#maybe he'd save it for rare occasions

[allastoredeer]

I have no idea if this is a thing, and you seem to know a lot, so: would Alastor be able to play the 'I fought in WW1' card to draw suspicion away from himself while smuggling alcohol during the prohibition?

Ah thank you ^.^ Haha, I've mostly just been reading up on things. Despite any history facts I give out, I always recommend people research too. Who knows? I might misread something or misinterpret it. I don't wanna spread misinformation.

World War 1 ended in 1918 and the Prohibition ended in 1933, so I wouldn't put it past Alastor to pull the "I fought in WW1" card if it gave him an advantage, or got him out of a tight spot.

And he'll lay it on thick too, especially if he's in a REALLY tight pickle. Anything to get out once the cops start sniffing around.

Maybe to get a few free drink every now and again, too.

[bluetimeombre]

✧˚ · . 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞,

✧˚ What if Logan had a nightmare about your death and swore that he would never let anything happen to you. But what if, him trying to save you is what gets you killed in the first place?

(I’m back!! Trust me to find a hot guy to obsess over and immediately get to writing. Yes, I’m on the X-men, Logan, Wolverine band wagon and honestly, couldn’t be happier to be here. Binged all the movies, have read all the smut (and don’t tempt me, I want to write my own) but for now enjoy this pure ANGST. Also this is low-key inspired by when Anakin dreams of Padme dying)

Warning/ disclaimer: angst, death, grief, sexual innuendos made, made up scenario, Evil Jean and sad Rogue and very sad Logan. Angst. Not proof read.

You- unlike many if your unfortunate mutant friends- rarely had to deal with nightmares plaguing your peace. Once the moon came out and all the children were safe and tucked away, you took yourself to bed, maybe read a book or a theory Charles wanted your opinion on. On the rare occasion you'd go to the kitchen, see Jean or Scott up after a particularly bad dream.

It was even more rare for you to hear yelling down the corridor. But when you did, you recognised it immediately.

'No!' They yelled out and you shot up in bed, heart racing as if it was your horror you'd woken from.

'No! Not her, please...'

You pushed back your covers and rushed out as the screaming became louder and agonising. Students were already peeking their heads through their doors, or lingering in the doorways. Everyone knew that when he had nightmares, somebody else usually paid off it. 'Back to bed everyone,' you tell them all, trying to keep some composure whilst only in your night gown. You cleared your throat and shooed them all away. 'Nothing go see here.'

You stood in front of his door, blocking students from the door and waiting until they all disappeared back into their rooms.

From inside, you could hear him tossing and turning, claws sheathing and unsheathing. He called your name, more so cried it.

You rushed inside and locked the door behind you, creeping in.

Logan was bare chested (and dare you suggest, completely naked if it weren't for he covers pooling around his waist). He tossed and thrashed his arms out. The sheets were already torn up, blood marking them from where he must have cut himself.

With everything he'd endured it wasn't unlike him to wake up screaming, but in such pain and your name was new.

'Logan!' You crept closer, settling on the edge of his bed. You knew the risk as you watched his claws gleam in the moonlight. 'Logan, wake up!'

He tossed, face contorted in pain. 'Y/N!' He screamed.

As his hand wiped out, you grabbed his wrist before he could accidentally strike you. This seemed to alert him as he shot up, his other fist coming for you.

You stopped him again, with your powers that you'd never been more thankful for.

Logan's eyes cleared from their haze as he slowly realised it was you. His breath moved with his deep and ragged breaths as he stared, taking every part of you in. His eyes searched, as if he couldn't believe you were in front of him.

You gulped, dreading to think what he must have seen.

'Y/n,' he sighed. His claws drew back into his knuckles and he winced. You were reminded how it hurt for him, every time. So it hurt to see him hurt. It always had.

It was an old and tumultuous relationship the two of you shared. Way before he joined the X-Men. The two of you met out of order, always one knowing more about the other. Still, there was no word for what the two of you meant to each other. You didn't need a word. Everyone knew, they just decided to call it different things:

A fling. Love at first sight. Enemies to lovers. Soulmates...

Logan pushed himself back until his back was to the headboard. 'Bub,' he still held onto your wrist, as if afraid you'd disappear if he let you go.

You cupped his rough and large hand in your own. 'Nightmare?'

Sometimes they were memories, painful ones. But the screams, the growls, you'd never heard that reaction from him before.

'You died,' he whispered. He looked her over again. 'You died in my arms.'

'I'm right here,' you said.

Logan looked into your eyes, shaking his head. He was trembling.

You grabbed his cheeks. Any other time, he would have turned away or growled but he only stared at you. Your thumbs soothed over his cheeks, begging him to see you. 'I'm safe. You're safe. Nothing is going to happen to us.'

As if the words instructed him, he knelt, the covers clinging to cover his decency. He held onto your shoulders, a grip worthy of leaving bruises. 'I won't lose you like I've lost everyone else, bub. I won't.'

You nod. 'Ok.'

Logan slowly shrunk back, tucking his covers closer to him. His hands fell between the two. 'Did I... get you?'

For a moment you wondered what he meant. His claws. He was afraid he'd hurt you.

'What? oh, no. No. I'm fine. You must have got yourself though,' you said, gesturing to the blood on the sheets like blood against snow.

'I heal,' Logan grumbled, glancing back up at you. Without saying it, you knew he had the dark images floating in his mind again.

'I'm fine, Logan. You don't need to be so afraid.'

He gulped, his jaw clenching. There was something he wanted to say, but wasn't.

Your hand itched out to reach his but after years of experience, you knew too much physical touch or affection would scare him away. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No,' he denied immediately. 'I don't want to think about it.'

You nod slowly. 'Ok.'

The door was still locked and the night was still going.

'Do you want me to stay?'

Logan looked at the door and then at the wrecked sheets around him. He sighed at the sight but his eyes glanced up to you. God, you saw the pain fade to something else. Something softer. 'Come 'ere.' He pulled at your shoulder until you were tucked into his side, warmth spreading over your skin as he tugged the blanket over the two of you.

Your arm slid over his chest and you sighed at the feeling of him. Your legs hiked up, until you were a ball in his side. 'Oh thank god, you're wearing boxers.'

He huffed a laugh, your head moving on his chest. 'I can take them off, if you like?'

You hummed, fingers tracing circles on his chest. 'Don't tempt me, Wolvie.'

✧˚

Logan had always battled against his dreams.

On one hand, he knew they were tricking him. He knew what nightmares were memories played ten-fold to make them worse and he knew which ones were playing on his fears. Like you dying.

But, the less reasonable part of himself (and the part he favoured) couldn't stop thinking about your death. It was the first dream of the sort. He'd had some where he hurt you, his claws sinking into your skin. He'd have other dreams where he was sinking himself into you in a different way.

Your death was new. And it scared him. It scared him so bad he went to Charles to try to calm him.

'Our minds have a way of tricking us, Logan,' said the professor. 'Y/N is a string mutant, level five at that. And she is sensible, good for you in that way.'

'It was Jean,' he admitted. 'In the dream, it was Jean that killed her.' Knowing how much you loved the woman, he hadn't wanted to tell you. You were close enough to sisters, with similar enough powers to grow up together and help each other. For days, he'd looked at Jean with anger and grief. He couldn't help himself, even when Scott threatened to hurt him.

When Charles hesitated to talk him down, to comfort him and tell him Jean would never, it set Logan on edge for the rest of his days.

Now, he feared it was less a dream and more a prophecy.

Jean had lost herself to the Phoenix, that power inside of her that had always threatened to break out. She'd killed the professor, she'd got rid of Cyclops.

Her eyes were set on you.

Logan had done all he could to talk you down to helping. To fighting but you'd distracted him and come along anyway. He'd tried to take down Jean himself with little effort.

The only other person who stood any chance, was you.

He was slouched on the ground, a slab of metal crushing him down as he watched you creep closer to Jean like she was a ticking time bomb. 'Y/n,' he tried to call.

Maybe you didn't hear him, or perhaps you didn't want to. 'Jean, please! Listen to me.'

Logan grunted, trying hard, trying so hard to get free. 'No!'

You raised your hands to the redhead. Her eyes were dark, black like ink and beyond recognition. But she was still your friend, in there. 'Let me help you. I want to help you.'

'Go away,' she growled, trying to push you away with her power, but you blocked with your own.

'Y/N! Don't!' he yelled.

His voice irritated Jean, who's neck cranked around to get rid of his voice. 'Stop!' she yelled.

'Jean, you can stop this. All you need to do is come back to me,' you said, every step getting closer and closer to her.

'Stop!'

Logan grunted, straining against the junk. 'Y/N.'

You reach out a hand to her. 'Jean, come back to us.'

'Leave me alone!' she threw out her arms and you were thrown from your feet, from the junk, tumbling down and being thrown out of sight.

But you couldn't be dead. No, you'd survived worse. But Jean had hurt you and whatever inside of her wasn't Jean.

Logan found the strength and threw the junk off him, running to end Jean and not you.

It was a mistake. If he had known you were in your final breaths then he'd have fought thousands of Jean's to reach you.

But no, whilst he dealt with saving the world, Rogue fell to your side. She gasped at what she was seeing. Metal. Metal pieces thrust through your chest, marking your suit with blood. Too much blood. You didn't heal. Getting out of there was a no go.

Rogue cried. 'Oh god.'

'Hey,' your eyes were barely open, as if so sleepy you couldn't hold your eyes open. Your hand reached out to grab her, but she seemed so far away. 'It's ok. I'm ok.' Both knew it was a lie. A comforting lie. Your head lulled to the side, to look toward Rogue. 'Is Logan alright?'

As you asked, the chaos around them ended. Logan threw his claws into Jean and laid her down gently, knowing you'd want to treat her with the last bit of respect she deserved. He did it for you. All for you.

Rogue watched as everything around you fell. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing a wounded Logan heal at remarkable rate. 'Yes. Yes, he's alright-'

When she looked back at you, your eyes were closed. It was so peaceful, so quick and easy it was as if you were sleeping. But Rogue gently touched your hand with her bare skin and there was nothing. Nothing.

'No!' an animalistic roaring echoed around them, shaking the earth. Logan fell next to you, hands hovering over your body, afraid to touch. 'No! No!' finally, he touched you, ripping away any little part of metal he could get to.

Rogue backed away, crying silently as the X-men gathered to see Logan cradle his own heart to his chest.

Slowly, he takes you in his arms and pulls you from the metal that had stabbed you. Your body slouches, arms falling out and not wrapping around him, not comforting him like he needed you to. He shook your body, tears blurring his vision and sliding down until they splashed on your cheeks. But you didn't flinch.

'Y/N? Y/N? Bub, c'mon,' he cried, shaking his head. 'Don't do this to me, no.'

It was just as he'd seen. Your blood. His body. Your death. His arms.

Logan growled. 'C'mon!' he roared. It was a moment of fury. Blind anger raging as you left him when you promised you never would. Suddenly, he remembered how much you hated his anger. How you'd shriek away from his yells. 'Oh, baby, i'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' Logan cradled you close, kissing the top of your forehead. You were so cold already.

Nobody touched him. Nobody comforted him. That was your job. But you were dead. His dreams had come true in the worst way possible.

Logan, held you close, rocking you both, finally realising what it felt like to lose everything.

(If anyone has any ideas for a Logan request please let me know, I’d love to try to write more about him!)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Save it For a Rainy Day

Week #9 Prompt: Where It All Started | Word Count: 1950 | Rating: T | POV: Wayne | Characters: Wayne, Eddie, Steve | Pairings: Wayne & Eddie, Steddie | CW: Eddie's Rough Start in Life, Parental Neglect, Language, S4 Canon | Tags: Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Taking in Eddie, Eddie and Steve Meet as Kids, Haircuts and Swimming Playdates, Fix-It, Happy Ending

He's so little. 

That's the only thought Wayne has, over and over again. He's so goddamn little. With lank, limp hair, all snarled and knotted, matted. Unkempt. Dirty. Dark circles under his sullen eyes. He's small, but at the same time he looks every bit of a hardened fifty-five, at all of seven-years-old.

