#hi Hor ♡

[rebornologist]

thank you for writing for khr again ❤

aaaa Hor!! I do it all for you my sweet ♡♡♡

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

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“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

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thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

[emmaiooo]

you're weak.

958 words

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6:43 PM.

“we’re still on tonight right?”

      “sorry. can’t.”

“why???”

“hello…?”

you huffed at the message, why is he not responding? it's not like he has some teen boy shit to do. opening your phone once again, you dialed geto. “yo it’s geto, leave a message after the beep.” you sighed, “you guys didn’t abandon me right..?” you whispered after the beep, then hung up and laid on your bed. 

NEXT DAY - 7:56 AM.

“morning guys!” you smiled happily at the duo, bringing your hand up to give gojo a high-five, like you always do. “oh uh, not right now y/n, we have class.” gojo shuffled away from your presence. you froze. “o-okay.” you gave him a weak smile, and turned around to walk to your class. as you walked away, you saw from the corner of your eye that geto was whispering something to gojo. damn, where is shoko?

4:12 PM

“here.” shoko handed you a drink as you were sitting on the stairs of jujutsu high. you looked up, shoko had a cig in her mouth as you grabbed the sparkling soda from her hand. “thanks.” you mumbled. you both sat there in silence, waiting for someone to say something. “seems like they’re ignoring you.” shoko said, finally breaking the silence. “where were you shoko?” you asked, opening the soda can. “had a bunch of tests for medical school, passed with flying marks.” shoko smiled as she made a peace sign next to her face. “hah, really? you definitely cheated.” you giggled, letting out a breathy laugh. “i’m…going to go to medical school now, so i’ll be absent more.” shoko said, taking a breath from her cig. “oh…okay.” you said quietly, looking down. shit. now what are you going to do? you wished you were in a normal highschool, with a normal amount of kids, so there's not only just four people in your grade. you don’t even have anyone to hang out with now, no one to talk to. even the first years shunned you. haibara said he had bad feelings from you, and nanami is just not talkative and listens to haibara. utahime didn’t like you either, and mei mei is only interested in getting money, which you had none of. stupid fucking curse. your cursed technique always scared people, you had sharp fangs and always had a pale look on you. you looked like you were cosplaying as a vampire to normal human beings. everyone hated you because you were scary to look at. 

FEW MONTHS LATER - 11:30 AM - THREE SECOND YEAR STUDENTS SENT TO TAKE CARE OF A SPECIAL GRADE CURSE; ONE SEVERELY INJURED.

“you’re so fucking stupid! can’t even do one thing right when we asked you to! this doesn’t make sense at all, you are a special grade sorcerer!” gojo yelled at you, you have never seen him this mad before. “sa-” you said, before getting cut off by gojo. “don’t call me satoru. it’s gojo to you.” he spat out, looking at you without his glasses, which had long been gone since the fight with the curse. “g-gojo, we still managed to kill the curse, and shoko can use rct on geto!” you tried reasoning with satoru. indeed, it was your fault that you made a small mistake on the mission, but gojo couldn’t be blaming the whole thing on you right? geto can survive this, the doctor’s said it too. you don’t get why gojo is so upset about this whole ordeal. gojo groaned loudly, “y/n this is why you can’t do shit. i’m going to talk to yaga about not having any missions with you anymore, you can go on missions by yourself. you’re a special grade anyway.” gojo rolled his eyes as he started to walk back into geto’s room. you sat there, letting all the words sink in. just one more year, one more year with them and you can finally leave. 

2 MONTHS LATER - 9:23 PM

“y/n! are you okay? where does it hurt?” shoko ran to you, “you’re so stupid, why did you go alone on this mission?” shoko was panicking, already trying to heal you after you called her when you were on the brink of death. “uhm…i…” your eyes were blurry, looking around and spotted two males. you could see the anger in gojo’s eyes and the horror in geto’s face. “did you exorcise the curse?” geto asked calmly. shit..you forgot geto needed the curse to eat. “no..” you looked away from him. “oh my god y/n!” gojo groaned and put his hand on his head. “the best thing you could’ve done for us was to trap the curse and wait for us to get here! but now we lost a special grade for geto to absorb.” gojo was clearly irritated. “b-but the curse could’ve killed me! how could you say that?” you cried, thinking about how unreasonable gojo could be. “you’re a special grade and still can’t seem to carry out a simple task, you’re weak.” gojo said with venom, making your heart hurt. “she did her best gojo.” shoko tried to reason with him, still healing your wounds, “and that was good enough.” 

the next day, your wounds were all healed, and your mind was clear. 

“y/n, you sure about moving to kyoto?” - geto

        “yea.”

“alright, we’ll miss you.” 

like hell they would, you thought to yourself. they wouldn’t understand no matter how much you explained to them your feelings. especially gojo, he was born as the strongest, the whole world power balanced after he was born. you could never compare to someone like him. 

get stronger.

the words rang through your head. 

get stronger. 

and you will. 

(honestly this did not turn out the way i wanted it, might get a rework.)

[captain-hawks]

JUST ONE LOOK

♡ — keigo takami x f!reader

Your mysterious shopping bag of lingerie can only go unmentioned and unworn for so long before Keigo’s nosiness wins out. Naturally, he takes matters into his own hands…and finds out a thing or two about himself along the way.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.5k

prompt — oral fixation, lingerie, praise

additional content —  established relationship, smut, masturbation, panty kink, light voyeurism, allusion to unprotected p in v + creampie, cum eating, needy/horny keigo

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

Keigo shifts from where he’s seated uncomfortably on the couch for what might be the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. Thousandth, even.

He’s fairly certain that he’s on the verge of losing his mind—if the continuous tremor of anticipation rippling through his feathers is anything to go by. He’s accidentally sent no less than eight of them zipping across the room today without warning, much to the chagrin of your cat. 

So maybe he’s just a little on edge.

Two weeks ago, you cheerfully walked through the front door of your shared apartment, kicking off your shoes as you attempted to maneuver your way through the entry hall with a large assortment of shopping bags clutched in your hands. Keigo had kissed you on the forehead and swiftly took the cumbersome bags from you, ushering you off to where takeout and a movie were already queued up in the living room waiting for your arrival. 

He’d preened a bit as you twirled back around, stealing a kiss from his lips before bounding off toward the smell of food. Meanwhile, Keigo nearly dropped the bags himself moments later when he tried to get them all through your bedroom door at the same time, one of them ultimately falling to the floor in the process.

After stowing the rest of them away in the corner, he turned around for the lone fallen soldier—a small, nondescript black bag with matching tissue paper. But as he went to pick it up to add it to your pile that you’d inevitably sift through tomorrow morning, he froze in place, eyes catching sight of a flash of bright red lace peeking out from the wrappings. Like a beacon. 

While he knew better than to pry—he’d learned his lesson after he was feeling particularly nosey one Christmas Eve—he couldn’t help the wolfish grin that spread across his face as he tucked the bag away with the rest. No matter the article of clothing, Keigo had a thing for seeing you in red. 

A very, very big thing.

A “sorry for popping a boner in the middle of the restaurant, but your red lipstick is distracting me” thing.

A “sorry, I know we just got to the gala, but you’re in a little red dress, and I think I might come in my pants before they start bringing the hors d’oeuvres out if we don’t go fuck in the bathroom” kind of thing.

And it’s not that you didn’t already have any red lingerie, because you certainly did. Keigo had ruined and ripped more of them than he could count. But the thought that you’d discreetly brought something new home to surprise him? Well, that had a bolt of arousal shooting straight to his groin, cock jumping excitedly in his sweatpants without an ounce of shame. 

But it’s been fifteen and a half days now, not that he’s counting. 

Fifteen and half days of waiting for you to reveal your little surprise to him, his dick now sore from constantly being half hard with anticipation every second that he’s around you.

Valentine’s Day, your birthday, his birthday, your anniversary—it’s not close enough to any significant date that he can think of that perhaps you’d be waiting for. So the fact that you might just come strutting into the bedroom after a shower suddenly wearing them any old night of the week? 

Keigo knows he can be a little dramatic sometimes. 

(Really, he’s well aware.)

(He thinks it makes him a bit more charming and endearing—or at least that’s what you’ve told him.)

And maybe he has a tendency to over exaggerate his needs a bit, like when he texts you in the middle of the work day and says he’s going to die if he can’t come steal you for a quickie on your lunch break. 

(Not that you mind one bit.)

But he’s definitely not exaggerating when he decides in the bathroom that he’s completely and totally lost it past the point of no return now, because his goddamn dick is too hard to even take a piss. He’s been toying with the idea of just outright telling you he saw them, offering you pleading eyes and a little flutter of his wings as he coyly asks when you’re going to wear them for him. 

…but then if you did have a surprise planned, he’ll feel terrible for spoiling it. 

So maybe he’ll just go take a peek.

For science.

To tide himself over.

(You know how needy he is, and he’s taking it upon himself to make the unilateral decision that you’d understand. You’d take pity on him and his aching dick.)

He carefully makes his way into the bedroom, quiet as a mouse—even though he’s fully aware you won’t be home from work for another three hours. The lingerie is surprisingly easy to find, shiny black bag primly folded over and tucked into the back corner of your sock drawer. 

Just a look.

One look, and he can go be an impatient, horny weirdo jerking off to the thought of you wearing them once he has a mental image of the full spread.

But—

Keigo quirks a brow as he takes the single piece of lingerie out of the bag, a feather darting out from his left wing to prod at the material. The red thong hanging from his pointer finger has a lacy waistband, a silky satin pouch of material in the front, and a thin string in the back, which connects to the waistband with a small, delicately-placed bow.

Something about them looks…different than your other panties, the rest of the dainty little thongs tucked away in the drawer above your socks that he’s intimately familiar with. Eyes darting back to the bag, he spies a piece of paper lying curled up at the bottom. It’s just the receipt, and he’s not sure what exactly compels him to do it, but all of his questions are immediately answered when his eyes begin to scan the thin, white sheet. 

