lipstick he just wanted to kiss right off of you.

you were the definition of show stopping.

“hey,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the back of the sofa in arms length.

“hey,” he smiled, trying his best not to fumble as he handed you the flowers. you accepted them with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, one almost as bright as the sun.

soon you were climbing into the extravagant mclaren, heading towards the restaurant. you watched the city you loved pass you by, and he watched as you looked out the window. you never looked prettier than you did right now. beautiful, but unaware.

he pulled up and let the valet take his keys. he offered you his arm as you walked into the dimly lit room, him saying a soft ‘be right back’ as he walked up the front desk.

he talked to the host, to which the host looked down at his book in front of him. you watched as the older man shook his head, lando immediately beginning to panic.

you laughed softly when he retuned to you with a sheepish grin, a hand scratching at the back of his neck, “so, apparently they ran out of room for this time. the girl on the phone wasn’t paying attention and overbooked. they offered a table but i didn’t want to take anyone’s reservation-“

you smiled, shaking your head as your heart tightened in your chest at his thoughtfulness towards complete strangers, “‘s okay,”

“did you wanna come back later? or we could go somewhere else! i know this good sushi place a few blocks away-“

“you don’t eat sushi.” you laughed.

“yeah, but if you want it, i can suffer,” he shrugged and you couldn’t help the grin on your face. you shook your head, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the restaurant.

“i saw a burger place down at this corner,” you said, making the left out of the doors and heading towards the spot you saw on the drive here.

he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “burgers?”

you nodded, heels clicking against the concrete of the sidewalk, “yeah, is that okay with you?”

he looked over at you, nodding softly, “yeah, whatever you want.”

you led the way, and on the short walk there lando thought to himself. thought about how you didn’t really care that you couldn’t get into the fanciest italian place in the city. couldn’t have cared less, actually.

His mind shifted from ‘oh no, this date is going to be one of the worst ones ever’ to ‘actually, this might be one of the best ones’.

you ordered your food and found one of the tables, lando insisting on pulling the chair out for you. you laughed and thanked him, sitting across from him as he took his suit jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair.

“‘m sorry,”

he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. but he felt the need to.

“don’t be,” you shook your head, “this is still pretty great.”

“you sure?” he asked. his eyes full of worry and genuine concern. he felt like he had let you down. felt like he couldn’t uphold his promise to the perfect date.

“as much as fancy dinners are fun and all, i don’t mind a little burger joint once in a while either.”

he smiled. it was gonna be okay.

the older gentleman behind the counter called your number, lando getting up and grabbing the tray of food as the two of you talked. the food was incredible and the conversation the two of you had was even better.

when he stood to throw away your trash, you walked towards the counter to the elderly man. lando watched from the corner of his eye as you sparked up a conversation.

“the food was wonderful,” you smiled, “are you guys new?”

the older man shook his head, “been here a long time, about 20 years or so. people stopped coming in once that new fancy-schmancy restaurant down the street opened. you two are the only customers i’ve had all week.”

your heart hurt for the man, clear that he had poured all he owned into his business. you looked over to lando who joined the two of you now.

“well, i’m sure we’ll be back,” you smiled, “right, lan?”

“definitely,” lando nodded, “thanks for saving our date.”

the older man laughed, “you kids are welcome any time. thanks for giving me a chance.”

you said your goodbyes after learning the man’s name was frank. you opened the door, ready to walk out when you saw lando leave the man a tip. by the look on the older man’s face, you knew it was a decent amount. you smiled, your heart clenching in your chest as lando insisted that he kept it.

“no, i insist! you saved the date i landed with the girl of my dreams.”

you were sure now that he was the only man you’d ever be in love with.

“ready?”

his voice cut you off from your thoughts, nodding as you took his arm. waving goodbye to frank again as you walked down the sidewalk and back to the car.

— two.

winter break was finally in full swing. and this year, he had insisted on taking you on a vacation, a little get away since he had missed your two year anniversary due to the new race calendar.

so you did just that as soon as winter break started. a two week vacation in the maldives where it was just you, him, the sun and the sea.

you had spent the day in the bed, the both of you wrapped under the cool sheets. he had splurged and booked one of the fancy bungalows on the water, the beautiful clear blue water and the gorgeous scenery adding to the beauty of the whole trip.

after dinner, you were quick to grab one of your bikinis from the attached deck. he smiled as you walked back inside, the tiny two piece in your hands.

“sunset swim?”

you nodded, stepping inside the bathroom to change and to quickly pull your hair up. he changed as you did also, the two of you jumping off the wooden deck and into the water. your eyes traveled over to where he was pushing the wet curls from his forehead.

the water droplets clung to his sun kissed chest, the redness already slowly starting to fade and you knew it’d turn into a tan by the morning. he looked so pretty in this moment, the sunset behind him looking like a painting.

you swam towards him, letting him pull you closer by your hips. you wrapped your legs around his torso, his hands falling to the backs of your thighs.

“hey, pretty girl,”

you smiled back, the same gorgeous smile you’ve always had that he swore he’d never get sick of, “hey, handsome,”

he leaned down, dipping his head to kiss your lips. you hummed contently into the kiss, smiling against his lips. he pulled away after a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“are you having a good time?”

his voice was laced with a hint of wonder, wonder if he had done a good job at making up for the fact that he was in vegas during your anniversary. he hated the fact that he had missed such an important milestone, but you had understood. you understood that his job would pull him place to place for weeks on end.

he had struck the lottery with you, the most understanding and comforting person. he knew you didn’t hold a grudge with him. and in reality, a date at frank’s would’ve made up for the missed time, but he really wanted to do something special.

you nodded, “having a great time, baby. thank you. for everything.”

“don’t have to thank me,” he said, “it was the least i could do.”

you chuckled, “i fear you’ve set my standards so unbelievably high.”

he laughed with you, “you’re saying i’ve ruined you?”

you hummed back, laughing when his head dipped to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “in more ways than one i hope.”

you laughed, your head falling back slightly. he smiled at the sight in front of him, how pretty your laugh was as it fell from your lips. how pretty you looked in the watercolored sunset, and how your eyes had that little sparkle. the same one they had that night you hugged him after the singapore race. the night he had finally grown the courage to ask you out.

he was so hopelessly in love with you. you had ruined him the same way he ruined you. but that was okay with him. he was certain that there was no one else in the world his soul would mesh with like yours.

“let’s get married.”

his blurted words caught the both of you off guard. you looked at him, wide eyed but a smile softly forming on your lips as you let out a chuckle, “what?”

“what?”

“lan, what did you say?”

he gulped now, scared that if he repeated it he’d be shot down. he knew you were the one he was going to marry, he’s known that forever. but, what if you weren’t on the same page yet. what if you weren’t ready for the marriage, the house, the dog, the kids.

dear god… please don’t let it be true.

“let’s get married,” he said again, this time a slight shake to his voice, “i mean, if that’s what you want- if you… if you want to.”

your face lit up in a smile as you cupped his face, “of course i want to. don’t question it for even a second.”

he smiled now, “you’re sure?”

you nodded, “you’re the only one i want. the one i wanna spend the rest of my life with, go grey with. the one i want to wake up next to and go to bed at the end of the night with. you’re it for me. you always have been,”

he smiled, pulling you closer if it was even possible, “so yeah. let’s get married.”

he kissed you sweetly, you flush against his chest. you kissed him back with just as much love and passion and longing, a sense of forever hanging in the air around you.

“c’mon,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “let’s go find your perfect ring.”

you followed him as he climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel from the lounge chairs. you climbed out with him, the two of you sitting out in the setting sun as you scrolled through his phone designing the perfect ring.

once you had settled on what you wanted, you smiled up at him as he made note to head to the jewelers in monaco as soon as he got back.

the two of you were about to head inside when you felt arms wrap around your body. you squealed and giggled when he threw you over his shoulder, taking you inside the bungalow with a playful slap on your butt before placing you on the bed, laughing when he climbed up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach and chest until he reached your lips once again.

and your bikini top might’ve found its way to the hardwood floor shortly after.

— three.

the cameras cut back to you as you watched the screens in front of you. you had been able to make it to the dutch grand prix, excitement in the air in the mclaren garage as it finally came down to the last five laps. lando held the lead from his pole position, right ahead of the other papaya car that belonged to oscar. the two mclarens leading the pack with verstappen in third.

you and lily were holding hands, the camera man zooming into the sparkling diamond on that finger. the one that everyone had seen all over their timelines, the one that cause so many articles to be written about how much it could be worth. it was the talk of the paddock.

‘little lando norris’ was engaged!

you had even seen charles and max talking earlier, charles defeatedly handing max a twenty dollar bill. you laughed at the idea that your friends had placed a bet on your fiancé. a little harsh, but fitting, and most of all, funny as fuck.

the end of the race came closer and closer until both mclarens crossed the line, checkered flag waving as it showed on screen as a mclaren one-two. you and lily cheered happily, you pulling her into a hug. you both joined in the sea of papaya as they raced to the parc fermé.

the mechanics and engineers made sure to let you and lily come to the front of the crowd. the two of you still holding hands as you cheered for the men in papaya. you dropped her hand as oscar came over to her, pulling her into a hug across the metal barricade. you smiled at the young couple before you saw a certain someone enter your peripheral.

lando made his way to you, opening his arms as you reached across the barrier to hug him. you smiled, taking in the familiar smell of fuel and rubber.

