#like what word is being translated as such

[veesidesandrarities]

Being creative and even silly in a new language really does help it stick, too!

My now-spouse and I took Japanese together, and he used to come up with bizarre, often nonsensical phrases as soon as we were introduced to new vocabulary words or grammar, and listen, I'm woefully out of practice, but the parts I'm least rusty in recalling?

are almost all inevitably stuff from those silly phrases.

I can't forget that you turn a noun into a verb with adding "wo shimasu", because the goofball started saying "haambaagaa o shimasu", which roughly translates to "hamburgering" and it's just. so stupid! so silly!! what does that even mean?? Lol

I only recall the word for "window" is mado, or how to say "that thing over there", because he used to proudly (and deliberately nonsensicallly) declare "ano mado wa boku no desu", which literally means: "that window over there is mine" (with, if you are curious, a youthful masculine pronoun vibe, because Japanese is way more interesting and nuanced with first person pronouns than English; boku is used by young boys and men, and sometimes by tomboys and butch lesbians, apparently, as it's got a kinda butch energy to it that the gender neutral polite watashi doesn't)

part of the reason i recall the verb hanashimasu so well and the only reason I recall the words for "hospital" (byouin) and "corpse/dead people" (shinin), or that the grammatical particle equivalent to the English preposition "at" is de.... is because he came up with the absurd question:

"what language do dead people speak at the hospital?"

(Which, iirc, is something like: "shinin wa byouin de nani go wo hanashimasu ka?", or, most literally: "dead people [subject marker] hospital at, what language [direct object marker] speak [optional question marker at end of sentence]?", because Japanese as an agglutinating language has VERY different grammar from English lol)

(btw we jokingly decided the only "correct" answer to that would be: "ratingo", aka... Latin. Because, you know, it's a dead language? Har! Yeah, we're dorks lol)

(but also that's the only reason I recall how to say the word for "Latin language " in Japanese either, which also helps me recall the pattern to referring to languages in that language, soooo...)

Anyway, POINT IS

Both he and I remember way more random bits of vocabulary and even crucial bits of grammar, because of those "silly, nonsense" phrases!

So, tldr:

Go ham!! Make up silly stuff in the languages you're studying!!! It's fun AND shockingly helpful!! And to language teachers out there, keep in mind that not only does this practice encourage deeper and more permanent understanding of the language, it ALSO means they have enthusiasm for it... and a good reason to add more and more of the language to their repertoire. Like??

I don't know the German for "my hobby is tax evasion" (because I never studied German) but

boy, that is absolutely a construction of the kind my spouse would have come up with

and if he had, I would definitely remember the Japanese terms for "hobby" and "tax evasion"...🤣

I told my students they're allowed to be creative and don't have to be factual when writing about themselves in German because I keep getting questions like "what if I don't have roommates or what if I don't have hobbies" and I'm like guys just make something up! Have fun! I won't fact check you!

So now I am grading homework where a student is claiming to be from North Korea and his hobby is tax fraud

[mapis-putellas]

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆/𝑶.𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒍𝒆

Spanish is in italics <3

Ona sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her foot bouncing anxiously against the floor. You watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, doing your best to hide your amusement. You’d never seen her so nervous before -not before a match, not before press conferences, not even before meeting your friends. But now? Meeting your parents had her looking like she was about to face a firing squad.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” you teased, stepping closer and brushing a hand through her hair.

Ona sighed dramatically, tilting her head up to look at you. “I think…maybe I am.”

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “They’re going to love you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She groaned, letting her head fall backwards. “Not nervous. Scared.”

That made you laugh outright. “Scared? Why?”

Ona fixed you with a deadpan look. “Because your family is…Irish.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

Her hands flailed as she searched for the right words. “And! I…your English, I learn. Slow, but I learn. But them? I don’t know if…if I will understand.”

You bit your lip, doing your best not to smile too much. You knew this was a genuine fear for her. Your parents’ accents were thick, and their speech patterns could be difficult to follow, even for people who had grown up around them. But Ona had come a long way with her English, even if she didn’t always have confidence in it.

“They know you’re still learning,” you reassured her, kneeling so you were at her level, placing your hands on her thighs and squeezing softly. “They’re not going to care if you miss a few words.”

“But…what if they talk, and I…” She made a motion with her hands, mimicking something flying over her head.

You grinned as you stood, reaching for her hands. “Then I’ll translate.”

She groaned again, but she let you pull her up off the bed, exhaling deeply as she muttered something in Spanish under her breath.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your keys and tucking them into your pocket before sticking out your hand and wiggling your fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

The moment you walked into your parents’ house, you knew Ona was in trouble.

“Jaysus, it’s about time ye got here! I was startin’ to think ye’d gotten lost or somethin’!”

Ona stiffened beside you. You squeezed her hand, biting back a laugh at the look of sheer panic on her face. Your mum rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a tea towel before pulling you into a tight hug. She was barely finished with you before turning to Ona, who barely had time to prepare herself before being pulled into the same embrace.

“And you must be Ona,” your mum said warmly, hands resting on Ona’s shoulders as she gave her a once-over. “Lovely to finally meet ye, love. We’ve heard so much about ye.”

Ona smiled nervously, clearly trying to piece together the words. “Um…thank you?”

Your dad appeared in the doorway then, nodding in greeting. “Howya, love. Hope ye don’t mind a bit of madness. We’re not exactly a quiet bunch.”

Ona’s grip on your hand tightened.

You cleared your throat, stepping in before she had a full-on breakdown. “He’s just saying we’re loud.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah! Sí, sí, is okay. Loud is…nice.”

Your mum beamed. “Ah, isn’t she just the sweetest thing? Come in, love, we’ve got a nice dinner ready for ye both.”

Ona followed you into the house like she was heading toward impending doom.

Dinner was…an experience.

Your parents were nothing if not welcoming, but they were also incapable of slowing down their speech. Which meant that, for the majority of the meal, you had one hand on your fork and the other on Ona’s thigh, gently squeezing every time you needed to translate something.

“So tell me, love, how’s the football goin’?” your dad asked, cutting into his chicken. “Ye keepin’ our one in line?”

Ona blinked. She turned to you immediately, wide-eyed.

You coughed, setting down your fork. “He’s asking if football is going well. And if you keep me in line.”

Ona let out a small breath of relief before turning back to your dad. “Uh…football is…very good. And-“ She smirked slightly, eyes flicking to you. “I try keep in line, but is…hard.”

Your dad roared with laughter, clapping a hand against the table so hard it made Ona visibly startle in surprise. You squeezed her thigh apologetically in response. “Aye, she’s a handful, alright. Ye must have the patience of a saint!”

Ona looked at you in desperation.

You smiled tightly, intending to kill your father for his words later. “He’s saying I’m a handful.”

Ona grinned, nodding enthusiastically and completely ignoring the glare you send her way. “Yes. Mucho handful.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” You scoffed.

Ona placatingly patted the hand you still had on her thigh as she took a bite of her food, and you tightened your hand around the toned muscle in response, having every intention of getting her back for that later. And if the way Ona freckled cheeks flush a lovely shade of red was anything to go by, you knew she was fully ware of this fact.

Well, at least you were on the same page.

Your mum laughed, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Ah, she’s grand. Now, tell me, love, do ye miss home much? I imagine Spain’s a lot warmer than here.”

Ona caught onto a couple of words, clearing her throat as she nodded. “Miss home, yes. Spain is…warmer, sí. But here is nice too.”

Your mum smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. “Aye, good girl.”

Ona turned to you again, confused, and you sighed before begrudgingly complying and leaning in. “She’s just saying good job.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah. Thank you.”

The conversation continued, with you acting as Ona’s personal translator whenever necessary. Which was, well, pretty often, actually, especially when your parents spoke over one another in their excitement.

At one point, your mother turned to her and asked, “So, love, d’ya get much time off or are ya always runnin’ about?”

Ona blinked, before she turned to you. “Translate.”

You tried very, very hard not to laugh, and you were only mildly successful as you were forced to set down the drink you were about to take a mouthful from. “She asked if you get much time off or if you’re always running around.”

Ona let out a soft oh before turning back to your mother. “Um…depende. Sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”

Your mother nodded approvingly. “Ah, so same as anythin’ really.”

Ona turned to you. “Again.”

“She said it’s the same with everything.”

Ona groaned quietly, rubbing her temples. “I need…the slowest English.”

Your father chuckled as he wiped his face with a napkin. “Ah, she’s grand. She’ll be fluent before ya know it.”

Ona didn’t even try to understand that one. She just looked at you with a look that said, help me, and you couldn’t help but grin as you squeeze her thigh again.

“He said you’re good.”

Ona seemed doubtful. “Too fast.” She looked down at her plate before sighing and dropping her hands.

Your dad winked at her. “You’ll catch up soon enough, pet.”

Ona stared, then turned to you once more.

You translated, and she groaned again, dropping her head onto your shoulder. “No puedo.”

“You can,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to her hair as you wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed softly. “You’re doing great, baby.”

She glanced up at you. “Really?”

“I promise.” You assured.

Ona let out another long, dramatic sigh, before sitting up and turning to your mother. “You…speak slow, please?”

Your mother nodded seriously. “Of course, love.”

She lasted approximately two minutes before she was rambling at full speed again.

Ona shot you a look, and you just laughed.

“Welcome to the family, baby.” You placed a fond kiss to her forehead.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[ramp-it-up]

Peach VII

Peach VI | Peach VIII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Do you leave there single or a married woman?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I have all of the words and none of the confidence. Oh I hope you like it. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. This is part one of the Valentine's weekend bundle. I hope you like it. Let me know my LOVEs! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach VI. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve Rogers is rich, bitches!, the big one bling, the event! stripping, pole dancing, lap dancing, sloppy blow job, is this Subby!Steve? woman on top, nipple play (m receiving), size kink, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, a lil bit of cum play. Family feeeelings, Bucky being Bucky, Steve being a simp, jealous bitches, almost catching a case at a gala.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

“Is that what you want?” Steve said as his hands gripped your waist.

You couldn't look away from his eyes which were deeply searching yours.

When you moved your hand to his chest, his heart thudded through the muscle and the bone to your fingertips.

You nodded and marveled at how far you both had come in such a short amount of time.

You were sure.

“I’m not going back on what I said, Steve. If you ask me, I’m ready.”

Steve couldn’t believe his luck.

“How much is that promise worth to you, Peach? Because when I make a promise, I keep it.”

His beautiful deep velvet voice had you swooning in his arms. 

“Everything. It’s worth everything, Steve.”

It was unthinkable what you were feeling. But it was oh so right.

Steve’s look was so serious for a moment and then he kissed you again. He flipped you over, torso pinning yours down, abs between your legs. You whined with need as he kissed you, tenderly, his fingers tracing your face.

Then he pulled away.

“Get dressed, Peach.”

“What?

“Get dressed. Pack up. You’re checking out of the hotel.'

You looked at him and cocked your eyebrow.

“Oh. Am I?”

Steve chuckled at your sass. It was so cute. Then he pulled you close and whispered in your ear.

“Yes. You are. Remember I said that I was going to give you what you need, when you need it?”

You shivered at the way Steve handled you.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

“Well, I need you to trust me. And I need to ask you a question."

“Understood.”

Steve kneeled at the side of the bed, those eyes focused on you. He looked like a little boy.

And then he asked you a very grown up question.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the corridor to Steve’s penthouse at the top of the Rebirth building. There were two doors on the entire hallway, both mirroring each other. 

Steve walked beside you to one of the entrances, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back, a touch both casual and possessive. 

Your mouth dropped open when the door opened on floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline. 

The view went on forever.

"Jesus, Steve. This is… Beautiful!"

Your eyes shone as you turned in a circle to take in the room.

"Wait until you see the rest."

You were wandering now, your fingertips trailing over the sleek countertops, the rich leather of his couch, and the curated artwork lining the walls. Everything about the space was sophisticated, masculine, Steve.

You wondered how you could lend your touch.

Steve had gone into another room, his bedroom, you imagined, to put your things down. He came up behind you as you stared out of the window, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He kissed your neck as you leaned your head back on his chest.

“This place is… it’s amazing, Steve. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“More amazing now that you’re here. And you better believe it.”

“I have something for you…a wedding gift”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, bringing it in front of you. 

The diamonds on your hand glittered and caught your eye as you reached to touch what was inside. It was a necklace with double diamond solitaires, one cushion cut and one pear shaped, nestled side by side on a thin, gleaming chain.

A moi et toi design.

To match your ring.

You blinked up at him, craning your neck to look him in the eye. He pecked you on the lips.

“Steve…”

He reached out, and plucked the necklace from the box. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck as he draped it around you.

“Moi et toi,” he murmured near your ear. “Me and you.”

You swallowed, your fingers rising to touch the stones on your skin as you gazed out on the city. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Two stones side by side; one strengthens the other.” 

His thumb brushed over your collarbone, tracing the edge of the necklace. 

“That’s what we are. It’s what you do for me. Make me want to be a better man.”

You exhaled, your lips parting slightly as you turned around in his arms.

“Steve. You are a good man. You’re just doing things in a slightly unconventional way. You’re talking to the queen of unconventional. Remember where we met?”

There you were, being adorable again. The way you’d fought him up until this week made Steve stand in disbelief at how accepting you were of him. And how easily you’d run off with him to Connecticut tonight to become his wife. 

It was crazy, but it was so right.

“I do. I seem to recall meeting you in heaven, because all I remember thinking is ‘who is this angel?’”  

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“You’ve been hanging around Bucky too long.”

Steve chuckled, tilting your chin up with a knuckle. He was happy.

“You’re right. But anyway, the necklace is for tomorrow, I mean the Gala tonight. Something to remind you that no matter who else is in the room... you’re my wife."

You swallowed at the octave drop in Steve’s voice and he traced your throat with his thumb as you did it. Steve gathered you to him, pressing his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered into your ear.

“Come with me, there’s something else I want to show you. " 

He grabbed your hand and led you down a hallway. 

You followed until he stopped and turned to you with a mischievous grin. Then, he opened the door behind his back and backed in so he could watch your face.

Curious, you followed him inside. 

Then you froze. 

It was a good sized space. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the soft glow of LED track lighting. You stepped out on the wood floor and realized that it was made from premium materials.

But what really caught your attention was the sleek, stainless-steel pole standing tall in the center of the room. You turned slowly, meeting Steve's expectant gaze. 

"You have a dance studio?" 

"You have a dance studio," he corrected. 