Written in bold, capital letters in the middle of the paper, itemizing the purchase, are the words: MEN’S THONG.

Oh.

And suddenly the way the front of the material is a bit larger than he’s used to seeing…makes sense.

Keigo quietly tucks the panties back into the bag, putting it back where he found it before closing the drawer and walking out of your bedroom. He spends approximately twenty-six minutes sitting on the couch, watching a cooking show without absorbing a single bit of what’s being said. Another eleven minutes are spent rearranging the order of your plants sitting along one of the windowsills and agonizing over whether or not the painting hanging above the fireplace is straight. 

He accidentally feeds the cat twice.

Just shy of forty-five minutes have passed when Keigo finally stalks back into the bedroom and digs the thong out of the drawer, hastily tossing the bag aside. His clothes end up in a similar state, carelessly discarded on the floor a moment later. 

He can offer little explanation as to why he ends up in bed, wings relaxed as he leans back against the cushioned headboard, gaze trained on his lower half. Already hard as a rock, Keigo’s thick cock barely fits in the panties despite the fact that they’re made for men, his engorged balls taking up most of the space inside. Flushed head poking out from the waistband, he’s transfixed by the way the precum dripping from his slit leaves a dark, wet stain on the satin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes the color of the panties is a near perfect match for his wings.

While he’s not sure what your plan was here, Keigo thinks you’ve probably let this purchase sit as you contemplate the right time to find the way to say, “Hey babe, would you mind wearing a thong for me?”

And in theory, Keigo’s not quite sure how he may have initially responded, in all honesty. 

In theory.

In practice, the moment he realized what he was holding in his hands, he was overcome with the uncontrollable desire to know what it would feel like to stroke his cock through the satin. To fuck his fist till he’s spurting hot cum all over the panties. To feel your pretty little pussy squeezing down on him when he ruts into you while he’s wearing them, lacy waistband straining tightly against his hips.

“Oh fuck,” Keigo moans, roughly running a hand over his hair as he begins to palm himself through the panties.

You bought these for him.

He’s so fucking hard, his dick is going to explode.

More precum leaks out of him, leaving behind a slippery, damp surface for the satin to slide up and down his cock as he begins to rock his hips upward into his closed fist. Eyes falling shut, he bites his lip and groans, forcing himself to take it slow and savor the tremors of pleasure simmering inside of him. There’s a small part of him that wonders how he’s going to wash the inevitable mess out of the thong when he’s finished without you noticing, but that’s a problem for future Keigo who can think straight once his balls aren’t floating with an overabundance of cum. 

—

On a normal day, Keigo knows you’re home before your key even turns in the lock.

But today, you make it all the way into the slightly ajar doorway to your bedroom, and even then, he doesn’t notice your presence. 

The sight before you takes your breath away—Japan’s number two hero, wings twitching and toes curling, moaning and panting and outright fucking whimpering as he jerks off while wearing a bright red thong. Not a single scenario that you imagined while buying the panties can even hold a candle to this.

Completely mesmerized by the way his thighs tremble with the effort to maintain a semblance of control, you can’t help but stand there and quietly observe for a few moments. You know what it feels like to be beneath him, atop him, beside him when he gets like this—desperate and aching and a little bit feral. But watching him from afar like this carves out a new place inside of you, a new pocket of hunger you hadn’t even realized existed until this moment. 

“Baby,” Keigo finally breathes out as he realizes he’s not alone, golden eyes trained on you as he continues to stroke himself through the thong. 

He exhales a shaky breath when you settle down beside him on the bed, head leaning against the headboard as he turns it to the side. 

“Found your present,” he admits, though his attempts to look remorseful are nullified by his rough voice and flushed face. “Sorry I spoiled the surprise.”

Another moan escapes his throat, and his eyes fall shut as he arches his back, squeezing firmly at the base of his shaft, not quite ready to finish just yet. You shift slightly, thighs rubbing together as your cunt clenches around nothing, wetness beginning to seep into your underwear. 

You could climb into Keigo’s lap right now, letting your tits spill out of your breezy little sundress as you bunch up the skirt, shuddering at the feeling of his fingers rubbing you through your panties. He’d hook a finger in them, tugging them aside before sinking two digits right into your pussy, just the way you like it. You’d squeeze his rock hard erection through his silky, red thong, mirroring the way he stretched your own panties to the side to reveal the full length of his thick, weeping cock. Together, you’d make a filthy, wet, sticky mess—and merely seeing his panties covered in your cum and his own would find you begging him to bend you over and take you again, roughly fucking you into the mattress till you’re sobbing his name and filled deeply with his seed.

But you can save that for tomorrow.

Later tonight, even.

Right now, you’re overcome with the need to watch him bring himself to completion. You lean in, mouth ghosting over his as you let your tongue gently slide over his bottom lip. He shivers. 

“This is better than any way I imagined giving them to you.”

He captures your tongue between his lips, mouth slotting over yours in a messy kiss. 

“Can I fuck you in these?” 

“Only if you get cum all over them for me first,” you implore him, fingertips caressing the stubble on his jaw.

Keigo moans at your request, the steady rhythm he’s fallen into while fucking his fist faltering, the heavy strokes growing sloppy.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out.

You can’t help but run a hand over your breasts, a breathy sound falling from your lips as you thumb at your peaked, tender nipples. His lust-blown eyes don’t miss the movement, and you squeeze your tits, letting them swell over the low-cut neckline of your dress.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you whisper against the shell of his ear, “I’m so wet just watching you, Keigo.”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “How wet?”

Leaning back to hold his gaze, you trail a hand beneath your dress and into your underwear, running a finger along your damp slit. You moan in response, unable to deny yourself the pleasure of plunging two fingers into your slippery cunt.

“Show me,” he exhales, toned laced with desperation.

Your pussy twitches in protest when you pull your digits out, but it’s entirely worth it for what happens next—

Placing your fingers in front of Keigo, you expect he’ll offer you a cheeky smile as he licks a broad stroke along the digits, tasting the arousal that’s coating them. Instead, his lips fall open, and he takes your fingers directly into his mouth. The ache between your thighs grows at the sensation of his tongue languidly licking them clean, but he doesn’t stop there. He begins to suck on the digits, replacing the juices from your cunt with his own saliva, golden eyes going hazy as he moans around them.

Heat spreads beneath your skin, desire clawing its way through every crevice of your body, and your own breathing goes ragged at the sight before you. At this rate, Keigo’s going to need to fuck every single one of your holes in those cum-soaked panties tonight before you’ve had your fill of him. 

“Good boy,” you murmur, watching the way his wings splay even wider at the praise. “Make a mess.”

Keigo groans loudly at that, his strokes growing erratic as he finally lets his impending climax consume him entirely. Seemingly endless ropes of cum spill from his cock, the thick, eager spurts flooding his panties and painting the length of his chest. 

“I hope you saved some for me,” you say when he’s finished, a playful smile on your face as you gesture toward the way his softening shaft is still twitching slightly, small dribbles of cum continuing to weakly leak out of him.

Looking down, he begins to laugh at himself, taking a deep breath as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “I hope you planned on buying mor—”

He chokes mid-sentence as you lean down and begin mouthing at his cock through his panties, running your tongue over the cum that’s leaking through the material. 

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[matildaanymore]

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : billie eilish x fem!reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Claire is best friends with billie eilish but what happens when she finds out she has a song written about their complicated relationship

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : alcohol

PART 1 HERE

                                         ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Obviously it is…” she then rambled on about everything until she got shut up with a kiss…

Claire pulled away instantly… shocked. She wasn’t expecting the girl to kiss her. Not that she didn’t want to kiss Billie. She wanted to talk. She wanted to understand the other girl's point of view. 

“I shouldn’t have done that” Claire was stunned with tears in her eyes. She felt a sense of guilt and worry. . “I…” speechless was all she felt. 

“Let’s just speak” with that Billie pulled Claire outside into her garden. People were dotted around smoking, drinking or just chatting near the pool.

The girls sat down together under a tree. A decorated blossom tree that the girls used to sit under all the time and write together. It held special memories for the both of them. To others it was just a blossom tree that stood in the corner of her garden. The garden was lit up with fairy lights scattered around to create a homely feel.

“Talk to me” 

Claire was pretty straight forward when it came to confrontation. She knew it could be positive or negative but preferred to talk to others about how each of them feel rather than pushing them away and never solving whatever was happening. Years ago Claire used to push away anyone that became close to her; she never spoke to anyone about how she felt and thought it was easier to not mention it than speak. It was a way of protecting herself from many previous friendships or relationships that had negative impacts on anyone she tried to speak to before either shut her down or not listen to her at all. Billie opened up to her one day about something that was going on in her life. It made her realize that talking is better than ignoring everything with the right people. She was grateful for it, it taught her to keep in touch with people more and that it made everything feel more relaxing and mature.

The girl sighed before speaking…“Lunch is about you. I’ve liked you for ages. I wanted to tell you straight up but I was already writing the lyrics to lunch as a way to express my feelings in my diary but I tried to push everything down and away thinking that it was silly and that it would ruin our friendship. I mean my family already loves you, and I don’t want anything to change between us. The song was me expressing my feelings of what went on between us that one night. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Finneas said he could tell I liked you after that night. He knew everything by just watching the way we interacted”

“I understand where you’re coming from but you could have just told me”

 Claire leaned close to Billie’s face making intense eye contact while flicking her eyes down to her lips. “I like you too Bil” The two girls kissed, both giggling in between. 

“Hor-fucking-ay” they snapped their heads toward the boy stood across the garden who was walking towards them. 

“It was about time this happened” Finneas sat down next to them, jokingly ruining the moment. He joined them both sat under the tree. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life… Anyone could see how in love you two were” Billie pushed his head while all 3 of them laughed in unison just enjoying the moment of her favorite people being in the same place.

