#let's see if we can manage to have fun with this

[ellewritesx]

teach me slowly

Summary: Harry doesn't mind waiting, as long as it's you he's waiting for. a harry styles x inexperienced!reader series

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, sexual advances, lots of talk about virginity and sex, that's it for now

Based on: this ask!

A/N: hi lovelies! this is the new series i'll be writing now that we've parted ways with the sugar, baby series for now (sobbing). huge shoutout to anon who submitted the request this is based on. while exaggerating things for fiction is fun, i tried to also be relatively realistic about virginity. tag list is open :) this first part is, as always with my series, kind of a prologue to the story. have fun x

Word Count: 2,529

...

The first time you stopped him, it was subtle. A hand against his chest, a breathless ''maybe not tonight,'' and a kiss that lingered just long enough to prove you still wanted him, just not like that, not right now. He didn't push, didn't ask questions, just smiled against your lips and said, ''Alright, love. Another time.''

It wasn't the last time it happened.

You've been seeing Harry for a few months now, longer than you expected when he'd first spotted you across a room you didn't belong in, some industry party you'd been dragged to by a friend of a friend, too many faces and too many flashes. Harry was in the spotlight, the center of attention, you were hidden away in a dark corner, and yet his eyes managed to find yours through the sea of faces.

When he walked over, laid-back, confident, too pretty for his own good, you expected it to be fleeting. Maybe flirtation, a drink or two, something to roll your eyes about later.

But then he asked for your number. And not even two days later, he actually used it. And now here you are, tucked under his arm with his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath your ear.

It's late. A slow Friday night, the familiar sounds of reruns of Friends filling Harry's apartment as you're curled into his side, your fingers absently tracing a pattern against the slope of his ribs. The scent of cheap takeout still lingers in the air, mixing with the cologne he wore earlier, now faded into the cotton of his worn-in hoodie.

You feel it when his hand shifts. When it goes from lazily draped around your waist to something more deliberate, fingers tracing a purposeful path under the hem of your sweatshirt.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours, making you smile at the faint taste of wine still lingering on his tongue. Your breath hitches, deepening the kiss, one hand fisting in his shirt. His hands graze your bare skin, curling at your waist, pressing you closer to him.

But the moment they start to travel higher, sliding up your midriff toward your chest like it's second nature, your stomach drops, and before you've fully thought it through, your hand slides over his and stops him, gently, but definitively.

''Sorry,'' you whisper against his lips, squeezing your eyes shut so you don't have to see the disappointment likely flashing across his face. ''I… Sorry, can we not tonight?''

Harry opens his eyes, confusion etched into his features like he was just abruptly woken from a peaceful dream. He blinks down at you, clearly startled by your tone. ''Yeah, of course,'' he says, pulling his hand back immediately. ''You okay?''

You nod quickly ''Yeah. Just… tired.''

It's not a lie. But it's not the whole truth either. You feel him hesitate, like he wants to press, wants an explanation, answers, but chooses not to. Just kisses the top of your head and settles back into the cushions, shifting so you're still cuddled into his side.

The silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable, but different now. Tense. Loaded. You let it sit there, unsure how to break it. Not yet, at least. But soon. You have to.

It takes you a few more minutes, waiting for the episode to end, for Harry's breathing to even out slightly, having willed away his arousal. When you turn your head to look at him, he's watching you with the kind of quiet patience you've come to recognize.

''I need to tell you something,'' you say finally. Your voice doesn't shake, but your heart is beating erratically. You sit up on the couch, just enough to give yourself some room to breathe. ''I've been meaning to. I just... I didn't know how.''

Harry sits back a little, his hand moving to lightly rest on your leg, calming you. Concern flickers across his eyes, focused frown on his face, his curiosity piqued. ''Okay. What is it?''

You push your hair behind your ear, fingers suddenly clammy. ''I've... I've noticed you've tried to take things further a few times now. And I always stop you.''

His eyes stay on yours, steady, unreadable. ''Yeah. I've noticed. I don't mind waiting, love.''

You inhale. ''It's not that I don't want to. It's just… I've never actually done it before.''

For a moment, Harry says nothing. His brows knit together, like he's processing, like the words don't quite click at first. Then something shifts. Not judgment, not disgust, just genuine surprise.

''You mean… you're a virgin?''

You nod once, jaw tight. Your heart stutters, bracing yourself for his inevitable rejection, already regretting bringing it up. ''Yeah.''

There's a pause. A long one.

But then Harry exhales, a soft smile tugging at his lips, head ducking to meet your gaze. ''Okay,'' he says softly. ''That's okay.''

You blink at him. ''You're not weirded out?''

He smiles, kind. ''No, of course not. I just… I wasn't expecting it. You're so confident. So sure of yourself. I guess I assumed…''

''That I'd done all of that already?'' you finish for him, smiling weakly.

He shrugs. ''Yeah. Doesn't change anything, though.''

Your bite your lip. ''You're older than me. More experienced. I thought maybe you'd be… disappointed.''

''I'm not,'' he tells you firmly, his hand finding yours, leaving no room for your doubts and fears.

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the warmth of his raw honesty settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Then, a beat later, his voice drops slightly, light-hearted but still earnest. ''So… would you want me to be your first?''

You look up at him, fidgeting with your fingers anxiously. ''I don't know. But if I did… would you want to be?''

His eyes search yours. ''If you decided you wanted that, I'd be honored.''

You sigh in relief. After the initial heaviness of the moment has passed and you've both found your way back into the soft cushions of the couch, it's quiet for a while. Not the kind of silence that stretches with discomfort, but something gentler. Pensive.

His fingers trace idle shapes over the back of your hand, and every now and then you catch him glancing at you like he's thinking about saying something, but keeps deciding against it.

Until finally, he does.

''Can I ask you something?'' His voice is soft, almost sheepish. Like he's worried you might shut down again.

You turn to face him, tugging the throw blanket around your legs a little higher. ''Of course.''

His thumb slides along your knuckles, thoughtful. ''Are you saving yourself for marriage? Or was it just... situational?''

The question doesn't surprise you. You were expecting it. Still, there's something about him saying it aloud that makes your chest ache. It's the explanation people seem to instantly assume, like there couldn't be any other possible reason to not want to have sex in your early twenties. The prejudice bothers you sometimes.

You shake your head with a chuckle. ''Not marriage, no. I just…'' You pause, choosing your words carefully. ''I never found someone I wanted to give it to. It never felt right. It always felt like… I don't know, something I'd be giving away for the wrong reason.''

Harry nods like that makes perfect sense, like you've just confirmed something he suspected about you all along. That you don't move through the world withholding things, you move through it protecting them. ''You wanted it to matter.''

''Yeah.'' You smile faintly. ''I guess I figured that the first time should be something I remember fondly. Not something I regretted five minutes after.''

''That makes sense,'' he says, reaching up to brush a fallen strand of hair out of your face. ''I kind of figured something was holding you back. I just didn't know if it was because you were nervous, or waiting for something specific… or someone specific.''

Your cheeks flush. ''I guess it's both.''

A smile spreads across his face, slow and reverent. ''And you think that... might be me?''

You glance away, trying not to look too embarrassed. ''Maybe,'' you admit quietly, before glancing at him, raising a brow. ''And you? First time with someone special?''

He huffs out a laugh, scratching at the side of his jaw. ''Not exactly. I was young, dumb, and too eager to impress someone older than me. Regret's not the word, but I wouldn't say it was magical.''

You both laugh softly at that, and the tension that had crept in between your ribs eases again. There's a pause. He meets your eyes carefully, trying to phrase his question without making you squirm. ''Have you ever... touched yourself?''

The heat rises to your cheeks instantly, not from shame, but from the sheer boldness of the question. Your relationship with Harry is still relatively new, and for a moment, you don't know how to respond.

Your eyes flicker down to the curve of his smile, cheeky but careful, like he's testing the waters. You tuck your knees up slightly under the blanket. ''I mean... Yeah, of course.''

That earns you a grin. He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly, his other hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly. ''And? Has it ever felt... good?''

Your eyes narrow a little, teasing. ''Are you asking if I've had an orgasm before?''

''Yeah,'' he admits, unabashed now. ''Not trying to be weird. I just want to know where we're starting from.''

You shrug, a bit self-conscious. ''I think I've had a few? But like… nothing crazy. I don't know if it's something wrong with me or—''

''Hey,'' he cuts you off gently, hand brushing your hip. ''There's nothing wrong with you. You know that, right?''

You nod, but it feels like a reflex, not something you fully believe yet. He must sense it, because he dips forward and presses a kiss to your shoulder, warm and grounding. Then another, just beneath your jaw. ''It's harder for women, y'know? But it'll get better. Some things just take time. Patience. And the right person. I'm glad you've tried.''

You snort. ''Why? Would it have been a red flag if I'd said no?''

He chuckles, pressing another sweet kiss against your skin before pulling back. ''No, not a red flag. I just think it's important. Knowing your own body. Knowing what feels good.''

