#it’s always either someone who doesn’t know how to bake

[cameronsbabydoll]

MY !READERS AND THEIR HOME LIVES + VISUALS

spoiled!kook!reader

childhood backdrop: grew up in a huge, echoing house on figure-eight with too many rooms and not enough warmth. there was always a fresh bouquet in the foyer, a chef making little gourmet lunches in the kitchen, and a driver who waited out front like clockwork. her mom was the queen bee of every country club committee — pinched smile, pearls, a little too much wine in the evenings. she entered reader in pageants before she could even walk, taught her to pose before she could talk. it wasn’t cruel, just curated — reader was a doll in a glass case, constantly being brushed and displayed.

relationship with parents: she’s a daddy’s girl in a complicated way — he was always gone, but when he came back, he showed up. gifts, attention, pet names like “pumpkin” and “sweetheart” that made her feel small in the best way. he never said no to her, but never really saw her either. her mom wasn’t unkind, just…distantly obsessed. she didn’t care if spoiled!kook!reader was happy — she cared if spoiled!kook!reader was perfect.

emotional core: she never really rebelled because she never had to — she always got what she wanted, even if what she wanted was a little love, disguised as another shiny bracelet. now, she chases attention like a prize ribbon and doesn’t know how to feel if someone isn’t watching.

house visuals:

babydoll!reader

childhood backdrop: soft little life. ruffled socks, glitter lip gloss, baby pink nightlights. her house always smelled like vanilla candles and fresh laundry. she was the kind of little girl who twirled her hair and talked to her dolls like they were real. she had a good relationship with her parents, but they were busy and just a little emotionally worn down. they loved her, but it was her grandparents who really saw her sparkle. grandma taught her how to bake, how to crochet. grandpa let her watch old movies on the couch while brushing her hair with big calloused hands.

relationship with parents: they tried their best, but they weren’t built for a girl like her. they didn’t always get her dreamy little mind or why she cried when her dress didn’t match her socks. still, they adored her in their own quiet way.

emotional core: she learned early that softness doesn’t always get attention — so she leans into sweetness, into being the baby, into saying “please” and “thank you” and smiling until someone notices. babydoll’s heart bruises easily, but she covers it in bows and perfume.

rebellion: lets men pick her up in convertibles wearing sundresses and no underwear

house visuals: her parents and then her grandparents

bunny!reader

childhood backdrop: raised in a very structured, religious home. modest dresses. early curfews. her dad is a preacher or deeply involved in the church — strict, charismatic, respected. her mom is obedient and kind, a homemaker who believes in order, peace, and tradition. bunny!reader was the golden child. always helping in the kitchen, leading sunday school singalongs, making her bed every morning. she never got to choose her path, it was chosen for her.

relationship with parents: her father’s love was conditional, and she learned to perform for it. her mother loved her, but never protected her. everything had to look perfect on the outside, so bunny!reader swallowed her shame and guilt whenever she wanted something bad. she loves them both, but she fears them more.

emotional core: bunny!reader is all buttoned-up longing. she hides the shaking in her hands with lace gloves. she blushes when boys look at her, but can’t help it when she looks back. she’s never allowed to want, which is exactly why she wants so much.

core wound: desire is a sin—so she hides hers behind pink cheeks and long skirts.

rebellion: one night she lets rafe call her a good girl with his hand between her thighs and doesn’t pray after.

house visuals:

bambi!reader

childhood backdrop: raised by a single dad who worked long hours in some blue-collar job—mechanic, foreman, maybe a park ranger. their house was small, quiet, and smelled like coffee and old books. he wasn’t the best at braiding hair, but he tried. always tried. her mom came and went — beautiful, elusive, like a hummingbird. she’d show up with candy and perfume and promises, then disappear just as quick.

relationship with parents: her dad is her rock. he taught her to ride a bike and scared away her first crush. he’s not perfect—he forgets things, gets tired, doesn’t always know how to handle her tears—but he’s there. her mom? a ghost with red lipstick. bambi wanted to be her and hated her all at once.

emotional core: she learned early that books don’t leave. she clings to fiction and fantasy, and sometimes to the wrong men. she wants to be held more than anything, but pretends she doesn’t care if she’s not. her sweetness is quiet, easily overlooked, and that makes her ache even more.

house visuals:

puppy!reader

childhood backdrop: big, loud, chaotic love. older brothers roughhousing in the living room, cartoons on full blast, crumbs from snacks she wasn’t supposed to eat on the couch cushions. she followed her brothers around like a baby duckling, getting into trouble and giggling the whole time. her house was a little messy, always warm, full of life. backyard BBQs, Christmas lights left up too long, popsicles in the freezer year-round.

relationship with parents: daddy’s girl to the max. he calls her “my little shadow” because she never leaves his side. her mom is loud and kind, the type to wipe dirt off her face with spit and a paper towel. they adore her. they spoil her. her brothers teased her mercilessly, but also beat up anyone who looked at her funny. she was everyone’s baby.

emotional core: she’s never had to earn love — which is beautiful, but also leaves her vulnerable. she doesn’t know what to do when someone isn’t as gentle as her family. she craves affection like air and clings to praise like a pup chasing a ball.

cherry!pie!reader

childhood backdrop: trailer park. broken screen doors, stale cigarette smoke, and the hum of a TV that never gets turned off. her dad left before she really knew him. her mom had a revolving door of boyfriends, each worse than the last. she kept her door locked at night. she learned early how to lie, how to flirt, how to distract.

relationship with parents: she hates her mom but also needs her. there’s a cruel dependency there. her mom taught her how to wear eyeliner and how to act “grown,” but not how to be safe. her dad is a phantom. she resents him for leaving, but still dreams about what it would’ve been like if he stayed.

emotional core: cherry!pie learned to seduce to survive. she associates love with chaos, attention with danger. she’s tough, but only because she had to be. under the sass and gloss, there’s a soft little girl who just wanted someone to take her home and mean it.

[wonkyjaw]

So one thing about me is that I bake a lot and don’t particularly like sweet sweet things so end up bringing baked goods places and pawning them off on people and there are some circles that then ask me for recipes if they like the thing but I have ADHD and can’t sit there and read a full recipe so when I write down recipes it’s a list of ingredients and then like a couple shorthand notes and usually random changes as I’ve fiddled with it scratched into the margins so writing a recipe down for someone else becomes this arduous process that hurts my brain and the long and short of it is that it’s 100% easier to just ask me to make it again for you please don’t make me write recipes please I’ll cry

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[goaskangel]

olderboyfriend!nanami headcanons

cw : age gap, 30-40's with 18+ reader, posessive/slightly toxic nanami, spanking, ccuuummmmm

olderboyfriend!nanami who comes your way, very unexpectedly. you could question why his instincts leaned towards a young lady like you, when he himself carries a sophisticated attitude with ironed suits and framed glasses. 

you’re not complaining, though!

olderboyfriend!nanami who takes his time to get you to warm up to him, knows he’s intimidating to the average person with his stoic and reserved resting face. but he knows a girl like you just needs a little more time. 

olderboyfriend!nanami knows how to schedule and work around things. always managing to take you on dates every friday, even through his tight work schedule. a dinner, a fancy local restaurant, maybe a movie or bar if he’s feeling playful. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who takes appreciation in every gesture you do for him. his sweet baby who goes out of her way to bake him a sweet treat or pick up his favorites from his dearest bakery. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who doesn’t only love you but guides you. feeling stressed out about work or university? don’t even worry—nanami’s got you all figured out. whether you need help organizing your messy set-up and schedules, or if you just need someone to talk too. he’s just always so reasonable and gives the best advice while understanding and listening to every word you say.

olderboyfriend!nanami who drives you around anytime you need. gotta run some errands? kento’s right outside, wanna go shopping? hell, his card’s already in your hands. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who can’t help but keep a hand on you, either for his own comfort or your safety, but he is very protective. taking quick glances of your surroundings as you pick through a clothing rack at your favorite store, his hands never leaving your waist or shoulders. he’s got to ensure his girl’s safety is all! and to make sure no guy your age thinks they’ve got a chance.  this goes for anywhere. taking walks with his arm around you and driving around with his hand on your thigh. especially at bars or parties, he knows how guys your age are. they don’t care about your well being, can’t take care of you like he can. obviously you’d be with somebody who’s already got it all figured out!

olderboyfriend!nanami loves domestic moments with you. his only motive to keep going throughout the week is for friday nights into saturday mornings—when he’s got you nice and comfy in his bed, or when he stays the night at your place, which is when he silently plans to get you moved in with him. 

he likes to feel you under him, or the feeling of you rubbing your face into his chest when you’re about to fall asleep. he runs his fingers through your hair, soothing himself to sleep.

