#i ADORE the fact that they’re (the boys) are like

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

Trevi Pony and Josh Johnny omlllll

[ruicchiii]

thank you nightbringer for existing and thus making me return back to my obey me fixation i have many thoughts about this

[poisoned-pearls]

”love letter from the sea to the shore,” (Delaney Bailey) and “good old fashioned lover boy,” are azul love songs directed at Jamil but from different ends of the spectrum

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

what if I died

[loafysainz]

Hey I loved your stories with Lando and the twins being clingy:)

Do you think you could write something where Lando is streaming or getting filmed( like the 24 hour video with angry ginge) and the twins can’t leave him alone. Like they want to help with the workout and sit on his lap the whole time.

:)

NEW STREAMER | LN 4

lando norris!dad x fem!reader!mom

warn: fluffffffffff

anw theyre not twins Noah is (5) & Leo (3), Thank you so much for the req! I hope you like it!!! 🤍

Lando was mid-game, headset on, fingers quick on the controller as he and Max Fewtrell played yet another round of whatever game they were obsessed with that week. His stream chat was buzzing, the viewers thoroughly entertained by the usual banter between the two.

“Bro, you literally threw—” Max was saying, but before he could finish, the door behind Lando suddenly burst open with dramatic force.

BANG.

In came a blur of curly-haired chaos: Noah (5) and Leo (3), charging straight at him like tiny human missiles. Their tiny footsteps pattered against the floor, and before Lando could even turn around, two little missiles launched themselves at him.

“DADDYYYYY!”

Lando barely had time to react before they tackled him. “Oi, oi, what’s this? what are you two doing? It’s way past your bedtime.” he laughed, quickly muting his mic as the two little ones climbed onto his lap like they owned the place.

Noah pouted. “Not sleepy.”

Leo, the youngest one, rubbed his little fists over his eyes, betraying the fact that he was absolutely sleepy but fighting it like a true warrior. “I miss Mommy.” His voice wobbled slightly, and his big brown eyes were already glassy with unshed tears.

And just like that, Lando felt his heart squeeze.

Lando instantly softened. He didn’t even hesitate before pausing the game and wrapping both kids in his arms. “Oh, come here,” he murmured, setting his controller aside to properly hold them. He knew Y/N was off having her well-deserved girls’ trip, but apparently, bedtime was a struggle without her.

“You miss Mommy, huh?” he murmured, pressing kisses onto their soft little heads.

Both boys nodded, Noah sniffing as he clung to his dad’s hoodie. “Yeah. When’s mommy coming back?”

Lando rubbed soothing circles on their backs. “She’s having her girl’s trip. She’ll be back in a few days.”

Leo sniffled dramatically. “That’s so looooong.”

“Oi, don’t be dramatic,” Lando teased gently. “You guys have me! Isn’t that enough?”

Noah wrinkled his nose. “Mmm…”

Max burst into laughter on the other end of the call. “Oh my God, your own kid just humbled you.”

Lando sighed. “Alright, you wanna help me with the game?”

Noah nodded enthusiastically. Leo, already making himself at home on Lando’s lap, rested his cheek against his dad’s chest. “Wanna help,” he mumbled sleepily.

Lando grinned and handed them his spare controller, even though it wasn’t actually connected. “Alright, but we keep it chill.”

The next few minutes were absolute chaos. Noah kept pointing at things on the screen, bombarding Lando with rapid-fire questions. “What’s that? Who’s that guy? Why did you do that? Can I do that?”

Lando answered every single one patiently while simultaneously trying not to get eliminated in-game. Meanwhile, Leo was just pressing random buttons on his fake controller, babbling nonsense as if he was actually playing. Occasionally, he’d giggle in pure delight, making Lando’s heart melt on the spot.

Max, amused, decided to include chat. “Alright, boys, say hi to chats.”

Noah, ever the confident one, waved. “Hello, Chats!”

Leo, though, hesitated before tilting his head. “Umm… who we talking to? What they look like? I can’t see them daddy” His little voice, still holding onto that babyish lisp, made the words even more adorable.

Lando, Max, and literally everyone in chat laughing out loud.

Lando actually had to take a deep breath from laughing. “They’re… um, they’re just watching through the screen, buddy. They’re just like you.”

Leo frowned, like he was trying very hard to understand. Then, after a long moment, he nodded. “Okay. Hi, people in the screen!”

The chat exploded

“THE BABIES ARE HERE EVERYONE STAY CALM”

“Leo is literally the cutest thing ever”

“Noah asking 500 questions per second LMAO”

“Y/N better watch out, Lando violated the children's screen time.”

“They miss their mama :(((((”

Lando, still grinning, let them push random buttons as the game continued. It was chaotic, to say the least—Noah kept trying to actually play, while Leo just mashed buttons with all the confidence of a pro-gamer. Lando didn’t even care that they were losing horrendously; seeing them smile made it worth it.

But soon enough, it was obvious that tiredness was creeping in. Leo’s blinks were getting slower, and Noah, while still trying to act tough, was yawning every few minutes.

Lando glanced at the time. “Alright. One last round, then it’s bedtime.”

Noah groaned. “But—”

“No buts!” Lando cut in, ruffling his hair.

As the game went on, Noah continued to give commentary like a tiny sports analyst, and Leo just… slowly melted against Lando, his chubby cheek squished adorably against his dad’s chest.

Lando stood carefully, cradling Leo in one arm while holding Noah’s hand with the other. “Alright, chat, I gotta go be a dad now. Thanks for hanging out, and I’ll see you all next time.”

Max smirked. “Gotta keep Dad Lando’s rep as the best bedtime storyteller, huh?”

Lando grinned. “Exactly.”

By the time it ended, Lando was ready to sign off. He gave the camera a fond smile. “Thanks for hanging out—Noah, say bye.”

“Bye, people!”

Lando turned to Leo, who was now fully slumped against him, half-asleep. “Leo, say bye.”

Leo, eyes barely open, mumbled, “Bye, screen people.”

As Lando wrapped up the stream, the chat was already buzzing with questions.

“Awwwww Leo knocked out”

“Noah be like ‘one more game’ energy”

“GOODNIGHT BABIES”

“Where’s y/n?”

Before turning off the stream, Lando replied “Y/N’s having a girls' trip, so I’m on dad duty. And these two little spiderman need to sleep before I get in trouble!”

“Alright, bedtime, you little spiderman.”

Noah yawned. “Can we call mommy first?”

Lando smiled. “Of course, mate. Let’s go tuck in and give her a call.”

And with that, he carried his sleeping toddler and led his other sleepy one down the hall, heart full, and already excited to tell Y/N all about their little adventure.

Lando and Noah was quietly talking with Y/N in their shared bed, Leo stirred at the sound of their voices. Still half-asleep, he shuffled closer, rubbing his eyes.

“Mommy,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “I talk to screen people.”

Lando chuckled softly, smoothing Leo’s curls. “Yeah, you did, buddy.”

Y/N’s voice came through the phone. “Did he really?”

Noah immediately jumped in. “Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you.”

Leo pouted, now fully awake and climbing onto Lando’s chest. “Come home, mommy.”

Lando sighed dramatically, squeezing them both. “Yeah, when are you coming home? We’re suffering over here.”

Y/N just smiled on the screen, watching her boys pile up on Lando. “I’ll be home soon.”

Lando huffed, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Not soon enough.”

The boys continued to mumble sleepy protests, but eventually, exhaustion won over. One by one, they drifted off, little hands clutching Lando’s hoodie.

As he looked at Y/N on the screen, he sighed. “Seriously, though. I miss you.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “I know.”

