#even with the opportunity to grow it back to the way it was

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[moody-alcoholic]

CW: stalking behaviour, over protective 141, fluff.

“See her coming out now.” Ghost says over the radio.  

“Afirm.” Soap’s voice comes back almost instantly. Ghost watches as you stumble over the pavement, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. It’s almost 3am, and most clubs are closing. The friend you came out with left an hour ago. Now you’re alone, drunk, swaying through the streets of London on a busy Saturday night. 

“Watch your distance Soap, no need to spook her.” Price says.

“Copy.” Soap says as he weaves his way through the crowd of clubbers spilling out of the various nightclubs and bars. He keeps his head low, making sure to keep a safe distance from you. They’re not going to lose sight of you though. That’s what Ghost is for. 

He slips between the crowds on the other side of the street, slipping into the shadows every opportunity he gets. 

“She’ll take the next right. Don’t lose her.” Price says as you pick up your pace slightly. He’ll be driving to the next location, ready to pick you up at a moment's notice. You pull your phone out, typing while you struggle to keep your balance. Ghost lost track of how many drinks you had. 

It was a celebration after all, your friend getting a big promotion, she took you to one of the fanciest bars in the city. Even though she left early you still seemed to be having fun, helping yourself to another drink before finally deciding to call it a night. 

The streets off the main road are darker, quieter. Less room for error.

Suddenly you make a sharp turn, almost throwing your body down a dark alleyway. Ghost’s lost visual, he speeds up his strides, he has no idea if the alley is a dead end or not. 

“Soap, don’t lose her.” Ghost orders panic building in his chest. There’s no reply, now Ghost can’t even see Soap. “Soap, confirm visual on the target.” 

Ghost jogs to the next street over, nothing but shuttered buildings and the odd person heading home. 

“Stand-by.” The seconds feel like they’re ticking on for hours. “Eyes on target, she’s-” 

The line goes silent. 

“She’s just throwing up, seems like she’s had a few too many.” Soap says. Ghost can almost hear the collective sigh as he slips back into the darkness waiting for you to emerge from the alley. When you do you seem even more unsteady on your feet. 

“Keep it tight, she’s got another main strip to cross.” Price says. He’ll be moving on already. The amount of times you’ve walked this route. The amount of times they’ve practiced this route, it’s almost like a rehearsed play they could do in their sleep. 

You move on weaving through the growing crowds of the next cluster of clubs. They seem busier than the last. You work through them quickly, Soap keeping his distance, pushing through people without a care. He has one motive, one mission; never lose sight of you. 

As you make it to the quieter end of the street a group of lads cat-call you. You brush it off waving at them as you skip over to the next turn. Almost home. 

“ETA 10 minutes.” Ghost says hugging the shadows on the opposite side of the street. 

“Copy,” Price says, he will be in his final position. For the next few minutes the walk goes smoothly, you’re almost home, almost safe. 

“Got a guy on her six, just overtook me.” Soap says. Ghost’s eyes flick over in an instant. 

“I see.” Ghost says, watching as the man’s pace slows. “Hang back Soap. I got eyes.” 

Ghost doesn’t even hear a reply, his eyes digging into the man now following a few steps behind you. You seem to notice too, quickly taking a peak over your shoulder, pulling your jacket around you tighter. You’re almost there, almost home. 

“Want me to grab him?” Soap asks. As he says it you pick up your speed, your body straightens up. 

“Negative.” 

You turn into the front garden of the house, shutting the gate behind you. The hairs rise on the back of your neck as you fumble with the key pressing it into the lock and opening the door. The feeling of being followed suddenly fades as you make it inside, locking the door behind you. 

“Hey, welcome home.” Kyle says, sticking his head out the kitchen. You smile walking over to him and wrapping your hands around his neck.

“It’s late, you didn’t have to wait up.” you say pressing your lips on his. He kisses you back, his hands gripping your waist. 

“Needed to make sure you got home safe.” You hear John say. You break from the kiss looking over at him sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of tea in front of him. You walk over wrapping your arms around him from behind squeezing him. 

The smell of tea fills your nose and makes you thirsty. 

“Cuppa? Or bed?” Kyle asks, walking over, placing his hand on the small of your back. You hum looking round the kitchen.

“Where’s Johnny and Simon?” You ask. 

“Sleeping, they’re not used to staying up as late as you are.” John chuckles. You smile looking up at Kyle.

“Bed.” You say. He smiles back at you kissing the top of your head. 

“C’mon, I’ll give you a hand.” Kyle says pulling on your waist turning you to the stairs. John hears you giggling as you stumble up the steps to the first floor. A few seconds later the back door slowly opens, Johnny and Simon slipping in. John raises an eyebrow, quickly checking behind him to make sure you’re definitely gone. 

“You better hurry up, I’m pretty sure she’s looking to climb into your bed tonight.” John says as Simon and Johnny look at eachother. Johnny's smiles, taking his coat off and leaving his radio on the kitchen island. 

“Get some rest cap, you look exhausted.” Johnny says, patting him on the shoulder as he passes him. John sighs looking up at Simon. 

“Another successful night.” John says as Simon puts his radio down. 

“Always.” Simon smiles.

_______

👏zero👏self👏control👏

[heavyhitterheaux]

Love Bites (NSFW)

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: You bite your husband out of affection that leads to something else

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by a gorgeous anon 😍

Series Masterlist

Do not engage if you are underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Did… baby…. Did you just bite me?” Joe asked as he glanced over at you noticing that you had now moved your position and was laying your head on his shoulder.

After you had bitten it of course.

“No.”

“Then what did I just feel on my shoulder? You know… the one that you're laying on?”

“I don't know. Beats me.” You replied as Joe was still eyeing you.

“I don't believe you.” He told you as he turned back to the movie that was playing on the television.

“Okay? And what am I supposed to do with that information?” You asked him as you picked your head up to slowly bite down once more. This time on his upper arm.

“BABY!”

“I can't help it! You look so biteable today! Well everyday but I have to stop myself because I would literally bite you for hours. I watched your presser and went FERAL.”

“You literally go feral from the moment you open your eyes. And is that why you sent me a text calling me a whore?”

“Says the person who got me pregnant. And yes those are MY ARMS not anyone else's!” You told him as you softly bit down again except this time leaving a kiss on the same spot in your path.

Joe didn't say anything in response except slip his tank top over his head and throw it across the room as he eyed you.

“Get over here and sit on my lap.”

“Oh?”

“Are you going to continue to stare at me or do what I told you?” Joe asked as you felt a light smack to your ass since your body was already slightly turned towards him.

He didn't even bother waiting for you to move before he literally pulled you onto his lap.

Several kisses were placed on your lips as he reached underneath the t-shirt that you were wearing and started to play with the waistband of your thong.

To give him easier access, the t-shirt was pulled over your head and added to the pile that Joe had originally started. Seeing you weren't wearing a bra, Joe smirked and began to place kisses on both of them, but before he did, little bites were placed on your sensitive skin first.

The wetness between your thighs began to increase and you knew on days like this that you needed for your husband to give you his undivided attention.

Joe's mouth found its way back to yours as your thong was pulled to the side and his fingers started to lightly graze across your folds making you moan as one of his fingers was placed inside.

He wasted no time in breaking the kiss and telling you to stand up so that he could get rid of the rest of his clothes along with the last piece of clothing that was covering you.

As he put you back in your original spot on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck as you slowly eased your way down making a moan escape from both of your mouths.

When you got into a comfortable pace and began to ride him, Joe took this opportunity to leave small bites accompanied with kisses all across your body where he could reach.

“Mmm, baby.” You breathed out as you threw your head back in pleasure and Joe held onto your hips tighter.

He then placed one of your nipples in his mouth and bit down lightly before he began to suck on it making the moans escaping from your lips grow louder.

“Shiiiit.”

“You better ride me and act like you want it. How bad do you want to cum, baby?” Joe whispered in your ear and your only response was riding him faster.