"I arranged for it to be started while we were in Hilton Head and it was just finished yesterday. I wanted you to have a place to move. To feel free while you’re in Brooklyn."

You went to the pole and grabbed it and leaned out, checking it. It was sturdy and conditioned. You twirled a little and came to rest, the pole between the ass cheeks of your leggings. 

Steve’s look became hungry, and his cock jumped in his sweats. If he was thinking of sleep earlier, he was wide awake now. 

And some parts of him were more awake than others. 

“So… you had a dance studio built, for me, while we were in Hilton Head? Me, a woman who was threatening your life?”

The way you smiled at him made Steve’s heart flutter. He nodded and came close and tried to kiss you, but you twirled away from him to the other side of the pole. He flashed you a smile and your butterflies started up again.

“It was right after you threatened to shoot my balls off. I knew you had it bad.”

Steve sighed as if he was nostalgic for your death threats. You laughed as Steve grabbed for you again.

You scooted away from him.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Rogers,” you admonished as your finger wagged in front of those lips. 

Then you pointed, and Steve followed your hand as if mesmerized. He was the one who had it bad.

“Why don’t you sit down so I can test this thing out? Haven’t had a proper dance workout all week.”

Steve nodded and went to sit down on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

You stepped forward, and your pulse quickened as you held Steve’s gaze. He leaned back against the back of the chaise, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his t-shirt straining across his shoulders, biceps, and chest.

His blue eyes were focused with an intensity that sent a shiver through your body.

"Music?" you prompted. 

Steve smirked and tapped his phone. A pulsating beat filled the room, the bass vibrating beneath your feet, and causing your hips to sway. You didn’t have your heels and you were in loungewear, but one of those things was to your advantage.

You grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt, teasing a glimpse of your skin as you swayed to the music.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his breath visibly slowed.

You took your time, dragging the cotton up your body as you shimmied, baring the skin of your stomach, then your bra, then your collarbones as your head was hidden for half a second.

You winked when you emerged and you moved closer as you leaned over him and placed your garment on the lounge next to him.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his jaw clenched, and you didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Then, you turned around, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your leggings and looked over your shoulder to find him staring at your ass and licking his lips. Steve looked up at you, his blue eyes burning now as you smirked at him and peeled the black material down to reveal your flesh, in black lace, bent fully at the waist. 

Steve’s hands twitched for want of reaching out. He exhaled sharply, restraint hanging by a thread.

You straightened up slowly, twerking and slapping your own ass, holding a cheek so that he could see the lace-clothed split of you. You shot him a saucy wink as you stepped out of your clothing, pushing it aside with the tip of your toe before slowly running your hands down your body. 

You brought your hands up to your face, sliding them down your neck to your chest, then your sides, letting your fingers skim over your ribs, down your stomach, then back up, skirting along your bra and pulling your nipples through the fabric. 

Steve made a low sound in his throat, his control cracking.

It was just as he decided to reach out to touch you that you walked toward the pole on tip toes, the only way you knew how to do it. 

“No touching unless I give permission. That’s the rule in Peach’s Parlor.”

Steve cocked his head, grinning now.

“Peach’s Parlor? So you like it? You taking ownership of the place?”

He was proud that you seemed pleased. You smiled back at him in response, exhaling and letting the rhythm take you.

You started with a slow walk around the pole, each step deliberate, your hips swaying just enough to raise the temperature of his blood degree by degree. 

His smile dropped and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, his restraint evident in every rigid line of his body as his eyes followed your every move

You reached up, gripping the pole above your head, then lifted yourself effortlessly, letting momentum carry you into a slow spin. The world blurred for a moment, the mirrors reflecting your every movement as you let your legs extend, toes pointed, body fluid. 

The way you moved was unhurried, deliberate, and so alluring. Steve sighed and bent his head to the side, taking you in. Then he bit his lip, remembering how you felt earlier. You felt so fucking good, your sweet, hot pussy pulsing around him.

He was putting the cart before the horse, but he wanted to be your baby daddy so bad. He head was in the clouds as you hooked one leg around the pole, arching your back as you slid downward in a controlled descent, your body moving with the music, sensual and confident. 

The way your muscles flexed and relaxed, the roll of your hips was mesmerizingly beautiful. You were performing your art for Steve, moving for his pleasure. 

But you were in control. 

And it made Steve remember that this is what it was that made him fall for you in the first place. Damn, he wanted you, and even though you were only steps away, it was driving him crazy. 

When you reached the floor, you dropped to your knees, your thighs spread, fingers skimming down your skin as you stared at him.

Steve rubbed his hands on his pants to ease the itch of his fingers wanting to grasp you.

You stood and grabbed the pole once more, swinging around in another smooth, effortless climb. You wrapped your legs around the metal, suspended for a moment, before twisting into an elegant descent, your body brushing against the pole in a way that made Steve’s balls ache.

When you landed, you moved toward him on tiptoe again, all legs and glistening body, hips swaying, eyes locked onto his.

Steve only moved to put his hands on the back of the lounge, but other than that he was still.

In a graceful move, you straddled him carefully, knees on either side of his slim hips. You were close enough for him to feel your warmth, but were barely touching him. The heat coming from your core made him feral and his eyes were drawn downward to the source.

You felt a tremendous power, so you reached for his chin and tilted it up so he could look into your eyes. 

Steve almost got lost there, but when you whispered, “Good boy,” he forgot how to breathe.

He didn't know he liked that, but the fact that you'd guessed it made you even more perfect for him. 

He covered a whimper by clearing his throat, causing a secret smile to grace your lips as you slowly rolled your hips and arched your back, your tits barely grazing his chest. 

Steve's eyes were everywhere, watching everything, especially your nipples, which were so hard and beautiful through the lace.

He felt like if he could just to suck them for a minute, everything in the world would be alright.

A minute each. 

Maybe an hour.

Steve's breath was hot against your skin, but he still hadn’t touched you. His grip on the chaise tightened, his control hanging by a thread.

You ran your fingers down your body before leaning backward and grazing his thighs and it was just enough to plan out the pattern of his skeet along your skin.

He was sure, with practice, that he could spell out his name.

In one fluid movement, you turned around, pressing your back to his chest, and, lightly, so lightly, too lightly, ground against his rigid cock with slow, deliberate precision.

Steve felt delirious and close to expiring.

“Fuck, Peach… You trying to kill me?” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. “We just got married.”

Married!

You looked over your shoulder at him and moved your lips close to his, smiling as you saw the muscles in his corded neck tense.  You leaned in, your lips hovering near his ear.

“You're so good for me Stevie… Such a good... big... boy.”

You twerked the last three words in his lap, causing him to exhale sharply and his hands to twitch. You arched, rolling your body against his again. 

And then.

Finally, finally, you let yourself sink into his lap, pressing fully against his cock. He could feel your moist pussy lips through layers of fabric.

And that’s when Steve’s restraint snapped.

His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard, his fingers digging into your skin. You leaned back and his lips found your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You smirked and turned around, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer beneath your touch.

Steve crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your laughter in a kiss that was deep and desperate. His hands roamed your body, tracing lace, his need evident in every touch.

“My sweet Peach. Mrs. Rogers,” he growled against your skin, voice thick with hunger.

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“Yesss. Say Heyyyy, Mrs. Rogers…,” you teased.

One hand clasped his throat, squeezing his Adam's apple lightly as his blue eyes shone from his slitted lids. Steve's cock pulsed in his pants, then he took a ragged breath before he spoke.

“Heyyyyyy. Mrs. Rogers...”

You rolled your hips against his impressive bulge as Steve’s baritone rumbled in your ear. As you reached for the hem of his shirt, he kissed you, grabbing the collar to take it off.

You looked at Steve appreciatively as you bent and licked one erect nipple, then wrapped your lips around the tiny button, pulling it into your mouth and eliciting a small groan from him.

You took your time, enjoying his sounds which got louder and louder.

"Such a good boy making those pretty sounds for me, Stevie."

You licked, sucked and savored him as you alternated from one pec to the other.

“Wanna always be good for you, Peach...” 

Steve gritted it out as you grabbed him by the hair, pulling him into a filthy, long, deep kiss. He grabbed for you and held on as your mouth plundered his.

Then you pulled away.

“I have a question, Mr. Rogers,” you unclasped your bra, then leaned forward and stuffed your nipple into his mouth, moaning as he looked up at you with those clear blue eyes and sucked enthusiastically.

“How is it you married me, and I hadn’t even sucked your cock yet?”

Steve pulled off your tight, wet nipple with a plop and chuckled. Then he got serious.

“Must be true love.”

You felt his cock pound between your legs and knew what had to happen. His fingernails scratched your thighs trying to hold on to you as you moved back to stand.

When he saw that you were going to kneel, he quickly moved a pillow from the chaise for you to settle in front of him. He then lifted his hips from the couch and pulled down his sweats and boxers in one move.

His erection sprung out and you licked your lips, ready to finally feel the smooth skin in your mouth.

"Touch yourself for me, Stevie."

Steve took himself in hand and started stroking from base to head, thumb swiping the drops of precum in passing. His burning gaze was on you but your eyes were glued to what was in his fist. 

“Fuck that’s hot… Wan’ taste you,” you were whining now, feeling deprived. 

“Whatever you want,” Steve whispered in a strained voice after looking into those big, beautiful eyes.  

You ran your fingers over his thick dick all the way down to the heavy, tight balls. 

“So pretty…” 

You kept eye contact as you leaned in and gave him a long, wet lick from balls to head. Your tongue rolled over the soft skin of the large mushroom cap, taking in the dewey drops leaking from it.

You licked down the hard shaft, until you reached the base and ran your tongue over his large sac.

You began sucking on his tip, tonguing underneath, and humming around his head, causing Steve to murmur, “Fffeels so fucking good, Peach.”

He was carding his fingers through your hair as he said it.

Inspired, you took him as far as you could, until your lips were stretched to the limit and tears coursed down your face. You inhaled the musky scent of him in the hair at the base of his cock and looked back up to watch his contracting abs and heaving chest, his open mouth and those mesmerizing eyes. 

This was a fucking beautiful man.

Steve’s big hands gathered your hair and held it, just tight enough to send a zing to your clit. 

“Peachhhhh, that mouth is so fucking good.”

Steve was in love with how you sucked him off. He rolled his hips and found out just how snug your throat really was. When you pulled off, tears were rolling down your face.

He wiped your tears away with his thumb. 

"Y' look so fucking pretty like this, Peach.”

The way you took him all when you deep throated him again sent the cum crawling up his balls. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Shit.”

You pulled off and released him with a filthy plop, watching as he desperately squeezed his cock at the base, trying to stop the impending explosion.

He reached out for you with his other hand and you climbed up onto his lap as he marveled at your messy hair, your bouncing tits, and fucked out expression.

“You’re a fucking goddess. Wanna cum down your throat, Peach, but don’t swallow our kids. Need ‘em inside you.”

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you reached down and grabbed it, perfecting its position as you sank down on it loving the feeling as he stretched you out again.

You both watched in fascination as your pussy engulfed him preceded by the juices from your wet pussy. Steve’s hands grabbed onto your hips, and you wanted him to bruise you, to have a mark on you from this for days. 

Your head lolled back as you glided down on your husband’s thick cock. He lifted you by your waist and alternated fucking you up and down his dick and thrusting into you, hitting angles he hadn't before.

His grunts and your moans were beautiful music.

“Please look at me, Peach.”

His tone was reverent and you couldn't help but obey. The sounds you two were making sent you right to the edge of a precipice.

“Oh… right…there… right fucking there!”

You keened as you scratched the skin on his shoulders and biceps. 

“Fucking me so good, Stevie…So righttt. N-need you to keep hitting it like that…give it to me just like that. All your cum. Inside me.”

He was hitting those bundles of nerves just right.

“You need it like that hunh? I'll give it to you until it drips out of you... Need it dripping down my gotdamn balls....”

And he proceeded to fuck up into you perfectly. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his hair and you leaned in for a filthy kiss.

He gripped your throat and carefully squeezed to control your airflow. Your eyes began to roll and your cunt clenched down on him. Hard.

"Ffuckk, " He had to grit his teeth to keep from cumming. "Need you to fucking cum, Peach....."

“I- I’m close Stevieeee. Ahhh. Give it. Gonna have all your babies….”

Your pussy started clenching around him.

“Holy FUCK!”

Steve picked you up and placed you on the chaise, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he drilled into you. He slid a hand between you and rubbed your clit in soul-destroying circles.

“Drain these fucking balls...shhhhhitttttt!"

You clutched him close as you felt his cock start and continue to spurt hot cum inside you. As he softened, he sat back on his heels and spread your legs to watch his cum drip out of you. He trailed two fingertips down your sensitive slit and pushed it back inside you, all the while a sly grin on his face.

He caught your eye. 

“Can’t waste a drop.”

“You are filthy slut, Mr. Rogers.”

He laughed. 

“Only for you, Mrs. Rogers.” 

Steve grabbed his t-shirt to clean you both up a bit. Next thing you knew, you were being carried out of the studio and through to his master bedroom 

It was daylight when you were lightly snoring in his arms and Steve was grinning wide, his wife in his arms.

—

The next afternoon, you sat in front of the vanity in Bucky’s penthouse as the hired glam team worked around you and your cousin. The stylist meticulously worked with your hair while the makeup artist added the final sweep of highlighter across her cheekbones.

The two of you had been getting ready together for years, first as teenagers sneaking into her mother’s closet, and now as women preparing for an extravagant event in a high-rise overlooking Manhattan. But this afternoon was different.

Her eyes met yours in the mirror. You had just her the rundown of the day before, complete with the news that you and Steve were married. She’d been quiet for a while, but now it seemed she was ready to talk again.

“You’re really happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but certain.

You blinked, then exhaled.

“Yes I am.”

“You and Steve are perfect for each other. "

She leaned over and grabbed your hand, grinning at you.

"This isn’t a race. I’m never gonna be jealous of you, girl.”

You grinned back.

“I’m pissed that I wasn’t able to be there, though.”

You sighed. Your one regret.

“I know. But it was perfect. Just the two of us. We’ll have a party later on, though. And tonight, we’ll celebrate.”

You turned thoughtful.

“The way Steve loves me should terrify me. But it doesn’t.”

She studied you for a moment. 

“Because?”

“Because when I’m with him, it makes sense. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me—it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Your cousin smiled, tilting her head as the hairstylist and makeup artist switched and her hair was being fussed over. 

“I know you think that I feel some kind of way, but I know you girl. I was shocked, but not surprised..”