There's something so matter-of-fact in the way he says it that it makes the conversation feel less intimidating. Less taboo. You inhale deeply, a weight lifted off your shoulders now, and you run your fingers along his biceps to ground yourself.

''I haven't explored much. It felt... underwhelming. But with the way everyone raves about sex, I must be doing something wrong.''

His thumb stills over your hand, his expression softening. ''That's okay. It'll be different when you're with someone else. With me.''

You glance at him, curious. ''How so?''

He shifts toward you, arm slung over the back of the couch now. ''It's a mix of things. Trust. Communication. Timing. Like… it's not just friction, right? It's being seen. It's vulnerability. Intimacy. And if that isn't there, if you don't feel comfortable, it's hard to get there.''

Your stomach flutters at the way he says it, so attentive, so considerate. ''That's kind of what I'm scared of. That it'd be awkward. Or disappointing.''

Harry's voice dips lower, more serious now. ''It doesn't have to be. Especially if you're honest. If we are.''

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smile bashfully, ''That's what I want, I think. Just... honesty. I don't want to have to pretend I know everything. Because I don't, and I don't want to have to act, to perform.''

He nods, the corner of his mouth tugging into something fond. ''I don't want you to do that either.''

You settle into the cushions, knee brushing his thigh. ''Have you ever been with someone inexperienced before?''

He thinks for a second, then shakes his head. ''Not really, no. I mean, I've been with people who had less experience than me, sure. But never… never someone completely new to it.''

Your eyes find his again. ''Does that scare you?''

He gives you a look, a lopsided smile on his face. ''No. If anything, it makes me want to be better. I want to make it good for you.''

That does something to you, sends a warmth crawling up your spine. ''You're already doing everything right, Harry.''

''Am I?'' he teases, bumping his shoulder with yours.

You laugh shyly. ''Yeah. You ask questions. You listen. You make me feel… like it's okay to not have all the answers yet.''

''It is okay,'' he reiterates.

You smile gratefully, but your insecurity creeps back in quickly. Your voice is timid when you speak again. ''So you don't think it's weird? That I haven't… done any of it?''

''Not even a little,'' he says, cupping your face gently, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. ''I think it's admirable, actually. You're twenty-three, and you've gone this long without letting someone touch you, just because nobody earned it? That's sexy as hell.''

You huff out a laugh, surprised. ''Really?''

''Really,'' he says, lips quirking. ''It means you know your worth. You know what you want. I wish I'd had your strength of will at that age.''

You smile gratefully, tension slowly uncoiling from your shoulders. ''Thanks. I don't always feel that way.''

Harry dips his head down, pressing a short, sweet kiss against your lips, effectively shutting up your mind. He sinks back into the couch with a satisfied smirk, cushions dipping under his weight.

You swallow nervously. ''Hey, just out of curiosity. What… what would you have done if I'd told you I was waiting for marriage?''

He raises a brow. ''You mean, like… completely off-limits?''

You nod.

He considers that. ''I would've respected it. Obviously. But I probably would've asked what else we could do instead. Would still want to be close to you, in whatever way you'd be comfortable with.''

You nod. ''I think that's the thing. I do want to be close. I just… I want it to mean something.''

He hums in response. There's a peaceful silence then. You're both thinking, processing. It's the kind of silence that only happens when you feel truly at ease with someone.

''So… if we did want to start exploring things… slowly…''

He grins, just a little. ''Want me to teach you, huh?''

You roll your eyes. ''Don't make it a thing.''

He lifts both hands in surrender, chuckling softly. ''We'll go at your pace. Whatever that looks like. You just tell me, yeah?''

You nod, the corners of your mouth tugging into a fond smile. ''Thanks, Harry. For being cool about all this.''

He scoffs. ''I'm not being cool,'' he says. ''I'm being decent. What kind of idiots have you been surrounding yourself with?''

That earns him a playful shove, but he catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it, right where your pulse flutters at the touch. His eyes flick up to yours, warm and steady.

''Whenever you're ready, love,'' he says softly.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list @2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera

...

[tojisteddy]

Could we please get more general meanie!simon headcannons?

No need to rush but have a good day!

general meanie!simon headcanons

now playing: landslide by fleetwood mac

a/n: I live for this, thank you for requesting!!! You have a good day too!!

Cannot do large crowds. It’s too loud and theres too many people and too many different conversations. He can do loud on the field, quick changes of action when it’s do or die. Just not at home. It spikes his anxiety up ten fold, make him more irritable. So he only grocery shops in the early mornings when the old ppl shop or he leaves it up to you. If you want to go shopping with him for new clothes, it’s get in and get out. Same with concerts. It has to be an artist that’s rare to see for him to go.

He’s extremely chill compared to how he was when he was a teenager/young adult. Hes sent a couple folks to the hospital, used to get into it with his team mates so bad John sent him to anger management and wouldn’t allow him back unless he got his act together. And he despised it at first, hated the happy go lucky therapist who lead the group, the fact that it was in a damned church basement, and that he had to talk to strangers. But it actually did a number on him. In a good way. Healed a few parts of him to make him into a better man, much easier to deal with, he’s slower to anger now. And if it comes storming down on him he might go for a smoke, take a few deep breaths, go walk a few paces. Price is proud of him and for once Ghost— no- Simon is proud of himself. Happy he stumbled upon you after he got his shit together. It makes him want to work harder at improving himself even more. He’s not the best, but he’s trying. He always go to group therapy every Wednesday when he’s back home, right after work. He brings home dinner, a little more- chipper.

Really doesn’t do too much talking when he’s off. He definitely a teaser, playful, but even with you, he doesn’t have much to say. You both like comfortable silence when you’re gone for cuddle together.

Doesn’t complain about the amount of stuffed animals you have or how you decorate. You’ve made his house a home, even after he fixed it up himself, it never felt good to be alone there. These are ghosts hiding there. But you brought a breath of fresh air into the place. Hes more than greatful, hugging onto your stuffed animals when your gone for too long.

Likes to do chores together, even if it’s folding laundry or walking the dogs or washing dishes— he loves being in your space.

hates your dog Fish because he’s a wild thing no matter how hard you train him. The little shit only listens to Simon for some reason when Simon only likes his dog, Slugger. Doesn’t mean the man isn’t gonna pet the cute one year old puppy though.

Squints a lot when reading the coffee signs, he definitely needs reading glasses but says hes too young for them (hes almost 35)

can talk about his favorite movies for ages, loves the classic westerns and sci-fi flicks from the 80s. Knows the actors ages and if they’re alive or not. Talks to you about them like a history lesson, you never get bored though. His voice is perfect.

A little insecure about the scars on him, that’s why he’s covered in tattoos. Some tattoos mean a lot to him, others he just got for fun.

Has a motorcycle, rides it here and there. Has taken you for a drive to meet Alice, an older woman about 80 from anger management. She’s like his grandma, he speaks softer (and smaller) when he’s with her. Alice babies the hell out of him.

His closet is more than casual, multiple black shirts and denim jeans, a few plaids, some leather jackets, bomber jackets— it’s not too serious. He’d rather invest in you, let you play dress up in your closet and watch you twirl for him. And he pays attention to every detail. What you like and don’t like. His cute fucking baby.

When he blushes, which is rare, it won’t show on his face, won’t smile at all or get red in his face— but his ears. Bright red. Be on the lookout when his mask is off.

Can knit and stitch. Not too good at stitching but he knows how to get that job done. Knitting? He joined Alice’s knitting group, club meetings to gossip are once a month of the first Saturday. He never misses a meeting.

Helps out the neighbors with their broken equipment. Broken lawnmower or mixing machine? He can fix it. He’s pretty handy. Stand off-ish but kind to his neighbors.

Spends some days drinking beer or whisky on the couch or going for a drive. Just to think about nothing but sometimes everything. Take a look at the scenic view, he takes you sometimes, kisses your hands and holds them tight without saying a word. 

Physical touch junkie, loves holding hands without saying it, brushing fingers, playing with your braids or curly hair, pinching your cheeks, having your legs in his lap— something.

Does not like clowns. Not scared but he finds them annoying. Same with mimes. Stays ten feet away.

Swears by Fleetwood Mac album ‘Rumours’, will always play it and never gets tired of it. It’s brought him out of multiple dark places. Won’t sing but will mumble the lyrics. So cute. Swears by To Noise Making (Sing) and Sunlight by Hozier and Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) by Deftones.