“That's what I fucking thought.” He told you as you felt another light smack to your ass.

Joe could tell you were tiring out and decided to help you from underneath. After a while his movements became sloppy and both of you hit your peak at the same time.

Your arms were still wrapped around Joe's neck as you were trying to catch your breath and moved to rest your head on his shoulder.

As he was rubbing small circles along your back, you lifted your head to kiss him, but as you did, you also bit down at the same time and could feel Joe smirk as you continued to kiss him.

“If this is the result of me biting you, I need to do it more often.”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby. Now lay down because I'm nowhere near done with you.”

[levans44]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[ryebread0605]

please please I beg you Jamil with a fetish for corruption please

Damn yall really got me exposing my kinks publicly lmao

I will warn, this could be read as dubcon so be aware! Continuing to read means you acknowledge this (as, in this, the reader is innocent towards sexual matters)

with that out of the way, enjoy!

You were a breath of fresh air in Night Raven College. Soft spoken, kind to everyone, and as sweet as honey. Your smile could make even Sebek smile back, even with his hatred of humans. But the one person who had his eyes on you the most was Jamil Viper.

To him, you were everything he wished he could have. Someone who had spent countless nights fixing up dishes for Kalim, someone who came to every one of his games and cheered him on (sure, you were cheering on the whole team, but you cheered for him the loudest in his mind). You represented a light in his life that he wanted. 

So why then did he sit here thinking of you in such crude ways? Why did he think of the sight of you beneath him, eyes blurred with tears of pleasure causing makeup to run down your perfect skin? Thoughts of you shaking and begging for more, not understanding fully what he’s doing but knowing you want more of it. He had to have you. He had to be the one to teach you. 

When an opportunity presented itself one night as the two of you were cooking for tomorrow’s party, he couldn’t let the chance go to waste. He started small, his hand lingering a bit too long over yours, soft brushes against your backside, pressing himself a bit closer than normal to you. You noticed but thought nothing of it as his movements had changed drastically since the day you met him.

But he couldn’t let you think it was a simple coincidence. He needed to let you know it was all intentional. He needed to give you a chance to reject him. To think long and hard about what you wanted to do about this. So he moved his hand to your knee, his fingertips sliding over your stockings, the lightest caresses. Your skin was soft and warm, and he just wanted to touch more of you. He needed to touch more of you.

“(Name),” he began softly, whispering into your ear, “aren’t you warm with all those layers on?” 

The question barely seemed out of place to you, it was quite warm in the kitchen afterall. So, with a bit of a nod, you slipped the cardigan you had on off of your arms and placed it neatly over the chair nearby. Jamil smirked at this, the look of pure innocence in your eyes only made the fire in his stomach grow more. 

He had to see more.

And so, a few minutes later as you turned towards him with the spatula he asked for, he ‘accidentally tripped’ and spilt vanilla extract down the front of your white button up school uniform top.

“Oh Sevens (name), I’m so sorry I’ll try to get it out” he knew full well what he was doing as he rubbed the stain further into the shirt, using the opportunity as a chance to feel your chest a bit. As the stain spread, he continued to fake being apologetic of the ‘accident’. 

“I’m so sorry (name), I’ll grab you one of my shirts and clean that one right away” he hated having to pretend and lie to you in the same way he had to lie and pretend to Kalim but in this case, he was actually gaining something from it. 

A soft laugh came from you as you simply smiled and unbuttoned your shirt, “it’s alright Jamil! Accidents happen, I’ll just be more careful next time!” He couldn’t believe his eyes as you innocently lay the shirt on top of your cardigan, now left in just a bra. He thought the most he would see was you in one of his shirts, and now he couldn’t ignore the tight feeling of his pants.

Sensing his discomfort, you turned to him and tilted your head, “is everything alright Jamil?” A thought, one so perverted and wrong, formed in his mind as a smile made its way to his lips, “actually my dear, I have a bit of a problem. And since you caused it, would you be the one to help me solve it?”

And that’s how you found yourself here, kneeling in front of him as he guided your head gently to take his cock in your mouth. It was a foreign feeling to you, but the praises he gave you made something inside you want more. And the way you looked up at him with those big, adorable eyes made him struggle to hold back. He knew he had to take it slow, and right now this was more than enough. 

He talked you through how to suck him off right, telling you which parts made him feel best and where to put your hands. The feeling of your warm mouth around his cock was heavenly, his head thrown back in pleasure and low groans of pleasure coming from his lips. 

“Just like that, you’re so good for me (name), just a little more~” he ran his fingers through your hair gently before suddenly pushing your head all the way down, a muffled gasp coming from your lips as hot ropes of cum poured down your throat before he pulled your head off his now not as hard cock. The way your tongue lolled out of your mouth when you softly panted, his cum dribbling down your chin, your eyes staring right at him, Sevens it was addicting to see. 

“Now my dear, it’s my turn to show you how good things can feel~”

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a tiktok that i will come back and link when i'm not at work anymore lol

Midway through December, Eddie’s publishing house puts on a holiday party at their HQ all the way in NYC.

Okay – all the way might be a little dramatic. New York isn’t too far a haul from where Eddie and Steve put down roots in Massachusetts, but with three hellions under the age of seven, anything outside of their typical routine is a stretch.

They’re making it work though – anything for an opportunity to get some childless time together – and they’ve got Robin and Nancy watching the girls so they can stay overnight in the city, and they’re getting all dolled up too (Steve is wearing an enormous cableknit sweater with a turtleneck underneath and, seriously, Eddie had no idea that many layers could still be that fucking hot until he met Steve). 

Normally Eddie wouldn’t give a shit (he likes to bring a kind of come as you are type of vibe to the function, typically), but he’s actually looking forward to an evening spent wearing clothes that aren’t covered in snot and craft glitter and food.

He’s wearing these dark grey plaid trousers and he’s got a silk-ish black button-down on over a black undershirt, tucked in and unbuttoned simultaneously, and he’s topping it all off with a positively ancient leather jacket that he’s had for longer than he can even remember.

He looks pretty fuckin’ snazzy, if he’d say so himself.

Eddie is putting the finishing touches on his look – selecting the perfect assortment of rings and chains – when the door pushes open and his four-year-old, Robbie, enters the room.

Robbie pulls a confused kind of face as she looks him up and down.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s that look for?”

Robbie’s still got her nose all scrunched up as she says, “What happened to you?”

And now Eddie is offended because he actually thinks he looks pretty great, thanks, and he could do without judgement from his pre-schooler (who still gets dressed with her shirt on backwards half the time, just for the record).

“Amelia Robin, you cannot be serious.”

“What happened to you?” she repeats.

“Oh, you’re gonna double down on that?”

Robbie doesn’t even bother responding, just skitters back out from whence she came or whatever. He can hear Robin just behind him trying not to laugh.

“Did you tell her to say that?” he asks her, because it’s far from outside the realm of possibility.

“I swear on all that is holy I didn’t,” she snickers, “That was totally her.”

Eddie sighs.

“Y’know, Steve’s got all this big talk about oh, she’s you, Ed, she’s just like you,” Eddie says, his voice going all high and mocking, “But that – that was pure Steve.”

They head downstairs not too long later where Steve is walking Nancy through the insane binder he stores all of the girls' info in.

“Hey,” Steve says, a grin growing on his face, “Look at you.”

“Eugh,” Robin groans, “Can you guys leave already and be gross outside my line of sight.”

“You look good as hell,” Steve ignores her as he tugs just a little on the hem of Eddie’s coat.

“Can you tell your daughter that, please.”

[wingedshadowfan]

comparing caitlyn to real life dictators will never not be funny to me because bffr she'd be such a girlflop dictator among them are we kidding??