Lando groaned playfully, nuzzling his cheek against Leo’s soft curls. “Hurry up and come back already.”

She just smiled again. “Sleep, Lando.”

He yawned, wrapping his arms around the boys. “Fine. But only ‘cause I’m exhausted.”

And with that, he fell asleep, his family safely tucked around him, waiting for Y/N to come home.

END

[lolitakirstein]

CW:Implied smut, pregnancy, Toji being feral for you

Thinking about how Toji loves when your pregnant.

He loves watching your belly grow weekly, constantly comparing it to the week before. Your small little bump in the first trimester drives him wild. “I just look fat” you complain anytime he’d come up behind you and rub on your little pooch that had formed, not yet a solid form distinguishable underneath. “No baby it’s much different, you look so adorable, “ he’d softly pinch the skin, causing you to squeal. Your breast started growing rapidly as you neared your delivery date, and toji adored how swollen they were becoming even though you were still complaining about your changing body “None of my bras fit, they’re so heavy and sore,” “I know baby,” he’d coo at night while he palmed your tender breast to relieve the aches. “But you’re still so sexy. Your perfect tits swollen with milk to feed our baby. Fuck you’re gonna be a pretty mama.” You feared your changing body would make Toji less attracted to you. “Not at all baby, i think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked. All knocked up with my child,” he'd say from the couch as he watched you strolling around the house-more like waddling, in nothing but a large tshirt and panties.  “Real eloquent, Toji,” you roll your eyes.  The final weeks and days of your pregnancy were rough. Your stomach distended so big you worried if you breathed too heavily you would pop.  “Look at youuuuuu,” Toji would sigh, getting on his knees infront of you to kiss and rub your sore belly. “Our little guys gonna be big like his daddy.” Sure enough, your little bundle of joy was in fact a large, bouncing 9lb baby boy. And sure enough, Toji was ready get you pregnant again as he watched you breastfeeding your little creation in the rocking chair.  “God that’s about the most beautiful sight i’ve ever seen,” he breathed while laying in the floor of the nursery, absolutely swooning over you and your child. “Let’s have another.” “Toji! I just gave birth,” you half laugh half shout.  “Yeah?” he shrugged, reaching for your feet and massaging your achey ankles. “You’d look heavenly feeding my child while full of my other one” You playfully kicked him in the chest.

Honestly, Toji would keep you pregnant 24/7/365 if he could. The pride he felt seeing you busting with his child. How your skin glowed from the hormones. Even how your nipples would darken and enlarge, leaking with milk near feeding time- hell he even loved rubbing nipple cream on your sore nipples and breast, always trying to soothe you. 

And sure enough, not even a year after the birth of your child, Toji smirked as you showed him the 2 faint lines. “Mmmmm, get to see my baby all big again, fertile little mama.” You only half teased about getting him “fixed”, because you secretly loved being pregnant as well and watching the literal heart eyes pulse in his eyes. The massages were also a plus

[aclowndoll]

With us getting the newest installment of book seven, this time with Kalim and Jamil’s “perfect world” dreams, I would like every other Yuu Harem enthusiast to consider the idea that Malleus unintentionally exposed literally everyone’s crush on Yuu to their face.

Because everyone’s dreams would have one thing in common with one another and that’s the fact that Yuu is 1. around somehow, usually having decided to stay in Twisted Wonderland rather than return home, and 2. is dating the dreamer.

And it especially sucks if they had done a good job at hiding their feelings and now Yuu knows about not only their feelings, but the feelings of all their competition. Literally it is just-

Everyone’s dreams: *has a fake version of Yuu staying in Twisted Wonderland forever and is in a dedicated romantic relationship with the dreamer*

The real Yuu, seeing all this happen with their own two eyes: I’m sensing a pattern here

And then when everyone wakes up, Yuu just has to hit them with the “is there something anyone wants to talk to me about?” meanwhile everyone is stumbling over their own words, cursing Malleus for exposing them.

Also if we take this in a yandere route then it’s even WORSE cause Yuu gets to see the extent at which the dreamer adores them, to the obsessive and possessive level I mean. Like no one else talking to their dream version, or if they get mistaken for their counterpart by the dreamer then they’ll see the dreamer get cold towards any npcs that try to talk to them.

Or even dream Yuu doing something uncharacteristic like ditching their friends or, heaven forbid, Grim in favor of the dreamer.

Everyone: *gets to live out their obsessive fantasies with Yuu in the dream where they’re willingly isolated*

Yuu: Once this is over, we all need to have a long discussion about boundaries

Instead of being just simply embarrassed, the yandere version of the boys would be downright upset and crying because they’ve been exposed and now think that Yuu doesn’t love them anymore. Some are begging, others weeping, you get the idea.

Let’s just hope Yuu has enough patience to let it go until after Malleus’ overblot is dealt with.

[luveline]

If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours. 

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid. 

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here. 

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably. 

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing. 

“What?” 

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?” 

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.” 

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?” 

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.” 

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.” 

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.” 

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.” 

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.” 

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly. 

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid. 

“Hi, Hotch,” you say. 

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says. 

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.” 

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks. 

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging. 

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.” 

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up. 

“You too, Prentiss.” 

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know? 

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says. 

“Missed me?” 

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.” 

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.” 

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them. 

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster. 

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently. 

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?” 

“Both.” 

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke. 

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.” 

“Wait,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Usually. Why?” 

“Are you okay right now?” 

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.” 

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask. 

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually. 

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.” 

“Me too.” 

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection. 

Can JJ make him blush like that? 

—

bombshell fics

[blaire-apricity]

Hello, if it's ok with you we could have a reaction of the LaDS boys reacting to hearing the reader's sneeze for the first time and she sneezes like a kitten? (my body is ready for Sylus's part

Kitten Sneeze

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Upon sneezing, you sounded remarkably like the cat that Xavier feeds outside the apartment. He paused mid-action, his expression inscrutable as he observed you wiping your nose with a handkerchief, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“What…?” You asked, blinking at him in confusion.

“I thought I heard an actual kitten,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. Xavier had a soft spot for kittens, often stopping to pet strays whenever he encountered them. He wouldn't even pull back if a kitten decided to nibble his finger.

“I didn’t know you were capable of mimicking a kitten,” he chuckled softly, the corners of his lips curving into a rare, gentle smile. His eyes softened, exuding a warmth that made your heart flutter. “It was very cute.”

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

“Are you alright?” Zayne's voice carried a tinge of concern as he glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. Before you could respond, you sneezed again, the high-pitched sound eerily similar to a kitten's meow. As a dedicated doctor, his initial worry was whether this was a respiratory problem, but the consistency of your sneezes reassured him it was just a quirky trait of yours.

“Drink water,” he murmured, gently rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. With his other hand, he held a glass of water to your lips, which you gratefully sipped. “I’m worried that you might be catching a cold or an allergy.”

“No, I’m okay,” you reassured him, sniffing a bit.

“Mm.” Zayne subtly nodded at your words; his concern not entirely dispelled. Though he wouldn’t openly admit it, he found your sneezing adorable, its kitten-like quality endearing to someone who secretly had a soft spot for such creatures, like him.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

“A-Achoo..!” Your sneeze, sounding like a tiny cat’s meow, made Rafayel flinch visibly. He wasn't fond of cats, a fact you were well aware of, but his reaction still caught you off guard.

He stared at you with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, looking genuinely bewildered. “Was that you?”

You wiped your nose, sniffling as you met his incredulous gaze. “Yeah, why?”

“…” His frown deepened as he slowly backed away, his expression a mix of concern and annoyance. “This is why you aren’t supposed to come near those fur-monsters! They’re already affecting you!”