Two other random hobbies? Lego building and painting. He’s shit at painting, but he does it anyway because he enjoys it. Now Lego building, hes good. As in there are a few self made projects around the house that look like real masterpieces, good. Simon spends a buck and then some on them, Soap teases him for it but he always shows them off to you, they’re amazing.

a/n: I hope this was okay anon. Let me know. Been waiting for someone to ask but meanie!simon going to anger management is like a big part of the reason I don’t write him so toxic (just a little bit like a little extra salt though). I don’t think he’s at that point in his life anymore. Also sorry for all the posts today. My bad.

most recent masterlist past meanie!simon hc

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

[theonottsbxtch]

MISSION PISS OFF YOUR BROTHER | LN4

an: this was also a 2k celly thing i forgot to write/post i apolgise. enjoy a crack fic lol

wc: 585

request: can I please get a crack fic of lando and piastri!reader getting caught (I’m tryna thing of something outlandish here) stealing Oscar’s helmets or even something as petty as his water bottle just for fun and to get a reaction out of him 😭😭 and then obviously returning them lol

It started, as most stupid ideas did, in the McLaren motorhome kitchen at approximately half past bored.

Lando was leaning against the counter, sipping a sweet iced coffee he didn’t even like, and she was sitting on the worktop like she owned the place, legs swinging, staring into the fridge with the kind of intensity usually reserved for pit strategies.

"Do you reckon he’d notice?” she asked, head tilting. “If his bottle's missing?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Oscar?"

She gave a solemn nod. “He’s got that one he always uses. The white one. Bit scratched at the bottom. If I took it, he’d spiral.”

There was a pause, long enough to pretend they were considering not doing it, and then Lando grinned. “What if we take it... and leave clues. Like a ransom.”

She gasped, eyes lighting up. “With photos. Mysterious locations. Emotional manipulation.”

“You’re sick,” he said, admiringly. “Let’s do it.”

The first disappearance went unnoticed.

They’d expected a full investigation, maybe even a team-wide email. Instead, Oscar simply grabbed a different bottle and carried on like an emotionally stable person. Rude.

So they escalated.

Next to go: the helmet. Not his main one, obviously, they weren’t lunatics. But one of the perfectly-polished, display-only helmets that sat proudly in his driver’s room like a shrine to aerodynamic symmetry.

She stuffed it into a McLaren tote bag. Lando filmed it. He provided the soundtrack, mission: impossible theme hummed very badly.

They left a note behind. If you ever want to see your lid again, bring three oat biscuits and an honest compliment to Bay 3. No funny business.

By the time Oscar walked in and discovered it missing, Lando and she were hiding behind a storage crate nearby, watching on the CCTV screen above their heads like two deeply unserious goblins.

He stared at the note.

He blinked.

Then, slowly, he turned and said, “Are you two, are you actually mental?”

Lando almost gave them away by snorting.

Oscar didn’t follow the instructions, of course. He didn’t negotiate with helmet terrorists. So, naturally, they upped the ante again.

Helmet selfies began to appear around the garage. One of her wearing it while dramatically holding a banana like a gun. One of Lando pretending to cry while holding a sign: "He just wanted to race :("

They even Photoshopped one of the helmet in a bubble bath. It was disturbing. Artistic, but disturbing.

Oscar's eye twitched when he saw it.

"Right. I'm done." He stood up mid-lunch and declared, “I want my bloody helmet back. I don’t care if I have to call Zak.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Lando said, emerging from behind a curtain with the most guilty face imaginable.

Oscar pointed at him like he was summoning thunder. “Try me.”

Eventually, they returned everything.

The helmet was pristine. The water bottle had only a little glitter in it. Barely noticeable.

“Why do I let you in my life?” Oscar muttered as he inspected his things like they might be booby-trapped.

She beamed at him. “Because I’m family, and Lando’s too fast to catch.”

“That’s not even.” He stopped, looked at the bottle again. “Is this… lavender-scented?”

She shrugged. “Therapeutic.”

Oscar sighed the long, pained sigh of someone who realised this was his reality now.

Lando, who had somehow managed to stick googly eyes on the side of Oscar’s helmet mid-conversation, high-fived her behind his back.

It was, they decided, a mission well executed.

As Oscar has still not found the banana photo taped inside his locker.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine@obxstiles @dongyeonssimp @gr4cier4cie

[sailingintothenight]

“Starlight.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Following John Walker's advice, Bob decides to confess his feelings for you… to you.

A/N: Hi. First of all, thanks for the love on my first Bob imagine "A safe heaven". Secondly, I'm still getting to know Taylor Swift's music so I can't really call myself a fan, but like Jake Peralta said: she makes me feel things. She makes all of us feel things, Jake! So I quoted one of her songs here :) My first language is Spanish and I'm still learning English, so please excuse me if there are any grammatical errors. That's all. Thank you! (I think I messed up saying you were an Avenger, but the timeline is a confusing so let's pretend it's okay, please?)

Warning: Bob being a cutie, the usual hehe

“Is (Y/N) back yet, Lena?”

“You mean (Y/N) and Bucky?”

“Yeah, right. Them.”

“No. Not yet—”

"Oh..."

Bob slumps down onto the couch, pulling his disappointed look away from Yelena and her emotion detector.

“I just know they’re about to. In 10 minutes, I think.”

But it was the talented Taylor Swift that once said: you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town, and now, Bob’s smile behind the milkshake he holds with two hands (not a big one, just adorable and shy), fighting his own nerves, could light up the whole world. Through moments, pieces of happiness that he has been collecting with you, Bob had begun to regain his own light, little by little, with them making his eyes bright again, like tiny twinkling stars after his life had been darker than an undiscovered galaxy—still and silent, without a light source, nonexistent until someone notices its presence.

And that's what you'd done from the beginning, perceiving his warm personality.

Always warm like the edge of his heart, even in the midst of his storms, with you managing to see directly into the core of his overwhelming fears, the most hidden and the most obvious ones. And without meaning to, without seeking it, Bob had found himself leaning toward you, seeking refuge in your inexhaustible source of love when he felt down, a love that you always showered upon him in many ways, with a word of empathy or a physical display of affection, or the loving way you pushed a lock of his hair aside, even though it always fell back into place, making you laugh.  

But when everything was alright, life was even better between back–and–forth conversations or the deepest ones, like the days and nights you two spent together to decipher if the ghosts were real or solving the unsolved mysteries that lingered, and there, Bob could see the way even your eyes smiled too every time your lips curved upward. You smiled a lot with him, and with the group, Bob would pay full attention to your expression more than to other's, even learning to differentiate your laughter from the rest in a heartbeat.

"Yeah, Bob, your little girlfriend is coming back soon. You must be excited."

John's voice is flat, his back on the couch, directing his attention to the TV, but so full of mockery that Bob can feel it in the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn.

"(Y/N) is not my girlfriend."

"But you want her to be. I can see you dying to hold her, to hug her, and to kiss her. I bet you dream about it every day."

Yelena gives a long sigh, sinking deeper into the comfort of the other couch, but her bored expression is just as threatening as when her eyes flared at any sign of danger.

"Why do you always have to be such a jerk, Walker?"

"I'm just being supportive!" John looks slightly surprised, as if his support system actually comes with sarcasm inevitably, lowering the arms he used to emphasize his protest. "I'll give you some advice, Bob—"

"I didn't ask for your advice."

“I’ll give it to you anyway. Tell (Y/N) how you feel, that you care a little too much for her or that you’re in love, I don’t know, but do it today, don’t wait for tomorrow because tomorrow is a bitch sometimes and who knows? Maybe we could get attacked by some alien and die.”

“That sounds fun, actually.”

Bob frowns, confused and slightly terrified, looking for some trace of sarcasm in Yelena’s deadpan voice, but when the elevator dings with an annoying chime announcing your arrival, and Bucky’s, his head turns in your direction, meeting your gaze as you smile back, your eyes narrowing slightly, feeling his own joy beating within him.

Bob wondered sometimes if stars also existed in the eyes, not only in the night sky.

“It’s great to have you back, guys.” John sits down, fighting his own smirk. “We’re very happy to see you, aren’t we, Bob?”

Making his existence smaller, Bob nods, his body shrinking a little, but as Bucky recounts the events of the successful mission that lasted less than the expected number of days, you take your backpack from him and head towards your room. Yet it's your gaze that catches the way Walker continues to drag his mocking eyes between Bob and you, a second before looking away.

Messy minds tended to be the noisiest, you knew this well as you found a way to coexist peacefully with outside noises, building a wall around yourself so you wouldn't hear them, but as you disappear down the hallway, Walker leans forward, his brow furrowing at the pain that begins to throb in the front of his head, like a hammer hitting a nail.

"Another headache, Walker?" Yelena asks.

"Yeah, maybe I should see a doctor."

Yelena maintains a flat expression, though it amuses her to tears the way he hadn't realized that it was you who caused them, but she remains determined not to give herself away even when her gaze meets Bucky's, coughing softly to hide Bob's laughter as he stands.

"Maybe you should just stop being such a jerk."

"What, Bob?"

"Nothing."

But Walker had a point, Bob thinks sadly, all the time it takes him to make a milkshake for you. Between the sips of coffee that left a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue when you finished it, he knew you were also enjoying something just sweet, a drink that was like a remnant of a past life, a memory of your childhood, a whole journey that made you smile.