NSFW

olderboyfriend!nanami who, along with being overprotective with his actions, tells you in bed. his mature hands running over and over your body as he fucks himself into you. kissing your pretty face between thrusts, and speaks, 

“can’t imagine myself without you, god—you’re all mine, y’know that, pretty? nobody’s gonna feel you and love you like i do. nobody.”

olderboyfriend!nanami who enjoys ending and starting his day with burying his cock into your sweet cunt. keeping you tightly against him as you cockwarm him into the morning. some days you’ll wake up before him, admire how his usually tamed, blonde hair runs messily with sleep. you’ll notice the morning wood he’s got going and take it as your duty to wake you precious, older man with a sweet morning treat. 

just how thankful he gets when he’s woken by your hot, young mouth around his length. his darling suckling at his creamy tip for breakfast. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who loves watching you touch yourself. maybe he’s got you twirling around in lingerie you brought for him with his card. he’ll lay you down and watch as you moan and grind your hips restlessly with your smaller fingers rubbing at your clit. teasing you, he’ll keep his greedy eyes on the way your pussy leaks with every praise he adores you with, his own hand adjusting himself through sweatpants. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who can’t himself when it comes to your skin. with his possessiveness, he just wants to mark you in any way possible. kissing your lips long enough until your lips are plump with blood and pouting from how he keeps teasing you. leaving love bites on your neck, trailing to your breasts, licking them softly to show some type of poise. sucking hickeys onto your neck, barely low enough to hide them with the collar of your work shirt. 

his favorite—when you’re acting up. get a little too comfortable with him, say something you know you’ll regret and you’ll end up over his knee. smacking handprints into your perfect body, putting you back into your place, he just can’t get enough of it. 

another favorite would be pumping load after load into your tight pussy. too many to count, thick and heavy loads of cum filling you to the brim. you could almost forget his older age with the stamina he’s got of a young man. aaa, he’s perfect, you wouldn’t take him any other way!

comments, reblogs, likes are always apperciated !

masterlist

[rqnarok]

thinking about being old man!logan’s little housewife...

headcanons - cws/tags: sexual content, mdni! old man!logan. dom/sub undertones. age gap. both characters are of the age of consent. unprotected p in v. 18+ only.

logan’s all worn out. there is no justification made on depicting how done he is with the world. he lives his days in an accustomed routine - dread crawling on his scarred skin - digging the soil for his own grave. 

when he meets you, however, the horror, the panic, and the terror begin to fade away from his blurry orbs—replaced by the sight of your sugary sweet smile. you kept him calm by easing down his drinking and self-destruction. and he just can’t deny you, not when his dick gets so fucking hard when you’re around.

you can’t help it either. the need to fix someone seems very familiar in your generation—so sentimental and at the same time, pragmatic. never accepting ‘no’ for an answer, including when he tries to back you down by saying “ya’ don’t want me, kid. i’m an old dog.” as if sunlight to a plant, it only motivates you. leaving him flushed red and burrows knitted after you whispered filthy remarks to his ear. 

up to the point where he finally tears down his prejudices towards marriage and puts a shiny ring on your finger. 

he turns a blind eye to anyone glancing at him weirdly at how much older he looks compared to you, his salt-and-pepper beard not helping either. when charles notices the changes in him—how he seems to smile more and how hickeys sprawled up on his neck—he just can’t help but make snarky comments about it. logan’s too old for you (or so charles told him), and logan finds himself balking at that. 

“if she doesn’t want it, she would’ve left already.”

he’s right. if you didn’t want it, you would’ve left him. oh, but you stayed. and not only did you stay, but you also took care of him. letting you eat out the palm of his hands. 

greeting logan when he comes back from his blue-collar work, cooking and baking his favorite foods, ironing his work clothes and spraying the fabric with a lovely scent, kissing his bloodied knuckles, putting the prettiest outfit for him as a show, warming his cock when he sits lazily on the couch, nuzzling his thighs while you wait for him to get harden again, and letting him have you anywhere and anytime he wants.

logan keeps a polaroid of you while he’s away. a reminder to himself that he has a home now. he’d keep it in his wallet or his jacket pocket or hanging it on the car’s rear-view mirror. how empty was he to be so full of you now?

he never thought he would live a life like this—like how it is supposed to be. without you knowing, logan added one or two hours into his shift so that he could earn more extra pennies. the money he’ll use to pamper you, to make you feel comfortable and content. let you buy anything you want—all things on your shopping list are checked out by the end of the week.

and y’know, he’s an old man who’s not as strong as he used to be. so you pay for all this hard work by burying your face in logan’s neck as you ride him on the sofa. his head tilts slightly to catch your red-kissed lips with his - logan breathes something about how good you’re making him feel, “such a good little wife f’r your old man.”

he loves to tease you—telling you that you’re making him feel younger than ever when he’s with you, “gettin’ tired already, baby? need me t’do it for ya’?” his murmurs get to you as his large palms cup your ass, getting a handful of the plush skin before guiding you up and down his girth. 

logan knows how tired you can be, especially when you start whining desperately like this, so he gives one or two light smacks for encouragement, “there ya’ go, kiddo. fuck. don’t stop now. doin’ so well, baby. so good.” 

how you always ask for kisses from him ignites that taboo, perverted part of him he did not even know existed. anything that reminds him of how needy you are for him — feels so fucking wrong. but again, it gets his dick so fucking hard, too. he cannot help but to give in. 

“bet no one has ever fucked this pretty pussy like i have, huh? need a real man to do it.”

he’s so fucking smug of himself since he had you. knowing those boys your age wishes that you choose them instead. but he’ll know that would never happen because when he says something like “look acha, drooling over an old man like me. gonna let me fill ya’ up, hm?” your walls manage to grip his girth tighter - squeezing him in so deliciously logan wonders what kind of a heroism act he did to deserve you. 

makes you do a little ‘fashion show’ for him in the living room, parading yourself wearing all kinds of clothes that he bought. logan spreads his muscular thighs wide as he reads the newspaper—and the sight of him wearing his glasses that rest at the tip of his nose is holy to you, waiting to be worshipped. 

you’d come out with a white lingerie that barely covers anything, “do you like it, lo?” whilst you giggle and twirl in front of him, you almost miss how he adjusted his seating position to palm himself through his trousers. telling you, “c’mere here, baby. lemme take good look at’cha, gimme some sugar.” 

by ‘taking a look’ he means hiking up the sheer cloth to inspect your glistening mound, “hm. such a perfect pussy you got here, sweet’art.” probing his thick finger on the wet slick, humming at the dirty squelching sound. the look that he has makes your legs tremble  - his untrimmed greying beard - his vague-looking face scars. 

oh, coming home to you is the best part of his day. always. he’d see you heating the soup you made earlier and loses his fucking mind. turning off the stove in quick movements before hauling you up in his arms. 

skin meets skin slapping fills the room and praises come out of his mouth so naturally, “f-fuck. gon’ stuff ya’ up, darlin'." you’re vulnerable and bare, you can’t even think when he’s got you like this. 

logan would intertwine his fingers with yours. placing them side by side to see the wedding rings. a legitimate reminder that you’re his and he’s yours—forever. 

“good little wife. my good little wife.” 

[kxsagi]

Hello girlie I loved you april fools day post. I wanted to ask if u could make abt crack post the blue lock boys being police officers. Like rin is in the drug invetigation bc with his tongue outside he looks like he is on crack😂. Could you pls make it for isagi,rin,sae,bachira nagi and Kaiser and maybe Ness. 🩷

“𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫”

a/n: ASNFSLNGSLNGS I LOVE THIS REQUEST

(don't know art credits)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi – “the golden retriever cop who accidentally becomes the face of justice”

he’s not even supposed to be out there. he’s just vibing. assigned to desk duty because he’s “too emotionally involved” (he called a suspect “bro” during a chase), but he still ends up in every major bust because he “took a shortcut through that shady alley for fun.” 

has no idea how he keeps getting tangled in crimes. one minute he’s picking up a coffee, the next minute he’s wrestling a jewel thief to the ground while still holding his caramel macchiato. 

will 100% try to de-escalate situations by talking about soccer. “sir, you don’t have to rob this bank. have you considered football?” 

is weirdly beloved by the public. grandmas bake him pies. criminals call him “that one nice cop.” internal affairs doesn’t know whether to promote or arrest him. 

famous quote: “you have the right to remain silent, but like, if you wanna talk about your trauma, i’m here, bro.” 

itoshi rin – “narcotics officer who looks like he invented cocaine”

they only put him in narcotics because every time he walks into a room, people assume he’s either: 1) the supplier, 2) high off his mind, 3) both. 

has that look. the messy hair. the tongue constantly sticking out. the eyes that say “i haven’t slept since 2012.” when he stares at you during interrogation, you confess out of fear, even if you didn’t do anything. 

his motto is “if it looks suspicious, tackle it.” he once tried to arrest a 5-year-old holding powdered sugar. 

drinks black coffee that tastes like war. has never smiled on duty. the closest he’s come is a slight smirk when someone sneezed and he got to yell “possible contaminant.” 

he doesn’t do paperwork. he just sends his reports as voice memos that are five minutes of silence and one “they were lying.” 

famous quote: “do drugs look at you the way i do? didn’t think so.”

itoshi sae – “internal affairs king, aka the fun police for the police” 

his job is to catch corruption. and he loves it. like a little freak. his coworkers hate seeing him because if he’s in your department, someone’s getting fired. 

interrogates officers like a disappointed dad. says things like “you stole evidence bags for what? to impress your tinder date?” while looking at you like you’re a worm on the pavement. 

refuses to join team-building activities. said “i’m not building anything with idiots.” 

once investigated himself for conflict of interest and found that he was, in fact, too perfect to be guilty. 

he lets no one get away with anything, except rin. but only because he doesn’t want to fill out paperwork. 

famous quote: “just because you’re wearing a badge doesn’t mean you’re not stupid.” 

bachira meguru – “undercover cop who ends up forming emotional connections with every criminal”

he’s supposed to be subtle. blend in. instead, he walks into an illegal casino wearing glitter and a hello kitty shirt, and somehow they all believe he’s just a quirky new member of the gang. 

laughs too loud. reveals his real name by accident. once shouted “FBI, freeze!” during karaoke because he got too into the role. 

his sting operations always go sideways, but it’s okay because the suspects love him. like, “this is bachira. he’s chaotic, but he’s family.” 

he’s single handedly dismantled three criminal rings just by being himself. they trust him too much and end up confessing while painting his nails. 

famous quote: “okay technically i wasn’t authorized to go undercover, but i was bored and they had snacks.” 

nagi seishiro – “cyber crimes detective who hasn’t left his chair since 2021”

works in a pitch-black room with eight monitors, a gaming chair, and a suspicious number of empty pringles cans. doesn’t even show up to roll call anymore. they just assume he’s alive if the servers are still running. 

he hacks faster than people blink. cracked a billion-dollar crypto scam while watching anime in a tab next to it. accidentally hacked NASA once because he was bored. 

he only talks in internet slang. someone once messaged him a serious question about a murder suspect and he responded with “lmao idk he looks sus.” 

has a robot dog named “proxy” that does his patrols. was supposed to be temporary. it’s now got its own badge and a little hat. 

famous quote: “technically i’m not asleep, i’m buffering.” 

kaiser michael – “traffic cop with main character syndrome”

he turned a boring job into a reality TV show. gives tickets like they’re autographs. will literally tell you “you’re welcome” after citing you for illegal parking. 

rides a motorcycle with LED underglow, blasting german techno. wears designer sunglasses at night. 

pulls people over not based on violations, but on vibes. once ticketed a guy for “driving a beige car and ruining the aesthetic of the road.” 

he’s gotten reported 27 times for arrogance, but all his violations mysteriously disappear. probably because the chief owes him money from poker night. 

famous quote: “this isn’t about road safety. this is about setting an example. and the example is: look at me, i’m flawless.” 

ness alexis – “forensic analyst who thinks he’s starring in a drama”

takes blood samples like he’s in grey’s anatomy. has a dramatic gasp every time he finds a single fingerprint. 

writes his reports like novels: “and in the crimson shade of blood splatter, the truth was finally revealed...” 

doesn’t walk, he glides into crime scenes wearing latex gloves like they’re part of his personality. 

he’s scarily smart, but emotionally volatile. cried once because the lab’s coffee machine broke and said “how am i supposed to solve murder on decaf?” 

takes kaiser's orders like gospel, but also keeps a secret blackmail folder “just in case.” it's organized alphabetically and color-coded. 

famous quote: “i speak three languages: DNA, sarcasm, and disappointment.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 

And god, how he would fuck her… 

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear." 

