#i would like to have one more dish but it's hard to find something easy to make/serve multiple people that fits.. . .

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT doing acts of service

Requested? Yes! 

Request: 'seventeen members and what they would for their partner who’s love language is acts of service :)'

A/N: there are so many different kinds of acts of service, but I picked the ones that really stuck out to me. 

Seungcheol - car maintenance and care

You haven’t had to fill up your gas tank in months, years even, because it never seems to come close to empty. You haven’t thought about needing an oil change or tire rotation because the little sticker in the corner of your windshield always looks new. You forget how a drive thru car wash works because your car is always sparkling. And if your check engine light ever does come on with an actual issue, best believe he’s swapping cars for the day to take care of it. Almost entirely motivated by you being safe, but the shiny car with a full tank of gas kind of makes him proud when he returns it to you.

Jeonghan - does the dishes 

You said a single time that dishes were your least favorite chore. You grumbled about it but had every intention of doing it as soon as you could work up the motivation. But he’s rolling his eyes lovingly, pushing you back towards your seat saying, “I’ll do it, but you’re so whiney.” Don’t let it fool you. He doesn’t mind it and even tells you to just leave it for him later. Might even scold you a little bit if you didn't leave them for him.

Joshua - always makes coffee

Absolutely does not matter how early he has to wake up or if it might make him late, but he’s starting the coffee pot. You said one time that you were running late and really needed coffee but didn’t have time to make any or stop somewhere. So every morning when you rush around the apartment to get ready for work, you find fresh coffee with an insulated cup next to the pot for you to fill and go. So small yet so nice at the same time. 

Jun - cooking dinner

You get a little stressed about dinner. After a long day, it’s so, so easy to come home and say “fuck it, I’m ordering something.” But you lament how expensive and unhealthy that habit is sometimes, so you occasionally come home and are surprised to see him there too, cooking dinner. Will not listen to a single second of nagging for him to rest because he really doesn’t mind if it reduces your stress and ensure you’re eating properly and actually wishes he could do it more often. 

Hoshi - packing your lunch 

Similar to Jun, but you often forget to pack lunch the night before and can’t do it in the morning when you’re running late. He sends you to get ready for bed and says he’ll be there in a few. The next morning, he reminds you to grab your lunch from the fridge on your way out. It’s not always this super cute, aesthetically pleasing box lunch, but it’s always nice that he thinks to do it at all.

Wonwoo - organizing your things

You have a pile of things that need to be put away and organized, be it books, or clothes, or groceries. He’ll take over without really being asked. Your bookshelf is neatly alphabetized. Your closet is organized by color or item type, whichever you prefer. Your groceries are put away to your preferences, whether it be by date of expiration or on low shelves to ensure you can reach it. Will not accept any thanks because he just likes doing it. 

Woozi - filling up your water bottle

At the first sight or sound of your water bottle draining, he’s holding out his hand expectantly. Does not matter if you tell him you can do it yourself because you’re wasting your breath. Very much an “I know, but let me do it.” And you do let him do it a majority of the time because it’s kind of sweet how quickly he responds. 

DK - shoulder rubs

This feeds a little bit of the physical touch love language too, but it is still most certainly an act of service. If he sees that you’ve had a hard day or your shoulders are tense, he’s pulling you in front of him or coming up behind your seat to rub out your shoulders. It makes you melt, not only because it feels good and relaxes you, but because it’s always ended with a little kiss and a “feel better?”  

Mingyu - takes care of your pet

Literally the first to volunteer to scoop the litter box, or walk the dog, or clean out the fish tank. Doesn’t matter what kind of pet you have, he wants to learn about it and help you care for it. This also extends to making time for vet appointments when you’re too busy to do it yourself. If you ever say anything about how he doesn’t need to do all that, he’ll cry out, “but that’s our child!!” Don’t deny him his time with his child. 

Minghao - opens things for you

Another one that does the whole “I know, but let me.” He barely watches you struggle to open something for a second before he’s holding out his hand or just straight up taking the item from you. Might even preemptively open things for you before he hands them to you. It’s a totally silent, easy way to show he cares so please let him keep doing it. 

Seungkwan - dries your hair for you

(I’ve definitely written about this before for him, so this was an obvious choice.) Knows you’re usually tired by the time you shower at night, so he’s making you sit down in the bathroom so he can meticulously dry your hair for you. He kind of likes how it puts you to sleep too because it means it was relaxing or soothing for you. Will never let you touch a hair dryer if he’s around. 

Vernon - untangles things for you

It starts with your headphones. You lament that the cords always get tangled and bent in your bag. He takes the headphones from you right then to untangle them. He even winds the cord neatly so it won’t happen when you put them back in your bag. This little habit extends to things like necklaces when they get knotted or tangled in one another. He doesn’t even let you ask about it - if he sees a tangled necklace on your vanity or counter that you left to deal with later out of frustration, he’ll just stop and do it right then. Another one that won’t accept any thanks because he doesn’t mind doing it. 

Chan - organizing your medicine

Doesn’t want you to forget it, no matter what you might take it for. Buys a little pill organizer and sits down once a week to fill it up for you. It’s such a little thing that sometimes you forget you never have to do it. It’s just magically always full at the beginning of the week. He usually knows when you’ve run out of a medication and need a refill before you because of this little habit, and might take initiative to get them for you when he can. 

[adanfore]

Something about virgin Choso fucks me up in the head oh my god.

He acts tough. Every time he’s around you, talking to Yuuji, his brothers, he puts on a show as though nothing in the world matters, he’s always calm, layed back. Talking to him, you always got so nervous when he stared you down every time without a care in the world it seems, to you it looked like talking to anyone for him was easy as a breeze of wind, you kind of wished you were like that, like Choso. That also was half of why you were attracted to the man. The other half, well, self explanatory: he was great with his brothers, he was attractive in his own damn way which made your knees weak every time you saw him.

You hadn’t expected him to be a virgin, and a whiney one at that. When you had walked past the bathroom to the kitchen, you heard him in

the bathroom, he was masturbating.. Were you eavesdropping? Yes, but you couldn’t hold yourself from listening in to his beautiful cries of pleasure, whimpering, pleading for some reason, those pretty moans and whines turned you on more than you imagined. Well, the worst part came when you had not realized he was done already, you only realized when he opened the door and stood there, shocked, embarrassement flood over you and you just ran back to the guest bedroom.

If it only wasn’t for you getting carried away, this wouldn’t be happening right now, you and Choso sitting on the sofa, akwardly waiting for Yuuji to come back from the kitchen so the atmosphere turns nice again. You can feel Choso sneaking glances at you, fidgeting with the black silver rings on his fingers. Not wanting to have this continue for any longer, you decided you’d speak up.

“Listen, I’m sorry for yesterday, I just.. uh..”

You couldnt find a explanation for yourself.

“N-No, It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have.. Uhm, I shouldn’t have done it in the bathroom.”

“But I was eavesdropping on you, I need to apologize for that. I just couldn’t help but get carried away from… Shock!”

And as Choso was about to answer, Yuuji suddenly came into the room, having only heard muffles of your conversation.

“Yo, what’re you guys talking about?”

With a panic, you blurt whatever comes to mind.

“ Oh! I was just telling Choso that I’ll be helping him later.”

“Helping him with what?”

“Just washing the dishes, just to repay him for yesterday, I hit him after he scared me in the dark at night!

Yuuji seems content with that answer, and sits between you two. You couldn’t help but notice how Choso looked at you after you said you’ll help him later, eyes a little wide, a deep red spreading on his cheeks. He didn’t know whether to take it seriously or not, well, you were just making an excuse, but still, a gesture like that would blow his mind completely.

After the movie marathon, you both HAD to go wash the dishes, to play some truth into your silly excuse you gave to Yuuji, it was akward, very akward washing dishes with him. But you got to see Choso, the real him, how he was all fidgety, getting clumsy and blushing as hard as a cherry.

“Was it true..? What you said earlier?”

“What are you talking about, Choso?”

“H-How you said you’d help me later..”

“I am helping you thoug- Oh, you mean that?”

You said as the realization hit you, he was hard, and it was all because of your choice of words.

“I-I’m sorry, I am just gonna go, real sorry for thi-“

“N-No, Choso! I- I can help you, if you want me to?”

The sigh Choso gave out was huge.

“Please…”

That was all you needed to hear, proceeding to drag him up to his room at the back of the hall, the location of his room, being secluded and far away from any other room made you so grateful.

You sat him on the edge of his bed, leaning down to massage his thighs.

“How do you want me to help you, Choso?”

Hearing his name come out of your pretty lips always made him want to hold back smashing his face into yours, but now, he was just confused, he didn’t know what would be the most ‘appropriate’ thing to ask. All he wanted now, was to ruin you, to make you his, kiss you, feel and touch you everywhere he had ever dreamed of.

“I.. I don’t know, just- just touch me, do whatever, please..”

When you heard that, you immediately knew that he was a virgin, to your shock infact. Not wanting to torture this poor man any longer, you stopped massaging his thighs for a moment and told him to slide his sweatpants down, all the while looking at the wet spot of precum left on them.

You looked at his length for a second, before actually bringing your hand up to it, to rub and feel it to all of its size, he was huge, possibly the biggest you’ve ever had in a partner. It blew your mind and you wondered how it would feel inside you, how it would fill all of your insides, but, right now it was all about Choso’s pleasure which needed to be fixed.

The pool of precum doubled in size as you continued rubbing it, deciding to finally free it from his boxers, Choso moaned when it sprang up and hit his stomach. That made you look up at him, needing to hear more of his sounds, he looked back at you with a pleading look on his face which just said “please, touch me already”

You grabbed his length with your hand and started stroking it, slowly at first, picking up speed with some time. The moans, whines and whimpers this man put out were sent straight to your core.

“Please, Please, please, go faster, please, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, please!”

That motivated you to pick up speed, also to tighten your grip on his length to up the pleasure for him. His moans were getting out of control until you looked up at him with a strict look, telling him to be quiet. With that sense of dominance, he came all over, all over your hand, his stomach and thighs. His chest heaving, some small moans still coming out as he came down from his high.

You brought your hand up to your mouth, licking your hand and tasting Him before you began to walk out of his room, off to finish yourself off.

“W-Wait, can’t I make you feel good now?”

“I did this as an apology, Choso. Some other time, maybe.”

And with a wink and a smirk to him, you walked off to your room with an almost unbarable heat between your legs, it also had to be fixed.

NOT PROOFREAD ITS FUCKING 5 AM I WANNA GO SLEEP, ILL DO IT SOME OTHER TIME

[steinbit]

trying to decide what to make for the 17th hhhmm m...