0 megalomania or grandomania, in fact she never wanted to be in that position of power in the first place and now that she was, she wanted it all to be over expeditiously - she really only wanted to catch jinx and had no beef w/ zaun beyond that??

tired, underslept, stressed, work in the morning (read: mediating shit betw piltover's guilds/houses and dealing w/ the noxians and ambessa doing wtv she wanted behind her back), misunderstood and deeply not in the mood for maddie's advances (read: having one bitch and not even liking her)

a sniper and yet shown exclusively using her net ammunition and specifically saying "months of peacekeeping occupation, sweat and tears" no blood girl?? she was also not shown using the grey again although she easily could've

against the noxians' growing demands for fortification (but mentioning that there would have been enforcer casualties w/out them, so no casualties yet? makes you think the level of violence used might not have been deadly on either side)

holding ambessa accountable for her right hand man rictus instigating violence (being aware of his brutality and fearing leaving vi w/ him during their double-cross) and also telling her, a literal warmonger, "why is violence always the justification for peace?" bold little one alright

openly distrusting ambessa ("the blade cuts both ways"), attacking ambessa from the back during sparring while she was lecturing her on guile (not at all subtle foreshadowing), spying on her/rictus/singed (read: looking for an opportunity to double cross her or spoil her plans before she reunited w/ vi)

calling singed a monster and pulling up on him with a sniper rifle (surprising ambessa who was looking to use him and his knowledge as a weapon) for what he'd done to his test subjects but also to the undercity by creating shimmer, which she'd dismantled

threatening singed w/ rotting in the stillwater solitary confinement prison cell vi was being kept in, the use of which she'd forbidden (and him not giving a fuck lmao) bcuz she deemed it too cruel

[matrixbearer2024]

I had an ask about this regarding my AU but I don't know what happened to it after I saw it in my inbox cuz it might be tumblr being funny but essentially it was just:

"Does West Coast Tech still exist? Why didn't Ford go to West Coast Tech?"

Short answer is, he simply didn't want to in this AU. West Coast Tech is among the Ivy Leagues in my AU and BMU still exists too, it still has the prominent reputation of being a back-up university.

In this AU ultimately Ford never really developed the mindset that he was "special" and had to make a point of it or prove that he was somebody. Because of their upbringing, there wasn't a "preference" others had towards either twin because Filbrick disliked them equally and their academic and extracurricular skills basically made them break even. There wasn't a stupid twin/smart twin between them and Caryn made damn sure about it.

Possibly the only thing that most people say about the two is that they're "smart but stupid" because of all the trouble they get wrapped up in doing whatever or being too curious for their own good.

The teachers or coaches didn't favor one twin over the other either and they were generally liked by their peers. Ford didn't end up with that sense of arrogance that you can typically see in canon where he believes he is above the rest and he has to be and Stan didn't develop that inferiority complex compared to his sibling.

In this AU, Ford had the option to go to West Coast Tech but even throughout senior high he already knew that a good university could really only get you so far. He was a sharp tool yes, but... he didn't think that edge would really push him far. He had an edge, but it wasn't much.

There's a lot of gifted people nowadays and even good credentials aren't going to guarantee a decent job or a stable career, that's if you can even get a job right away.

The science project and everything was still what gave him the opportunity and Stan even congratulated him for scoring that high but Ford wasn't really pleased? I'm not sure with the word but he wasn't exactly happy with the circumstance. They didn't fight over it considering all throughout highschool they kept talking about potential careers and whatnot.

It didn't help that Filbrick encouraged the idea of West Coast Tech because of how much money Ford could potentially make. Even so, Ford was stupidly skeptical after seeing the pamphlet and researching online. Realistically it seemed too good to be true, and he couldn't even sleep on it from how much he kept thinking.

Stan knew he would likely take longer to figure things out but he'd get there, and he was willing to let Ford just reach for the stars as he always did. They still have that dream of sailing around the world as adults but it's a lot more defined and realistic compared to how they planned it in canon. They're thinking, work hard, get rich, then retire early to sail and travel around the world. If their paths split early, they'll find a way back when they grow up. They always do.

It's something they constantly talk about because they both desperately want to move out after graduation just to get the hell away from Filbrick. It doesn't matter where they end up they just need to get away.

Even so, Ford mulled over the offer and decided to visit the university before making his decision. His gut feeling was both parts right and wrong, sure— what he thought was too good to be true was the actual reality of the school and it's pursuit of academic excellence, but he was right to be skeptical after he noticed the snobbish and arrogant nature most of the students have. It's a common thing for ivy leagues to have that mentality that they're the cream of the crop. The best there is. Not everybody is like this of course, but sometimes the loudest crowd doesn't always have to be the majority.

It does take a lot of work to get to their level and to stay at that level but Ford couldn't see himself in that school. He didn't want to allow himself into that crowd where he knew it would potentially make him worse off as a person. Also, he had the entirety of undergrad to get through, if he so much as wanted to transfer to an Ivy League to get his masters or doctorate he knew he could! So what was the rush?

University was a stepping stone and he had time, he knew he could do a lot but he didn't need to rush. So... Ford turned down the offer.

Sadly, it was pretty much as chaotic(bad) as you'd think.

Of course, that meant looking for another university instead and it was mostly Stan who did the research this time because Ford was too burnt out and sulky after everything. He knew he made the choice that would inherently grant him more happiness, but it doesn't always feel like that right away and it didn't help that the walls were paper thin. It's hard to fall asleep to your parents yelling and throwing things around in a fight because of a decision you made.

Both of them had generally pretty good track records academically and a long list of achievements to follow it so it wasn't hard for them to find universities either. That's how they ended up with Graviton University in Oregon, it's not an Ivy-league but it's not as bad as BMU either. It really is just a stepping stone in the middle, your performance practically shapes the path you walk on.

The Stan twins have a choice in this AU mostly because they could also afford it, take note- the family is financially comfortable in this AU because Filbrick is one hell of an unscrupulous businessman but very successful. They're not rich but they're comfortable, and that's a lot in the state of the economy nowadays.

Ford has choices in this AU and it's also a very big part to play in why he could turn down the offer at the time and not look back at it with regret. Stan also being on even ground beside his brother is why they don't ever fight about such topics either, he's not ever chasing after Ford— he's standing right next to him.

The subtle differences from canon can genuinely just make a world of difference in the bigger picture. But yeah, it's why I had them go to Graviton University instead. It's a middle-ground and it's also how I can essentially get them to stay in gravity falls instead of ending up elsewhere when I cranked the "weirdness" level pretty low. There's still bits and bobs of it around, but not to the degree of the canon show I would think.

I hope this generally clears up how I wrote or my thought process as to why I didn't have Ford reach for the stars despite having that option and why the Stan Twins are generally this tight knit in my AU.

[izzymissi]

Lady Dimitrescu x FemReader, very sweet fluffy fic

-Requests Open-

The sun poured through the grand windows of the Castle Dimitrescu sitting room, illuminating the intricate carvings of the oak walls and the glinting glassware on the side table. You stood near Alcina, your fingers idly fidgeting with the apron tied snugly around your waist. The two of you had stolen a quiet moment together, away from the duties of the castle and the watchful eyes of the other maids.

Alcina was, as always, the very picture of poise and elegance, her towering frame draped in a flowing black gown that seemed to shimmer faintly in the sunlight. She held a delicate glass of wine in her hand, the deep red liquid swirling lazily as she glanced down at you with that signature teasing smirk. Her golden eyes glinted with curiosity, as if silently amused by your flustered demeanor.

You couldn’t help but stare at her—how could you not? Her beauty, her presence, her confidence—it was overwhelming in the best way. And, as always, that familiar ache bloomed in your chest. You wanted to kiss her. Right now. You didn’t need permission; you were her partner, after all. But the idea of asking, of voicing such a simple desire, made your cheeks burn.

Instead, you made a decision—a bold one for someone of your stature. You stepped closer to her, tilting your head up as you leaned toward her lips. Alcina raised an elegant brow, her smirk widening into a full grin as she watched your sudden burst of determination.

“Oh? What are you doing, my Darling?” she drawled, her voice like honey, smooth and slow, with an undercurrent of teasing.