“i’m so proud of you,” the happy tears glossing over your eyes filled his chest with a certain sense of pride. one that he would always crave, “you were amazing.”

“and you’re my trophy,” he smiled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips, “my favorite one.”

“don’t lie, you love that miami one.”

“none of them could ever compare to you, love.”

you smiled, acknowledging the fact that he had to be whisked away. you were quick to give oscar a hug, lily doing the same for lando as you watched both men dressed in papaya walk off, lando patting his younger teammate on the back.

you all stayed, waiting for them to take their spots on the podium. you smiled when he took the top step, the british national anthem playing loud and proud. you could see that he was searching for you in the large crowd, and when he found you he smiled to himself before putting his hand to his heart and pointing at you. a silent way of saying ‘i love you’.

you mouthed the words back to him, unsure if he could see you say them. but you know that he knows you did.

it was a couple hours later when he returned to his drivers room. you had positioned yourself on the sofa comfortably, scrolling through your phone and liking all the things the fans had to say about your engagement, the ring and most of all the race.

“ready, fiancée?”

you nodded, taking his extended hand. the two of you walking through the mclaren hospitality as you all bid a ‘good night’ to one another.

your phone buzzed with an incoming call. the call you had been anxious about reciving.

you looked over at lando, softly dropping his hand which made him look over to you curiously, “everything okay?”

you nodded, “i gotta take this call. i’ll be right back.”

he nodded, letting you walk away. luckily, a couple of the drivers seemed to be heading in your direction, giving someone for lando to talk to while you took the call.

“hello?” you raised the phone to your ear.

“hi! is this y/n?”

“it is,”

“great! it’s doctor jenkins, how’re you, honey?”

“i’m good, how’re you?”

“good!” you could hear her smile on the other end of the phone, “i just wanted to give you a call because we got your test results back. is this information you’re okay with me giving to you over the phone?”

“yeah,” you said, “totally okay.”

“perfect,” she smiled, “in that case, i just wanted to say that you are clear from the stomach bug and any other gastrointestinal issues. however, your hcg levels came back extremely high, which means-“

“i’m pregnant?”

your heart dropped, your eyes fixing to lando who was laughing with lewis, charles, yuki and oscar. you immediately felt the bile burn its way up your throat. you swallowed it down, remembering that you had the doctor on the phone.

“exactly,” she said happily, “you’re about four weeks now. congratulations!”

“i- i don’t know what to say.” you stood, shocked that your entire world just changed with one simple phone call.

“i understand, and i know this is all new and quite scary, but just know you have an amazing support system- not just with me and my office, but with your fiancé and your friends as well.”

you smiled at the older woman’s sweet words, “thank you, doctor jenkins.”

“no need to thank me,” she said, “while i have you, i just wanted to set up your first appointment for when you get back, just a little check on the baby and make sure they’re healthy and well.”

you agreed on a day and time after you get back to london from the netherlands. you hung up the phone, the worry and shock still running through your system but a hint of slight relief from the woman’s sweet words.

you walked back over to lando, who looked at you with slight concern. you said hello to your friends, thanking them all for their congratulations before you looked to lando. the others engaging in their own conversations.

“you okay?” he asked lowly.

“can we go back to the hotel? i’m not feeling good,”

he nodded, “of course,” he took your hand in his as he turned to his fellow drivers, “we’re gonna head back. see you guys next week!”

“see you, mate!”

“night!”

you walked with lando in a comfortable silence back to the car. the two of you climbing into the back before the driver made his way to your hotel.

you made it to your shared room, anxiety still radiating off you and he could feel it.

he kicked his shoes off as he joined you on the edge of the bed, “hey, you okay, baby?”

you chewed on your bottom lip, tears burning in your eyes as you shook your head, “uhm, i don’t know,”

he frowned, “hey, hey,” he gently brought a hand up to wipe away your tears, “what’s the matter? what’s got you so upset?”

“lan, that call,” you said, “it was from my doctor.”

the instant worry that flashed through his eyes was unnoticed, and you couldn’t help the tears from streaming down your face.

“is everything okay?”

“yeah,” you nodded, “i mean- maybe? i think so? i don’t know,”

“what’d she say, baby?” he asked, his voice gentle. you appreciated how gentle he was with you. always.

“i don’t have the stomach bug,” you said, “im.. i’m pregnant, lan.”

his eyes went wide, his heart dropping for a millisecond, “you’re pregnant?”

you nodded, biting down on your lip to try to hold back your tears. however, the disgust and repulsiveness and disappointment you were expecting never came. instead, you watched as his face broke out into a smile.

“i’m gonna be a dad?”

you nodded, “and i’m gonna be a mom.”

“baby, this is great!” he smiled, now happy tears starting to form in his eyes as he wiped yours away, “we get to be parents! and baby, we’re gonna be the coolest fucking parents ever.”

his excitement reeled you back in, “you’re not.. upset? not even a little?”

“why would i be upset?” he asked, “i mean, was this planned? not really, but we weren’t necessarily not planning for this either. but it’s okay, our little best friend is in there!”

your heart was so full it felt like it could burst. you loved him with every fiber in your being. til the ends of the earth. everything was gonna be okay.

you smiled, “we’re having a baby,”

he nodded, kissing the top of your head as he pulled you closer into his chest as he repeated it back to you, “we’re having a baby.”

you sat like that for a while, letting him press kisses to your hair and your temples, every doubt in your mind slowly fading away. all because of him.

— four.

the machines beeping slowly faded into the background as the two of you looked down at your beautiful baby girl. the pink blanket wrapped around her small frame, her finger holding onto lando’s. it was a sight that would make any heartless man cry.

you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder as you sat together on the hospital bed, your voice low, “we made the cutest little girl.”

“she’s got your eyes,” he mumbled softly, admiring the beauty of his daughter. all of each of your best traits compiled into one tiny little human. a human that was already loved by so many and who had so many people excited to meet her.

two of those many people knocking on the door gently. you and lando smiled, you laughing at the ridiculously large teddy bear that was almost as tall as the man carrying it.

“he saw it in the gift shop window and insisted,” p laughed, “he said he would be ‘the worst uncle ever’ if he didn’t get it, even though i said she’d never know.”

you and lando laughed as max put the giant bear next to all the other gifts. the little girl was only 5 hours old and has already met all her grandparents and aunties and uncles. everyone had either shown up with balloons, flowers or a little baby outfit. oscar had shown up with a custom made mclaren shirt, one that of course had the australian and the british flag on it.

but max was taking the cake with the giant teddy bear.

“she would hate me, i know it,” max said, smiling softly at his friend who was holding the little girl so delicately, “would you look at that. already a daddy’s girl.”

“i fear she was like that since she was in the womb,” you said, “she’d kick me every time she heard him talk.”

“she was just excited to hear her papa,” lando joked and you all laughed softly as you looked over to the couple in front of you, “you guys wanna hold her?”

pietra nodded excitedly, taking the sleeping baby from lando’s arms gently before sitting in the reclining chair next to the bed. max stood next to her, half sitting on the arm rest as he smiled down at the little girl.

“what name did you come up with?” max asked, raising his head to look at the two of you.

you told them her name and the two of them smiled, “very fitting.”

“isn’t it?!” you smiled, “lando didn’t like it at first.”

“shocker,” max joked and lando raised his hands in mock surrender.

“i like it now,” he said, “that’s all that matters.”

“she’s perfect,” pietra said, “oh my goodness, look! she’s got a lando mole!”

“i know!” you cooed, “that was the first thing i said!”

lando and max shook their heads and laughed at their partners. you laid your head on his shoulder again, the two of you smiling as you watched max look at her with love in his eyes. he was ready to do anything for this baby girl like his life depended on it.

“wanna hold her, max?”

max was hesitant, but agreed when p urged him. he sat in the chair and let her put the baby girl into his arms. just as he got situated, she woke up from her nap. happy gurgles and a giggle escaping from her lips when she opened her eyes and saw max.

“oh my goodness, look at you,” he smiled, “hello little one! i’m your uncle max.”

you smiled as she made happy baby noises, ineligible but still cute. and most importantly, happy.

“so, we were thinking and we wanted to ask you, with your guys’ approval of course,” lando started, “we want you guys to be her godparents.”

the two of them looked at you with slightly wide eyes, “you’re serious?”

you both nodded, “we don’t see why not.”

“immediately yes, of course!” p smiled, leaning over to hug the both of you. you laughed, hugging her back as max looked to his best friend with happy tears in his eyes.

“thank you, buddy.”

lando nodded, smiling as he wiped his own tears from his eyes, “you guys mean the world to us, so. it’s the least we can do, really.”

“yknow, the name maxine has a really nice ring to it,” max joked and all of you laughed.

“i don’t think so, bud.”

“worth a shot.”

you smiled up at lando who turned his neck to smile back at you. you giggled softly when he placed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you both laid there in complete contentment as you watched your best friends giggle and play with the little girl in max’s arms. almost all the people you loved in the same room, your whole heart together.

you were sure that this is what life was all about. moments like these.

— five.

“guys! everyone’s gonna be here soon!” you yelled up the stairs, mainly talking to your now husband, but instead, your freshly turned three year old daughter popped up at the top of the stairs.