He didn't look like that the last time Wayne had seen him. 

And Wayne is sick that he's deteriorated to this point, in just two years time. At five, he had been a happy, wild boy. All snips, snails and puppy dog tails. 

With a loud mouth and big, round cheeks.

Al swore he was fine, that they both were, on the rare occasions when he'd call after losing Betts and Wayne had believed him. Until the social worker was on his front steps, Eddie standing there, head bowed, so utterly serious.

"Do you want me to find someone to try and comb it out, or would you like to shave it and start over?" Wayne asks, and Eddie just shrugs. Still not talking, still buried deep within his shell.

Wayne's not going to decide for him. Thinks it should be his decision, but knows it can't stay like this either, even if he doesn't have it in him to start dragging a comb through it. He knows that'll hurt, and he can't do it to Eddie. Won't. 

"When you decide, you let me know," Wayne says, hoping he'll decide sooner rather than later.

It takes three days, but Eddie finally comes up behind Wayne on the couch, and taps him on the shoulder, and makes the motion for shaving his head.

"Okay, I'll get you an appointment," Wayne tells him, because he wants to do this right, and not leave Eddie with the memory of Wayne shaving his head in the kitchen of the trailer. Maybe that's cowardly, but he'd rather push that off on a professional. 

Eddie is sitting on the little wooden board the hairdresser placed over the arms of her chair to make him taller, the hydraulic lift hadn't even been enough to get him where she needed him, and he somehow still looks little.

She gently, oh so gently, takes the clippers to Eddie's hair, shaving off strips, as she talks him through each pass. Eddie seems fine with it, there are no tears, but no smiles either.

This was the right call. A beauty shop, not a barber. Wayne's own barber does just fine on his own hair, but wouldn't have been so delicate with Eddie, and right now, Wayne's pretty sure his boy needs a soft touch.

There's another boy in the chair next to Eddie, probably the same age, but he's so much larger, and more animated. Studying every move of her hand as she barely trims anything off his thick head of hair. He doesn't need the booster board, even if Wayne suspects he's younger than Eddie.

"Nanny Louisa, can I get my haircut like that?"

She laughs, "Steve. Your mother would have both of our hides. We all have very strict orders for your haircut and you know it." 

"Aw, man, it looks so cool," Steve whines, and if Wayne isn't mistaken, that's Richard Harrington's boy. And if that's true, there's no way he's leaving here with his head shaved, that's for damn sure.

And then, as if it were a miracle, Eddie smiles. It's small, faint, barely there. But it's a goddamn smile, aimed at the other little boy that is watching as Eddie's hair falls down all around his chair and onto the floor.

The Harrington boy doesn't win, and only gets a trim, but Eddie has straightened up on the board. Not nearly as withdrawn as he was when they entered the shop.

Maybe shedding all that damaged hair feels like a new start. Wayne sure hopes so, because they're gonna need all the help they can get.

When he's all brushed off, and the plastic cape removed, the hairdressers each hand Eddie and the Harrington boy a coupon for a free ice cream cone at the shop down on the corner. It's a perk for being good in the chair, and they both earned it today.

Eddie clutches his coupon in his little hands.

"Do you want to save that, or get it now?" Wayne asks, and Eddie looks torn. That isn't the look Wayne wants on his face, so he quickly amends his question, "Or both? You can save your coupon for a rainy day, and we can still get ice cream now," Wayne offers.

"Really?" Eddie says, looking so hopeful, and it's the most beautiful word Wayne's ever heard in his whole life.

"Really," he reassures, "you save it until you want to use it. And I'll buy, today."

"Can we go get ice cream, too, Nanny Louisa?" the Harrington boy asks, and she looks reluctant, but finally nods. She couldn't let him get his head shaved, but ice cream, that's probably a much more doable request.

Wayne sits at the table with Louisa and makes the world's most uncomfortable small talk, as the boys sit at another table together, and jabber back and forth. Well, Steve is doing most of the talking, but Eddie, his sweet Eddie, has said more in the past thirty minutes than he has in the past week, and Wayne doesn't care who has gotten those words out of him, he'll be grateful. 

When the cones are gone, both boys appear at the side of the table, "Eddie's coming over tomorrow to swim," Steve announces. 

"Oh, is he?" his nanny asks, teasing Steve, and Wayne smiles. 

"He is. His uncle will bring him," Steve says with a confidence that things will always go his way in life, and Wayne hopes that rubs off on Eddie, just a little bit.

"I will?" Wayne teases, and Eddie meets his eyes, and Wayne nods. "If it's okay with Miss Louisa, I think that could be arranged."

"I don't know how to swim," Eddie admits on the way home, and Wayne laughs.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made a swimming playdate then, kid," Wayne teases, and Eddie laughs, a small quiet laugh. But it was a laugh. Wayne heard it.

"Yeah," Eddie says, and then he's quiet for a stretch, "could you teach me?"

Wayne isn't so sure that's his area of expertise, but he supposes he could try, "Yeah, I can try."

Knowing Eddie would be far too embarrassed to go to the public pool, Wayne takes Eddie out to the swimming side of Lover's Lake.

Wayne, not sure the last time he's even been in shorts, wades out in the water in his cut-off jeans, surely blinding the boaters a mile out with his white legs, as Eddie walks in beside him.

And Wayne teaches him, always staying within an arm's reach. And Eddie swims. It might not be the fancy strokes that the Harrington boy can surely swim, in his private pool with his private swimming lessons. 

But Eddie's doing it, and Wayne feels like maybe, just maybe, he's finally done something right for the kid today.

Eddie's laughing, and splashing, a quick study, and Wayne lets him paddle around for as long as he wants, until the sun threatens to sink beyond the horizon. 

Once back on shore, Wayne wraps him up in a towel, just one from the house, and gets him back into the truck.

"I'm starving," Eddie says.

"The downside to going swimming, I'm afraid," Wayne answers, but swings by Benny's Burgers on the way home, getting them both a burger, fries and a milkshake. Ice cream twice in one day is fine, Wayne's pretty sure, since Wayne's celebrating the first good day they've had since Eddie got here.

Anything the kid wants, forever, Wayne will do his best to make happen.

In the morning, Wayne brings Eddie by Melvald's General Store, to let Eddie pick out a beach towel from the rack. Eddie combs through them, so serious as he checks out the options: Star Wars and Barbie and Huckleberry Hound.

"Garfield!" Eddie finally declares, and Wayne supposes that's the one. 

"Garfield, great choice," Wayne says, taking the towel to the counter so they can pay for it. So Eddie won't be embarrassed bringing a fraying old towel from home. So he'll have something new, and fun, that he picked out all for himself. 

Wayne probably should have washed it first, but he's not that organized, and Eddie'll live. Wayne pulls off the tag and hands it over, and Eddie hugs it to his chest.

Pulling into the circle drive at the Harrington's is weird, to say the least. He's never set foot on the property, and never imagined he ever would. But, Eddie's brought a lot of changes, and if Eddie likes this other little boy, and he's kind, Wayne will be polite and make his boy happy in any way he knows how.

That evening, when he picks Eddie up, he's tired, and a little sunburnt, but rattling off information about his new friend and all their grand plans for the summer vacation.

And as time always goes, that summer flew by too fast, and before Wayne knew it, years had passed. The boys drifted apart as fast as they became friends. As kids do. By high school, Wayne hasn't heard the name Steve Harrington from Eddie's mouth in years. 

But that summer, that first summer, Wayne will forever be grateful for him. For Steve Harrington, Garfield beach towels, and more ice cream cones than he could ever begin to count. To swimming, and fishing, and playing in the backyard. 

To the little kid that made his boy smile again.

And when Steve Harrington, now grown into a man, shows up on Wayne's doorstep, Eddie's denim vest clutched in his hands, filthy and blood-stained, Wayne lets him inside without a word. 

Wayne takes one look at him, and tells him to wait there. 

He has to dig, but he finally finds Eddie's piggy bank in a cardboard box that he'd packed from the remnants of the trailer, and pulls out the bottom plug. Change falls out, clattering onto the desk. 

But inside, there's a slip of paper. Folded to fit, and dirty from spending so much time hanging out amongst the coins.

Wayne clutches it in his hand, and when he presses it into Steve's palm, trading him for the vest, Steve looks down at it, his eyes wet and red-rimmed.

Wayne starts, "I don't know if you remember-"

"Of course I remember," Steve cuts him off. 

"Well, I thought today might be that rainy day."

Steve laughs, and sniffles a little, both at the same time.

"This ice cream shop has been closed for years," Steve says, but he's finally smiling, just a little. 

Eddie's not here to do it himself, not here to coax out that smile, so Wayne's repaid the debt for Eddie himself. 

"Yeah, well…" Wayne trails off.

"But it is, you know," Steve says, "that rainy day. So, thank you."

And months later, Eddie shows up on Wayne's doorstep again. Dirty, his hair matted, and eyes downcast. Thin, worn to the bone, and as silent and stoic as he had been at seven. Wayne asks no questions. The answers don't matter right now. Instead, he pulls on him, hugging him tight, welcoming him home.

They've done this before, and they can do it again. And Wayne's grateful to have the opportunity. He was so sure he'd never see him again.

Then, after Wayne's gotten Eddie settled, and Eddie is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing out his own hair, Wayne excuses himself, heading for the kitchen to call Steve Harrington.

Wayne tells him to bring ice cream.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[canisalbus]

why does Machete dislike confession duty?

I talked about it a bit earlier but for I'm just copying it all here to save you a click:

I'm under the impression that he'd hate doing confession duty and would probably avoid it whenever possible. He doesn't like being confined in a little box, away from the spaces he deems safe and familiar, with nothing productive to do but to sit and marinate in his thoughts. He doesn't like talking to strangers, especially one-to-one and about topics that are this delicate and personal, and he certainly doesn't like trying to come up with a fitting penance or words of sage advice. Even in the rare occasions when he gives it a honest try he feels like fish out of water. He'd be very formal and impersonal to deal with and penitents would probably find him mildly unnerving in his emotionlessness, but at least he'd be quick about it. He'd be even more tight-lipped if the topic of homosexuality came up, maybe he'd have some kind of tired pre-rehearsed set of lines prepared for those situations, nothing too condemning but also sufficiently in line with the church's standings. And then he'd go home feeling like the most spineless hypocrite.

He's much happier with his stacks of letters and treaties and formal meetings that don't go into personal details. Every now and then someone would confess him something actually grisly and upsetting and he'd feel physically dirty just from hearing it. And I can't imagine him being a very open and honest penitent himself either. He'd do it because you're supposed to but weasel his way out of revealing anyone anything actually significant.

[fraugwinska]

Giveaway 2nd Prize Winner Piece

Hello my loves! Our darling @lil-glum, who won myy 2nd prize in the 1k Follower giveaway, has graciously allowed me to share the finished piece with you all! It was a delight to work with her - and her ideas were so good that writing this felt less like work and all the more like a treat! <3 So much so that I, in fact, went a bit overboard with the word count! ;> As usual: Minors DNI or I'll curse you to always have moist socks!

Paint the Town Red

For weeks now, Alastor had stalked out that little human like a vulture, circling high above the oblivious prey and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Revisiting the living world should've been a glorious occasion, since summonings were becoming so rare nowadays, but that moron who dared to call on him hadn't been worth his while - but she was.

Luck and curse had it that he didn't have to return to hell right after the laughably one-sided deal was striked, leaving him time enough to put a little glamor on to stroll around town in his earthly disguise, freshly brewed coffee in hand, and see what humanity had been up to since his demise. The world had become frivolous, no class at all, and Alastor had felt at ease knowing that he had lived at the peak of culture and manners, never to be bettered.