 “I’m off. Proud of you both” with that Claire got up and walked back into the house but not before pecking Billie on the lips which caused Finneas to fake gag. 

                                         ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day Claire couldn’t stop smiling. She danced around the house to the newly released album attempting to sing the lyrics until she heard her doorbell ring. Claire walked towards the door unlocking it to reveal the ocean eyed girl. 

“Hey” “Hey!”. The two walked toward the living room both throwing themselves on the couch. It was silent. Not an awkward silence but a comforting silence until Claire started giggling. 

“What are you laughing at?” Billie replied with a laugh. The girl didn’t answer but kept laughing which caused the other girl to start tickling her. 

“Stop Bil stop, I can't breathe, '' the girl said in between breaths. Suddenly the girls' faces were close together and soon closed the gap. 

“I love you” Billie smiled ear to ear “I love you too.”...

Liked by billieeilish, radvxz and 1,394,304 others

claire: oh i love you miss.

billieeilish: i love you.

user: THE LAST PIC... HELLO?

A/N : idk what to write for part 3 so might leave it as this for now 😔 TYSM FOR THE LOVE xx

[shoshiwrites]

Prompt requested by @kmk1701d, "a kiss while in close proximity." Thank you so much, Katt! A big bouquet to @junojelli for all things backyard garden, and to @basilone for talking me through at least seven different ?!?! moments ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! Warning here for emetophobia [brief, non-graphic].

september song

A package finds her in Norwich, under the September sun. It’s covered in stamps and ink, pressed haphazard over Evie’s careful hand. Jo carries it out to the back garden, a glass in one hand and the stuffed envelope in the crook of her arm, holding a notebook and novel and pencil besides. It’s optimistic, the amount of things she’s carrying, like she won’t just want to sit and laze under the trees, feel the sun on her face, sip her weak tea.

It’s become a place she goes when she needs something like rest, the oasis that’s hardly one if she thinks about it — the Anderson shelter and the squash blossoms and the cabbages. But there’s the sun on the red brick of the house, the little potting shed, the trees bearing russet apples and the ivy and the last lingering clematis, the scent of it like almonds.

In the summer, the June and July evenings, she’d sit out here with whichever correspondent was staying in the room next to hers, or play cards with the land girls down from Manchester and Hull. Kay had brought drinks out from the kitchen, little cocktails in haphazard glassware sweet-talked out of the housekeeper’s care, Kay’s spectator pumps clacking on the flagstone path.

She slides a fingernail under the lip of the envelope, wincing as the paper snags. Nothing inside seems to be damaged, though. There’s a letter, a packet of photos embossed with the name of a Philadelphia studio, a few more tied with a white ribbon. The ones Angelo took, Evie’s letter explains. Evie’s fiancé — husband, Jo mentally corrects now — is a hobbyist photographer, as much as finances and the war allow. There’s a smaller envelope too, with a few flower petals dried and pressed between. White roses, from Evie’s bouquet.

Guilt washes over her — Evie doesn’t know about William, about the whole awful mess. Nobody at home does. Kay knows, she’d had the front seat to the aftermath, the whiskey thrown up in the bathroom and the thumbnails Jo had bit down to the quick. Kay had brought her ginger ale and brushed back her hair and told her the war needed Jo Brandt, not Mrs. William Merrick. Jo had smiled and told her that was hogwash, but nice hogwash, and then promptly thrown up again.

She hadn’t been able to sour a letter home with it, what seemed like such petty personal news.

The photos, of course, are beautiful. The studio shots of Evie and Angelo, Evie in the suit Jo knows is dove-gray gabardine, light enough for summer, and Angelo with the tie pin Evie gave him the last Christmas Jo shared with them stateside. The family posed in front of the altar, and outside the church. Angelo’s shots are of the reception after, and Evie outside on the sidewalk. The sunlight catching her earrings, the beading on her Juliet cap, filtered through her birdcage veil. There are the hydrangeas in vases, and the table set with a small cake and hors d’oeuvres, the homemade wine, the cousins sat on Evie’s lap. Angela and John asked about you of course, Auntie Jo.

Evie steals the camera for a few, Angelo with his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up, looking every inch the man in love. Like he hasn’t always looked at her like that, every day of their lives. Jo feels still, all of the sudden, just now hearing the birdsong over the walls, too caught up in the photos and the love that pours from each word of Evie’s letter. I don’t know if it will still be in fashion, she writes, but you’re welcome to the cap and the earrings. They would look so nice with your hair, Jo. You’d be welcome to the suit too, but I know you have something white planned for the family. William’s family, she means.

She swallows.

They hadn’t gotten to the planning, actually. Nothing beyond what was expected — the church, the white dress, the flowers, the reception back at the house with a dinner. There wasn’t a dress hanging in the closet, only the ring that now lived in the back of a drawer in her desk inside the house. The only official stamp was the engagement announcement in a Philadelphia newspaper. The one that ran months ago. She wonders why no one had pressed them to marry before they had both left for England.

She gathers the photos back into the cardboard sleeve, back into the package. Lifts the envelope of rose petals to smell the faintest scent, and then replaces those too. Leans her head back, thinks of fishing her sunglasses from her trouser pocket. She’s got a haphazard outfit on, the loose trousers and sandals and a button-down with the sleeves pushed up, her watch, her hair hastily pulled back. An outfit for a rare day with no appointments, only the scurrying of a reporter trying to finish something to send off. She’d made her edits in the morning, and gone over some of Kay’s contact sheets after her second cup of coffee. Maybe she hadn’t earned the rest, but it’s too nice of a day to not at least sit out around the lunch hour. She’ll be back in London under rainclouds soon enough.

She’s too uneasy to keep her eyes closed for long, thinking of wedding gowns and absent rings, wondering how she became the type of girl who needed a diamond.

Her mother had a silver band that she wore every day that Jo had known her. Jo guesses there were some things even her father wouldn’t have pawned for drinking money.

After she’d gotten up off the bathroom floor, Kay had told her of a cousin who was married for the fourth time last spring. This time to a count, Kay had said. Something in her eyes told Jo she didn’t think it would last. A few of the correspondents they know in London are divorced, or functionally so. Several unmarried, to various degrees.

She wonders how you become the type of person who marries four times. Did it mean you’d given up on a certain kind of love? Maybe they know something we don’t, Jo thinks.

She doesn’t have too much time to ponder the question. At once she hears the noise of the door behind her, the one from the kitchen out to the garden, and footsteps, and poor Muriel the housekeeper’s voice leading someone back out to Jo in her chair.

“- should be right out here-”

“There she is.” It’s half-crowing, affectionate. “Thank you, Muriel.”

How does he even know- She turns, replaces her tea carefully on a stepping stone. “Major Egan.”

Affectionately annoyed, at the title. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me John?”

She’s not surprised he found her through the front of the house, not surprised Muriel’s smiling affectionately at his back as she closes the door, as he walks over to her.

“Force of habit,” she says. A useful one, one to ought to keep if she knows what’s good for her. For any of them. Like they’re not a hundred miles past that by now. “What brings you up here?” She scans around for another chair, wonders if he’s already refused a cup of tea.

“Oh, I need a reason?”

She stills, suddenly feels her cheeks pink with sun.

“Buck’ll let you write about him,” he says, almost like a non-sequiteur. “Finally agreed.” She’s amused, faintly, by what that agreement might have looked like. He can read it on her face, nods a little along with her. “Just tipped his chin up like this,” he says, on the verge of smiling. “You know.”

“Wonderful,” she says, and there’s not a hint of shadow in it.

He looks at her lap, and her letter, and her book, and her pencil. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

That almost makes her laugh. Like he’s ever cared about interruption.

“No, I won’t get to a proper reply sitting in this chair,” she says. “Can’t write too well on my legs.”

“Any good news?”

Oh. She can’t lie about it, can she? The photo sleeve still in her hands. “Two dear friends were just married, actually.”

“Fantastic,” he says, the shine out of his voice, but no less sincere. He sounds almost quiet.

Before she knows it, she’s profferring the photo of everyone out on the front steps of the church, Evie squinting beautifully into the sun, Angelo looking at her, his arm around her waist.

“They look happy,” he says.

“Mmm.” She could keep talking, she knows. Maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll say.

He hands the photo back to her, his thumb careful against the edge. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.”

There’s a physical relief she feels, turning to something like the vines and the trees to talk about. Other than the photos. Other than the fact that’s he’s quieter than usual, has been for weeks. When he’s sober, at least. “I just enjoy it,” she says. “Not much help in the garden besides wheeling dirt around.” She can barely keep a window box alive. Her roommates only leave her in the company of plants with their very precise instructions.

“Can the major get a tour?”

She looks up at him, quirks something of a smile, squints over his shoulder in the sun. Like she didn’t just tell him she’s useless in a garden apart from sitting in it. “If I can’t offer you a chair, I probably should.”

He holds out a hand, lets her press heavily down on it as she stands. More than she thought she’d have to. Her things go in the chair where she’s just been sitting, the curve of sun-faded, striped fabric. It’d make a nice picture, Jo thinks. Kay would move a couple of things, maybe take a stray flower and place it to the side for a shot. Her hand feels warm.

She waves a hand over the shelter in self-explanation, watches him nod in seriousness. There’s the little stone path that leads to the back wall, more ivy, the late-season potatoes and heads of cabbage. There’s a rickety little folding chair against the side of the potting shed, and she assesses that maybe she’s the one who belongs in that, and him in the other. He’d have more trouble getting off the ground than she did, though.

There’s a nice slant of shade, too, between the shed and the wall.

“Anything good in there?” He’s nodding towards the shed.

She’s trying not to narrow her eyes. Trying not to think of a hundred things. She’s only ever poked her head in.

Before she can say something — dirt, gardening tools, who the hell knows — he’s taken her hand and ducked under the doorway.