“…” You rolled your eyes at his dramatic antics, only to notice him dialing something on his phone. Realization dawned as you saw he was calling an ambulance.

“Rafayel-!”

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Hearing your adorable kitten-like sneeze, the first thing Sylus did was chuckle, his deep and raspy voice resonating throughout the room. He had been engrossed in a book just before you sneezed, but the unexpected sound captured his full attention.

“What was that?”

“What was what…? I sneezed…”

“Seems like I’ve been right all along,” he mused, his crimson eyes locking onto you with an amused glint. You frowned slightly, unsure of his meaning.

“You really are my kitten,” he declared, his voice laced with a possessive endearment that made your cheeks burn. His straightforward claim left you blushing profusely, his intense gaze making your heart race as he reaffirmed your place in his life.

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 (𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟) 𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡- 𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!

satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.

you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.

too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.

and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.

simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.

you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.

“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.

“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”

“i’m not stupid!”

“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”

“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”

very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.

“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”

“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”

“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.

“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”

“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.

satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.

“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.

“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.

“i’ll be lonely!”

“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”

“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.

“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”

“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.

“you said that last time.”

“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”

“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.

he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.

it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.

evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM

baby boy 💋:

you left without a goodbye kiss???????????

are you ignoring me????????????

baby

sweetheart

sunshine

angel

peaches

i know you’re reading this.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM

mrs. gojo ❤️:

please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today

this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Finds Everything Cute

Marvel finds literally every creature cute and it’s either extremely disturbing or strange to the rest of the league.

Marvel, Aquaman, and Wondy: *in Tartarus*

Aquaman: “Is that Cerberus??”

Wondy: “Yes, yes, it is.”

Random Demon: *flailing around in one of its mouths*

Marvel: “Cerby!”

Cerberus: *all three heads perk up*

Marvel: “Drop.” *points down*

Cerberus: *spits him out*

Marvel: “Good boy!” *flies over to scratch under one of it’s heads*

Aquaman: *watching as Marvel coos over the dog*

Wondy: *kills the demon*

They all got to ride the Cerberus after that. Aquaman was on the left most head, Marvel was on the middle, and Diana was on the right. Hades was extremely confused when he saw this because he never thought Cerberus would act like this around mortals??

or

JL: *all wearing blindfolds besides Marvel because they don’t wanna go insane*

Marvel: *waves* “Hi Cthulhu!”

Cthulhu: *tentacle noise that’s the equivalent of “Hello, Champion*

Batman: “Mighty Cthulhu, we have come here today-”

Marvel: “You’re just as cute as I remember!” *disappears past the tentacles and is probably scratching his chin or something*

*silence*

Batman: “Captain, please step away from the primordial entity that can drive people insane with just one look.”

Marvel: *poked his head out of the tentacles, not that they can see* “But he’s adorable!”

Everyone on the JL was a little confused as to how Marvel was able to call the Lovecraftian entity cute but whatever.

or

Wondy and Marvel: *on a ship, watching a single harpy sing*

Marvel: *isn’t affected*

Wondy: *is a little affected but covering her ears makes it more less affective*

Marvel: “Look Diana! A Harpy!” *picks it up*

Harpy: *between singing and screeching at being picked up*

Wondy: “Brother, we cannot take it back to the Watchtower.”

Marvel: “But why?”

Wondy: “It will bewitch all the heroes with it’s song.”

Marvel: “Oh yeah…” *gloomily puts it back down and it runs off*

Marvel was like super depressed, but Diana just got him a chicken and that instantly made him happy again.

or

Constantine and Marvel: *both in Hell and walking down a path*

Hellhound: *pops in out of nowhere and starts barking*

Constantine: *gets jumpscared* “SHIT!”

Marvel: *sounds so excited* “A hellhound!” *bends down to pet it a bunch* “Who’s a good boy?”

Hellhound: *loving the attention*

Constantine: *watching this and judgmentally lights up a cigarette* “How do you do that, mate?”

Marvel: “Huh?”

Constantine: “I’ve heard from others that you’re like a fucking Disney princess when it comes to monsters for some reason. How do you do that? Is that something you get from being the champion?”

Marvel: “I don’t know actually!”

He actually doesn’t know, because Solomon told him that none of the Champions besides a couple were like this and it was just because they were good with animals and stuff. In other words, he and a couple others were like Disney princesses because they love animals, regardless of the fact that they’re alien or monsters or not.

[irndad]

hii dollface, would u write smtg abt hotch being jealous?

like he's trying to hide it from making the team notices when he saw some officer flirting with r?

no pressure in writing, lovey. change it however u want or ignore it if u dont feel like writing it (i completely understands u 🤍)

my love this has lived in my brain so relentlessly <3 i hope you love it!!!! thank you for requesting!! wc: 1.7k

It is incredibly easy to like her.

She’s charismatic in a way that’s almost universally appealing, and he’s memorized the shape of her wide grin. She smiles with her whole face, and Aaron hasn’t really spent too much time trying to make people smile. He’s had success in some ways, but when she smiles at him there’s something in his chest that burns in achingly lovely way. 

At first, he had assumed her kindness was a way to win him over. In her first week, she had noticed there was a rip in his tie (which he’s not sure how could even happen) and she’d whipped out a pocket sewing kit, repairing it. 

He tries not to think about the fact that she’s beautiful. She is, though, in spirit and in appearance. He’s an expert in controlled presentation, but to some extent she must know that’s he’s fond of her. 

When they’d first met (which he can still picture in his minds’ eye- her oversized sweater tucked into her tailored pants, the purple lipstick adorning her beautiful smile) he’d tried to keep his distance. It’s easy to romanticize her, and being her friend felt a little impossible when seeing her as more felt so inevitable.

This plan did not go well, and Aaron had officially tossed it when one day, the babysitter for Jack fell through when he was halfway around the world. She’d picked him up from school and tended to him, and Aaron had come home to a blanket fort on his kitchen floor, and a happy little boy who wanted her to come over every day. 

So it's a little hard to ignore how much he adores her. 

She doesn’t normally want to come out to the scene and they usually don’t require it, but they’re going out to a place she spent most of her twenties, and she knew people in the local PD, so Aaron had asked her to come. 

She’d done so without complaint, although he knows she doesn’t sleep well on the jet. No one knows where the nicer pillows and blankets came from, and Aaron would prefer it that way. 

Anyway. 

The bullpen of this department is chaotic and a certain caretaking is living at the edge of Aaron’s consciousness, a protective desire to keep her from the loudness and violence that she’s typically protected from. 

He’s still thinking this, when he hears her voice over the chaotic hum of the department. 

“Oh my god, Logan!”

Her voice is joyful, and when Aaron turns to see who she’s looking at, it’s an agent. He can tell that he’s not a police officer for many reasons- the fact that he’s got a long, shaggy haircut and a 5 o clock shadow and a leather jacket on his shoulders. The local police would be too strict, and he must be some kind of different authority to be allowed to be here.

He hears the stranger call her name back, and they hug. 

It’s a quick thing, but imbued with deep fondness. Aaron’s not sure he’s ever hugged her for more than a second- just a congratulations when his commendation came in. She’d smelled like roses. 

Now, she’s hugging Logan. 

“Hotch,” she says, a smile still in her voice, “This is Logan! We went to graduate school together. He’s brilliant, I can’t believe he’s down here.”

Her voice is seeped in admiration, and Aaron feels an ugly amount of what can only be described as jealousy. 

“Great to meet you. You’re the unit chief, yeah?”

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he offers the man a curt nod, “Have you met the team?”