And then she ran into him. Deeply immersed in a book - not those audacious electronic devices people put their nose in every waking hour - she'd rounded the corner while Alastor gawked around, lost to the world captured on the yellowed pages. A head full of red, silky locks had bumped into his chest and the book as well as his coffee dropped, the former to be saved by his quick reflexes. A simple flick of his wrist, and the book was back in her hand, while his cup of java laid spilled in a muddy puddle between their feet.

"Oh! Oh no - I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!" she'd said, pushing her glasses back her nose as she smiled up to him apologetically, and when Alastor met her eyes, something shifted. And just like that, the hunt was on.

"No harm done, darling. The coffee was poorly done anyway."

Since time was running out, he turned up his charm to at least get the girl's name and maybe another meeting out of the encounter, already planning on ways to return. Thankfully, she'd given it all too gladly, and promised to invite him for coffee as an apology for the spilled one. He'd taken the sound of her name into his hands like the greatest treasure, repeating it over and over in his mind as he was being dragged back to the afterlife tasting each vowel and consonant. Hunting down an indebted incubus and acquiring its asmodean crystal had been as easy as working out how to use it. And oh - did he use it.

His absence from his duties in the hotel became more and more obvious, but Alastor couldn't stop himself. It wasn't even the thrill of the chase that kept him going. Every time he saw her, it was as if her mere presence called out to an unknown part of him, as if her voice was a siren's call, as if her scent was a drug created just for him. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about her: The delightful way she laughed at his quips. The elegant way she spoke about her interests. The way she brushed her fiery hair back over her shoulder when she was nervous…

Alastor wanted it all, and he wanted her.

"Alastor, are you listening at all?" she smiled at him, pulling him out of his raging thoughts.

"My apologies, dear, I was merely...distracted. Please do repeat yourself." he cleared his throat and gave her a wide grin. The abandoned park they walked in was tinted in oranges, greens and browns, little specks of autumn's palette so becoming to her complexion.

"I was saying that I don't really feel like going back home yet. How about we take a detour - explore a little?" she proposed, pointing down to a small trail that led away from the main road, lined with trees and shrubbery, "There's supposed to be a pond around there, and I think it would be nice to enjoy your company a little longer."

Alastors ears perked up and his smile widened, threatening to mirror the one he always wore down in hell. She wanted to be alone with him, far away from prying eyes - that wonderful, naive thing.

"That sounds delightful, my dearest - lead the way!"

His mind was running wild with possibilities as he followed her down the path, watching her red locks bounce as she hopped down the sloping ground. How much she trusted him was as endearing as it was thrilling, and the urge to reach out and take her by the arm to pull her into his own grew with every step he took, the demon in him aching for a taste of her. He wasn't one to rush good things, and he wanted to enjoy this, make it last as long as he could, savor every moment of the inevitable fall.

She was chattering away happily, unaware of the obsessive way he watched her. Her hips swayed hypnotically, the hem of her wool skirt grazing her thighs ever so slightly, and Alastor wondered if the flush of her cheeks from the cool autumn air would be found elsewhere on her delectable body, too. He knew he had to control himself, but with his desire burning hot like the flames of his true home, Alastor struggled.

Finally, they reached the small pond and she turned around to him, beaming with accomplishment. The sight of it, of her prideful smile and trusting eyes so enthrallingly focused on him was too much, and whatever she was about to say was swallowed by his lips crashing into hers. His gloved hands held her face firmly as he pushed her against a tree, the bark scratching into the back of her coat. He had wanted this for so long, the feeling of her soft lips moving against his, her hands clawing at his shoulders, indecisive on whether to pull him closer or push him away. She gasped into the kiss and Alastor took the chance to push his tongue inside, swallowing her moan as apparently made up her mind, tugging at his coat as he finally devoured her.

It was entirely, decidedly too much: The warmth of her, the taste, the touches, the sounds, he couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get close enough. With ferocity, he got rid of every offending layer of obstructive clothing, reveling in the way she breathed his name, pleading to the deity that couldn't care for mercy and to him to ruin her. And he gladly granted her wish, benevolent as he was, his lips trailing down her neck, teeth nipping at her collarbone, tongue laving over her exposed breasts as his hands stroked up her legs, fingers disappearing under her skirt to brush against her core.

"Please, Alastor - oh!" she whimpered when he pushed a finger inside her wet cunt, the tight heat making him growl in approval. He wanted her to beg, he wanted her to cry, wanted her to break down before him and ask him for salvation. His glamor flickered, struggling to hold against the loss of control.

"Look at you, my dear, so eager, so wanting," he crooned as he pushed another finger inside her, watching her back arch from the tree, her body seeking out his hands like a magnetic pull. Brown hair slowly turned red, antlers sprouting from its crown, his modest gray coat faded into his signature crimson pinstriped frock, and she gasped into his hungry mouth as he let the grip on his magic go and revealed himself completely as the demonic overlord that he was. Alastor, the Radio Demon, laughed, licking along her jaw as he slowly increased the pace of his claws, earning another sweet sound of shocked pleasure from his little, confused human.

“Don’t let my true form deceive you, my darling - No matter what happens… I’ll make sure you see heaven.”

[sukunasun]

Thinking about Geto who would have never thought he likes to be called daddy. Outside of being a real parent ofc. It’s unexpected. As Reader tries to work with the recently adopted twins to ease their trauma and get them ready for school via play therapy, they attach themselves to her easily, hungry for a maternal figure in their life. Whenever Geto sits in the waiting area for the session to end, Mimiko and Nanako blast out the door and Reader somehow always refer to him as daddy in their presence. “Oh, look, daddy is ready to pick you up”, “Go, tell daddy how good you two were”, “Come on, show these drawings to daddy”. And it has him in a chokehold. The word just sounds so good from her mouth. So good he might try to rizz her up. And he couldn’t care less about that it’s unprofessional for reader to fuck a client’s parent. For him it’s a challenge. A challenge to hear that word again. Just for him and nobody else.

why it sounds so good has less to do with sex but necessity. the assurance that he—single father of two with no experience, no status, and not a dime to his name—is a protector, capable and conscious of his life. no longer the smart-talking teen or charismatic cult leader with plans for world domination.

he thinks it shouldn't feel this good to be relied upon when he's barely thirty and buckles under pressure to make ends meet. three part-time jobs and it's still not enough. the stress of juggling priorities and responsibilities is immense. his wants and needs set aside. which is probably why his self-esteem tanked and he constantly feels like a failure. making mistakes, trying again, learning and re-learning the basics. how to cook, how to clean is more important. ultimately, 'how to parent' isn't a step-by-step process.

despite that, you don't see him differently. in fact, you admire him for it. "it can't be easy but you're doing a great job, the girls love you so much," you say, with clear eyes and unwavering affirmation—then asking his daughters in a fond and friendly tone—"isn't daddy the best?"

there are so many meanings to a word and he's aware you're only referring to him as the father of his children because making that distinction is important. it helps the girls get accustomed to seeing him as a parent, not just the person who's saved them. he won't jump to conclusions. he respects you after all. sweet sing-song voice and a heart of gold are just a bonus, you've helped his girls, you've helped him.

still, the novelty doesn't fade, and neither does the sentiment. the pride that blooms when he hears it ringing in his ears, resounding in his chest. he's daddy. geto rarely seeks approval. only compliance, obedience, and maybe servitude on a rare occasion...but praise and recognition? it's too hard to pass up when it's from you.

although, the sexual connotation lingers. curse his dirty mind filled with filthy intentions. he'd only just gotten the hang of keeping his composure around you, carrying conversations with ease while pushing those obscene thoughts away. they beg for his attention as much as your instructions do, 'remember this and that...' gets lost while pulling himself together before you catch on. eye contact and all smiles as he memorizes your face.

he's going to need it later. or whenever he requires a little help. his imagination works wonders but he's also a stickler for accuracy. your lab coat hides modest sweaters and long skirts, maybe a loose-fitting t-shirt when you and the girls play outside. he can't picture your figure underneath when nothing is revealing. not the heft and weight of perky bosoms and a full ass, the dip and curve of a waistline, part of him—all of him—hopes he'd be the only one who gets to pry those layers off you, unveiling that secret side.

your glasses give it away, shielding the same lewd thoughts of your own. he notices your wandering eyes coveting his body, feels your rapid heartbeat on the side of his arm when you're pressed close. he's well aware of the effect he has on most women, but especially for someone like you who tries so hard to resist.

as weeks went by, his plans to tempt you were coming closer to reaching fruition. "daddy talks about you a lot," nanako whispers as she lets you in on a secret and mimiko nods in agreement, her voice lowered too, "mhm, daddy said you're very smart and pretty."

they wouldn't lie about him, so you smile and take their word for it. falling for giggling faces hidden behind tiny hands. you reply, "that's so nice of him, please do thank him for me," for confidentiality's sake, because you wouldn't want geto getting embarrassed.

besides, there are rules on keeping them at a distance, they aren't your only clients, growing attached would make things difficult and you're starting to see the effects of it as the days go by. for all that talk about 'being professional' you spend too much time thinking about their daddy outside of these walls.

"you shouldn't give him preferential treatment..." says the receptionist, not hiding her cheshire cat grin. she's been watching you like a hawk since he walked in and made an appointment—it wasn't his body, or his face that caught your eye, both beautiful and modelled after a dream but once the shock has set in and you observed him closely, the scene has stuck with you since. his daughters are twins, both dressed well for the weather and there are no signs of distress in their expressions. they look at him like he's their favourite person. wide, shining eyes and a giddy-ness in their steps. he keeps them close to him, "no wandering around, let's not get lost," he said, sounding assertive but gentle at the same time. they nod, holding onto his pant leg on each side. the way his posture straightened tall, his expression serious as he filled out forms, requiring no assistance should you add, with the details when often most don't even remember birth dates or blood types.

most do the bare minimum but he stood out then in a suit, "i thought it was important to make a good first impression," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. it's hardly a formal occasion but the thought is appreciated when he looks so stunningly handsome. the other single mothers who come by seem to think so too. some bring him leftover bentos and homemade curry. you always thought they'd charm him well enough given that he's single—a fact you're surprisingly way too relieved about—but he remains happy and perfectly content as a bachelor.

the receptionist continues, pointing out these tiny changes you make to your routine—fixing your hair, using a new perfume, your voice pitches higher around him, repeatedly checking your reflection in your compact before his arrival—it's just as evident to you, the woman who's always been unbothered with keeping up appearances. "aw...does someone have a crush on daddy?" she pouts childishly.

"i like all my clients equally," you correct her, "and i don't see him that way. if anything, i just think he's a great parent is all. he's always on time for sessions and applies what we've learned. he's shown exceptional effort."

she wiggles her brows suggestively, "i bet he's exceptional in other ways too...if you know what i mean." ugh. just when you think it couldn't get worse.

"that's none of our business and we shouldn't be discussing this, it's very inappropriate," you know better than to jeopardize your position. you've worked hard for this, spent weeks gaining the trust of two very sweet and adorable girls, it's not worth considering an illicit affair. yes, an affair, because that's all it'll ever be when he's got too much on his plate.

"tsk, you're no fun," she swats you and your hardened face away, deciding then to finally get back to work, but not before she gets the last word in, sighing longingly, "i wonder if he'll ever marry..."

you admittedly do too. fantasizing about being his wife has become a habit and you like to think he'd make room for you, raising the girls together. there wouldn't want for anything because he gets shit done. so responsible and decisive. it's all about taking the initiative, unlike all the other lacklustre men you've dated before. he'll make plans and treat you to nice things. no excuses, no need to soothe bruised egos. it would be nice to be taken care of for once. so much so that it would be easy to relinquish control. all you need is a taste of submission.

geto isn't afraid of a challenge. not even if you play hard to get. how you'd like to step on his toes, a dominating figure who puts you in your place, you wouldn't make it easy for him when he doesn't cower at the sight of a well-made woman.

that night, you barely make it pass your door before your clothes come off. biting your lip and holding back a moan, feeling a heat rise in your belly. tonight isn't about getting it over with but to last as long as possible. or at least until you get to the good part without coming all over your fingers—imagining his weight pressing down onto you. legs folded up and resting upon broad, sturdy shoulders. feet lifted with no purchase, you can't do anything but take it as he thrusts slow and steady, feeling your tight walls clamp down. milking him for everything he's got.

your fingers slip in and the stretch barely measures up to the real thing as you mimic every drag and pull of his cock. you don't worry about size or shape because it belongs to him. how often you've thought about the weight of it on your tongue, dripping precum down your fist. you'd strip him out of his lame harem pants, his pressed trousers, those god-forsaken gym shorts that drive you crazy. taking him down your throat when it's hot out and he's just finished one of his many night shifts. you heard he's working at a restaurant now. oh he'd smell like grease and noodles but you couldn't care less. your mouth begs to suck him off. after all, it's the least you could do when daddy works so hard.