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?" 

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty. 

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 

Mein.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…" 

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?" 

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

[sugarcubetikki]

From day one, there have been multiple theories and interpretations about what Adrien’s future career path and passions would be as we all wanted to see this boy be able to choose and discover something for himself rather than the dozens of activities his father was making him do. I believe the most popular theories in the fandom were Adrien becoming a baker or a stay-at-home dad. I think the popularity of these theories arose due to Adrien being good with kids and showing a fondness towards Marinette’s family and their bakery in early seasons. Furthermore, as Miraculous is built on subverting gender roles, and Adrien’s characterisation is more traditionally feminine with the narrative I guess we were building on that (and men taking on more domestic roles seems to be loved in fandom spaces in general).

However, I hadn’t quite seen running as a potential career choice for Adrien and most of us wouldn’t expect it either.

I, for one, didn’t expect it but I am not disappointed and I think it makes a great lot of sense for his character for three reasons.

Reason #1

As much as I love baker and stay-at-home dad Adrien aus, I’m glad that canon chose not to take that route in this episode. I think that choice would be more detrimental to his character rather than beneficial in our canon narrative.

As Thomas commented, so much of his character already revolves around Marinette considering that he’s pretty much all he has left and feels the most comfortable around her right now. (Even before his father’s death, his sense of identity seemed to revolve around her a lot as we saw him expressing that his love for her was the only thing he was sure of in S5. I think it’s because he’s been deprived of autonomy so much that he seems to be used to basing his desires around other people’s).

That’s why I believe him going into baking or being a stay-at-home dad at the future would not really help him grow as a character as both those choices still keep him under Marinette’s wing.

As this episode established, Adrien needs to figure and explore his passions for himself. Whilst Marinette will always be there for him, he needs to understand what he wants by his own volition.

(Having him make a breakthrough in discovering his interest for running without Marinette at the end of this episode was a great start!) Reason #2

I thought it was interesting how they started this sequence with Adrien looking up sadly at his big and lonely house before running away from it.

It takes me to what Sublime asks him later on.

This is what Adrien has wanted from Season 1: to run away and escape the four corners of his house to explore the outside world. It feels like a callback to Origins where I think of Adrien running away from house to start school. There’s also several times in the show where he runs away to escape the cold and lonely atmosphere his house brings.

The bars on the gate of the house in this scene also makes it look so much like a prison.

Of course, we now have Adrien standing on the outside of it rather than inside considering that the person who was keeping him in the house in the first place is dead.

It still doesn’t mean that Adrien thinks of the house as less of a prison. An association like that is hard to forget especially now that the house is where both his parents died.

But now, without Gabriel, we know he’s free to run from it for as long as he wants.

I also want to add that in Hinduism, running is considered as a physical response to escape distress.

Reason #3

Should someone’s passion really be built on running away from something else? Well no. But I don’t think we’re meant to see it that way. Adrien running at the end of this episode away from his house is meant to symbolise him finally breaking free from the Gabriel’s controlling influence. Him running away is mainly a step towards his growth.

Besides, running isn’t only seen as means to escape problems but it also signifies pursuit of a goal and taking on a spiritual journey for self-growth. (Dream analysis tends to associate both escapism and pursuit to running in dreams depending on the context and circumstance). This also fits Adrien’s character quite well. Not only is he escaping past trauma, but he’s taking on a new journey to explore what he wants in life.

So yeah, let the boy run!

I’m super excited to see where they take his characterisation with this one. The symbolism behind his potential passion/career choice is just gorgeous.

Edit: I’d just like to make it clear that I don’t see this scene as Adrien finding his passion for life. I more or less see it as Adrien taking a step forward to discover something he potentially is passionate about by himself without input from any of the people in his life (he also makes a new friend on his own and that makes me happy). Running is indeed a potential career choice for Adrien, and it could possibly be something he can see himself doing in the future, and we will definitely get more buildup to this passion of his in future episodes too! It’s not a definite career choice for Adrien though, because as Marinette said, he’s young and he has plenty of time to explore what he’s passionate about. This scene isn’t really about making a definite choice, but rather Adrien being allowed to explore something he feels is right by his own choice.

[blackbirdie1234]

Paul's Imprint

What being Paul’s imprint would be like.

A/N: Not proofread. Hope you guys enjoy this and let me know if you would like me to do the other pack members or the Cullens(what being their mates/bloodsingers would be like). I really appreciate all of the likes and reposts! Thank you all so much and I am glad you like my fics :)

Being Paul’s imprint would require A LOT of patience.

He has a soft spot for you, so his anger wouldn’t be taken out on you or directed much toward you, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t see his bad side. When someone in the pack pisses him off he usually gets upset and phases. They fight it out, and then he comes home. He is either still upset or wants serious attention. If it’s the former expect some attitude and him taking it out on basically everything else but you. He might be aggressive with things, slamming things down and being loud. You would probably need to give him some time to cool off some more before trying to comfort him. If it’s the latter then you will have to have a cuddle session, his favorite position is laying in the bed or couch with his head in your chest and you playing with his hair and talking about your day. Your voice soothes him and calms him down, so he likes it when you talk to him. He could care less what you talk about, you could tell him about your day, or how much you hate that one girl in your math class because she chews gum loudly, you could literally talk about anything and he would be content. 

Being Paul’s imprint means a lot of love and affection.

When he isn’t on patrol, he is with you. He will be on you and hugging you all of the time. Now if you have trauma with affection or just don't like to be touched he would 100% respect your boundaries, but he would try and find small ways to show and get affection. Like holding your hand or even just touching his pinky against yours when you are next to each other. He would find ways that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable and was still getting his needs met. He doesn’t mind showing his affection in front of others either, he could give less of a fuck if the pack teases him. He loves you and doesn’t care who knows it. At the beginning of your relationship, he was very careful, learning what you liked and what you disliked. He was also very subtle with his affection but he still craved it just as much as he does now. He would softly play with the hair on the back of your head while talking by the fire, small and soft touches here and there, he would DEFINITELY do that thing where guys softly touch your waist while moving behind you.

Being Paul's imprint means you would spend a lot of time with the other imprints.

You would probably be close with the other imprints. Having a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly normal. You might feel alone or lost a bit in the beginning. Paul was one of the first to phase, which means you most likely were also one of the first imprints. Especially if you knew Paul before the transition. Emily was one of the first imprints you met, she was so sweet and welcoming to you, and your bond turned into a sibling relationship. She treated you like family right away and made sure you knew that you were always welcome. You met the others as they became a part of the family and now you spend a lot of your time with them. You do a bunch of group things together, shopping, baking, cooking, movie nights, and of course bonfires. You all enjoy each other's company. The boys are on patrol a lot and it helps everyone get their minds off of missing them. 

Being Paul’s imprint means late-night texts and calls.

Again, the boys are on patrol any time of the day or night. When Paul takes the night shift he makes sure to update you and let you know that he is safe. He is also expecting the same from you. He misses your voice, especially when your schedule gets busy and you can’t see each other as much. Sometimes he’s able to slip away for a second to see you, give you a hug and a kiss and then he is back out patrolling. He does it more often if he is patrolling near your house, mainly so he can do it quickly before Sam notices that he is missing and makes him come back.

Being Paul’s imprint means he is VERY protective of you.

He is already a protective person, it doesn’t matter if it is his friend, family, or even a stranger. He will take a bullet for someone he doesn’t know, it’s just in his nature. For you on the other hand, he would take that bullet and then hunt the person who shot it down until they beg you for forgiveness for even daring to THINK about hurting you, all the while he is still bloody and hurt. His protectiveness also correlates with his jealousy. He is a very jealous person when he is in a relationship. Even though you are his imprint he still can’t help but let the green-eyed monster loose whenever another person hits on you or checks you out. He knew you were hot, but you were for his eyes only. Being a werewolf means having to control your anger, but Paul was never really good at that, so most of the time it was you who had to calm him down. You didn’t want your boyfriend to maul someone, especially not in public. You were the only person who could calm him down fully, you would reach for him with your soft touch and everything else would fade away. Sometimes all you had to do was give him a stern look and he would cool himself off not wanting to make you upset. It bothered you sometimes how angry he would get, you tell him all the time that he is the only one for you and he has nothing to worry about but he still lets his jealousy get in the way of reasoning. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

More pjo things that I’ve thought about. More or less things/ behaviours they only have towards you.

Percy would hate going back to an empty cabin, so he just drags you along with him instead.

He doesn’t like how void of life and laughter it is that sometimes he’d sneak himself into your cabin to join you if he couldn’t wait until the next day to see you.

Percy just hates being alone with his thoughts and stuff that he’s more then often doing anything in his power to not be on his own for longer then a hour, it typically never ends well and so he just tries to fill time by doing whatever he could with you in order to have his mind fixated on the new memories, and not the ones he’s still not ready to confront just yet.

Thoughts such as whether Luke was right (he was)

So yeah impromptu sleepovers at cabin 3 are a thing you do.

The gods ask far too much out of him, so when he has time with you, all he wants to do is either nothing at all or mundane things that reminded him that he was someone outside of being a demigod. So baking foods and dying them blue was a favoured pass time for you both before it quickly dissolved into a fight that ends with a really cute kiss.