[calccite]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬 ; 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝

a/n: This took a while to write, sorry for procrastinating. Got a bit too silly :(( tw: 18+ mentions of b*ners and h*rniness, and implications of s*x ᶜʳᵉᵈᶦᵗˢ: ᵒʲᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃⁿᵏᵉⁿ ᵏᵘⁿ

Harvey 🩺

Harvey would be hesitant to ask if you're down to have sex, but whenever he's in the mood usually he tries to act like everything is fine. But really, he can't help but have his touch linger than you longer than usual 🤭, and he really is TRYING his best to remain respectful for you. 🥺 It's also easy to catch him staring at you as he bites his lips anxiously or how he fumbles slightly with his words when you're speaking with him, it's also not that easy to miss the way he faces his pants away from you. You can still catch the sight of that suspicious bump in his trousers 😚... Despite the ache in his pants, he's not going to ask you to do something about it though! Since you've probably been busy with the hard work managing the farm,,, He doesn't want to bother you about it, unless you do like to bother with it. :))

Elliot ✒️

Only at seldom times does Elliott ever get into the mood, so there's hardly ever any time for him to ask for sex and stuff. But usually after his book tours or when you've been busy with whatever tasks you've taken up--Or had a long mining trip at Calico (They should add elevators ngl), he misses you a lot. 🥺 So when he feels deprived of you, Elliott is particularly very affectionate with you. Whether you're cooking and preparing dishes in the kitchen, watching tv on your big couch, or just about to sleep, expect to feel a pair of arms wrapped around your waist as he nuzzles himself into the back of your shoulders.  😌 (He's not subtle about it either). He'll sometimes ask if you'd be willing, he may outright tell you that he "yearns" or "wants you". As he kisses the back of your neck, eyelashes fluttering up to look at you almost pleadingly, would you really say no to that face?

Shane 🐥

It's hard to say how often Shane gets horny, since he used to get a case of whiskey dick before he met you, but now that he has you, he has cut back on the alcohol, since he wants to live long enough and grow old with you. Back on topic, it really depends on how far you are in your guy's relationship. Early on, he feels like it's unreal that you chose him of all people in Pelican Town, so whenever he does get in the mood, he doesn't want to burden you with something as troublesome as dealing with him. :( Whenever he does get the small courage to ask, he suddenly backs out. "Hey, is it okay if-- Nevermind. Forget I asked." is what you're mostly met with as he walks past you, ashamed. ☹️ But if you've been together for a while (or married), he does open up more about it. Whenever you two are just laying side by side in bed, he just thinks you're so pretty then suddenly he's got a boner! He would just hold your hand and gaze at you, waiting patiently. "If you want to of course." He would mumble, "It's not like you have to if you don't really feel like it." Well maybe you do. 😊

Sebastian 🐸

Sebastian's sex drive is kinda low, so it's very rare for him to get horny. But whenever he is? He's noticeably a lot more touchy and even clingy. Sebastian would be the one initiating physical affection with you. You two are lying in bed together? He has an arm wrapped around you, spooning. Oh you guys are playing on console together? You're now playing overcooked sat on his lap! He's busy coding? His hand is resting on your thigh "to feel less anxious". Even if you're not always glued to the hip, he always finds a way to be near you. If you're cooking, he's sitting by the table, softly smiling at you. But when you're in public and he's in the mood? This boy is a MENACE. 😭 He'd innocently whisper the things he is imagining about you in your ear before pulling away with a cheeky grin as if nothing happened. Sebastian would mention he needs to go home, before not so subtly letting you know that you can come with. With the way he's now smiling oh so sweetly! Maybe you are gonna get back at him for that.

Sam 🎸

With this boy? You already know he's constantly dtf 🙄, he doesn't even need to outright say it. Sam's already clinging onto you the second he sees you, any second he's humping against your leg like a dog in heat! Especially when he gives you this face. -> 🥺 "So..." He'd always start off before following up with a "Can we fuck?... Please?" Sam might add in a whine too if he begged. Though of course he won't force you if you're uncomfortable and not in the mood; He'd usually take care of himself in the bathroom. But if you are in the mood and down to fuck.. Sam would be over the moon! He would be so happy and excited, kissing and touching you all over. Though your legs won't be happy either the next day.

Alex 🏈

Out of all the bachelors, Alex would be the shyest when it comes to being horny. His first instinct the moment he gets a boner around you is to avoid physical touch all together, he wants to be respectful with you is all..🥺 Dude won't let you sit on his lap, kiss him, or anything that involves you pressing your body against his and he refuses to let you touch him! You'd know immediately when you straddle his lap, and when you lean close, you can hear this boy WHIMPER. 😩 Alex is trying his best to be a gentleman, but when his fingers are practically digging into your waist, he is holding back SO much. He would rest his head against your shoulder, filling the room with his sounds. Alex would be PLEADING "Please-- please please can I touch you?" but he patiently tries to waits for you " That's probably enough teasing this poor guy don't you think? (I should probably write a scenario of this ngl)

((Reblogs and likes are appreciated<3))

[bellaveux]

Helloo!! can i ask you a fic where reader is obssesed with cooking/baking and is really good at it and nat loves to eat whatever reader gives to her, super fluff! I just love the way someone can mix some things together and make it taste good tho i'm not able to :P

taste of home | n. romanoff x fem!reader

genre: fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha loves your cooking, especially when it’s made just for her. after being away on a mission, she finds herself missing not just your food, but you in general—and everything that comes with being home.

content warnings: fluff, kissing, soft!natasha, reader is good at cooking but nat will probably start a fire lol

word count: 2.4k

Natasha was never really one for cooking. She was great at a lot of things—following orders, handling high-pressure situations, even outsmarting some of the most dangerous people in the world—but somehow, cooking always felt like it required a kind of patience she didn’t have. Following instructions? Sure. That part was easy. But there was something about the process, the time it took, the attention to detail that seemed to escape her. It wasn’t that she didn’t try, but everything she made always came out either too bland or a little burnt. Even the simplest meals seemed to mock her, reminding her that not everything could be solved with precision and efficiency. She found herself more often than not reaching for a jar of peanut butter, slathering it on some bread, and then calling it dinner. It was easier that way—quick, no mess, no stress.

But then there was you. You made cooking look like second nature, your hands moving with a kind of ease Natasha envied. Your meals were homemade, warm, and full of flavor, and every bite left Natasha wondering how something so simple could taste so perfect. It was one of the many things she loved about coming home—knowing that you would have something on the stove or in the oven, filling the apartment with a warmth that Natasha had never really known before.

She had long grown accustomed to the food she encountered on missions or during her travels—unremarkable meals in sterile hotels or bland, quickly prepared rations. The food rarely satisfied her; it was functional at best, a means to an end rather than something to be enjoyed. She could eat it, of course, but it never brought her the kind of comfort she craved. It was always your cooking that had spoiled her palate for anything else.

When Natasha found herself hungry and miles away from home, away from the large apartment you shared with her, she would think of you, and it was like a switch would flip. The image of you standing by the stove, a warm promise of something delicious, would fill her with an eager joy that made the waiting almost unbearable. In those moments, she would dream of coming home, of the way you would smile at her, greeting her with a gentle kiss, as you stirred a pot or slid a dish into the oven, the kitchen filling with the rich, inviting aromas of a meal made with love. It was a small, comforting certainty that awaited her after each mission.

Natasha found something inexplicably thrilling about watching you cook. It wasn’t just the delicious meal you made for her that excited her—it was the sight of you looking so beautiful, the way you moved effortlessly around the kitchen, lost in your own world. It was endearing. She’d often stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small smile, just observing, feeling a flutter of warmth in her chest. Your delicate brow furrowed as you tasted and adjusted seasonings, your hands deftly working with ingredients. She always finds it hard to resist the urge to come up behind you, wrap her arms around your waist, litter kisses against your shoulders, listening to your laugh.

Steve glanced over at Natasha, noticing the faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at her lips. They were both sitting in the Quinjet, the low hum of the engines filling the quiet space as they cruised back home after a grueling two-week mission overseas. He hadn’t seen Natasha this relaxed in a while, and he certainly didn’t expect to catch her lost in thought, eyes soft, her usual sharp focus dulled into something more distant.

“What’s got you smiling?” Steve asked, his voice breaking the silence.

Natasha blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, her smile fading just slightly as she looked over at him. She shrugged, trying to play it off, but Steve knew her better than that.

“Nothing,” she said, but there was a lightness in her voice that didn’t match her usual tone after missions.

Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “Right. I’ve never seen you smile after two weeks of dealing with mercenaries and sleeping in freezing bunkers.”

Natasha couldn’t help but smile a little wider at that, shaking her head. She glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the edge of the seat. Her mind was drifting to you, as always. Just the thought of walking into their apartment and seeing you there, warm and welcoming, was enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. She thought about you standing in the kitchen, an apron tied loosely around your waist, cooking something that would inevitably taste better than anything Natasha had eaten on the mission.

“I’m just... thinking about home,” Natasha finally said, her voice softer now, a warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of you waiting for her.

He grinned knowingly at Natasha’s response, his tone teasing as he leaned forward a little. “Yeah? Got someone waiting for you?”

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, though she masked it quickly, rolling her eyes at his question. “Something like that,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward again.

Steve laughed softly. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I think it’s nice. You deserve something—someone—good to come home to.” His voice was genuine, and when she looked up at him, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. It meant a lot coming from Steve.

“Yeah,” Natasha murmured, her mind drifting back to the image of you back in the apartment. There was something grounding about knowing she had someone to come home to, someone who made the hard world that surrounded her a little softer. Her smile deepened at the thought, her fingers tapping lightly on her knee. “I guess I’m pretty lucky.”

Steve glanced at Natasha, his smile lingering for a moment before his gaze shifted out the window. The horizon stretched before them, the compound slowly coming into view, nestled miles away. He watched it quietly for a moment, the soft hum of the Quinjet filling the air.

Natasha leaned back in her seat, stretching her arms above her head with a sigh. "I’m also pretty excited to eat something that’s not the stale food they pack us for these missions." She wrinkled her nose, thinking about the bland, vacuum-sealed meals they'd had for the past two weeks. "If I have to eat another energy bar, I might lose it."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, nothing like field rations to make you appreciate real food." He took a sip from his water bottle, glancing at her with a teasing grin.

Natasha was never a picky eater. But throughout the two weeks away from you, she didn’t eat as much. The food they had packed was functional—protein bars, dehydrated meals, and tasteless energy snacks meant to keep them going. But Natasha could only force herself to eat the bare minimum, just enough to keep her energy up for the task at hand. Meals usually felt like a routine, not something to enjoy, and as the days dragged on, her appetite shrank even more. She ate just enough to keep herself going, but it never felt satisfying.

And she was grateful to have something, of course—yet each bite only reminded her of what she was missing. But out in the field, food was just fuel, but at home, when you cooked, it was more than that. It was comfort. It was love. And as much as Natasha needed sustenance, she craved that feeling more.

After what felt like the longest mission in months, Natasha finally stepped off the Quinjet and into the compound, exhaustion clinging to her bones. The familiar hum of the base was a strange kind of comfort, but all she could think about was getting back home. Back to you. After sending you a quick text, she moved quickly, her mind already half out the door as she peeled off her tactical suit and threw on something more casual. Her simple black leather, jeans—nothing special. Her body was sore, her muscles tight from the mission, but the thought of seeing you made everything easier to bear.