"shh, you wouldn't want the girls waking up," he'd warn, but doing just the opposite to keep you quiet. it makes your legs shake, craving it all the more. i'm sorry daddy, lies on tip of your tongue, you whisper it out into an empty bedroom. save for the sounds of the squelching, slippery mess you make.

he's vocal but not dramatic, he doesn't rush into things, and takes his time to talk you through it. "i know it feels good, i've got you, i'll make my baby come," his baby, you love the sound of it. his voice wraps around you like a cocoon. so secure you could let go, give in to him, submit. he'd tend to your pleasure more than his own. let him take charge, let him make full use of your pussy like he owns it. maybe he'll punish you if you disobey.

glasses askew, hair frazzled, resolve in shambles. your tears spill, they burn your cheeks. i can't, i shouldn't, you chant. it doesn't matter that his cock stretches you out deliciously, or that he sneaks a hand to wrap around your neck, you can't let this man make you lose all your inhibitions and better judgement. your mind races, wet and sticky fingers pumping faster, there's a ringing in your ears and you hear your own breaths huffing out, your pussy clenches and for a second, it feels like your orgasm might slip from you the more you hold back.

how real he appears in your mind's eye, "daddy, daddy, daddy please," you whine, cry, scream. a familiar wave builds and wrings a knot in your stomach, your clit throbs and your fingers jam themselves against that spot deep inside, wishing it was him prodding you with vigor. you're so close you think of his broad back, his sweaty neck, his veiny arms around you so tight. holding you hostage as he gently coaxes you towards the edge. "that's it," he groans and you swear you hear it above you— "come for daddy," and you're crumbling and coming undone at the seams, not the least bit sated or sure of facing him again the next morning.

[seelestia]

— ❝𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐇, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍!❞

SUMMARY. "oh my gosh, you're literally my dream person!" here's a list of red flags for you, honey. (inspired by a tiktok trend! the one with the soundboard, iykyk.)

CHARACTERS. wanderer, alhaitham, albedo, childe + GN!reader.

GENRE. full-on crack, some fluff, not-so serious and light-hearted character slander.

CW. has heavy refs to albedo's story / 2.3 event and wanderer's story, brief mentions of blood in childe's part (not detailed/graphic), one brief mention of kissing in wanderer's part, light cussing and terrible humor. + read the alt text on the headers for extra captions, hehe!

THOUGHTS. this is my most unserious work yet and for that, i apologize if this gets too unhinged or inaccurate at some point LMAOOO. red flags are fine, red is my fav color anyway (it's actually light purple) <33 can you guess who's the favorite here 🧍‍♂️

✰ masterlist.

[ WANDERER ]

❝Dream person, huh? That's oddly fitting because the day you win me over is only gonna happen in your dreams too.❞

Has some abandonment and mother issues. ...Yeah. These issues may result in emotional walls as strong and firm as the Great Wall of China but when you break through them, he's never ever gonna let you go (unfortunately). I'd tell you to start running but this silly guy can float and zoom in the air, so best of luck.

You'll only hear crickets if you fall asleep on his chest. On the very rare occasions where he allows you to, that is. If you're into that romantic "falling asleep on your lover's chest while listening to their heartbeat" stuff, you're not getting it with Wanderer here. But if you listen hard enough, maybe you'll get to hear termites or something because he's canonically made out of white wood. (I'm joking, I love him too.)

Terrible with feelings. He'd rather jump off a cliff than start talking about his feelings. ...Okay, fine. Harboring humane emotions is an annoyingly blurry line that he has vowed to stop caring about after regaining his memories. It doesn't mean he doesn't cringe at himself every now and then, though — knowing that he has talked about his feelings to someone else (only you and Nahida) keeps him up at night, as embarrassing as it is to admit. ("Hey, do you remember that one time when you told me—" "I don't.")

May prioritize his pride over you sometimes. Let's take a rainy day as an example. It's pouring cats and dogs which means that the risk of catching a cold is high as ever... thus, as the rain begins to soak you, you turn to your companion (whose clothes are saved by the hat on his head) with puppy eyes. His reply comes in the same speed as a lightning strike; "No," he says. Beg and cry if you want, he is not letting you under his hat because it's "not a damn parasol". Fine, maybe he just doesn't care about your well-being and that's totally fine (sarcastic) — but the very next second, as he grabs your wrist and starts dashing to a nearby inn with you in tow — you can't help but let a small smile slip. Maybe he does care? Pride just gets in the way sometimes.

Might accidentally suffocate you when you two kiss because how the heck is he supposed to remember that humans need to breathe when your lips are just so soft for no reason? Ugh, humans and their ridiculous needs (derogatory but he still loves you simp).

Has a long list of crimes and felonies that we don't talk about. Ah, yes, the courtesy of being a previous Fatui Harbinger, indeed. Irminsul may have forgotten about this list, but the Wiki sure as heck hasn't.

[ ALHAITHAM ]

❝So, you consider me someone who fits your type? I see. Unfortunately, knowing whether or not I fit into another person's ideals doesn't have much value to me.❞

Books > people. Is that really a flaw? He doesn't think it is. Books are a source of knowledge and aren't they supplements that enrich the minds of those who read them? Not to mention, there is no need to cater to whatever social standards with inanimate objects unlike when you're around people. ...But apparently, Kaveh told him that this mindset "makes him look like an absolute loner with no social skills and no friends whatsoever" to which he'd usually bite back with an "at least, I have a stable housing." TLDR: books are Alhaitham's closest friends and that's a little sad (he doesn't care about other people's opinions, though).

Unreachable when his soundproof headphones are on. Shush, he is in his official (but not-so-official) 'Do Not Disturb' mode. Sorry in advance, he may or may not accidentally ignore you when his soundproof headphones are on. If you want to have a few words with him, either be patient and wait or make sure they're of absolute importance lest you risk being given the deadliest, emptiest stare ever known to mankind. If looks could kill, you would've keeled on the spot. Instant unintentional (??) homicide, so true of him.

Awkward with small talks. Alhaitham is good at talking about topics that really matter and he very much prefers it that way too. But that's the thing; when the discussion of that particular subject ends, that's it. He often dodges the silence in a 'cool' way, though; either by taking an early leave or bringing out a book if the situation there still needs him present. (In his defense, if no one wants to start and carry the conversation, then isn't it a bit hypocritical to count on him to do that too?)

Physical affection stupefies him (it'll take time). Alhaitham doesn't hate it, no, but something about it just doesn't align much with his sense of familiarity. He usually keeps his distance; even with new acquaintances, shaking hands has never been his thing and it's been a long time since Alhaitham has had someone he feels comfortable enough to receive physical affection from or to give some of it to (his grandmother was the last, maybe). By all means, this isn't meant to be a sob story — it's just brought up to explain that physical affection is a thing he's not familiar with, so it'll take some time to get used to. Good luck to those with physical touch as a preferred love language (me), this feeble scholar who may turn into a stiff log when you hug him is in your capable hands!

[ ALBEDO ]

❝Is that a compliment of some kind? I must say it's certainly not one I hear very often, thus I feel inclined to appreciate it all the more. Thank you.❞

Has a lab located in Dragonspine. Yes, this is a red flag because look me in the eyes and tell me you would realistically travel up that death trap of a mountain every single time just to spend time with him. He comes down from the mountain at least twice or thrice a month, so you'll still get to see his pretty face regardless, just not as frequently — so, it's either you exchange letters every week or you go trekking up Dragonspine to see him yourself. (There is a better place to die on than that wretched mountain, but I digress.)

His mother caused world destruction and he has a twin brother that is out for blood (Imposterbedo). ...Seriously, what the heck is going on in this family? We need to keep an eye on them like they're fascinating wild animals on National Geographic, for real. If you don't mind crazy in-laws that might commit felonies against you (also looking intently at Alice as I say this, by the way), then you're all good to go! Aha, just watch your back and be safe out there, comrade.

Babysitting Klee comes as a 2-in-1. If you're good with kids, great! If you're not, good luck! You know what they all say; a child's curiosity is only limited by the skies (and a guardian's supervision), so be prepared for when Klee starts tugging you around to go fish blasting or exploring with her. Being with Albedo means you get to see her a lot and she's such an adorable ball of sunshine! But the way she innocently hands you a little bomb like it's a slice of Fisherman's Toast and not a weapon is certainly something to remember, huh? (At this point, this is basically an extra to my previous point about questionable in-laws.)

Eats spiders (not often, but has eaten them and that's concerning). Granted this only applies to a specific type of large spiders that can be found at the roots of Petrified Trees in Domains (in the words of the Chief Alchemist himself), but there will definitely be a time where he goes: "Are you hungry? If I remember correctly, there are still some smoked spiders left from the other day. Fortunately, the temperature here in Dragonspine aids in the preservation method—" Spiders can be cute to some and a nightmare to some, but the fact that he has a whole recipe for it really makes you want to know the how and most importantly, the why. Does he sprinkle parsley on them or some stuff like that, ayo? (at least, if you ever get stuck in a domain one unlucky day, this recipe might help you survive? thanks??)

[ CHILDE ]

❝Oh? I've never been called a dream person before. ...Heh, that sounds new, I like the sound of that!❞

Thinks combat and battles are a better substitute for oxygen. Okay, that may be somewhat of an exaggeration — but it isn't an understatement to say that the thought of challenge rushes the blood into Tartaglia's veins. Not one for the secretive schemes most Harbingers do, this man would even go charging ahead if that guarantees he'll encounter a good fight. Like seriously, if he and a fellow Harbinger are heading to a place where there is a good opponent, you bet Childe is about to speed there first. You could say he is speeding towards uncertain death, essentially.

Might have come home with blood on his cheek once or twice. And what's worse is that this guy probably doesn't even realize it's there. Sorry, he was just too caught up in the moment to properly notice any leftover 'trophies' from his previous fights... Aha, don't worry about it! ("I'm home!" Tartaglia cheers loudly as he, quite literally, throws open the front door to your shared home — only to be greeted by that dumbfounded look on face. "Please tell me that's just juice on your cheek," you frown. He scratches the side of his neck awkwardly, "Uhh. Things didn't go particularly well when I was collecting debts.")

A warrior in the streets, also a malewife who can make you treats. Why does he have that double side for, huh? For other people to swoon over and fall for? No way someone can be a househusband and a good fighter simultaneously. What do you mean he can cook and clean then beat up anyone who threatened you the next? And you're saying he is genuine about it too? I say deception, deception, deception! Sue this fellow for fraud this instant. (This might actually be a green flag in disguise, but you didn't hear that from me.)

No good with saving money. He's stinky rich and most of it might be from the Fatui. You have to wonder whether each Mora he gives goes on the Fatui's tab or something like that... You don't find the idea of owing something to the Fatui fun, but it's so ironic how you're more worried about this than the Eleventh Harbinger is. Welp, at least, you don't have to worry incessantly about saving money now...? ("There's that thing you said you wanted to buy the other day, right? Here you go, honey!" "Tartaglia, why is this Mora pouch heavier than a toddler—")

Has a long list of crimes and felonies that we don't talk about #2. You could definitely argue that Childe might have the least mind-boggling list of crimes amongst the Harbingers all, though. (And does he slay for that? Who knows.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

© SEELESTIA, mar 2023. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.