You guys are sickeningly sweet to everyone but they can’t look away either because if they want to know what a healthy relationship looked like, they’d just look at you and Percy as he’s splashing you with water, meanwhile you can’t do shit because he can’t get wet unless he will himself to. You call him a cheater for this but find that you can’t stay mad at your water boy for very long when he’s giving you sea puppy dog eyes and a cute pout.

He’s even attempted to make you something out of the seashells he’s found amongst other things he’s found at the bottom of the lake, with some help of course, and would beam brightly when he sees that you’ve kept them in good use afterwards that he didn’t mind if a shell or two fell off because as long as you were using what he gifted you Percy didn’t care.

With Percy to be loved is to be a comforting thought, a guiding light in the bleaker moments and a tether to one’s own humanity.

Leo utilises his talents to make something for you that you end up having scattered across your bedside table.

He’s the kind to say ‘you want to kiss me so bad’ but the moment you do give him a kiss, whether it’s his lip, cheek, forehead or even his nose, he’s silent as a mouse and is looking at you as though he was seeing you for the first time.

This dude is a living furnace and a sassy bastard, so if you’ve got a lot to get off of your chest please let this man be the first to know and he’s more then willing to cradle you in his arms as you both chat shit on those that you don’t like.

Leo doesn’t even need to hear the whole story to know whose side he’s on because it’s yours and only yours! He’s in your corner no matter what, hell he’d even support your wrongdoings if you wanted him to and needles to say he’s the man who boosts your self confidence more than anyone else. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Also by the end of the rants your more then likely to be fast asleep as this man runs hotter then most and Leo will shamelessly admire you as you slept against him before feeling left out and joining you in your dreams. He’s a sweetheart and wherever you went, Leo will always follow.

With Leo to be loved is to be seen, thought about and cherished as though you were a treasure only found once in a lifetime.

Nico would tolerate you more than others.

He keeps to himself but he can be often found within your company as though he were your second shadow.

He’s weary of the people who’d come your way, but that’s mainly due to the fact that he’s been through so much and had much taken away from him unfairly, he’s naturally going to want to keep a tight grasp on what he still has while he could.

So needless to say he forms somewhat an attachment to you that Chiron and Mr D considered borderline worrisome considering the hod whom Nico was the forbidden child of. Yet they knew that there wasn’t much that can be done to undo what had already been done.

So when your on quests, Nico is more then likely to follow afterwards if he can get away with it.

If he can’t then he’s most likely to stay near your cabin -the only thing that he had of you- and waits for you to come back on your bed, the longer your gone the more likely you’ll find him fast asleep in your bed, making you smile at how sweet he could be underneath his hardened persona.

You knew the sweet boy Nico use to be was still in there, and he knew it too, so don’t be surprised when he comes back from travelling through the shadows to bring you something that would make you feel a little less shittier. He acts like it doesn’t matter but he just wants you to be okay and doesn’t like the idea of being in able to help you when you’ve been nothing but accommodating to him and his needs after everything.

With Nico to be loved is to be at peace with the silence and welcome it, for words tends to loose meaning when overused to the point it losses meaning. For nothing every proclamation of love has to be said aloud, when it can be said in a whisper also.

Luke is overly more affectionate to you compared to the rest of camp and it shows.

There’s an arm being tossed over your shoulder here, and a nudge against your side with his elbow here, with a sprinkle of his head resting against your shoulder for added effect.

It was as if it came natural to the son of Hermes to always be touching you somehow, as though he couldn’t go a minute without having a hand on you to guide you away from other campers when he wanted to show you something he was keen you’d like.

While sitting at tables that weren’t your own was a camp rule not to be broken, Luke would either save you a seat at his table or even joins you at yours on the odd occasion, much to the curiosity of the rest of camp.

So you knew for certain this was going to be talked about for a good while as he only smiles mischievously at those who wanted to know what was going through his mind when doing such a thing, all despite knowing that he’ll end up with extra chores to do because of it.

He’s very intuitive towards you and poetically knows you better then you know yourself on most days, so it’s not surprising when he’s taking you out of a situation that you find stressful and somewhere less crowded for you both, only to find that he’s set up a lovely little picnic for you as well as you both overlooked the lake in comfortable silence as you just enjoy the others company.

With Luke to be loved is to be known deeper then any ocean, revered with respect and to be valued more then surface level.

[traveler-at-heart]

hi!! can I sneak a request here? I think this will be too common but nat and r always bickering in front of the team (they're together but no one knows) and then one day everyone was confuse because nat got sick and the other person who's sick is r who flops beside natasha and gave her a kiss while completely unbothered in the avengers common room and everyone's like 👁️👄👁️ "are we seeing the same thing?"

I loved writing this! Thank you for the request :)

You were constantly fighting with Natasha. Most of the team had a hard time figuring out if it was because you liked her too much or not at all.

Either way, they all tried to stay out of your way when it happened. Unfortunately for Sam, you’re both in the kitchen today, and he really needs to get something to eat.

“We’re baking cookies, wanna join us?” you say while Natasha adds milk to the mix.

“That’s nice” he says, approaching with caution. 

“I know, I can’t believe Natasha didn’t know how. Lucky for her, I was willing to show her” 

“Yeah, I’m so lucky” Natasha mutters between gritted teeth and you turn to glare, holding a knife that you were using seconds ago.

“What was that?” 

“I’m so… yucky. From all the eggs that I cracked”

“It was only supposed to be half a dozen” 

“I added a bit more”

“Why the hell would you do that, Natalia?”

“Because I can, that’s why, Y/N”

You groan, putting the knife away and looking at the dough that will no longer be useful. Before Natasha can catch what you’re doing, you grab a handful of flour and throw it her way.

“Seriously?”

“What you gonna do about it, Romanoff?”

Sam sighs, silently retreating back to his room. He can order takeout. And just to be extra sure, he locks the door and puts on his headphones. It’s none of his business if you two destroy the kitchen.

That’s how he misses the next thing that happens. As soon as Natasha cleans some of the flour, she looks at you, trapping you in her arms.

“No, Nat”

But she hugs you, making sure your clothes get dirty too, and when her lips meet yours, the feeling is so nice and warm that you forget you’re gonna have to clean the kitchen and yourselves.

“Fine, we’ll bring something else to my friend’s party” you say against her lips and she kisses you once more before smiling.

“How about a nice bottle of very expensive wine from Tony’s reserve?”

“You’re evil” you laugh, holding her close. “Not a word about it, Sam… where did he go?”

“Who knows” Natasha shrugs her shoulders, and then leans down to kiss you. “Now, get out of those clothes. I want to do things that are dirtier than this kitchen”

Natasha carries you to her room, while you giggle and hold her close.

—

Movie night is always a pleasant time, especially when you and Natasha sit far away from each other and don’t argue as usual. 

You usually hang in the back with Bucky, because you’re the only one who doesn’t mind explaining him all the references that go over his head.

Today, he’s away on a mission, so you take over an entire sofa and stretch comfortably.

“That’s my spot” Natasha says.

“Find another one”

“I like this seat. The AC doesn’t hit me directly and it’s far away from Sam so I don’t have to listen to his stupid impressions”

“Hey!” he says. “I make a really good De Niro”

“No, you don’t” everyone says at the same time.

“What’s in it for me?” you smile, crossing your arms. 

“Not getting your ass kicked to the point where you can’t sit anywhere else”

“Someone likes it rough” you tease her, and her smile makes you break. “Fine, we can share, but you’re giving me a foot massage”

“I am not”

The redhead sighs, but you still place your feet on her lap. For the first ten minutes, everyone’s tense, waiting for the fight to continue. But, to their surprise, Natasha’s hand is going up and down your leg, while you lean against her. 

Pretty soon, their focus is back on the movie. Until…

“Who’s snoring?” Tony says, looking around. He turns back and finds you sound asleep, your head now resting in Natasha’s lap. The redhead is running her hands through your hair.

“Looking for something?” Natasha snaps and Stark looks back to the screen.

You don’t wake up until the credits are rolling.

“Is it over?” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“I don’t know, we couldn’t hear because of all your snoring”

“I don’t snore”

Natasha scoffs and looks around, but everyone stays silent.

“Cowards!”

“I don’t snore. Come on, you didn’t finish that massage” 

But Natasha is already standing up, walking to her room.

“Get away from me. And go to a doctor, you’re gonna choke in your sleep one day” 

You laugh, following her to her room. Everyone else thinks you’re probably gonna bicker for a while longer, but all you’re planning is to cuddle and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

—

It’s a quiet afternoon, with Bucky and Steve watching a game while Clint is fixing an old radio.

But pretty soon, they can hear the familiar sound of two voices arguing.

“Pick one” you say, chasing Natasha. 

“They’re the same” 

“They are not the same” you insist, holding the paint samples closer to her eyes. “Look at them”

“I am. This is blue. And so is this one”

“Oh” you flip them, eyeing them for a second too long. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t know you were blind. This is shappire and this is egyptian. Pick one”

“Are we repainting the common area or something?”  Clint asks Steve and Bucky, but they just shrug their shoulders. Like wild creatures, it is better to not look at either one of you when you’re arguing.

“Neither. I think green might be better”

“I am not going back to the store to get more samples so you can tell me they are both the same green!”

“Fine, I will. In fact, they won’t be samples. I’ll get the paint and you’ll like it”

She turns, finishing the conversation.

“At least wear a damn jacket, it’s gonna rain” when she ignores you, you groan, getting her coat and yours. “Honestly, Natalia”

—

It’s game night, another one of the traditions you’ve incorporated since welcoming new and younger team members like Peter.

You’re starting with charades and Peter, Tony and Bucky are on your team. 

The category is thrillers and you’re on the edge of your seat, waiting for Peter to start. He smiles real big and you shout.

“The Shining!”

“Yes!”

Silence of the Lambs, Taxi Driver, Jaws, Sixth Sense all come up and you guess them one right after the other.

“We’re leading by ten points” Tony says, looking at the iPad. You high five Peter, smiling as Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Alright, I’m next” Steve says and you have to cover your mouth to keep from giggling.