Natasha sped through the dimly lit streets of New York in her sleek black car, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and headlights. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, excitement building in her chest. She could feel the familiar hum of the engine beneath her, but her mind was already miles ahead, picturing you waiting for her at home. The drive felt agonizingly slow, even though she was pushing the speed limits, navigating the familiar route with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. Every red light felt like an eternity, every stop a moment too long. She wasn’t one to rush, usually careful and calculated, but tonight she wanted nothing more than to be home, to see you.

Finally, her building came into view, and Natasha parked quickly, barely able to contain the smile that tugged at her lips as she made her way inside.

You always missed her when she was away on longer missions. And you tried not to think about it too much, but every night, you’d catch yourself making enough food for two, even though you were the only one there to eat it. Tonight was no different. You made enough for two, like always, as if some part of you knew Natasha would be back soon. As you reached for a spice jar, the soft click of the front door unlocking echoed through the apartment. You paused, your heart skipping, your hand stilling over the stove.

The door creaked open, and you felt a familiar flutter in her chest. You heard the soft jingle of car keys and the faint click of the front door closing from the kitchen. The footsteps that followed were gentle, and you could almost picture Natasha’s careful movements—the way she set down her bag and slipped off her shoes.

You continued to stir the pasta, your smile remained soft. After a beat, you felt Natasha’s strong arms wrap around your waist, sending a shiver of delight down your spine. Your breath hitched slightly, a contented sigh escaping your mouth as you leaned back into Natasha’s body.

“Hi,” you let out a soft laugh as Natasha’s lips brushed softly against your shoulders, trailing delicate kisses along the curve of your neck. Each touch was light, almost hesitant, but full of love. You laughed softly, the gentle tickling sensation making your shoulders shake as you tried to stifle her giggles.

Natasha mumbled quietly back against your skin, the vibrations from her voice causing a shiver of delight. The sound was barely audible, but it was filled with tenderness. Natasha’s kisses continued, mingling with the soft laughter that filled the kitchen.

“Hi, baby,” she repeated, her chin now resting atop your shoulder, looking down at the stove where your hand mixed the pasta gently. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you said, turning the stove off, the sizzle of the pasta fading as you gently moved to turn in Natasha’s hands.

Her arms kept you close to her body, and before you could fully turn around, Natasha’s lips found yours. She sighed against them, feeling you smile softly against hers. Your hands found their way to her face as her hands squeezed your hips firmly.

 You pulled away from the kiss, your hands moving up to cradle Natasha’s face gently. You studied her for a moment, your brow furrowing as you took in every little detail—the slight hollowness in her cheeks, the way her body felt just a tad bit thinner against yours. Your thumb brushed softly along Natasha’s jawline, your voice soft with concern.

“How was the mission?” You asked, using your middle finger to brush a couple strands away from her face to tuck it behind her ear.

“Long,” she sighed, leaning in closer to your touch.

“You look a little skinnier,” you murmured, your eyes searching Natasha’s. “Have you been eating?”

Natasha gave a small nod, but it wasn’t convincing. You knew her too well. Knew how missions drained her, how she barely ate more than she had to, always brushing it off like it didn’t matter.

“You should eat more, Natasha,” you said quietly, your hands still holding her face as if you could protect her from the world, if only for a moment.

“I’ll eat when you cook for me,” Natasha’s eyes softened as she stared down at your lips, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I like it when you cook for me.”

You exhaled softly, your lips curving into a gentle smile as Natasha’s fingers lightly traced the edges of your waist. You could see the sincerity in her gaze, the way her tiredness seemed to melt away just being here, just being with you. It made your own heart swell.

"Let’s eat, then,” you replied, your smile widening as you brushed a thumb tenderly over her cheek.

Natasha pulled you closer, if it was even possible; her voice was a low murmur against your neck, her lips grazing the soft skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “What if… I had some dessert first before dinner?”

You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes even as a coy smile tugged at your lips. “Very funny, Romanoff,” you replied, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when your fingers tightened in Natasha’s shirt. You gently nudged her back with a soft, playful push. “Go get the plates.”

Natasha chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. She quick kiss to your lips again, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more before finally pulling away. Her hands trailed down your sides as she stepped back, a grin still playing on her face.

"Fine," she said, her voice light as she moved toward the cabinets.

She set the plates on the table, her movements slower than usual, as though savoring the moment. When she finally sat down and took her first bite, the rich, creamy taste of your truffle pasta hit her immediately. It was delicious—better than anything she could’ve imagined after two weeks of bland mission rations. She let out a contented sigh, her shoulders relaxing, the tension of the last few days melting away. You sat across from her, watching with that soft, knowing smile, and all Natasha could think was how much she loved this—loved you. She loved the way you took care of her without even trying, loved the way you made coming home feel like a blessing. For the first time in weeks, Natasha felt truly at peace, and as she took another bite, she couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

navigation! (natasha’s masterlist is still in progress lol)

[vivmaek]

MARS SIGN OBSERVATIONS

♂ Pisces Mars - I think Lennie Small from “Of Mice and Men,” would have this placement. This is a person who is seemingly harmless, and yet they still managed to cause harm and destruction through indirect action. When looking at someone with a Pisces Mars, their innocence and an assumed lack of strength is noticed first. These are kind people. They would rather harm themselves over another person. Their first instinct isn’t to attack, but to defend. When angry, they appear to be caught up within a panic. A Pisces Mars is driven by their big dreams. They might not always know what they want out of life, and their goals and ambitions may change frequently. This does not mean that they are incapable of finding success. If anything, their unwavering belief in themselves and their ability to achieve the impossible is what takes them to great heights. Hope is everything for someone with this placement, it’s what gets them out of bed in the morning. 

♂ Aquarius Mars - It's hard to pin someone with this placement down. Their actions don’t make sense to other people. Aquarius does a good job showing its eccentricity through Mars. The rules of society and the opinions of others do not dictate their actions. These types are constantly surprising people, and they like this. The public will often speculate about those with an Aquarius Mars. Theories are formed about them, no one can guess what they’re going to do next. In my opinion, this is the most rebellious Aquarius placement. They live their life in a manner that is truly unconventional. People with this placement are not aggressive, but they are clever. They like outsmarting people. A sense of superiority can sometimes act as a driving force. They go out of their way to make the people around them feel stupid if they’re in a foul mood. Their need for independence will never be forsaken. 

♂ Capricorn Mars - Hard work doesn’t scare these people off. They’ll put in whatever energy is needed to complete a project or endeavor. A strong sense of ambition and an excellent sense of focus are traits commonly seen with this placement. They’re quite secure in themselves and exercise self control through all their actions. Discipline motivates them. They take their responsibilities seriously and expect others to do the same. A Capricorn Mars goes above and beyond what is expected of them. They do this through a step-by-step process and practical planning. Cutting corners or taking the easy way out is something you’d never catch them doing. These types want to maintain control over every aspect of their life. They become angry when plans are thrown into a disarray through unexpected events. “Going with the flow,” is not a strong suit of theirs. Their need for security is what motivates them. 

♂ Sagittarius Mars - People with this placement are incredibly restless. They lack patience and need many different outlets to pour their energy into. They are easy going but are also quickly overtaken by passion. Crossing their moral beliefs is a good way to get them riled up. They like to believe that their opinions are more intellectual than they are emotional. When angry they like to get up on a soap box to lecture people. When people don’t agree with them, it can sometimes feel like criticism. They also don’t consider how their tendency to dish out brutal honesty may actually be more hurtful than it is impactful. They often act as a spark that ignites fire, in both a positive and a negative way.

♂ Scorpio Mars - The definition of “moving in silence.” Lots of people claim to do this, but a Scorpio Mars wouldn’t be caught making such a claim. They’re smarter than that. They know that hardship and struggle are inevitable. This does not scare them, but they also don’t fight against the natural currents of life. During certain points, their sense of ambition is so relentless that it becomes obsessive. But, this can only last so long. Rest and recuperation is a process they embrace. After acting on an immense level of concentration for a long period of time, they will need to take a step back to reassess goals. Rather than just accepting things for the way they are, a Scorpio Mars would rather make changes. If they feel that a path is ill-suited for them, they’re not afraid to change directions. Starting from zero is not discouraging and it is something that motivates these types. They have the power to turn nothing into something great. 

♂ Libra Mars - Mars is uncomfortable being in Libra. People with this placement often struggle with taking action and are as indecisive as they come. They get caught up in what's fair and what isn’t. They have a strong need to strike equality and want every situation to be as balanced as possible. Some might be surprised to know that the ultimate desire for these types is to garner a sense of peace. They might unintentionally stir the pot through their inability to take a strong stance on something. They want to weigh all the options possible and can become stressed trying to do so. Being passive-aggressive is also something that's frequently seen with this placement. These types think they’re being nice when in reality they’re making people uncomfortable through their fear of being direct. They’re sneaky when faced with conflict but also good at leading people into a resolution. 

[reidrum]

hard to love (easy to be loved) | s.r

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pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

a/n: this one is kinda short, but i kinda like it? i wrote that big speech spencer gives first out of self indulgence and the rest came after so i hope it meshed well. i love hearing yalls thoughts so please let me know what you think!!!! ALSO, im taking requests! guidelines are in my pinned, and im adding a smut prompt list if yall wanna choose from that too, or not thats cool too. lastly i just wanna say that if you relate to reader, i love you, you’re not alone, and you are worthy of love and kindness. okay im done yapping now love yall <3

cw: hurt/comfort, fluff, allusions to depression and depressive episode, gn!insecure!reader, spencer is a sweetheart that would rebuild pompeii for you i think

wc: 1.1k

°°••....••°° °°••....••°° °°••....••°° °°••....••°° °°••....•

spencer found you on the couch when he got home from the office. he hadn’t heard from you in like, a day, and he just assumed you were busy with work just as he was. but when he walked in his heart clenched at the sight in front of him.

you were curled up on the couch facing away from the door, blankets all but covering your head, tissues scattered everywhere. you had dirty dishes and trash lying around the room, but spencer didn’t even have time to think about the germs when he heard you take a shuddering breath, and he felt his heart drop.

he drops his bag with a thud and hopefully announces his presence. “hi honey, i’m home,” he starts, not wanting to overwhelm you too fast. you don’t respond, just a soft hum that if spencer’s ears weren’t focused on your voice he’d have missed it. he pads over to the edge of the couch and kneels down, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face, “what happened?”

you’re quiet for a few seconds like you’re thinking of a good excuse to tell him, but when you look up into his eyes and all you’re met with is sheer concern, the tears spring right back into you and fall further into your losing battle.

“okay no, hey, it’s alright,” he whispers, keeping his hand steady on you, “what can i do for you right now? did you eat?” you shake your head, “how about you go wash your face really quick and put on different pjs, and i’ll order takeout.”

the tears gather in your eyes and threaten to fall, “okay”. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and helps you sit up on the couch, smoothing your hair further down.