She laughed and you shook your head.

“Running off and getting married is so you. It’s so Steve too when you think about it.”

You took a sip of the mimosa that Bucky had brought in earlier. You thought what was about to happen for your cousin.

“Real talk. Bucky adores you, Cousin. And I know you. And I’m getting to know Bucky. This engagement and wedding are going to be events. Events, I say. You wouldn’t have it any other way. .You’re about to get some bling to match that jewelry you got on tonight in Vermont next week.” 

You two laughed together, the mood lighter now. 

“You’re right,” she replied. I’m secure. It will happen. And just at the right time for us. And no matter what, Peach. You are never gonna lose me as your biggest fan, no matter what.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, cousin.”

You hugged each other so hard, the stylists had to touch you back up.

As you finished up, the sound of deep voices and approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door opened, and Bucky stepped in first, his navy tuxedo perfectly tailored, his gaze immediately softening when he saw your cousin. 

“Damn Frumoasă,” he murmured, taking her in with slow appreciation. 

“You’re making it real hard for me to let you out of this apartment tonight.”

She shot him a look.

“Smooth, Barnes,” she smirked at him. “Nice suit.”

“What? This old thing?”

Bucky smirked back as he took her hand and led her out of the room.

You rolled your eyes at them because you had the feeling they were being freaky, you just couldn’t prove it.

Steve walked in, ensconced in an impressively tailored dark tux, his presence commanding as always, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted. 

You were wearing a short gold sequined gown that showcased your legs, and you felt like a princess. 

Like a wife.

His usual air of control wavered for a fraction of a second, his gaze dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

You arched that adorable brow at him, tilting your head. 

“No comment?”

Steve exhaled, stepping closer, his voice rough around the edges. 

“You already know, Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky chuckled, clapping Steve on the shoulder. 

“Think you broke him, Peach. Congratulations, Mrs. Rogers.”

You grinned, gave Bucky a hug and reached for your clutch. 

Steve reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he murmured, “Hold on.”

You frowned slightly, watching as Bucky guided your cousin toward the door, leaving just the two of you in the room. Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out another small black velvet box.

Your breath caught, your heart skipping for just a second.

He popped the top, revealing a pair of dazzling double diamond drop earrings, the perfect complement to the moi et toi necklace resting against your collarbone and the ring on your finger. All you could do was look at them and then blink up at him.

“Steve…”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Thought you should match.”

You shook your head and laughed.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Steve lifted an earring, stepping close to help fasten it in place and his touch lingered.

“You say that now,” he murmured and then moved to the other side, his lips just a breath away from your skin.

“But you love it.”

You turned into his arms and looked into his eyes.

“You know if you keep giving me gifts like this, you’re going to spoil me.”

His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, voice low, “Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky cleared his throat from the doorway, breaking the moment. He was leaning against the frame, smirking. 

“Hate to interrupt, but Nico’s waiting. Unless you two want to skip the gala entirely.”

You rolled your eyes at the dark headed man and flipped him off.

"You're going to get enough of watching us like a drama."

"Never. You two are my favorite romcom."

Steve exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he kissed your neck, producing a shiver. Then, lacing his fingers with yours, he led you toward the door.

—

The way the night was going seemed like a dream, arriving on Steve’s arm and watching the reactions. Some were surprised, but most just commented that you were such a handsome couple and gave congratulations.

Sharon was clearly not happy, but fuck that bitch.

Steve hadn’t given her, or anyone else that matter, a second glance.

When the music started, Steve danced with you to all the tempos, even the Salsa when that genre was played. You had a time, and then you two went to the bar to get refreshments.

Sharon chose that moment to show her ass. You barely had a sip of your amaretto sour before she started on her bullshit.

“Steve,” she purred, looking up at him under her lashes and placing her hand on his forearm. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Steve tactfully removed his arm from her grasp while the fingers on his other hand reached for you and rested low on your back, his thumb stroking a slow, deliberate circle against the sequined fabric of your gown.

“It’s been two days, Sharon,” he replied, his tone clipped. And annoyed.

Your cousin and Bucky moved closer, probably because she clocked what was going on.

Sharon ignored Steve’s tone and turned to you. 

“And you must be the entertainment. Nice dress. Is it easy to take off?”

The words sounded sweet as honey, but you heard the venom underneath. 

“I guess congratulations are in order? I hear you two ran off and got married. I guess that's a choice. It’s probably refreshing, going from someone like Peggy to someone like…Peaches..”

“It’s Peach,” you replied. 

The bitch was silent.

Sharon’s gaze flicked to your ring, then your jewelry, then down the length of your gown. 

“Although you do wear luxury well. Tell me, how does it feel knowing it’s all borrowed? That he’s probably going to dump you tomorrow. Get an annulment and leave your ass in the gutter strip club where he found you.”

You could feel the heat of Steve’s fury at your side, his body tensing like he was about to snap.

Your mouth opened to reply, but your cousin stepped up, anger rolling off of her body.

“You know what’s really refreshing, Sharon? Watching a woman who wants to fuck around with me and my family and find out.”

She lowered her voice.

“And like a cable, we jump hoes.”

The air around you shifted, and a few party-goers slowed their conversations to listen.

Bucky stepped forward as Sharon’s jaw twitched into a twisted smile. Bucky whispered in your cousin's ear. She glared at him and started taking off her jewelry, handing her earrings to him. Bucky shook his head and pulled her to the side while she gave him the business.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.” Sharon simpered. “It’s just the truth.”

Sharon looked between you and Steve.

“You are nothing but negative. You don’t have to worry about my marriage. Or your endowment anymore, Sharon.”

Steve spoke to her, his eyes blazing blue.

You smiled at your man, then took a slow step forward, closing the space between you, lowering your voice just enough that only Sharon, and Steve, could hear.

“Do you think calling me a stripper is an insult?” 

Your voice was strong and steady.

“I own what I do. I’m damn good at what I do. And you?” 

You looked her up and down, eyebrow deadly.

“You’re standing here, burning because even with your family ties, and your desperate little designer dress, the only woman Steve wants is me. He married me.”

You leaned in even closer.

“The difference between us? I don’t have to chase him. I just have to walk into a room.” 

You smiled at her sweetly.

“And he follows.”

The moment the words left your lips, Steve did exactly that. 

As he left her in her feelings,  Steve tossed a comment over his shoulder.

“You just got your ass handed to you in front of half the room,” he mused. 

“I’d cut my losses and walk away.”

One of the staffers turned up at that moment. 

“This way, Ms. Carter. I’ll be escorting you out.”

The four of you watched as she turned red and huffed and puffed on her way out of the door. After everyone around you went back to minding their own business, your cousin hugged you hard.

“I love you. That was perfection.”

You hugged her back. 

“Thank you, Boo.”

You released her as Bucky handed her earrings back and Steve looked at you with admiration in his eyes. 

“You handled that well.”

You smirked. “I know.”

Steve pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, not bothering to lower his voice when he said, “I’ll remind you how much I love that later.”

Your cousin groaned dramatically.

 “You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

Bucky grabbed a bottle of Moet from the table display.

“A toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Steve Rogers!”

Your husband looked at you with a smile. You don’t know what was coming your way as Steve's wife, but you knew it wouldn’t be boring.

[kneebie]

there's a book i like that's called "When Prophecy Fails: A Social and Psychological Study of a Modern Cult That Predicted the End of the World." It's an actual study, with follow ups on a cult in Michigan, I think it was? It's hella dry, but it does a good job explaining the history of doomsday cults before diving into the modern ones

One of the first anecdotes of the story is the anabaptists, some four to five hundred years ago. When the bible was first translated, Martin Luther said, "hey btw your personal interpretation? That's also a correct interpretation, because it is a divine script," or something along those lines, and people went NUTS.

One particular experience is recollected in which a dude strolls into town after the second failure of the world to end, and a random villager calls out, "HEY, JOHANNES! WHERE IS YOUR WIFE? WAS SHE RAPTURED WITHOUT YOU?" which really goes to show Twitter has existed in us throughout all of the ages, even without the tech

And ALSO goes to show that the thing that kept those doomsday cults going was that, at the end of the day? People weren't there to hash it out. People were there to say fuck off with your heretical views, etc. And so a large amount of outreach was completely neglected because, like, why would you? They're silly. They're stupid. How could they even believe such a thing?

Except, and here's the thing, and it's all over this website: we are not immune to cults. People get caught up in echo chambers all the time, and it's nice to finally have that sense of belonging. You go out of the group, and what do you find? Oh man, people are HELLA mean outside your own ingroup.

This is basically what grifters and cults have in common. Some cults can be relatively benign. Grifters? Much, MUCH more rarely. And so, consciously or not, Trump's counting on the fact that when his tariffs raise the price of, say, eggs, we are all going to yell "HEY JOHANNES WHERE IS YOUR WIFE," all over again. And so people who are seeing signs of shit being bad will go OH, NOT SAFE IN THE OUTGROUP, GONNA GO BACK TO THE INGROUP, and reinforce their worldviews from inside their own heads, rather than with external observations. Cause the external observations are generally brought on by dicks and jackasses more interested in saying "I WAS RIGHT" than "hey man yeah, you're right, the price of eggs has gone up for those reasons and it does kind of suck."

Am I saying that every single Trump supporter needs to be courted with lovely words and woo-ed back to share the same reality? No. Trump's actively courted white nationalists and armed militia members, as well as the people sympathetic to those causes.

Which is to say, there's a spectrum of Trump supporter. There's the ethnonationalists. And there's the people who kinda just don't give a shit, and haven't, and he said some words in some soundbites that sounded like it'd help with everyday problems they're facing. That's what a demagogue does. Just says shit and some of it sticks.

So instead of being like "JESUS CHRIST YOU RACIST," try and open a dialogue first. Figure out if they're the sort of person who hasn't given it much thought, or was tricked because they trusted the wrong source, or if they're part of the Proud Boys. Doesn't usually take long to figure that out.

And even then, when you're about to go attacking that white nationalist? The Republican party is the party of grievances. That's why it's one hundo percent culture war one hundo percent of the time. Just give a thought to how far you're personally going to fuel that grievance, since dogpiling one Republican can then reinforce HUNDREDS TO THOUSANDS of other Republicans, with the way Shapiro and other talking heads work.

I'm not saying don't! It's now more critical than ever to express dissent, and to show that not everyone agrees with the fascist in charge atm. Just know how they work, and how they're going to use your own good intentions, and make your own calculations on whether it's worth it to be a dick to someone online

Might I give some advice:

Not everyone has (or needs to have) the energy to thoughtfully respond to republicans on the Internet. You do not have to do that.

But some people do, and can. And I think we gotta let them.

An example:

I have a former teacher, I'll call her Grace, who is an incredibly kind woman in her 70s. Devout catholic, had voted for various parties over the years, but has been pretty strictly democrat over the past 15-20 because that aligns with her values of kindness and service.

She shared a post about the pope's recent letter and expressed that she agreed with his concerns about how trump is treating immigrants. A friend of hers commented a long paragraph basically saying "dear Grace I care for you but I don't understand how you can be a Christian and a democrat. Blah blah abortion blah blah gender blah blah drugs."

Grace replied "I'm very busy right now but I am going to respond to you soon with my thoughts". When she did it was an incredibly generous, rational monologue that connected with this person's humanity, their shared religious values, and made a beautiful case for why she supports who she does. I didn't agree with a good half of what she said as I am not a Christian, but the result was an expression of values that I think put her on the side of justice and compassion.

The person replied and thanked her and said she had a lot to think about. It was probably the best case scenario for a Facebook politics conversation

You know what came very close to ruining it? A bunch of (mostly younger) people piling on with "fuck you you racist maga pos" and "no one has to explain anything to you, go to hell" etc etc. Even after Grace wrote that she intended to reply herself.

I watched this republican respond to all the easy, quick insults by saying "this is why I don't think any democrats can be Christian, this is how you all speak to me." If Grace hadn't put so much work into writing her response in a way that was tailored to fit this person, I would not be surprised if that person left Facebook doubly certain that Christian nationalism is the way to go.

I'm not saying we can't cuss out jackasses. I'm not saying everyone needs to respond to bad faith arguments like Grace did or use their time like she did.

But this was on Grace's Facebook page, and interrupted the work she already volunteered to do. Just so these individuals could feel like they "did something" and got a shot off at an enemy.

I think that's selfish and childish and unproductive. They could have said anything they wanted in their own space, but they made grace's job harder for no fuckin reason. And then "loved" her reply and said "that was beautiful Grace, thank you for sharing your thoughts"

Like... Buddies. Pals. If someone volunteers to scrub the toilet fucking let them.

[yumeka-sxf]

The school vacation is over and the new term at Eden is starting...of course, Anya is less than pleased with this development 😅

Seriously, her groaning reminds me of my "anti-school" phase I had when I was around her age, lol.

This chapter was mainly focused on introducing Anya's new classmates. I'll admit that I feel SxF has enough side characters already for the type of series it is, but maybe they'll only be relevant for one story/arc (like Daybreak and Wheeler). Though having another female friend in Connie might be nice. She seems weird enough for Anya to have fun reading her mind 😂

Since recent chapters have dropped hints about Anya's past and the emphasis on mind-reading abilities/the occult via Melinda, plus we have the lingering mystery of Anya's affinity for classical languages, I feel like this new set up at Eden is going to play into that. Not only has Arnold returned, but we now have a supposed prince in the mix. It's been theorized that Anya's classical language skills are somehow tied to royalty in a foreign land...so maybe Tertius is connected to that somehow. I mean, you must be royally royal to have hair shaped like a crown 🤣

Then we have the as-of-yet unnamed kid who flicked a booger on Tertius. Curious what role he'll play if all this is indeed leading up to more Anya backstory reveal.

I should clear up some weird translation in the English version. In the below panel, it seems like Tertius is mentioning Jeeves, but the term he's using is 爺や ("jiiya") which I believe is an old term used to refer to an elderly male servant.

Now the word "jeeves" in English is a generic term used to refer to a butler or valet. If you've watched enough movies and/or TV series, you may have heard someone refer to their butler as "jeeves." So technically it's not an incorrect translation, but it's incredibly confusing because we already have an established character named Jeeves, who is Damian's butler. So this could make people think that Tertius knows Jeeves, which is likely not the case. They really should have come up with a different word to use, something like "pop" or "gramps."

Besides the new characters, we now have more potential for Anya and Damian to be alone, without influence from Emile, Ewen, and Becky. Hopefully it will lead to more talk about Anya's mind-reading and Desmond lore.