“Uh… pass” he grabs another paper and then another, and a third one. “Pass”

“I’m gonna kick your ass” Natasha groans, massaging her temples.

“Oh, I know this one” he says, doing the signal for movie.

“We already know it’s a movie, hurry up” Natasha looks ready to throw him across the room. 

Steve hunches over, his arms dangling low. He then jumps around, alternating between one feet and the other.

“Hunchback of Notre Dame. Uh… The flying monkeys of Wizard of Oz? Elephant man?”

“It’s King Kong” Steve says and everyone bursts out laughing.

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha says, while your team toasts. You’ve won, yet again.

“Better luck next time. And I hope you haven’t forgotten our little bet” you say, fixing the collar of Natasha’s shirt.

“What bet?” Clint asks and you both turn around at the same time.

“Nothing” 

You excuse yourself, going to the bathroom. The next game is Jenga, and you think you’ll pass, because there’s no way you can beat Peter. As you go back to the living room, you approach Natasha.

“Don’t be a sore loser, baby” you say, making sure no one can hear you. “I know the bet was that the winner gets to do anything they want in bed… but I do have a little peace offering”

You place your underwear in her pocket, smiling as she blushes. 

“Something to look forward to” you wink, walking back to the table as Clint starts the game.

Yeah, thinking about it, Natasha hadn’t lost at all.

—

The day is a bit dark, and gloomy. The morning was slow and the afternoon has been the same.

“It’s quiet” Clint comments, looking out the window as the rain keeps falling.

“Mhm” Sam agrees, sipping his coffee.

“A bit… too quiet, don’t you think?”

Everyone’s supposed to be at the Compound, and yet, there’s no arguing or sassy comebacks.

“Do you think they finally killed each other?” Clint says and Sam chuckles.

“Maybe. If the flu hasn’t killed Nat yet”

“Oh, she’s sick?” Clint feels bad for not knowing. “Maybe I’ll get her some soup…”

“Hey” someone greets from the door. You’re wrapped in a blanket, wearing one of Natasha’s t-shirts and holding a box of tissues. “Sorry, I won’t stay long. I’m just getting us some tea” 

“Us?” 

But you’re too tired to hear what Sam says. You prepare two steaming cups and drag your feet to the living room, Clint and Sam following close behind.

“Why aren’t you in our room, baby?” you say, sitting next to Natasha. You kiss her forehead and smile. “Hey, your fever’s down”

“I told you not to stay in my room. Now you’re sick too” she coughs, but nuzzles your neck and sighs. 

“Shut up and drink your tea, Tasha”

“This whole time, YOU TWO HAVE BEEN TOGETHER” Sam shouts and you make a face.

“Can you not do that thing with your mouth? The talking thing”

“But we thought…” Clint says, looking between the two of you.

“We thought you hated each other”

“Sometimes, because she can be a pain in the ass” you say, laughing when Natasha pokes your side. “Nah, that’s not true. I love her”

Natasha smiles against your neck, pulling you down to take a nap.

“Love you too” she says against your hair and you yawn.

Clint and Sam leave the room, as if they’ve seen a ghost. 

“Is everything ok?” Steve says, running into them.

“Cap, you’re not gonna believe this” 

[kaces-graham-crackers]

My Eyes on You - Valentine's Special

| -Tara Carpenter x Secret Admirer Reader- |

Summary: It starts with a note—small, unsigned, tucked into Tara’s locker like a secret waiting to be unraveled. One at her usual café, slipped between the pages of a book she was reading. Each one too personal, too knowing, referencing moments and memories she didn’t realize someone else had been holding onto. The final note—a time, a place. The answer is waiting in the dark; the admirer is finally ready to be seen.

Word Count: 3.5k

The final bell sliced through the low hum of conversation, a signal that sent students spilling into the hallways like floodgates had been opened. The usual chaos of end-of-day energy buzzed around you—weekend plans being made, lockers slamming shut, the steady stream of people funneled toward the exit.

Beside you, Tara walked quickly, fingers toying absentmindedly with the edge of an envelope she had just pulled from her locker—another one. “Alright, let’s see what my little ghostwriter has to say today,” she mused, already peeling it open. Mindy, Chad, and Anika slowed their steps just enough to listen, equally nosy and entertained. Chad groaned. “Again? What is this, like, the third one this week?”

“Fifth,” Tara corrected, unfolding the note with the same air of nonchalance she had every time, as if it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t slowly picking apart the edges of her mind. Your stomach twisted as she smoothed the paper, eyes scanning the words before reading them aloud. "I wonder if you ever noticed how they looked at you that night at the ice cream shop. The way you made it hard for them not to fall. The way you always do."

Silence.

Anika let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s kind of... romantic?” “Or creepy,” Mindy added, arms crossing. “Who even remembers that night?” You did.

You remembered how Tara had ordered her usual—chocolate with sprinkles—then, for unknown reasons, attempted to balance the entire cone on the back of her hand. She’d made it three steps before it tumbled, a mess of melted ice cream and laughter, the kind that doesn’t just fade away but settles somewhere deep, like an old song stuck on repeat. And maybe, you had looked at her a little too long that night. Tara scoffed, shoving the note into her pocket with practiced ease. She played it off like it was nothing and didn’t sit in the back of her mind like the others did. Like she wasn’t already dissecting it, wondering who had been watching her so closely.

If there was one thing about Tara Carpenter, she didn’t like not knowing.

The group stepped outside, the evening air crisp against your skin, thick with the familiar scent of damp pavement and the distant burn of street food carts from the edge of campus. Students filtered onto the sidewalks, peeling off toward dorms, Ubers, and whatever half-baked plans they had for the night. Chad slung his backpack over one shoulder, exhaling sharply. “This is getting weird,” he muttered, glancing between Tara and the half-crumpled note in her grip. “First the locker notes, then the one in your notebook, and now this?” He gestured vaguely at her pocket, like the mere presence of the letters was an affront to common sense. “How the hell are they even leaving them without you noticing?”

“They’re sneaky,” Mindy supplied, ever the voice of rational paranoia. “Or you just don’t pay attention.” Tara rolled her eyes. “You’re both being dramatic. It’s just some random admirer. No big deal.” Anika smirked. “You like the attention, though.”

Tara didn’t deny it. Instead, she shrugged, nonchalant, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of thoughtfulness as her fingers absently brushed the edge of her pocket. “I just think it’s funny,” she mused, voice lighter than the look in her eyes. “They remember stuff. Specific things. They’re either incredibly observant or completely obsessed.” Quinn chimed in, “Or both” lips twitching with amusement. “And I, for one, think that’s hot.” Tara was right. The notes weren’t just recycled compliments or half-hearted poetry. They were deliberate—threaded with memories, details so specific they felt like echoes of something intimate. Little moments she hadn’t realized someone else had been holding onto.

As the group neared the edge of campus, the natural rhythm of parting ways set in. Chad was already absorbed in texting someone, Anika and Mindy were murmuring about where to get food, and Quinn peeled off toward the subway without a backward glance. But Tara lingered, hands stuffed in her pockets, shoulders loose but mind elsewhere. "You gonna keep them?" you asked, keeping your tone light, though something about the weight of her answer already hung in the air.

She glanced at you, then looked away just as quickly, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Probably. Maybe one day I’ll figure out who they are." Something was behind her voice, something layered beneath the teasing—a challenge, a certainty. She was already putting the pieces together, forming a list of possibilities.

And if she kept looking and followed the trail long enough, she would find the answer. The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you and Tara found yourselves sprawled out in the living room of her apartment, an unspoken tradition after long school days. The coffee table was cluttered with remnants of a shared snack—half-eaten chips, a bottle of soda, Tara’s feet propped up like she had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Tara had all six notes fanned out in front of her, scanning them one by one, brow furrowed in concentration. You leaned over slightly, pointing at the most recent one about the ice cream shop.

“Alright, so whoever this is, they were there that night,” you said. “And they remembered it in a way that isn’t just casual. Like… ‘I saw you spill ice cream on yourself’ is one thing. But this?” You tapped the line Tara had read aloud earlier. The way you made it hard for them not to fall. “That’s personal.”

Tara hummed, running a finger over the note. “It could still be a coincidence.” You shot her a look. “Five other notes, Tara. At this point, it’s a pattern.” Before she could respond, unlocking the front door made you glance up.

Sam stepped inside, shrugging off her jacket. Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind outside. She blinked when she saw you both camped out on the floor, and then her gaze flicked to the scattered notes between you.

“… Okay. What conspiracy are we unraveling tonight?”

Tara sighed dramatically, tossing one of the notes toward Sam as she flopped back onto the couch. “I have a secret admirer.”

Sam caught the note midair, raising an eyebrow as she read it. She stayed quiet for a moment, then exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple like this was the last thing she needed to deal with tonight. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?” Sam asked, already walking toward the kitchen. Tara smirked. “Why? You jealous?” Sam scoffed, opening the fridge. “I’m exhausted. And the last time someone started leaving weird messages around, I had to stab a guy, so forgive me for not being thrilled about this little romantic mystery.”

You chuckled. “Not everything is a potential murder, Sam.”

She shot you a pointed look as she grabbed a water bottle. “In this family? Everything is a potential murder.” Tara rolled her eyes, sitting up again. “Look, it’s someone in our friend group. They’d have to be close enough to know all these details about me.” You nodded. “So, let’s break it down. Who was at the ice cream shop that night?” Tara glanced at the notes again, thinking. “Me, you, Mindy, Anika, Chad, Quinn—”

“And Ethan,” Sam added from the kitchen.

You paused. “So basically… everyone we know.” Tara groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Great. That narrows it down.” Sam leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Or… you could just not entertain this.” Tara ignored her, eyes scanning the notes again, fingers tapping idly against her thigh. The admirer had been careful, deliberate. But not careful enough. Someone in your friend group was watching.

The following note arrived at the usual hangout spot—Mindy’s apartment, where the group had piled onto the couch for their weekly horror movie night. The air smelled like popcorn and leftover takeout, and the coffee table was already littered with empty cups and snack wrappers.