“i’ll be right here when you get back.” he squeezes your hand.

you tiredly swipe at your eyes and trudge to your room to wash your face and get clothes, trying your best to avoid any mirror so as not to accept your current state. walking back out, spencer is exactly where he said he’d be, but the trash and dishes have been picked up, clean blankets adorn the couch, and the tv softly hums with the new girl intro.

he looks at you from the couch, “thai food will be here in 20 minutes”, he moves a little to create the perfect you sized hole between his lap and the blankets, “come sit with me.”

you walk around the couch and spencer snakes his arm around your waist slowly pulling you down so you land perfectly in the crevice he created. he’s quick to drape his arm securely around your body, the other hand finding a home in your hair. he holds you snug to his body, hoping the warmth and love he has for you can radiate between you both.

“i love you.” spencer mumbles into your head.

you take another big breath, ignoring the way you still shudder in the inhale, “i know,” a lingering pause follows. spencer can tell you want to say more and he waits for you to continue, “i’m sorry.”

he pulls back so he can look at your face, “why are you sorry? you didn’t do anything, sweetheart.”

“i know, i just,” you try to push out as your throat threatens to seize up, “something triggered me in the morning, made me spiral really fast.”

“that’s not your fault, honey.”

“it’s not but, i just feel bad. like it happens so frequently at this point i feel like this is my natural state 90% of the time.”

“it’s actually pretty common to have intense feeli-“

“i said sorry because i feel like when i get like this it makes me hard to love.” you interject abruptly.

spencer stops talking. he knew you had a hard past, and he always tells you it’s made you who you are. he always tells you how beautiful you are, how smart you are, how your kindness and empathy is something he just marvels at. but he also knew he can only say so much that you would actually believe. spencer doesn’t mind using every breath he has to remind you.

he held your face with the palm of his hand on your cheek, forcing you to look directly into his honeyed eyes, “it is deeply important to me that you know how much i love and care about you. i know it’s hard to block out what other people think. but i would spend the rest of my life and then some showing you how worthy you are of being loved for who you are,” he whispers, “i promise you are not hard to love. i’m so sorry that people have made you feel like that. but i mean it when i say, that loving you is the easiest thing i've ever done.”

that was all you needed to just break in the comfort of his arms. you were trailing snot and tears onto his shirt and the only thing he did was pull you even closer to his chest. his hand ran up and down your back to soothe your spine, and his other hand remained on your hip, providing a comforting and reminding pressure.

“do you really mean that?” you couldn’t help but ask meekly.

not even a second passes, “always. you are my now, my tomorrow, my forever. i will always be here for you, pinky promise.” he holds out his slender pinky finger.

you let out a tearful laugh, “a pinky promise? what has the man of science devolved to.”

“devolved!? i’ll have you know, a pinky promise is actually the most sacred and serious promises of all. it actually dates back to ancient japan when this prostitute had to cu-“

“spence,” you hold out your pinky, “i love you.”

he intertwines with yours and raises your joint hands to kiss his thumb to seal it as you do the same, “i love you.” he leans in to place a longing kiss on your lips before moving to kiss your cheeks, nose, forehead, and then just everywhere until you’re giggling in his lap.

you both turn your attention back to the tv, watching winston and schmidt fight over their names when you blurt out, “okay i’m intrigued. what the fuck does a prostitute have to do with pinky promises.”

he laughs accusingly, “ah i knew curiosity would kill the cat. so there was this prostitute who had to cut their pinky off to show devotion of their love to…”

and you let his knowledge rambles lull you to sleep, the most restful one in days.

[noellefan101]

Quiet Love

Characters: Xiao, Heizou, Cyno, Wanderer, Albedo x mute!reader

Summary: You're mute, and cant talk? not a problem for your partner, they can find other ways to communicate, and honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: mute reader, kissing, most of them dont know sign language bc i said so and it makes this more interesting, idk man

Note: i feel like i accidentally made both the char and reader mute in some of them, I've tried to fix it though, so im sorry for that (and i also messed up some other shit im just missing brain cells n´ down bad) -love you

Xiao

Whom talks with you in touches and small notes.

He had seen no problem in your absence of speaking, he likes the quiet nights that you shared with him. The sounds of nature taking over your ears, it was nice, just standing beside you and looking out to the views of Liyue. he reaches out to hold your hand, though still not accustomed to the feeling, he does it anyway. and as his hand lightly squeezes yours, he feels your own squeezing his back, as if saying 'I love you'. your quiet conversations are sweet and only for you two to know about.

He leaves notes scattered around, as you do too. ones with little messages of your schedule and plans. ones written with more love than any other person could comprehend. notes shared between you and him. notes saying 'i loved that dish, could we make it again' and a reply under, 'of course, i'll do anything for you'. it seems simple and dumb, but a nice way to talk to each other anyway.

Heizou

Who likes when you just listen to him, and let him do anything he kind of wants to since you can't talk back, but he also loves when you just draw your thoughts on paper.

He loves to talk, but mostly loves when he gets to talk to you since you always listen to him so closely. he loves when he can just drag you to to places, but of course he's nice about it (kind of) and ask you if you wanna go to that new ramen shop that opened in the outskirts of Inazuma City, which he kind of answers for you because of course you do! in which you smile at (smile at him or else...)

He likes your little drawings, and especially when its a little puzzle he has to solve so he can understand what you're saying and loves to guess wrong purpose so he can get a reaction out of you. and even has a special sketchbook, that he keeps on him at all times. he also sometimes goes trough it and just smiles at all your little drawings. remembering the time that you drew it, and all the cute little faces you made when he teased you for how bad it looked.

Cyno

Who helps you talk with small drawings in the sand and learned sign language so he could communicate with you properly.

He's often out in the desert, and from time to time takes you with him. which makes it easy to express yourself when all you need is a stick, sometimes his spear if he lets you, and sand which is already in front of you at all times. the little drawings that symbol your love, so many hearts all over the sand it would be hard to count how many times you drew them. he gave you his cape at night when you were extra cold? you drew a heart around his feet as a 'thank u, i love you', in which he cutely (your words) responded with, "i love you too" right after.

Whom learned sign language just because he felt like you were left out a little, but also learned the wrong one at first so you had to help him and learn him some signs as well. but the first thing you learned him was how to say "i love you", but didn't tell him what it meant so you could do it without him noticing just for a little while longer.

Wanderer

Who hates being touched, but makes you touch his shoulder when you need something and gifts you a book so you can write to him when needed

He, despite hating when people touch him, he cant think of many other ways you could get his attention, so he wants you to touch him when you need him. it doesn't matter if he had an extra bad day, its the best way to get his attention, so touch him all you want. it is you after all, the love of his life, he would let you do whatever you wanted to do, just tap his shoulder and give him a few signs or point at something, anything you want you'll get.

Others would say that he would be annoyed at you for pushing a book up to his face every hour or so, but he surprisingly he doesn't get annoyed at all and "tolerates" you pretty well. in fact he loves when you just stand there and write in your little book, he thinks its adorable when you glare at him as a sign to wait for you to finish.

Albedo

Who is normally very quiet but when he's with you he loves to talk, but of course, he loves the times when it's just you and him sitting together in silence

He could be seen as quite shy if you didnt know him well, but when around you he was the complete opposite, talking about everything he did that day, was currently doing, what plans he had ext. he loves when you just listen to him, but if you ever tried pointing at smt to ask like yk 'whats this?' he would be overjoyed and you wouldn't be able to make him shut up for hours about that one thing.

He looked at you when you had put your hand in front of his sketchbook, you looked at him sweetly before kissing his cheek, catching him by surprise. he put down his sketchbook and kissed you back on your forehead. it was just a quiet moment between you two and you wouldn't have it any other way.

thx for reading i hope your day went/goes well, luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[taintedtort]

" BOYFRIEND! "

summary. them as your boyfriend

characters. kenma, hinata, nishinoya, kyotani, akaashi

warnings. gn!reader, post!timeskip

a/n. some headcannons idk. did more characters bcus it’s just random stuff.

KENMA

☆ the type of boyfriend to shower you in gifts. he isn’t the best with words and physical touch doesn’t come easy to him, but he always knows what you like. (plus he’s rich)

☆ he plays close attention to you, always assessing your mood and your needs.

☆ lazy days at home > date night out

☆ likes when you watch him play. it makes him feel nice when you praise him after beating a particularly hard level.

☆ calls you a nickname/your name or the occasional "baby"

HINATA

☆ loves loves loves when you come to watch his games, he makes sure to try extra hard and show off even more than normal.

☆ he loves to hug you and hold your hand. i like to think he has warm hands, but downside is that they sweat easier when it’s hot outside.

☆ if he’s taller than you, he won’t shut up about it. if not, then that’s fine too!

☆ isn’t shy about PDA and gives you cheek kisses all the time.

☆ "i love you more"

☆ calls you "babe"

NISHINOYA

☆ travels with you everywhere, he loves seeing the world with his true love!!!

☆ his camera roll is literally just filled with you.

☆ lowkey i think he’s good at photography. takes the best instagram photos.

☆ arm around your waist 24/7.

☆ matching necklaces and or bracelets.

☆ calls you something stupid sometimes like "pookie" but would ACTUALLY call you "baby" on a regular basis.

☆ specifically for girls, i might go a step further and say he’d call you "mamas" lol

KYOTANI

(im obsessed with him lately)

☆ not sure if he’d be into much PDA, but if someone’s flirting with you i think he’s definitely the type of guy to put his arm around you and send death glares.

☆ you’re not safe from his scowling and gruff remarks, but he’s a bit more behaved around you. just a bit.

☆ his touches are a bit rough; he holds your hand a little too firmly, hugs you a little too tight, and kisses you a little too fiercely. he’s passionate and aggressive at heart, that doesn’t change around you.

☆ sucks at giving gifts. the present itself isn’t bad, it’s just the way he gave it to you. either just leaves it out for you to find, or practically throws it at you totally unwrapped or anything.

☆ he doesn’t talk about you often, and his teammates only find out you’re together when they see his lockscreen of you.

☆ loves waking up next to you and grumbles when you have to get up.

☆ calls you "dumbass" and things like that ngl. maybe an occasional "hon" ?

AKAASHI

☆ you guys are regulars at a diner/cafe. don’t ask me why, i just get that vibe with him.

☆ holds your hand all the time.

☆ secretly likes when you steal and try on his glasses, even if he sighs and shakes his head at you. he thinks you look cute squinting through the glasses at him.

☆ forehead kisses. doesn’t matter where or when, you’re getting one.

☆ touches your hair a lot. either brushes it out of your face or just plays with it when you’re both relaxing.

☆ really uplifting of your accomplishments, no matter how small they are.

☆ likes watching you cook, and also helping you cook. but he‘ll do the dishes, of course.

☆ calls you "love" and "sweetheart"

[imaginedanvrs]

almost doesn't mean never

masterlist

summary: wanda maximoff x reader. '3 times we almost kissed, 1 time we did' trope

warnings: alcohol consumption, lots of angst

word count: 3.6k

You didn’t comment when Wanda repeatedly took fries out of your bag instead of her own, too enthralled in the story she was telling to notice what she was doing. At one point, she even took a sip from your milkshake and you weren’t sure if that was accidentally or on purpose because she had a habit of continuously trying your food whenever you had any. You would always offer to get her her own portion but she would frantically decline only to take several more sips or bites. You never minded. 