“momma! come look!”

you giggled softly, making your way up the stairs and following your daughter into her bedroom.

“what’re you guys up to?”

“look!” she beamed, bringing you a piece of paper, “we drew daddy’s race car!”

you smiled down at you husband who smiled back at you, “don’t forget, we drew uncle oscar’s too, baby.”

the little girl bounced up and down, “look, mommy! uncle oscar!”

you laughed, crouching down next to lando who had found himself in one of the tiny chairs. you looked at the pictures they drew, “are you gonna give it to uncle oscar and aunt lily when they get here?”

“yeah!” she smiled, “but i want daddy to keep his.”

“i’m gonna hang it on the highest spot on the fridge,” lando smiled, “so everyone can see just how talented my little girl is.”

you smiled at the two as he picked her up, standing up with her on his hip. you were impressed he managed to get out of the tiny wooden chair with no help.

you stood with them, smiling as you tried to fix your daughters unruly curls, “we gotta get you changed, little miss. everyone’s gonna be here soon.”

“everyone for my birthday party?”

you nodded, “yep! everyone’s coming to celebrate the birthday girl!”

she laughed and smiled as lando tickled her sides playfully. you laughed with them, your whole heart in one tiny little room.

the doorbell rang and you smiled, calling back to the two as you moved to get the door, “hurry up! everyone’s coming!”

you laughed when you heard her and lando talking about princess dresses and tutus, jogging down the stairs to open the door. you smiled when you were met with cisca and adam, bringing them into a hug before they came inside.

“hi honey!” cisca smiled.

“hi guys!” you smiled, “how’re you? how was the drive?”

“good!” adam said, “drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all!” cisca smiled, “i just can’t believe she’s three already.”

you nodded, “me either.”

and speaking of the devil, she came barreling down the stairs. bright pink princess dress on topped with the matching tiara to sit on top of her messy brown curls. ones that resembled lando’s.

“grandma! grandpa!”

“hey, little one!”

“there’s the birthday girl!”

you spent a few minutes catching up with his parents before others started to show up. and before you knew it, you had a full house of people who came up to celebrate your daughters birthday. a house full of love.

you smiled as she played with the other kids invited, lando’s arm wrapping around you. you smiled, leaning into his side as you watched your daughter laugh and smile.

“i know we’ve talked about it a bit before, but would you want another?” he asked, looking over at you. you met his eyes, smiling softly before nodding.

“yeah, i do,” you smiled, looking back into the yard, “i feel like she would like a sibling, too.”

he nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “me too.”

“there you two are!” you heard max before the sound of the back door closing caught your attention, max and p waking towards you two with smiles, “we’ve been looking for you.”

“what’s up?” you asked.

p handed you an envelope with a smile, her diamond ring sparkling brightly in the sunshine, “we’ve been wanting to tell you in person, and maybe your daughters birthday isn’t the best time to tell you, but, we wanted to tell you before everyone else.”

you both looked at them confused before lando opened the envelope, the sonogram picture making both of your eyes go wide. they smiled as you squealed happily, pulling p into a hug.

“you’re kidding!? this is great!!” you smiled, lando pulling his best friend into a hug as well. the four of you laughing and smiling.

“congrats, mate!” lando smiled.

“yknow what this means, right?” you asked and p nodded happily.

“baby clothes shopping!”

“oh my god,” max groaned playfully, looking to his friend as the two girls talked about baby clothes, “does it end?”

lando smiled, shaking his head as he watched you laugh and smile with p, “no, but that’s the best part.”

it was true. the best parts of his life always contained you. the other half of his beating heart.

you smiled at lando as p showed you all the different ideas she had for the nursery already. he smiled back, love written all over his face.

he solidified it by mouthing those 3 words, ‘i love you’.

‘i love you, too’.

[hy6erion]

Hellooo, I love your fics😭💘could you write something like Viktor is IN LOVE with reader, every time she enters the room he can't take his eyes off her and she doesn't realize the impact she has on him until one day he can't stand all the love he has and simply confesses it to her expecting to be rejected (obviously Reader feels the same way about him) a song that comes to my mind is "every breath you take" 🥺

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐲- 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 (╥╯^╰╥) 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝-

Viktor watches her. He has no choice.

It is not deliberate—not at first. The first time he notices, truly notices her, it is nothing extraordinary. Just a moment. A simple, passing thing.

She is laughing at something Jayce has said, shaking her head, her eyes crinkling at the corners. The sound of it is light—effortless, like it was meant to exist in the world, and he thinks, Ah. That is lovely.

And then, he looks away.

But that is how it starts.

It happens again, and again, and again. A small thing at first—a glance, a thought, a passing indulgence. But it does not leave.

Instead, it lingers. Settles. Buries itself deep in his chest, in the marrow of his bones, making a home out of him.

Before he knows it, she is in his thoughts more often than not.

She is in the moments between experiments, when his mind drifts, and he has to physically shake himself from imagining the way the light catches in her hair. She is in the spaces between breaths, in the hush of the late hours, when his mind slows just enough for the longing to creep in.

She is in the way his hands still when she leans over his shoulder, the warmth of her body so close, her scent curling around him like something dangerous, something fatal.

He is careful—so careful—to never let it show.

He tucks it away, locks it behind closed doors, never daring to let it slip into his expression. She cannot know. She must not know.

Because it would ruin everything.

Because how could she?

She is kind. Brilliant. Good. And he—he is—

A man who wants too much. A man who should not want at all.

But want, he does.

She does not notice.

Not at all.

It is not that she does not care. She does. She enjoys Viktor’s company, always has. He is sharp, quick-witted, endlessly fascinating. He is clever, charming in his own way, and she has always admired the way his mind works.

But never—never—has she thought to look deeper.

Why would she?

To her, Viktor is Viktor.

A friend. A colleague. Someone to challenge her, to tease her, to rely on.

Someone steady.

It does not occur to her to question the way he watches her. The way his breath stills when she stands too close. The way his voice softens, ever so slightly, when he says her name.

It does not occur to her to wonder why, sometimes, when she speaks, Viktor looks as though he is bracing himself against the tide.

Because why would she?

Viktor has never given her any reason to think otherwise.

He does not touch her unless he must. He does not let his gaze linger for too long. He is always the first to turn away, to fold his hands behind his back, to swallow down the words that threaten to break free.

If there is ever something there—something deep, something aching—she does not see it.

And it is killing him.

It comes to a breaking point on an otherwise ordinary evening.

She is with him in the lab, working late. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But tonight, something is wrong.

Viktor is quiet.

Not in the usual way. Not in the way of someone focused, of someone lost in their own mind. No—this is different.

This is silence weighted with something else.

He is still. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers twisting together, his jaw tight. His throat bobs with the effort of something unsaid.

She frowns, setting her notes aside. “Viktor?”

He flinches. Flinches.

Her frown deepens. “Are you alright?”

He exhales, a sharp, unsteady sound. A humorless chuckle escapes him, brittle and thin. “No,” he admits.

Her heart stirs with concern. “What is it?”

And then, something breaks.

“I cannot do this anymore.”

His voice is low, rough, edged with something raw.

She stills.

“…Do what?” she asks, careful.

Viktor’s hands tighten around each other. He looks at her then, and for the first time, really lets her see him.

He looks wrecked.

There is something desperate in his expression, something frayed at the edges, something coming apart.

Something aching.

“I—” His throat works around the words. He swallows, hard, like it physically hurts to say it.

“I cannot pretend that I do not love you.”

The air leaves her lungs.

The words crash into her, sharp and sudden, knocking the breath from her body.

She blinks, mouth parting, brain struggling to catch up.

“What?”

Viktor huffs a weak, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “I know. I know.” His voice is trembling. “It is—unfair. I should not have said anything. But I cannot—” He stops himself, running a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I cannot keep this in. Not anymore.”

He sounds wrecked.

He sounds like he expects her to run.

Like he expects her to be horrified. To step away, to shake her head, to leave.

She doesn’t. She can’t.

Because suddenly, everything makes sense.

The way he looked at her. The way he carried himself around her. The way he always turned away too quickly, always put distance between them, always seemed to be holding something back.

It was this.

It was always this.

Viktor lets out a slow, shaking breath. “I am not—expecting anything. I know how foolish this is. How selfish.” His voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper. “But I love you. I have loved you for so long, and it is—” He laughs, breathless. “It is unbearable.”

She is staring.

He swallows, looking away. “You do not have to say anything. I only needed—”

“I love you too.”

It is a whisper, barely a breath, but it stops him cold.

Viktor goes still.

Completely. Utterly. Still.

“…What?”

She exhales, stepping closer. “I love you too.”

He stares at her like she has just undone him.

Like she has spoken something impossible into existence.

“…No,” he breathes, almost broken. “You—you do not mean that.”

She reaches for him then. Takes his face in her hands, tilts his head toward her, forces him to see.

“I do.”

Viktor makes a sound—something sharp, something lost.

And then he breaks.

He grabs at her, arms curling around her like he is afraid she might disappear, like she is something real in a world that has never been kind to him.

And when she kisses him, he shatters.

Because finally, finally—

She is his.

And he is hers.