Tara had been sitting beside you, legs tucked under her, fully prepared to ignore Chad’s commentary about why horror protagonists always make the worst decisions. But as she reached for her phone, a note brushed against her fingertips inside her jacket pocket. Her stomach sank as she pulled it out, carefully unfolding the small piece of paper, already knowing what it would be. Mindy noticed first. “Oh, for the love of—another one?”

Tara ignored her, smoothing out the paper as she read aloud.

"I wonder if you know how you pull people in without trying. How your laugh lingers, how your presence shifts the air. If only you could see yourself the way I do." The room fell silent.

Chad groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face. “Okay, that’s it. This is officially romantic stalker levels now.” Mindy leaned over, peering at the note. “Gotta admit… they’ve got a way with words.” Tara’s expression was unreadable, her thumb running over the ink as if she could feel the weight of the words. This was different from the others. More personal. The admirer wasn’t just watching her anymore. They were hoping she’d see them too. Anika nudged her playfully. “So, do you have any guesses yet, or are we still pretending this isn’t completely messing with your head?”

Tara huffed, folding the note carefully before tucking it back into her pocket. “I don’t know. It has to be someone close, but…” She trailed off, her gaze flickering briefly toward you before shifting away just as quickly. She wasn’t ready to finish that thought. Not yet. But she knew you would have her back whoever or whatever would happen next. The night air was crisp, cutting through Tara’s jacket as she adjusted the strap of her bag and fumbled with the keys in her pocket. The streets of New York were still alive around her, the dull roar of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from passing strangers, the rhythmic buzz of the city that never quite slept.

She was exhausted. A full day of classes, followed by an impromptu hangout at Anika’s place, had drained whatever energy she had left. All she wanted now was to get home, shower, and maybe—maybe—finally stop thinking about the secret admirer that had been slowly unraveling her brain for weeks. It had become a routine: a note here, a whisper of a memory there, moments from her life reflected at her like she was walking through a house of mirrors. She wasn’t sure when it had stopped feeling like a game. Tara stepped into the elevator of her apartment complex, jabbing the button for her floor before leaning against the cool metal wall. The ride up was quiet, the distant hum of the city fading into the background as she let her head fall back, exhaling slowly.

She was starting to think she’d never get an answer. Then the elevator doors slid open. And she saw it. A single envelope was placed carefully at the foot of her apartment door.

Tara stopped breathing.

It wasn’t wedged under the door like a delivery, nor had it been tossed carelessly to the side. It was placed deliberately, centered perfectly, as if waiting for her to pick it up.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stepped forward, kneeling slightly to grab it, fingers trembling just a little as she turned it over in her hands. No name. No initials. Just a tiny, folded note, simple and unassuming. But Tara knew better. She exhaled sharply, pushing the door open with her shoulder before stepping inside, kicking it shut behind her as she walked straight to the couch, already unfolding the paper.

The handwriting was familiar now. She had spent weeks staring at it, tracing her fingers over the ink, memorizing how the words slanted slightly, like the writer had been hesitant and confident all at once.

But this time, it was different.

This time, there were no riddles, no carefully crafted phrases meant to make her think. This time, there was just a single message.

“Meet me on the rooftop. Sunset.”

Tara’s breath caught. There was no signature. No initials. Just instructions.

For the first time, the admirer wasn’t hiding behind poetic confessions or lingering memories. They were asking her to meet them. Her fingers clenched around the paper, pulse pounding in her ears.

She had spent weeks playing this game, reading notes, searching for connections, and chasing a shadow that refused to be caught. Now, they were stepping out of the dark. And she was going to see them. Her first instinct was to text you.

She didn’t know why—maybe it was because you were always there when she found these notes, the one person who didn’t roll their eyes or brush it off. Maybe it was because she trusted you to keep her grounded when things felt slipping out of her control.

Tara: You free?

You: Always. What’s up?

Tara:… meet me. Roof.

She hesitated before hitting send, but only for a second. She didn’t want to go alone no matter who awaited her.

When Tara pushed open the rooftop door, the sky melted into soft shades of orange and pink. The crisp evening air greeted her first, followed by the distant hum of the city below, but none of it registered—the moment her eyes adjusted to the dimming light, she stopped short.

The rooftop had been transformed.

Roses, carefully arranged, petals scattered across the surface. A table set for two, candlelight flickering inside small glass jars. A bottle of chilled sparkling grape juice sat in an ice bucket, beads of condensation forming along the glass, next to her favorite meal, plated with precision, waiting for her like something out of a dream.

Her breath hitched. She felt you step up beside her, the warmth of your presence grounding her before she could spiral.

"This is…” She trailed off, shaking her head. "Okay, what the hell?" She turned slightly, scanning the rooftop, waiting for someone to step forward. But no one did. No movement. No shadow emerging from the dimming light. The realization sent a strange chill down her spine.

No one was here.

She exhaled, a mix of frustration and disbelief curling in her chest. "I don’t get it. Who—" She stopped because you weren’t looking for anyone. You were looking at her. And suddenly, it was too quiet. Before she could speak and string together the thousands of questions screaming in her head, you opened your mouth. Tara’s mind was short-circuiting. The notes, the memories, the lingering glances that never seemed out of place until now—it was all you.

She didn’t know what to say.

For weeks, she had been searching for an answer, turning over every possibility, teasing out every clue, only to realize the answer had been standing next to her the whole time. Her jaw tightened as she exhaled sharply, trying to process it all. “You seriously had me running around like a lunatic over this?” You huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d go full FBI mode.”

Tara shot you a look, arms crossing. “You were writing me anonymous love letters. What did you expect me to do? … not wonder who the hell was obsessed with me?”You blinked. “‘Obsessed’ is a strong word.” Tara scoffed, pulling one of the notes from her pocket and unfolding it dramatically. “Oh, I don’t know. ‘I wonder if you know what you do to people’ seems intense.” You groaned. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little obsessed.”Silence stretched between you for a beat. Then—Tara raised a brow. “So?”

Your brows furrowed. “So…?” She gestured vaguely. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself? Or am I supposed to be so charmed by this grand rooftop gesture that I swoon and fall into your arms?” You smirked, arms crossing. “Would that work?” Tara rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

You inhaled, exhaling slowly before shrugging. “Look… I wanted to tell you. I did. But every time I got close, you’d get excited about the mystery, and I—” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I chickened out. I figured if you were looking for the answer, maybe—just maybe—you wanted to find it.” Tara tilted her head, considering you. “And if I didn’t?” You swallowed. “Then I guess I would’ve spent Valentine’s Day up here alone, eating an embarrassing amount of pasta and wallowing in my bad decisions.”

She let out a sharp breath, something like a laugh, and shook her head. “Jesus. You’re an idiot.” You grinned. “An idiot who likes you, though.” Tara bit her lip. Something in her expression shifted, something softer—dangerously close to fond. “... Yeah,” she murmured, not looking away this time. “I kinda figured that part out.” She was still standing close—too close—and suddenly, it wasn’t the city air making it hard to breathe. Tara’s gaze flickered over your face, searching, weighing something. 

“You made me go through all of this just to tell me something I probably already knew, didn’t you?” You smirked. “I dunno. I think you kinda liked the chase.” Her brows lifted. “Oh? That what you think?” You shrugged. “I mean, you didn’t have to come up here. You could’ve just ignored the note. Tossed it. Pretended you weren’t interested.”

Tara sucked in a slow breath, her lips curving ever so slightly. “… Maybe I like knowing how far someone’s willing to go for me.” Your heart stumbled out your chest. She was teasing, but something was dangerous beneath it—something honest.

You wet your lips. “Would you be mad if I kissed you right now?”

Then—she smirked.

“Depends,” she said, tilting her chin slightly. “Are you gonna make me chase you for that too?”, and just like that—you were done for. Because before you could think, before you could overanalyze or second-guess or do anything remotely rational, you leaned in.

Tara met you halfway, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

The city faded. The roses, the flickering candlelight, the skyline stretching beyond the rooftop—all of it blurred, dissolving into the background the second her lips touched yours. She kissed you like she had been waiting for this—like she had spent the past few weeks unraveling a mystery only to realize she had been at the center of it all along.

She met you halfway, but it wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not after weeks of chasing a mystery, weeks of untangling riddles and second-guessing what she wanted. Now that she had you right in front of her—now that she knew it had always been you—she wasn’t going to hesitate. So she didn’t. Her hands slid up, gripping the collar of your jacket before moving—faster than you expected, rougher than you expected—to the back of your neck.

And then she pulled. There was nothing soft about it. Your breath barely had time to hitch before her lips crashed into yours—a collision, not a question. It was all at once—weeks of tension, wondering, and wanting, all spilling into how she kissed you now. Firm. Certain. You made a quiet, startled noise against her mouth, fingers twitching at your sides before finding their place—one hand pressing against the curve of her waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of her head.

She tilted her chin, deepening the kiss, swallowing the sharp breath you took like she wanted to keep it. Your head spun, lungs burning from how completely she had just stolen the air from them. When she finally eased up, she didn’t let go. Her fingers lingered against your skin, her grip still firm against your neck, like she wasn’t ready to step away. Her breath was uneven when she finally spoke. “Took you long enough.”

You exhaled a short laugh, forehead brushing hers. “Me? You’re the one who had me running all over the city like a detective.” Tara hummed, thumb tracing absent circles against the nape of your neck. “And yet, you still showed up.”You smirked. “Guess I like the chase."

Her lips twitched. “Not anymore, you don’t.” And just like that, she kissed you again. Slower this time. Still firm. Still claiming. This wasn’t an answer—it was a statement. A fact.

Your pulse was a wreck when she finally pulled back, but her hands were steady. She turned slightly, glancing toward the table—the one you had spent hours setting up, the one she was just now acknowledging. Her grip on your neck didn’t waver, but her lips curled as she exhaled.

“You went all out, huh?” You swallowed, still trying to remember how to function. “Yeah. I mean... figured if I was going to confess, might as well make it dramatic.” Tara hummed, finally letting her fingers slip away from your skin—slow, reluctant. She took your hand instead, tugging you forward. “Come on,” she murmured, leading you toward the table. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, smirking. “Let’s see what you planned for our first date.”

And you—still breathless, still dazed, still wrecked from the way she had just pulled you in like she had been waiting forever to do it—had no choice but to follow.