  “-and the moment we got back Vis already had dinner made for me,” she told you fondly, missing how your smile dropped as promptly as the anchor in your stomach. 

  “I suppose that was the least he could do,” you said lightly, struggling to hide your disdain for the robot. You would think that after a year of hearing your best friend tell you all about how amazing her boyfriend was that you would get the hang of pretending to like him, or better yet, stop being in love with her. It was never that easy. 

  “It’s not that simple for him,” Wanda defended with a soft chuckle that even the angels in heaven would have a hard time rivalling. “He has no taste buds,” she said simply. “Your cooking is far superior,” she told you, peering out at the car park and giving you the chance to admire her side profile. 

  The casual compliment gave you a surge of pride no matter how many times you had heard it before. It felt good to know you had something to offer the Sokovian that Vision couldn’t match, more so when it was something so important to her. You often replayed the memory of the night she was missing Pietro and dropped by your apartment unannounced to find you practising her favourite dish from her home country. It had been hard tracking down all of the ingredients you needed and it was your fourth time doing so when Wanda got to taste it, insisting you had perfected it. You hadn’t believed her until she started crying. 

  “I could have made something for you tonight,” you pointed out before taking a bite of your burger before Wanda decided to start on that too. 

  “I just needed grease,” she admitted, peering around the deserted McDonald’s car park. You were parked in the far corner and probably looked super dodgy to any strangers that spotted your car lurking in the blind spot, but Wanda liked to people-watch from the comfort of your car that she spent so much time in. She said that your car was comfier than hers. 

  “You need a holiday,” you corrected. 

  “We should take a roadtrip,” she said at once. You immediately loved the idea. 

  “Where do you want to go?” You asked, willing to take her to wherever came to mind. 

  “Anywhere,” she admitted, resting her head back to gaze at you with excitement. “I miss spending time with you,” she told you, not having a single clue how much of your days were taken up by you missing her. You didn’t see each other as much as you used to and even when you did get to hang out it wasn’t for as long as you wished. That was partly how you had developed the ritual of going to fast food car parks for your meals, it was convenient in case Wanda was suddenly pulled away. Her job required her to have one foot in her work life at all times. 

  “Me too,” you said. It was far safer to underplay your feelings.

  The Sokovian shifted to the edge of her seat and took her hand comfortably in yours as she often did. You watched as she twirled her fingers around yours, feeling the warmth of the astonishing magic that lay beneath the surface. Her strength was incredible, everyone knew that, but it was the gentleness she coated it with that you had always been in awe of. 

  “Will this roadtrip be just us?” You asked even though you both knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

  “Of course,” she muttered, letting her fingertips dance across your palm. “Just us and the road,” she laid on with a smile. That smile made you feel things no platonic best friend should. That smile made you love her. With the way it reached her eyes when it was directed at you, it was too tempting not to pretend like her heart didn’t carry that same devotion to you, that her eyes hadn’t glanced down to your lips as she became just as lost in that fantasy as you. The electricity that charged the small space only existed in your world, because for her, it was saved for him. 

  The chiming of her ringtone snapped you both out of your separate thoughts and disconnected your hands just as swiftly. You didn’t have to glance over at her phone to know who it was and you shouldn’t have felt a sting when she opted to answer instead of calling him back later. 

  “Hey, Vis,” she said, voice so tender and yet still striking a blow. 

  You hated that toaster so much.

*

The slight murmur of Wanda reciting the lines of the character’s held your attention far greater than the original could ever hope to. She knew every episode of the sitcom by heart and you were pretty sure you were coming close to being able to say the same. She had been quiet that night, caught up in her own head about the events of her latest mission, so hearing her voice at all was a relief. 

  She had her head resting comfortably on your shoulder so you felt a soft vibration with every mutter of words. You smiled, not daring to move which was easy when she stunned you with her next words. 

  “I want to quit my job.”

  “Oh?” You said casually to her statement you fully supported. You knew she had an incredible role in saving countless lives multiple times a week, but you also weren’t blind to the fact that your best friend didn’t enjoy her job. Unimaginable danger aside, no matter what she did, the public criticised her endlessly and did nothing to ease the gnawing feelings she had that she was a threat to her team and the people she helped. She had come so far in controlling her abilities, but she was only human. 

  “I won’t,” she said. “I just wish I could.”

  “Why don’t you?” You enquired after a pause. Wanda sighed, lifting herself off of your shoulder and bringing her knees up to her chest. 

  “This place keeps me in check,” she admitted. You hated how she talked about herself. 

  “You’re not an animal or a criminal, Wanda. And this team has no possession over you. They can’t keep you here, no one can.” Except someone did. Vision was the only reason Wanda really remained on the team. He had convinced her to. But really, as long as he was an Avenger, Wanda would be too. Yet another reason for your disdain for him. 

  “Yeah,” she sighed, clearly not believing you.

  “Wanda,” you prompted. She looked at you. “It’s your life. You can do whatever you want with it.” She still didn’t seem convinced. “If you want to run away, I can cause a distraction,” you told her, finally earning a smile from the brunette. 

  “I can count on you for anything,” Wanda said simply because it was the one thing she had never doubted. She had doubted her safety as a child. She had doubted Ultron’s intentions. She had doubted her team’s trust in her. She had doubted Vision’s loyalty. But she never doubted you. 

  “Always,” you assured without a beat. “I’ve got your back.” You wished that could have been enough for the brunette to decide that it was you she would run away with, but it was clear that if Wanda ever did opt to flee, she would take him with her and leave you behind. 

  “That might put you in danger one day,” she said sadly, letting her anxieties cloud her judgement. 

  “I don’t care.” You really didn’t. How could you? 

  She smiled at you softly and pulled your forwards slightly to kiss your forehead. She didn’t linger but her lips left a deeper imprint than she would ever know. You had always wondered what her lips would feel like against your skin and it was even better than you had dared dream. 

  When she pulled away and left a minute gap between you, there was a split second where you thought she was about to bring her lips to your own. But that moment passed when Vision casually faded through Wanda’s bedroom wall. She had told him countless times not to do that and you had to use all of your willpower not to scream at him to get out. 

  “My apologies, I didn’t know you had company,” he said but made no effort to turn around. “Good evening, y/n.”

  “Vision,” you replied without looking his way. 

  “You’ve got to knock, Vis,” Wanda chuckled as you subtly placed a couple more inches between you. 

  “Should I come back?” He enquired.

  No. Just keep floating off and never turn back.

  “Yeah,” Wanda smiled warmly at him past you.

  “That’s okay, I should probably head off anyway,” you excused. You had nothing planned and no work the following day so there was no legitimate reason for you to go. But if you stayed you would have just felt like they were both waiting for you to leave. 

  “Really?” You missed her surprise and touch of hurt at your sudden shift, watching on as you stood up from the bed to grab your jacket. 

  “I’ve got some errands to run tomorrow.” Lie. “And it’s getting late.” Not really. 

  “Okay, but I’ll still see you tomorrow, right?” The hopeful edge in her voice was going to stick with you for a while and you knew you were going to be replaying and over analysing it constantly that night. You had a way of hurting yourself with your optimism more than Wanda hurt you with reality. 

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you grinned back at her with sudden ease. You were only getting coffee, but there really was very little that would stop you going. 

 “See you then,” you called as left, purposefully ignoring her mechanical boyfriend. 

*

As far as maid of honours went, you probably weren’t the best. 

  You didn’t carry the enthusiasm that any of the guests at the wedding did and it proved difficult to maintain your fake smile the entire day. You really were happy for her, your best friend was finally getting married to the love of her life, cementing your role as something far less significant. You just didn’t get it, he wasn’t even human. 

  The ceremony was nothing short of gorgeous. It was a small reception, Wanda had been adamant that she wanted to keep it intimate despite Tony trying to throw more and more money at the event and add more guests. But it was Wanda’s day, it was her choice. 

  You had never seen the Sokovian look so happy in her life, or so beautiful. You supposed the two went hand in hand, her joy had always been so warming and infectious that it was impossible not to see the perfection in it. Everything was finally coming together for her, while your world fell apart. 

  You didn’t acknowledge Natasha when she sat down next to you. As much as it pained you to watch, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the tender slow dance the bride and groom swayed along to. She looked like a Disney Princess, her dress wrapped around her with an elegance you were in awe of. 

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” Natasha told you. You still didn’t look away. 

  “I couldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding,” you muttered, barely audible over the gentle music around you.   

  “Still, it can't be easy when you’re in love with her,” the Russian stated. You noticeably stiffened but didn’t bother to deny the fact. Your heart raced at the confirmation that your feelings weren’t a total secret, but you still knew Natasha well enough to be sure she wouldn’t tell anyone else. “No one else knows,” she assured. “Including Wanda.”

  “Maybe this will be what finally makes me move on,” you wished aloud. Natasha didn’t respond, following your gaze to where the dance had come to an end. Most of the guests were beginning to disperse and you planned to do the same soon, you had already stayed longer than you had thought you could be able to. 

  “Carol’s into you.” You were aware of that, just as you were aware the usually confident Captain was working up the courage to ask you out. It would be good for you if you said yes. Carol was great…

  “One lesbian crushing on another that’s in love with her best friend, you guys are hopeless,” Natasha quipped and you gave her your first genuine smile of the evening. 

  “I know, I know,” you admitted, holding your hands up and chuckling with the redhead. “I should go, see you around, Romanoff.” Natasha waved you off and watched you go with an edge of pity that she knew you would hate. As you reached the door, the redhead noticed Wanda frown in your direction and started after you, swaying in her slightly intoxicated state. 

  “Y/n,” she called once you were outside and finally alone. You spun around, feeling a pang of guilt that you had been caught leaving her wedding without saying goodbye. 

  “Hey, sorry. You looked busy and I…” you hadn’t thought of an excuse and you didn’t have the energy to lie to her anyway. “You’re married,” you stated with a shaky exhale that Wanda wouldn’t have missed if she hadn’t had a bottle of champagne to herself. 

  “I am!” She beamed and suddenly threw her arms around you. You hugged her back with a hesitation you had never given her before, uncomfortable and pained by the feeling of her wedding dress beneath her fingertips. You had swallowed your tears all day, but actually feeling how real it all was threatened to be too much. You just wanted to run home and cry into your pillow. 

  “I just,” she sighed heavily with bubbling excitement. “I’m so fucking happy right now,” she giggled and finally pulled away. “I love him so much and…” she seemed at a loss for words. You were too. 

  “I’m really happy for you, Wands,” you told her, ignoring how your throat felt like it was swelling to the size of a balloon. She grinned and hugged you again, holding you flush against her. 

  “Thanks, y/n. I can't wait for it to be your wedding day.” Her words were as rough as a sucker punch to the gut. Would you even ever have one? Surely. Right? 

  She barely pulled away to kiss your cheek, letting the alcohol do as it pleased and numb the feeling of your hands twitching around her waist at the act. “I hope he treats you well,” you whispered. Wanda smiled and rubbed your cheek affectionately with her thumb, as though she was about to use it to pull you closer once more. You would never know if she would or not, because you stepped away. 