She’s careful not to trip over the step, close to him now inside the tiny shed. There’s a counter bare of seedlings, now that it’s sunny mid-September, a few implements to the side, the back shelf lined with dusty pots and some old glassware, the rich smell of soil.

“Not much to see,” she says, which is a lie too, if you know how to look.

His voice is almost imperceptibly hoarse, and serious. “‘M not really interested in the tour, Josephine. Not anymore, at least.”

Her voice is faint, as his hands find her hips. “Might’ve guessed.” She can’t think about it, the letter or the photos or his voice, the edge of despair, of anger, her own empty hands.

There’s a moment as those own hands find him, the wool of his uniform, as they look at each other in the dim, filtered light. The dirty window. The silent asking, the way she stills, and lets him press his mouth to hers.

She winds back her foot, tries to kick the door shut. The action falls short, just barely, and he huffs a soft laugh against her cheek. Kicks the door back, for real, with his boot. He’s warm, from the sun. She imagines she is, too.

“Did Major Cleven really say we could do a feature-” she starts, and the face he makes is something she’d bottle if she could.

“Start by calling it something else, Josephine,” he says. “You’ll scare him off-”

Now that’s a joke, and she’d smile if she weren’t busy kissing him again, tracing her thumb along his cheek, his jaw, his ear.

Little surface scar-dings against his neck, raised tissue tinged red, and she can’t think about what flak does, how a person can’t be so easily repaired.

He’s pulling her closer, uniform pressed against the thin rayon of her blouse, keeping, she notices belatedly, her hair from a spider’s web behind them.

She tastes the faintest hint of ale in his mouth, against his lip and his mustache, and something else — something sudden and deep and sweet. He’s smiling, and she can see a tiny dark scrap between his teeth. He looks almost sheepish, like a kid caught with chocolate on his face before dinner. “I saw some blackberries on my way over here,” he says. “By the roadside.”

“Bring me any?” She’s smiling.

“Thought you might like to go uh, gather some,” he says, like it’s something he’s trying on for size. Gather. Like this is a novel set in deep summer, and not a war. “Had to see if they were any good.”

Maybe she’s being ridiculous — it’s all for the war, anyway. The squash and the cabbages and the apples and the potting shed revived after a decade and change gathering dust in the back of an old house.

She and her roommates will help Muriel put up the apples soon. Hattie and Nancy, the land girls, had mentioned making pies. Blackberry and apple — it sounds like something her mother would have made.

“Kiss me again,” she says. His mouth is tarter now, the tip of his tongue pressed against her teeth. She half-swallows a yelp as he lifts her to the counter, lets his hands settle back on her hips, trailing his mouth across her jaw. “New calculations, Major?”

“Tactical reassessment.”

A laugh bubbles in her chest, surprisingly heavy. “What’s your objective?”

“Top secret.”

Her fingertips play at the epaulet of one shoulder. “Not too hard to guess.”

“I don’t hear you guessing.”

She pulls him, gently, back to her mouth.

“You needed this,” he says, firm and a question at once. Something in her ribcage sings. “Couldn’t risk you not getting it.”

“Getting what?”

“A good kiss.” She drags her thumbnail gently across the back of his neck, the short hairs there, watches his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “Someone else might have, couldn’t risk that, either.”

She leans back a little, still tight in his hold. “Wouldn’t let them,” she says. Breathes, like it’s a secret, like she didn’t just say it out into the quiet.

She wants to stain her fingers picking blackberries with him, his mouth, hers. Hear about the moments he stole as a kid. Share her own. Maybe they can have that here, on a September afternoon.

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Sam Quotes

i love me some cowboy ♡ yeehaw and all that

“You’re a werewolf, not a damn tank, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I want you comfortable. What that looks like, you tell me.”

“Oh god, don’t call the 90’s vintage, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

“Don’t you whistle like that at me you smartmouth, this ain’t anything you haven’t seen. I am not blushing. I don’t blush.”

“Mr. Shaw.”

“You’re a big softie under it all too. Boop.”

“You don’t have to keep the armor up tonight. The fighting’s done. You can just rest. I got you, Darlin.”

“You’re my heart, Darlin’.”

“Oh you hush, of course that got my heart speeding up again. Wiseass.”

“Have some popcorn, it’ll soothe you.”

“Matter of fact, yes, I do know how to get food delivered nowadays. Do you know what the inside of a grocery store looks like?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m a mother-hen, what else is new?”

“Don’t worry, if the shock takes you out, I’ll be sure to catch you.”

“You feel like home, Darlin’.”

“It’s a Vamp’s favorite season. Well, my actual favorite season’s Fall, but you get me.”

“That’s for strangers. We can be as mean to family as we damn-well please.”

“How do you wanna do this? You wanna ride your cowb- you little-“

“You feel like sunlight on an easy day. That warmth and that comfort. Gentle and all around.”

“You like that? You gonna be good for me?”

“Hey. Look at me. Please.”

“Yeah, you’re awful put-upon. Your mate’s a heartless old curmudgeon who wants his arm rest.”

“No. No, I’m not falling asleep. Couldn’t be me. I’d never do such a thing.”

“Your vampiric pillow awaits.”

“Hey. Jokes aside. You do make sense, Darlin. Just cause some people don’t wanna put in the work to understand why doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“What the hell do you have against flannel? It’s efficient.”

“Oh I’m sure. My big bad wolf certainly would never get tired after a completely understandably draining day,”

“Tell me how you look so damn good right after waking up. Bullshit. You look heavenly.”

“You know better than me that if you don’t answer that goofball he’s just gonna keep calling.”

“Man’s gotta point. [smack] Ow.”

“Make it two.”

“I’m an equal opportunist shit-stirrer once you make the mistake of getting close to me.”

“You keep that up and I'll buy a walker just so I can beat your ass with it.”

“I didn’t realize those were our names, I thought he was drawing pictures…”

“Who you calling an underdog, pup?”

“Oh, so I’m a flop now?”

“Want some chocolate? It might soothe you.”

“Darlin’ what the hell is an Igglybump?”

“Play nice. I know you can even if you don’t like to.”

“Being so good for me. Wait until I tell ya.”

“So what if I am soft for you? You deserve soft.”

“I am not charming. I’m a moody curmudgeon, and I like it that way, thank you very much.”

“When I’m with you, my brain takes up shop in the wrong head.”

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth.”

“I’ve got you. Tears aren’t ‘stupid’, Darlin’. They’re human. You don’t have to hold back any part of yourself with me.“

“[punch] That’s for Frederick. [punch] That’s for his Progeny. [punch] And that’s for me.”

“The only thing that makes the two of you worse hellions than you already are is when you put your scheming heads together on something.”

“I’m practically a glorified backpack”

“I want you moving like this in a different position. Mmhmm. How did you put it back in the day? ‘Riding your cowboy’?”

“You’re so damn beautiful. You are.”

“My big bad wolf. I get to say that without getting hit nowadays? My, the times are a-changing.”

“Look. You can call me every version of ‘cowboy’ you want, but you keep ‘duke’ just locked up in that pretty head of yours, you got it?”

“It’s a fancy dick-swinging contest with a side of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Vincent. You’re my family, and I love you, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but four years ago when he was still around, you were just as much of a pain in the ass to be around most of the time.”

“What you and me got is stronger than any of this bullshit the world throws at us. Even if the world’s got a hell of an arm, lately.”

“Brown. My eyes were brown.”

“Where do you want these fangs, baby?”

[thisfanisgonesorry]

hi if you're still taking requests, I can't get the idea of arthur somehow being in the epilogue, alive and thriving, working on the ranch with john and his family and just being happy

IM IN LOVE WITH YOU!! omg thanks for the req <3 i hope u enjoy it cutiepie, sorry it took me a lil bit

ending cowrote by @megbimbo loml

tags: yall are in the epilogue, making this an xreader since im basically useless if i dont but its light so dw, canon deviation obviously, high honor arthur. very angsty because my little gremlin brain could not just make him healthy but HE IS HAPPY!! MY BOY IS A HAPPY CAMPER!!; i usually write 1st person but i got possessed so heres a 2nd person fic (never doing this again, sorry if its shit), genderneutral but implied fem reader. milking the cows was the most pleasurable part of the epilogue after the absolute shitshow i had to endure that was chapter 6. arthur milks the cows for that exact reason. some medical terms i know that probably werent viable to use back in the day but idc. some cowboy stuff i learnt as a wee lass when i had a horsey. so many tags ill shut up now. (i got sad at the end of the fic because i realised you cant kiss him. that made me sad.) also water pump distance ref because its.. not as close as i thought it was.

♡

You and Abigail tended the house while Arthur and John were outside, doing god knows what, their manly chores. Jack and Uncle had a day trip to Blackwater, running errands and such, getting groceries, the works. Jack needed to get out of the house and Uncle needed to get out of doing work.

“I’ve got this.” Abigail spoke, taking the plate from your hands. A brisk nod and you wandered off outside to check on the boys, mostly worried for Arthurs wellbeing, as you tended to be. As the years dragged on, the remaining gang had been accustomed to not treat Arthur like he was fragile, which often than not, resulted in him being injured or overworked in some capacity or another.

You knew well enough that John would take care of Arthur and not work him to exhaustion, especially in this blazing heat, but nursing him back to health after things went south all that time ago wasn’t an easy job, and when they were building the house, he had a pretty bad flare up. 

There was a slight sound of wheezing coming from the distance, your ears perked slightly, rushing down the main steps and looking around. You could vaguely see them over by the water pump in the distance.

Arthur was sitting on the ground, John hovering over him, rubbing his back slowly as Arthur coughed and spluttered. You rushed over to them, evidently worried.

“What happened?”

John looked over to you, softly speaking. “He pushed himself too hard.”

“Yeah.” He spluttered. “I’ll be fine.”