Bob didn't seek you out, and before you, he was just existing with empty hands and a mind full of dark thoughts, until things took a turn, and then his hand was always full, with yours holding it, and a mind occupied as Bob began to replace the unwanted memories with something better, stopping living on autopilot, answering that question of whether things would ever get better.

Now, Bob turns the corner and enters the long corridor of rooms, and his sharp hearing registers the song playing in the distance, which grows slightly louder as he approaches the half–open door, a second voice providing the backing vocals, your voice, coming to him like a soft breeze. And he doesn't mean to spy, but shy as he usually is, Bob leans a little bit over the frame, his nervous hand still holding the glass to his chest.

You are there, your back to him, singing at the same level as the voice in your phone, walking around the room, fixing your already made bed or rearranging your desk. Your space after losing your place in your house, your new little home.

With a glass window on the other side and that lets in the golden autumn light, it reflects on your head, and Bob feels a warmth rise in his stomach and creep down his body, ending up on his cheeks (the ones that had managed to rest from Walker's teasing) with a violent thud that makes him swallow.

You're wearing loose jeans and an oversized light blue sweater with sunflowers woven into it in haphazard patterns, light blue as the sky when dawn is breaking and the darkness fades, because nothing last forever, not even the absence of light—and with you looking like everything Bob never could dream of finding—a nervous, childlike smile, one of those full of innocence, like the warmth of first love, spreads across his face.

Not in a garish way; but you're colorful, your soul and your clothes and your words. Time seems suddenly frozen as he films everything about you in his gaze, as if a single second feels like a lifetime together, even though you've only been together a few months.

However, when you turn around, like a domino effect, his body jerks a second after yours, holding the glass slightly away so the tide inside doesn't splash him.

"Jesus, Bob, you scared me!" You laugh, nervous, and he's fast to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was here a second ago, I promise." He swallows the lump in his throat when your sharp gaze seems to pierce through him, but you're not upset, just mocking him silently. "I just came to bring you this.”

There are many things you'd learned to over–feel after your mind expanded, like the noise in other people's heads, like the slight vibration of Bob's hand when he gives you the milkshake, holding the glass with both hands.

“Thank you. That’s sweet of you, but you shouldn't have bothered, though.”

He shakes his head.

“It's no bother.”

Bob pushes his hands into his pockets when you take the drink from him, almost rocking back and forth, lingering there for a moment as you take the first sip, and when you tell him it tastes great, he just smiles.

Bob is beautiful on the outside too, adorable with his casual style, (clothes he carefully selects just to sit on the couch with you, or go to the few places you frequent together) with his angelic face and his eyes looking into yours as you talk, sitting side by side on the floor while working together your new 1,000–piece puzzle, but not meeting your eyes for more than two, maybe three consecutive seconds.

With your attention on the ground, you feel the warmth of his body radiating like waves nearby, like the power of that fiery star that hangs between the warmest days. Life moves like a whisper beside him, soft after a storm, quiet like when calm comes after chaos, and you love that.  

“Bob, do you know who Stitch is?”

He looks up from the piece in his hand and nods, those two unruly chocolate strands of hair bouncing with the movement, only to frame his face and that nervous look reflected in his warm blue eyes, but they can never hide the joy Bob feels when he sees the happiness in yours, and in that moment, there is an overflowing, almost childlike thrill in them. Like finding a sapphire among a pile of faded rocks, the light in your eyes always shone no matter the season, like the sparkling autumn that paints the city—and Bob Reynolds loves autumn.

“Great. You're coming to the movies with me tomorrow.”

“L–like a date?”

Yet the sound of the silent autumn breeze blowing leaves floors below is even louder than his mental whisper, even though no one hears him in there. His heart beats under his own anxiety, but Bob smiles with that possibility.

"Are the others coming with us?"

But you feel it: the disappointment in his voice at a positive response.

“Well, no: Lena didn't have a real childhood, so she doesn't know about those kinds of movies. Walker is a walking insult machine. Ava would somehow make kids cry. And I'm pretty sure Bucky's older than that radioactive cheese living in the fridge that no one dares throw away, so he only watches classics.”

Bob chuckles, a small, nervous but colorful sound.

“That cheese scares me. Kinda looks at me funny.”

“Isn’t that right?! I feel like it could give us even worse powers than we already have.”

He nods, frowning, but maintaining an amused expression as he holds your gaze.

“Yeah. That cheese’s been there for a suspicious amount of time. Maybe it’s a spy.”

You laugh in surprise.

“My God, your humor is as broken as mine. But when I asked Alexei if he wanted to come, I tried to explain that Stitch was an alien, and the poor man started hyperventilating. An alien?! We should prepare for invasion, yeah?” You do your best to imitate his accent, and the joy of Bob’s deep laugh is adorable, warm, even when it falters because of his constant nervousness. “It was my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking about an alien after the Chitauri tried to invade the city and then others kept coming.”

Bob swallows, considering whether his next words might cross the line, hurting you even though he'd never do it on purpose. He knew a bit about your history and your brief stint with the Avengers, about your lab–gained powers, but all that information was just scratching the surface of a life that so drastically changed the course of your path.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You can see Bob's gaze fixed on the puzzle out of the corner of your eye, but you nod anyway.

"Of course you can."

"Are you angry about what happened to you?”

Your gentle gaze rests on him, even though Bob does his best to focus his full attention on the pieces, but you know he’s trying with all his might to feel normal again, not to act it, fighting to return to what he was before the drugs and his depression, before his alter egos and his memory loss that kept him from living a full life when there were pieces hidden in the darkness that made him feel incomplete.

No one can live a full life if they always feel like something is missing, you had once told him.

And maybe his attempt to be who he was made him beautiful, so beautiful it hurts, even though Yelena's words still echo in your chest: he's in love with you. But Bob looks like literature written by a feminine hand, sweet like the male protagonist of the most romantic book in the world, the dream of those who read and dream of finding someone like him, with him never realizing his own virtues, always oblivious to all that beauty in him, inside and out, which only made him even more beautiful.

You and he were still young, young adults whose years of your lives were snatched away by selfish people who only sought their own benefit—but being in love still scared you more, even when you were already completely immersed in that feeling.

“No. Not anymore. I spent so much time angry that it wore me down, but I think I found again that something that kept me going when all seemed lost.”

Bob blinks, confused, but he looks up and keeps his eyes fixed on your face until yours meet his again, so he doesn't miss a single bit of your answer.

“And what was it?”

“Love.”

You laugh at the way his face contorts in surprise, angelic eyes (even after having seen hell) a little wide open, blending with his radiant innocence as Bob tries to take in your entire expression, looking in search of a hint of lie.

“I mean love in general, Bob.” He calms down fast and listens closely. Four letters that seemed simple, but hid such a profound undertone, with new things that you were still discovering, a feeling that made you feel as if after the wild waves, the water on the shore once again felt a lullaby, soothing your life until they became nothing more than a delicate whisper on the sand. “I mean... I spent so much time hating myself that I forgot my parents and my older brother taught me to love myself properly, deeply. But then I felt again the love I felt for people and things, the one I had before waking up on that gurney in that secret facility. My love for my family, for books, animals, for movies, for the few but good friends I had, and even for that boy with ocean–colored eyes I was getting to know in a sunny Los Angeles.”

Not everything was perfect, but Bob sees you feel you’re the right path, and as he weighs your words, he knows they are like the first breath of fresh air after feeling scorching heat in your lungs, or like a light in the darkness.

"I was so close to you and didn't know it." He chuckles, with a hint of melancholy as Bob wonders what it would have been like to know you in another life, before the catastrophe, though now, he is happy he can feel a connection with you, as if he'd actually met you before. "I wish I could have met you back there."

"Yeah, me too. But everything I've been through has led me to this moment with you, so I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Your gaze returns to the puzzle when his gaze moves away from you for a moment, but coming back in the second to admire what you're letting him see–the profile of your face, the soft smile on your lips.

But Bob confidently trusts that you're still the same despite past events, with the same laughter, the same desire to remain good, plus a power that spread through your mind. And everything still seems like a cozy autumn dream, with sensations so vivid that Bob can feel them on his skin, even deep in his shy heart, wanting to live in it forever.

However, in a more selfish sense, like he never was, Bob wonders what it would feel like to be loved by you, in a romantic, deep, and real way like he's never experienced. Because now Bob understands that if your laughter and your smile and your happiness hid so much feeling, so much so that he could compare you to a romantic movie—the kind that has you in tears mid–act but has a happy ending, and when the credits roll, there's always a soulful ballad sung and a high note at the end that makes your skin crawl, in a good way.

Surely your love for someone was just as beautiful.  

Your hand rests on your leg, empty, and Bob wants to take it, hold it while you lead the way, because he knows that he would follow you wherever you went, and that in a crowd, he would find you. It's like an invisible light around you only he can see, like a thread tied to his pinky finger connected to yours.  