You didn’t answer—words were too difficult when she looked at you like that. Instead, you pressed up onto your tiptoes, stretching as far as you could manage to close the distance between your lips and hers.

But it wasn’t enough.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you strained, your arms awkwardly reaching out to her shoulders for balance. Alcina’s low, amused chuckle filled the room, and her free hand came to rest lightly on your waist, steadying you.

“My, my,” she purred, her smirk growing. “Is this your attempt at seduction, darling? You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Her words made your face flush even more, but you were undeterred. You pushed up on your toes again, determined to prove you could do it, only for her to tilt her head back ever so slightly, maintaining that frustrating distance between you.

“Alcina!” you whined softly, pouting up at her.

“Yes, my Draga?” she replied with mock innocence, the corners of her lips twitching as though she were holding back a laugh.

“You’re being mean!” you accused, huffing in frustration.

Alcina’s laughter filled the room, rich and melodious, and she leaned down just a little, enough to tease you further but still not enough to let you succeed. “Mean? Oh, darling, I’m merely enjoying the show.”

You groaned, half in embarrassment and half in desperation, as you tried once more to bridge the gap between you. Your feet wobbled slightly on your tiptoes, and Alcina’s hand tightened on your waist, steadying you. Her amusement was palpable, but so was her fondness, her golden eyes soft as she watched your antics.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of playful torment, Alcina let out an exaggerated sigh, as though you had left her no choice. “Alright, little one,” she said, her tone still laced with amusement. “Allow me to make it easier for you.”

To your surprise, she set her wine glass down on a nearby table, her movements slow and deliberate, and then—graceful as always—she knelt before you. The sight of the ever-regal Lady Dimitrescu kneeling on the floor of the sitting room, her eyes glimmering with playful mischief, left you momentarily speechless.

“Well?” she prompted, smirking up at you now, her expression still full of teasing affection. “Go on, my darling. I’ve made myself quite accessible, wouldn’t you say?”

You blinked, your face burning as you realized the opportunity she was giving you. Gathering your courage, you leaned into her, your hands gently cupping her face as you finally—finally—pressed your lips to hers.

The kiss was soft and sweet, her lips warm and inviting against your own. Her hands slid around your waist, pulling you a little closer, and you could feel the faint curve of her smile against your lips. When you finally pulled back, breathless and blushing, Alcina’s gaze was tender, her golden eyes filled with adoration.

“Was that so difficult, little one?” she teased, her voice low and playful.

You huffed, crossing your arms but unable to hide the shy smile tugging at your lips. “You made it difficult on purpose,” you accused.

Alcina chuckled, standing to her full, imposing height once more and effortlessly pulling you into her arms. “Perhaps I did,” she admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But you’re adorable when you’re flustered, Draga Mea.”

You buried your face in her chest, your cheeks burning once more as she held you close, her laughter rumbling softly in her chest.

[sanarsi]

hello, my dearest Nari 🧡

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving from the distance!)

ps almost sent you nudes

Father’s Love

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Life is a bitch that can surprise with reverse version of Joel’s nightmare. Warnings: angst, canon violence, child!reader Wordcount: 1,2k An: I wanted to write more so I don’t promise there won’t be a part 2. A wonderful plot twist was created in my head ugh. This is a part of this -> challenge by my lovely Aly (literally my muse) who almost!!! sent me dirty things.

Masterlist

Joel knew what he needed to survive.

As luck would have it, everything was within reach.

A working car, a gun and ammo, food supplies, and a few other things. The only thing standing in his way was a man, tall man and obviously well-trained, maybe a military? Joel had killed a lot of people and felt no inhibitions about doing it again, especially with such good loot waiting for him.

So he waited, hidden in the bushes, and silently just watched.

He wanted to wait until dark, maybe even until the man fell asleep, but the perfect opportunity presented itself earlier. The universe itself was giving him signs that he had to do it. And he had to do it now.

As quietly as he could, he reloaded his weapon, never taking his eyes off his enemy. The man sat with his back to him, completely unaware of anything, changing the bandage on his foot.

There was no better opportunity and Joel knew it. So he pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the forest and birds fled from nearby trees. He only watched as a limp body with a hole in its head fell to the ground. After that, there was dead silence.

He waited a moment, but definitely too short, before he decided to come out of hiding.

Maybe if he had stuck to his own principles back then he wouldn’t have done almost something he would regret for the rest of his life.

Hearing was faster than his sight at someone’s footsteps, he automatically aimed the gun in that direction. For a moment he didn’t know if he saw correctly when a child appeared in front of him. A little girl who was terrified and trembling with fear.

She looked exceptionally well-groomed. Unworn jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers that looked almost new. No scars or dirt on her face. But it was her eyes that gave away the most — she didn’t see much evil. She looked as if Joel was the first person to make her realize that such a thing really existed.

Joel let out a slow breath and relaxed his muscles as he looked at her longer and longer. He lowered the gun a bit and with every passing second he saw her more closely, clearly. He felt a growing weight in his chest, as if the consequences of his actions were looking at him with those big tearful eyes. He didn’t want to think about what appeared in his head at the thought of the child but when her gaze fell on the body lying a few feet behind him, he knew that the weight of guilt was just starting to crush him. Slowly and painfully.

“Daddy?” Her soft, breaking voice pierced the heavy silence. He shivered at the sound, so reminiscent of the one that followed him in his nightmares. Tears welled up in his eyes and he didn’t fight them when they started to roll down his cheeks.

Karma caught up with him in the worst possible way.

For the first time in several long years, he felt like he had failed again. Like his nightmare had become reality again, but this time, he was the one who caused all the evil.

He knew that with another burden he could not continue to live. He could not allow his nightmare to gain the strength to crush him.

So he let his instincts take over again.

“Hi kiddo,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice and managed a gentle smile. The girl met his gaze again. Tears refused to escape her eyes. “What’s your name?”

Joel watched as she clenched her fists tighter around the sleeves of her sweatshirt and shook her head, clearly not wanting to answer his question.

“’s all right,” he tried to assure her. As proof of his words, he slowly crouched down and tossed the gun aside. “See? I won’t hurt you.” He spread his arms in a friendly gesture and, despite the tears glistening on his cheeks, tried to look friendly.

You had to trust him. He had no other choice now.

“You seem like a smart girl.” He smiled wider. He almost managed to ignore the pain in his heart. “I’m sure your dad taught ya a lot of things, right?”

She nodded uncertainly. He tried to stop himself from moving too aggressively, not wanting to scare her. But the urge to grab her in his arms now and apologize for what he had done was overwhelming, almost unbeatable.

“Your daddy tell you how to cope when he can’t do it for ya?”

She denied again, “No.” Her soft and uncertain voice almost broke him in half.

He could hardly believe that after everything he had experienced, he found himself again in the same and yet completely different position as so many years ago. But life was a bitch.

“Can I show ya?” he asked, wanting to give her a choice, an illusory possibility, but she was just a child. A child he had hurt just as someone had hurt him.

Her chin quivered as she nodded, “’kay.” She was on the verge of tears. Her small body was shaking, whether from the cold or the emotion he didn’t know, so he barely managed to restrain himself from pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I know you’re a tough girl,” he praised her with a wide smile he was holding with all his strength. “You’re smart and I’m sure you could handle any obstacle, right?”

She listened to him carefully. She was fully focused on him and that made things much easier. She had to see only him, she couldn't look at the dead body lying behind him.

She couldn't.

“Mhm,” she murmured softly, clenching her fists tighter.

“Attagirl.” He laughed through his tears and took a deep, calming breath. “Your daddy said if he couldn’t take care of you,” he began slowly, moving closer to her. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t back down. “I have to do it for him.”

He stopped in front of her and watched her reaction. She seemed to process his words, as if she didn’t understand their meaning. Seeing her confusion, he slowly knelt down in front of her with a warm smile and watched the confusion in her eyes for a moment.