  “Goodnight, Wanda,” you smiled, catching one last glance at the ring around her finger that glimmered under the fairy lights strung above you. They were your final reminder that your best friend was getting her happy ever after, because everything had fallen into place. 

  The moment your back was turned, tears streamed freely down your broken features.

*

You reread the offer letter for perhaps the seventh time that hour, determined to find some fault with it that you had missed before. Regrettably, you found nothing. It was the perfect promotion. Better pay, better hours, better benefits. There was an apartment available just a short walk from the office and from what you had seen from the online viewing, you couldn’t get a better deal on such an ideal place to live. There wasn’t a single flaw that was reason enough for you to turn it down, except for the fact it was on the other side of the country. 

  It wasn't that big a deal. People moved away all the time, it was a natural part of advancing with your life. It just meant that you would have to leave your friends behind, that you would have to leave her behind. Again, that wasn’t really a bad thing. Maybe distance was the only thing that was finally going to put an end to your insistent feelings for Wanda, who had been happily married for nearly a year. It could finally cease your reluctant ‘what ifs’.

  “I knew you would be here,” she called a second before you heard the car door slam shut. You pocketed your phone and glanced behind you. 

  Wanda strolled up the cliff side towards you as the wind gently caressed her hair, though it didn’t seem to ease the concern written over her features. “You didn’t answer my texts,” she said as she joined you on the hood of your car and overlooked the vast ocean stretched out beyond the drop just metres ahead of you. 

  You knew what she was implying, you always answered her texts so she immediately suspected something was wrong. “Girl troubles?” She asked. You scoffed, Carol (sweet as she was) was the least of your concerns. You had only seen each other a handful of times and it felt more like you were hooking up than establishing something with a deeper potential. 

  “Not exactly,” you told her. 

  “Then what’s up?” She asked, nudging your shoulder lightly. 

  “I got a job offer,” you shrugged. Wanda’s eyes widened and she began to grin. Her excitement was infectious.

  “That’s what you’re moping about?”

  “It’s in California,” you said at once. Wanda’s smile wavered, but she refused to let it visibly disappear when it didn’t change the fact that you had a significant opportunity ahead of you. 

  “Wow,” was all she could say. “Have you talked to Carol about it?” She asked even though you both knew it didn’t make the least bit of difference to the Captain what part of the country you were in. You could be on the other side of the world and she would still visit you as frequently as she did. It was clear that the Sokovian couldn’t think of anything else to ask, but it still irked you that it was Carol’s opinion she enquired about. 

  “No, we don’t talk about that stuff,” you dismissed. 

  “Really? It’s a big deal.” You could see her frowning in your peripheral and it was no secret that Wanda had been trying to get you and the blonde to be something you couldn’t. 

  “It won’t make a difference to how we hook up,” you huffed, growing agitated at your best friend’s blindness to where your interests truly lied. 

  “I thought you two were getting closer,” she said slowly, noting your shift. 

 “Carol and I aren’t going to become anything more, Wanda,” you told her firmly, but she insisted on pushing you further.

  “Why?” It was as if she wanted to see you snap and finally admit-

  “Because she’s not you!” You exclaimed, feeling a sudden rush come over you as you let all of the lies you had been held back by all those years to finally dissipate. Wanda stared at you, stunned. 

 “How long?” The question was almost carried away by the breeze.

  “Years,” you admitted, no point down playing the truth. It wouldn’t make it any easier. 

  “Y/n-” she started but you recognised her voice and you knew what was coming. 

  “Don’t. Please don’t,” you begged, tears brewing in your eyes as you realised this could be your long awaited breaking point in your friendship. It was inevitable. It had been since the first day you met the brunette. 

  You took in each other’s drastically different emotions, confirming the alternate cross roads you were about to take. But if that was to be the case, you wanted to have at least one small victory to take away. You cupped Wanda’s cheek as she had done to you so many times before, never understanding the burn you had felt at her touch at the time. She understood it then though, because the softness of your hand protected her from the winds that were picking up and made it all the more tempting to follow your lead as you closed the gap between you. 

  Sometimes in romance novels, they say that the first kiss was better than either of the characters had dreamt of, but that wasn’t the case with your kiss with Wanda. Sure, her lips fit perfectly against your own and yes, the faint taste of strawberry could have made you light headed with a giddy glee. But your kiss was filled with remorse and regret. There was a striking pain to the way your lips moved together and an overwhelming sense of anguish that neither of you would be able to rid yourselves of for quite some time. 

  Worst of all, that kiss was your unspoken goodbye.

  “I’m sorry, I just wanted the chance to feel as lucky as he does,” you told her as you pulled away entirely. Wanda didn’t respond, you didn’t expect her to. She had already given you more than you ever thought possible. So you got off of the hood of your car and Wanda willed herself to do the same, standing back solemnly as you got in the vehicle she would never join you in again. She couldn’t bring herself to watch you drive, nor could you glance back at your best friend in your mirror.

My fault for falling in love with a straight girl.

[helluvapoison]

Feelings

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

imagine being a fallen angel and experiencing hunger for the first time

ʕ•��͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Ow— Ow! Lucifer!” You screeched.

It takes him less than half a second to materialize before you. Demonic and beautiful just how the stories described him to be. Six ivory wings with crimson feathers stretched out to be your shield. His horns stretched tall, tail whipping to and fro and his honed teeth bared for the threat he couldn’t see. As a predator would asses the situation, Lucifer’s eyes, a blazing blood red, searched the area only to find you alone.

But.. you sounded hurt.

With hesitance, his features slowly ebbed away.

“What—“ He spun in a circle once more as if he was missing something. “What‘s happening? What is it?”

“I-I don’t know? It— ow!”

Suddenly you doubled over, clutching your stomach.

Lucifer was on one knee to keep your face in view, still furious at the oversight that escaped him and irrationally worried whatever it was would take you away from him. His hands hovered over your arms but didn’t dare touch. He looked every bit as terrified as you did. With no enemy to slay, he was left in the same darkness as well.

Neither of you would know what to do if you couldn’t explain.

Drawing in a shaking gasp, you muttered, “I don’t understand, it-it hurts.”

“Where? Where does it hurt? I can help you, just tell me.”

You only clutched your stomach tighter. The pain was unlike when you fell but remained just as intense. The thought of this being your new normal was paralyzing. How could anyone live this way? How would you survive? How did Lucifer?

“Your—“ Lucifer sighed heavily, shutting his eyes and allowing a weak smile to tug at one corner of his mouth. Relief. “I see. Ok, don’t worry. You’re ok, darling. I can fix this easy-peasy! You’re hungry.”

“What is that?”

His face scrunched tight as he looked for the words in the air, “It’s… It’s famine? You know, like in the mortal realm? But just here.”

He pointed at your stomach before rising to his feet. The look on your face when he stepped away was a dagger to his heart.

Don’t leave me alone, he swore your eyes begged him.

Perhaps he merely saw his own reflection in them.

Debating on waiting for you to follow (which he would’ve done; he would’ve waited for eternity) or bolting to grab something, Lucifer chose the latter.

Leaving you was hard enough as it stands— and it wasn’t getting any easier— but he would find a way to do both. One problem at a time.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” He reassured, “Ok?”

You’d reply was weak and uncertain. It twisted the blade lodged in his heart.

“Ok.”

He’s never moved so fast in his fucking life.

If he had time he would’ve made you something nicer from scratch. Lucifer used to love making breakfast. If he had time he would’ve had his cooks prepare a 7 course meal. If he had time he would’ve had you sample as many dishes as you could stand to find one you like. If he had time he would’ve sat with you and found out your favorite foods. He’d find a way to recreate them in Hell.

If he had noticed, you wouldn’t be hurting at all.

But there was no time for any of that. Not for if’s and definitely not for a pity party.

Lucifer returned before you with a blue-ish pastry that almost looked like a muffin. Almost… Not really. You glanced at him once to find a tiny, calm smile that put your worries back to bed before they could rise. If you could trust anyone down here, you knew it would be him.

Since you refused to release your hold on yourself, afraid your stomach would collapse, Lucifer took it upon himself to lift the pastry to your mouth. You hoped your hesitance was overlooked. He certainly didn’t comment on it.

It didn’t taste like anything. Specifically, it didn’t taste bad so your reluctance was overruled by hunger. You took the blob from Lucifer and ate slowly though you wanted to inhale the damn thing.

“I have these when I forget to eat too. They’ll do the job alright. Give it a few minutes to work his magic and— presto! We’ll get you some real food.”

“How could you possibly forget to eat when it feels like this?” You said through a mouthful of whatever-this-was.

“It get’s easier,” Lucifer let a breath of a laugh out, shaking his head. His mirth faded slowly yet simultaneously suddenly. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I didn’t—“ He squints, blinks and sighs, defeated, “I should’ve remembered this.”

You tilted your head, “This?”

“The first time I experienced… everything, I guess. Hunger was one of them,” Deep in thought, Lucifer tapped his chin, “Not the worst of them but the first time was pretty awful.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head slightly, “There’s more?”

Lucifer groaned in agreement, sharing in your horror.

“There’s a lot more.” Looking at you he realized his mistake and corrected it too late, “B-But I’m here! I went through it all so I’ll have all the answers for you!” His hands took your own, squeezing them, “You don’t have to do this alone. Ok?”

You squeezed his hands back.

“Ok.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ have this idea i had for my oc but i made it enjoyable for all! this might become a series, we’ll see

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[love-quinn]

— GOOGLE REVIEWS

summary — carmen's never been good with his words, so when he finds you crying in the walk-in, he gets some help to convince you that you're capable of doing your job.

warnings — swearing, general customer-service nightmare stuff. reader is younger than carmen but i pictured/wrote her as being mid-late twenties (25-28 ish) and i think carmy is early 30s so there's an age gap but they're both fully adults, also boss/employee relationship so power imbalance but also nothing happens between them

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1.9k

note — first carmen fic so obligatory warning that he might be OOC, i rlly work on dialogue and shit but i am finding my footing. waitress!reader is kinda special to me i might write some more about them cause they're both so silly if that's something people would be interested in? anyway i hope you enjoy :3

“Stupid… fucking useless- fuck!”

The rush is familiar. The lunch rush, the dinner rush, the fifteen different orders jumbling in your head as you struggle to write it all down in time. Holding nine full glasses of nine different drinks in one hand and struggling to push open the door to run the food out into the dining room. Having to go to Richie and tell him that someone’s card declined so you didn’t have to be the one to tell them. Going into the walk-in and just opening your mouth in a silent scream just to go back out there and finish your shift. 

The rush of cold air on the back of your neck is familiar too. You don’t know what Carmen’s yelling about in the kitchen. You’d just stepped in there to grab food and had caught the tail end of his rant and you’d left with your tray and a million possibilities running through your head.

You’d written something down wrong and now a dish needed to be remade. 

You’d left one of the fridges open and spoiled days worth of food.

You’d given someone something they were allergic to and now you were being sued.

You move through the restaurant on autopilot, avoiding people and chairs and one of Richie’s spitballs sent from behind the counter. You’re so sure that the next time you went back in that kitchen Carmy would be pulling you aside and telling you that you’re fired. 