He goes through the motions of introducing him to the team- he greets Reid with a warm smile and tells him that he’s read his papers. Logan compliments Emily’s shirt, and Morgan’s watch. 

He’s incredibly charismatic.

Is Aaron charismatic? He doesn’t think so. His team, who probably adore him as much as anyone could, still note that he can be harsh, prickly. He never smiles, he knows. He lacks expressiveness. Logan is all fluid movement and easy conversation, and when he takes the jacket off, Aaron sees a great deal of tattoos on his forearm, his sweater sleeves slid up. 

He’d smile for her. 

What should be a good thing, but hurts- Logan is an excellent consultant profiler. He’s thoughtful and helpful and she has an easy rapport with him. Aaron- he’s so bad at talking to women. 

She makes Aaron feel like he’s good at it though. When they drive together, the conversation is easy and feels nice. It’s like sunbathing, basking in the light of her attention and intention. 

With the help of the man that Aaron has decided he hates, the case is finished up quickly. 

He can’t shake the thought they’ve probably dated. It’s not his business- this crush, although this word feels inadequate for the intensity of the way she makes him feel. It’s a private thing he’s never going to act on- he’s older and her superior, and besides- 9 stab wounds and a lifetime worth of issues is a million times less appealing than someone like Logan. Young, exuberant probably not too afraid to ask for what he wants.

“Drink tonight?” Logan asks the team, and a chorus of yes’s and please’s echo through the emptying bullpen. 

“Raincheck,” she says to Logan, “I’ll see you next time I’m in town, yeah?” She beams at him, hugging him in a quick-but-too-long-for-Aaron’s-taste motion, and the string in Aaron’s chest that feels like it’s been pulled all week threatens to pull him under.

After everyone files out, she offers to help him fill out paperwork in his office. It’s just like her, so kind and sweet. Spending her free time filling out reports to make his workload go easier.

About a half hour of amenable silence passes, before Aaron chooses to speak.

“So, you and Logan.”

“He’s great, right?”

Regrettably, Aaron agrees.

“He seems very kind.”

“Yeah, he and his fiancee are really fun. They travel all over, kite-board and do tons of adventure stuff, he’s pretty awesome.”

A moment passes.

It’s like a balloon losing air, the feeling of relief taking the place of panic.

“I thought you two were romantically involved.” He doesn’t know how to verbalize things casually. If he lets it up, he might do something dangerous like tell her that he wants to be someone who romances her, wants to be the person who kisses her after dates and holds an umbrella over her head when she’s caught in the rain. He wants to be what she comes homes to, and it’s a confession living in the back of his throat, threatening to escape at every moment. 

She sucks in a harsh breath, and he wonders if it’s a misstep to have told her- it’s not a confession, really. It sounds like one though- why would he care? What makes it his business?

“Not that that’s relevant to me,” he stammers, “You’re free to engage with whoever you’d like-“

“I know, Hotch.” She doesn’t grace him with his first name, but her voice is fond and warm, her doe eyes meeting his. He likes it, he decides. 

“I’m not seeing him,” she continues, her body shifting to face him, “I think he’s a little…casual for me.”

He thinks of Logan’s leather jacket and unshaven face, rugged appearance and compares it to how he presents himself- clean cut and sharp lines, his suits tailed to fit him like a glove. 

“You prefer something a little more…dignified?” He hears himself say with more confidence then he feels- her implication is clear, but he wonders if he’s mishearing it. 

She tips her head back and he hears her lovely laugh ring through the air like something sacred, and he waits to hear her response. 

“I don’t know, I just know that I’ve been liking this guy for a while,” she muses, looking down at her fingernails, “But he hasn’t seemed to pick up on any of my hints.”

On one of his braver days, he’d told her that he liked that purple lipstick. He hasn’t seen her without it since. She’d always been so kind to everyone that it was hard to notice when her treatment towards him was special, but he thinks it might be. How quick she offers to help with Jack- gives away a Saturday evening to spend with him, even though she sees too much of his face at work.

Her friend from grad school offered to get drinks, and she’s here, telling him what she looks for in a guy.

He tries to be logical about the whole thing, but it’s a bit hard- she’s funny and warm and Aaron loves being around her- loves her company enough to maybe ask for more of it. 

“If this ‘guy’ did like you,” he murmurs, intentionally not meeting her gaze, the precision of which is boring a hole into the side of his head, “How would he go about that?”

He’s not sure what the point of being coy is now, but he can’t seem to stop. He does look down to her and meet her eyes. 

“I think I’d probably corner him,” she says breathlessly. They’re quite close together, now. He wonders if she likes his aftershave. She tugs a hundred through her hair, a nervous but incredibly attractive gesture, “Y’know, if everyone we worked with went to get drinks, and it was just us. If he was amenable to that.”

“If he was amenable to that.”

A rush of emotion licks up his spine- it’s fun, flirting with her. The creep of warmth on her cheek, how her fingers are brushing hers. 

“I think he might be.”

Purple lipstick, rose perfume mixing with the scent of expensive aftershave- he thinks he might be able to kiss her, now. He’s never been good at knowing when to take the jump, but this is something he can do. He can let her know that he wants it. 

She reads him well enough, it turns out, and she kisses him. It’s a surprise and he is so rusty at this and yet- his hand stand on the small of her back, pulling her in and he can feel her lovely smile against him. She’s warm and joyful and she’d kissed him, and all he could do was lean in-

“I think he might be too.” She says, significantly less color on her lips, and more on his, he imagines.

She doesn’t have to wonder, though. When Aaron kisses her again, he decides- he will make her incredibly certain of his affections. 

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Osamu Dazai Edition ♡

♡༊·˚ mdni. ((dedicating this to my pretty gf @bratbby333 since she's the dazai to my chuuya and some of these situations were in inspired by our unhinged 5 hour long facetimes calls, *cough cough* "blood-chilling" *cough cough* ♡)) this was honestly so much fun to write. dazai would be SUCH a diva in a relationship but he would also be so loving and protective ugh. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dazai's almost always the first one out of bed after the fact. He already has a shower running for when he comes back into the room to hand you a towel and a glass of water. You tell him that your legs are too tired to walk all the way to the bathroom so he scoops you up into his arms. The two of you laugh as he carries you into the steam-filled room. He lets you get under the water first, squirting a generous amount of shampoo into his palm as he instructs you to turn around. "Suppose your hands are too tired to wash your hair, hm?" You bite back a smile, giving him a pitiful nod in response. "My poor girl." He hums. His long fingers massaging into your scalp feel like heaven. He leaves light kisses along your shoulder, running a washcloth over your body while whispering sweet little nothings like "How'd I get so lucky?" into your skin as he cleans you off. It's hard to believe this was the same man who was making you beg on your knees for him just twenty minutes ago.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aside from his body's infuriating aversion to death, there aren't a whole lot of things that Dazai doesn't like about his appearance. Aesthetically speaking, he finds himself fairly attractive so it's hard to narrow down one thing he likes best. If he had to though, he'd probably go with his hands. He's always gotten compliments on them, but after seeing what strong reactions they're able to coax out of you so easily, he's realized they're one of his most valuable assets. As cliche as it may be, your eyes are his favorite feature. He finds it adorable how they always tell him what he needs to know without you ever having to say a word. They tell him when you want more, when you want less, when you're about to hit your breaking point. They guide him in the right direction every single time. Plus, they're just so fucking pretty to look at.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The only thing more blissful to Dazai than hearing or seeing your orgasm is tasting it. His head is buried between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out of you deliriously as your thighs start to lock around him. You're spasming for him again, your voice breaking as you call out his name and your hips buck up towards him. "Dazai, I can't -" You whine. "'m so... sensitive -" "C'mon baby, please." he groans, "Just one more f’me." his tongue swirls against you with fervor, his digits still greedily plummeting into you. "Lemme taste it, lemme feel it. You’re sooo close." His fingers curl at just the right angle, his tongue faithfully lapping against you as you finally fall apart for him. He moans at the sweetness that spills down his chin. "You taste like fucking ecstasy, you know that?"