[veltana]

Unleashed - Avengers!Bucky/Fem!Reader

✦ Pairing: Avengers!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~4,2k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Sex pollen adjacent kinda, smut, a bit fluffy, one shot, possessive!Bucky, co-workers/friends to lovers, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, orgasm denial, dirty talk, praise, creampie, pet names (doll).

✦ Summary: During a mission, Bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions and all he wants is you.

✦ Note: Previously posted on AO3 since I have basically no time or energy to write new stuff. It was titled You’re what I need before but I always hated that title so I decided to re-name it. Bucky is kind of an asshole in this, but it's just because he wants you! As always, reblogs, comments, and asks are very welcome ❤️

Masterlist | AO3

The worst part about watching from afar as a mission goes to shit is that you feel useless. Even as you dispatch medics for the team all you can do is tell them, "Help is on the way."

Captain America shouts orders that you hear through the comms. The wait feels endless until the crew of the quinjet declares that they have spotted the team and there's not much else for you to do but look at your monitors and wait for an update. When you get the call back that the team is secure you breathe a sigh of relief, but then the next message is to prepare the medical staff to receive multiple injuries and chemical exposure. You ask the crew to clarify, but they are too busy, so when you notify the medical center, they prepare a quarantine room.

Sometimes you wish you had a superpower and could be there with them instead of staring at your monitors and doing endless calculations on whatever the team needs. But then when they return they always compliment your work and tell you they don’t know how they managed without you. You try to remind yourself of those moments at times like this.

Once the quinjet is docked and everyone has been accounted for you push away from your desk and remove your headset, taking deep breaths and trying to calm your heart. A moment later a message pops up on your screen, probably because they couldn’t reach you through your comms. [Bucky wants you to come down here]

Your heart does a little flip in your chest, making you scowl. He is your friend and probably injured, you have no idea why he would be asking for you, but it’s not because he feels the same way you do. You grab your tablet and head to the MedBay.

When you get down you take stock of the situation. Nat and Steve have some scratches, Sam's arm is broken and Wanda has a few cracked ribs. Tony is bruised, his suit had taken most of the damage. You look around for Bucky but don’t see him anywhere and quickly deduce that he must be the person currently in quarantine.

When you get to the wing, you’re almost too scared to go in, afraid to see what could have happened to him. Inside, you find a team of medical personnel discussing Bucky's condition with him through a glass wall. His hair looks damp and he's wearing standard-issue quarantine clothing, soft black pants, and a black sweatshirt. When he sees you standing patiently at the side he says. "You can come back later. I need to talk to her more than I need to talk to you. Go away." His voice comes from speakers in the ceiling.

You're shocked by his behavior but smile apologetically as the white coats pass you on their way out. When you get up to the glass you hiss. "Bucky, what is wrong with you, don't be rude.” "You make it sound like I'm never rude otherwise," he laughs. "You're not rude to healthcare professionals, you know better." You glare at him as you wake your tablet. “Now what did you need me for?”

"Do you like me?" he asks. Your mouth falls open and your heart starts to beat faster. You’re happy your vitals aren’t monitored as you quickly collect yourself and try to deflect his question. "Of course I like you Bucky, you're my friend." But now it feels weird to look at him and you find a spot on the wall far behind him to focus on.

"What if I want more than friends?" is his next question and despite your best efforts, hope warms your chest. This is not happening. Of course you toyed with the idea of you and Bucky, he is always sweet to you, and if he has the chance he brings you gifts from the missions. But you’ve told yourself repeatedly that he needs someone stronger, who can keep up with him in the field and you’re not that person.

"Can we have this conversation when you are not high on some HYDRA drug?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from betraying you. They are monitoring everything in the room. And there is a sheet of unbreakable glass in between you both. If you're going to confess your feelings, it won't be like this.

"I'm not high," he huffs. "My mind has never been clearer." "I still think we should have this conversation later." "Doll, look at me." The command in his voice is so strong you don’t think, you snap your eyes to his and they are so blue and soft.

"I will feel the same tomorrow, and the day after, whenever this drug wears off but now is the only time I can't hold my tongue," he explains. You place your hand on the glass and he does the same on the other side. "It will be fine Bucky, I promise," you say just as the door opens and Steve walks in, making you pull your hand back to your side. He's showered, in a fresh pair of clothes and he swings his arm over your shoulder.

"Stop hogging her time Bucky, I know for a fact that she also needs to debrief," he smiles but Bucky looks as if he's seeing red. Through gritted teeth he presses out, "Get your fucking arm off her, punk. She's mine."

You and Steve burst into laughter because it has to be a joke, but then Bucky punches the barrier with his vibranium arm. The glass doesn't crack but both you and Steve stop short and step away in shock. Steve removes his arm and says, "I'll meet you upstairs." Before quickly heading out.

You turn to Bucky and point at him, anger rising in your chest. "What is wrong with you? Steve is your friend!" "That is what it’s like in here every day,” he points to his head. You're taken aback by his statement and his wide feral eyes. Clearly, whatever he was exposed to had messed with his head and he's not himself. “Bucky I need to go,” you tell him, and before he can protest you continue. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile feebly at him and are out the door before he can say anything else.

After debriefing and having dinner you go to bed early. Your head is spinning with the day and most of all, Bucky.

It's way past midnight when you wake to the soft closing of your door. Since you always sleep with a night light the soft warm glow reflects off his left arm and leaves no doubt about who has entered your room. You blink at him but before you can ask a question he rasps out, pleading. "I need you. So bad. Please doll, help me." He moves closer to your bed.

You quickly remove your covers and get up, glad the giant t-shirt covers you to your thighs, ready to spring into action. "Anything Bucky, what do you need?" You stop an arm's length from him, but all he does is reach his hand out to cup your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek. There is a wild look in his eyes but you keep calm. "I can't get you what you need if you don't tell me," you whisper, meeting his eyes and watching as his brow furrows.

"I need you. Right now. If I don't get to touch and taste every inch of your body I'm going to lose my mind," he confesses in a low voice. His words shock you and you hitch a breath. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. You have this great friendship. If things were different you would not have minded taking it to another level, but with the day in mind and the fact that he somehow got out of his containment room you say, "Bucky, you’re not yourself, you need to get back to-”

"Doll,” he interrupts with a hard voice. “For once, I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. The only thing the drug did, I think, was remove my inhibitions. For once I feel free. My mind isn't controlled by HYDRA or by fear that you'll reject me. All I know is that I crave you and I can't be quiet about it anymore.”

"Bucky… I…" your whole body is flushed with warmth from his words and you're not sure how to respond. "I dreamt about you and couldn't stop myself from going over here. I don't want to hurt you, doll, but I'm not sure this drug will let me leave. All I wanna do is move closer to you.” You swallow hard as he continues, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Ask FRIDAY to get Steve, or the Hulk if you want me to leave."

Instead, you step into him, making up your mind in an instant and resting your hands on his chest. "Stay, I'll be glad to help you with anything you need," you whisper honestly and by the way his eyes widen there was still some doubt in his mind that you would reject him.

Instead of saying anything his vibranium hand grasps your waist and pulls you closer. There is no escaping the smell and size of him and his hands on you got your pussy throbbing for him already.

"I hope you understand what you've agreed to," he whispers, leaning closer. "Once I have you I won't stop, you'll never be rid of me. I'll claim you against every surface of this fucking compound if I need to." That makes you whimper and press harder against him. "Fuck you'd like that huh? Are you a kinky little thing? Like getting fucked where people can see you and hear you moan, do you want people to see my hard dick spread you open?" "Fuck Bucky!" You exclaim and lean your forehead against his chest. Maybe that idea excites you or maybe it is just that the word ‘claim’ sounds so primal.

"You're going to tell me all your little secrets later, doll. But now, I'm going to take what's mine." And with that, he crushes his lips to yours. He backs you towards the bed, kissing you the whole time, letting his hands explore you. When you land on your back, he stands over you with eyes like a predator about to devour its prey.

You shuffle up until your head rests on the pillows, spreading your legs for him. Without taking off any clothes he crawls after you, settling on his knees between your legs and placing his hands on the headboard, crowding you with his large frame. "Mine," he whispers and it makes a shudder pass through you. He ruts his clothed cock against your core, slicking your underwear even more and making you whine, gripping the sheets under you.

"Yes," he almost hisses as the length of his dick presses on your clit and forces a mewl out of you. It's been a long time since you've gotten laid. "Bucky," you plead. "No doll, I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of claiming you, from the outside in. Did you think this would be hard and fast and that I would be gone before you knew what happened?"

He lets go of the headboard to put his elbows beside your head instead, his weight on you, pressing you down into the mattress. "When I leave you will long for me, spend every waking second wishing I was still inside you. I want your cunt to be permanently drenched so I can fuck you whenever I please." He kisses you forcefully and any coherent thought that was left in your head flees. "And when you're too sore to take more of my dick in your pussy I'm going to do the same thing to your mouth and ass."

He rids you off your t-shirt and instead of having to move from between your legs to pull off your underwear, he rips them apart. "Ah!" you exclaim when the force of his movements jolts you but he takes no notice, he just stares at you, letting his hands roam up and down your sides, up to your tits, cupping them and caressing your nipples with his thumbs.

Whimpers are coming from you with every pass of this touch. Then he moves down and lays on his stomach, not saying a word as he sweeps his tongue over your pussy before he starts devouring you with a throaty moan.