You kneeled beside Arthur, rubbing his back as John pulled away to fill the bucket with water to continue their water run, also so Arthur could take a handful and drink some, hopefully hydrating his throat enough to stop him from tearing his oesophagus. 

Water Runs; They were dreaded, the water buckets would get heavy, and in heat like this, you’d need to do the runs multiple times a day to keep the animals hydrated. It got worse if the water troughs were under direct sunlight, the amount depended on the day, the weather and the animals, but the horses needed the extra water this summer, as did the sheep and the cows. All around, it was an awful chore.

Arthur, being the horse lover he is, would be quite adamant in keeping the horses up during the heat, making sure they’re okay. Though, because of the humid air, it was causing his illness to worsen. He slurped up a handful of water, and his coughing let up slightly.

“You need to rest.” You spoke firmly, as John picked up the bucket and walked it over to the remaining troughs, walking over into the sheep pen so he could keep a keen eye on Arthur momentarily. 

“I know, I know.” He groaned. “John and I have a lot of things to do.”

“This is John’s ranch, not yours. Sit down for a bit.”

“But the horses—”

“But nothing. You can care for them later this evening.”

Your voice hung in the air sternly and he pouted like a child, he needed to sit down and rest, to be removed from the hot and muggy air. Once the blazing sun begins to set and the air begins to cool, he would be allowed to go back to his duties. 

John waddled back over with the bucket, filling it up but lingering before he delivered it to the other animals. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I can do this on my own.”

“I want to help.” He spoke sternly, trying to stand up but weakly clutching his chest as he required the aid of you and John to get to his feet.

“How many other chores have you got today?”

John took the conversation away from Arthur, now more than just on board with the concept of letting him sit down and rest for a while. “Just the water, feeding, and milking the cows.”

“I can milk the cows.” Arthur objected.

You sighed, looking over at him, knowing he would rather keel over than be useless. He was a helper; for as long as he’s been known by any of the people on this ranch, he’s always been willing to help people. His need to work died down drastically since he’d been adopted to live on the ranch, but that didn’t mean the lack of drive didn’t eat away at him.

John raised his hands in a defeated shrug. “Let him milk the cows.”

“Fine, but I’m keeping a close eye on him.”

“That’s probably for the best.” John shrugged, with his shoulders this time, grunting as he picked up the bucket, continuing the water run. 

Arthur had a horrendous side eye on him, though he restrained the urge to say something snarky, “I can do this on my own.” He spoke instead, as he began to stride his way to the barn. 

“I know.” You responded, following behind him. 

He seemed upset at the sudden switch of attitude, even after all this time, he wasn’t used to people treating him like he was sick. For the most part, people didn’t, but, for equal parts, he didn’t often tell people that he was sick, instead playing to be super cautious whenever around anyone new.

He took a seat on the stool beside the cow and you stood behind him, leaning against the pillar.

“I’m fine.” He reassured as he slowly milked the cow, the metal panging sound of the bucket being hit with liquid filled the barns silence.

“I know.” You repeated quietly, not really paying attention to the words leaving your mouth. “Jus’ making sure you’re okay, we’re bein’ careful, ‘s all.”

“I don’t need it.”

“I know you want to act like you’re okay, but you’re not. You’ve had a few close calls. We’re just trying to keep you...” You trailed off, not wanting to say the blunt words that weighed heavy. We’re trying to keep you alive.

He stayed silent as John slowly opened the barn doors, entering almost silently and taking the milk pail as it filled to the top.

“I’ll deal with this.”  He said briefly, leaving us quietly to continue our discussion.

Arthur stayed painfully silent as your words lingered heavily in the air, John was quick to disappear into his jobs, and Arthur stayed on the stool, petting the cow softly.

“I get it.” He spoke after a long pause of silence. “I’m sorry, I just...” He rotated his hands in a motion to gesture the continuation of his sentence, not really wanting to finish it himself.

“Just come inside for a bit.” 

He sighed in defeat, standing up from the cow and patting her softly as he removed himself from her side. He really suited this life, and it’s a darn shame that he can’t do too much with it. 

He walked inside slowly, dragging his feet. 

“Don’t get sulky.”

Uncle and Jack returned from Blackwater, pulling up in the wagon. Abigail had left the house to greet them and assist them while John did god-knows-what, something or other to do with the milk. 

Jack and Uncle were having a conversation, or maybe an argument, about something in Blackwater, and they were asking Abigail her opinion as they unpacked the back of the wagon. 

Arthur didn’t necessarily expect anyone to understand the struggles he had to deal with, he was dealt a poor hand, and partially, it was his fault. His days were numbered, and despite the unconditional love and support that everyone offered him, it only did so much into elongating that timer. It was a silent rule that we all knew it’d happen, and once it did, we’d most likely all point fingers on who’s to blame.

“Arthur.” Jack called out, grabbing his attention from his dreary thoughts and tossing him a fresh notebook. It lifted his spirits almost immediately. “I noticed your old one was getting full.” He responded plainly.

“Thanks, kid.” He smiled, still very clearly unwell and needing to rest but his mood had been lifted slightly. He walked through the front door quickly, wanting to get through before they’d be rushing things to and from inside the house. 

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold glass bottle of water, looking over at you begrudgingly as he sat down on the dining room table and flipped through the soft new pages of the notebook.

“Any idea what you’ll do with it yet?”

He shook his head plainly. “No, I might draw some of the horses. Been a while since I drew Boadicea, or Rachel.” He shrugged. “Could draw Neil if he’d stand still.”

“That’s good.”

“Might go up to Owanjila at some point.”

“You could make a day of it.”

“Yeah, I could.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you stop doing that?” You cursed at him, agitated by how he was acting. “Don’t get upset at me over this.”

“I was fine.” He gritted his teeth.

“You were on the ground struggling to breathe.” You bit back, emphasising every word. He didn’t respond, just glancing away from you. He knew you were right, but didn’t want to admit it since it was inherently showing more weakness. “You...” You trailed off briefly.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, interjecting the conversation. “Jus’.. Don’t wanna be useless.”

“You’re not useless, you’re sick.”

“I know but—”

“Don’t you even try to compare yourself to Uncle.” Arthur stayed silent as you hit the nail on the head. “You did enough work today. Relax. Draw, journal, something. You have a few hours until the sun sets.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What?” He was beginning to come across as overly defensive, though softened into a defeated sigh as you tried to compromise.

“Abigail gets angry at me, she don’t like how I do the dishes or clean clothes.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pro’lly try to help with the yard work. You can do more with less hassle.”

“I guess.” He shrugged.

“Weather forecasts think that it might rain sometime this week, means less work here, we can go to Owanjila.” He wasn’t too keen on it being babysat but he accepted it nonetheless.

“That’d be kinda nice...” He trailed off.

“We can do some fishin’ so they don’t think we’re bein lazy.” It was clear who the ‘they’ was in that sentence, which made him laugh in a silent exhale. “You can draw some of the scenery, set up a mini camp and just.. Have a day off. Hows that?”

“But—”

“Stop. You need to stop.”

“I’m bored!” He said, clearly agitated and exhausted. “I need something to do, ‘nd everyone jus’ wants me to rest but I gotta do somethin’ or I feel like shit.”

“I just suggested something.” I said sternly.

He looks around the dining area, chewing the inside of his cheek as he considers the idea. He sucked on his teeth slightly.

“Tch... Fine.” He admitted, like a defeated child.

There’s a long moment of silence, and you reach across the table to hold his hand. He continues to avoid eye contact, and his hand doesn’t hold yours back. 

Arthur’s voice is barely above a mumble; so sulky for a man so strong, or so he claims to be. Your eyes flickered between his gaze and him, waiting for him to speak. Arthur, desperate to look literally anywhere else, found himself staring at John’s taxidermied squirrel. If you didn’t know any better, one would probably assume he’s admiring the finest piece of art the 1900s has to offer. He seems to linger on the concept for a while, which worries you. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that mind of his.

The silence blares in your ears for a bit too long. Clearing his throat, Arthur looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll see how things go.”

[bellyasks]

hi!

can you do sick character with friends at an important event or party??

love your writing, btw ♡

"Will you be upset if I leave? I really don't feel good…"

"Listen, I know you really want to be here for this, but I think you should go home. You look awful."

"No, really, I can stay! I know how much this means to you. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure you're alright? That snappy new outfit's looking a little snug around the middle."

"I'm okay, I think the food's just a little more rich than what I'm used to."

"Aw, please, can't you stay? It's only a little longer. You know how important this is."

"Do you think they'll be mad if I sneak out early?"

"Oof, was that your belly? I think you've had a few too many hors d'oeuvres."

"I don't know what to do, I can't just leave but I think I'm about to be sick."

"Hey, are you nervous? You don't look so good."

[maivolpe]

hii! i j read “as long as ur with me” & i love ur writing :3 could i request a very cheesy fic in which reader’s alrdy confessed to bucky & bucky’s rejected them ? ( maybe bc he’s unsure abt his feelings ? ) tony holds a party later & bucky gets jealous ( ooo ~~ ) of the reader after he sees them talking & being close to sam, ( meanwhile the reader’s only talking to sam for help abt bucky ? ) basically mutual pining but reader & bucky just need a push in the right direction ?? thank u either way & i hope u have a nice day ♡Ꮺ៸៸

thank you so much for your kind words :) so sorry for the delay, writer's block hit me like a truck last month so i'm trying to slowly get back into it (this is really lengthy and i don’t like it very much eek) anyways thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: mentions of alcohol, cursing, knives wc: 1.5k

tony was having yet another party. you swore he never even slept, just drank the night away with whoever was willing to with him. tonight, however, you didn’t have time to lecture him about his coping mechanisms. you had more pressing problems.

exactly a week before, bucky had invited you to spar. you'd jumped at the chance to have such experienced competition, and, if you were being honest, your heart raced when he pinned you. or talked to you, or even just looked at you, anything really. but everyone thought that way. right? right.

he’d let you choose one of his blades to work with, stating that he wanted you to be more familiar with knives. they were much easier to come by than guns, he’d noted.