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's not necessarily a secret because in his defense, if you were to bring it up or ask him about it, he'd tell you the truth. But Dazai can't help it that you've never inquired about his exes and he's certainly not going to offer up the fact that he knows every single person you've ever been with going all the way back to the boy you kissed on the playground when you were 4 years old. Or that he just so happens to know all of their current addresses and their moms’ maiden names and where they work and their social security numbers. I mean, does it even really matter anyway?? He just got a little curious, that’s all!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dazai had been with his fair share of partners before meeting you. Sex wasn't something he was ever shy about. He did a lot of experimenting, especially when he was spending the majority of his time drinking. He's always felt comfortable in his body and never saw the big deal about sharing it with someone. It wasn't until the two of you started dating that he realized just how binding sex could be. That it could transcend well beyond the simplicity of skin against skin contact. Being inside of you was the closest thing he'd ever felt to a religious experience. It felt like coming home after a long day. No matter how many hookups he'd had in the past, there was nothing that could've prepared him for how good you'd feel.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes any position that allows him to see your face. His favorite is probably fucking you from the side though, both of you facing each other with his arm hooked under your thigh, letting him go as deep as he pleases. He gets lost in the way your pupils dilate when he plunges into you. The security of your arms wrapped around his neck as you whimper and wriggle against him. There's something so intimate about watching you come undone from this view. Feeling you drench him while he kisses you over and over. "Let it out, baby. I've got you. Doin' so good - fuck, baby you're doin' so good f'me."

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As passionate as Dazai is when it comes to being inside of you, he's still able to find a level of a humor in just about anything. He's a Gemini, after all. If he's too serious for too long, he'll simply die. You're on top of him with your hands tangled into his for balance as you grind against him. Your hips are rocking back and forth at a pace that's making his breathing uneven. You feel proud, thinking his reaction is a sign of you doing a good job until you watch his head roll to the side, a stupid smile suddenly visible as he tries to bury his face into the pillow. You quickly realize it's not a moan that he's holding back, but a laugh. Your movements come to an abrupt pause. "Dazai." He tries his best to keep it together, but the scolding tone in your voice coupled with the stern look you're shooting him is only making it worse. “Wait, listen -" he tries to explain himself, but he's powerless to his own thoughts. A burst of suppressed laughter fills the room as he covers his face with his hands, still feeling the weight of your glare on him. "R - remember -" he struggles “Last week? When you were telling me about that book you were reading and...." he nearly snorts. "And you described it as -" Your lips press into a flat line, your eyes glazing over as you realize what he’s getting at. You knew the second you messed up that phrase, you'd never hear the end of it. "Are you seriously still laughing about the fact that I said 'blood-chilling' instead of 'bone-chilling?'" "BLOOD-CHILLING!" He repeats with the most obnoxious cackle, narrowly dodging the pillow you throw at him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dazai spends more time grooming himself than you do. Hours in front of the mirror looking at himself from every angle to make sure what he's done is up to his standards. He's subscribed to one of those manscaping services where they mail him out a surprise bundle each month of new products to try. When you go down on him one night, he asks "...Does it smell like teakwood?" Your head pops up immediately, unsure if you even want to know what he's hinting at. "What?" "Nothing... it's nothing."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In love, Dazai worships you. He has every inch of your frame memorized and knows exactly what each tiny movement and whimper mean. He's studied your body like it's his lifelong passion and he's learned how to make it respond so well for him. Your hips just barely buck up while he's on top of you and he smirks, his hair lightly brushing against your forehead. "You sure can handle the whole thing? Figured you'd still be sore after last night." You shake your head back at him with the poutiest expression, your core aching for more. "I can take it." you insist, "I can -" He challenges your sureness, giving you another inch only to see your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your hand gripping onto the sheet above you. He'd never deny you of anything you wanted, but especially not when you looked this gorgeous. He grabs your hand, tangling his fingers into yours before drawing back and burying himself into you. "That's my girl." he groans, reeling in the way your walls so eagerly swallow him. Your breathing is erratic, your composure completely gone as you writhe and clench around him. He knows you're right there. You start to close your eyes, but he stops you, bringing his free hand under your chin to redirect your attention back to him. "Let me see it, angel. Show me." He slams into you again, giving you every inch of him this time. "Show much you love this." And you do. You show him three times in 20 minutes how much you love it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dazai's the first to admit that he has a high libido and if the mood strikes, he's going to do something about it. He gets bored easily, so he has a variety of different mediums to get the job done - the 'hidden' folder on his phone that's filled with pictures and videos of you, romance mangas, fleshlights, audio porn, hentai. He's not afraid to experiment even when he's alone.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dazai is a true switch and will really fall into either being dominant or submissive depending on the situation. There are nights he gets off work and starts throwing out demands like, "On the bed. Now. Legs apart f’me." as he strips out of his jacket and pushes you down further onto the mattress. But, the are other times where he's dying not to be in control anymore. Where he's had to make too many decisions and he revels in the way you take the reins. The way you climb on top of him and whisper "good boy" as he grows hard beneath you. The only thing he loves more than making you beg is begging for you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dazai has a bit of a thing for voyeurism and recklessness so when Kunikida hires a driver to pick the two of you up to take you to a dinner for the ADA, Dazai has no hesitation on hiking up your dress in the back of the limo. Peeking up every so often to see if the driver has even noticed the way your tits are pressed up against the window for passing cars to see as your vehicle speeds down the highway. You arch your back perfectly for him, giving him full control as he plunges into you. Your walls are so snug and gushy, he knows he won't last long. But you're enjoying this just as much as he is, playing with your clit as he grabs your hair and pulls you up to kiss him. "You like knowing that people can see me fucking you?" he whispers, biting down on your bottom lip. "Your cunt’s drippin’ alllll over me.” "Fuck - yes.” You moan, feeling your legs beginning to shake as you let out a strained. “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.” His smirk deepens, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, angel.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dazai's pretty easy to wind up in general, but he definitely has a thing for asphyxiation. Perhaps it stems from the lingering effects of suicidal ideation, but the feeling of something cutting off his airways makes him feral. When you're on top of him and you reach for his throat, he nearly fucking melts. If he could choose any way to die, he'd request for it to be at the mercy of your loving fingertips digging into the side of his neck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There aren't many things that Dazai wouldn't do. Not just sexually, but in general. His curiosity almost always gets the better of him no matter the situation. The only time he's ever told you no was when you were being too hard on yourself. He walked in on you picking at your body in the mirror. Pulling your skin in different directions to see what you'd look like if your arms were thinner or what you'd look like if your nose leaned more to this way instead of that way. His heart sank. All of the post-work fantasies he had built up over the day disappeared the minute he saw how frustrated you were. "Hey," he whispered, coming up behind you and gently wrapping his arms around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Please stop being mean to my girlfriend. She doesn't deserve that." You tried to brush it off as a joke, leaning up to kiss him while he held you, but he pulled back. "I'm serious." he ran light fingers over your stomach, his eyes locked with yours in the reflection of the mirror. "We're not doing anything until I hear you say at least five things you like about yourself." He could see past almost any crime or murder, but he drew the line at you degrading yourself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dazai's all about both, but if he's being completely honest with himself, he loves the feeling of your mouth around his cock. How cute you look when you struggle to take the whole thing. The way your eyes widen when he thrusts into your throat. How thorough you are, turning the act of going down on him into a work of fucking art. Even though you’re the one submitting to him when you get on your knees, he still feels like he's at your grace. You feel so good, he'd do anything to keep your lips wrapped around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Just like anything else, pacing could go one way or the other. The thing about Dazai, is he wants to do whatever you want to do. Even when he's in more of a dom role, your pleasure is still his main focus. There's no such thing as wrong time or wrong place as far as he’s concerned. If you wanted him to fuck you slow and sensually in the club bathroom, he would. He'd dim the lights, lock the door, lay his jacket down for you to sit on as he propped you up onto the sink and kissed you passionately. If you wanted fast, rough, filthy sex by candlelight on a bed of roses, he would. He'd wrap his hand around your pretty little throat, mocking the way you're struggling to breathe as he bullied himself into you while you’re surrounded by romantic ambiance. Whatever you want, he does too.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If there was a tornado approaching your house at a reasonable speed, Dazai would still find time to have a quickie with you. Especially if he thought it was the last thing he might ever do. He wants to feel you as much as he possibly can. The construct of time really means nothing to him. You have to log onto a work meeting in five minutes? "I can fit under the desk, baby :((( they won't even see me. Just spread your legs and keep a straight face, okay?" Your parents are on their way over? "They drive so slow anyway, angel and the door's locked. Promise we won't get caught." You're waiting for food to be delivered? "Bet I could make you cum twice before the doorbell even rings." Getting to spend five minutes in you is always better than spending five minutes out of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dazai isn't just willing to take a risk, he's usually the one pushing for it. Any time your phone rings, his hands are suddenly roaming along your body, his fingers dipping into the softness of your underwear as he starts to kiss your neck. He knows you're on the phone with your boss, that makes it even better. He wants to see how long you can keep your composure while he torments you. Your eyes are like daggers when you look back at him, but your cunt betrays you entirely, grinding against him needily while he smirks. He picks up the pace, reeling in the subtle way your thighs shake. You're trying so hard to sound so professional and coherent, but your thoughts are everywhere. You're having to hit the 'mute' button every few seconds just to let out a whimper. Dazai nips at the nape of your neck, slamming into you with an extra finger this time causing you to nearly drop your phone. "Ahh ~!" But there's no time to hit mute with how he's suddenly plunging into you. Your boss asks if you're okay and you have no choice but to hang up. "Dazai -" you try to keep your voice firm, but you can barely see straight the deeper he sinks into you. "What - the... fuck -" Each word is a moan, your hand grabbing desperately onto the collar of his shirt. "Dazai," "Somethin' wrong, baby?" "Dazai, you can't -" But he already is. He already is so bad. "Dazai, please." You're not even sure what you're pleading for anymore - if it's for him to stop or continue. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, your heart slamming into your chest as more uncontrollable whines fill the room. "Dazaaiii ~" you whimper again, soaking his hand as his thumb brushes across your clit. "Ohmygod, fuck. You can't keep doing that." "No promises." He smirks, carefully pulling out of you before bringing his fingers to his mouth. "It's not my fault you taste so good."