Guess that's all I have to say about this chapter as it mostly seems like setup for what's to come. I've probably mentioned before that the Eden-focused stories aren't exactly my favorites, especially when Anya isn't a key player. But hopefully whatever's going on with Tertius and the booger kid will be leading up to something significant in the end.

Interestingly, this is the first chapter since Loid's backstory that's being split into parts, as this chapter is called 112.1 (112 part 1 in the Japanese version). Similar to what he did for Loid's backstory chapters, Endo tweeted about this for chapter 112. Guess it's just gonna be two parts?

Also, on an unrelated note, we also got the cover reveal for volume 15 today! Features Martha, not surprised since it will include chapters from the Henry/Martha backstory arc.

[rafeyssugar]

Hellooo good morning 😋 so this might be bordering on too specific but you got deaf!Maybank!reader who's a relative of JJs. She came to visit and while she's out and about with JJ and maybe one or two of the other pogues Rafe shows up and decides to start something and tries to start in on the reader but she was never good at lip reading so she can't even follow along with what he's saying

Readers scared and confused so JJ tells her to go on ahead and he had to explain to Rafe that she's deaf and he has one of those super rare "oh shit, maybe I was an asshole" moments and either later in the day or on a different day he tries to find reader (with a notepad and a pencil this time since he can't sign) to apologize :>

lost in translation

the outer banks was as chaotic as ever, but you had learned to navigate it well enough. visiting your cousin jj meant reckless adventures, late-night bonfires, and getting dragged into whatever trouble the pogues had brewing that week.

you didn’t mind. even if keeping up with everyone’s fast-paced conversations was impossible, jj had always been good at making sure you weren’t left out. he was your bridge to a world that often moved too fast, too loud, too unpredictably for you to follow.

but jj wasn’t perfect.

so when rafe cameron showed up, all sharp smirks and bad intentions, you knew this was about to go south.

you caught the way jj tensed beside you, the way pope sighed like this was just another headache they had to deal with. kie looked about ready to step in, but rafe had already zeroed in on jj, spitting out something that—judging by the clench of jj’s jaw—wasn’t exactly friendly.

you tried to keep up, watching rafe’s mouth move, but he was talking too fast, too aggressively. you caught jj’s name. something about pogues. something about money.

but then rafe’s focus shifted to you.

your stomach twisted as his eyes flicked over you, assessing, judging, before his lips moved again. he was speaking directly to you now, waiting for some kind of reaction, but you had no idea what he was saying.

you glanced at jj, confusion clear on your face. jj’s expression darkened.

“go ahead, y/n,” he signed quickly. “i got this.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. you turned on your heel, heart pounding as you put distance between yourself and whatever was about to go down. you weren’t scared of rafe—not really. but being caught in a confrontation you couldn’t even understand? that was something else entirely.

behind you, jj sighed, running a hand down his face. “dude, she’s deaf.”

rafe blinked. “what?”

“she can’t hear you, man.”

rafe’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. for once, he actually seemed... thrown.

later that day, or maybe the next, you were sitting by the docks, enjoying the quiet when someone sat down next to you.

you turned, expecting jj, but your stomach flipped when you saw him.

rafe.

but this time, he wasn’t smirking. wasn’t radiating that usual arrogance. instead, he pulled a notepad from his pocket, flipping to a page where he had scrawled something in messy, uneven letters.

"i didn’t know. i was being an asshole. sorry."

you blinked, staring at the words. then at him. he looked—nervous? maybe even a little embarrassed?

hesitantly, he flipped to a new page.

"can i make it up to you?"

your lips twitched. you reached for the notepad, flipping to a blank page before writing:

"depends. are you always this bad at apologizing?"

when rafe huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, you realized you might’ve just found the one thing rarer than a sincere rafe cameron apology—

—rafe cameron trying.

lowkkk wanna do a part 2

[juniperskye]

Mr. Bear

Based on the following ask: @itzvenus04 Aaron X reader where Aaron is a little jealous of when reader cuddles the teddy more, but he rather have her cuddle the teddy when he’s away on a case then someone else or something like that, especially when reader made sure the teddy smelled like him, but one morning he makes the bed and holds the teddy and looks at it, seeing some marks on it and stains and a few holes and a small tear on its side, clearly loved by reader for many years now and it makes him a little sad seeing the teddy like this and how sad his gf will be one day if she has to throw it away, knowing full well she wants to pass down the little teddy bear to her kids no wait their kids someday, hopefully a baby girl someday but then he decides to fix the teddy and clean him up or ask someone to help him maybe someone like Garcia idk and surprise reader with the teddy looking brand new and reader is so happy Aaron can’t be jealous of it because the smile on reader face is so worth it even if she cuddles a another man *wink* he’s literally a teddy bear – this is a short one babe, it’s a super cute idea and I loved writing it!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 997

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, one use of y/n – it was unavoidable, age gap (non-specified), reader has a teddy that she cuddles when she sleeps, jealous Hotch (in a teasing way), Garcia being the best, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“You cuddle that thing more than you cuddle me.” Aaron whined teasingly.

“Oh, I do not!” You giggled, turning over and nuzzling into Aaron’s strong chest, your hands still clutching your beloved teddy, Mr. Bear.

“I don’t know babe, I’m thinking I might have to be worried. You have maintained a very long and serious relationship with this guy…and now look, he is quite literally coming between us.” Aaron’s tone was completely unserious as he playfully fought to take Mr. Bear from you.

Aaron shifted so he was hovering over you, his hands tickling your sides relentlessly. You writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get away from his grasp.

“Okay I surrender! I surrender!” You giggled, booping Aaron in the nose with Mr. Bear.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice that your teddy had smelled just like his cologne. The thought made him smile, you spraying your bear with his cologne just so it would smell like him, cuddling it while he was away.

--

“Okay! Coffee?” You asked.

“Coffee would be great.” He smiled “You go, I’ll make the bed.”

You made your way to the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going. You then began heating a pan to make some eggs, throwing some slices of bread in the toaster to go along with it.

Aaron when through the motions of making the bed, pulling the pillows off while he tugged the sheet and duvet up to the top of the mattress. He neatly arranged the pillows, noticing Mr. Bear at the foot of the bed. Aaron hadn’t realized how threadbare your teddy had really become; he was very clearly well loved.

Aaron thought about what he could do to fix him up, knowing that you had hoped to eventually pass the bear down to your future child.

--

“What can I do for you sir?”

“Garcia, what do you know about restoring plush toys?”

“Oh sir, I went down a seven-hour rabbit hole of stuffy restoration videos on TikTok, what do you need?”

“Well, I want to surprise y/n, she’s had this teddy since she was a child and he’s looking a little worse for wear.”

“Leave it to me…do I have your permission to work on it today – provided we don’t have a case?”

“Of course. Thank you Penelope.”

“Any time sir.”

--

Aaron had discretely placed Mr. Bear in his bag for work, gathering the remainder of his things. He made his way to the kitchen to have breakfast with you.

He helped you clean up before you both headed out for work.

“Aar, I have conferences tonight, so I will be home later than usual.” You reminded him.

“That’s right! I’ll get dinner started for us when I get home.”

“You’re the best. I love you baby, drive safe! Let me know if you guys get called away okay?” You requested.

“I love you too honey, I will. Drive safe, see you tonight.”

--

Aaron had made his way straight to Garcia’s office as he arrived at the BAU. He pulled out Mr. Bear and handed him over to Penelope, making her swear that she’d be careful with him.

“You got it sir.”

Penelope had brought in everything she could think of to help her repair your teddy. Penelope began by opening Mr. Bear and removing his stuffing so she could wash him carefully using warm water and a gentle detergent. Letting it dry, using the bathroom hand dryer to speed that process along before checking out where she might need to patch a few things. She used a technique called darning to patch the few small holes that had been created through years of love; once this had been done, Penelope brushed Mr. Bear’s fur to get him looking fluffy again.

Penelope had made two small hearts out of some scrap fabric, filling them both with Mr. Bears old stuffing, she placed one inside him as she stuffed him with new polyfill and kept the other one out as a keepsake for you. Once he was all filled up, she sewed him closed, brushed him once more and tied a neat ribbon around his neck.

The process had taken her the entire workday, though she and her boss didn’t seem to mind.

--

Aaron had been amazed with the work Penelope had done, Mr. Bear looked brand new, and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to him!

“Hi honey, I’m home!” You called out, entering the apartment.

“Hi baby, in the kitchen.”

The apartment smelled amazing, it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to eat whatever it was that Aaron had been cooking. Truthfully you wanted to eat and then curl up into bed and watch a movie.

“Mmm it smells amazing!” You sighed, taking in the table set up. Amongst the place settings sat a giftbag. “Did I forget something? I know it’s not our anniversary.”

“No honey, you didn’t forget anything, I just wanted to do something special for you.” Aaron explained. “Go ahead and open it.”

Aaron sat across from you, having already set the food on the table. You looked at him skeptically, pulling the bag into your lap and carefully pulled out the tissue paper. A shocked gasp escaping you as you revealed its contents.

“Aaron, what is – what did you – I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I know how much he means to you, and I thought it would be nice to have him fixed up a bit, you know, so he’ll last a while longer.” Aaron wore a sheepish smile.

“This is amazing. You are so thoughtful.” You leaned over the table, pressing your lips to his.

You couldn’t believe that Aaron had done this, going as far as spraying him with his cologne so he’d still smell like him. Aaron was the best thing that ever happened to you, and every time he did something like this, it reminded you of that.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[insomniac-needs-a-fucking-nap]

I want the first time Shazam to be on live TV for an interview or something for a neeo-nazi to appear and say some horrible shot expecting the cheese to agree and on live TV Shazam glares into space nods once and then knocks the person on their ass almsot faster than the camera can capture and say "Ya' get one warnin'. j's try it. Don't h've many 'a you back home(Fawcett), so th's's a rare treat!" (Translation: "You get one warning. Just try it. Don't have many of you back home(Fawcett), so this is a rare treat!"). All said with the biggest happiest grin that in context seems so threatening. Like he's so ready just say a single word his inner 12 year old is so ready to jump your ass and he has in fact forgotten that 1 they're on live TV, and 2 hes in a far larger body.

Some people at first assume it was a publicity stunt until the other news comes out and they slowly learn yeah hes just like that, also may I suggest he has a violent vendetta against anyone with more than a billion dollars (single exception being Bruce wayne but only after he learns he is and had been long before billy arrived on scene trying to help everything he can by throwing money at it(charities, high wages,single handedly paying for gotham's relief efforts after every villain attack shelters, hospitals, relief efforts for every disaster/attack/strain on local communities. Litterally anything he can think of that is reputable he even has several people on payroll who's sole job is to dig into every "money sink" to make sure its doing what it says its doing on top of doing some of that reserch himself) his money just has plot armor and no matter how hard he tries he can't get rid of his wealth and he tries so hard, Bruce wayne will only continue to be the exception as long as he keeps desperately trying to get rid of his wealth.)

Marvel is old. Like, not just bcs he is a entity of zillions of years old Billy was born and imprisoned for several years in a relatively conservative time full of prejudices.

When the time bubble pops and the League finds out about it, they expect Captain Marvel to be some kind of very close-minded, militaristic guy who will find the new generation full of sins (They don't know that in Fawcett there is so much magic, different species and queer entities that it is impossible to really be a socially backward place. They also don't know that the captain is a guy who doesn't like the police very much and his favorite sport is beating up nazis)

And well, finding out that the guy you thought would give you headaches in the modern age is actually super happy about it is kind of shocking Batman already had several slides ready to give the captain a lecture about respect

Marvel: Oh my gods, I found some pamphlets about these pride parades. Mr Batman, can I take this weekend off? I would love to go with my brother there!

Batman: Your... brother?

Marvel: Yes! Well, my whole family. We were part of some protests for the queer community in my time, but we were not part of any since the bubble. He liked the idea, but he's too shy to go alone, so me, my brothers and sisters wanna go with him to support him!

Batman: ... Of course, I will arrange for someone to take over your monitor duties

And next week there are several news about how the new-old heroes appeared on pride parade.

They help with things like free water and snacks distribution, first aid for minor injuries, they ensure that no homophobes try to start a fight, they don't let it turn into a mess and in general they also participate. They are practically all painted in colorful colors, their capes are personalized, some of them are dancing, others are further away taking care of the environment. Marvel does some magic tricks, makes rainbows appear in the sky and all that And they absolutely shower the green-suited superhero, aka they bro, with support and love. Vicki Vale and Cat Grant are dying to know why

And things like this just keep happening. Is there a protest in Asia about feminism? The Shazam family will be there, Mary and Darla protesting while their brothers stand around staring at anyone who wants to intervene. Community centers for homeless charities? captain will appear to call the public, ask for support and do some tricks to please the rich Donations to hospitals? They are all out there distributing news, asking anyone who can help, to help. A movement for teacher salary justice in Brazil? They are already there to help Or are movements taking place to preserve Brazilian flora? because of the criminal fires happening in the Amazon? They are there again, using their magic to heal what was hurt, put out what burned and protest, demanding more attention from the government. Do they want to take away land from indigenous tribes? They're going to have to go over the captain first. News broke about high levels of trash in the ocean. But Aquaman barely has time to deal with it himself, he sees his co-worker there with his family gathering pieces of trash and separating them for their own disposal, using spells to separate chemicals and water pollution. Is Gotham suffering from polluted air? The captain will gather a bunch of clouds and sprinkle them with some magic, and his raindrops will gradually purify the air for the people Is a police officer being cleared after attacking a teenager? no no no, marvel will be in front of the police station in the morning along with a bunch of civilians wanting justice Does a police car, or any car in general, have a sticker that supports some kind of tyrannical movement? apology for the Nazis? to an oppressive government? a prejudiced joke? Oh man, you better be ready for dawn with every part of this car missing, probably being sold illegally and having the proceeds sent to charity The fact that the captain calls the police bastard pigs was a shock, some got defensive and such, others thought it was great. It was a slight headache for the Justice League when it came to the media, but it's not like the government liked them before The movements in Brazil are there because im brazilian, raised by a teacher, there was no way to avoid it. Billy come to brasil <3

[vettelsvee]

A SAINT VALENTINE'S BREAK UP? | Sebastian Vettel

Red Bull Sebastian Vettel x Race engineer girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb is acting very, very romantic with you, but all you can think about, somehow, is that he's going to break up with you to go back with his ex girlfriend

WORD COUNT: 7221

WARNINGS: None of it! Just Seb being a cutie and lots of fluff. Also... many Taylor Swift mentions as reader is a certified swiftie ☺️

VEE'S NOTES: Happy Valentine’s to you all! This is one of my favorite shots I've ever written! Hope you like this one as much as I do and, in case you do, please comment your thoughts and reblog, it’s pretty appreciated! Thank you so much for reading <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You slowly open your eyes and, still lying down, begin to stretch, moving from side to side. You reach out your hand toward the side of the bed where you expect your boyfriend to be, but all you feel is the cold of the morning seeping into your skin.