It doesn’t take long for the first orgasm to take you, his movements are precise and his words and actions have made you hornier than you’ve ever experienced. Or maybe it's because he is the hottest person you’ve ever laid eyes on and he only wants you.

When you’re finished and sensitive he dips his tongue into your hole to taste you and groans loudly, lapping up the wetness from your orgasm. "Better than I've dreamed of," he says when he pulls away. Now you’re the one that must be high because you can't help but giggle. "You seriously dream of me?" "All the time, doll. Every night when I go to bed I wish you were with me and then you plague my sleep with your soft curves and radiant smile."

You're about to tell him how his laugh makes you warm and fuzzy on the inside but at that moment he sucks your clit into his mouth, cutting out every thought in your brain. He's gentle but not hesitant, it's as if he's feeling you out and when you make a particularly loud sound he continues the same movement, making your whole body go hot.

The second orgasm is intense enough to send aftershocks through for a long while afterward. Bucky lays his head on your thigh as you tremble, caressing your skin and letting the fingers of his right hand skim over your opening.

Despite what he's already given you, you still crave more. His fingertips never come close to where you need them and when you whine at the back of your throat Bucky smiles up at you. "Don't worry, I'm not even close to done with you, but I don't want you to pass out on me.” One of his fingers glides inside, making you take a sharp breath just because it feels so good. Once again he is careful, moving slowly, listening to your breath and your body.

"Please Bucky, I need more.” "No need to beg, I'll give you everything you want… in time," he breathes and kisses the skin on the inside of your thigh. Slowly he moves his finger in and out. You're sure it's a form of torture. The sweetest kind there is. Your breathing is labored and when he finally adds a second, you start to quiver.

He nips at your skin and then kisses it before speaking. "You look like a goddess, doll, eyes filled with lust, your skin is gleaming. I'm going to worship you until you're tired of me.” "Never gonna happen," you whimper. Then his thumb lands on your clit, making you cry out. Everything is so sensitive and overstimulated.

"I don't- Bucky, I don't think I can again," you tell him even though his touches are causing your insides to melt. "Yes, you will," his voice is soft but the command is clear. So instead of trying to speak again, you sink further into the madness that is him playing with you. The third one takes its sweet time but you never feel rushed or stressed that it's taking too long. Bucky isn’t in a hurry.

Then it’s suddenly there, crashing through you. "Fuck Bucky, fuck you're gonna make me come." "So good for me, let me feel you come on my fingers," he urges. "I'm going to lick them clean afterward so make sure you get them nice and wet for me. I want as much as you'll give me." The climax reaches its peak and you come with a cry of his name, body convulsing and your hand shooting down to tangle in his hair.

"Just like that doll," he smiles up at you and holds your gaze when he pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean, moaning while he does. It's a filthy sound, but it turns you on as if he didn't just make you come for the third time. Then he dives in between your legs again, licking at your skin and your soaked hole. Letting go of his hair all you can do is just lie there, writhing, as he somehow coaxes a fourth orgasm out of you.

“Fuck me,” you plead when he pulls back. “I need you inside me Bucky.” This time he takes pity on you and moves away to take off his clothes. When he’s naked he kneels between your legs again and you spread them as wide as you can. "Want me, doll?" he asks with a smirk. He swipes his cock through your mess and then uses his hand to coat himself with you. "Yes," is all you can say. Both you and Bucky stare as he pushes his dick into you, filling you up completely. Of course, he takes it torturously slow this time too.

"This feels better than any dream I've ever had," he whispers almost in awe. You grip his biceps and arch into him, pushing him deeper, faster. That makes him tsk but smiles at the same time as he pushes the rest of the way, finally seating himself. Without giving you a chance to relax he starts fucking you, his cock pushes perfectly against your insides, pulling sounds from you that you haven't made in years.

He sits back on his heels lifting your ass effortlessly until your weight is resting on your shoulders and neck. It's like he is in a trance, pulling you onto his cock over and over again. Your body is his, your mind has fled, and all you see and feel is just him all around you. His eyes keep changing between his dick filling your cunt, your bouncing tits, and your half-lit eyes as if he is not sure where to look. "Mine," he rasps and thrusts hard to empathize the word. "All mine. Say it."

It takes some time for your brain to connect to your mouth and form the words but his gaze never leaves you. "Yours," you whimper. "I'm yours, Bucky." There is a familiar heat low in your belly that's steadily spreading through your limbs. It makes you wiggle and move because it's overwhelming. He is overwhelming in the best sense. Whining you reach down to rub yourself but he slaps your hand away. "I thought I told you, it's mine. I own this cunt. If you wanna touch yourself you have to ask permission." It's as close to a growl as is humanly possible and you don't understand how he can be so cognizant right now, because your brain is like putty. "Can I please rub my clit Bucky, I wanna come on your cock so bad," you cry.

"Good girl," he praises, and when he calls you that, your mouth falls open with a keening sound, gripping the sheets even harder, pulling at them because you want to come so bad. "Do it, show me how you get off when you're alone in bed without me." Everything is slippery and sensitive when you start with your fingers and you immediately know it's going to go fast. With his previous words in mind, you ask. "Can I come?" He meets your eyes with a wicked smile. "Fast learner. Yeah, you can come… when I tell you."

You rip your hand away, afraid you might fall over the edge at any second. The sound out of your throat is almost a sob. "Don't be like that, doll, I thought you said you couldn't do it more times?" "I can-I can! As many times as you want just please let me come." "Fuck, I like it when you beg with my cock in you." But he doesn't say anything else, just continues fucking you. He's not even winded while you're straining your entire body. Your hand wants to move back, anything to relieve the pressure inside you but Bucky was very clear and you don’t want to disobey him.

Then he pulls out and drops you onto the bed, but you don't get to relax because he flips you onto your stomach and pushes one of your knees up to the side before he presses in. His dick hits your G-spot dead on and you scream into the pillow under you. Bucky chuckles right by your ear. "Guess I found it." He's merciless, his hips hit your ass hard and if it weren't for his weight pressing you down you would soon hit the headboard.

"Bucky!" you wail because it's too much. You're losing the last pieces of your mind to the sheer force of the pleasure and you're scared you're never going to be able to come back to yourself. Then his hand presses in between you and the mattress. "Rub yourself on my fingers, make yourself cum. Fuck my cock and come all over me doll." You brace yourself as best you can and move your hips as he keeps almost completely still, just shallow thrusts in stark comparison to what he was doing to you just moments ago.

His fingers slide along your clit, his cock brushing your G-spot over and over again. You're breathless, sweat breaking out along your skin, but the climax you're chasing will be well worth it. You just know it.

"I can't fill you up until I’ve felt you come around me," he grunts, his voice tight with holding back. You whimper, the feeling of fire flushing your whole body, and building up to an eruption like no other. "Yes, yes, yes," he chants low in your ear. "That's it, come for me, make me proud. Fuck it feels so good." And he starts moving again "I'm going to fill you fucking full of my cum. That's it!"

The heat in you breaks and you come with a shout of his name, shaking under him. It gets even more intense when Bucky finishes right behind you, groaning your name. He collapses on top of you but his hips are still moving, slowly, as if he doesn’t want it to ever end. Neither would you but your body is wrecked.

When he finally rolls off, you're so close to falling asleep, but he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. "Pee." He points and you want to tell him that you know the drill, this isn't your first time, but all that comes out is a grumble before he closes the door behind him and you sit down on the toilet.

When you're done, you stumble out and have a moment of panic, thinking he left. But then the door opens and Bucky returns with two bottles of water, handing you one before leading you to the bed and sitting you down on the edge. Gratefully you drink and lean against his shoulder before asking. "How do you feel?" "Better than I have in a long time," he answers, kissing your forehead. You chuckle. "Yeah I have a magical pussy, it can cure anything," you joke and it makes him laugh. "You should get back to quarantine," you comment. "Before anyone notices." He shakes his head. "No I'm staying here, I'm never leaving you again." He takes the bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table together with his own. Then he crawls beneath the sheets and you go after him, letting him envelop you in a tight embrace before you fall asleep.

Alarms blare and you wake with a start. "FRIDAY what's going on?" you ask out into the room. “Sergeant Barnes has escaped his confinement.” The voice echoes through the room. You sigh and glare at Bucky grumbling beside you, like the loud signal is just a regular alarm clock. "FRIDAY please inform the team that Bucky is here and everything is fine."

A second later the sound dies and with a sigh you get up to pull on yesterday's discarded t-shirt and find a pair of pants. Right when you're done there is a knock on the door and Steve asks, "Everything okay in there?" You open the door enough to show yourself. "We're fine, he broke out during the night and came here." "Oh," Steve says and there is a hint of blush on his cheeks.

Then you feel a presence behind you and Bucky’s arm goes around your waist. "Mine," he says and you can't see him but he's probably glaring daggers at Steve who backs away. "We'll be okay, I'll alert FRIDAY if I need help," you tell Steve. When you close the door Bucky turns you before pushing you up against it and kissing you hard. "Mine," he mumbles against your lips. "Fucking caveman," you tell him. He grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder. "I'll show you caveman," he says and carries you to the bed

[alastorss]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.

a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.

You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.

There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.

The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.

And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.