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

🐣 Happy Easter at Playtime Co. Headcanon — Featuring Harley Sawyer (and his reluctant descent into madness)

Note: Sorry for not posting any content about PPT Harley x reader, so here's a make-up post for y'all…Now I'm going back to my hole.

You wanted to organize an Easter event for the orphans raised in the company’s care. You wanted color, joy, light—a break from sterile hallways and somber routines. You wanted Harley to be involved. He wanted nothing to do with it. You won.

🌸 Context

You, of course, bring it up during a meeting, with that look in your eyes that always means something big.

Stella’s ecstatic. Eddie says something like “Let’s make it the best Easter they’ve ever had!”

Leith suggests egg-hunting mazes and “bunny-themed hazard corridors” (he’s joking... mostly).

Harley just... slowly turns to look at you.

"Absolutely not."

"Do you understand the risk of exposing them to that much unregulated glitter?"

"And who approved this– oh. You did."

🐰 Preparations Begin

You:

Designing pastel-colored banners.

Assigning rooms for Easter egg painting, storytime, and "bunny cookie science."

Sneaking chocolate eggs into everyone's lockers, including Harley's.

Stella:

Goes full Spring Fairy Mode™.

She wears bunny ears unironically.

She starts calling it “The Spring Festival of Renewal.”

She insists the orphans do a flower-crown making session.

Leith:

Designs a massive egg-hunt route inside the facility.

Is too excited about hiding eggs in "high-risk, low-visibility areas.”

(Harley is Not Amused.)

"That’s an OSHA violation waiting to happen, Pierre."

"You don’t even know OSHA."

Eddie:

Brings in speakers.

Plays disco-remix Easter songs.

Bakes cookies that are absolutely loaded with sugar and then passes them around to the kids.

🥚 Harley’s Reluctant Involvement

You put him in charge of the Egg Dyeing Station.

He wears gloves, a lab coat, a grimace, and the smallest pink bunny sticker you managed to sneak onto his sleeve.

He says things like:

“Do not consume the dye.”

“That’s not how color theory works—give me that—”

“…Fine. Add glitter if you must. Just don’t get it on the—”

One of the orphans hands him a hand-painted egg.

It says “Doctor Hoppy.”

He stares at it in silence.

He doesn’t speak for the next five minutes.

He keeps the egg. You notice it later on his desk.

💖 The Moment

As the event goes on, Harley’s resistance slowly cracks.

He watches you helping a child tie their bunny ears.

He sees Stella lifting a kid onto her shoulders to help them reach an egg hidden on a pipe.

He sees you smile at him from across the hall—just a little messy, a little tired, but glowing.

The moment he lets out a sigh and adjusts a child’s poorly fastened bowtie, you know he’s doomed.

“If you must frolic… do it safely.”

💐 Later That Night

You find him alone in the lab, looking over an Easter egg one of the children handed him that has both of your initials drawn (poorly) in crayon.

He doesn’t say anything as you approach, but when you lean against the counter next to him, he murmurs:

“You’ve turned this place into chaos.”

“They laughed. They smiled. Even Eddie stopped breaking things long enough to be useful.”

“…Maybe it wasn’t the worst use of company time.”

He hands you a small, carefully-wrapped chocolate bunny. The tag says your name.

“Scientific curiosity.”

“…I wanted to see if you’d smile.”

🎁 Bonus: The Aftermath

Harley still finds glitter in his lab weeks later.

Someone (probably Leith) taped a picture of him mid-egg-painting to the bulletin board.

The orphans start calling him “Dr. Hoppy” unironically.

He never corrects them.

🌙 Post-Easter Soft Moment — You and Harley, After the Chaos

The facility had gone quiet. The streamers had been taken down, the confetti vacuumed, the cookies either devoured or confiscated, and the orphans were sound asleep in the guest dormitories, sugar crashing like little meteorites. Even Leith was finally gone, after a three-minute chase around the cafeteria involving a water gun and a rogue bunny puppet.

But Harley?

You found him in the East Observation Lab, where the glass windows looked out over the city like a crystal dome. The lights were off, save for the blinking panels on the monitors, casting a cold blue light on everything. His lab coat was still rumpled from the day’s chaos, and there was a faint smudge of pink dye near the collar he hadn’t noticed.

He didn’t turn when you came in—just spoke quietly:

“You survived.”

You smiled faintly.

“Barely. One of the kids tied my shoelaces together and said it was a ‘trap for the egg bandit’.”

“Hnh.” A dry sound. Possibly a laugh.

You joined him at the counter, where he was examining something with a level of intensity usually reserved for corrupted data or misbehaving prototypes.

It was the egg.

The one with your initials and his, scribbled by a child with too much crayon and too much hope. It was lumpy, imperfect, and cracked slightly down one side. He’d placed it on a weighted display tray, as if it were some rare relic.

“You kept it.”

He didn’t look at you.

“It was structurally interesting.” “The layering of paint was inefficient, yet…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “…charming.”

You looked at him from the side—how the light caught the edge of his jaw, the curve of his mouth held just a little tighter than necessary. You could still see the remnants of stress under his eyes, but they were softer now. Warmer.

You nudged his elbow.

“You did good today, Doctor Hoppy.”

“Say that again and I’ll cancel Christmas.”

“Not even a little hop?”

He finally turned to look at you, and the expression he wore was… unreadable at first. Then it softened further—an almost bewildered fondness, like he couldn’t quite understand how you’d gotten under his skin and rearranged the wires without him noticing.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “About these… things. Events. People.”

“Because someone has to,” you replied simply. “Because I believe in joy. Even here.”

His gaze lingered.

Then, carefully—as if afraid the moment might break—he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small foil-wrapped shape. A second chocolate bunny.

But this one… wasn’t from the event. The wrapper was matte black and gold. It looked expensive.

He placed it in your hand without a word.

“Happy Easter,” he said after a long pause. “…I acquired this prior. In case you… didn't like the corporate treats.”

Your fingers brushed his as you took it.

“You’re spoiling me, Doctor Sawyer.”

“I haven’t even started.”

It slipped out so quietly that it almost didn’t feel real—but it was. His voice held no mockery, no defense. Just a subtle admission, wrapped in his usual clinical delivery.

You smiled.

And for once, he didn’t look away.

[helenabuu32]

Finally thought of some more headcannon ideas! So here’s my hc’s for who in the Bucci Squad is good at cooking!

Bucci Squad cooking + bonus cooking for their S/O or crush!

Bucciarati:

Of course mother can cook

For real though, he’s one of the best cooks in the group.

I can imagine a young Bruno learning how to cook with his mother, and after she decided to leave it was something he kept up and just kept getting better at

Could also see him going out of his way to cook food for homeless or elderly people around the city just because he loves helping others so much.

He loves cooking for the rest of the squad and likes to have nights where everyone gets together and he can just make a bunch of different dishes and have a great time with his friends. He always make sure that everyone has at least one of their favourite dishes on the table, even if it means spending the entire day in the kitchen

When he has a crush or is in a relationship, he loves cooking for them and secretly learning their favourite dishes so he can surprise them with a romantic dinner. Candles, red roses, fancy wine and music, the whole classic dinner date thing.

Excellent cook, but not as good at baking. Still good though.

Mista:

This man burns water

He’s so bad. He tried to help Bucciarati once when everyone was supposed to come over and Bucciarati had to hide himself gagging. He then tried his best to fix the dish while Mista got distracted so he didn’t have to throw it out and make him feel bad…

…because of this, Mista thinks he’s a great cook.

Even when he makes something bad, he’ll try it and think it’s fine…I imagine he’s like Joey from Friends and will literally just eat anything

He cannot bake either, at all. Even if someone hands him one of those tubes of the pillsbury premade dough things that you literally just have to place on a pan, he will burn them

The first time he tried to cook for his s/o or crush he set the oven on fire

Proceeded to serve the meal after spraying everything with a fire extinguisher

They ended up ordering take out that night, but s/o or crush says next time they’ll help him because they can see how hard he was trying :)

Narancia:

Okay he’s still pretty bad but surprisingly not as bad as Mista

He’s not great with measurements and following instructions because he doesn’t read, so he kinda learned over the years what works and what doesn’t

He still often gets distracted or will put his headphones on and miss the timer, so he often overcooks or burns things…but every once in a while he actually comes up with something edible

He likes trying to help Bucciarati in the kitchen but gets frustrated easily and is known to just be like “fuck this” and go off and listen to music somewhere

He actually tries to bake for his s/o / crush the first time and the cookies look really good!

Until they take a bite and they realize he accidentally used salt instead of sugar…s/o / crush laughs it off and they make another batch together that actually turn out pretty good :)

Will leave the kitchen a mess for days after he’s done if nobody makes/helps him clean up

Abbacchio:

Boy can COOK

He actually might be better than Bucciarati…

But he doesn’t do it for everyone that often because he doesn’t like drawing the attention to himself. When he helps Bruno in the kitchen, everyone just kinda assumes that Bruno did most of the work. He doesn’t really mind as long as he knows deep down that people are enjoying what he made, he doesn’t care about being praised for it.

If the others try to help in the kitchen he gets annoyed and just starts drinking wine.

Will eventually get so fed up that he goes to the dining room table and continues to sip his wine while he listens to all the chaos going on in the kitchen so he doesn’t lose his shit at everyone (mostly Mista and Narancia)

When he first cooks for his s/o or crush he actually tries to pretend that Bruno made it or that he got takeout from a fancy restaurant “this isn’t even a date, shut up and eat.”

Obviously s/o crush can tell he made it. He forgot to clean up around the stove because he was actually panicking about them coming over. S/o/crush won’t out him but won’t stop going on about how DELICIOUS the food is…

…He lied, he loves the praise.

Fugo:

He’s actually a pretty decent cook!

He’s good at following instructions, so he’s naturally just good at following recipes. What idiot couldn’t follow a book….

…Oh. Yeah he’s not allowed in the kitchen when Narancia is there because once he got so angry at him that he broke a wine glass over his head.

When Narancia (and Mista tbh) aren’t there though, he really enjoys helping Bruno in the kitchen. He’s not on the same level as him or Abbacchio, but at least everything he makes ends up tasting good.