She was so small, so innocent and pure…

“So you are my daddy now?”

And he barely stopped himself from choking on his tears.

He sobbed, covering his mouth and nodded without thinking. He couldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t let you see his hesitation. So he was sure of his new role. He was sure that he had to become a father again.

And he became it the moment she pressed herself tightly against his chest, burying her face in his neck, and his arms closed her tightly.

He felt it. Again. The strength that came from holding a small being in his arms, someone who depended only on him. And this time, he knew he wouldn’t fail, can’t fail.

Tags: @syd-djarin @yorksgirl @puduvallee @luciaispunk @theoraekenslover @bbyanarchist

[nosyp]

Servant to Obsession

Warning = smut, religious guilt(?), sex before marriage ig

Pairing = Sunday x reader

Summary = As one of Sunday’s many devoted servants, you’re used to assisting him with his every task. But when his quiet obsession with you slowly turns into something far darker, your life begins to unravel. Everything changes when you come to him seeking forgiveness, and Sunday seizes the opportunity to make his desires known.

Word count = 3.8k

A/N = Sunday fic on sunday. MDNI, read at ur own will.

Story down below 👇

“Ugh!” 

“Excuse me!” 

“Sorry!” 

You had been running around all day, pushing through the crowds of people in the event. You could swear the heels of your feet were on fire from the amount of walking you had to do today. This wasn’t a rare occasion at all ever since you were hired by Sunday, you’d often be tasked with serving the guests at the party alongside many of your other co-workers. 

“Y/N! Bring out some more lost twilight, rouge era and mung bean soda!” a co-worker called out to you.

“O-oh on it!” you stammered while trying to balance the tray on your hand. Then, you quickly rushed over to the kitchen to grab some more drinks before having to go back out there.

The kitchen inside was a mess, everyone was yelling, food was being spilled everywhere and it was super crowded. On the outside, the masquerade might seem grand or luxurious but behind the scenes, it was chaotic. After grabbing the drinks, you went back out to the party to continue serving the guests.

“Good evening ladies, would you like some lost twilight?” you ask the group of ladies in the corner, tilting your tray enough to show them the array of drinks on your 

“Errr…. No thanks…” one of the ladies say, sending you away. 

‘That’s weird…’ you think to yourself as you were about to go on to pass more drinks. But before you even could, you saw your master, Sunday, walk over to you and your body froze as you waited to see where he was going.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sunday approached. The sight of him made you stiffen involuntarily. As always, he wore his usual calm, collected demeanor on him. But it wasn't like he ever paid attention to the servants, especially not ones like you. He had other things to worry about, other people to attend to.

“Could you handle the final preparations for closing?” Sunday asked you, his gaze passing over you briefly. His voice was calm, detached. 

Then, you snapped yourself out of your trance. “Yes, Master Sunday, right away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, despite the growing nervous feeling inside you.

Sunday gave you a quick, dismissive glance, before he nodded and turned away to speak to someone else. That fleeting moment sent a jolt through your body, one you quickly dismissed. There was no reason to read into it. He was just a man doing his job, and you were just a servant doing yours.

You quickly made your way to the back to gather the final orders and clear things out, pushing through the chaotic kitchen. 

Later, as the evening wound down, you made your way back to the front of the hall, observing the guests as they slowly began to leave. Most of the guests had already filtered out, but there were still a few lingering in groups, chatting or enjoying the last drinks of the night. Then, you suddenly spotted your boyfriend among them, talking to one of the other servants, a look of frustration plastered on his face as he talked to them.

He caught your eye and gave you a quick wave, a small smile forming on his lips. You felt a rush of relief at seeing him. Despite the madness of the event, you knew you’d get to spend a moment of peace with him after everything was over.

Then, when the other servant started to walk away, you slowly made your way to him. “Hey, how you doin’?” you ask him with a playful tone.

He chuckles at your tone and returns it back to you, “I’m doing good, how are you?”

You grin at his response, leaning against the counter as you both take a moment to catch your breath. "Surviving," you reply, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exhaustion. "Just another night in the chaos."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "You sure you don't need a break? You look like you’re about to pass out hon."

You smirk, the light teasing making the exhaustion a little more bearable. "I'll survive. But hey, when this is all over, you and I are getting out of here, right? A little peace and quiet... maybe some real food instead of whatever this event's calling 'dinner’.”

He grins, his expression softening. "Sounds perfect to me."

The conversation is light, comforting amidst the madness of the night. You both know the routine. Which is once everyone’s gone, you two can finally relax with no interruptions, just the two of you. A small promise to hold onto as the night winds down.

Ding!

You stepped inside the restaurant with your boyfriend, the bell above the door chiming lightly as you entered. The restaurant was quiet now, the loud chatter and clinking glasses replaced by the soft hum of a few patrons finishing up their late-night meals. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d just come from.

The bell above the restaurant’s entrance chimed softly as you and your boyfriend stepped inside, the noise of the party fading into the background. The atmosphere here was calm and warm, a sharp contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

As you both walked further in, you spotted an empty table near the window. Your boyfriend gave you a small grin, pointing toward it. “How about we grab that one?”

You nodded, relieved to finally settle into some peace. “Perfect, that’s exactly what I thought too” you replied.

You both made your way over, and he pulled out the chair for you with a smile before sitting across from you. The hustle of the night seemed far away now, and as you both sat down, it felt like the calmness you’d been craving.

He glanced at the menu, then back at you. “So, what are you thinking? You’re going for the usual?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “I’m feeling adventurous today. I might just try something new. How about you?”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’m sticking with the safe option. Can’t go wrong with the classics.”

You laughed. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, some of us know what we like.”

You leaned back in your chair, teasing him with a grin. “Guess I’ll be the one to break the mold then. You’ll just have to live vicariously through my bold choices.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to watch you dive into the unknown. What if it’s too much?”

“Then I’ll just have to suffer through it,” you said dramatically, putting on an exaggerated pout. “But I’ll survive. I’m tough.”

He laughed again, his eyes twinkling. “Sure you are... Just don’t come crying to me when your ‘adventurous’ pick turns out to be a disaster.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

The meal was quiet and relaxing, just the two of you enjoying each other's company without the chaos of the party or the stress of the night hanging over you. After finishing, you both paid the bill and left the restaurant, stepping back into the cool night air.

Your boyfriend walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours before he casually laced his fingers with yours. "You ready to call it a night?" he asked, his voice soft and comforting.

"Yeah," you replied with a tired smile. "It's been a long day."

The walk back to your apartment was peaceful, the streets quiet and empty. You talked about everything and nothing, the usual light banter filling the space between you. When you reached your door, your boyfriend leaned against the frame, looking at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

"Well, it’s about to end," he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer, feeling the comfort of being near him after the whirlwind of the evening. "Stay for a bit?" you asked, almost shyly.

He grinned, pushing himself off the door. "I thought you'd never ask."

You both stepped inside, the door closing softly behind you as you kicked off your shoes and relaxed into the comfort of your own space. 

“Hey?” your boyfriend suddenly said. 

“Hmm?” you hummed in response.

“Do you still have energy… for a little something?”

“Something?”

“You’ll see…”

And the rest of the night was a blur…

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred, stretching lazily, the light coaxing you out of the haze of sleep. Beside you, your boyfriend was still asleep, his tousled hair and half-closed eyes showing that he was still lost in his dreams.

But you... you didn’t feel at peace. Something was wrong.

As you shifted, you felt the dampness between your legs. With a sinking feeling, you lifted the blanket and saw it. The sticky fluid trailing down your thighs.

Oh, shit.

Panic shot through you. You bolted out of bed, rushing to the bathroom, the cold tiles sending a jolt of reality through your body. Your hands shook as you cleaned up, each motion feeling like a reminder of the promise you had made. The promise you had broken.

‘I was going to wait until marriage,’ you thought, a sick knot forming in your stomach. ‘Why did this happen? Why couldn’t I control myself?’