For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.

"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.

"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.

You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."

Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.

He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.

You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.

Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)

"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."

'Or something?' he wanted to ask.

He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)

It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.

Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.

The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.

He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.

He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.

"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.

"I've come to join you, actually."

Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.

"You have a nice laugh."

He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.

You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.

"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"

Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.

"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.

"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.

Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.

All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.

His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."

"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."

Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.

~

taglist (i totally forgot i'm sorry!!): @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 (send and ask to be added!)

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt3

Dick knew that Tim was sending him looks every few seconds.

How could he not? This places food names were honestly the best, if this was some kinda murder cult Dick would be so disappointed.

Glancing up over the menu at Danny, Dick smiled at the teen who had been whipping down the same cup for five minutes like some wild west bartender while trying very hard not to stare at the two vigilantes.

"Okay, I think I have made up my mind, Red you got what you wanted?" Finally meeting Tim's eyes, Dick mentally winced, Tim's eyes were doing that twitchy thing that happened sometimes...

"Yes. I am." Dick understand slightly but like...the puns weren't that bad

Out of the corner of his eye Dick saw Danny pop up, nearly slamming the mug he had been holding as he fumbled with a note pad, coming closer to the two, he did a pretty decent customer service smile as he waited.

Since Tim was having a problem with words, Dick went first.

"So, I'll have some Boo-berry Poltergeist pancakes, with two sunny side up eggs and a side of bacon?" Dick watched as Danny paused for a moment, let out a little laugh and then started to write before looking to Tim.

"I will have...Ugh, the Wraith waffles with the hunting hashbrowns on the side...please." Dick had seen Tim look less pained over being stabbed than say the wonderful puns.

"Alrighty, anything to drink before I head back and get started on your order?" Holding up a coffee jug in one hand and an orange juice jug in the other, Danny gave a slight smirk.

Perhaps it was the coffee but Tim looked a bit less pained after that.

---

As he slapped down a few pieces of bacon, Danny totally didn't use his ghost powers to bring the bowl of pancake batter over closer as he scooped a ladle full on a freshly buttered side of the flat top, making sure it set first, Danny heard a beep from the frier, heading over he paused to see French fries in there as well.

Shaking his head, he dunked them all into the oil, and moved to set the timer only to see it already clicking down, "Oh um...thank you very much." Patting the deep frier, Danny moved back to the flat top as it let out a gurgling purr.

---

Tim took all of five seconds after Danny rounded the corner into the back of the house to start whispering

"Wing, this place is mocking me. Apple apparition pie? Haunting Hashbrowns? Ethereal fucking eggs benedict." Hissing Tim shifted in his seat, "like I would get it if this place was ghost themed but it very clearly isnt! It is mocking me because I know this place doesn't exist!" Slamming a fist down on the counter, it very much thudded.

Sharing a look with Tim, Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, "Buddy...I agree there is something up with this place but...I very much think it exists? Since we are kinda sitting here."

Dragging his hand down his face with a groan Tim leaned back in his seat, "I know and it is infuriating me..." Grabbing the coffee mug Tim looked at it with a not insignificant amount of distrust before taking a swig, pausing, than taking another, much slower sip, holding the mug with both hands as he lowered it down, staring at the dark liquid with a small glare.

"Red? You okay? Is that the bad coffee look ot oh shittake mushrooms that was poisoned look?" Dick said worryingly, looking to the cup of orange juice that was in front of him with suspicion.

"N-no...I" Tim's words cut off as he took a breath, "Just...tastes just like the kind Mom used to drink, came from this little town in Chile they passed through..." staring at the cup a little longer Tim shook his head, "They closed a few years back, the farmer that made it got killed by a drug cartel that wanted him to plant coca rather than coffee, it's just that this place should very much not have this."

There was a tension between the two vigilantes, Dick moving to speak before being cut off by Danny quickly coming out from the back.

"Order up! Got two pancakes for Mr. Nightwing, side of bacon and eggs and two waffles for Mr. Red Robin with some hasbrowns!" Setting each plate down in front of said vigilante, Danny gave them both a grin.

"And a side of Phantom fries for both of you on the house!"

After refilling the little bit missing out of Tim's cup, Danny seemed to be to there one second and back in the kitchen a moment later.

---

"Phantom fries?" Danny whispered to himself as he started to clean off the griddle, a grin on his face as he did, he might of left the hero business, but oh God was it funny, he wondered if other people got the same fun out of it.

Checking out on he customers through the small window to the front, Danny felt his core thrum at the sight of the two eating, it was a different kind of thrum that he got while protecting people, this one...this one gave him a full body shudder and cleared a fog in his mind he didn't even he had.

Shaking his head, Danny tried not to let the purr building in his chest out.

---

Screw the worries that Tim had, Dick was having the time of his life.

"We can't tell the others about this place Red...Little wing would try and place it in the Alley and B might try and buy it cus holy guacamole this shit is good..." Dick had dug in after Tim's wrist mounted computer had tested the food for any known poisons which said that there weren't any, but still went and saved a few samples for further analysis at the Cave.

Dick didn't know why but the pancakes tasted like those that Alfred made the first week he had been at the manor, he had gotten upset at Brcue and hid in the attic all day, but Alfred managed to lure him down with the promise of blueberries in his pancakes.

They were perfectly fluffy, butter soaked with that little edge around it that was crunchy, the berries were tart enough to battle the maple syrup and...it was just like how Dick remembered.

Shaking his head as he finished up his food, Dick threw a look over at Tim, who was hunched over his empty plate, holding his mug of coffee closer, at Dicks questioning look the teen spoke.

"We have to leave Wing something is just...off about this place, its...they taste like when my dad used to make breakfast after coming home from a dig...has to be brain waves or mind reading or..." Tim continued to ramble on, ideas flowing out of him like a water fall.

By the time that Danny went back to check on the two, they were gone.

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

[luffydotcom]

oblivious

synopsis: you're oblivious to their feelings for you, and they have to do something about it! feat: luffy, zoro, sanji (monster trio) warnings: none! notes: two posts in a row?? what?? also, i mainly made this for giggles, sanji's part especially was killing me to write helpp 💀

luffy

luffy doesn't feel the need to explain his love for you. because in his eyes, you're practically already together. he wants not just to protect you, but to wrap his arms around you, laugh with you, hold you close, and always be by your side, and he does! all the time. shouldn't that be enough to let you know he loves you?

apparently not.

because despite his affections, you never seem to notice that the boy reciprocates your feelings, even when everyone else does. you assume his behaviour is just luffy being luffy, and honestly, it depresses you day after day to think that he doesn't feel the same.

until one afternoon on the ship, the captain approaches you with a cheeky grin on his face.

"hey, do you wanna play hide and seek on the island with me?" his eyes light up with playful excitement as he asks you. "this island is huge! so i wanna play a game with you."

you laugh at luffy's endearing and childish nature, yet you can't help but play along. "sounds fun, but haven't you asked the others if they wanna come too?"

"no, just you." he says plainly.

"what? that's odd." you're utterly rattled as to why luffy would want to spend time with just you only. not that you never have alone time with him - luffy often comes to you when he's bored and wants to pass time on slow days on the ship, but he normally does so without asking.

even more confusing for you, especially for games, he would always ask usopp or chopper to join in, yet they're nowhere to be seen. in fact, it's just now you realise that you're the only two on the deck.

"well you know, if it's just us, it feels much more like a date doesn't it? than asking everybody else." luffy chuckles and your mind practically shuts down trying to register what he's just said.

like a date.

"luffy... what did you just say?" you freeze, uncertain if you've even heard his words properly, because surely... there's no way.

"i said it would feel much more like a date. we like each other, don't we?" luffy says matter-of-factly like it's absolutely no big deal, before noticing your expression. "what? what's wrong?"

you stand in stunned silence, at a loss for words at the sheer coolness of him basically admitting his feelings for you like it's nothing at all. "you... like me? as in... romantically?"

"well yeah, i thought we were together?"

"WHAT?"

"wait, what's the matter? do you not want to be together anymore?"

"no, it's..." you could almost clutch your chest at how fast your heart is racing, overwhelmed at the realisation that luffy likes you, but even more that he thought you were dating the whole time. "i didn't even know you saw our relationship in that way... or that you had feelings for me."

"WHAT? seriously?" luffy throws his head back laughing, although not to mock you, but astounded by your obliviousness. "all this time? i thought you would know how i feel about you without me having to say it!"

"no, i seriously didn't know!" you wave your hands, feeling embarrassed at how unaware you've been. "i thought you like me just as much as everyone else on the crew... i never thought it was any different."

luffy just grins his signature grin at your words, chuckling with his arms folded. "well, how do you feel now that you know it is different?"

you take a moment to think. relief washes over you as you realise you no longer have to pine for him in silence anymore. "well, now that i know... i do feel much better."

"good. so... you still wanna come with me, right?" luffy's eyes sparkle even more than they did when he first asked you.

"yeah yeah, but i'm hiding not seeking... because i've just realised today how easily i can't see things sometimes..." you joke, as you both head off the ship together.

zoro

zoro isn't one to make his feelings for you overtly obvious, but he thought you should have at least got the hint by now.

no matter how subtle he is in displaying his feelings: being more protective over you in battle, sitting next to you at mealtimes, keeping a closer eye on you on the ship, it all seems to fall right under your nose. and quite frankly, it frustrates him.

he isn't sure what more he needs to do to let you know how he feels. his subtlety can only go so far - and it's as if no progress is being made.

so now he has no choice but to put it to you in the most obvious way he feels he can - by confronting you.