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[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - nerdy college miguelito → she/her pronouns!

inspired by this image of him! glasses = smart

He's the sexiest mf with glasses because i said so

So intelligent! As per usual, I see him in an engineering or biochem major. Maybe statistics, or computer science minor. He's a bit of a nerd, the type that is just naturally brilliant; always asking creative questions in class. Babbles to you about his topics as a form of studying/affection; get good grades and keep his partner company.

He seems like the type that can easily learn and reteach information to you. He's a rare case where study dates actually work; you guys get so much work done.

Does that thing where he scrunches his nose to adjust his glasses. "Miguel, you're gonna get wrinkles if you do that." You remark, finishing the last of your Humanities discussion post. "So you do care for me?" Miguel smirks, tapping his pen against the table. "Just saying, you'll look 40 by the time you reach 30."

His Google Calendar is a crowded mess; at least four tasks per day, constant due dates to keep up with, he tries to save time for weekends.

Let's talk fashion! The sweatshirt he has on in the drawing has me on my knees. I'd love him in sweatshirts, straight leg jeans, big black puffer jacket, THOSE HALF-ZIP SWEATSHIRTS SO YOU CAN SEE A LITTLE BIT OF COLLARBONE, compression shirts on lucky days, possibly cargo pants??? Sometimes you guys match fits! If you dress up, he'll understand the assignment.

Carries around a black backpack, just with a laptop and an extra notebook. Hydrates with a HUGE water bottle. Keeps hairties, lip balm, and pain meds around in case you need them. (You do, often.)

College Miggy doesn't seem like the type to participate in Greek Life; he's there to get his education, start a step ahead in his career. Plus, he's too tired to go partying anyway.

It'd be super cute if y'all lived together; a dorm-to-apartment kind of thing. After your relationship's been serious for a while, you move in, sharing a room with Miguel just so you guys can split costs.

Miguel takes early morning classes, I can tell. Greets you on most days with a palm to your stomach, little kisses from behind. He latches onto you for warmth on chillier days, groaning and whining about not wanting to get up in the morning. "Mig, just go to class-" "Mmph, no." Miguel groans, ghosting his lips to the shell of your ear. He shuffles around in the bed, smothering and stealing your body of warmth. "M'cold!" You whine, Miguel's hands sneaking up your shirt.

YOU ARE the passenger princess in this AU, m'kay? (I can't drive-) Miguel, if he is available, will drive you anywhere! Class, mall, farmers market, coffee shop, etc. Ends up just tagging along with you most of the time. You think he's sexy when he's driving (because he is), slots his hand to your upper thigh like it's his birthright.

Most of the time, y'all are in your own little world; no participation in drama, celebrating each other's successes with a trip to a restaurant. Nothing else really matters when you're got both grades and each other to worry about.

Within the rare occasion that you guys share a class, y'all are on the same page. Working together, filling each other in on missing gaps, quizzing each other on tests; its great. Of course, you receive a high A. I feel like he'd be the type to randomly quiz or test you on something in the class. "Prophase vs. Anaphase? You playfully roll your eyes, continuing to stir your coffee.

Where do y'all think he'd work? I'd say paid internship or somewhere tech-y ykwim? He wouldn't really work at a cafe or campus store.

Oh my gosh what if he was rich!!!!! What if he spoils you with good food and well-thought out date nights? Elevating your relationship as a couple <333 WHAT IF HE PAYS YOUR TUITION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ugh best man best man

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

How do you think Ghoulcy would’ve went down if she had been there pre-war and they met?👉🏻👈🏻 (assuming this is after he’s separated from barb)

Thanks for your patience on this one, babe. I tried to go more general with the response, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I actually have a fairly specific vision for how these two would have ended up meeting in a pre-war world...

Naturally, I think a Lucy from that era would be from somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere Midwest. Vault 33 is sort of supposed to be in/reminiscent of Nebraska based on the projected images of the corn field and everything, right? She'd grow up somewhere dinky, but not too small; big enough to have a few nice amenities and a tight community that adores her and her prominent father. But, much like we see in the show before her dad's exodus from the Vault prompts her to leave, she'd be restless and always secretly pondering what else could be out there for her. Dreaming of the sun on her face, so to speak.

She'd be restless from early on in her youth, from around the time of her mother's death, and no matter how hard she works trying to force herself to feel at peace, she never truly does. Maybe she goes to an in-state college to get her degree when the time comes, gets a small taste of the kind of freedom and variety living in a bigger city can provide and falls in love with it just a little bit. When she goes back home, she idealizes moving somewhere different, being literally anywhere else as she feels like her life is sort of passing her by.

Honestly, I think she'd be exactly the kind of twentysomething that decides she wants to move to one of the coasts to shake things up. She's exactly the type to get involved in some sort of internship or shadowing program, since that would provide some sort of protective plan to her desires to strike out on her own. Or maybe she'd just up and move to Los Angeles on a "What else am I doing with my life?" sort of whim, whatever savings she can scrape together hidden away amongst the few personal things she manages to drag halfway across the country with her. If she fails, she can always go back home, but she knows she'll never forgive herself if she doesn't take more risks and live her life properly while she's young.

Besides, she wants to be married some day, and her home-grown options for candidates aren't exactly impressive. All the prettiest people live in L.A., it seems...maybe she'll find her partner there.

Cooper, on the other hand, would be sworn entirely off of dating in the aftermath of the divorce; between the antagonism that lingers between he and Barb, the uphill battle he's fighting trying to revive his career, and his desire to protect Janey from the fallout of both, he doesn't have the time or proper effort to give to a potential partner. Nor does he have the desire, initially. Frankly, he's incredibly broken up about the (necessary) dissolution of a marriage that he thought he'd be part of forever, to the point that he's sort of operating under the assumption that he'll be single the rest of his days. If he weren't famous, he'd probably just pay for some company on the rare occasion he feels "lonely" enough to desire it and keep it to that, but he's too afraid of ending up an even bigger laughing stock than he feels he's already become. He can perfectly picture the headlines in his mind.

Instead, he spends the better part of a year working insane hours, taking pretty much any gig thrown his way and doing everything he can to cut expenses. Every dollar saved goes into a fund he's saving up to take Barb back to court...as well as a significant chunk he's hoping to eventually use to buy up some out-of-the-way property. He's dissatisfied with the custody agreement they reached during the course of the divorce; true, his irregular and sometimes brutal work schedule doesn't make him an ideal primary custodial parent, but he's pretty desperate to spend every second possible with his child, the knowledge that the world could end at any minute looming large over him, casting a dark shadow. Part of him fantasizes about picking her up for his visitation time and simply not returning her, disappearing somewhere safe. He can perfectly picture the headlines about that, too.

It all wears on him. He knows he's getting older, that he needs to be taking care of himself so he can be around for Janey, but between all the work and all the stress, he's drinking more and sleeping less.

The two meet once, maybe on some set Lucy's managed to find her way onto or something similar. She tries her very best to not absolutely swoon over meeting THE Cooper Howard, already embarrassed by her own enthusiasm; Cooper tries his best to be pleasant and charming, exhausted as he usually is. He finds their interaction strangely refreshing, though, and after that it's like he sees her everywhere. Her rather meager savings have run out even quicker than she had anticipated, so, like most non-wealthy people in L.A., she has multiple jobs and works whatever side gigs she can fit into her schedule. Sometimes that leads her back into his path, and he always wants to say hello, to chat and ask her about herself. Who is she to turn him down?

Eventually, he offers to hire her on to work for him, personally, both impressed by her work ethic and feeling rather sympathetic towards her situation (the fact that he thinks she's beautiful certainly doesn't hurt, but he refuses to look those thoughts in the face). He feels bad that he can't really pay her what he'd like to, what he thinks she's actually worth, but it's significantly more than she was already making between all her other jobs, so she's nothing but grateful. At first, she runs personal errands for him, returns calls he's too busy for, helps him schlep all his stuff back and forth when he works the "cowboy for hire"-type gigs.

Cooper greatly enjoys her company, enjoys once more having someone to help him tackle life's everyday struggles. Slowly, he begins to open up to her a little, allowing her to become privy to more of his personal problems. She hasn't met Janey, not yet, but he begins to talk more and more about her. Lucy has such a kind, empathetic nature that it's hard to not spill your guts to her just a bit. Soon, he realizes that he's developing actual feelings for her beyond appreciation for her physical beauty. Typically, he'd be able to see that his feelings are silently reciprocated, but his self-confidence has taken a pretty significant hit over the last couple years, leaving him feeling like an old creep salivating over his young personal assistant.

Fortunately, he manages to hide it well enough, though Lucy is quite preoccupied by her own thoughts, anyway.

Her own attraction to him is soaked in embarrassed guilt, as well; she already sometimes feels like a charity case with as kind as he is to her, so the crush she's developing feels like it could easily be contributed to his caring nature and his largesse. Besides, she had a bit of a crush on him as a girl, as well. He does often make her feel special, something she isn't used to on this level, and she tries to convince herself she's simply been taken in by the glamor of movie star Cooper Howard. However, the more time she spends alone with him, the more she realizes how physically attracted to him she is, as well. It makes her feel silly; what would a very established, famous, attractive older man want with her, some nobody from nowhere? You can't throw a stone in Los Angeles without hitting a gorgeous twenty-something. Surely if he wanted someone young, she tells herself, he'd have someone young, someone with more to bring to the table.

However, their twin denial and negative self-talk isn't enough to hide the way they see one another forever. Too many early mornings and late nights working together make them rather familiar with one another, and soon they're both far too comfortable in the other's presence for things to go unaddressed. They both try to put it off anyway, until things come to an eventual head.

When this happens, they don't so much as agree to give a relationship a try as fall into one another's arms and decide to think about the consequences in the morning.

Unfortunately, their relationship doesn't only progress from this point. Suddenly, Lucy isn't just his young employee who people theorize may be dating him...she is dating him. Before, the idea of Janey meeting her wasn't such a big deal, even if he secretly already had his eye on her; now, he'll be introducing his daughter to his girlfriend, which feels like a much more significant event. He loves being with her, but he's hyper-aware of how he knows people are going to respond if they decide to go public, how Barb is going to respond, and he finds it all overwhelming. Lucy notices his hesitance, but she misreads it as him being embarrassed of her, unwilling to claim her, and it hurts her feelings. He wants her to feel secure and validated, but he also doesn't want to rush things, knowing he isn't only making decisions about his personal future, and that there are consequences she can't possibly wrap her brain around until she really experiences them.

These two would have a fairly significant uphill battle to fight, all factors considered. He isn't as perfect as she may have once thought, and as mature as she may act, she's still lacking in real life experience, which sometimes limits her perspective. However, I think between Cooper's desire for a family and Lucy's desire to find somewhere she really feels like she belongs/is contributing to, they could manage to iron things out. Their life together may not look like every other nuclear family, especially as she supports him in his fight to see Janey more and he convinces her to give his Bakersfield dream some real thought, but life is what you make it!

[1000plants]

You Don't Know Pt 3

Steve Rogers x reader (GN)

Summary: Steve Rogers and his pretentious “know it all” attitude is getting on your last nerves. Neither of you know what to do about it. And now… you confront him… kinda

Warnings- None, really. Arguing, angst if you squint. 

Word count- 3.8k

Authors Note- the hoes are fighting again 😔😔. Also, thoughts on a backstory chapter? Why reader has the nightmares/ what the nightmares are?

Chapter 3/?

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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You walked through the drab hallways until you reached the elevator. Dr. Raynor's temporary office at Stark Towers was at the bottom, so, the hallways were all dressed in casual muted blues and off-whites. You firmly pushed the button for the 54th floor and waited for the call of the elevator.

As the door opened, you were greeted with a fancy yet sleek interior, though you paid it no heed. Anyone who visited for the first time would gawk, you couldn't care less right now.

You lean against the wall of the elevator, searching your phone for recipes of something to bake on Pinterest... You’d have to shower first, though. Maybe change into some comfy clothes before dinner… The shower was the biggest necessity, though, you still felt gross and sweaty from your sparring session with Steve.