You hurriedly dressed and left, the walk to the church feeling unbearable. Every step echoed in your mind, reminding you of your mistake. You pulled your coat tighter, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled over you.

The streets were still quiet, the world slowly waking up around you. But you felt like an outsider in it. The calm rhythm of the morning seemed to mock you as you walked through the stillness. It felt like the universe knew what you’d done, knew you didn’t deserve this peace.

When the church came into view, its tall spires reaching toward the sky, you felt a small sense of relief. The building always brought you comfort, a place of sanctuary. You climbed the steps and entered, the cool, sacred air washing over you as you took a deep breath.

Inside, it was as you remembered—quiet, serene, filled with the scent of incense and aged wood. You made your way down the aisle, the familiar path a small comfort. Sitting in your usual seat, you closed your eyes, letting the stillness settle around you. The weight of the week began to lift, if only slightly.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw him.

Sunday.

He stood at the altar, but this time, it wasn’t the usual scene. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows cast a soft glow around him, making him look almost otherworldly. But something about it felt... off. His presence was different today.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. He smiled, a knowing, subtle curve of his lips that made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

“You’ve come,” he said, his voice low, inviting. “To confess, perhaps?”

Your chest tightened. The words caught in your throat. This wasn’t what you had planned. You weren’t here for this, not for him. You just wanted peace, a quiet place to think. But now, something pulled you toward him, something you couldn’t name.

He motioned toward the confessional, his hand elegant, yet commanding. “Go ahead,” he urged softly. “Tell me your sins. Lay them out. Let them go.”

There was an undeniable power in his words. The man you knew outside these walls, the one at the parties, the one who commanded with a smile. But, he wasn’t the same man standing before you now. He was different. This was a side of him you hadn’t seen, and it was impossible to ignore.

Your hands began to sweat as you moved toward the confessional. The wooden door creaked as you entered, the room small and suffocating. The reality of what you were about to do hit you in waves, and suddenly, the weight of everything seemed too much.

Sunday’s voice came through the small opening in front of you, smooth, controlled, but with an edge you hadn’t expected. “Tell me,” he began. “What have you done that burdens your soul?”

His voice wrapped around you like a gentle command, coaxing, inviting. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of absolution. No. There was something deeper in his question. Something that made your chest tighten and your palms clammy.

You sat in the confessional, the silence between you stretching painfully. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you were ready to say it. But in that moment, all you wanted was to feel... lighter. To let go of the weight pressing on you.

And yet, as his words lingered in the air, you realized that this wasn’t just about forgiveness. It wasn’t about confessing your sins. It was something more. Something much more dangerous.

“I-I’ve… surrendered to the sin of lust… and…” you paused, your heart pounding in your chest as your mind raced. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your body reacting to the vulnerability of the confession, even though you were hidden from view.

There was a long, heavy silence on the other side of the confessional. You could almost feel Sunday’s gaze on you, even though you couldn’t see him. The quiet stretched out, thick with expectation, his presence wrapping around you like a tangible thing.

“I-I... I promised myself I would wait… until marriage,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with guilt. The words felt like a weight on your tongue, each one dragging you deeper into shame. “But I didn’t… I didn’t keep that promise.”

The confession spilled out, too much for you to bear, but you couldn’t stop it. You felt exposed, like your most intimate thoughts had been laid bare in front of someone who could judge you, someone who would see the sin in you.

“I—" your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "I let it happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I— I should’ve waited, but… but it felt so right at the moment. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around you. It wasn’t just about the physical act, it was about the breaking of a vow, the promise you made to yourself, to God. You could feel the shame bubbling up, overwhelming you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

“I can’t take it back,” you whispered. “And now... I feel like I’ve done something unforgivable.”

Sunday’s silence continued, stretching on and on, as if he were letting your words settle into the heavy air between you. Then, when you thought he might not answer, his voice finally broke the stillness, low and deliberate.

“Do you think you’ve sinned?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t condemning. It was soft, almost thoughtful, and yet there was a strange intensity to it. Like he was studying you, gauging every word, every reaction.

You wanted to say something, to explain that you knew it was wrong, that you didn’t want to feel this way. But all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Sunday’s next words were like a breath against your skin, unsettling and unnerving.

“Then, let me show you the way,” he said, his voice a smooth caress, full of unspoken promises. “Let me help you cleanse yourself of this burden.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the implication. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what came next. But in this moment, with the weight of your guilt pressing so heavily on you, you weren’t sure you wanted to resist, either.

The line between forgiveness and temptation was becoming blurred, and you could feel yourself losing the battle within. How could you have let this happen? How could you?

“I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin.”

…

Hearing those words hurt. You felt like you’d just betrayed yourself. And you did. You can’t deny that.

Sunday’s voice was like velvet, smooth but with an undeniable edge. Even with the confessional door between you, it felt like he was there, his presence pressing down on you from every direction.

"I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin."

His words slithered into your thoughts, each syllable wrapping around your mind, tightening like a chain. You closed your eyes, desperate to push away the heat his voice stirred within you, but it was no use. The memory of last night, of the shame and the fleeting pleasure, was burned into your mind. You could feel it—there, just under the surface of your skin. That awful mix of guilt and longing.

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady as you spoke. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Sunday cut you off with a soft, almost mocking chuckle. “You didn’t mean to? Or perhaps you just didn’t want to be caught. Tell me, do you feel sorry for what you’ve done? Or do you only regret being caught in the act?”

The sting of his words hit harder than you expected. You had come here seeking absolution, but now, you were being forced to confront the deeper truth. The truth that you weren’t just guilty for what you’d done. You were guilty of wanting it. And that… that was what gnawed at you.

"I... I don't know," you whispered, feeling small, exposed in this tiny confessional. The weight of your sin seemed to press against your chest, suffocating. Your breath caught in your throat, the words heavy with shame and unspoken need. "I don't know how to feel."

His tone softened, but there was no kindness in it. "You know, deep down, that you wanted it. You wanted the touch, the feeling of surrender. That's why you can’t shake the desire. You’re still aching for it, aren’t you? The guilt just makes it sweeter, doesn’t it?"

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to speak. The confessional felt like a cage now, the walls closing in. You were trapped in the space between guilt and desire, and it was a place you couldn’t escape from. Not here, not now. Not with him so close, even though he wasn’t physically near at all.

“If you truly want to be forgiven,” he stopped, building up your anticipation. “You need to show me.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you heard it. You could still be forgiven? 

“What is it?” you asked eagerly, practically begging. “Please tell me… I’ll do anything.”

Sunday's voice dropped to a whisper, low and commanding, "You want forgiveness, don’t you? You crave it. But there’s no redemption without sacrifice, no absolution without proving your worth."

He let the silence hang in the air, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, his tone smooth but piercing, like a blade.

"Do this, and show me your commitment," Sunday instructed, his voice almost a purr of dominance. "Confess your desires to me, in detail. Only then will I know you're truly sorry, that you understand the depth of what you’ve done."

His words felt like a command, a challenge, one that pushed the boundaries of what you had anticipated. You were caught between desperation and dread, the fear of what you’d have to do to find absolution warring with the longing you couldn’t shake.

“Confess... to you?” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of speaking those words aloud. Would that really give you the redemption you sought? Could you even bring yourself to say it, to admit how much you wanted this, how much you needed the release he offered?

Sunday’s voice was quiet but unyielding. "Yes. Confess every detail of your sin, and I will decide if you are worthy of forgiveness. And if you are… that’ll be a different story."

And you didn’t hesitate to spill every detail of your story, your voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and desperation, as if each word you spoke was both a confession and a release.

“Hmmm, I see,” he says. Then the silence begins again. It was agonizing. Painful. That was until, “I want you to pleasure yourself. Pleasure yourself just like he did to you.”

“R-right now?” you stammered.

“Yes.” 

You grit your teeth as you stared down onto your lap. Hesitating whether you should. You could hear his heavy breathing from the other side. And reluctantly, you did. 