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” His whisper threatens to fade into the void again, even when your nervous gaze catches his, but Bob knows he has to tell you now before he stops being brave and his words die a cruel death inside him. “You were the first person who told me I wasn’t invisible, that you wouldn’t leave me behind even when I told you I was a threat. And I really tried to stop thinking of you this way, but every time I close my eyes I can see you, and I can hear you, and that’s so much nicer…” Bob’s little smile is shy, him watching yours, which is somewhat saddened by the weight of his past, fragments he shared with you during your time together. “When I’m alone I want to see you, and when we're together I wish we could be together all day. I know I have nothing to offer you, and that sometimes I’m a little cloudy like Lena calls me, but you are confident, and you are smart, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same–”

“I do feel the same.” A small, shy chuckle past by between your lips, watching your fingers as you rub them against each other, followed by a sigh that seems to let go of a piece of your own past. “And that’s what scares me, but not enough to make me not want to be with you.”

But then his hand envelops yours, calming you through your fear, steadying your whole world as your eyes return to his. Your vision of him is clearer, nervous but receptive, open to new sensations, and even with his own fears and insecurities, Bob leans forward, with you mirroring the gesture, the image of the other in your closed eyelids, allowing yourself to be felt on each other's lips.

And the kiss is soft like his existence, yet somehow bright in the dark, like the starlight that lingered in your gaze.

Your hand squeezes his as his lips move against yours, just a little bit, and after living numb for so long, feeling again feels so good.

Bob pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed.

"Walker told me to tell you how I felt..." He chuckles, speaking softly so as not to clash with the new environment, which is even more welcoming than the last ten seconds. "Can't believe he was right."

You pull away slightly, chuckling with him at John's expense, pushing back that curly strands of hair of his with your free hand, which moves back into place, but as Bob leans forward again, you two know that from here on out, life would be even brighter.

[darkbluekies]

Hey Eddie Weddy my wittle husband,

So I'm off and out of here for a few days, dw I let the guards know before I booted it out of the castle. When I get back we need some serious couples counciling, I am finding myself more repulsed with you then normal recently (not like you locked me IN THE DUNGEONS WITH THE RATS AGAIN- IF I CONTRACT THE PLAUGE IM INFECTING YOU TOO).

I get it, sweetie, I'm amazing and stuff but everytime I express an opinion you throw a tantrum and it's just not manageable okay?

Anyway, this alone time is super nessisary for me, I'm gunna get my ankles out and grove in some tavern and you can go whoring with those ladies again. It's a win win, I'll be back and then we can sort the real problems out.

Ps: if you kill my maid in retaliation I'll make sure there are no future heirs between us, got it, eddie?

Lots of love mwah mwah

"My dearest posession,

Sometimes I really do regret having the ability to read.

Such a brat you become when no one keeps an eye on you. Girls like you need to be constantly reminded or else you get out of control. Good thing I'm home tomorrow evening. You're theatrical, though. I'll give you that. Use that to entertain me instead of pissing me of.

Speaking of theatrical, you say that I throw a tantrum, but what is this letter if not a tantrum? I picture a three year old when reading this. Either that or you're drunk. That would explain your accuses of me whoring around. I am a whore for one person only, thank you.

Before answering your letter, I made sure to write my assistant one cussing him out for his incompetence. He's promised me you won't stray again. You'll be lucky if you're able to leave the bedroom.

Your maid? Last time i checked, all staff are under me. You have no one. What I do with my staff is none of your business, but if you're going to be difficult, I'll do you this: your maid will be spared and you stop with the childish behaviours. Have fun with the rats when I get back. Maybe the plague will make you think straight.

Don't do anything stupid, I will see you tomorrow

— your husband that will definetly bring you along next time"

[tricksh0t]

★ cassie

☾ cassian andor x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ written for andor but not much star wars connection, so you can read it for diego luna (movie in the pic is dirty dancing havana nights)

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1.61k

cw: dom reader, sub cassian, overstim, spit as lube, feminization, from behind, mentions of spanking (none), groping, lots of swearing, arguments, improper resolution of arguments

"Why are you so concerned with being pictured as "the girl"?" Cassian crossed his arms. He looked amused more than anything, right in front of your face.

"I'm not concerned with being the girl." You say pointedly, making him actually pay attention. "I'm concerned that this community thinks this way at all."

"Nurchi and Timm are not the community." Cassian waves it off, literally and figuratively, except the grand swipe of his hand only manages to annoy you in this situation. "Besides, they were only joking!"

"You can only excuse Nurchi so many times for only joking. How many times has he threatened you over your debts?" You've never liked the guy. He has zero sympathy in a community where everybody knows each other and their circumstances. "And before you get started on how it's technically valid, that guy is an asshole."

"Rightfully so–"

"Being a hater is one thing. Being bigoted is another."

"Fine, I'll be the girl." Cassian says, and he's already jerking around wildly, fixing his hair crudely with some spit, wearing his jacket hung just past his shoulders and pushing his pants down into low-rise. His collar and shoulder bones are exposed skinny and rightfully bony, and when your eyes trail down, his hips are exposed too, alongside a bit of the skin right above his dick, just enough to make it look like he isn't sporting a good length, as if he had nothing going down there except an enticing cunt. You'll be dammed if the subtle shift of everything doesn't make him look feminine and hot.

"What?"

"I'll be the girl." He repeats, shooting you a wide smile. It quickly turns into a fake innocent look, complete with doe eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

Despite the situation, your anger burns. He's making light of a serious situation. "What do you think you're doing, Cassian?"

"Cassie, now." He says, batting his eyelashes. "It's a lot more fitting, isn't it?"

"Fine, you want to be the girl?" At that, Cassian's mouth lifts into a shit-eating grin. It persists as you grab him by the hips and walk him backwards into the wall. "You'll be the fucking girl."

His grin just turns more and more satisfied the more you lean into him. You let him think he's won the argument just to see confidence inflate his ego. Sure hands grab at your hair as you press your nose against his. His eyes are already half-lidded.

"Then again, it doesn't matter what you are behind closed doors. No one will see it anyway." You grasp his wrists in one hand and he gasps. His eyes widen, but he do nothing but watch as you push them against the wall, then up and up until his body stretches just far enough out of comfort. "Is this what you expected?"

Cassian chokes out a pathetic, "N-No."

His doe eyes are real now, except striken with visible shock and... arousal. Ha.

"You have two options." When you press your lips against his ear, he moans purely at the feeling. You've mercy enough not to mention it. "Either you back down and we can go back to arguing without poking fun at each other, or you can be the fucking girl and I fuck you right against this wall."

"Yes." Cassian agrees, but like the infuriating man that he can be sometimes, he doesn't make it clear.

You grab hold of his chin, making him yelp. You ignore that too. "What's your name?"

"Ca-Cassie!" He cries, wrists struggling in your hold, but when you let them go, they fall lax at his sides without strength.

"Good. Turn around. Hands on the wall."

He obeys your words in a flash, no tripping or getting them wrong, only his back greets you when it's all said and done.

You press yourself against him, hand groping his ass in his pants. Cassian pushes himself into your hand, arching his back to do so. Whether instinct or not, it's dirty either way, seeking either way, and yearning for your touch.

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, Cassie?" Your playing around with his ass makes him whimper. He avoids answering, to which you squeeze his asscheek. "I asked you something."

"Yes." He spares a look back, bites his lip. Oh, that was totally on purpose.

You press yourself fully against him when you take your hand away, and he certainly enjoys it, moaning at the feeling of your bulge against him; and he's got zero shame about it, eyes locked onto yours.

"Cassie, Cassie." You repeat with the disappointed click of your tongue. You take his bottom lip between your thumb and forefinger. Cassian's tongue darts out to lick at your thumb. "Whatever will I do with you, girl?"

It's more of a rhetorical question if anything, as you twist his tongue between your fingers the next moment. As you undo his pants and begin pushing them down, Cassian licks around your thumb and other fingers like a lollipop, leaving you only to wonder what that might look like around your cock. You've had it in real life of course, but not from Cassie.

With his pants down, you fight the urge to press yourself between the flesh of his cheeks and instead to press your thoroughly wet fingers into his hole. In goes one, then two, then another; taken not with protest, but with content sighs or bold, enticing moans. Cassian's pressed his forehead against the wall now, and you take the moment to appreciate his nape, so fragile and vulnerable.

It's almost romantic, the kisses and nips you press to the back of his neck, the slow press and scissor and circle of your fingers inside of him. It's entirely not as you'd meant it to be, but this is girl, and for preparation, you have to treat her nicely.

Whatever comes after that, though—it's a free game.

At the loss of your fingers and the clink of your buckle, Cassian looks back. You click your tongue, "Ah, ah, eyes forward. You'll take it like a good girl, no complaints, you understand?"

His mouth opens for an easy answer, but the feel of the tip of your cock catching against his rim, he gasps, "Fuck yeah."

You press your cock in one swift go, it's easy. He's all loose for you with dirty spit but also he really wants it.