Steve.

You fucking hated him.

He was arrogant and cocky and his stupid smile with his stupidly perfect teeth and his stupid hair and his stupidly chiseled body and his stupid--

You hated Steve. Have you said that enough yet?

Dr. Raynor’s words rang clearly in your head. “Say Hi to Steve for me…” maybe that’s why you hit the button of floor 54, the bedrooms and living spaces. Maybe that's why you were trying to distract your wandering mind from what he might be doing…

Steve was probably in his room right now, taking off the shirt and dog tags he wore during training…

You cleared your throat, shoving that image into the back recesses of your head. Embarrassing yourself for even thinking that far. You were just going to talk to him.

Explain to him it's your homework for the night, you reasoned with yourself, He can get mad at me if I'm trying to do therapy homework.

While you made your way up, the former World War II soldier was thinking of you, as well. He hated the fact that every time you and he sparred, or had any interaction in general, he could never figure you out.

The way you had pinned him so quickly right at the end of your match when you had been struggling all afternoon? What the hell was that all about!? 

You never listened, you made stupid decisions, always fought instead of talked. Why were you so goddamn difficult? 

… and why had he been thinking about it for a solid five minutes? Just, fuckin’-- standing in the middle of his bedroom…

The elevator softly dinged, alerting that it had arrived. You stepped out of the elevator as it opened up, a random brownie recipe newly saved to your phone. You unceremoniously set your bag by the door, a soft thud against the tiled floor.

You ran your hands through your sweaty hair as you thought about the last spar session. 

He was so aggravating—he'd never listen to you, he never took things seriously, and the way he always looked at you so arrogantly… it all made you seeth with frustration.

Why did it always feel like he was challenging you?

You gave his section a quick look around. You rarely meandered to his side of the floor, only ever to see Bucky or on the few occasions the team had group dinner. Otherwise, you kept to your side… the side without grouchy super soldiers.

Steve paused for a moment when he heard the elevator ding. It was a normal sound, but given Natasha and Clint were on missions, Wanda was out for the night, and Bruce and Tony were holed up in the lab… the elevator was either welcoming his favorite or least favorite person onto the floor.

The sound of footsteps was truly the kicker. He could identify anyone on the team by their steps, yours were no different. Well, he actually was able to pick out yours easier, they were oddly more distinct.

He spared the clock a glance, 5:07. It was still too early for dinner, and he doubted he would've even begun to hear the sound of Bucky’s footsteps. So, that only left one person.

He opened the door to his room, only to be greeted by the sight of you, hair a mess, face flushed, and looking very much annoyed.

"What's your problem with me?" You bluntly asked, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly up towards him. He looked somewhat surprised, taken off guard by your sudden bluntness.

It made a proud little flicker bubble in your stomach. You had the upper hand, once more, against the Captain.

Admittedly, you were truly in a no-nonsense mood right now. Dr. Raynor may have said she didn't give you homework, but the homework was always to try to apply therapy tactics outside of therapy. So that's what you were doing. You figured, if you just ripped off the bandaid and confronted Steve now, then your late-night baking session would be guilt-free. Plus… you’d be able to lament to the Doctor and Bucky that you truly tried to talk to him!

A small scoff escaped Steve’s nose. He had many issues with you, and he was more than willing to list them for you at that very moment.

For starts, your lack of self-preservation.

And the fact that you never listened to suggestions.

And how you wouldn’t let anyone get a word in during a conversation.

And that you had a tendency to charge into battle like a headless chicken.

Should he keep going?

But the look in your eyes kept his mouth quiet, Steve crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame, his muscular biceps on full display. Your only reaction to his movement was to flare your nose slightly.

“Plenty of things,” He said in a monotone voice- voice cutting through the air dully, “Want me to list ‘em?”

You suddenly had a pit in your stomach. It seemed that he was in just as bad of a mood as you were… you’d both be fighting to keep yourselves from biting the other's head off.

You's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. You knew you had started this conversation, so it should be your job to keep it civil. But that was hard for you to do.

"Put a fucking shirt on, Rogers." You bite, eyes flickering briefly to his bare chest before going back up to his face. You weren't about to get distracted by something you had seen a hundred times before.

Although… usually he was bloody and covered in dirt, a body without stitches and bruises was… well…

The side of Steve’s mouth tugged up into a slight smirk as he noticed where your gaze had lingered. If he was half as good of a leader as he claimed to be, he’d have noticed how you sometimes let your eyes roam. You were just careful enough not to get caught 99/100 times.

“I’m in my room,” He stated, tone growing just as cocky as his smirk. He glanced back towards his bedroom before back to you, “I’ll wear whatever I please.”

You had to stop yourself from snarkily responding. You told yourself that you were trying to have a civil conversation with the damn man, for Dr. Raynor's sake... admittedly. it wasn't going well.

You exhale through your nose, jaw working slightly.

"What's your problem with me?" You re-ask, your body language was still tense. Both of you standing with crossed arms and intense stares. You were attempting to come across as calm and collected, obviously fighting back the words that were begging to come out.

“You want the long list—or short?” He asked, still leaning against the door jamb. He pressed his lips together, raising his eyebrow like he was on the verge of disciplining a child and not talking to his teammate.

“Because I could go on all day.” He continued, his previous smirk morphing into more of a grin. That same kind of grin that melted the hearts of civilians… made you wanna vomit.

Why did it seem like he almost wanted to argue with you? It’d be easy, honestly. All he had to do was push a little bit, and you would probably take the bait.

You were self-aware, at the least.

You just sigh and shake your head slightly. You turn your head to look back down the hallway, why did you think this would work? This was a fucking stupid idea, you should’ve just showered and left.  God! Why did you do this?!

"Forget it." You grunt, turning to walk away,

"drier than the fucking Sahara..." You mutter under your breath.

Oh, if only Dr. Raynor could see you now...

Steve’s ears perked up at the comment you muttered, and he frowned once again.

Were his conversational skills really that terrible? You had hardly given him a moment, he was answering all your questions. Really, he thought, it was your fault for even asking that kind of question.

He pushed himself off of the door frame, his frown growing as he looked at you. He uncrossed his arms, one large hand gripping the door frame as he stood tall.

“Care to repeat that?” He asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone. His head tilted slightly as he watched your form leaving

"You make me frustrated, Steven." You say, exasperated. You turned to look at him but were still walking backward, “And not even sexually frustrated. Just plain annoyed.”

You gave a halfhearted shrug, your lips pressed into a, slightly sarcastic, I dunno expression.

"Learned that in therapy," You mockingly tell him, turning back around and grabbing your bag from the floor by the elevator doors.

Steve’s eyebrows went up in surprise, an annoyed and frustrated expression appearing on his face. It didn't last long, his confusion and curiosity beating out the rest of his emotions, “You… what?”

He couldn’t have heard that right, surely.

There was no way you had just brought any of that up. For a brief moment, he wondered if he was just being weird for honing in on that part of your words, but he confirmed his own confusion by noting how weird it was for you to even say it!

He stood there for a moment, letting the words marinate between you two before he finally spoke again.

“You’ve been telling your therapist about…” He gestured vaguely at you and him. “… this?”

You humorlessly laugh, tongue wetting your lips as you sigh loudly, "That my team Captain has a stick up his ass and antagonizes me?" You rhetorically ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah… yeah I've told her." You confirm, shaking your head lightly in disbelief. The fact that Steve didn't think he came up in your therapy sessions was wild. Of course, he came up, he was all that came up.

“I antagonize you?” Steve asks incredulously, letting out a scoff. “You’re always the one starting the arguments.”

He knew this was going to quickly turn into a full-on fight, which is exactly what both of them had been wanting. Not explicitly, obviously… but, why else would you have come to see him? To talk to him the way you had?

Could you have even managed a cordial conversation?

Or were you always doomed to fail?

“Maybe a stick up the ass is exactly what you need,” Steve mutters, his hands going to his hips. “Then you’ll stop being so careless and reckless.”

"Oh, I need to be a prick to my teammates? Is that what I need to do?" You mock, scrunching your face slightly. “Berate and demean my coworkers?”

You weren't trying to fight with him right now, hell, you had tried to walk away! But he dared to walk towards you. He had the gall to question you more, to press this further

...

and he still hadn't put on a damn shirt.

“You’ve already got the prick part down pretty well,” Steve shot back, rolling his shoulders back. He was standing in the stereotypical superhero pose. You almost wanted to point it out.

“But what you need to do is take things more seriously, and listen to what people have to say.” he continued, eyes narrowing as he steps closer. His steps were small and light, a contrast to his towering frame and overbearing vibe.

"Well all you ever say to me is how immature and unfit I am to be on the team." You spit back, gaze darkening. You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, knuckles whitening with the force. 

"So maybe I'd be more open to criticism if it was actually constructive!" your voice was sharp, the muscles in your shoulder tingled and made you roll your neck slightly. You felt hyperaware of your body now, each nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

Steve loudly laughs, shaking his head no with a grin. He sucks in a breath, glancing around for a moment before bringing his attention back to you.

“Constructive? Do you want me to praise you for doing things that will get you or, god forbid, someone else killed?” He asked incredulously. “Or how about when you don’t listen and charge headfirst into danger? How am I supposed to give you constructive criticism then, huh?”

You were getting more and more heated, your temper starting to flare as the argument escalated. You were both slowly raising your voices, though neither of you really seemed aware of it. The fact that he was now standing just a couple of feet away from you, only in low-hanging sweats, bare-chested with his arm muscled flexing slightly, and staring down at you defiantly, only made your temper worsen.

"Piss off with the whole martyr act, Rogers! I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am! And if you'd just listen to any of my advice on missions you'd see that!" You yelled, brows furrowed and face taught.

Now it was Steve’s turn to become more irritated.

“Your advice?” He said with a light, sarcastic laugh. “You mean the reckless plans that have a 50/50 chance of actually working?”

He shifted on his feet, his fingers digging into the flesh of his waist, his body language had become more defensive and authoritative.

“Your advice always ends up with someone needing medical attention, or worst case scenario, on a one-way trip to the morgue.” Steve wouldn't acquiesce, but no one had been sent to their grave -- yet…

"And who's always the one getting sent to med bay?! HUH, STEVE!?" You didn't know how much you had been shouting or if you had only just recently raised your voice. 

"It's ME. It's always me! I don't put ANYONE else's life on the line but my own! Something you don't seem to get!!" Your voice had quivered more than you would've liked it to. There was something about how he thought you would dare put others in harm's way that struck you- hard. 

If you had ever thought that someone else could've suffered for your actions, let alone DIED, you would never have done it. After a mistake back in your SHIELD days, you thought through each action with a scrutinious eye.

Steve’s expression hardened, his eyes full of fire and annoyance.

“And how do you not see how selfish it is?!” He shot back, his voice was even and tense. “You’re always putting yourself in harm's way, and it’s gonna get you killed—do you really think anyone on this team won’t care once you’re gone?!”

"Some days it feels like only Bucky would care!" You yell back, your bag falling to the ground with a thunk. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

"Because you sure as hell would love it if I was out of your damn hair!"

Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise, not expecting that statement at all. The words stung and he winced, but he quickly recovered as anger flooded through him.

“Oh please,” He scoffed, his expression hardening. “Everyone knows how you and Bucky are practically attached at the hip.”

He took a deep breath in, it helped to ease the air just a bit between the two of you. 

"Oh, sorry, Cap." You roll your eyes. His innuendo was lost on you, for a moment. He was the man out of time, the only thing he had was Bucky… being jealous of his friend for having other friends wasnt what you had been expecting.

"Are you pissy your best friend has other buddies?" You mocked, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement allowed you to grip the sides of your shirt, giving you something to hold on to. And it prevented you from releasing your pent-up anger in other ways.