You slid your hands down your pants and used your middle finger first. Your wetness was evident as soon as you started. Slowly, you pushed your finger in and out while your other hand was gripping the barrier tightly. Your grip was so tight it felt like you were about to pull it off. 

“Mmhh…” you whimpered, the sound soft but enough to reverberate through the confessional. The wooden screen separating you seemed to hum faintly with the vibration, as if it, too, felt the tension building between you.

“Keep going… you’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, seeping through the screen like a whispered temptation.

Slick was coating your finger as you kept on going. You were desperate to earn the confessor’s approval, the need to please him outweighing any lingering shame. The faster you moved, the closer you felt to your peak. Your panting turned ragged, soft whimpers escaping your lips in a desperate rhythm, echoing in the confined space.

Your whole body was trembling from top to bottom, the feeling evoking something inside you… something that you didn’t even know was there. You felt yourself immersed in the lustful feeling. Guilt coursed through your veins but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was satisfying the confessor in front of you, Sunday. 

“A-ahh…” you panted, your voice trembling as the tension within you coiled tighter, drawing you closer to the edge. Each movement sent waves of sensation through you, leaving you breathless and yearning for release. 

At last, you surrendered yourself to the lustful feeling, allowing everything to spill onto the chair, watching as it slowly dripped down.

"Hmm... that was good... you're forgiven," came the voice from the other side, followed by the sound of the door clicking open.

[whatdidtheydotomygirljinx]

the problem is that it's so hard to really analyze anything about arcane, and draw any conclusions about the story, because of the way it was written and conceived in the first place.

to the people who're like "yeah season 2 was bad, but season 1 was a MASTERPIECE in story writing and PERFECT in every way", that's just not true. the cracks were already there in season 1. there's multiple things, especially overarching ones, that just don't add up, and several ways that the story progresses that seem like odd choices. the thing was that, to me, the rest of it was all so good... the small details, the contained scenes were so well done, so detailed, so touching, that i really believed that maybe those cracks were just hiccups after all, and it's not a big deal, and maybe they'll even make a lot more sense and all get tied up with a nice little bow in season 2 (ha)

to me, at this point, it seems obvious that the way season 1 came into being was that these three idiots (who should never be allowed to write anything ever again) wrote a script, that was so terrible that riot had to bring in help to fix it for them (cause they were that incapable) and then someone got handed their slop and told "save this as much as you can, but keep the main points the same", and save it THEY DID! but the overarching plot is still the original one. which is why there's this dissonance all across it.

season 1 often seems like it's trying to tell two different stories at once. the example that comes easiest to me is jinx's transformation from powder to jinx post time skip. to the people i know irl who watched it, me included, the difference between these two is jarring, to the point that it just doesn't seem realistic that powder would change that much. this is what most people's reaction to her transformation was. like, sure, she changed... but jinx is almost a completely different person. and we can sit here and analyze all we want, and say yeah, but look, in ep2 min37, powder laughs when an enforcer is hurt, so that shows that she is indeed attracted to violence even at this age, but like... first of all, im at this point fully convinced that these details were put in specifically for that, to attenuate the valley that is between powder's character and jinx's, and I also honestly feel embarrassed that i even have to do all of this at all.

other notable examples are whatever is going on between jinx and silco in their relationship. like, yeah, he was actually a good father to her... but actually, there's something weird going on between them... but actually, no... he was better than vander, but actually he was worse than vander and was actually the cause of everything bad in jinx's life..... and on, and on, because the literal story itself never actually makes up its mind on what it wants the relationship between these two characters to be. same as it never makes up its mind on whether powder was a cute, innocent kid who was just manipulated by silco, or if powder was born like that and was just looking for an opportunity to release her inner jinx. same way as it never makes up its mind on whether vi is a devoted sister, who would do anything to get powder back, as she herself says, or if she actually thinks this new enforcer chick she just met is kinda cooler, as her actual actions would indicate. does silco adopt jinx because he sees himself in her, or does he intend to use her as a weapon and then later on grows to actually care about her? there comes a point where "this is a complex story" just becomes an excuse for "we were actually working with three different ideas at once and we never really decided on which one we were gonna do and we kinda just prayed it would all work out somehow"

the one thing that arcane season 2 has on season 1 is that it doesn't suffer from any of these weird identity issues. it's bad and simplistic but it's bad and simplistic in its entirety and it doesn't ever seem interested in being anything else. the story has no continuity or congruence issues, except of course for the ghost of season 1 that haunts it, and especially haunts the writers, who so far have displayed nothing but dismay for the story that actually made this show so acclaimed, and have done all they could to bury it as much as possible in season 2.

now, personally, im a big death of the author truther. even more so in cases like these, where we're dealing with teams of people. power struggles happen in studios, and in writing rooms, and at every level of production. and these three people that have taken credit don't seem like the most emotionally (or intellectually) mature individuals.

so, to solve all these issues, just know that when im discussing or analyzing arcane, im going off the interpretation of the events that serves the story the most, and that leads to the most meaningful narrative and the one that is most worth telling. all of this weird lee and overton slop that snuck in im gonna be completely ignoring.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

HI ! I hope you are doing fine.

Could we have an AU where Charlie met his love in a meeting between the different mafia groups. His little dove is either a direct rival or the descendant of a rival mafia chef.

(gender neutral for Charlie's would be so cool!)

Sure thing! Honestly not sure if I did super well on this one but I hope you enjoy it!

Yandere mafia boss with a darling who’s his rival

Gn! Reader

Warnings: Maria boss characters, somewhat stalking, mentions of potential kidnapping, obsession

Divider credit goes to @strangergraphics

Yandere Charlie who’s been competing with you for years. Being the head of his mafia would never have been easy, he knows that, but most of the time he’s able to get a leg up on anyone who dares go against him, whether it be an individual or a group like his. But with you…he’s never been able to surpass you. He’s not weaker than you by any means, he knows he’s giving you just as much trouble as you are to him, but…it’s not enough. He needs to be at the top, and he just can’t seem to manage that when pit against you and your organization.

Yandere Charlie who’s never met you before, not in person at least, and he never wants to. He knows who you are, of course he does, but why would he ever want anything to do with you? He’s running a tight and brutal business, and you’re getting in the way of what he wants, threatening to surpass him at any moment. It’s like you two are neck and neck, struggling toward the same goal, and he hates it. He needs to be the best of the best, he needs to be the most powerful, he needs to be feared above anyone else. He needs to get rid of you, but he knows that’s a risk he’s in no position to take.

Yandere Charlie who is determined to kill you if you were to ever face him, to wipe out your organization until only those he could use were left. He knows it’s a long shot with the way things are between you now, but all he needs is one opportunity, just one moment of solid luck…

Unfortunately, business comes before his murderous intent. So when a new, unprecedented rival arises, threatening to wipe both of your organizations out, Charlie must do what he can to neutralize the danger and keep his business thriving. And after much back and forth between the two of you, he comes to the unfortunate conclusion that it might be time to create a temporary alliance with you.

Yandere Charlie who doesn’t know what to expect when he goes to meet up with you in person, but he’s not taking any chances. He’s armed to the teeth with a barrage of guards following behind him, and he knows you’ll most likely do the same. It’s a tense situation all around, one he knows could lead to his death if he’s not careful, but what choice does he have? He has to go, no matter the risk.

Yandere Charlie who’s immediately stunned upon entering the meeting room, but forces himself to remain on his guard. You’re more stunning than he ever imagined you could be in person, but surely he should have expected that, right? You’re just as wealthy as him, you have access to every item you could ever need to make yourself appear as dazzling as you look. This is a trap, a mere distraction from the point of the meeting, it has to be!

But…Yandere Charlie can’t help but be drawn to you as the meeting progresses, although on edge. You’re beautiful, but more than that you’re tough, intelligent, and unflinching even in the face of such danger. It’s no wonder you’ve been able to keep yourself afloat in such a brutal business. You’d have made a good ally, if things were different.