You sit up, fully open your eyes, and realize your boyfriend isn't there. Not there, nor anywhere in the room, not even in the bathroom, despite its door being open.

A loud noise coming from downstairs and the smell of coffee set off the alarms. You decide to put on your slippers, throw on your robe, and go downstairs slowly, trying not to make noise and disturb Seb in whatever he might be doing.

You enter the kitchen and see Seb with his back turned, holding the handle of a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. Next to him, on the counter, is a plate with a couple of waffles, a bottle of ketchup, and a couple of jars with coffee and juice.

You knew Sebastian Vettel was romantic, but you also knew he liked to sleep like a log, so this could only mean that either you were dreaming, or the RedBull golden boy wanted something from you.

That he wanted to do something nice for his girlfriend was the last thing on your mind.

You decide to approach him and hug him from behind, not even flinching at your unexpected contact. Without stopping to pay attention to the scrambled eggs, almost ready, the German turns around and gives you a short kiss on the lips.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did you sleep well?" he asks.

You just nod with a murmur.

"If you let me, I can finish preparing breakfast," he asks, trying to push you away. "I've been awake for an hour and a half to make everything perfect, so please, don't make me ruin it now."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Vettel."

You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island and let yourself fall onto it, not without noticing the bouquet of flowers in the center. Orchids and roses make up most of it, although you also spot a few daffodils. You realize that what holds them all together is a cord with a small label with something written on it. Tempted, you’re about to open it, but you end up not doing it, convinced that it would be some gift for Sebastian that’s none of your business.

"Do you like it?"

Sebastian puts a plate in front of you, which, for what he usually does, is a masterpiece. A waffle covered with fruit on top, and beside it, scrambled eggs and some small containers with ketchup, whipped cream, white chocolate, and dark chocolate.

You’re mesmerized, not knowing what to say to him. It’s the breakfast your mother used to make you on weekends and on some special occasions, like your birthday. You’d even swear that the containers with the sauces on them are exactly the same. Your gaze is fixed on the plate, unable to look away. It’s quite strange that Seb knows about this because, beyond your sister and your late father, no one else has any idea about this tradition.

"Y/N, love, are you listening?" he insists, pulling you out of your trance.

"What?" you ask, completely distracted.

"The bouquet of flowers," Seb replies, pointing to the vase. "Although I also accept feedback on the breakfast."

"Let me taste it. You know you're not the chef of our wonderful couple."

Sebastian nods, takes a seat in front of you, and patiently waits for your final verdict. You take your time to slowly taste everything, even though you want to devour it eagerly. You make all sorts of combinations: chocolate with whipped cream and waffle, ketchup with scrambled eggs, and you even dare to mix chocolate and cream with eggs just to cough, give yourself nausea, and provoke laughter from your boyfriend.

You drink some coffee to get rid of the bad taste that had lingered in your mouth while you can't stop thinking about how on earth he could know your mother’s exact recipe.

"So, what's the verdict? Pass?"

You lift your head to look at him and smile. Not just approved: it’s such a masterpiece.

"Definitely, sunshine. I mean, not just the breakfast, don't get me wrong," you hasten to add. "All of this is wonderful," you point to the breakfast and to him, "but..."

But you’re starting to have the strange feeling like there's something behind all of this.

"But what, sweetheart?"

That he’s doing this because he wants you two to break up.

"Nothing," you rush to reply, dismissing the fleeting thought that just crossed your mind.

You know Seb isn’t pleased with your answer, but it seems to be enough for him.

You continue having breakfast, and soon he joins you with a protein shake and an apple. You can’t help but feel bad eating such a feast in front of him.

"And what do you think about the bouquet?" he asks.

"It's very beautiful," you reply, covering your mouth so he won’t see it full. "Whoever gave it to you has very good taste."

"Are you saying I have good taste?"

"What? Did you buy them?" you ask again.

"Of course. Who do you think would give me flowers?"

"I don't know," you say honestly. "Any of the girls who chase you around the paddock, for example."

"Y/N: the bouquet is for you," he announces nervously.

You remain, once again today, in shock. Seb has left you speechless on many occasions, but today is simply too much.

You look at the bouquet, look at him, and look back at the bouquet. His index finger points at the note. If you had noticed earlier, just as you're doing now, you could have seen, even if only vaguely, that it was his handwriting.

"Read the note, love."

Following his advice, you delicately take the card in your hands, trying not to break it and carefully untie the cord. When you open it, you can see that, in addition to something written in German, our mother tongue, it’s accompanied by his signature, a poorly drawn heart and, of course, one of the happy faces he almost always uses:

You told me I wouldn't have many firsts with you, but look: today is the first time I’ll give you flowers. I assure you there will be many more, my dearest paddock girl (although now I prefer calling you my beautiful girlfriend and, of course, my dearest race engineer).

Your eyes fill with tears. Without thinking, you turn around the kitchen island, run toward Seb, who is still sitting, and throw yourself at him to kiss him. You feel his arms wrap around your waist and his hands running down your back to your neck, pulling you closer without breaking your union.

You part, breathless, a few seconds later, when it feels like you're running out of air. Your foreheads stay together, and your gazes can’t be torn away from each other. A playful smile forms on Sebastian’s lips, and you know what he’s thinking.

"Don't get so affectionate, Y/N. We have a lot to do today."

You pull away from him and cross your arms. He hadn’t mentioned anything about that last night, not even when he convinced you to come spend a few days with him, knowing perfectly well that you couldn't just leave your job at the café during winter breaks like that.

"Well, you'll have to tell me what then."

He puts his hands in his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that he doesn’t hesitate to offer you.

"I made a list because I didn’t want to forget anything, you know I’m a mess," he explains as you quickly glance over what it says.

Try to find some album Lara wants, but the limited edition version.

It makes sense. Seb’s sister is as obsessed with One Direction as you are with Taylor Swift.

Buy a notebook (mom told me it’s good so I don’t forget things).

You don’t continue reading because the rest seems to be a shopping list that isn't very important. You leave it on the table, trying not to get it dirty with breakfast leftovers, and pick up the dishes, ready to wash them.

Seb quickly comes over to you, taking the items from your hands and depositing them all in the sink. Without saying anything else, he moves closer and gives you a quick peck on the lips, followed by a loving slap on your butt.

"No, today you're not going to do anything, so you better go upstairs and check if there's anything on the bed."

Following his advice, filled with intrigue, you hurry upstairs to the bedroom, looking for whatever Seb wanted you to see. It's quite easy to find, as the fluorescent pink color of the post-it note stands out against the snow-white sheets. "Look at the white box in the closet," it reads, accompanied by one of his smiley doodles.

You contain yourself from opening the box in the closet. Carefully, you place it on the bed and open it slowly, just in case there’s something unexpected. And indeed, there is: to your surprise, you find the dress you've been wanting for so long.

You take it in your hands, stretching it over you as much as you can, letting the softness of the fabric envelop your fingers. It's even more beautiful than you saw in that shop window, and you can’t fathom how Seb managed to get it because when you went to inquire about it, you were told it was sold out.

You notice something deliberately hidden under the tulle that wraps the dress. Carefully, you place the garment on the bed and discover the black and green lingerie set with floral details that you fell in love with the time you and Britta went to Victoria's Secret out of curiosity.

It's obvious what Seb wants from you, for the two of you to do.

"Seb! Was all of this your idea!?"

You wait for an answer that never comes. You shout again, louder this time, but silence is the only thing that answers you.

Deciding not to wait any longer for an answer that you know won’t come, you quickly dress in your new outfit, also changing your underwear and shoes to match.

When you get downstairs, Seb is already waiting by the door leading to the garage with his car keys in his hand.

"It looks much better on you than I thought," he says, lost in thought. "You look like a real-life Cinderella version, but a thousand times prettier."

You don't know how to respond because, even after two months of dating, you still haven’t gotten used to Seb constantly complimenting you.

You smile shyly and lower your head. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and leads you to his car.

"Did you like... that?"

"What do you mean by that, love?"

He knows exactly what he means, just like you, but you want to play along with him, just as he’s playing with you, filled with so much mystery.

"You know..." he begins, hesitating. "What, if I'm not mistaken, you're wearing underneath the dress."

"Oh, the bra and panties!" you exclaim as you get into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt. "They're perfect, Seb."

You remain silent for the first few minutes of the journey, with only the local radio station playing in the background.

"Y/N," he calls you again, shifting his gaze toward you. You hate it when he does that. "Did you really like the lingerie set, or was it too risky? I don't want our first Saint..."

He quickly stops himself, and you wonder why.

"Seb, seriously, I loved it," you assure him, trying to stay calm and make him feel the same. "Britta, more than having good taste, has a good memory," you add.

"Who says Britta helped me?"

"It's too much of a coincidence that last month, when we went into Victoria's Secret out of curiosity, I complained about how expensive this set was," you explain, pulling a strip of your bra out of the neckline of your dress to show him, "and how much I'd love to have it. And today, you show up with the dress I'd been saving up for more than I'd have liked.”

Seb smiles sideways. It’s obvious he’s the one behind all of this.

"Maybe I should talk to my PR about more mundane things than press conferences and stupid rumors," he confirms.

"If you want, only if you want... I can show it to you later."

Thankfully, the traffic light turns red. His face quickly turns toward you, but he looks back at the road when you gently guide him with your hand. When the light turns green again, he continues driving.

His cheeks are flushed, a shade of red you rarely see. You won’t deny that you like seeing him like that.

"Easy, babe. We've waited three years to be together. I think we can wait a little longer to do exactly you know what."

A few minutes later, you park in one of the farthest parking spots from the mall. As usual, Seb gets out first to open the door for you, which you thank him for, even though you're dying of nerves.

"Well, what do we have to do?"

You start walking next to him, quickening your pace and taking his hand. But you let go almost immediately, and he gives you a look of pity. Only a few trusted people know about your relationship, and for now, you don’t plan on making it public.

His look pierces you like a dagger, and it only intensifies the thought that you’re living your last moments together.

"I thought we'd go to the music store first," he says, avoiding the tension. "Then I want to go to a stationery store that’s opened, and I know you’d... well, it has a lot of office supplies that you’d like," he adds. "And I also want to buy some things for our house in case we have special guests."

You don’t want to ask more questions, not wanting any unwanted answers. You assume that Hanna is one of those unexpected guests, but you can't face hearing him say it just yet.

The first stop, as Seb said, is the music store. As you enter, a combination of violins and pianos instantly relaxes you. A section of vinyl records catches Seb’s attention, especially because most of them are from his favorite band, The Beatles.

"You have no idea how long I've been looking for this," he begins, holding one in his hands and inspecting it. "But today we didn’t come for this."

He puts it down and heads to a more youthful section. You stop to look at the price of the vinyl version of Abbey Road and decide to take a picture to remember which one it is, in case you can find it cheaper, because the few savings you have were spent just coming to see him.

"Di, look! Do you like it?"

You spot him a few feet away, holding a stack of records. You approach him to see what titles he’s picked. The Speak Now album by Taylor Swift catches your eye, and you let out a muffled scream of excitement.

"Do you like any?"

You know he noticed your reaction, but you act as if nothing happened. You continue browsing through the stack of records, but none of them interest you, aside from the ones by Taylor Swift and Rihanna.

"Actually, no, sunshine," you lie.

Seb raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that your behavior contradicts your answer. He repeats the question, and you deny it again.

"Seb, really, I didn't like any of them," you insist.

"If you say so... then let’s go. I didn’t find the CD my sister wanted, so everything’s done here."

"But isn’t this the one you were looking for?"

You discreetly pointed out the limited edition of One Direction’s Up All Night behind him, the one you had noticed as soon as you arrived. You could feel him starting to get uncomfortable. A nervous smile tugged at his lips as he bit his lower one and played with his hair.

He was nervous, and now you were feeling even more anxious watching him like that. You swore that if it weren’t for the fact that you were in public, you'd have panicked.

You tried to laugh it off to calm yourself, but stopped as soon as he took your arm and quickly led you to the store's exit.

"Hey, calm down," you said once you were outside. "What's going on with you? Now you're in such a hurry?"

"Well," he glanced at his watch and you mimicked his action. It was twelve fifteen. Almost lunchtime, and you'd only barely tackled the first goal on the list. "I just remembered that my sister already had it."

"And why did we come then?"

He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the ground and he fidgeted with his feet. Another clear sign that he was lying.

"Seb, you know if you have something to tell me..."

"Stay here for a second. I'll be right back."

Before you could react, he disappeared back into the store. Curiosity bubbled up inside you, and you peeked through the shop window several times, hiding each time he seemed to catch a glimpse of you. A few minutes later, he came out with a paper bag in his hands. You rushed toward him to see what was inside, but as soon as you peeked, he switched hands.

"I'm not telling you anything for now," he said mysteriously. "You’ll see when the time is right."

"Come on, Seb..."

The pout you gave him, hoping for even a hint, did nothing, both at that moment and in the following hours.

As you went through the stores Seb wanted to visit, you realized he had established some kind of routine. You’d enter together, wherever it was, under the excuse of buying something on Sebastian's list. Once inside, he'd just glance around quickly, ask if you liked or needed anything, and then you'd leave. Each time you said no, he'd go back in, asking you to wait outside, and return with a bag.

It was clear he was plotting something, and you had a feeling it wasn’t anything good. You couldn’t stop analyzing every detail, trying to uncover the truth. Even when you went to one of your favorite restaurants to eat, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Seb devoured his food, savoring something other than vegetables and grilled chicken. Meanwhile, you picked at the plate of carbonara in front of you, consumed with thoughts of how all of this felt like the imminent end of your short love story.

Was Seb buying things for Hanna and hiding it from you?

"Y/N, what's wrong? You've been so quiet," he asked, concern filling his eyes. You forced a smile to hide the pain, but the truth was, you just wanted to cry.

"No, it’s okay. I’m just thinking about today," you said briefly, still staring at your food.