You deliver the food to the table with a smile and stand back upright to check in with them about that being everything. One of the women sits up a little straighter, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I ordered a side of the lemon herb dressing?”

You look down at her dressing-less plate. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back with that one, so sorry.”

She waves you off. “You take as long as you need to, honey.”

You practically speed back to the kitchen. Oh, god. You hoped you’d at least get that poor woman her dressing before Carmy fired you. You can’t believe that you managed to screw this up. You’d been lucky to get this job. Carmen had brought you on right when he’d opened up the restaurant and the rest of The Bear had all been super welcoming.

You got on best with Sydney, the two of you were similar in age and she was one of the kindest people you knew. You and Richie also had a nice relationship, you thought he hated you when you first got hired and then he walked out into the alley to have a cigarette, found you crying and punched a guy in the face for you. 

You needed this job. You’d graduated a few years ago and were still struggling to break through in your field, and this job paid the bills and didn’t make you cry every single day. Some days, sure, but not every day. 

You knew you weren’t the best waitress ever, you screwed up and made customers yell at you pretty frequently. You were lucky that Richie liked you enough to stand up for your honor even when you were probably wrong. But you tried your absolute best, you came into work every day and genuinely wanted to help. You respected all of the chefs so much, they all worked so hard, and you wanted to make their lives as easy as possible. 

You go over to Richie and murmur something to him about the dressing, and he takes it to the kitchen. First whatever you’d done to upset Carmy, now this. If he didn’t think you knew how to do your job before, he definitely will now. You glanced over your section. All your tables were eating or had ordered, you’d normally be checking with Sugar when the next reservation was due and triple-checking the table was clean and everything was prepared. 

If you were going to get a walk-in minute in, now would be the best time. Maybe you could do it before Carmy fired you. 

You brush past Tina, not even hearing her concerned call for you. The walk-in was empty and everyone in the kitchen understood. When someone goes into the walk-in with tears in their eyes you leave them alone for as long as you can. 

You can’t believe that you were stupid enough to screw this up. 

The door slams open and you wipe your eyes, expecting it to be Tina needing to actually do her job or Marcus wanting to check on you. It’s Carmen.

“What happened?” He hadn’t been expecting to see you so upset. He’d heard the door slam and wanted to leave it alone, but then Richie had raised his eyebrows, stopping mid-sentence.

“God, I can’t wait to hear about whatever asshole yelled at her this time,” he’d shaken his head, trying to go back to what he’d been talking to Carmy about before. One of the shelves had been knocked and two containers of flour had been completely emptied out onto the floor. They had lids on, lids with clamps on them that were meant to stop that from happening but lo and behold Fak was now mopping up something that was beginning to resemble bread dough with how much water he was trying to use. . 

“Who?” Carmy’s eyes had still been glued to the walk-in. Richie had said your name and Carmen had practically excused himself in the same breath. This time? Did you get yelled at by customers a lot?

You wipe your face, shaking your head. “Sorry, Carm. I guess I just needed a second, I’ll get back out there.”

You take a step forward and he, without meaning to, moves to block the door. You feel your heart rate climb. This was it, he was going to scream at you in the walk-in. “You’re crying.”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want this to happen, you didn’t want to be crying in front of your boss. Especially not Carmen. He’s a lot, you know that. You’re not in the kitchen a whole lot, but when you are he’s usually not super happy. He’s a yeller, half of Chicago knows that. But he’s always kind to you, he gave you a job when you were fresh out of college in an unrelated field with no experience because he could tell how much you needed one. You often felt out of place slightly, through no fault of the other staff. They spent all shift in the kitchen together and you spent your entire shift out there in the dining room. You know they’re not having sleepovers and braiding each others’ hair in there, but your work mostly took place in a different room.

But Carmen always makes sure you get Family, that you get your break even if it’s scheduled while it’s busy and that Richie isn’t skimming your tips (he’d never, but Carmen’s caught him with his hands in the jar so often that he isn’t sure anymore). 

It really doesn’t help that he looks like that.

You’re shaking, and he worries for a second that it’s because you’re standing in the freezer, but there are tears welling in your eyes and he doesn’t want to drag you out to his office when you’re so visibly upset. “I’m sorry,” you’re shaking your head. “Please don’t fire me.”

Carmen frowns. “Why would I fire you?”

The words seem to tumblr from your mouth without your permission. “I know I’m not the best waitress, I’m sure you get lots of complaints about me and I forgot that woman’s dressing and I know nothing about kitchens but I’m trying, Carm. I promise, and I’ll do better.” You’re talking so fast that he can barely keep up. He’s still caught up on the first part. 

“Wait, wait,” he holds a hand up to stop you. “Who told you you’re not a good waitress?”

You sniff, tears fully rolling down your cheeks. Carmen knows he’s rough. He’s prone to explosions. Carmen is a hurricane, he wreaks havoc on whatever environment he’s in. He sucks in everyone else’s bullshit, swirls it around and then spits it back out, leaving whatever is left in worse condition than he found it. 

You were calm. You calmed everyone. If an asshole yelled at Carmen, or Sydney or Ebra, Richie wouldn’t even dream of going out there and yelling at the customer. Marcus made you a cake on your birthday and Sydney tries all of her newest recipes on you. 

The eye of the hurricane. 

You’re prattling at this point. “-And that time that I made that guy wait fifteen minutes for a straw, and-”

“Honey,” he doesn’t mean to, that slips out without him meaning. “You’re a great waitress, who gives a shit that guy had to wait for his fucking straw? Who cares, you’re…” he can’t think of a way to talk to you. Great feels too impersonal, wonderful feels too intimate. It’s what you are, though. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re… everyone loves you. We’re lucky to- I’m sure you could get a job at any other restaurant if you wanted. You’re not a bad waitress.”

That’s apparently the wrong thing for him to say. It only makes you cry harder. “Please don’t fire me,” you look pathetic. Crying to your boss while he fires you in the middle of the freezer. 

Carmen doesn’t let that slide for a second longer than he has to. “Why the fuck would I fire you?”

You don’t need to answer. Because I’m a bad waitress. It hangs in the air like the frosty vapor that flies from his mouth every time he takes a breath. 

“I swear to fuck, you’re a big part of the reason people come in here,” he’s not lying. He knows his name carries weight, he knows people hear “Carmen Berzatto’s restaurant” and that brings them in the door a lot of the time. He pulls out his phone, reception is shit but he’s able to google the name of the restaurant. 

He doesn’t have to scroll far down the Google reviews before he finds it. “Food was great, waitress was lovely, made us feel so welcome.” He finds another one. “Waitstaff was on top of it. Two people at surrounding tables smashed glasses and from what I saw one waitress cleaned them both up and still managed to get our appetizers out on time.” 

He goes to find another one but stops, looking back up at you. “You’re not firing me?” You take a step back, dropping your entire body so you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor. He watches you, gauging your reaction, before mirroring you. Your knees are almost touching his. 

“I’d have to be a fucking moron.”

The silence is deafening. 

“Hey,” Carmen can’t bite back the shocked laugh. “That’s… alright. Fine.”

Hearing you laugh makes relief bubbled up inside of him. 

“I should go back out there,” you nod towards the door.

Carmy shakes his head, knee nudging against yours. “Richie’s got it, Marcus can walk desserts, Syd’s on top of everything. No one’s gonna hold it against you if you stay here for a bit.”

He stands, hand brushing your shoulder as he moves towards the door. “Have you eaten today?”

You shake your head and he nods. “I’m gonna make you some pasta, okay? Richie can take over for a bit, you take your time in here I’ll be right outside, honey.” He shuts the door and your shoulder burns where he touched it. 

[windvexer]

Hey chicken,

You previously said that you believe even doing simple things in spellwork, like leaving something in a dish of salt, need to be worked over. How would you work over simple things like that? Burning a candle? Just infusing it with some energy?

Even more simple than infusing it with energy, maybe.

This isn't like, set in stone. But I generally believe that the first step of all Witchcraft is permission.

As in, you speak from a place of authority as a Witch, and give permission that reality may become abnormal.

Witchcraft is abnormal, in my opinion. I think it's perfectly nice that people build paradigms based on the idea that magic is altogether completely natural and there is no difference between the magic and normal, but I like the sinister stuff.

So IMO the first, most basic, essential "working over" is to take something (the dish of salt) and, give it permission to become abnormal and begin to effect reality abnormally.

This is the hinge upon which Witchcraft pivots: the Witch going in and taking normal things, and realigning the tracks of fate beneath them, compelling things to start happening which never would have happened if not for that specific intervention.

A dish of salt does not normally just make a space clear of emotions. If it did so, that would not be normal. It would be abnormal. Paranormal, even.

So how do you get salt to stop being normal, and start being a paranormal substance that does abnormal things?

Charging with energy is a later step. You charge with energy to fulfill an intent already set.

The first step is to give reality - the reality of the salt, of the emotions in the room - permission to be a fucked up little guy. It's easy as pie. And it mostly comes down to magical headspace: you seeing reality as something quite permeable, and easy to change, and almost illusory, springing from the web of fate that underpins it; but you can change that fate. Reality likes us. It mimics us to show that it wants to be friends. Put yourself in a state where the world is mutable, and around you the world complies.

So step one is magical headspace.

Step two is telling the salt what to do. "Listen here, you fucked up glorious little guy. Before you were dead, only crystals harvested and mined, sold on a grocery shelf where you've been reduced to nothing but flavor. They chew on your bones and forget to worship your soul. But here, in my house, you are a god. Rise from your grave in this new form, to this new purpose: purify from this room the unwanted, the harmful, and the malignant. By my word and my will, this new fate has been granted to you."

No energy work. No visualization. Just tell it like it is.

Or you could be more corporate about it. "This salt purifies negative energy from the room." It's just setting intent, if you want to be crude.

It's hard for me to do corporate magic. With all apologies to the people who do prefer the very simplified present-tense intentions.

Reality mimics us. If something is stirring inside of you, then something is stirring inside of the salt. No visualizing energy roots required.

A simple sentence may not be enough, or a paragraph. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right words. Maybe the salt isn't really a god. Maybe it's a gnome, a saltwork machine, the dead crest of a long-forgotten ocean wave that preserved a billion amoeba in crystalline purity, ready now to purify your room.

Over time, intuition and experience will both grow and combine to advise exactly what to say.

After all, you're telling it like it is - not making it up.

Go to the place where magic is real and you're doing it.

Assign new fates through words.

These are the simplest steps to working over something.

[amazinglyashy]

hi! First of all - i love the way u write omg😭 i basically went through all your posts last evening and today hahah (procrastinating at it’s finest😌) Second - i wanna request a prompt, but i dunno if it’s too close to the one where ‘reader tells the lads boys that she’s too heavy for them’? if so, just ignore this!🫡💗

If not - could you write something about the boys finding out that reader/mc used to have bulimia(/or unspecified ed) and that she’s quietly struggling again, but not telling them? Maybe something angsty/comforting?