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It all depends on the mood, Dazai's pretty versatile. Could he fuck you for hours? Yes. Has he? Many times. It's no secret that he loves watching you struggle to walk the next day after having your legs pinned against his shoulder. But he knows he can't do that every time. He generally tries to follow your lead and give your body what it wants - whether that's 20 minutes of gentle, deep, intimacy or an hour of a mating press followed by overstimulation. As long as you're getting off, so is he.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

His nightstand is filled with an assortment of silicone stimulants for the two of you. Cockrings and vibrators and bondage kits. Out of all of the subscription services he has, getting a bundle of mystery toys delivered to his house each month is by far his favorite. He always waits 'til you come over to open it. Pouring you both a glass of wine as you divvy them out and argue about decide on who gets to use what on who.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Osamu Dazai lives to tease you. As far as he's concerned, the only reason the sun rises each morning is so that he can find new and exciting ways to make you grovel for him. He'll tie your hands together above your head, slowly unzipping his pants in front of you. Forcing you to watch as he strokes himself above you, groaning out lewd little nothings like, "Oh fuck, 'feels soo good." while he smirks at your pouty little face and the way you begin to squirm underneath him impatiently. “See how hard I am? God, just imagine what it'd feel like inside you." His hand pumping uppp and doownnnn tortuously out of reach. "Tell me baby, would you want me to go hard and fast or reeaall slow and deep?" He fucking moans while you writhe helplessly against the mattress, your neglected cunt throbbing. "Dazai, please." "Poor thing." He mocks, still jerking himself to the sight of you looking up at him with pleading eyes. "You can do better than that though, can’t you angel? C'mon, make me believe you.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

There's no denying that Dazai's loud. You make him feel so fucking good and he wants you to know. He'll have a fistful of your hair, groaning out your name while your tongue swirls around his tip. "Fuuuck.” He whimpers. "Oh - my… god." Tiny hearts cloud his vision as he watches your throat fill with his length, the heavenly sounds of you gagging on him echoing across the room. Your eyes gloss over, spit pooling down your chin when you look back up at him, your tongue still pressed firmly against his base. "S'fucking gorgeous when you suck my cock." His praise only make you go faster, drawing out the prettiest whines from him. "Nnngh ~ don't stop, baby.” His grip tightens in your hair. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." His hips buck up with each syllable, his rhythm unrelenting as lecherous tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You keep going though, drowning in the noises he's making for you. "Right there, right there. 'm gonna - oh fuck. 'm -" You feel him twitch inside your mouth before a flood of warmth suddenly coats your throat. "Swallow f'me, angel." his voice is so heady and delirious, it comes out as more of a beg than a command, "Fuck... Yeah. Just like that, mmm, god, just like that." You take it all in, not letting one drop go to waste. "You're sucha good girl, you know that? Sucha good fucking girl."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dazai gives the illusion that he's not jealous. That it doesn't bother him in the slightest when you go out with your friends or when you stay at the gym longer than you said you would. He does trust you - completely, actually. He knows you'd never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with him. It’s the outside world he doesn't trust. When you're driving home from work, he's watching you through the location sharing on your phone. He stares at the screen intently until he hears you pull into the driveway. When you’re at the bar, he knows the importance of girls’ time and he’d never spoil that. He simply wants to make sure no one is bothering you. He shows up, stealthily lingering in the background, watching his pretty girl laugh with her friends and dance with a drink in her hand the way she should. He loves seeing you have fun, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. He just follows behind your Uber to make sure the driver gets you to where you're going safely. He's seen too many tragedies between working for the PM and ADA, he can't take the risk of letting anything happen to you. So, he doesn't. There's absolutely nothing off limits to you. The entire world is yours. You just... might see a man in a suspicious looking jacket that bears an eerie resemblance to your boyfriend trailing behind you from time to time while you're out. It's only because he loves you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Standing at a solid 5'11, Dazai's decently tall and slender - surprisingly muscular underneath all of those bandages. His waistline is so pretty and his hands? God, those long beautiful digits have brought you to your breaking point more than a few times. Besides excelling in dexterity, he's also packing. A perfect blend of length and girth that curves ever-so-slightly as if it was made for the sole purpose of hitting your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dazai would bend you over in in front of the Pope if you'd let him. He's unapologetically ready to go at any time. He can't help that you're just so gorgeous and that his eyes are always glued to the way your hips sway when you walk in front of him. He yearns for you constantly, even when you're not around. If he could have a 10-hour loop of you moaning his name that's what he'd use as white noise to fall asleep to each night. He can't help that his dick twitches at the thought of you. It's not his fault you're so pretty :((((