"move your hand here instead of there... there you go."

"watch your six, good."

and soon enough the critiques turned to compliments, and it was much more of a fair fight. for almost an hour you were evenly matched, each dodging nearly all of the others’ blows.

as time dragged on, bucky started to get distracted. his eyes had flickered away for only a split second, but it was all you needed. you pushed him up against the wall, holding your knife to his throat. your breaths came quick and hard, and you'd stared up at his smirk, just inches from your face.

"careful there," he'd breathed. "you want to stab your opponent, not kiss them."

and with a rush of confidence, you'd cocked your head.

"would it be so bad?"

recognition dawned in his eyes, and that was the last thing you saw before a flash of metal overtook your vision. his knuckles had struck your ribs hard, and you went flying. he’d stalked out of the room and left you sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.

ever since then, you’d been stuck in a whirlpool of emotions, keeping yourself confined to your room whenever you could. your ribs were bruised along with your ego, and altogether you just felt terrible. what were you thinking? what posessed you to leave a thought you would've been embarassed to even think, just floating in the air like that? and now tony was hosting this party, and the last thing you wanted to do was go.

well, maybe you'd get something to drink.

the room was flooded with people, packed to the brim with journalists, celebrities, and some uninvited partiers that had found their way in. trying to avoid conversation, you found yourself, drink in hand, tucked away in the corner of the room with sam.

“i feel so stupid, sam.”

“dude, i’m sure it’s not that serious. he probably just freaked out a little. and besides, i mean, look at you!” he motioned towards your dress, giving his hands a shake to emphasize how it flattered your figure.

“listen, though,” he continued. “just give him some time. he’s one to avoid any and all confrontation, but he’ll come around. with some nagging, maybe.”

you laughed. “thank you. i’m sorry for bothering you about this, i know it’s not super important.”

“it’s super important to you,” he pointed out, stuffing an hor d'oeuvre in his mouth. “‘s ‘mportant t’me by default.”

“ew, sam.”

bucky, in the meantime, was livid.

he’d come down just to grab a drink, or five, because the serum made it particularly tough for him to be inebriated. in the two minutes he was downstairs, of course he’d caught a glimpse of you, the very person he was trying to avoid. and you looked beautiful.

the party spilled out of open doors, people clambering in for a glance at tony. many shoved past him at an attempt to get closer to the middle of the room. it was a security nightmare, and also, he couldn’t hear anything.

he saw sam leaning in, whispering something to you, gesturing to your body? and you were laughing? as if his week hadn’t been bad enough, you’d moved right on from him. he wasn’t mad at you, he could never be. but sam?

“i need some air,” he grumbled to no one in particular. he pushed past waves of partygoers, keeping his head down, and slipped away through the first door he found.

across the room, you felt your heart sink to your stomach. you’d only seen bucky for a moment, and despite your determination to be happy, the look of revulsion on his face made you want to crumble.

“sam, i- i need some air.”

he nodded, brushing crumbs off of his chin and waving as you ducked through the crowd, dodging drinks and people alike. your ears rang, and even the silence of the elevator was deafening when the doors slid shut.

you tumbled out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, steadying yourself on a nearby doorknob. the wind whipped around your body, sending goosebumps down your arms and stinging your eyes. it was far too cold to be out on the roof, but where else was there to be?

you crept closer to the edge, perching on the roof so that you could see the city moving below you. cars and trucks whizzed by, oblivious to your existence. you found the bright colors of the stoplights blurring in your vision.

you were quickly learning that your emotions would always get the better of you. no matter how determined you were, they always took control.

the maintenance door behind you creaked open, and you whirled around to see who had found you. the glint of metal under the spotlights told you all you needed to know, and you quickly turned away.

“are you… crying?”

“no,” you sniffed, swiping fruitlessly at your tears.

"okay."

bucky lowered himself down next to you, stretching his legs to let them dangle off of the roof. he left a good space between the two of you, and you couldn't even bring yourself to hope he'd close the gap.

there was silence for a few moments, where neither of you dared to even breathe, much less look at each other.

"i was wrong," he whispered.

"what?"

“i said, i was wrong."

it was louder this time, but left you just as confused. was it guilt or pity that compelled him to make such a statement? either way, you shook your head. he couldn't be left thinking that way for simply feeling what he felt.

"no, you're not wrong. i was way too forward, and i made you uncomfortable. maybe you didn't have to lay me out like that, but that was a justified response. it's perfectly fine that you don't want me."

"but i do want you."

a puff of air escaped his lips with the words, visible in the frigid night. it dissipated as you turned the words over in your mind. you toyed with your fingers, afraid you'd misheard him. afraid you'd dreamed up the whole thing.

"i do want you. i've wanted you since i met you, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you smile at me when you think i'm not looking, the way you hum along to every song, all of it. i just..."

he took a deep breath, and you could've sworn his hands had a little shake to them.

"it's... crazy. like shit, doll, i've hardly even talked to a girl in seventy years, and there you were lookin' beautiful, and talkin' about kissing me, and i just... didn't know what to do."

you nodded, gathering enough courage to peek up at him. he was watching you wistfully, emotion you'd never seen in him before displayed plainly on his face.

he looked away, though, shaking his head. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't have said anything. especially since you have that thing going on with sam now."

you wrinkled your nose. “what thing?”

“i, uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “i saw you guys talking. you looked happy.”

you giggled, smiling for what felt like the first time in forever. "about you, buck. i was worried about you. did you think i was making a move on sam?"

"maybe," he said sheepishly.

“he was helping me, or trying to, because i really messed up. i really do like you, james.”

his face softened at that, eyes widening at your confession. "in that case, i want- if you want to, i mean, i don't want to force anything-"

you reached over and took his hand, relishing the feeling of it slotting perfectly into your grip. "i want to."

"well, c'mere then."

he tucked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, smiling down at you.

“can i kiss you now?” you breathed.

he answered by pressing his lips to yours, and it felt as though you melted into him for a moment. the colors dancing across your eyes were no longer from the traffic lights, but the dizzying happiness fizzing in your body, like the bubbles in a champagne glass.

he pulled away for a moment, and your heart pounded, afraid you’d messed something else up. but he only smiled at you.

“that felt really good.”

and before you could say “yes, it did,” his hands were cupping your face and he was pressing another gentle kiss to your longing lips.

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

[rebornologist]

no, cause i love dino with my whole heart but why would people choose his wardrobe when it mostly has only basic stuff?? 😭 i have my own t-shirts and pants thank you very much. i just know for sure that mukuro has the most fashionable wardrobe and I'd like to steal some of his pompous and extravagant clothes 🥴

(obviously, it's just a joke and my headcanon~)

HOR YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT I myself had to debate between Mukuro & Gokudera for my own answer (because as much as I love the bfe fantasy of wearing Squalo's coat I just felt like I wanted to go for something that would mesh well with my personal style). Mukuro has absolutely been depicted in some fire fits and I looove his affinity for leather and latex and thigh high boots...

as an aside, I am always so heart eyes @ how akira amano dresses her characters ;w;

We absolutely cannot deny that Dino is the type to toss over yet another loosely fitted t-shirt to you whenever you ask for one (and they're pretty plain but at least they're super soft??). I can so imagine you exclusively wearing his shirts post hookup and never actively seeking them but anywaaay-- With that said, I definitely think that the Dino closet-raiders in chat are going for the comfy and functional look. The sheer number of pockets on this man's outfits is everything. No doubt that he has a selection of tailored eveningwear for special occasions, but his daily wear is so... mammal biologist fieldwork slay, imo.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I wanted to request something with Prince Steve and his soulmate. I feel like we’ve started to see them warm up to each other but maybe we could see reader start to meet Steve’s friends and see that she’s got more people standing behind her? Like maybe Robin and Eddie teasing Steve about something embarrassing in front of her or I know she hasn’t shown up yet but I could totally see Nancy as like a lady in waiting/tutor to teach her all about proper manners but in the process she spills all these stories about Steve growing up?

thank you for requesting ♡ prince steve au fem, 1k

A knock at the door, an impatient huff. "Are you ready yet?" 

"Come in, Steve." 

He wedges into your rooms, a basket in his hands. "Why are you on the floor?" 

"Can't tie my stupid shoes," you complain, dropping your hands down, knee pulled up, too warm for all the fuss. 

Steve nearly drops the basket, he's that enthusiastic to help you out. He kneels by your feet and takes the laces of your shoes into his hands, pulling them tight, his eyebrows pinched tighter. "That okay?" he asks, pausing his loop. 

"Yeah. Thank you." 

"They didn't teach you how to tie your shoes back home? We need outreach immediately." 

You laugh and lay back on the plush rug behind you. "It's the weird eyelets. You royals do everything weird. Like picnicking." 

"So many points. These aren't eyelets, they're lace hooks. You're pretty much as royal as I am, or you will be in a matter of days. And," —he finishes tying your boot, pulling the other toward him with a small laugh— "Robin wanted a picnic. She's not royal. None of your points make any sense." 

"You'll be a wretched husband." 

Steve takes your hands and pulls you up into a sitting position. He doesn't let them go, transferring both into one so he has a hand free to straighten up your cardigan. "And you'll be a cherished wife." 

Steve pulls you onto your feet. Together, you walk through the selenite halls of the palace to the prince's private gardens, where a gazebo the colour of the sky stands shading refreshments from the eager sun. Helping themselves to the hors d'oeuvres are a tall Eddie and a shorter partner in crime, Robin. Nancy lays out in the grass next to who you assume to be her boyfriend, a handsome guy with two books in his hands, still closed. He squints in the sun, waving as you and Steve approach. 

"Hey!" he greets. "You're late."