"hey," zoro catches you as you're leaving the kitchen after lunch. "we need to talk."

your heart stops at his serious tone. "it's not something bad, is it?"

"no, it's not, but... it's something important." he says firmly, as you're left to wonder what he possibly wants to tell you. he clears his throat before speaking. "haven't you noticed anything... new lately?" he folds his arms.

"about... what, exactly?"

"about me. about us?"

your brows furrow. "what? what do you mean?"

he sighs, realising he needs to be more clear. "i mean, haven't you maybe noticed that i've been acting... different towards you lately?"

you pause, reflecting over zoro's recent behaviour with you on the ship to search for anything different or new. come to think of it, he has been acting a little... closer to you lately, but you don't think much of it. he's just being a good crewmate, as much as it hurts to believe.

"not that i can remember," you shake your head.

zoro has to fight the urge to not pop a blood vessel at your obliviousness. how much more obvious does he need to make this? "seriously? nothing comes to mind? nothing? after everything i've done?"

now you're beyond puzzled. "what's this even about? done what? i don't understand what you're getting at."

zoro tightens his fists. every attempt to get through to you is just proving more and more futile. surely from the way the conversation has been going, you would understand what he's trying to tell you by now - but it's hopeless. "you know what, just - never mind."

but as zoro turns to walk away and leave, you grab his shoulder. "wait, no, carry on - i want to know. just tell me what this is about."

eyes falling to your hand on him, zoro realises he just can't beat around the bush with you. it's now or never. he has to put it in the only way you'll understand.

avoiding your eyes, he glances away, and you're almost certain you see him blush slightly if just for a second. "…i like you, you idiot. i don't know how much more obvious i need to be."

you've lost all ability to think as the weight of his words hit you all at once. "w-what? since when -"

"since ages," he says, finally looking at you. "but it's like no matter what i do, you just never seem to notice. seriously, do you not see how oblivious you are?"

suddenly, the dots start connecting in your mind as it starts to all slowly make sense. the signs were always there. sure, they were subtle, but they were there - with every action zoro has done for you lately. you just refused to paint it as romantic. "i guess i just... didn't want to get my hopes up in case you didn't have feelings for me too."

zoro fights a smile as he realises what you've just said, but he tries to play it cool. "so, you're saying..."

before he can finish, you put your arms around him in a close hug. "yes, i like you too. and i'm sorry that i didn't notice your feelings for me sooner. i just couldn't be too sure."

zoro lifts his hand up to stroke the top of your head. he's not mad, but relieved. "it's alright. i'm just glad you know now."

sanji

sanji has been making his feelings for you as clear as day: constantly showering you with praise and compliments, adding extra touches to your food; he's even been paying much more attention to you than nami and robin. hence why he's so confused as to why you're not noticing!

it's just that with every act of affection he's been doing lately, you seem to rule it out as just sanji being sanji - and he can't exactly blame you either. he is known for his affectionate nature, but he can't seem to understand how you can't see how overt and over-the-top he is when it comes to you specifically.

one evening after dinner, you find him sulking in the kitchen as he washes the dishes.

"sanji? is something wrong?", you approach him, wondering what has him so distraught. "you look pretty depressed..."

"it's nothing, dear," he looks at you, trying a smile, but then, "well... actually... there is kind of something."

"oh? i'm all ears, just tell me," you say, looking more serious than before.

there is a moment of silence as you wait for him to tell you what's troubling him, and for a moment he actually looks calm. until -

"WHY WON'T YOU NOTICE HOW MUCH I LIKE YOU?? I JUST DON'T GET IT!" he drops the plate he was washing in the sink and cries into his sleeve.

you're so taken aback by his sudden (and dramatic) outcry that you have to take a small step back. but then you actually realise what he's just said.

"wait - YOU LIKE ME? AS IN -"

"YES, LIKE THAT!" he looks at you with tears falling down his cheeks. "I'VE MADE IT SO OBVIOUS! I COMPLIMENT YOU ALMOST EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY, I HOLD YOUR HAND WHEN YOU'RE STEPPING OFF THE SHIP-"

"wait, sanji-"

"-I EVEN PUT HEART-SHAPED CANDIES IN YOUR LUNCH BOX! AND ONE OF THEM QUITE LITERALLY SAID 'I love you' ON IT!"

"WHAT? NO WAY. i ate them without even reading them..." you look away sheepishly. "sanji... i truly had no idea you felt that way about me, and i mean it. honestly, even if i did see, i thought you would've done the same for nami or robin."

sanji wipes away some of his tears, now shyly struggling to meet your eyes. "i guess so, but... it really is different with you, i promise."

"no no, i believe you," you give his arm a small squeeze. "and i'm relieved because i feel the same way." it feels like a risk, but you kiss his cheek.

he practically short-circuits, not even sure how to form words at first. "...you don't know how long i've waited to experience that," he takes your hand. "and i mean literally. i was losing hope with how oblivious you are."

"well, the wait's over now, so no need to worry." you smile warmly and he smiles back.

© luffydotcom

[gatorbites-imagines]

Logan begging for it.... so sweetly we cant refuse..... when he knows reader needs his sleep..... taking it in his even when it stays soft...... cockwarming reader while we sleeps.....

Yes im writing whis as I fall asleep

Logan Howlett x male reader

headcanons

I was gonna write a longer thing, but a migraine decided to kick my ass all of a sudden, so here I am simply rambling about this.

Imagine having a normal but exhausting day job. You’re no hero, no vigilante, no nothing, you’re just a guy. And you somehow ended up charming the pants off of The Wolverine of all people. How? You have no idea

Dating Logan is a real treat, even with his roughness and sometimes standoffish personality. When you guys really get close, he starts to get more vulnerable.

Along with vulnerable emotionally, he also starts to get a much stronger libido, seeing as he has a partner now. Him having a healing factor doesn’t help you in this case, since it means he has very little recovery time.

Seeing Logan, one would think hed be the dominant one, something you assumed in the beginning too. That was until you guys got intimate the first time and he shoved you onto your back to ride you instead.

There were no complaints from you obviously, because who’d mind having someone like that riding you? Logan in his broad, hairy and so very heavy way, lifting himself up and down on you like it was barely a workout.

You have to remind him to be careful though, multiple times, seeing as his bones make him extra heavy, and your poor hips are that of the average person.

Having a partner with a libido like that though, also means Logan is always raring to go, almost waiting for you by the door when you get home from your shift, like an old gruff dog waiting for affection.

The first week or two of you coming home dead on your feet and passing out on the couch the moment you sat down passed… as well as they could for Logan. He wouldn’t force you to do anything you hadn’t agreed with, but God, is he starting to get antsy.

After way too long, in Logans opinion at least, he finally can’t take it anymore. Being the Loverboy he secretly is, he at least brings you to your shared bed before clambering on top of you again.

You’re just too exhausted to do much other than pet at his thighs, eyes already drooping, but his almost timid but so desperate begging keeps you awake longer than other days. When you sleepily agree, Logan kisses you so hungrily you almost lose your breath.

You stay somewhat awake in the beginning as he works your clothes off, being kind enough not to rip it even if logan really really wanted too. He knows its your work clothes, and you’ve scolded him enough times about ripping up your clothes at this point.

It was hard to even really stay awake as Logan worked you hard, just enough for him to slide down on you, his groans sounding like he was a starving man having his first bite of food in weeks. Had you not been struggling to keep your eyes open, you might have teased him.

When Logan leans forward and just rests his weight on you, that was the last straw. Who could stay awake with such a warm heavy weight pressing down on them, like your own personal weighted wolverine blanket.

Logan didn’t even really feel the need to ride you or get himself off, he just wanted to be close to you like this, to feel you inside him and press up against you. So having slowly doze off under him wasn’t a bother, especially as you mumble for him to just keep going.

Most of the night is majorly used by Logan to just tuck his face into your neck and huff your scent, or rub his own against you. You will wake up with beard burns, sorry but those at the rules. Theres probably some chew marks and hickeys mixed in there too, Logans possessive.

You do wake up with very sore hips the next morning. In the comics he’s 300 lbs, but that’s with his comic height, so if were going off of movie Logan he weighs even more. And no matter how much you work out, that’s gotta make you sore.

You don’t really mind though, especially as Logan makes sure you massage your hips in ways you didn’t even know were possible. This also just gives Logan an excuse to lick and gnaw at you more, and to rub more of his scent into you, and yours into him.

Yes, you limp that day, and probably the day after. Luckily you’re able to work from home. This of course also means you have Logan on your dick the entire time, even if its just your mutant lover crawling under the blanket to get his mouth on you.