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rest has never come easy for Dazai. He's tried every natural (and narcotic) sleep aide he could get his hands on. Put down multiple bottles of Pinot Grigio and still found himself up for days on end. Up until he met you, he didn't think it was possible for him to sleep for more than two hours at a time, but the first time you invited him over to your apartment changed everything. The two of you had been talking for hours - laughing and debating and sharing secrets over a bottle of cherry whiskey. He could've stayed up long past sunrise with you but when he noticed how tired your eyes were getting, he offered to take you to bed instead. Both of you stripped down into lazy pajamas. You, in an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. Dazai, in his boxers. You looked so peaceful when your head hit the pillow, he was sure that you'd be out soon, but to his surprise, your body had other plans. Your lips were soft against his, your hands gently roamed along his body as you pulled him on top of you. You smiled at the way his hair tickled your forehead. The sun was just barely creeping through your curtains, grazing your face as he slid into you, highlighting the pleasure that had taken over your features. It was all so hazy and comfortable. Your room filled with heady mid-morning noises while his body thrusted generously into yours. There was something so intimate about it that it nearly brought you to tears. You felt full in every sense of the word. When you were both good and spent, the two of you laid in the middle of your bed with your head nestled into his chest. He played with your hair, watching you fall asleep in his arms. He'd never felt more human than he did in that moment. His eyes closed, his mind turning off for what felt like the first time in years as he drifted off with you.

ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

‎♡‧₊˚ here's chuuya's version if you're new here ‎♡‧₊˚

[heliosundercover]

Batboys and

how they talk about you

Bonus fic as a thank you for allowing my jason fic to do well 💋

Dick Grayson-

, who talks about you like a goddess walking the earth, loves you more than words. The type to talk about you so much that people doubt your real

 

“My girlfriend is so sweet, guys. Today we went to that one library I like. Guys, have I told you even her favorite book is adorable?”

It doesn’t help that he tends to get caught up in certain details, completely ignoring other ones. No one knew your name until a week into dating.

 

Jason: “If you asked me before, I would’ve never believed him; weve all gone a little insane, but now that Ive seen proof, I'm happy for him. He gets to be well-dick, and she gets to smile and nod, but I swear she enjoys it. They’re weird together.”

 

Tim: “We love Dick. A lot, but we were looking at a wonderful facility that has an in-patient gym in the beginning. But the way he looks at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did miracles.” 

 

Damian: “At least I believed him at the start. He was smitten and absolutely whipped. I thought it was just like Dick. I don’t know why I, of all people, was the only one that caught it.

 

Bruce: Yeah, I knew she was real. Why would I ruin everyone’s fun? I mean, Dick is a bit. Aloof sometimes… I'm not exactly surprised; he’s not exactly amazing socially sometimes, but with her, he’s extra awkward, and I watched him flirt with men and women. But look, as long as he’s happy, we’re happy for him.”

 

Dick is a completely drunken idiot, with so much training thrown out the window. 

(Can you tell I'm not a fan of a playboy dick😞 im sorry i love a good love stuck man)

 

Jason Todd-

, who is extremely protective of his peace, sometimes acts as if you’re fragile. He was the type to invite you to a family game night where he called a family meeting an hour beforehand, forcing everyone to be on their best behavior. Needless to say, it was awkward, but one uno round later, he realized you fit in just fine. 

 

“I knew my girl would win. She's a gangster.”

boast when you absolutely dominate everyone playing in the game. You never quite beat the cheating allegations.

 

Dick: "I don’t know how he did it, but he found someone who brings out a side of him I haven’t seen in years. No one is that good at uno; naturally, at least, I think she’s a meta. I'm not saying that non-metas aren’t good at uno.”

 

Tim: "You know how in movies the girl animals just have lashes, and how the boy is always darker and the girl will be like a lighter color? It's like she was made for him. I'm glad he found his anamorphic girl, Wolf. But, can I be honest? I think Alfred was telling her our cards.”

 

Damian: "I'm glad Jaybird is happy. He’s definitely earned it. Even if she cheats at UNO, they’re perfect for each other. Hell, the cheating is what makes them perfect for each other.”

 

Bruce: "I'm glad to see Jason happy. The sparkling in his eyes, the boyish smile, is the same joy I saw after he hit me with a car iron and ran off, giggling. I like her.”

 

 

Bruce Wayne-

is proud to show you off publicly. He’s not one to spoil someone, but sometimes he can’t help but pick up trinkets for you. Sometimes you’d wake up to keychains, jewelry, or even clothes somewhere in your shared room. 

 

He tried so hard to be there for you and protect you from his line of work. Some nights, he wouldn’t come to bed at all to avoid waking you. Some nights, if you worried too much, he would send Dick out in the Batman costume so he could be by your side. 

 

"Shh, baby, its ok... Tonight, I'm staying with you, okay? I love you; do you know that? And I know sometimes the risk scares you, but I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Dick: "It's nice knowing Bruce isn’t constantly brooding about it. Well, I knew that fact already, but this is different. I only see a light in his eyes when he’s doing stuff he absolutely loves. Like when he talks to his parents tombs and we pretend we don’t see him.”

 

Jason: "i think that man would come back from the dead more dramatically than I did for this woman. And I waged like 3 wars.”

 

Tim: “Sometimes I see them sitting in the library together in silence. All they do is enjoy each other’s presence. Its adorable”

 

Damian: “Dads earned it. And when I say he’s earned it, I mean he’s earned it!”

 

Bruce isn’t the easiest to be with, but he always makes up for it.

[retrosabers]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫.

FICMAS DAY 2: BAKING

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when steve comes over to help you make christmas cookies, things end a lot sweeter than you expect.

contains: ooey gooey fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, steve being a flirty klutz, kissing, a tinge of angst if you squint

word count: 2k

a/n: welcome to another installment of “i’m incapable of writing something short and sweet 🧍‍♀️ this is what happens when i revisit writing for my favorite pretty boy

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“steve?”

“yeah?”

“you’re supposed to be decorating the cookies, not eating them.”

steve’s tone is nothing short of soft and shy when he breathes out an “oh,” between bites of chocolate chip infused dough. when you recruited him to assist in baking cookies for the holiday potluck tomorrow, you didn’t expect it to end with half of them being consumed before they even got a chance to be decorated.

“sorry,” the brunette squeaks, wiping sugar-dusted fingers over the expanse of his very favorite pair of levi jeans.

it’s hard to stay mad at steve. not when he looks so cute, with a tinge of pink in his cheeks and his normally styled hair slightly askew. not when he so generously offered to help you out, and not when he was standing so close.

no, you can’t stay mad at steve harrington, because it’s impossible to stay mad at the person you’ve had a crush on for years.

momentarily distracted, your hands wrapped around the handles of a rolling pin halt in their ministrations, and steve worries that he’s screwed up big time.

but your frozen position isn’t from the slight wrench in your plans. it’s him and those stupid, pretty, big brown eyes, that always find a way to short circuit your brain. even more so when they’re pleading for forgiveness.

it takes another second to remember that you still have things that need to be done. that you promised robin and nancy you’d supply the gathering with your renowned baked goods. with a shake of your head, you’re back in business, waving steve off with a quick flick of the wrist.

“don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, despite the fact that your anxiety was kicking at the thought of having to prepare an extra batch. “just try not to eat the sugar cookies when they’re done, yeah?”

steve’s expression shifts from panic and embarrassment to something sweeter, sheepish almost. when he nods in reply, that rogue strand that always rests against his forehead bounces in a way that almost makes you roll the cookie dough off the counter completely.

this is just because you’re stressed. you tell yourself. you’re off your game today because you’re in a time crunch.

lucky for you, steve doesn’t notice the slight quiver in your motions, instead opting to shift the conversation in another direction.