There's no wait, no build up. You won't grant him the gentleness of that. He pissed you off and you're about to show it. Each thrust into him slaps your skin against his, loud, but you won't care, and you won't give him any rest either. It's hard and fast, mind numbing.

Trapped against the wall, one hand beside his head and another holding his hip in a bruising grip, he's completely at your mercy with nowhere to go. No forward or side to side, just backwards, pressing right up against your body and taking your cock, and that's exactly what he does.

He pushes back against you with each thrust, meeting you half-way. He's needy, can't even wait to get it, can't even sit still and be a pillow princess. Even as your hips pounding into him slaps his ass, that pain is nothing compared to the pleasure of your cock.

But it is, still, a lot more than he bargained for.

"Shit! Slower–wait, don't! Don't." His mind's a mess. He doesn't even know what he wants, and like the greedy girl he is, he still wants for something.

"Which one is it?" You huff into his ear, "Slow down, speed up? Don't stop?"

Instead of an answer, you punch out a moan out of it instead. It's girlish and has shame burning in his cheeks, but he won't do anything about it at all because this is what he gets.

He feels crowded against the wall, trapped; sweaty and warm and actually, all too hot against your body, and his hand grips at the wall and slips because of the paint, because if he touches you he's sure he'll get a spanking. It's so feverishly good but also so damn overstimulating. Pleasure, heat, pain, overextersion, goosebumps, stings, and pleasure light up his veins.

He needs to finish right now or else you'll keep abusing his hole, fucking it open and open 'till he's kept gaping around nothing; then he'll surely miss the feeling. It's the only thought in his head.

"Please." Cassian moans, sure of what he wants now, "Please, I wanna cum."

Cassie doesn't know he doesn't have to beg for it, because you'd have gone ahead either way. Pleasure will keep coming and coming and coming without a break no matter what he does, drilling him into the wall. His body, weakened by your endless pleasure, gives way to your will and your harsh thrusts.

His cock presses into the wall, as with the rest of his body, and crudely, the constant movement and rocking of his body caused by your cock makes his dick slide along the wall. It's enough pathetic friction to have him gushing.

"Oh," Cassian moans as he finishes in white, streaky persistent ropes, "oh! Oh fuck."

For a moment, a content, toothy smile adorns his face. He's high off his peak, momentarily gone into the clouds and so lost from reality.

Except, then, as the high slips from his reach, you don't stop, and he was a fool to think you would. You haven't finished yet, and you'll chase your high and use his body for it.

The only way Cassian can respond is with a wagging tongue and another high-pitched moan. He dug himself this grave.

[harukasangel]

I keep having brainrot of dating Sinclair + the other sinners making it all the more fun

Like pre-dating, the other sinners just spy on Sinclair trying to confess to you (encouragement courtesy of Rodya and a little, er......harsh, but helpful of you squint acronyms from Ryoshu). Rodya tries to place bets with Greg, betting that Sinclair will go through with his confession (He does, Greg honey, cough it up~)

Outis overheard Sinclair talking to Rodya about his crush on you, wondering what to do, but she shouted that romance will be a distraction to both his and your duties. It wasn't until Dante assured Outis that it was fine, you and Sinclair obviously didn't plan to fall in love, that she did a 180 and barked orders for him to stand up straight and speak clearly when confessing

Planning to spend your anniversary with Sinclair in the privacy of his room after Dante dismissed the sinners for the day. Don Quixote invites herself to hang out with you two, but you and Sinclair fumble to politely turn her down. Dw, Rodya chimed in and explained she should "Let them be, it's a special day for those two lovebirds~". Don was lowkey proud "Young Sinclair grew up so fast!"

Sinclair working out in his room so he can be strong enough to bridal carry you to your bed (he's been meaning to surprise you during one of your late nights together). Ishamael catches him and gives him a "bro, wtf?" look. Sinclair stutters, begging her not to tell you. She won't, but she's lowkey having too much fun teasing him abt it

Sinclair deciding on what to buy you when you stop at another district and he sees you busy talking with Ishamael and Gregor. He takes the opportunity to buy you a gift and stash it away for the time being. However, Hong Lu notices and laughs a bit, never pegging Sinclair for a hopeless romantic. Boy shushed him aggressively, you could overhear it!!

And let's not forget when a small notebook fell out of Sinclair's pocket and before he could snatch it back, Heathcliff grabbed it and laughed. It was filled with notes about you; all your likes/dislikes, your favorite candy, your favorite movies, games you liked the play, the fact you fall asleep better with some soft noise, etc. Heathcliff tried to read some of it out loud and get your attention, Sinclair wanted to die on the spot and never be revived

Not to mention, the very first Christmas Sinclair spent with you. We all know Christmas was a er.....haunting day for him. But with all the darkness in his life, you truly are the beacon of light in his life, a literal angel to him. The irony considering your both sinners, he truly does think you're too angelic for this job. Celebrating Christmas with the Limbus Company was nothing to write home about, but the sinners did manage to get some free time for themselves, courtesy of Dante and Faust, which gave him the opportunity to show you his gift to you--a necklace with silver angel wings. He was perfectly content just cuddling with you as a movie played in the background. Rodya popped her head in, giving Sinclair a Christmas tart. She apologies for 'not being able to get you one' but then smirks, suggesting that Sinclair should feed you some of his

[voicesunified]

ㅤOne breath in and two back out, he was doing alright. Perfectly fine. Michael massaged his temple gently, shook his head and then opened his eyes again. When he spoke he actually managed to corral back in the temper that was threatening to overwhelm him. "Surprisingly, he's right." A simple wave of his hand in Lucid's direction. "And wrong at the same time. Both remarkable feats. Creating life is incredibly difficult, it's actually easier to create a carcass than it is to form an entire soul. However, black holes are a living thing too. What do you think angels are made from? The same things that black holes are made from." Michael folded his arms over his chest and nodded his head toward Lucid himself. "Angels like myself and Zadkiel, even you I presume, are made from stars. Black holes are made the same way, except they're what becomes of stars when their lives finally give out. In that matter of speaking you created life and death simultaneously, which is an incredible display of power. Which is why you seem like a threat."

ㅤ"But Michael—!" Zadkiel shut his mouth this time when the archangel snapped his gaze to his brother, silencing him with a single look. The one that said if he kept arguing, he was going to suffer the same fate that Lucid currently was. Michael might actually lock him in the room with the younger angel and force him to help clean the place up. Magicless.

ㅤ"I didn't say I wouldn't help, Zadkiel. You need to stop jumping every single time something doesn't go your way. That's why I asked for Uriel to come see me. To assess if he is a threat or not and no we're not going based on your feelings. Feelings are what get Heaven caught up in the messes it always does. Sometimes, there has to be other ways to determine if someone can be trusted or not. What their intentions are. That is how we protect our home which always has to be the priority." So that they don't repeat what happened with Samael. So that the sky doesn't rain with angels falling from it.

ㅤSo that Michael doesn't lose another sibling.

ㅤTurning his head to the side Michael locked eyes with Uriel and nodded his head toward Lucid. The pink haired angel gave an easy smile, clasped his hands together and joyfully made his way forward toward the two wilting younger angels. "Alright, alright no need for such mellow drama. Stop looking like a baby, Zad. No one wants tears right now." Grasping their shoulders Uriel nudged them back the way they came. "I have cookies in the kitchen at the palace, let's all make their way back." Toddlers, it was like corralling toddlers. "This your new friend, Zad? He's cute! Squishy even! You can call me Uriel, we're going to have a fun conversation."

Zadkiel’s joy was truly contagious, filling Lucid’s spirit to the brim instantaneously as they set off on their mission to find Michael. Hand-in-hand, he kept up with the Virtue, sky blue hues shining and halo humming. He felt free, the kind of freedom he got when alone and weaving dreams and illusions in the dreamscape, or soaring over the outer reaches of Heaven where Winners never went. Only this time he had someone else with him: a real friend. Lucid only ever dreamed and imagined what that must be like, having read plenty of stories and observed the Winner’s from the solitude of his room in the citadel. It felt more grand and amazing than any of the sweetest fruits or daring adventures he’d gone on solo. The worry and thoughts of having his flight and powers sealed were left behind on the rooftop, speeding into a future of hope and light.

At least until they found Michael and another angel. That high flying feeling quickly buckled under the fiery glare of the archangels eyes. Lucid was familiar with that kind of anger, one he earned many a time from his superiors and twin. If Zadkiel had not kept his hold with Lucid’s hand, surely the young seraphim would have shrunken back fearfully. However the fear for himself was overshadowed by the sudden shock and alarm he had for his new friend. The youngest archangel simply went on as if they were not in trouble at all! In fact he pressed on to suggest that Lucid learn to create.

Lucid’s eyes darted rapidly between the exasperated Michael and his zealous new friend, then to the other two angels. The pink haired one was new, and the other simply dipped before things escalated further. His hand squeezed back when Zadkiel did, clinging to that reassurance that everything was going to be okay and this wouldn’t end with a pike through either of them. Because by now, his twin would definitely have done just that.