Yes, you would consider Bucky a friend. You had been vague with Raynor, but if it got under Steve's skin then you would call Bucky your Bestest Friend Ever! You had never realized that it was easy to interpret your friendship as something more. Especially when you would go into his room late at night from nightmares. You knew why you went into Bucky’s room at night, sneaking around and quiet as a mouse.

Hell, you didn't even think anyone else had noticed you dipping into Bucky’s room.

“Why am I not surprised,” Steve grumbled, almost sounding exasperated that he had to spell it out for you, “Buddies is one word…”

He raises one eyebrow at you as he glares, “All of a sudden you just happen to need to be in his room late at night every night—right?”

When Steve looked at you, his eyes bored into yours as his nostrils flared. The emotions that swirled across his face were like Greek to you. Too many at once to pinpoint just one or two.

“What, is there not enough space in your room for you? Or do you just prefer to be in his?”

Your eyes widened slightly, your temper falling back as she realized where his line of thinking had gone. It hurt. Truly, stung… 

“Are… are you seriously accusing me of…”

Your voice faltered as you stared him down for a moment. You scoffed and shook your head like you were trying to physically brush off his accusation.

“Of all the things I could be doing in Bucky’s room late at night, you’re accusing me of… that. 

Are you serious right now?” It was easy to see why his thoughts went there, but it didn't make you feel any less gross. Did Steve truly believe you were so terrible that it seemed impossible for you to be around anyone else without hooking up with them?

Were you that horrid in his eyes?

Steve’s expression darkened, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he tried to keep his temper leveled.

“You’re the one who’s always in there,” He snapped, his hands going to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to think when every time I walk past his room late at night, you’re in there, and the door is closed?”

He took the cue of your mouth opening and closing as a sigh that he was right, and not to stop, “Do you ever consider how it looks to other people when you’re just going into his room at night, and the door is shut?”

His voice went quiet, filling the thick silence that had fallen over the conversation. Your heart felt heavy - like pumping blood was an impossible task. You couldn't focus on his face, only the dark shapes of his room behind him. 

“Do you really think people don’t talk?” he finished, his voice a low sneer.

Your jaw ticked, and you swallowed down the painful lump in your throat. You weren't going to cry, but your body felt like it was stuck in sap. Trapped in a nightmare.

"I'm sobbing my eyes out, you prick." You bluntly tell him, voice sharp and low. Your words managed to mask the shakiness that you actually felt.

"I don't sneak out every night to go screw Barnes. I'm having fucking panic attacks." You scoff. His words were just a confirmation of what you already knew. He didn't see you as anything but a liability. You were distracting Bucky or something. You couldn't even handle yourself at night and had apparently gotten caught multiple times sneaking away to his room.

"So, sure. Keep thinking whatever you want to," You grab your bag, hoping to leave before the hot tears that burned your eyes actually fell, "Go fuck yourself, Steve. Genuinely. Maybe it will help with your jealousy."

Steve's sneer fell into a stunned look. His mouth opened slightly as a choked reply tried to fall from his lips. He’d made an assumption based on what he’d walked past almost every night, assuming that there was something else going on. Sure, he didn't think you were sleeping with him every night, he figured you and Buck had been secretly dating, or something… 

But never, not once, had it crossed his mind that you were having panic attacks. Or that your relationship with Bucky was only friendly. The guilt that was pulling up from his chest felt heavy and painful.

“I… I didn’t…” He tried to say, but found himself speechless, “I didn't think--”

"Yeah, you didn't think, Steve." You shot back, cutting him off.

"You never think about anyone but yourself." You don't even give him time to reply, you grab your bag and get into the elevator. You press button 55, going to a different floor to do your late-night baking.

Steve stood there, watching you as you got into the elevator. The doors closed, leaving him standing in the hallway.

He let out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his disheveled blonde strands.

He didn’t intend to accuse you of anything, he was just making an observation and trying to understand why you stayed in Bucky’s room overnight. Was it wrong to assume there had been something between the two of you? You talked constantly, had little jokes, hung out…

Oh… yeah, the two of you did friend things. He slapped his hand over his eyes, a low groan falling from his mouth.

He had gotten pissy at you for having a fucking friend, wow, great going Steve.

Now he really felt like a dick.

---

You mostly avoided Steve the next week... and Bucky. Every time you had a nightmare, instead of going to Bucky's room you just stayed in your own room.

Sure, they lasted a lot longer and left you high-strung the rest of the day... but at least no one thought you were sleeping with your friend.

That week, when you went to meet with Dr. Raynor... you were actually on time for the first time in months.

"Rogers." You huff, shutting the door behind you as you storm into Dr. Raynor's office.

[tarousbaby]

NINE-TO-FIVE !

FUSHIGURO TOJI STORY

work colleagues trope !

kinktober day five!

squirting, public sex, verbal degredation, rough sex, very uncleanly sex, daddy kink, he spits in your mouth

masterlist <3

in your line of work, you'd only heard bad things about the sorcerer killer but after a particular boss had hired you both, you quickly found out all the secret pleasures he kept hidden.

word count: 2531

working with fushiguro toji, the sorcerer killer, was nothing like you had expected it to be. he was big, you knew he would be, but he wasn't aggressive which was the biggest surprise.

his larger than life body would loom behind you as the two of you walked, his thick palms brushing yours, and presence of his cursed energy hanging over you like a thick blanket. it was almost comforting in a way, to be protected so fiercely and casually at the same time.

your ability to track was impeccable, which made working with toji unbelievably easy for him. you found the target, he killed the target. the mutual exchange was easy, and you found yourself going from being a tag-a-long to being toji's partner in crime in a way.

business men soon realized, toji worked better with you, and you worked better with toji. they bought your servitude was a package, and the two of you would pool the money together.

but you weren't a fool. you knew just how dangerous he was, you witnessed it first hand regularly. the massive amounts of raw power he held in just his pinky finger was incredible. not even a level one jujutsu sorcerer could hold their own against him, maybe not even a special grade.

it was rare, considering he had no cursed energy, but not impossible. so, you were wary and did your research. you knew he was a zenin, you knew just the mention of his family name had targets trembling. and yet, he acted nothing like the zenins you'd met. nothing like naoya, at least.

he wasn't nice by any means, or respectful but he was better. he understood your cursed technique, respected it, and trusted you enough to get the job done. he let you get close, familiar, and in the rare occasion he managed to get hurt he'd come to you.

working with toji was amazing. large bounties, harder targets, the thrill of it all. so, when you get the email that you have a new target, you hop onto it immediately.

"there you are," toji drawls, slumped in a chair. his smirk is small, but you still catch it, sending one of your own smiles back. "thought you were about to back down on me."

the man, whatever pig that had hired you both, looks between you. he looks a little lost, but his lips are pressed tight. you hum, pulling out your chair. "wouldn't miss it for the world."

toji clicks his tongue, and leans back. "couldn't miss my face, right?"

you scoff. "you wish."

the man blinks, finger crossed in front of his mouth. he opens his mouth, beginning to speak when toji pushes up. "just give us a name, we don't need a debrief if we got her."

he stutters, looking over to you, brows furrowed. clearly, he hadn't done his research. you tilt your head, expression patient but expecting. he licks his lips, a drop of sweat clinging to his forehead. gross.

the man stutters through some name that toji jots down with a pen on the inside of his arm. then, he points to the door and you know it's your cue to go.

"i already have the rooms set up," you say, pulling out the keys to the hotel you'd just checked into. "only one room. wanted to save some money."

"fine with me," he says, and takes them from you.

he, in turn, offers, "wanna get something to eat?"

you grin. "definitely. i'm starving."

-

you sit in the damp hotel room, windows pulled open to try and air out the scent of mildew. your legs are crossed as you sit in the center of the bed, your laptops pushed in front of you, and multiple city hall files surrounding you. toji had oh so kindly stolen them before you'd returned.

you thumb through the man's criminal record, trying to see if there was a way you could frame the crime scene. most times, these people had a long extensive record which made it easy to blame their deaths on some petty revenge of some rival.

toji dropped a bag of greasy fast food into your lap, and you looked up, mouthing a quiet 'thank you'.

he hums, and rounds the bed, sitting on your side. his hand dips into the bag in your lap, and pulls out a few fries. "anything good?"

you shrug. "mostly small gang violence, nothing big. i still have another page though. there was some charges of assault and battery last year though."

toji rolls his eyes. "that ain't shit."

you nod, dog-earing a page and typing a few notes onto your file on your laptop. information was important to keep on hand. you bite your lip.

"get me a fry, will you?" you ask.

toji does, reaching into the bag again and pulling one out. he answers your silent command when you open your mouth, placing it between your teeth.

you bite down, but some salt spreads across your lips. toji's reaction is immediate, his thumb swiping away at the glistening dots, before flicking them off into the back. you ignore the way your gut burns.

-

toji heaves a little, flinging a severed limb back to the mangled mess that was your targets corpse. his black hair sticks to his forehead, a little bit of sweat accumulated on his brow.

"didn't know he'd have bodyguards," he muttered, lips twisted into a frown. "probably got a tip about us."

except you aren't really focusing on what he's saying. instead, you're focusing on the splashes of blood soaking into your shirt.

"ewww," you groan, waving your hands, "you got his blood everywhere!"

toji raises one unimpressed eyebrow, arms crossed. "is that seriously what you're going to complain about right now?"

"yes," you stress with a huff, "this was one of my favorites."

toji rolls his eyes, leaning against one of the walls. he looks back to the pile of corpses, and wonders, "should we keep the head? he didn't say whether we should or not."

"i don't know, and i don't care. you owe me a new shirt."

toji groans, running a hand through his hair. "get over it, you have plenty of money to buy a new one now."

"as if," you mumble, "i'm relying on the paychecks i get from you killing people."

he pushes himself off the wall, takes a few slow steps up to you, and takes your shirt by the ends. he inspects the blood, dabs at it with his thumb, before letting it go.

"just take it off," he says, "i'll get you the money for a new one."

"i can't just take it off," you say, "i'll get arrested for public nudity!"

toji looks around the dingey alley the two of you are in. there's no sounds, not even the faint sounds of music from the nearby club. there's one flickering streetlight a few blocks down. not a single soul in sight, or curse.

"there ain't no public to see."

"that's not the point," you grumble.

toji's patience is clearly wearing thinner, and you aren't quite sure what he's gonne do until he's pulling off his skintight black shirt and handing it to you.

you stand there, frozen. your eyes are glued to his body, unable to look away from his sculpture. his abs are hard, but you knew that through his outline. his muscles are even more chiseled up close, his pecs large and strong.

your mouth watered a little.

"are you going to change or not?" his rasp draws you out of your stupor, and you blink slowly before reaching for the shirt. you then look back to him, expecting him to turn around but he doesn't.

you swallow, long and hard. you take your shirt off, careful to not let the blood-splashed fabric touch your face. your skin prickles with goosebumps against the cold air. you did have a bra on, but it didn't do much to cover your skin.

as quickly as you could, you slip the shirt on. it wasn't nearly as tight on you. toji's eyes lift to your face, and he wipes the blood off his palm onto his sweatpants. then he reaches forward, and his hand comes to cup your hip.

you arch into his grip instinctively, pressing your chest to his without thinking. toji lets out a low chuckle, and his hand slips down and gives your ass a firm squeeze.

without thinking, you let out a startled gasp.

the smell of irony blood, and toji's natural musk fills your nose. toji's scent isn't bad by any means, just strong. your head buries into his chest as his other hand comes to the small of your back, pressing in and forcing your arch a little more.

"you're so desperate," he laughs, "pushing against me like a bitch in heat."

you glare up at him, but it quickly melts away upon seeing his smirk.

you knew very well how attractive toji was. beautiful had to be a genetic thing when it came to zenin's. his deep green eyes, his inky black hair, his pale cream skin.

there was always this push pull thing. you’d dip your toes into the water, see how far you could push him. you’d never thought you’d get this far, feel his hands dip down your back.

toji takes your jaw in one hand, and pulls you up for a searing kiss that makes your mouth ache. it’s messy, and wet, and you can smell the iron wafting off the blood on his hands.

it’s not what you’d imagined, and yet it still manages to be better to every daydream you’d ever had. nights spent, hands clamped between your thighs, coated in slick, imaging it was his thick muscle instead.