"You’re acting strangely, love. Are you sure you're okay?"

His insistence made you want to spill everything, but your judgment urged caution to avoid risking your relationship even more.

He set down his fork and reached across the table to hold your hands. He didn’t care about who might see, but you felt a flutter of anxiety. Surprisingly, that simple gesture calmed you a little.

"Yes, really," you insisted, meeting his eyes. "I'm just trying not to get nervous about whatever you seem to be planning for you-know-who."

Your smile was forced, and so was his. You knew neither of you was convinced, but it didn’t matter. His expression said it all. He avoided your gaze, and his lips seemed to turn downward.

"What do you think about going to the movies after we eat? I know there’s a movie you’d like to see."

"I don’t know, Seb. Are you asking because you actually want to go, or because you're trying to distract me from whatever you’re hiding?"

Your tone was sharper than you wanted. You watched his face, and the shift in his expression told you that you had upset him.

You felt worse, wondering if all this fuss was just an excuse for him to take you shopping for gifts for his new girlfriend—who, ironically, was his ex-girlfriend—and that he’d break up with you as soon as he could.

"Love, really, I just want to have a good time with you," he assured, though you could tell it was difficult for him.

"And why all this? Why so much insistence that I come with you yesterday, to spend a few days together? What are you hiding?" you asked, your voice heavy with pain.

"I'm not hiding anything, darling. I’m serious," he sighed, struggling to find the right words. "I just want today to be special for us. Why else would I bring you to a place you love to eat? And the movies? I know how much you love cinema. Just like I know you love Taylor..."

"What's with Taylor?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. "Swift, I assume," you added.

"What movie did you want to see?" he countered.

In the end, he picked the movie since you didn’t feel like sitting through an hour and a half of screen time. A Few Best Men was his choice, though it wasn’t one he would usually watch. He did it for you, just like he paid for the tickets almost before you could protest.

Once in the theater, he led you to the section with a wide selection of snacks and urged you to choose whatever you wanted.

"It’s enough that you paid for everything today," you shyly said. "Lunch, the tickets, whatever you bought in the stores..."

For Hanna, not for you, you thought, trying to push that suspicion away quickly.

But Sebastian, being stubborn, wouldn’t let you pay.

"Come on, Y/N. Choosing snacks is part of the movie experience," he said, as if you went to the movies every day. "Seriously, love. Pick whatever you want."

"I’m not hungry."

He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he made his way to the snack counter, choosing things for you.

"So, for my wonderful girlfriend let's grab some popcorn," he began. “And I’ll also get her a bag of licorice and another of M&Ms to mix with the popcorn..."

"And what about you, Vettel?" you asked, trying not to laugh at how well he knew you.

"The usual: sweet popcorn and nachos with cheese."

Seb took the whole selection to the counter to pay. You tried convincing him to let you do it, but, once again, he wouldn’t hear of it. He even insisted on carrying everything to the theater. Some popcorn spilled, and you made a mess with the soda, earning you a scolding.

The ads were already showing when you finally got inside. It was dark, save for the flicker of the screen. You had to be careful not to trip as you made your way to your seats in one of the higher corners.

Seb sat next to you. What you thought would turn into a secretive kiss session turned into him whispering that he was going to the bathroom.

"I won’t be long, I promise," he said.

"Sure, go ahead," you replied.

Since you saw him get up and disappear from the room, you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his departure, especially when you noticed that minutes were passing by and he hadn’t returned. During the first fifteen minutes, you tried your best to focus on the movie, but it was impossible no matter how much you tried to get interested. About half an hour later, you were already thinking about infidelity, unexpected encounters, and even, why not, that he had left you hanging.

Forty-five minutes after he left, Sebastian returned, giving you a kiss on the lips that you didn’t respond to with the same passion as usual.

"How's the movie, darling?" he asked as if nothing had happened.

You took a deep breath before answering him. You didn’t want to mess things up, even though, perhaps, he deserved it.

"Fine."

"Are you enjoying it? Did I choose well?"

"Yes."

Seb seemed to notice your curt responses, but it’s not like you wanted to hide them. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you, but you escaped. The last thing you wanted in those moments was to have him close.

"Is something wrong, Y/N? You've been acting strange all day, love."

"Nothing's wrong, Seb. I'm just a little tired," you lied again, avoiding looking directly at him. Was it you who was acting strange?

"I was thinking of going out to dinner," he said a bit... sad? "But if you want, we can go back home. Today, I'm completely at your disposal."

"I see," you commented ironically.

The blonde man gently took your hand.

"I was thinking of taking you to a newly opened Spanish restaurant," he whispered. "Would you like that?"

"I would love it," you declared. He had caught you there. Wherever there was Spanish food, everything else could go away. "But you know as well as I do that we shouldn't frequent public places if you want this," you pointed to both of you with your finger, referring to your relationship, "to stay between us and our closest family."

"We had lunch at a restaurant today and nobody saw us," he reproached, raising his voice a bit more than he should. Some people turned to look at you, and you tried to hide.

"Yes, and what time was it, three-thirty in the afternoon? Who the hell eats at that hour, Seb?"

His silence confirmed your point.

"Well," he continued, not letting you enjoy the movie, "then I'm afraid I'll have to change a part of my surprise. You're lucky I'm a Formula 1 driver and fast thinking is my thing," he said, trying to make you laugh and achieving just the opposite.

"Don't we already have a problem?"

"What problem are you talking about, Y/N?"

That his tone had gone from relaxed to completely curt, and above all. That he called you by your full name was a bad sign, a very bad one indeed.

"Sorry," he spoke immediately, realizing that he hadn’t answered you and that he certainly hadn’t spoken in the best way. "It’s just that I’m getting nervous. I'm sorry," he repeated, making you feel a little guilty. "Everything I had planned is just one mess after another, and..."

"It's okay, Seb. Let's go to have dinner," you ended up giving in, ignoring what you had just heard and even though hunger was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

Seb kept talking to you about a thousand different topics for the remaining time of the movie, and did the same on the way back to the car and throughout the journey to that restaurant called La Casa. As much as you felt bad because your boyfriend seemed to have lost his spirits, your mind kept playing tricks on you, and it was nearly impossible to stop thinking that the bad news was going to come at any moment.

Now, as you waited for Seb to come out with the order, and hopefully with the food already in his hands, your stomach was a bundle of uncontrollable nerves.

"I ordered a little bit of everything," you had seen him coming from afar, but you turned in your seat when he opened the trunk. "I know Spanish food is your favorite because you grew up with it for most of your life," he explained as he placed the bags in the back of the car. You were about to interrupt him, but he asked you to be quiet. "I also ordered some Asian food, which they also had, I don't know why, and I know you love that too."

"But don’t you remember anything you ordered?" you inquired with curiosity now that your hunger seemed to have returned.

"Just some croquetas and tortilla de patatas. I don’t understand Spanish, my dear," he replied as he got behind the wheel and resumed driving down the road. "When we get to the lookout, you'll have to explain everything to me in detail."

As you continued driving towards the place, unease grew in you at the same time. A desire to vomit integrated into your throat, accompanied by cravings that you didn’t try to hide. With each turn Seb took, you swore that the little you had eaten that day, which was already more than digested, was going to be thrown up when you least expected it.

Sebastian Vettel, the guy you had been in love with since, possibly, the day he stayed overnight in your hotel room the night before his first victory, was going to break up with you, the girl he considered the love of his life, and for whom he left his ex-girlfriend.

Surreal, right?

The driver parked the car, got out quickly, and didn’t hesitate to open the trunk. He took out a much larger number of bags than you would swear to remember. Then, he unfolded a blanket and placed it on the ground, putting a couple more on top, you guessed it, so you wouldn’t get cold. He also placed some cushions from his house and a paper tableware with children's drawings next to what you would swear was the food he had just bought.

Your surprise came when he took out a box much larger than the one this morning. As if it weren’t enough that it was closed, it was wrapped in Cars-themed wrapping paper, and to top it off, it had a big red bow on it.

"What's all this about?"

Your still boyfriend, with the box in his hand, gave you a bittersweet look, as if you were speaking to him in a language he didn’t understand.

"Sebastian, I'm telling you seriously," you got even more serious. You saw him start to laugh, and you got even angrier with him. "Don’t laugh, you asshole!"

"What are you talking about, love?" he asked innocently while you hit him with slaps on the arm.

"About today. All day long," you reluctantly replied, which was the last thing you wanted given his expression, quite a poem. "First, I don't know how, but you get up much earlier than me and make me the exact same breakfast my mom used to make for me," you began to enumerate, trying to control your anger. "Then, you give me a list that we didn't end up using because you did whatever you wanted. And let's not forget that you left me alone in the movie theater to, of course, go anywhere but to the bathroom," you added angrily.

Seb was unable to process an appropriate response, and that's when you realized everything. You tried to control your tears, just as you had done all day long, but you couldn't do it anymore. As soon as your tears began to fall down your face, you saw the pilot leaving the box he was holding on the ground, and coming closer to you to hug you. At first, you resisted, but you gave in when, once again, his arms became your refuge.

"The day I asked you out I told you we were going to have many first times, do you remember?" he said softly. You nodded, remembering how nervous you were all that day. "Don't you want us to celebrate our first Valentine's Day together in a special way?"

Valentine's Day.

Today was February 14th.

It couldn’t be true.

You quickly moved away from Seb and looked around. Now everything made sense.

Everything he had been preparing was for you... or at least, that's what you believed.

"What do you mean Valentine's Day?" you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise.

"Well, Valentine's Day today, Y/N. You know… the day when couples, or almost couples, or I don't know, do things for each other, and..."

"So you don't want to break up with me?"

You let it out so quickly, without letting him finish speaking and without thinking. You burst into tears once again. Now you felt much stupider than before, but above all, you felt bad because you had earned the title of the worst girlfriend in the world. Seb had done all this for you, and all you had done was pay him back by speaking badly to him, thinking he was cheating on you, and of course, not buying him the vinyl he wanted.

"Break up with you?" You knew that right now he probably wanted to tell you anything but nice things. That he had hugged you again, and, above all, that his voice conveyed calm said a lot about him. "Y/N, where do you get those ideas from?"

"It's just that..." You inhaled and exhaled before looking up at him. You couldn't speak badly to him again, especially not for something that had been the result of your insecurity. "Everything today made me think you wanted to end it. The breakfast, leaving me stranded at the cinema... I thought you were getting ready to tell me you were getting back with Hanna," you finished saying.

Seb, after hearing that, held you even tighter against his chest.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way," he apologized. "All of this was to do something special for our first Valentine's together, not to ruin it. I know I messed up, and you have no idea how much I regret losing control over certain things because it's the last thing you deserved."

He seemed quite repentant, and that made you feel even worse.

"Do you want to see what's in here?" he said, pointing to the box still on the ground. "I've prepared it for you," he whispered shyly. "I just hope you like it; if not, you can tell me without any problem."

"I haven't bought you anything," was all you could reply.

"It's okay, love. I prepared all this for you because I wanted to, and also because you deserve it, not because I wanted anything in return."

You tried not to overthink anymore. You sat on the ground, on the blanket and beside the box. With your hands slightly trembling, you started to slowly tear the wrapping paper. Seb sat next to you, too close, giving you an unexpected kiss on the cheek and not bothering to move an inch away from you.

The first thing you saw was a pile of confetti, which you didn't hesitate to push aside, revealing a wide variety of all kinds of sweets, especially your favorites, along with small details of stationary supplies that you remembered seeing in that stationery store and that had caught your attention.

In the center were two small gifts wrapped as well as possible, each with an envelope attached with your name, written perfectly in light blue capital letters.

"This is too much, Seb," you honestly exclaimed, turning to him. "Now I understand why you've been asking me if I liked certain things and then you would return to the stores just to come out with a bag that you wouldn't let me see..."

"I know it's been very wrong on my part, but I think the little scare I gave you was worth it. Just look at the beautiful and happy face you have right now," he revealed, laughing, squeezing your cheeks.

And here you were, thinking he was going to break up with you...

Definitely, you didn't deserve Sebastian Vettel.

"First, you have to read the note from the envelope carefully," the German explained carefully, "and then try to guess what it could be."

"And after all that, can I open it?" you innocently asked, although the answer was more than obvious.

"Of course. Here, try this one first."

He took the rectangular gift and handed it to you. Before reading anything, you started to make assumptions about what it could be, but you were so overwhelmed that you decided to finish your task within a few seconds.

With eagerness, you carefully opened the envelope so as not to tear it because you were going to keep it until the end of time to remember this day, and, with a bit of optimism, to be able to show it to your children someday if you were still together.

"Can you read it out loud for me, princess? I don't remember what it says."

You said that, fortunately or unfortunately, you had finished the first gift I gave you. I hope this second part is as good, or even better, than the first one," you read aloud and clearly. "P.S.: I hope from now on you write more, and better, about me."

You looked up and saw Seb smiling.

"Do you know what it could be?" he wanted to know.

Of course you did.

"Y/N's diary, part two."

He didn't say anything else although his half-smile had formed almost automatically, saying it all. With a slight nod of his head, he gave you the go-ahead to open it, and so you did. As soon as you got rid of the wrapping paper you saw a notebook that you would now use as a diary, and which, like the previous one, had a plain color and a photo of you both after the victory of his first world championship, your first photo, in Polaroid format.

"Seb... I don't know what to say..."

"Don't say anything yet because there's another one here."

He handed you the second gift. This one had the form of a square and, by feeling it, you realized it didn't have just one envelope, but two. This second one, on the back, was much larger. Before you could take a look, Seb removed it and hid it behind his back, as if he were a little kid not wanting anyone to take away a candy from him.

"First the small one, which is the one you'll like the least," he clarified in a childish tone.

"Okay, okay..."

Just as you did with the previous one, you carefully tore open the envelope, opened it, and read the note out loud:

I see sparks fly whenever you smile. Get me with those eyes, baby, as the lights go down.

It couldn't be true.

You were so excited that you didn't even make guesses about what it could be. You tore the paper, now eagerly and with so much force that you saw an album falling to the ground.

As soon as you read Speak now on the cover, and saw a blonde girl wearing a purple dress, you let out a muffled scream.

“Taylor Swift's albums, Seb?! Seriously?!”

Taylor Swift and Fearless were also in the small package, and now the excitement was overwhelming. You screamed like you hadn't in a long time. You stood up, and seeing Seb doing the same, you threw yourself into his arms and kissed him like you had never kissed him before, like he truly deserved to be kissed.