I feel like he would be even better at baking actually, because I find baking tends to use a lot more numbers and measuring out ingredients to exact numbers. It’s like science and Fugo loves that.

The first time his S/o or crush tastes his cooking or baking, it’s actually because he brought it “for the squad”. He’s too embarrassed to admit that he just wanted to see if they’d enjoy what he made. He gets all flustered when they tell him how good it is and leaves the room. But then starts bringing stuff almost every week for them to try.

Giorno:

I feel like he’s on the same level or a little better than Fugo…

He always had to kinda take care of himself, so naturally he learned to cook for himself as well

Unlike Fugo, he doesn’t go by the book as much. He just picked up from restaurants and over time learned what worked together

He does also enjoy baking sometimes because he has a bit of a sweet tooth, but just basic things like cookies, brownies, etc.

He doesn’t really help Bucciarati in the kitchen because Abbacchio just glares at him the whole time. Leone hates that he’s actually okay at cooking. Can this kid just be bad at something wtf.

If Abbacchio does get fed up and goes off to sulk somewhere, he doesn’t mind stepping in to help out though

When cooking for an s/o or crush, he has a similar approach to Bucciarati. He likes to make it romantic but in a more light-hearted way? Like he prefers more upbeat music, maybe even sitting on the couch and watching a movie instead of at a table. He will always make sure to sprout a beautiful bouquet of their favourite flowers to be on display nearby, though.

Trish:

Trish just doesn’t really like cooking

She doesn’t like how sweaty the kitchen can get, and hates how onions make her cry. Her mascara is expensive!

Just sits back and lets the boys take care of everything when Bucciarati has the squad over for dinner. Cooking is already stressful enough without 3 fistfights breaking out…

Although she doesn’t like cooking, she wouldn’t be terrible at it if she were in a situation where she had to.

She does on the other hand enjoy baking though!

She always loved baking with her mom growing up. Her favourite thing to make is cupcakes because it’s so much fun to decorate them with colourful icing and cute sprinkles when they’re done!

The first time her s/o or crush tries her baking, they’re just hanging out and she all of the sudden gets the idea to make frosted brownies. She has a lot of fun seeing the different approach they take to decorating them. They start to have weekly baking dates where they try something new every time, and sometimes brings the boys leftovers :)

Yaaaay another one done! I really do love making these. My asks are open so if you enjoyed reading this and would like to see my hcs for a particular situation, go ahead and let me know! I’m also always looking for more moots to talk about JJBA and other stuff with 💖

[asarigg]

About: Part 5

TAKING BACKSHOTS (I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TITLE THIS)

Something that I find quite beautiful is that when they have sex in Reconnect they put a lot of emphasis in their bodies. Whenever there’s something that excites Aoba, when he describes it, it’s something natural about Koujaku, his hands, his gaze, his voice. His voice being a thing especially makes me laugh because it’s not the first time and it’s ironic that the one with the voice powers is Aoba. Of course, when they hold hands too, for him it’s an ideal mix of the romantic and the erotic.

What I want to point out by this is that there are no additions, there is nothing but themselves, naked, in their essence, completing each other. Especially for Koujaku, who's bare body means a lot of exposition. There are also references to nature, of course there’s Ren and Beni, but more importantly they talk about how red and blue merge in the sky at dusk, and when Aoba sees the maple trees in autumn covering the mountains he mentions how beautiful it is, it’s not subtle at all.

The maple (紅葉) can be seen as a symbol of transition, peace, transformation even reincarnation. There is also a tradition of going to see the maple leaves just like with cherry trees in spring, it’s just less known and widespread. You can see in ukiyo-e that their leaves are used to accompany an autumn or romantic scene, as well as in poems, so it can be related to love and the longing for a lover.

Why call your boyfriend handsome when you can tell him that the autumn maple leaves dressing the mountains of his homeland look beautiful when they all turn red.

FOOD

A recurring theme in general is Aoba’s cooking, but we can see that chronologically, since he was a child, he has always wanted to cook something special for Koujaku. When he was a child, he tried to bake a cake for his birthday by himself, without help from his grandmother, he wanted to do everything himself. It didn’t turn out well and he wanted to give Koujaku something else, but he ate it anyway because what mattered the most to him was that Aoba had made it for him, he had made it with love. This greatly influences the way Koujaku sees food. Aoba is embarrassed when he says he can taste his love and wants to deny it, but he keeps cooking for him, regardless.

Cooking is something everyone has to do every day, but there’s something really special about cooking good food for someone else, or receiving someone else’s food. Just as Aoba’s and his mother’s smile have left a deep mark on his memory, so has food. That’s why he’s so enthusiastic about Aoba cooking for him, when he says he can taste his love as the most special ingredient, he really means it. Natural, honest, homemade. He sees love in smiles, and he sees love in the meals he eats, in the kitchen, in home, in family.

The noise of a full, lively kitchen, which for him is a dream. He gets away from the silence of his own apartment, and with the noise he camouflages any opportunity for negative thoughts to flourish.

GETTING LOST

There’s a part, during the conversation they have in the staircase, where he says that he wanted to take a walk, but would probably get lost around there. Which is strange because he eats and sleeps in that house often, there’s no way he doesn’t know the area, that’s his second house!! Not only that but when he comes back to the island we know that he went to Aoba’s house from memory. Like it’s impossible he gets lost here so it’s either NC doing their thing or he just trying to put an excuse as to why he’s waiting there, the truth being that he was just worried and wanted to talk to Aoba but didn’t have the courage to, so instead of calling him he just stayed there, like a guardian dog.

BURNT SKIN

It’s never explained why the tattoo has the effect it has on Koujaku. It gives the entire thing, mixed with all the symbolism and spiritualism we’ve talked about, a fantasy magic feeling. But it is said that it’s a Toue experiment, so we can guess it’s some kind of nanomachine tech that was introduced in his body through the ink, then infecting his body and brain, probably impossible to remove, oomfie imadhatt3r suggested the idea of it growing back and flourishing after Koujaku tried to remove it somehow. The real problem is already an essential part of his body, not just on the surface.

The tattoo canonically feels like it burns his skin, and either it’s real physical pain or ghost pain from when he was being tattooed, but regardless of that it’s curious that his peonies can resemble burnt skin. They also get redder as he loses his sanity, like it’s constantly burning, hurting.

[ravisinghs-wife]

The seven + Nico and Reyna and their red flags ✼

warnings: not proofread, swearwords, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: okay I'm sorry I didn't post for like two months, ngl I simply forgot that this blog existed😭

notes to the fic: reader is written as gn (one mention off y/n), but pls don't read Nico's part if u identify as female! :)

masterlist

Percy

he's always barefoot during spring and summer

you'll never catch him with shoes on because he things that they are "blocking the fresh air his toes need"

at least they never get that dirty because he can't survive five minutes without jumping in the sea

when he was younger sally had to force him wear shoes to school, to the parkt et cetera and he was always so angry at her after that because he hated it with all his passion

that anger quickly faded after she baked some blue cookies

after growing up he learned that he should wear shoes to school et cetera but the second he is at camp he gets rid of them

after you dressed it he delegated that he always washed them and kept them clean so there was no wrong doing it and that it's actually healthy for your feet

Annabeth

listen, I love annabeth

but she's always mansplaining

Like u could be talking about ur close family that she only met once and she‘d say something like „actually, i had the impression that…“

It’s so annoying

she doesn't even mean it mean or something

but it also could be just a conversasiation that she isn't even involved in and she'll just randomly pop up and mansplain the topic

jason

That boy doesn’t have any basic knowledge

Like he is at camp jupiter since he’s three or something

I‘m not sure if they even knew what they where teaching him

Like that boy doesn’t know algebra

You could be talking about something in history and how deeply that event infected the way society lives now and he‘d be like „what do you mean?“

And he’s serious

Everytime Percy and Leo make fun of him for not knowing something he‘ll run to you and beg you to explain it to him

Most of the time you make a bit fun of him too because a 17 year old boy who doesn’t know what the french Revolution was is kinda funny

He knows that you‘re just joking though

hazel

I love her but she's like one of the extra careful mom's whose world break when their child hears a swear word

every time you are someone near both of ou swears she has this weird shocked and impressed look and looks around the room

you had to stop swearing around her bc she always starts blushing and looks at you in awe

they don't even have to be the "bad" swear words, it could be something like shit and she'd still be shocked

you had to learn to find alternatives like fudge or fox

she made you browse for the alternatives to swear words for around two hours at midnight and made you subscribe to the mommy blogs incase they had "more cool little alternatives"

piper

she's a die hard romance book hater

she always gives you the weird look when you read one or even only look at one at the bookstore

like she doesn't even have a plausible reason besides that they "always have the same ending and are very predictable"

I mean she's right but still

when she was 14 she had an instagram where she just talked shit about romance books because she was bored

it's not even that she doesn't like reading or books that much, she just doesn't like them because they (as already said) have the same ending and because she gor sick of the perfect romantic ending after drew talked night in and out about it

you once convinced her to read your favorite romance book and she tried her best to be nice

she actually didn't find it that bad and liked the ending but she would never admit that to you

leo

that boy either doesn't shower for one week or takes two hour showers

it's a bit better in the summer but especially in winter he never shower because he "would just get dirty later again"

you have to force him too properly shower because he would just forget it again

and when he actually showers for once he takes two hour showers

but especially in summer he's just gonna swim in the lake and call it a day because he basically "got clean already"

frank

I love frank sm but he would 7 in 1 shampoo

he doesn't get why it's bad and insists that it makes his hair shinier

you try to explain it to him once but he just doesn't understand 😪

he also tries to convince you all the time that it's so much better than owning body wach, shampoo and conditioner

nico

is a pop music hater

he always has this annoyed look on his face when you play pop music

he always makes this disappointed dad sigh and says "again?"

nico sounds so disappointed

he secretly loves it about you tho

reyna

she's like a confused mom and never gets jokes

"what do you mean by that, y/n? I never do that"

you try to explain the joke to her but give up after 10 minutes

she's grumpy for the rest of the day because you wouldn't finish explaining it to her

eventually she gives her pride up and asks you again

and after another ten stressful minutes she finally gets it

she kept arguing that what you said doesn't make sense