“A…dove? W-wait, like create an animal?” Lucid paled at the thought. Oh he most certainly loved creating illusions of doves and adding their figures into dreams. But a living, real dove? Oh no…oh nonono. “Wouldn’t those be hard? What if I messed up o-or hurt it? I mean, creating the black hole was not a living creation…I’m not even allowed to make plants or seeds.” He appreciated greatly what Zadkiel was doing and did not want to disappoint his new friend. But the thought of creating life, something he was banned from ever even considering, it instilled a deep fear in the seraphim’s soul.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[cordelianewman]

You got me, I married you for your skills to get me a big ol' house and tons of land. Which means I keep you around for the maintenance of said big ol' house. Don't think the kids would have appreciated a cardboard box, it would have gotten very cramped, very fast. Thank you but you know I always expected more out of myself, guess we'll just say I was waiting for the right time. Mean we've handled donkeys, chickens, and everything else we've brought home. Don't think we couldn't handle a puppy, and I was planning on waiting till a litter shows up to be adopted because they always manage to get litters of different puppies especially spring and summer there tends to come a lot. Even a corgi mix, they can be used as herders too, they were breed for that originally. They can be very good with kids, but like anything, they need to be trained properly because they have a lot of energy. If not, maybe I'll stumble upon the right one if I go and look, just think the boys would love a puppy and they are old enough that they could also take a puppy on walks besides just you and me, but also help the girls who would get probably over excited. It will be weird, I'm so used to buying a massive grocery list that him going will mean having to adjust a little bit, and it'll just be ... weird. It will be good for Colton to have the girls too because think he may take it harder even than Cienna. She had spent some time away from her brother, you know? Colton and even Rosalyn are now used to him being in the house that they might struggle a bit. Know it's complicated when it comes to his mom, and it infuriates me that she can go on to have more kids and not even think about her first born. Doesn't have to have a relationship with you to have one with her son, but it doesn't matter. I will happily step into that roll if he wanted me to be apart of that. Just never want him to feel like he needs to knowing that he has a mom out there. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Guess that's another talk to have at some point because maybe all the kids deserve to make their own decisions. Think the hardest part with giving him that box isn't the idea he'll want to seek her out, it's the fact that he'll be able to understand when things started getting less and less, and I don't want him to ever think that is when he became less valuable because he's not. Well you kept going for feet things and I had to set a hard stop because no toes will be tortured in the making of anything. Even though I do enjoy using you to warm up my feet when they're cold but that's very, very different. With as hot for me as you seem to be you better hope if/when I get pregnant that I am the type of women that it amps everything up and not kills the vibe totally or you are going to be a very grumpy man. If you want to alternate running or jogging with yoga and pilates, I can go with that. Would say spin classes but those I believe at some point they frown on them but we don't have to worry about that yet given nothing has happened yet. Do not go making fun of the boys, they're the big cool thing right now. Yes teenage boys are hanging them off their backpacks, girls off their purses -- even adults are into them. I won't let you shame them for enjoying something that brings them joy, life is too short. You can dress them up in football outfits, basketball outfits, little dresses, all kinds of outfits so it's not a stretch for both males and females to enjoy them. They're not universal to one gender, so I won't hear you making fun of them. Not insane, the girls were asking so I did what I had to do, and they'll have plenty of little ones to play with. They're actually kind of cute in a very weird tiny monsters taking over the home. They open a rare one I'm already calling dibs because I won those suckers fair and square. So just giving you the heads up now, so you won't freak out when you find one on our nightstand! Just don't look at the credit card bill to see the cost, that's between me and God.

That's actually why you married me, is because you knew that getting into bed with a carpenter and construction worker would mean that you'd get a nice house of the deal, huh? Ignoring the fact that we lived in that little suburban house for a while and I'm pretty sure you would have lived in cardboard boxes with me if I asked you to. That's besides the point. But for what it's worth, I think you've always been something, whether you were living in that tiny apartment and working two jobs, or now that you're starting a new career and happily married. You've always had something. Just had to wait for the right moment to tap into it. A corgi… I mean, I feel like I would be a major hypocrite if I tried to say no, I sort of came with ducks, chickens, a dog and a cat already attached, so as long as you feel like we're up for the responsibility, go for it. Just make sure they're good with kids and other animals, maybe they'd have one up at the shelter? I'm obviously very 'adopt don't shop' about the animals, I think dad instilled that in us with all the strays we ended up taking in. It'll be weird, though, when he does go to college. You know, getting used to having him around and adding another kid -- and then another kid -- to the house only to have him turn around and head off for college is going to rock the boat a little bit, but I think that makes it an even better thing that Rosalyn and Cienna get along as well as they do, it'll make it easier when her brother isn't here in the house. He will, I trust him. I'm just going to let him feel it out, tell me what he wants to do. I went right into the work force after high school, and I might regret it for personal, Cordelia-shaped reasons, but I don't regret it in terms of wishing I'd done something else, so he'll figure it out. The thing with Colton, and moms is just… it's complicated because of his mom. Not that he thinks of her as his mom, I don't even know if he thinks of her at all. When he thinks about a mother figure that makes him dinner and tells him goodnight and helps him with girlfriend advice, he thinks of you, period. But I've promised myself that when he turns eighteen, I'll give him that box in the closet. The one that has all the letters and cards and little gifts that she's sent through the years. Which, admittedly, there haven't been a lot of in the past few years, last I knew, she had another kid and things just … stopped coming in. Guess the third one's the charm when it comes to forgetting your first born. We'll talk to him. Figure out what he wants, he's old enough that he can trust us to trust him, you know? I do not have a foot fetish! It was an example since we were already talking about shoes, thank you -- I could have said that your bra is a fuck-me-bra, or your ponytail holder is a fuck-me-scruncii, but I didn't think fast enough. I love you from your head to your toes, but I can honestly, safely say that your feet will not be coming anywhere near me unless it's you trying to warm them up in the middle of the night, you have my word. I have to run to keep my calf muscles, have you seen those babies lately? Jesus. Still keeping my good ole thunder thighs, though, I think that's just genetics. Lumberjack genetics. But we can take it easy, and maybe throw in some yoga or pilates to go more your style, too, I'm give and take. … I -- what? Hold on, the girls I understand, but the boys wanted stuffed animal keychains? Do you mean that the boys wanted them for their girlfriends and they're being sweet, or are you telling me that I should go out and buy them footie pajamas tomorrow and ask if they want to watch Bluey with me and the girls? Also, you're insane. I love you, but you're insane.

[sleebyconfy]

happy valentine's day! i hope that even if you are feeling sad or lonely today that you are still able to do something kind and nice and loving for yourself!! whether you already have a partner or not, it's never too late to work on loving yourself!

[airenyah]

now that i've turned thai drama into my bachelor thesis, the only question left is: how to turn thai drama into my master's thesis

[tyrantisterror]

Fuck it, I didn't want to make a post on this but it's bugging the hell out of me so let's exorcize the thought.

Lilo and Stitch is an extremely good children's movie. I've been working at a daycare for over five years now, and out of all the children's movies I've shown to an auidence of twenty or so school-age kids (i.e. between the ages of 5 and 12), the only movie that's held their attention as well as Lilo and Stitch is The Emperor's New Groove, and the only one that's held it better is An American Tail. Of those three, Lilo and Stitch has won the vote of "what movie we will watch" the most. It not only entertains kids, but emotionally captivates them from start to finish, because it very thoroughly understands how to engage children on their level. It's a smart, tightly written children's movie.

The feat of story-telling genius it pulls of lies in its ability to reach both where children's imaginations want to go and where their lived real-world experiences lie - most children's movies focus on one or the other, but Lilo and Stitch dives deep into both. On the imagination side, there's Stitch's whole plotline of being a little alien monster being chased by other weirdo aliens onto earth because they want to stop him from running amok and causing havoc (which, of course, happens anyway in fun cartoony comedy/action spectacle). On the real-world side, you have Lilo's plotline of being a troubled little girl who has an abundance of very real problems that, like an actual child, she struggles to comprehend and deal with, as well as the many adults in her life that care about her to some degree but all struggle to fully understand her. Kids want to be Stitch and run amok and cause cartoony havoc. Kids, even the least-troubled kids, relate to Lilo, because all of them have been in a similar situation as her at least once in their lives.

Balancing these two very different stories, with very different tones and scopes to their respective conflicts, is a hard writing task, but Lilo and Stitch manages to do it in a way that seems effortless with one very powerful trick. The two plots are direct mirrors to each other, complete with the characters involved in each having foils in the respective plot. To break it down:

Stitch, the wild and destructive alien gremlin who everyone has labeled as a crime against existence, is Lilo, the troubled young girl who's viewed as a "problem child" by all the adults in her life. In both plotlines, Stitch and Lilo are facing the threat of being "taken away" from the life they know because they act out, and in both plotlines, we see that this is an unfathomably cruel thing to do to them and will not actually solve the problems they have.