"If you're like this over three albums, how are you going to react when you see this?"

Without saying anything else, he handed you the larger envelope.

You hesitated whether to take it or not because his face was totally expressionless, although his eyes hinted that he was eager for you to know what was inside.

Tickets for the Speak Now World Tour. Impossible.

"Seb, tickets have been sold out for quite a while now..." you stuttered, unable to look him in the eyes because you didn't want him to see you cry over this. "You know I've been looking everywhere for months and haven't found anything..."

"Well, but you're lucky to have found a boyfriend who’s a Formula 1 driver and has certain privileges," he said, forcing you to hug him. "I think you already know how we're going to celebrate the fourth anniversary of the day we met."

"You still remember?"

You pulled your head from his chest to look at him. His eyes were shiny, probably like yours were. The moment you saw him nod was when you couldn't contain your tears, and he couldn't control his either.

"How could I forget the day I met you, Y/N? It was March 13th, I'll never forget it," you were surprised he remembered, but what could you expect from this guy? "You met me in 2008, and in 2012 I promise you'll meet Taylor as surely as my name is Sebastian. Since we have to go to Australia for the first Grand Prix of the year it's no problem if we leave a few days earlier."

"You must be kidding," was all you could say in a voice so low that only you heard it.

You remained standing even as you saw him sit down and start to open the bag containing the takeout food he had ordered.

"Love, I don't know what you'd prefer first, so I'll put a bit of everything on the plate for you, and if you don't want more, I'll eat it myself or we can save it for tomorrow, okay?"

You sat down beside him, perhaps too close for you both to be able to dine quietly and comfortably, but in those moments, you think neither of you cared in the slightest.

"I'm really sorry I didn't get you anything sunshine," you said as you picked up a glass of gazpacho. "Honestly, I completely forgot, and I won't lie to you: I've never celebrated Valentine's Day, so..."

"Don't worry about that, babe. Don't you dare to think about gifts or anything," he interrupted, leaving his plate of food on the blanket and wrapping his arms around you, taking your chin and forcing you to look at him. "From now on, we're going to celebrate everything," he stole a kiss from you and then pulled away. "But I don't want you to give me anything, alright? The best gift not only for Valentine's Day, but for life, is you, and nothing and no one in the world will surpass you, okay?"

"Okay, sunshine."

"Y/N," he called you a few seconds later as he started eating. "You're the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

You smiled and ate, trying not to choke, enjoying Seb's effort to sing Mine as best as possible while also trying to keep the piece of tortilla in his hands from breaking.

You felt happy, and you were afraid it would be snatched away from you at any moment. You allowed yourself the luxury of not thinking about it, and as your voices joined together in unison in the chorus of the song, you couldn't help but think that on days like today, your boyfriend, your partner, the only person who had trusted you to rise in Formula 1, the blond German who had hurt you only to fix it afterwards, the one you risked considering the love of your life, was the one who made everything worthwhile.

[silkenwinger]

angst galore incoming, inspired by this/translation (almost required listening tbh)

He stares at his door for ten minutes straight. Some part of him wishes he was at work. He tried, at first, to oppose Price, but his captain is one stubborn man, and when he puts his will into one thing, he's capable of moving mountains to make it happen. So Simon is "home" for his birthday.

Price said it. Try calling her. Except he doesn't think it will do one good thing, and he only has himself to blame. He broke it off with you because he could feel the worst of himself coming out of his mouth and seeping its way into his hands. He's always been a far cry from a perfect partner, but he wanted to spare you from his absolute worst. If he couldn't do that, he might as well be alone. You never complained, but he could tell by the look in your eyes that you didn’t like some of his ways. That you didn’t tell him anything because you, at some level, were scared of him, of what it’d be without him.

He remembers the day very clearly. You'd gone out for dinner. You looked cute in your peach dress; he looked as dreadful as usual. Your expression stayed joyful for most of the night, anticipating god knows what. He'd let you eat and then tore you apart once you were back home. You had pleaded with your tears, and your words, with your body... he'd been unmovable then.

It crept on him as the days passed. At first, he felt like he'd done you a great service, releasing you from his shackles. He always wanted too much. You'd be freer without him, without the fear that comes with dating a soldier. And as sharp as you are, you'd find a way without him, even if it felt hopeless at first.

Then he started to feel as badly as he did before meeting you. Part of it he drowned in work— the rest stayed to laugh at him. He spent hours working out so he'd get so tired, the nightmares couldn't reach him in his slumber. When that didn't work, he stared at the wall in the dead of the night willing you there, in the room with him. Now that he's doing the same thing, the inane thought manifests into his mind and doesn't leave. He knows you're a homebody– rare chance of you being out at this hour on a weekday. He'll make the same drive he always did, walk the courtyard, knock on your door. He will apologize and hold you close and call himself a stupid fucking dog for letting you go. For not believing you when you said you could go through this together, that it wasn't only his burden. Yes... you'll love him still, the way you did for so long, no games or childish tricks, only honesty and gentleness.

The light in your living room is on. He rings the bell, then knocks on the door to be clear. He has to see you now. He thinks he will die if he doesn’t. You open a sliver of the door, looking out with one eye. Clever girl, you never know who’s on the other side. When you recognise him, you open it more, still slowly.

"Simon," you murmur, your throat bobbing as you look at him from head to toe. He must look like a mirage. Your hair is done. Hanging out with the girls?

"Hey," he hears himself say. You look well. As well as the day he left you.

Your mouth is hanging slightly, your expression confused, but not necessarily angry. Maybe you are happy that he showed up, that he's still alive, that he thinks about you. Your hands, fiddling at each other, look cold as ever, nails coming to scratch off some non-existent cuticle.

"May I come in?" He thinks he's never been so brazen in his life, and his reputation is not exactly spotless. Your nose scrunches and you laugh then, the beautiful sound that he missed so much, a breathless giggle. He’s so close— so close to making it again, to holding your hands in his, to—

The spell is broken when another voice calls your name. A male voice, almost worried, inquisitive. To ask who’s at the door. Reality crashes on him as loud as an unexpected explosive, the shells of it stabbing him. Your laugh isn’t one of understanding, of residual love, it’s a laugh of disbelief at him. He freezes then, and can’t force himself to look inside, to confirm what he’s heard. His hands flex, his fists clench. You’re the one talking now, holding your hands up, almost reaching to touch his arm, but he dodges it, takes a step back.

“I-I’m sorry,” he manages to spit out, looking at you for one last time, not even daring to look inside for whoever you’re seeing now. You look sad, now, again, as he left you. Always causing you grief.

“Simon, it’s ok, we can—”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he tries to give an explanation, some kind of madness that took control of him and moved his body across the city. But he fears its name is loneliness and yearning.

He turns and starts walking away, not even looking back when you call his name again, as much as he’d like to. He closes the gate on his way out, hands in his pockets.

[yara0546]

Nctdream and how they would react to being asked about idol!reader in a interview pls? :))

Nct dream reaction When they ask them about you (idol) in an Interview

Pairing: nct dream x idol reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy.

Note : English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

Mark

Mark shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with a small chuckle. He knows this question is coming but still wasn’t fully prepared for it.

Mark: “Oh yeah! She’s really talented. I mean, everyone knows that, right? Her stage presence is insane, and I have a lot of respect for her as an artist.”

The interviewer presses, “You two seem to have a good friendship. Have you worked together behind the scenes?”

Mark blinks a few times, trying to choose his words carefully.

Mark: “Uh… yeah, we’ve hung out a couple of times with mutual friends. She’s a great person really down to earth.”

Renjun smirks beside him, whispering, “That’s all?” Mark coughs awkwardly and quickly sips his water.

Renjun

Renjun leans back with a knowing smile, clearly expecting the question.

Renjun: “Oh, y/n ? Yeah, she’s amazing. Super hardworking and really passionate about music. You can see it in everything she does.”

The interviewer tilts their head. “You seem to know a lot about her.”

Renjun chuckles, pretending to look away.

Renjun: “What? No, no, I just… pay attention to talented people.”

Chenle snickers beside him, whispering, “Or just to her?” Renjun kicks his shin under the table.

Jeno

Jeno stays quiet at first, letting the others answer, but when the interviewer directs the question at him, he just nods.

Jeno: “She’s great. Very professional and cool on stage.”

The interviewer probes, “You’ve been spotted at the same events before. Do you know her well?”

Jeno’s fingers lightly tap on the table as he keeps his response short and sweet.

Jeno: “We’ve met a few times. She’s really nice.”

Haechan leans in with a grin. “Is that all? Because I remember someone watching all her performances.”

Jeno side-eyes him but doesn’t deny it, just shaking his head with a small smile.

Haechan

Haechan immediately grins and leans forward, making a show of it.

Haechan: “Ohhhh, y/n ? Don’t even get me started. She’s amazing her voice, her energy, her visuals. Honestly, I might be her biggest fan.”

The interviewer laughs, “Biggest fan? That’s a big claim.”

Haechan places a hand over his chest.

Haechan: “I mean it! If she ever needs a backup dancer or duet partner, I’m just saying I’m available.”

Jaemin sighs. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Haechan: “It’s called confidence.”

Jaemin

Jaemin smirks slightly, tilting his head as he listens. When it’s his turn, he simply hums before answering.

Jaemin: “She’s… interesting.”

The interviewer laughs. “Interesting? That’s all?”

Jaemin shrugs, his playful smile never fading.

Jaemin: “She’s incredibly talented and has a strong presence. You can’t help but notice her.”

The way he says it makes everyone suspicious. Chenle leans in. “Are you hiding something?”

Jaemin just winks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Chenle

Chenle nods enthusiastically.

Chenle: “She’s cool! Her performances are always solid, and she’s got a great personality too.”

The interviewer smiles. “You seem pretty familiar with her.”

Chenle grins. “Yeah, she’s fun. We’ve talked a bit, and she’s super nice.”

Haechan gasps dramatically. “Wait, is Chenle actually being nice? This must mean something!”

Chenle rolls his eyes. “I just recognize talent when I see it.”

Jisung

Jisung blinks, caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting the question and hesitates before speaking.

Jisung: “Uh… yeah, she’s really cool.”

The interviewer chuckles. “You seem shy about this.”

Jisung scratches his ear, looking at his hyungs for help.

Jisung: “I mean, she’s a great performer. I respect her a lot.”

Haechan nudges him. “Just say you have a crush already.”

Jisung turns red. “What?! I didn’t say that!”

[v-arbellanaris]

a non-exhaustive examples of facts about the qunari that were established prior to veilguard:

david gaider himself denies any 'functional' similarities between islam and the qun, but in the same sentence states that they play a role in thedas similar to the role of the arabs in medieval europe which is. yknow. where all the islamophobic caricatures come from in real life?

those that leave the qun inevitably succumb to their inherently violent natures. the qun is the only thing that keeps qunari 'civilised' as a race of people

the qunari are a "foreign race" that seek to "force everyone to convert to islam - sorry, the qun" ignoring that, much like christianity, the chantry's goal is proselytisation through settler colonialism (as evidenced in the colonisation of the dales)

anyone who refuses to convert to the qun will be made to convert. these converts are usually painted as delusional or insane for siding with 'the enemy' - tallis, gatt, etc - under a 'false' promise of equality under the qun.

the qunari oppress their women - sten has conversations with you in dao about how you can't be a woman AND fight, because women don't fight in the qun. the idea of enforced, strict gender roles and that oppression of women is a key part of societal construct is, ding ding, islamophobia

mages - a group facing systemic oppression under the southern chantry - face "even worse" oppression under the qun - with their mouths sewn shut, not allowed to speak to anyone else for fear of 'tempting them' etc. idk if anyone's discussed this before but this reads a lot like western ideas around the hijab as a tool of oppression - specifically that it stifles women's freedom of speech and the mistaken impression that non-muslims have around the idea that muslim women wear the hijab to stop men being "tempted" by them

the word qunari itself is an anagram + 1 letter away from the word 'qur'an'. that alone might be a coincidence, except for the ideas around the tome of koslun, which closely mimic/follow ideas around the qur'an. in mark of the assassin, one of the qunari also randomly says the word 'kafir' (iirc) with absolutely no explanation or translation of what that word could POSSIBLY mean in qunlat until today.

speaking of mark of the assassin, all of tallis' ability icons involve islamic iconology and colours - green and white, crescent shapes and stars, and damningly, literally a niqabi.

and there are many more examples besides this, of course, but this is just a primer. the portrayal of the qun has always been racist, orientalist and islamophobic. veilguard doubled down on that, but let's not pretend bioware's ever been good about the qunari. you've just always been comfortable with their portrayal of the qun until someone else called it out.

i think the funniest part about people going 'well i love that there's no racism in veilguard actually' is that they're actually stupid because the godawful overtly aggressively racist, islamophobic and orientalist representation of the qunari is right there the ENTIRE TIME completely bald-faced and unapologetic but i guess it doesn't count as racism because... what? this portrayal fits in with your world view of the real life analogues?

[reomikagekin]

Hi , friend! If you can, could you do Luka.. Like headcanons on what being wiht him is like. If you wanna, thank you. :)

Being With Luka – Headcanons

•The Charismatic Illusion:

Luka is the kind of person who seems like a perfect partner at first. He’s charming, attentive, and knows exactly what to say to make you feel special. He’s a master at presenting himself as a devoted and princely lover, the kind of person others would envy you for dating.

----

•Manipulative Tendencies:

Beneath that polished exterior, Luka is calculating. He’s always analyzing situations, figuring out the best way to gain the upper hand. If he sees you as someone useful, he’ll subtly push you in directions that benefit him—though he’ll make it seem like it was your idea all along.

---

•Selective Vulnerability:

Luka isn’t someone who easily opens up. If he ever does, it’s likely intentional, a way to create intimacy or gain your trust. You’d have to be very perceptive to tell when he’s being genuine versus when he’s using emotions as a tool.

---

•High Expectations:

He demands excellence, not just from himself but from you as well. If you’re in his life, he expects you to be competent, driven, and able to keep up with him. He won’t tolerate weakness unless it serves his goals.

---

•Possessiveness Wrapped in Sweet Words:

Luka isn’t openly jealous, but he has a way of making sure you know you belong to him. He phrases things like gentle reassurances—“You know I’m the only one who truly understands you, right?”—but the underlying message is clear.

---

•Calculated Affection:

He’s affectionate when it benefits him. He’s the type to hold your hand in public, making sure everyone sees how devoted he is, but those displays of love might not always translate to genuine care behind closed doors.