"Don't get up," Steve jokes, waving back at him and Nancy, who's barely lifted her head. "Not like I'm anyone important." 

"Very, very hard to find you important when you're wearing shorts," Eddie says. 

Steve shrugs. "She likes them." 

You realise belatedly and with horror that you're she. How does he know you like his nice shorts? Either way, his indifference so long as you like them makes you flush, leaving his side in search of a cold drink to drown yourself in.

"Did you bring the bat?" Steve asks Jonathan behind you. 

"Hey, babe," Eddie says, offering you a glass cup set with pressed flowers in the sides, "you okay?" 

"Is that lemonade?" you ask, pointing at one of the small water dispensers. Their glass shells shine with condensation, more ice cubes than liquid inside. It's a cloudy white with blood orange slices cut and garnishing the top, their juice seeping downward slowly. 

"Sure is. Prince Stevie's favourite, as always. Don't know where the sudden love for oranges came from, do you?" 

You've had a love for them since you got here and tried them for the first time. Oranges are expensive, and so the palace kitchen has them in abundance. Steve clearly noticed. "Wouldn't you know?" you ask. "Don't you choose his meals?" 

"As if. I'm a glorified cleaning boy," Eddie says. He scoops a bagel covered in cream cheese and fresh cut salmon from a silver tray and takes a big bite. "Just stick around for the food." 

"They won't let him back into the engineers workshop on account of his bad manners, he'll be a dishwasher forever," Robin says grandly, rounding the table to stand on your other side. 

"Says you, lady's maid." 

Robin was supposed to be a lady's maid. Sick gig, good pay, she had all the grades and none of the decorum, but Steve wouldn't let them get rid of her, and after an intense training program that taught her to wield a titanium blade longer than her arm as an extension of it, she was instated as his personal guard instead. They're all job hoppers —Nancy started as a lady's maid but now apprentices as a royal tutor, and her boyfriend worked for the palace's news room but now works under the sous chef. 

You did anything you could to stay alive, and now your full time job is princess, so. You're not judging. 

"What's Nancy's boyfriends name?" you whisper. "Jon?" 

"Jonathan. I don't think anybody calls him Jon," Robin whispers back. 

"She's lying. His name is Gordon." Eddie glares at Robin. "She's trying to trip you up." 

A smack erupts through the air, chased by Steve's pleased whoop. "Yes! Baby, did you see that?" 

"I'm not trying to trip you up," Robin says, "don't listen." 

"She totally is." 

"Baby?" Steve calls, yards away in the bluegrass, a bat held at his side. "Guys, stop harassing her. Jesus." 

"We're not harassing her, Stevie, slow your roll. This is a common social phenomenon called teasing, maybe you've heard of it? You do it with friends," Eddie says, nudging your arm. 

Friends, you think. Steve's looking at you, waiting for confirmation that you're alright. "I didn't see it, Steve. Do it again!" 

Steve immediately jogs backwards, goading Jonathan into pitching another ball. He has a good arm, the ball soaring just right for Steve to curl back and send it wide across the green grass of the garden. It hits a long banner across the way, smack dab on its painted target as he'd aimed for, falling practically on top of the first. 

It's an impressive arc. You clap your hands together and cheer, though the rules of this game escape you. You think it's supposed to be darts without sharp points, but you're more concerned with the lines of Steve's bicep as he rests the bat on his shoulder, his triumphant sun-kissed smile.

"Did you see that one, baby?" Robin asks. 

"He's so impressive, isn't he?" Eddie adds, grinning. 

Steve throws them the bird, his cheeks pink. 

"That's an example of what not to do in a formal setting," Nancy says, her skirt moving like water as she puts her face in her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

"You're getting good at this tutoring stuff," Jonathan says. 

Steve meanders your way to beg a consolation hug (he puts his arm across your shoulder, muttering about mean friends and their unjust jokes). "They're the worst," he mutters, his hair brushing your ear, goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

"I think they're nice," you say. 

He hums in your ear. "You would. Wretched wife." 

[brittle-doughie]

~○°♡ooo how does this sound, y/n cookie being a famous artist¿¿¡¡°○♡~

The Hors d’Oeuvre Museum would have an entire wing of it dedicated to your works, with Curator Emmental Cheese personally watching over it themself, making sure no scoundrels didn’t try to make off with your artworks or even, god forbid, have flash photography in your wing of the museum. They’d faint if they noticed that your works had deteriorated in any way!

Many artists looked up to you, including Butter Pretzel Cookie. It would be her dream to meet you and completely gush about how amazing your art was!

She will jump on any cookie who questioned the value of your pieces, pretty much being a fangirl and willing to rant at them for HOURS on how much effort your paintings were and how they had no taste in art if they found your paintings in any way bad!

If there was one cookie who would pay for your paintings at a price she felt like they were worth, it would be Cheesecake Cookie. If Almond Cookie saw the bill for when one of your paintings, the magic powder would leave his body at the amount of lifetimes of coffee he could buy with the coins.

Alas, only Cheesecake could afford your paintings, she had a whole room dedicated to them in fact! She will not take any other cookie attempting to purchase an available painting, she tries her damndest to outbid the other cookie. She’s taking that painting home whether it’s through legitimate means or not.

Truffle Cookie cherishes the sight of your paintings in the museum, she can’t help but marvel at your works of art. The level of detail and the brush strokes, ah, she could look at them all day~

It was through Cheesecake Cookie that you were made aware of how much of a fan Truffle was, Truffle Cookie’s joy could not be contained when one of your works was mailed to her as a gift. She makes sure it’s always kept at top quality and even has her spiders guard the area around it. This might make Cheesecake and Butter Pretzel jealous though.

If Curator Cheese isn’t enough to deter any would-be thieves, then this crossbow from Pastry Cookie should suffice. The church had commissioned paintings from you before and they would like to express their gratitude by having one of the more devoted followers of your work to be the guardian of them.

Her dedication to justice means to hunt down anyone who tried to flee with your artworks, let them run, they won’t get far with Pastry Cookie hot on their heels. Cookies could try to reach out to your paintings, only to receive a very stern warning from Pastry Cookie to take steps back. Those who try to rob your artistic greatness deserve no mercy!

[ranaissingle]

Non famous reader x Austin where she’s just feeling really out of place and she worries Austin senses it and wants to break up so she’s been distancing herself but he really loves her

I'm Yours

Masterlist

Authors Note: I like the way you think anon! I tried to stick to the prompt as much as possible but let me know if you want me to change anything because I did take some (a lot of) creative liberties lol. It ended up being a little long so grab a snack. Enjoy!!

Word Count: 927 ish

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She couldn't take it anymore. Y/N was drained. She was tired of the gossip, the cameras, the comments on the internet, and most of all she was tired of being alone all of the time. But she could hold on. Couldn't she? It was Austin after all. He was worth it right? He was kind, and smart, and held her whenever she asked for it. Maybe all she needed was a couple of days with just her and Austin to recuperate.

They were both at a New Years party hosted by another celebrity couple. Y/N had been feeling off all night and she was worried that Austin had noticed. He was in his element. He was among people like him who were interested in his latest projects and could relate with him on the troubles and downsides of acting. They ran circles around him asking him question after question, and eventually, y/n got tired of being ignored. Most people did not bother to even greet her properly because she had nothing to offer them. She was average. There was absolutely nothing interesting about her besides the fact that she was Austin's girlfriend. So, she slinked over to the balcony off to the side of the venue with a glass of champagne and a heavy heart. The cold night air seemed to only further her spiral of thoughts. Y/n had a feeling she didn't have much longer in this relationship before Austin grew tired of her normalcy and left her. The novelty of the relationship had faded and y/n knew her time was approaching much faster than she was ready for.

Austin had felt the warmth leave him when y/n left for the balcony. He had wanted to follow her immediately but those around him kept him wrapped up in conversations he had lost all interest in. Eventually, Austin was able to sneak away from overbearing managers and publicists and made his way over the balcony. He felt that she had been off the whole night and it had begun to worry him. Austin would never tire of admiring y/n. Her hair was styled differently than normal and her dress hugged each and every curve on her captivating frame. Austin's fingers twitched with the need to have his hands on her. His eyes gaze moved up to search for her beautiful eyes but instead of a smile on her face, Austin found something that worried him.

"Rough night?"

Austin's voice was smooth as he wrapped his arms around Y/N's waist and rested his head in between the crook of her neck. He felt her swallow thickly as she took a deep shaky breath in. Something was definitely wrong.

"Hey, baby is something wrong? You've been lookin' a lil' off all night"

Y/N's tight smile did nothing to quell the growing feeling of worry in Austin's stomach. He couldn't bare it anymore, the worry was eating him alive.

"You've gotta tell me what's wrong love, did someone say anythin' to you?" His brows clipped together in worry as he turned y/n around by her shoulders to inspect her face further.

"I guess it's what they didn't say that got to me.”Y/N's soft reply took Austin by surprise.

"What do you mean baby I don't understand?" His voice raised an octave as his worry grew.

"I don't belong here Austin. The only person to acknowledge me was the busboy when he came around with hors d'oeurvres. I don't fit into the world you live in and I know it's only a matter of time before yo-, before you.."

The words got stuck in her throat because Y/N knew that as soon as she spoke them the whole situation would become real and she wouldn’t be able to face it.

"Before I what darling" Austin's gaze swept all over her face and his eyes widened in fear of what she would say next.

Y/N took in a deep breath.

"I know it's only a matter of time before you leave me Austin. I am only going to drag you down an-"

"Stop! What are you talking about?!” His voice quaked and her eyes widened when his hands came up around her to grip her shoulders.

“I would never think you are dragging me down y/n, never. You are the love of my life I could never leave you. You are the best thing that has happened to me Y/N I love you so much it hurts."

Woah.