Dr. Jumbaa, the mad scientist who made Stitch because making monsters is what mad scientists do, and who had no intentions of ever being nurturing or parental to anything or anyone in his life, is Nani, Lilo's older sister whose parents died when she was young and now is forced to act as a parental substitute despite not being mentally or emotionally prepared for that responsibility yet. Both Dr. Jumbaa and Nani are trying to get their respective wild children in line with what society wants them to be, and both are struggling hard with it because they in turn have a lot of growing to do before they can actually accomplish that.

Pleakley, the nebbish alien bureaucrat who ends up being assigned to help Dr. Jumbaa despite being mostly uninvolved in creating the whole Stitch situation, is David, the nice but mostly ineffectual guy who's crushing on Nani and wants to help her but doesn't really have much he can provide except emotional support. Ultimately Pleakley and David prove that said emotional support is a lot more helpful than it seems on the surface, as they give Jumbaa and Nani respectively a lot of the pushes they need to become better in their parental roles.

The Grand Councilwoman, who runs the society of aliens that is trying to banish Stitch forever for his crime of existing, is Cobra Bubbles, the Child Protective Services agent who is in charge of deciding whether or not Lilo needs to be taken away from her home forever for, ostensibly, her own good. Both are well-intentioned and stern, with a desire to follow the rules of society and do what procedure says is the most humane thing to do in this situation, but both lack the understanding of Stitch/Lilo's situation to actually help until the end of the movie.

Finally, we have Captain Gantu, the enforcer of the Galactic Council who is a mean, aggressive, sadistic brute but is viewed as a "good guy" by society because he plays by its rules (well, when he knows can't get away with breaking them, anyway), who is the counterpart of Myrtle, the mean, aggressive, sadistic schoolyard bully who is viewed as a "good kid" by other adults because she plays by the rules they established (well, when she knows she can't get away with breaking them, anyway). Both Gantu and Myrtle are, in truth, much nastier in temperament than Stitch and Lilo, but are better at hiding it in front of others and so get away with it, and often make Stitch and Lilo look worse in the eyes of others by provoking them to violence and then playing the victim about it - in fact, both even have the same line, "Does this look infected to you?", which they say after goading their respective wild-child victims into biting them.

The symmetry of these two plotlines allows them to actually feed into each other and build each other up instead of fighting each other for screentime. The fantastical nature of Stitch's plot adds whimsy to the far more realistic problems that Lilo faces so they don't get too heavy for the children in the audience, while the very real struggles of Lilo in her plotline bleed over into Stitch's plot and make both very emotionally poignant. When both plotlines hit their shared climax, they reach children on a emotional level few other movies can match - the terror of Lilo being taken away from her family, and the emotional complexity of that problem (Cobra Bubbles pointing to Lilo's ruined house and shouting at Nani, "IS THIS WHAT LILO NEEDS?" is so starkly real and heart-breaking), is matched and echoed in the visual splendor and mania of the spectacular no-way-this-is-going-to-work chase scene where Stitch, Nani, Jumbaa, and Pleakley all team up to rescue Lilo from Gantu.

The arcs of the characters all more or less line up. Nani confronts her own failures to be a guardian and parent to Lilo and resolves to do better and learn from her mistakes. Jumbaa, who through most of the movie protests to be evil and uncaring, nonetheless comes to not only care for Pleakley, but more importantly for Stitch too, and ends up assuming the role he never wanted but nonetheless forced himself into from the start: he is Stitch's family. Hell, the moment that reveals this is really clever - Stitch goes out into the wilderness to try and re-enact a scene from a storybook of The Ugly Duckling, hoping, in a very childish way, that his family will show up and love him. Jumbaa arrives and, coldly but not particularly cruelly, tells Stitch that he has no family - that Stitch wasn't born, but created in a lab by Jumbaa himself. But in that moment Jumbaa is proving himself wrong - because Stitch's creator, his parent, DID show up, and did exactly what happens in the story by telling Stitch the truth of what he is. It can't be a surprise, then, that later in the movie Jumbaa ends up deciding to side with Stitch, to help him save Lilo, and to stay on Earth with his child.

David and Pleakley go from being pushed away by Nani and Jumbaa respectively to essentially becoming their partners in the family. The Grand Councilwoman and Cobra Bubbles finally see how cruel their initial solution of isolating Stitch and Lilo from their family would be, and bend the rules they are supposed to enforce to protect and support this weird found family instead of breaking it apart. Gantu and Myrtle are recognized for the assholes they are and face comeuppance in the form of comedic slapstick pratfalls. And most importantly, Stitch and Lilo both get the emotional support and understanding they need to thrive and live happy lives as children should be allowed to do. It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It's a very precise, smartly written movie. It's a delicate balancing act of tone and emotions, with a very strong theme about the need for family and understanding that hits children in their hearts and imaginations. It's extremely well structured.

...

So it'd be kind of colossally fucking stupid to remake it and start fucking around with the core structure of it, chopping out pieces and completely altering others, with no real purpose beyond "Well, the executives thought it might be better if we did this."

[thepoetrytheorist]

If you love Disney, its parks, its media, and its merch, listen up.

So I work for Disneyland, and we are talking about striking very soon. So soon, in fact, that we've been hosting rallies just outside of the parks. Yesterday was the 69th birthday of Disneyland Anaheim... it was also a monumental rally.

I haven't seen anyone on tumblr talking about the impending strikes against Disney. Not even going through the Disney tags or searching tumblr for "Disneyland Strike."

Let's talk about why we're striking:

Cost of living in the immediate SoCal region is nearly 2x as much as we are getting paid.

Cast members that have worked for the company for long periods of time are still paid as mucha s new hires.

Disney has showed up to union negotiations with insulting offers, including at 25 cent raise. Most cast members make $19.90

Disney rarely schedules you. In some areas and departments, you are fighting with your fellow cast members for hours. I have heard of cast members who are only scheduled for 1 4-hour shift per week. Many of those cast members have upwards of an hour commute to and from work.

Disney Admin has told attractions castmembers [so: rides, rollercoasters, and anything fun you get to do and see at the parks] that we are losing them money, which is why they refuse to schedule us and pay us. In the words of my partner, who also works at the parks, Disney without attractions is an over glorified mall and a food court. Disney needs us, and they know it, but they do not respect us.

Disney has an unfair attendance policy. It can be very difficult to get a needed day off, even when it has been requested weeks or months in advance. When you do take a day off [with-out accrued sick or vacation time] it counts against you. You can have 3 a month, 6 in 90 days, 9 in 180 days, or 12 in a year. How do you accrue sick/vacation? Hours worked, which can be impossible with the scheduling practices mentioned above. (Most cast members trade shifts among themselves to get around this.)

Cast members feel unsafe and unsupported in the parks. Many cast members have felt threatened by entitled guests upset that they are following policy. Disney Leads and Managers have to say yes to these guests and make things happen, though. [Which only makes this behavior worse and more dangerous for cast members who are only doing their job.]

Cast members also report feeling threatened, or even being literally threatened, by management in the parks. Especially cast members who have a second job. Especially cast members who know their rights.

Further, cast members work in hazardous conditions with pay that does not reflect that. Many cast members report losses of hearing, sore throats, and severe back and shoulder pain. Cast members are also exposed to infectious diseases at a much higher rate.

https://www.sfgate.com/disneyland/article/union-button-contract-dispute-19515296.php?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2u5o_mvU3i6jpIyHxBUZpEzD2GRSKFf5Pem4uRXqa6vKWDgZuffvINd1g_aem_AA1L0fI1phugJIluYMcDSw

[meowdei]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”

[gf2bellamy]

surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready—gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw at the BAU.

The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt.

"I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding.

The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there.

He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.

You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation.

"No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him.

"Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep.

And there was a high chance that you were.

Spencer knew your sleep schedule well—knew exactly how you curled up beneath his sheets, how deep you slept when wrapped in one of his sweaters. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock.

Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.

Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.

But—

You were nowhere to be seen.

His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced.

Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair—something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen.

As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity.

He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders.

The sight made his chest tighten with affection, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze.

He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did.

You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered. 

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Genius. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. 

Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug.

Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought.

He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. 

The way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching—and all his doubts had melted away. 

When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy. 

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide. 

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then, Derek stopped in front of the fridge.

His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor—or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker—a red one, of course—and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date.

"So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin—

"I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had giggled.

And Spencer had loved making you giggle.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which—if he was being completely honest—wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?

Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months—the same woman they were here shopping for—was currently asleep in his bed down the hall?

Absolutely not.

But then—

The choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your—and Spencer’s—coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank.

“Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

Then you stopped.

Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet—something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty.

He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed.

But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward—it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.”

She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide.

“You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway.

As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer, their expressions a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”