Yandere Charlie who leaves the meeting with a new allyship, but also with new intrigue. He needs to know more about you…for security reasons. That’s why.

Yandere Charlie who only grows more infatuated with you as time goes on. You don’t seem to be warming up to him much, no matter how much time you two have to spend planning together, but he’s certainly warming up to you, becoming more and more infatuated by you to the point of obsession. Every interaction strengthens the feelings he’s trying so hard to push away, his thoughts have become full of nothing but you, he needs to know more about you, he needs to be near you-

Yandere Charlie who tried brushing off these feelings as caution, then curiosity, then hate. You’re supposed to be his rival! He’s supposed to be wary of you, to be plotting your downfall as soon as the other threat is taken care of, so why? Why is he so enamored by you? It has to be for the sake of his own organization, right? He just wants to make sure he can exploit your weaknesses, right? He hates you with his whole being…right?

Yandere Charlie who denies his feelings until he can no longer stand it, his heart threatening to explode at any moment. It’s not normal to become so flustered around his rival and he knows it. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about kissing you, he shouldn’t be desperate for your absent affection, and he definitely shouldn’t be scouring every source he can find for information about your type, what you like, if you have a partner. He’s in love, and he simply can’t stand not having you to himself anymore. He needs you, he needs you now.

Yandere Charlie who knows you’ll never fall for him, not if things continue on the way they are currently. He’s delusional, but he’s not stupid. He can’t trick himself into believing you’re a helpless thing that needs his protection like he could with a civilian darling, because you’re literally on par with him in terms of power and skill. You’d most definitely attempt to get him assassinated if he treated you as anything less than the powerful person you are. But…

Yandere Charlie who knows that if you two were to get married, it would mean your organizations would combine. Which means that you’d both have more power in a partnership. It’s a tempting offer considering what could be a stake, but hey, making an offer can’t hurt, right? (It can).

Yandere Charlie who hides his devastation at your adamant refusal, his brain racing as he tries to understand. He gets that your rivals, but do you really think after all you’d been through at this point that he’d backstab you? I mean, it’s a brutal business, but really? Is he that much of a perceived danger to you? How else is he supposed to show his love and dedication to you without coming across as weak?

Yandere Charlie who under normal circumstances would move on to kidnapping, but with you, he can’t. You’re too powerful and he knows it, there’s no way he’d be able to take you away, let alone hide you away in the safety of his house. For the first time in Charlie’s life, he’s stuck. He’s unable to obtain the one thing he so desperately wants, and you’re none the wiser to it. He wants you so bad, but he can’t have you, and so he sits in his misery, every interaction with you breaking his cold heart a little more.

All he can do now is get closer to you and pray that an opening pops up. Or that you change your mind and fall head over heels in love with him. It can’t hurt to dream, right?

He’ll have you one day, he’s sure of it. He has to, because if he can’t have you…there won’t be much of his sanity left to keep him a float.

He just hopes you’ll come around. For his sake, and for yours.

[mammalsofaction]

Merry Fuckin' Christmas

Rating: M

Relationships: Perry the Platypus/Heinz Doofenshmirtz

Add tags: Established relationships, dancing, speaking perry, human Perry, pnfsecretsanta, merry Christmas liz dont hate me bc i really like this prompt, FUCK TIMEZONES I JUST WOKE UP

Dedicated to @agentlizardofowca for the secret santa

Read here on ao3

"Oh, this takes me back.”

Perry looks up, a little further back than is comfortable, on account of them both being pressed so close together. Perry raises an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t remember?” Heinz asks, a little sullenly.

Perry hums a little, as if in thought. He closes his eyes, allowing Heinz the opportunity to stare unabashedly; observe his smooth, relaxed features and the subtle flush from the cold outside. Given the opportunity, Heinz could stare at him forever.

Perry briefly takes his hands off of his waist to sign, and Heinz clutches at his shoulders. New Years?

He hadn’t even thought of that, but now that he does, the memory brings itself forward with a familiar flush of warmth. It’s a better memory, for sure.

“I was thinking more along the lines of our first.” Heinz prods.

Perry furrows his brow, a head tilt as eloquent as a thousand words. Heinz could almost hear him say it; That was our first.

Heinz shakes his head, giggling, and oh, that must be the champagne. His feet are getting sore–they must’ve been here for hours–but he feels reluctant to let this night pass just yet. “Earlier,” he coaxes. “Early. Our first summer.”

The furrow stays for a second longer, than two, and Heinz could tell the moment it hits him. Perry breathes out an involuntary chuckle, and Heinz could feel his own heart growing two sizes.

We were doing the macarena, Perry complains.

“There was a salsa in there somewhere.”

Some ballet moves.

“You did most of the leading,” Heinz recalls, giggling again, because he had been so irritated by it.

Not on purpose, Perry responds, and Heinz is man enough to give him that. Perry doesn’t lie, not for stupid, little things. He doesn’t see the point, when he’d lied enough for two lifetimes. Besides, I knew you were a better dancer.

Heinz raised an eyebrow. “Even then?”

Even then. Perry confirms.

The Michael Buble song playing, an instrumental of Baby, It’s Cold Outside, ends with a flourish, and so do they. Perry leads, and Heinz follows, but he does it on his own time, on his own terms, and Perry meets him half-way. He twirls, and Perry spins him, and when he trips on his feet Perry covers for him, swooping him low. The crowd around them; OWCA staff, agents and interns, clap enthusiastically for them. Heinz feels dizzy, delighted, but even with all the attention there’s no feeling on earth like Perry’s eyes on him, gulping him down like a tall glass of water.

Perry leads him away from the dancefloor before the next song could start, sneaking away into one of the many shadowed nooks and crannies outside the hall. They’re grinning and giggling like a couple of teenagers, not that Heinz had any sort of similar experience in his youth. He’s tempted to lead Perry all the way down the rest of the hall, outside the gates and into the parking lot, to bring him home, but then Perry pins him against the wall, hiking him up to sit on his hip so Heinz could wrap his legs around him, and oh. Well. He could settle with something quick before they go.

“I kept it, y’know.” Perry mumbles, his accent thick and slurred from mulled wine, now that they were well away from every other listening ear.

“Hm?”

“The magazine,” Perry smirks. He hikes Heinz a little higher on his hip, making him squeak. “You look amazing in tights.”

“Is that your grappling hook,” Heinz asks weakly. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Perry laughs, pulling his lover down. Their lips clash like titans; it’s hungry and sloppy and a little too wet, and when Perry pulls away there is a smear of bold rouge all across the lower half of his face, and Heinz is thinking they really should’ve at least made it out to the car. Perry presses his mouth below Heinz’s ear–in their periphery, the crowd inside the hall has begun making a ruckus. The clock strikes midnight with a loud, echoing gong, masking the sound of his involuntary moan as Perry slips a hand down the front of his white tuxedo pants.

Merry Christmas indeed.

[sidesteppostinghours]

do you think julia wouldve grown her hair back out as easily as ricardo shaved his mustache if step asked her to.

[oopsallmabari]

pia is my one non-circle mage oc (I don't think calling them a hedge mage or an apostate is as useful even though it's technically correct-they were never trained in a circle but I think the crow's perspective on magic probably isn't completely divorced from andrastianism, even if they don't really have templars. now I'm thinking abt crows potentially calling in templars/training some mage handlers in templar-like abilities to handle mage fledglings that are too dangerous to continue training...hm)

but all that to say I realized she's my only mage who hasn't gone through a Harrowing! but they have an experience that's...close enough...to prove she's not susceptible to posession. at some point before being promoted to full assassin pia gets veerrrry pissed off at some of the other fledglings (baby pia is a very easy target for bullies) and it reminds her of her general anger at the situation she's in (leashed to the crows w no other real connections) and nearly burns down a building/invites in a rage demon. one of the handlers calms them down and they learn better control but i do think that's the moment they...lock their own cage, so to speak.