Y/n had fully expected a breakup monologue or an agreeing nod from Austin. Not a proclamation of undying love so soulful it made her heart hurt and beat faster all at once. Her eyes glassed over and even then with her nose running, tears streaming down her face, and hiccups leaving her lips, Austin still thought she looked ethereal.

"I will love you until the day I die and even after then. Mark my words."

Y/N only cried harder. Austin clasped his hands around her face, kissed away her tears and moved his lips to her cheeks, up to her eyelids, and down again to her nose before finally making it to her lips.

He kissed her like he needed her to breathe and held her waist and back like she could slip through his fingers at any moment. As they separated, he tucked her head into his chest and rested his head over hers. Austin whispered sweet nothings into her ears while he opened his phone to text his driver to pick them up. They stayed like that for no less than 30 minutes with Austin's arms enveloping her frame and y/n's head snuggled deep into his chest to inhale his distinct scent. He smelled of Cedarwood and a future she couldn’t wait to experience.

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AND DONE. I wasn't sure if anon wanted smut at the end so I decided to leave it like this because I feel like it has a bigger umph. Thank you for reading!!

Until next time

Masterlist

[taru-haru]

Banri Settsu【An Elegant Pause】SSR

< Afternoon tea at the hotel >

!Spoiler warning! : The followings contain contents of A3! act! addict! actors!

Card Quote :  “If I knew you would enjoy it so deliciously, I would’ve brought you here already.”

“When I see such face of yours…. Alright got it, I’ll eat it.”

The translation is undercut. You have been warned about spoilers.

͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘♡𐡘 𐡘 ֎ 𐡘 𐡘♡𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙

<I’ll be using the default name ‘Izumi’ for the director>

֎Afternoon tea at the hotel

Part 1

Izumi: “Looks like everyone has plans for the weekends this week.”

Taichi: “I got a part-time job on Saturdays and Sundays!”

Sakuya: “Is that so? Good luck!”

Taichi: “Thanks, I’m gonna work hard and earn money!”

Taichi: “Come to think of it, Sakkun also works part-time on Saturdays, right? Good luck there too!”

Sakuya: “Mm, thanks!”

Izumi: “Speaking of it, Banri-kun is meeting his sister on Saturday, right?

Sakuya: “Where are you going with your sister?”

Banri: “Just accompanying my sis to have an afternoon tea in the hotel lounge.”

Taichi: “Afternoon tea at a hotel? Popular men really are different!”

Banri: “It’s nothing like that. I’m just accompanying her, is all.”

Izumi: “Looks like it’s gonna be a lovely day out.”

Sakuya: “Banri-kun, have fun with your sister!”

Banri: “Yeah well, guess I’m gonna enjoy it.”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

*beep beep*

Banri: “Hello?”

Banri’s sister: “Ah, Banri? Sorry, I don’t think I can make it to the afternoon tea tomorrow.”

Banri: “Hah? Didn’t you say you wanted to go there?”

Banri’s sister: “I know but I got some stuff I can’t skip.”

Banri: “I don’t mind but isn’t there a reservation already?”

Banri’s sister: “Oh right, I already paid for the reservation.”

Banri: “Should we cancel?”

Banri’s sister: “I don’t think it’s possible to do a day before. So, how about you go with someone?”

Banri: “Ha? …..Geez, got it. I’ll look for someone.”

Banri’s sister: “I’ll leave it to you then.”

Banri: (Even if I say that, bringing someone from troupe is…..)

Banri: (Should I ask director-chan?)

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Banri: “I’m home.”

Izumi: “Banri-kun, welcome back.”

Banri: “Director-chan, you free tomorrow?”

Izumi: “Tomorrow? That I am…..”

Banri: “Actually, sis looks like she can’t come to the afternoon tea no more so if you don’t mind, wanna go with me?”

Izumi: “Eh, is it okay for me to go with you?”

Banri: “I’m inviting cause it’s okay in the first place.”

Izumi: “Well then, I’m taking your word for it. To be honest, I was indeed bit curious after listening to you the other day.”

Banri: “Alright, it’s decided then.”

Izumi: “I’m looking forward to it!”

Part 2

Izumi: “Wow….amazing….! Teapots, teacups, sweets– everything here is so fancy!”

Izumi: “It’s the first time I’ve had an afternoon tea at a hotel. So it feels like this.”

Banri: “I really was right to bring director-chan with me.”

Izumi: “Thank you for inviting me. It really is puzzling to decide which sweets to eat first.”

Banri: “Everything looks tasty after all.”

Izumi: “Should I start with this tart first…..Mm! So delicious!”

Banri: “Haha, you really eat like it’s exceptionally tasty.”

Izumi: “....It’s embarrassing to be watched so Banri-kun, you also eat!”

Banri: “Got it, got it.”

Izumi: (There’s not only sweets but also sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres.)

Izumi: (As expected of having afternoon tea at a hotel. The garden through the window is also very beautiful.)

Izumi: “Ah…..”

Banri: “What’s up?”

Izumi: “Look, looks like they’re having a wedding at the garden.”

Banri: “Right, sis did say that this hotel also has a wedding hall and is often used for arranging meetings for marriage and stuff.”

Izumi: “It seems like it’s sometimes also used for matchmaking. Oh, those two look like a couple.”

Banri: “They suit each other.”

Izumi: “Why do you think so?”

Banri: “The clothes, the atmosphere, kind of stuff?”

Izumi: “Now that you say it, they’re indeed a good match. The expression they’re making while talking is kind of timid….”

Izumi: “Then, what about the two over there?”

Banri: “Ain’t that a business meeting? They’re wearing formal business suits and all.”

Izumi: “Right…There’s so many kinds of people at this hotel. It’s kinda fun to observe them.”

Banri: “Uh-huh, it might be useful for the play.”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Izumi: “It’s such a beautiful garden. It does look like it’s well used for weddings and engagements.”

Banri: “Yeah. And that afternoon tea was kinda filling.”

Izumi: “It was quite a volume.”

Banri: “Let’s take a stroll around here.”

Izumi: “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Izumi: (There’s so many people here.)

Izumi: “The man and the woman ahead of us are walking arm in arm, they must be a couple.”

Banri: “Looks like it.”

Izumi: “.....Now that we’re on topic, I wonder how we look to others?”

Banri: “We must also look the same as that couple ahead.”

Izumi: “Eh? I wonder about that.”

Banri: “Then, what does director-chan think we look like?”

CHOOSE

Option 1: Maybe siblings

Izumi: “Maybe siblings.”

Banri: “Siblings, that’s kind of possible.”

Izumi: “Fufu, but I could be wrong.”

Banri: “If you think about it, it’s surprisingly difficult to guess relationship between people just by looking.”

Izumi: “It really is the case after we put ourselves in that position.”

Option 2: Maybe friends

Izumi: “Maybe friends.”

Banri: “Friends? Don’t you think that’s kinda off?”

Izumi: “Really?”

Banri: “Isn’t it better to say couple?”

Banri: “What do you say? Should we cross our arms and try to make it look like that?”

Izumi: “Eh?! That’s kind of….”

Banri: “Haha, just kidding.”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Banri: “It’s not possible to guess that I brought the head of the theatre company with me because my sis canceled the appointment at the last minute.”

Izumi: “If you can guess that then the person must have psychic level power…..”

Banri: “.....right.”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Banri: “We made a lap around the garden, should we head home? If you got a place you wanna go then it’s a different story though.”

Izumi: “I don’t have a particular place I wanna go but it would be nce if I can buy takeout or souvenirs here.”

Izumi: “The afternoon tea and sweets were delicious so I’d like to buy some for everyone.”

Banri: Ah, there’s plenty of those back home who can eat the sweets so it’s good I guess. Well, should we go buy some before heading home?”

Izumi: “Mm!”

Part 3

Tsumugi: “For plate, is this okay?”

Omi: “I think it’s good.”

Muku: “I’ll arrange the cups.”

Izumi: “Huh? Looks like the courtyard is lively.”

Banri: “Seems like it. Let’s check it out.”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Izumi: “We’re back.”

Kumon: “Ah! Welcome home!”

Banri: “What are y’all doing here?”

Kazunari: “Right now, we’re preparing for afternoon tea!”

Izumi: “Why afternoon tea?”

Citron: “When I helped out madams, I got a lot of sweats as thanks.”*

Azuma: “I also bought some Japanese sweets for everyone.”

Sakuya: “I also got sweets from my part-time job…”

Kumon: “Me too, I went home and brought some sweets!”

Omi: “So, as a result, these sweets were gathered.”

Muku: “And remembering that the two of you went for an afternoon tea, we decided to have a tea party in the courtyard as well.”

Banri: “Rice crackers, Japanese sweets, Western sweets on the table, amazing.”

Izumi: “Ah, then I guess this is a good thing. We also bought some sweets and tea as souvenirs, so have these too.”

Banri: “Yep, this is souvenirs.”

Kumon: “Yay! Let’s put these on table too.”

Muku: “Thank you very much!”

Izumi: “In the meantime, I’ll go get dinner ready.”

Banri: “And I’m going back to my room.”

Citron: “Oh, director and banri too, why not have tea party together?”

Omi: “The dinner’s already ready.”

Izumi: “Really? Thank you!”

Kazunari: “C’mon, director-chan and setzer too, let’s have a tea party together!”

Izumi: “Well then, let me also join here.”

Banri: “We did have one just before but I guess it’s okay.”

Azuma: “I’ll brew some tea then.”

Tsumugi: “I’ll set flowers for the table.”

Kumon: “Now this is getting serious!”

Muku: “It’s going to be fun!”

Izumi: “It was a quiet afternoon tea earlier so it’s exciting to have a lively one too.”

Banri: “Guess this isn’t too bad.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

*Nothing, just Citron with his mistakes. It's "sweets", not "sweats"

[T/N: also yes, added banri pic in between when he chuckled at izumi's happy face bc it fitted well with the situation lmao]