---

•Unshakable Confidence:

Luka rarely doubts himself, and if you challenge him, he’ll find a way to turn the situation back in his favor. Arguments with him aren’t loud fights—they’re quiet, psychological battles where he subtly shifts blame or makes you question yourself.

---

•Moments of Genuine Care?

If you somehow manage to be someone he truly values beyond just utility, Luka might show rare moments of sincerity. But even then, there’s always the question—how much of it is real, and how much is just another carefully crafted performance?

Being with Luka is like walking a tightrope—you’re either his greatest asset or just another piece on his board. If you’re clever enough, maybe you can be the one person who sees through him and makes him falter. But is that a risk you’re willing to take?

[reccyls]

The Robin Who Grazed the Reaper’s Secret Eagerly Awaits His Words (Part 2)

My translation of Victor's 2025 birthday story

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue (Victor's POV)

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In the sitting room of an orphanage, we sat opposite of the young man who was in charge of the facility.

Victor: If you have any difficulties, feel free to share them with us.

According to William’s mission report, the previous orphanage director and his associates had been dealt with.

(The former director had abused the children here, and even taken part in human trafficking.)

Orphanage Director: I know I’ve only just become the director recently. Orphanage Director: But there are still some children who are wary of me…

The troubled director had no clue about what his predecessor had done.

(William’s fake mission was to verify whether or not the new director had any connection to the previous one.)

But Victor had already determined the man’s innocence.

Victor: If it’s all right, could we meet with the children?

…

The director showed us to the orphanage’s garden, where I could hear excited voices chattering.

Kate: They look like they’re doing well.

Victor: The most important thing for children is that they’re happy.

Victor’s profile as he watched over the children was overflowing with affection.

Victor: When these children grow up, they will be the foundation that supports this country. Victor: Just like you.

His hand was still holding mine. Aside from his warmth, there was something else that made my heart race. And right then, a boy pointed at us.

Energetic Boy: Those grownups are being lovey-dovey!

Kate: L-Lovey dovey!?

At the boy’s shout, the other children began ooh-ing and aah-ing as they gathered around. However…

(Ah.)

At the periphery of my vision, I could see a girl with a guarded look in her eyes. Victor noticed her too, and he smiled.

Victor: Everyone, look closely! On the count of three, flowers are going to fly out of our hands!

Raising our joined hands high in the air, Victor encouraged the children to count along.

Victor: Three! Two! One! Abracadabra!

Children: Wow!!

I was as surprised as the children were when flowers began raining from our hands.

Victor: Oh? I think today’s a good day for me. Victor: That’s not all I’ve got!

Flowers sprouted from Victor’s sleeves, and doves flew out of his coat.

(That girl looks a little more relaxed now.)

I looked over the girl, who was now looking directly our way.

Victor: Kate.

I realized that Victor had slipped something into my hand, and then I slowly approached the girl. When I reached the nervous girl, I crouched down and opened my hand.

Wary Girl: Wow…

A flower unfurled in my palm.

Kate: That mister over there is really good at magic tricks. Kate: Do you want to watch some more with me?

It took some time, but the girl eventually nodded and put her hand in mine. Making sure she was okay, I stood up.

Kate: Let’s go!

…

In no time at all, we’d gotten close to the children and played with them in the garden. However…

(I’m… at my limit… Victor’s amazing…)

He was the exact opposite of my exhausted self, still overflowing with energy as he played with the children. Even the children who were initially wary were now happily running about hand-in-hand with Victor.

(The mission may have been fake, but I’m glad we came here today.)

Even if Crown punishes the wicked, the wounds of those affected by their evil don’t disappear. But life goes on.

(So that no one will ever hurt anyone like these children have been hurt…)

Kate: I need to work harder.

Victor: I think you already work hard enough.

Kate: Victor! I thought you were still playing with the kids?

I didn’t notice when Victor had sat down beside me. He gave me a self-pitying smile.

Victor: I’d forgotten that children have infinite energy.

He let out an enormous sigh, and as I laughed, I placed my hand over his.

Kate: You shouldn’t work too hard either, all right?

Victor: Hm?

Kate: Both Crown and I care about you a lot. We don’t want you to push yourself too much. Kate: When you find yourself overwhelmed, it’s fine to reach out to someone else for help.

Victor normally works so hard that we’ve had to resort to creating a fake mission to get him to take a break.

(It really does worry me…)

Victor: You’re the same as ever.

A gentle, yet somehow melancholy, smile found its way onto Victor’s face as he brushed my cheek. When I realized he was touching me, I felt my face heat up. But then–

Kate: Oh!

I suddenly remembered something important, and stood up abruptly.

Victor: Kate? What’s the ma-

Kate: I- I, um. I have to, uhh, wash my hands!

Throwing out the first excuse to cross my mind, I raced away, ignoring Victor’s calls behind me.

…

(William helped make the reservation, but I’m still amazed at how well it turned out. I’m glad.)

Carefully packed in the box I was holding to my chest was Victor’s birthday cake. The important errand I had to run was to pick up the cake William and I had ordered.

(Victor must be pretty worried right now after I ran off…)

The cake shop was only a few minutes away from the orphanage. However, the sun was now beginning to set, so I quickened my pace.

Kate: I hope Victor likes it.

Absorbed by my thoughts, I didn’t notice the hand reaching out to me from behind.

Kate: Wha-

The moment I realized that something was being pressed against my mouth, I felt myself growing weak. The box slipped from my grasp.

Kate: Vic… tor…

The world went dark.

[dunmeshistash]

Chilchuck Revealed in Five Keywords

5 keywords section from the Adventurer's Bible, this is transcribed from the EHScans translation for more info you can check this post. My own notes will be at the end of the post.

1. Encounter

Laios and Chilchuck were first introduced to each other through a member of the half-foot guild, Dandan. Though at the time Chilchuck was considering retiring from participating in dungeon expeditions due to his age, no other half-foots had the expertise necessary to accompany Laios to such a deep floor of the dungeon, so he agreed to go with them. Incidentally, the average lifespan for half-foots is around 50 years old. Since Chilchuck is the equivalent of about 50 years old by the standards of a modern human*, this would have been quite an early retirement for him. He intended to become a locksmith after quitting adventuring.

2. Weight Management

Compared to the average half-foot, Chilchuck is on the taller side. Accordingly, his body weight is greater as well, which means it's easier for him to set off traps. He's very meticulous and careful about maintaining his body weight at an acceptable level. However, after Senshi took over cooking duties for the group, he's become a hearty eater and his body weight keeps creeping up steadily.

3. Liquor

Chilchuck is a heavy drinker. Apparently his father died from excessive drinking, but Chilchuck thinks that dying while doing something you love isn't the worst way to go. Thus, he makes no effort to avoid alcohol, and heartily partook of the homebrewed beverages made by the residents of the Golden Castle.

4. Family

Chilchucks family consists of his wife and three daughters; all three of the latter are already independent. He and his wife were childhood friends, and they are the same age. She currently lives at their middle daughter's house. The panels shown bellow are** from one of Marcille's fantasies, and only Chilchuck knows the truth behind what really happened. In any case, since any lingering doubts about him cheating on his wife were cleared away, Chilchucks reputation amongst the women in the party (mainly Marcille) was mended.

5. Appearance

With their youthful faces and short stature, many half- foots are seen as adorable by others. Some of them use that to their advantage to do things like ingratiate themselves with people of other races or to commit crimes. Chilchuck thinks that though such actions may have short term benefits for the individual in question, in the long run it causes others to look down on the half-foot race as a whole, and loathes his brethren that use their appearances in that manner.

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*This part causes a lot of confusion, it says he's "the equivalent of about 50 years old by the standards of a modern human". I think this comparison isn't about objective age (29 being the equivalent of 50 would be like half-foots living to be the equivalent of 86 on average, that's 10 years more than modern human average), I think it's more likely about what his life stage is compared to humans today. The average lifespan for half-foots in Dungeon Meshi is 50 so he still got 21 years left on that, which would be similar to a modern day 50yo retiring (Average global life expectancy irl is a bit over 70). (Edit: btw, converting his age to tallman using this conversion chart we get 33, which I think is more accurate than 50)

**Original translation by EHScans says "panel shown to the left is(..)" but I adjusted the wording to match the post format

Stats

Timelines

Official version bellow the cut

[cowboyschumi]

MY KINK IS YOUR KARMA

Summary: The culture of hooking up was never your thing, but it was Franco's fascination, something you didn't realize until rumors started spreading. His life quickly turned miserable, and, to your surprise, you quite enjoyed it. Inspired by Chappell Roan's song.

Author’s note: My first fic, woohoo. English is not my first language, neither Italian, sorry for any typos etc. Support and requests are always appreciated. Much love and enjoy the reading!

Warnings: Angst, maybe? Reader being kinda cruel/hater.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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Boys are all straight out of fairy tales when you first meet them, including Franco. That boy had the most magnetic charm you’d ever seen, and he knew it. He loved having a certain allure and using it to his advantage, with everyone wrapped around his finger. But he liked to play pretend, acting as if he didn’t do those specific things that had people falling for him.

You were invested long before all that, long before the world knew him as a formal F1 driver. You gatekept him as your little secret.

He had lived in an Italian car factory since he was thirteen, not knowing a single word of the language. Of course, some sort of miracle had to rescue him—and that was you. Without even realizing it, you started spending entire days by his side. You were just kids, making the most of every beautiful corner in Italy. Something began to bloom inside you when you noticed that your "teaching Italian" had faded into the background. You completely forgot your original purpose because you two simply enjoyed each other's company too much.

"Ti amo tantissimo." His brows furrowed, unsure about his pronunciation. Surprisingly, the Argentinian accent was similar to the Italian one—melodically, at least. You tried not to burst into laughter after hearing those words. He was just practicing; he didn’t really mean it. But your stomach turned upside down anyway.

"Not so bad. You're improving." Your tone was strict, almost like a teacher correcting her student. He couldn't help but chuckle at it. It was adorable how much you cared about him getting it right.

"Ti amo is used in a romantic way, and ti voglio is for family and friends."

Franco was the yapper in your dynamic. Sometimes, the roles reversed, and you were the one talking while he listened. It was the way your eyes sparkled, the way your hands moved with your words, so passionate about your interests, and the boy loved that.

"Which one suits us better?" Franco asked with a mix of curiosity and confidence, avoiding direct eye contact. He was weak around you—his Achilles’ heel.

He had never struggled with self-esteem or second-guessed himself, but when things started getting serious in your friendship, for the first time, he hesitated.

That’s how everything started, some Italian words, late summer nights together, and a bunch of innocent flirting, which led to everything, yet nothing at all. Because men always have an obsession with saying the most endearing, heartfelt sweet nothings before leaving you.

He did it too. Of course, he would.

We, as women—overthinkers—already know everything months in advance. Female intuition never fails.

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He moved to Spain shortly after things got serious between you. You couldn’t blame him, dreams came first, and you were more than proud of him for achieving his. All the "Promise we'll keep in contact and text each other" ran down the drain.

No one is really that busy; they just don’t want to text you. You repeated it to yourself like a mantra after realizing he had ghosted you.

It was exactly what you expected from him when he got caught on a dinner date by some paparazzi. What happened to the simple, casual boy you met at thirteen?

What was so endearing and fancy, about one-night stands and then forgetting it all, that you were not catching? Committing was now overrated.

Surprisingly, you forgot about his existence—or at least, you thought you did—until some interviews of his went viral on the internet. He was not PR-trained at all, and it was noticeable by his sense of humor, jokes, and playful comments. The Twitter community started dragging him, titling him an authentic womanizer. You deleted all media after seeing that, unable to bear any sight of him.

Winter break came, and so did the end of the F1 season. His name kept being a hot topic, always on everyone’s lips. You couldn’t just erase him from your life that easily.

His start was solid for a rookie. After Logan’s performances, team principals were stunned by him keeping the car on track.

But what went wrong? He was slowly ruining his career and you liked it?

You couldn’t care less about his new girlfriend, him rebuilding his life, or even forgetting all the memories you had together. What goes around eventually comes back, and it was burning him in the most unpleasant ways.

Franco was losing his mind, and you were feasting on it.

Life moved on, and so did you. You had some me-time over the winter time, taking care of yourself and enjoying the weeks without the pressure of studying or working your ass off.

The town was a bit crowded, considering most tourists usually arrived during the summer holidays. People seemed happier than usual, which felt a bit off. Winter depression was a real thing.

Christmas was near, and that was your answer for everything being so full and non-walkable, kids and parents walking around with shopping bags. You should’ve been doing the same, buying presents, but you liked leaving your duties to the last minute. Procrastination, your guilty pleasure.

People were lining up outside Castore's sportswear store, and that was one of the many reasons you hated this time of year: consumption and capitalism at its peak. You stood on your tiptoes, trying to see what the big deal was inside the store.

The odds were slim, but there he was, signing Alpine t-shirts. You felt your ears starting to warm up, your fists clenching. And, of course, he saw you, the only female and familiar face among the group of little boys and girls waiting for an autograph. You wanted to disappear right there.

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"Came to see me?" Again, you two were on your classic bench, but everything had changed—everything about him.

You scoffed at his comment, almost feeling disgusted by his cocky attitude after all this time. You sat on the other side of the long wooden chair, keeping your distance from his personal space. The brown-haired boy’s eyes widened at your non-verbal response. It felt like a punch to his ego.

"I would invite you to dinner, but I’m dry... I mean, you saw me there, signing shirts." Fame came with its costs, and he wasn’t ready for it yet, just stepping into that world.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you remembered one of the many memes you’d seen about him, specifically the one where people joked that he was poor. He didn't understand what you were laughing at but played along with it.

"I’ve got things to do, Fran." You knew very well he loved that nickname—it was like poking a finger into an open wound. And you did it on cue, because right after your words, you stood up from your bench. Y/N and Franco’s bench. You had every intention of leaving, just like he left you.

"Will we see each other again?" There was a hint of hope in his voice, even though the spark in his eyes was gone. His figure seemed as though it had been sucked in by a vacuum cleaner, drained and tired.

You couldn’t help but smile, not because of his question or his need to see you. You were happy because you were witnessing his downfall. As you leaned toward him, you left a quick kiss on his cheek—a way of saying goodbye without words.

Getting back to him was not an option, not because you didn’t want to. Of course, you wanted him back. But having him wouldn’t satisfy your kink of watching karma do its thing.

Your intuition told you that your paths would cross again, it was meant to. For now, you enjoyed observing with careful distance.