“when did you even learn to bake like this anyways?”

you perk up a bit at that, a faint smile on your lips.

“every christmas eve when i was a kid,” you begin while simultaneously cutting out little gingerbread men using cookie cutters. “my mom and i used to make cookies for santa.”

there’s a nostalgic kind of warmth that blankets the room while you retell stories of your childhood to steve, who surprisingly keeps his hands off the treats and his attention completely focused on you. on how your nose wrinkles when you mention the year you accidentally added too much cinnamon, the gleam in your eyes that comes when you talk about making them by yourself for the first time.

it causes a slew of butterflies in steve’s stomach, a gallant whoosh that he’s been trying his damndest to ignore ever since he opened the door to your apartment and found you clad in a flour covered apron and with a red ribbon tied in your hair.

it's very hard to pay attention to anything when he’s confined to a cramped kitchen with the very adorable girl he’s had a crush on for as long as he can remember.

“obviously i figured out at some point that santa wasn’t real,” you joke, transferring the cutouts onto a baking tray. it snaps steve back to reality, away from the ooey-gooey ness in his heart that had nothing to do with the residual taste of melted chocolate chips. “but we still do it every year as a tradition.”

steve hopes he’s not smiling like an idiot, but it’s hard not to when you look so happy, so content. “it sounds nice.”

it's absent minded when he says it, and you know it. but that doesn't make the quiet muttering of “wish my folks were like that” under his breath sting any less. you had a general idea that steve’s parents weren’t the greatest, but it was never something he outright said, not to you anyways. this little glimmer of vulnerability he displays, whether intentional or not, only adds a spark in the torch you carry for him.

the oven timer beeping pulls him from mourning what he could’ve had. any falter in his smile is quickly reconstructed as he moves to grab the oven mitts on the counter. something that only makes your sympathy grow.

“i got it honey,” he murmurs while slipping past you, his hand brushing against the small of your back for a fleeting moment.

honey.

it sends an electric shock up your spine that makes you straighten out comically, unsure of any other way to react to his touch that doesn’t involve squealing like a schoolgirl. thankfully, your face is obscured from view while he very carefully pulls out the piping hot baking tray, your cheeks free to turn as crimson as they please.

honey, honey, honey. how he managed to make that word sound even more saccharine you’ll never know.

steve catches you in his peripheral, face redder than your hair ribbon. i’ve still got it, he mentally pats himself on the back. though his suaveness only lasts for a second when he remembers he’s got something scorching in his hand. the brunette drops the sugar cookies onto the counter rather ungracefully, huffing out a curse that makes you giggle.

you think you prefer when he's a little dorky over the pretty boy charm.

as much as steve wants to obey your request to not dive into the sugar cookies, he’s having a painfully hard time restraining himself. that heavenly smell of vanilla is overpowering all self control, an enticing and comforting aroma he’d never had the joy of experiencing until now.

the childlike wonder in steve’s eyes melts away any stress or frustration.

against your better judgement, you walk over to where he’s standing, resting your chin on the edge of his shoulder. if steve is surprised by the act, he doesn’t show it. this time though, the thrum of his heart is hard to miss, noticeable even through the layers of fabric separating you.

“you can have one,” you speak lowly into the cashmere material. “and you have to wait until they’ve cooled down. i’m not taking you to the emergency room because you burnt your tongue.”

steve chuckles at the memory from earlier in the year, when eddie’s impatience got the best of him and he burnt the roof of his mouth trying to get a taste of your baking. he remembers watching that interaction from afar, how you doted over the metalhead when he hurt himself, and it made a vile little twinge of jealousy move within him. though steve always tries to ignore that last part, simply focusing on your kindness. like he was right now.

“i still can’t believe munson managed to do that,” steve replies through his laughter.

the feeling of your own giggles vibrating against him is something he never thought would happen. in that moment, those butterflies in his stomach valiantly escape their cage, a flurry he’s not sure he wants to contain.

all he can hear in his head is robin’s voice screeching, “for the love of god dingus, you need to stop staring like an idiot and just make a move.”

when you suddenly pull away from him, he’s afraid that opportunity is gone. steve’s rather confused when he catches a glimpse of your face before you round the other side of the kitchen island. there’s a shyness in you that he’s not used to seeing. if he’s learned one thing in getting to know you better these past few months, it’s that you hardly ever got timid. only when you were uncomfortable, or scared, and he prays it’s not either of those things.

it’s not looking very good when you turn your body completely away from him.

“y’know,” you begin shyly, toying with the strings of your apron. “you’re more than welcome to come over again next year.”

oh.

steve’s lips part slightly, eyes widening in surprise. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, nerves taking over while you busy yourself with the frosting. you’re not really doing much of anything, just mindless fiddling with the bag and adjusting the parchment paper on the cookie sheet. everything but looking at steve.

“just think you deserve to be a part of a christmas tradition,” you say so softly he almost doesn’t catch it. the wholehearted sincerity in your voice, despite its low volume, makes him feel dizzy.

as he stands there, dumbfounded and mulling over your words, he knows he can’t chicken out any longer. not when you were offering a place for him in your holiday traditions. something steve knew you held very near and dear to your heart.

“that is, of course,” you add hurriedly, turning around to make sure you haven’t made him feel pressured. “only if you want to.”

oh boy does he.

steve crosses the room in long, slow strides. partly to test the waters and partly to watch the way you get a little squirmy. your hands struggle to find something sensible to do, but everything is a jumbled mess and you eventually drop them at your sides by the time steve glides into your peripheral vision.

your eyes squeeze shut in preparation for his polite rejection. that he’s going to let you down easy, and leave you to finish all this by yourself.

but you should’ve known steve better than that.

a tender hand wraps around your wrist, the scent of his cologne enveloping your personal space, and the syrupy sweet murmur of that damned word finds your ears again. he was consuming all your senses, an act of reverse psychology that makes you open up instead of run away.

when his hand travels further south, experimentally brushing your fingers together, you can’t hide anymore. there’s nothing you could possibly do to ignore the jolt of electricity that travels through you from head to toe. as your eyes slowly peek open, you find steve leaning against the counter beside you, a boyish little grin on his face. barely a feet of space between your bodies, yet you were buzzing with anticipation.

“i want to,” he says matter of factly despite the airiness of his voice. “i really, really want to.”

a hint of nervousness dances across his features when he utters, “but only if you’ll let me.”

there’s a double entendre to his proclamation that’s undeniable. steve leans closer, enough that you can see just how long his lashes are, how those stupid pretty eyes have flecks of gold in them, how his cupid bow is so perfect, so kissable. enough that you can’t mistake the way his gaze keeps flicking down to your lips. an unspoken permission you happily grant with the slightest nod of the head.

kissing steve is exactly how you dreamed it would be. those perfectly plump lips were just as soft as you hoped, as skilled as the girls back in high school used to whisper about. there’s a confidence behind the way he kisses you, though it’s still incredibly languid and gentle. his hand migrates from your wrist up to your jaw, gently caressing and cradling it with a care no one else has ever shown you before.

you’re not sure how long you stand there for. it could’ve been minutes, or hours; either way you didnt care. the cookies were long forgotten in your mind, having found a new craving that could only be satiated so long as steve held you close and his lips remained on yours.

a laugh bubbles in your throat at the faint flavor of chocolate on your tongue. you discover a new fact about steve that you don’t plan on sharing with anyone else as long as he’ll have you.

he tastes sweeter than sugar.

thanks for reading! <3

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