[hotchnerwrites]

I loved your fic Warmth!! You write caretaker Hotch so well, I would love to read more cute or caring moments where Hotch is looking out for a shy reader!!! Little things like giving his jacket, watching closely on cases, the sweet stuff!! you killed it

Soft Spot

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, no use of (y/n), no continuous plot it's fragmented stories tbh

A/N: Thank you so much!!! So very glad you enjoyed Warmth <3 I spent all day indulgently dreaming of the things he'd do OMGGG anyways this is the product. It was supposed to be a 5+1 but i think a headcanon-inspired style suited this story better where you kinda see fragments of their daily interactions. I hope you like it and it's what you imagined!!! Enjoy reading, mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Send me stuff :)

You didn’t want to be a burden. You liked putting people first. It felt good to be in a caretaker role yourself. You liked bringing Reid his coffee loaded with ten packets of sugar. You liked bringing Garcia collectables for her desk. You liked giving Rossi your chair if the room was one too short. It didn’t matter that it sometimes came at the cost of your discomfort. You’d never liked being the centre of attention anyway.

But perhaps that begged the age-old question— who cared for the caretaker?

●・○・●・○・●・

The first time it happened was on the jet. 

It was a late-night flight, nothing new. But the AC in the cabin must have malfunctioned that day. It was brutally chilly, and since you were returning from a case in Florida, you had nothing but summer clothes. Your tea wasn’t doing much, so you occasionally walked the length of the cabin, trying to be quiet so the others could sleep. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask for something as simple as a jacket.

But Hotch saw. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork— he just held it out as you passed his seat again. His arm barred you from dodging past, so you reluctantly draped it over your shoulders. Just five minutes, then you’d return it.

Maybe he heard your thoughts because right then, he said, “Keep it on.” It wasn’t a polite request; he had already decided for you.

But it’s Hotch so you listen.

No one questioned where you got the jacket from when the jet landed. But you catch JJ’s faint smile from the corner of your eye when she sees the jacket hanging from your desk chair the next day.

Hotch never asked for it back.

●・○・●・○・●・

You’re a great agent in terms of fieldwork. The whole team trusted you. Of course, you wouldn’t be there if they didn’t, but it felt nice to realise that nevertheless. 

But blind trust didn’t mean Hotch wouldn’t watch you like a hawk.

It was probably just a coincidence. You always ended up paired with him when heading into dangerous situations. He never hovered or anything, he always let you do your thing. But it was the way he positioned himself slightly ahead of you when clearing rooms, a silent wall between you and any potential threats,

And then there were the crime scene situations. You could hold it together; your poker face an acquired skill. But some cases hit home. You never let it show too much, but Hotch noticed when your fingers curled into tight fists, shoulders going rigid.

He never called you out on it, or put you on the spot.

Instead, his voice came through the comms before you and Morgan breached a suspect’s house. “Be careful.”

He said it to both of you, but somehow, you knew it was meant for you.

And later, when the case was over, and you were sitting on the back of an ambulance with a shallow cut on your arm from a scuffle, he was there.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “No. It’s fine.”

He didn’t argue, but he sat next to you long after the paramedic finished patching you up.

●・○・●・○・●・

You didn’t even realise when it started.

One morning, you had walked into the bullpen, and there had been a steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk. Just the way you took it. You blinked at it, confused, but you assumed Garcia was behind it.

But it happened again the next day. Then the day after. And again the following day.

It was never a big thing or a grand gesture. Just a simple takeaway cup with your order etched into the side. When you finally thanked Garcia, she looked utterly bemused.

“Oh, sugar. That’s not me,” she’d said, a grin stretching across her face.

No way.

So the next time it happened, you glanced towards Hotch’s office. Sure enough, he was already looking at you. But he never said a word. He didn’t even smile. He just looked down at his files and kept writing.

You sipped the coffee at your desk slowly, savouring every sip, willing it to last longer. The warmth spreading across your chest had nothing to do with the drink.

●・○・●・○・●・

The rain had been terrible all week. Sick of fighting your way through public transport where everything was slippery and wet, you had treated yourself to an Uber. You didn’t have an umbrella while you waited, so you stood under the awning in front of the building. You’d make a run for it when the car showed up.

As you scanned the road in front of you for your designated car, a black umbrella swung open over your head.

You turned, startled, only to find Hotch standing behind you, holding it up without a word. His coat was getting wetter, but he didn’t look like he cared.

“You’ll get soaked,” you said, noting how he had angled it more over you than himself.

“I’ll be all right,” he replied simply.

And that was that.

He waited till your car came, and then he helped you get in, ensuring not a drop touched your head as you bundled yourself into the backseat. 

It wasn’t until you were almost at your front door that you realised— he’d never had an umbrella with him when he came to work this morning.

Hotch had taken the time to find one— just for you.

●・○・●・○・●・

The Denver case was a disaster. 

Too many close calls. Too many what-ifs.

Sleep was difficult that night. You stared at the ceiling of your hotel room, letting yourself dissociate. But a buzz from your phone snapped you out of your reverie. When you checked your screen, there was just one text message.

You did well today. - A.H.

You stared at those four words for too long. No over-the-top reassurances, no unnecessary fluff. Just an acknowledgement.

You never responded, but the next morning on the jet, he caught your eye and nodded, ever so slightly. Like he knew you saw the message. Like he knew it helped.

And maybe, just maybe, it had eased your worries a bit that day.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[22ayla21]

Can I request Amphoreus man's react to their wife calling their name in the tone they know 'they fuck up' and be send to sleep on the couch. I love men who sometimes scared of their wives.

Bonus if their children join them on the couch make them think maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Feel free to skip and I really love your writing ❤✨

"Honey, we need to talk"

They screwed up and realized they were now sleeping on the couch.

As soon as he hears her voice, cold, even and too calm, a shiver runs down his spine. He doesn't immediately understand what he did wrong, but he knows for sure that it is not up for discussion - he screwed up. And a harsh sentence awaits him.

He doesn't even try to argue. No, seriously, Mydei is certainly a mighty warrior and one of the strongest on Amphoreus, but he gives in to his wife immediately. His best strategies are submission and attempts at rehabilitation.

When he enters the bedroom, a neatly folded blanket and pillow are already waiting for him. He sighs heavily, realizing his fate for the coming night. Maybe if he is especially nice tomorrow, he will be allowed to return to bed?

But the real blow of fate is when the children come running to him. First one, then the other. They jump on the couch, make themselves comfortable next to him. "Daddy, we are with you!" They are so confident in their support for him in exile that he doesn't even know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, they don't do it for no reason. First, they love spending time with their father. Second, they are simply curious about what he did wrong. The children begin to whisper theories: "Maybe you forgot the anniversary?", "Or did you accidentally break something important?", "Or maybe you ate the last piece of pie that Mom saved for later?"

The most annoying thing is that sometimes they guess. And when they happily exclaim: "Aha, so it's about the pie!", he understands that his life has become more difficult at that moment. His wife, passing by, only casts an expressive glance at him. He makes pitiful puppy eyes, but she already knows all his tricks. Not today, darling.

In the end, he resigns himself. He hugs the kids, wraps them in a blanket, and thinks that maybe this night on the couch wasn't so bad. But the next day, he does everything he can to earn forgiveness. Breakfast in bed, compliments, apologies - the whole package. And if he's lucky, he'll spend the next night in their shared bed, not in exile.

When his wife says his name in a certain tone – calm, but with such a hidden subtext that even the animals in the house tense up – Anaxagoras immediately understands: he has screwed up big time. Of course, he could object, try to defend his position, but no... He is too smart to push. Better to take the sofa in advance.

While he settles on the sofa, he thinks about what exactly he did wrong. Maybe he forgot something important? Or went too far in an argument? Or accidentally broke something that his wife valued again?

The children, noticing that their father is sleeping on the sofa, drag their pillows and blankets with smiles, settling down next to him. They say that they just don’t want him to feel lonely, but Anaxa suspects that they just like watching him being “punished”.

As they lie in the darkness, the children whisper: “Daddy, what did you do?” Anaxa is proudly silent – even if he himself is not entirely sure. But if his youngest son hugs him and says: "I still love you, dad," he feels a little better.

In the morning, his wife passes by, watching the "couch meeting" with a slight smile. The irony is that she is not surprised – she already knew that the children would be on their father's side. The next day passes under the sign of reconciliation: flowers, favorite sweets, hugs. In the end, he values his wife and does not want to sleep on the couch for long.

However, sometimes he still forgets and again finds himself in exile on the couch. But this is only part of family life – and he does not mind, because now he knows that he has allies in the form of children.

As soon as he heard his wife calling his name in a low, dangerously calm voice, everything inside him sank. He immediately understood that something had gone wrong. He turns around and sees her: crossed arms, slightly narrowed eyes and this expectant silence. No screaming, no emotion - and this is much more frightening.

A list of all his actions today scrolls through his head. Where did he screw up? What exactly did he do? Or, even more frightening, what didn’t he do?

He tries to justify himself, but her slight nod towards the sofa immediately makes him resign himself. A deep sigh, a proud bow... and a slow retreat to his place of exile.

When he has already settled down on the sofa, first one child appears next to him, then the second.

“Is mom very angry?” the eldest whispers.

“Will she forgive you?” the middle one asks.

Phainon only sighs and hugs them both.

It looks pathetic, but cozy in its own way. In the end, he lies on the couch with a couple of children's heads on his chest, knowing that at least he won't suffer alone. In the morning, when the wife sees this picture - her husband and children sleeping peacefully on the couch - her anger softens slightly. Maybe he has a chance to get his place in the bed back... but he may have to work a little more to atone for his guilt.