Trigger warning - This involves talk about eating disorders. Please use discretion when reading! Oh my gosh, thank you so much!! That means so much, because I used to write a lot years ago but stopped for a long time. I only got back into it recently, so the love I've been receiving has really done a positive number to my confidence. Thank you, lovely <3 I don't think it's possible for me to NOT write this request, because I'm a long time ED sufferer, and I am currently experiencing a harsh relapse unfortunately... You read me like a book, because 'Too Heavy' was a direct reference to that. It's hard, because it's such an invisible problem that oftentimes you suffer alone. Thank you for the request, hopefully I did it some justice, and for you or anyone who may relate to this post. (Also wrote this while listening to Lullaby - Jhameel on repeat. Give it a listen!)

Love and Deepspace Li's find out about your ED (and your current struggle)

Zayne -

The moment he finds out you live with an ED, he's down at the library finding any books he can, and researching as much as possible throughout the hospital and his old college's database.

He's also finding patient testimonials that have been released, so he can find the most compassionate approach that would help you without causing you any more harm than you already are experiencing at the hands of your own mind.

"I found a new restaurant I want to try. Apparently, they make a certain dish really well, I think we should try it together while we go over the latest mission you wished to tell me about."

He knows what you like, so it makes it easy for him to order things to share together places and ensure you're eating.

He will go out to eat every single day if he needs to, that's not any issue to him. Neither is sharing foods or cooking meals that he knows you love, even if they're not particularly his favorite.

He tries not to talk to you much about it, but does his best to be encouraging and nothing more whenever the subject of professional help comes up.

When you start opening up even more to him, he's all ears, and he's exceedingly careful about his choices of words, like he always is, but even more so now. The last thing he wants is to speak a trigger, especially when he's so focused on helping you get better.

He knows it never truly goes away, your disorder. But that's not an issue. It's more... a fact of being with you. And just like you take his problems and disabilities, he will take every single one of yours as well.

In stride, and with love.

Xavier -

He caught on, mostly because he found it strange that one moment you had eaten every single snack in the cupboard, and the next he heard, you hadn't eaten anything all day. He was wondering if it was something he was just unaware of, but-

Quickly finds out what exactly is going on after a few times of this happening. He was worried it was some strange habit, and now he's even more worried finding out it's been something you've been dealing with for quite a while.

He's upset, to say the least. But he'll keep that to himself.

He just wants to help you now.

He'll ask if there's anything that you feel like sharing with him on how to best help you, and there's definitely a note somewhere on his phone with a list of things you told him. If he can do any of them daily, he will. Anything else is always on his mind.

He doesn't let it get in the way of your day to day, though. You still play games together like normal, read together, and go the arcade whenever you both have the opportunity to win some more plushies for your hoards. He's always conscious about his own comments and behavior, but he doesn't ever let it seem like he's keeping an eye on you or trying to supervise you.

The tightrope of trusting you and helping you deal with your disorder is a thin one, and Xavier dances along it with grace.

No matter what, being around him is a comfort. Whether you're having a good day, or a bad day.

Sylus -

He's pretty internally frustrated when he first find out about it, but he doesn't let it show.

It has nothing to do with you or anything you did. He's just used to... having everything under control. For every problem to have a solution solved easily with money, force, or some compassion.

This is something he can't control.

And he hates it.

Aside from that, Sylus is like a light in the dark.

He had a list of trusted professionals to help you, should you want, and multiple of them at that- just in case you don't feel comfortable with the first one or three.

Any food you genuinely like to eat is available at all times, it does not matter if it is three in the morning. Are you wanting it? Nice, it's right there on your plate.

The frequency of which you see him increases, including the twins, despite both situations being... vastly different.

Where he takes you out for dinners at new and gorgeous restaurants, including ones feature in your favorite media or having special events for a game you like- the twins are throwing bags of snacks at you and yelling at you to throw pieces into their mouths and so they can do the same to you.

You will learn Sylus did not ask them to do this, in fact he explicitly told them not to do that.

It's pretty obvious though, they were worried about Sylus. And not just him, but you too.

Probably because of how much Sylus has been concerned about you, even if just in secret.

He doesn't want his feelings to make you feel anything but loved, so prepare for a speech the second you feel any kind of guilty. You're not getting out of this one.

Not until you know how much he cares about you, no matter what.

Rafayel -

The way he treats it is extremely encompassing. The way he sees it, is if you're sad or not doing too hot mentally, it's going to affect every part of your brain, including the parts that make you feel the way you do with your ED.

Driving you somewhere? He's playing upbeat music pounding out of the speakers of his sports car, singing along goofily or making up new words. You haven't eaten in a long time? Too bad, suddenly he's hungry and wants a snack. In fact, he wants a snack every couple of hours. If you binged and feel like dying, he'll be offering you water and any distraction he can to get your mind off of your appearance or the guilt of your binge.

He will spend more of his own free time at the gym if he needs to to work off any extra weight he gains just to help you eat, if eating with him is what helps you and he doesn't want you to see him change and feel guilty over it. He doesn't care.

Constant, constant praise with him. It is not about your appearance, unless it's something you can change. Clothing you picked out, the way your makeup looks today, a hairstyle you did to yourself, etc. So many compliments on your achievements or work, all with a sweet smile across his face.

If it's really bad, he'll paint you gorgeous works in different sizes, that are conveniently perfectly sized to display directly over any mirrors in your apartment.

Whatever you need, he's on it.

He'll be there for you no matter your highs or your lows.

[wonderlandwalker]

Cherished Moments | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick is trying to get you to relax and, well, it works maybe a bit too much.

Content Warnings/Tags: Mostly fluff, small injury, lovesick Finnick, grumpy!reader x sunshine!Finnick, insinuations of violence, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.2k

Requested by Anon: I love your writing!!! What do you think a grumpy reader × sunshine finnick would be like? Love the back cat gf golden retriever bf trope haha and I feel like finnick would be obsessed with someone who was mean to everyone BUT him! Feel free to ignore if you don't feel inspired, I'll read everything you write anyway!!

A/N: Can someone pls let me know if they actually manage to find the request after I've posted them I have no clue if these are getting through. Ngl this one was a struggle for me but once I found the right idea it came pouring out. Do they even have darts in the Hunger Games universe? Well, they do now. Keep sending me requests I genuinely love doing them!!

“Come on, I know you can do it! I’ve seen you throw knives, this is pretty much the same thing, only smaller.” Finnick was trying to encourage you, but you weren’t easy to win over. 

“I’m telling you, I can’t. This is just different. The darts are so much smaller and lighter, it throws me off balance.” You were at a party in District 13, well, calling it a party would be generous. 

“Just try. I’ll help you come on. I promise it’ll be fun.” He couldn't hide his smile at your antics, but he also knew if anyone was able to convince you, it was him.

“Fine, but if something goes wrong it's on you.” You looked him in the eyes, and could see a spark of light inside them, and you wouldn't admit it, not with all the other people in the room, but it warmed your heart a little.

“It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen” He asked you, and you almost scoffed at the question.

“I could hit someone, and then everyone will hate me even more than they already do”

“They don't hate you, they just don't know you the way I do.” Whenever someone would ask him what he saw in you, he would always be dumbfounded. Sure, you had a hard exterior, but when someone has gone through as much in their life as you did, were you really to blame? No, he didn't understand the question, because, to him, you were perfect. Whether you were sulking at breakfast for having to leave the bed or smiling at him because they were serving your favourite dish for dinner, he would take anything you gave him. 

“Are you telling me that you, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, are afraid of hurting someone with a tiny dart?” He was challenging you, and it was working.

“I'm not afraid, I just don't want anything to go wrong.” The way your voice softened around him made his heart beat faster for you and sometimes, he swore you knew and were doing it on purpose.

“You won’t, just throw it straight into the board.”

Finnick is standing behind you, grinning like he’s just won some sort of lottery while he guides your arm up for you, you can feel his breath on your neck before he whispers “Come on love, do it for me.” You’ve never been able to deny him, to your own annoyance at times, so you do as he says.

The dart flies through the air, and it doesn't hit the board, but it comes relatively close. So you throw a second dart and it hits the board, but you don’t manage to score any points just yet. As you throw another one, it manages to hit the board, but only for a little while before it falls to the floor. You throw your hands up in defeat before saying “See, told you I couldn't do it.” But Finnick hasn't given up, in you, he would never give up.

“That’s nonsense, you just have to try again, be patient.” He walks over to collect your darts and hands them back to you. He steps behind you again, guiding you into the right position before speaking.

“Just close your eyes, imagine you’re throwing them at Snow.” It makes you laugh and he can feel your muscles relax. He would always feel so proud of himself when he made you laugh, he didn't mind that you don't do it often, it would only feel like so much more of an achievement.

You do as he says, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath right before you throw the dart, hitting it right in the bullseye. You throw another, hitting the bullseye again. But you miss the board with the next one when Finnick leaves a small kiss on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. You can feel his body moving from behind you, and focus to throw another dart. It’s only when you hear an exclamation of pain coming from right in front of you that you snap open your eyes, you would recognize it anywhere. In front of you was Finnick, standing right next to the board with one of his hands clutched in the other, and when you take a closer look, you can see the dart that is stuck in the back of Finnick's hand.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry are you okay.” He would never tell you this, but he doesn't even mind that it happened, seeing you being sweet on him so openly, it makes him forget anything even happened in the first place.

“I'm fine sweetheart.” there is a strain in his voice, and he knows you can hear it too from the way your brows furrow in regret. You knew he wasn't trying to be tough for you, no, you had moved past that years ago. he was trying to not make you worry, it was something he would always do no matter how much pain he was in. But you were worried, because in contrast to all those other times, this time it was your fault that he was hurt. It never phased you much when someone would get shot, it never phased you much as you heard the canons each night in the arena signalling another death, not in the way it phased other people, but this, this broke you.

“Finnick you are not fine, there is a fucking dart inside your hand and it's my fault.”

“Well, most people don’t throw a fourth dart sweetheart." He says, and he chuckles a little, but you don't hear it in your state of worry.

“I am so sorry I-” You were choking up over your guilt, and while he loved getting to see your raw emotions, this one he didn't enjoy.

“Hey, no, I'm sorry too, don't get yourself worked up over this. It's just a dart, I will be fine. Why don’t you go get me a first aid kit?” He really was fine, and he could have gotten it himself, but he knew how much you would get in your own head when you didn't have anything to do in these kinds of situations. 

Once you come back and help patch him up, he looks up at you and you catch his gaze. A smile crosses his face in a way he knows his cheeks are going to hurt.

“Why are you smiling” you ask, confused at his glee in a situation like this.

“Because I know you care about me. You don’t always show it, and you don’t have to, because moments like these I’ll cherish forever.” His eyes are sparkling as he looks into yours, he swears he could just stand here and look at you for the rest of his life. 

“Oh, would you shut up already” you tell him while swatting his hand away from your face and rolling your eyes.

“You can’t tell me to shut up, you threw a dart into my hand.” He’s still grinning like an idiot, and it's infecting you. One of the corners of your mouth lifts up, and it's subtle, but he catches it, how could he not with how intently he is watching you. You’re back to your old dynamic, but he loves it just as much.