“fuck,” you murmur against his chest, breath hot.

“if you wish,” you can hear the amusement in his voice, but it’s nothing compared to the pure desperation in yours. you want him—no—you need him.

his thumb slips into your mouth, pulling your jaw open. you only have a moment to realize what he’s doing before he spits in your mouth and says, “swallow.”

you do, not really tasting it but wrinkling your nose anyway. his hand then shifts to your shoulder and forces you to your knees as he leans up against the stone of the wall behind you. you understand immediately.

you fumble with the strings of his sweatpants before looping your fingers under them and tugging them down along with his boxers.

he’s big, you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t, and your cunt gives a pathetic pulse. you’re soaking through your panties just thinking about it.

you spit into your hand, tojis saliva still on your tongue and use it to lube up your hand. slowly, you work your way up his shaft, your other hand reaching back to grip his thighs.

you give a small lick to his tip, feeling his muscle shudder and flex under your touch. you take his tip into your mouth, sucking softly before letting it go with a pop.

peppering kisses down his length, you reach the base, before licking one long stripe up and taking him into your mouth. he’s already unbearably hard.

you can feel him in the back of your throat, and his groans fill your ears. you begin to work your way up and down him, shifting your head and unlocking your jaw in order to take him fully. his hand comes to your hair, pulling at your hair, nails digging into your scalp.

he’s so big, it makes your head spin.

unsurprisingly, he takes your hand and begins to thrust into your throat. you try your hardest not to gag, tears pricking in your eyes and clinging to your lashes.

after a few minutes, he pulls off, a thin trail of spit connecting your puffy lips to his cock. he taps it on your lips with a chuckle, before aiming down and cumming with a moan over your neck and collarbone.

“need you,” you whine, “please, toji.”

he helps you up, but in a moments notice he’s picking you up, hands underneath your thighs. he pushes your back against the stone, and the cold prickly wall cuts into your back through the thin shirt.

he rubs at your pussy with his duck through your leggings, watching as the dark spot on your grey leggings grows and grows.

“such a filthy girl,” he mutters against the shell of your ear, pulling at the band of your legging and letting it snap back against your stomach. you whimper, biting down on your lip.

“want you in me.”

toji grins against your neck, and sucks a big bruise into your flesh. he licks up your neck, up to your jaw. then, he finally pulls down your leggings and pantie.

the cold air bites against your skin, raising goosebumps but the warmth of toji quickly envelopes you. his dick pushes between your lips, rubbing against your clit and eliciting small hiccups of moans from your throat.

“please!” you sob, cheeks flushing red. “i need to cum!”

he clicks his tongue. then, he shoves two thick fingers into your pussy, making you scream. your shriek echoes throughout the alley, but you regard for other people dissapears.

his fingers curl inside you quickly, trying to stretch you out as quickly as possible to give you what you want. his thumb rubs at your clit at the same time, his dick leaking precum over your thigh.

“c’mon, daddy, wanna feel you!”

you can see the switch happen in toji, watch as his eyes darken and his posture tenses.

toji rips his fingers out, drawing a whine from you. his face buries into your breasts, forehead resting against your collarbone.

his cock pushes into you, hitting your g-spot immediately. he was skilled, he’d fucked before. he knew how to make you cum and make you cum quick.

he fucks into you rapidly, and you’re practically bouncing onto his lap. your arms wrap around his neck, your head falling back as he lifts his head to suck more bruises into your skin.

you cum, in one short scream that has your entire body shaking with the aftershocks. “haah—oh fuck, toji, ‘m cumming, ‘m cumming!”

he groans, long and loud against your jaw. he presses a kiss to your lips to shut you up. you squirt, for the first time in what felt like forever, all over his abdomen.

tojis only fucking you for a few more seconds before you feel his cum spilling up inside you. you slump, body limp and struggling to keep locked around his body.

“fuck, you’re such a slut, you know that right?” toji laughs, wiping at the sweat on your neck.

“only for you,” you pant, as he lets you down. your legs wobble, like a baby deer first learning how to walk, but you manage to pull your clothes back up.

toji stares you down, then stares at his bloody clothes, then at the corpses. “we’re fucking disgusting.”

you grin, and pull him out of the alley. “yeah, but we knew that already.”

[luveline]

yess would love to see some roan content

yk roans imaginary (i mean totally real) dalmation, maybe one day reader, eddie and roan are walking around at the park or something and she see a dalmation and just wants to run up and pet the dog. i just think it’d be a cute little moment

thank you for your request! a summer afternoon for the munson family <3 eddie and roan ♥︎ fem!reader 1.3k

You have Eddie's hand in one hand, Roan's in the other. It's a rare occasion that you get to be the one in the middle. Roan usually insists on it so that she can be swung over the sidewalk curbs. You aren't sure how you've gotten to be the lucky one, but you won't look a gift horse in the face. 

"I'm gon-da climb to the top of the climbing tower–" 

"'Gon-da'," Eddie whispers in your ear, "what is she, five?" 

She is very much five. 

"How dare you," you say. 

He laughs evilly and then remembers he has to be a dad as well as an idiot. "Roan, if you get stuck at the top again I can't come and get you, I'm a scaredy-cat." 

"I'll save you, princess," you say. 

Roan pulls away from your hand. "Thank you!" she calls, sprinting across a stretch of brilliant green grass. The field surrounding the playground is thick and lush and expansive. A group of teenagers throw a Frisbee at one end, while a great golden labrador chases a tennis ball at the other. You walk past babies and the elderly, all manner of Hawkins residents out in swing to enjoy the amazing summer weather. 

"Roan! Stay close!" Eddie shouts. 

She slows to a run. You and Eddie fast walk to keep pace, interlocked fingers swinging with every step.

"It's so nice out today, sure you aren't gonna melt into a leather puddle?" you tease. 

"I reject summer," Eddie says, in all black. 

You laugh. It's the kind of laugh you can only make when it's warm and you're content, the sound rumbly and indulgent. Since meeting Eddie, pretty much ever one of your laughs sound this way when the weather's nice. He smiles at you and bumps his shoulder into yours, his eyebrows, hidden by his bangs, making a rare appearance as he squints against the sun. 

Roan thankfully stops before she gets to the playground, a mass of hot plastic on wood chips that you can smell half a mile away. She rocks back and forth on her heels, feet covered by small white sneakers. Eddie had originally dressed her in a sweet pink dress with flowers on the chest, but you'd peeped up to say she should probably wear pants if she's gonna be climbing things. He'd nodded, said, "Right! Right, what would I do without you, baby?" 

It felt nice to get to amend what she wears, and his easy acceptance of your suggestion. 

"Go on, babe!" he calls. "We're gonna stay right here on the grass and watch you!" 

Roan beams and races to the climbing tower, a plastic and rope contraption that scares the fuck out of you. It's designed to catch a child if they fall, ropes intermingling between layers and reaching a narrow point at the top. You worry she'll fall backwards, but what can you do to stop her? She wants to tackle it, you want her to be brave and have fun, and you're a little unsure if you'd even be allowed to say No, you can't go on there. 

You and Eddie lay out a blanket and sit under the summer heat. He admits defeat and peels out of his thick jacket, exposing the amazing lengths of his arms. They're almost enough to drag your gaze from his climbing daughter. 

"She's gonna be fine," he says. 

"I know." You put your hand on his thigh. "What if she isn't, though?" 

"She will be. They wouldn't build that thing if kids weren't meant to climb it. I've climbed it." 

"You've climbed it?" 

He leans back, lips taking to an open-mouthed smile. "You don't believe me?" 

"How old were you?" 

"Probably not as young as Ro, but– seven? Eight?" 

"Eddie, that's fifteen years ago. You're telling me she's climbing ten feet on a climbing frame that's fifteen years old?" You groan and close your eyes. "You better watch her. I'm gonna have a heart attack."

Eddie covers your hand with his, chuckling. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll watch her." 

You squeeze your eyes closed but take little glances when you can manage it. The higher she gets the worse you feel, anxiety churning your guts. You know she won't fall but your body doesn't. A cold sweat pricks your neck despite the sunshine beating down. 

Eddie plays with your fingers absentmindedly. 

"I think your ring finger is my favourite. And not because of what you're thinking," he says nonchalantly, "but it's cute. You have a little tiny mark, what is that?" 

"Maybe a papercut scar?" you ask. "Wait! Aren't you watching Roan?"

"I am, but I can do both. Plus, even if she falls, what'm I gonna do? The net will catch her, sweetheart, I promise." 

He places his thumb on either side of your finger and presses down to the tip. It's a strange gesture, thoughtless, and your anxiety numbs. You watch Roan climb to another layer. She looks about as nervous as you feel, taking careful steps, pulling herself up with heaving motions. 

Eddie pulls the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it quickly. "Hey, she's almost at the top."

Roan climbs to the summit. You tilt your head toward Eddie's and wait for her to get down, only she doesn't, climbing to the other side with tense movements. Her front comes into view, and when she spots you and Eddie looking there's a huge smile on her face.

"Look, I'm at the top!" she shouts proudly. 

"You are! You're so fast, and so tall!" Eddie waves at her. 

She waves back. 

"Oh, holy shit, I'm gonna throw up," you say. "I'm gonna go get her down." 

You stand up and almost fall to your knees when Roan shouts, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" 

You don't care who's watching or listening to you, you shout, "What, baby?" 

"A damnation!" 

You get to the bottom of the tower in record time. "Are you stuck?" 

She wags her head. Her every movement makes the tower ropes shake. "Y/N, it's a damnation, look!" she says, pointing behind you. 

You reluctantly turn, heart in your throat, and are greeted by the sight of a full grown dalmatian, white with black spots. You're head rushes. 

Eddie comes to meet you with the blanket and tote bag hastily thrown over his arm. Roan flies down the tower in record time, stops to hug your leg, and then looks up at Eddie and says, "Can I hug it? Please? Please, can I go pet the dog?" 

Eddie takes her hand. "Let's go ask, baby." 

They fast walk to the dalmation before the owner can walk too far away and ask to pet the dog. The dalmation's name is Sammy, and he loves kisses and hugs. He links stripes up Roan's face until she's roaring with giggles, her arms around his skinny neck. 

"Good puppy!" she says, squealing when Sammy licks her nose.

"How's your heart?" Eddie asks. 

"Definitely feeling better." You put his hand against your chest so he can feel the slowed pulse. 

He slides it to your shoulder, throwing the other behind so he can hug you and tug you in for a forehead kiss at the same time. 

"You're pretty when you worry," he says. 

Roan giggles some more, cotton candy sweet. "Daddy, we need a Sammy, please please please!" 

A little bit of his pleased, carefree attitude dissipates. 

"Baby, where would we put him?" 

"He could sleep in my bed!" She rubs Sammy behind the ears. "Do you have a brother, mister Sammy?" 

You tip your head to his ear. "She wants a puppy? What is she, five?" 

Roan beams at you both. Mister Sammy licks a gross line of spit from her chin to her temple.

[el-tur-el]

Somethin filthy with Harper Geraldus?

Decided to do something a little different for this once since I have a few bigger projects I've done/am doing with Geraldus!

Harper Geraldus NSFW Alphabet

NSFW UNDER CUT. MINORS DNI.

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

This man clings. He has to be touching his partner constantly, and this is even more intense after intimacy. Lots of cuddling, lots of his face buried in his partner's neck. If they need cleaned up at all, he would insist on a bath together. Overall just a very sweet little thing.

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

I think that Geraldus holds a certain amount of pride for his hands; he's a Harper, he uses them to save people. To expertly wield a bow. To heal, to help. I think that's significant to him.

As for his partner, I don't think Geraldus falls into the camp of lusting over typically sexually-charged features. I think his favorite thing would probably be his partner's eyes - the intensity of a gaze, the way they soften around the edges when they look at him, the way so much possibility is held within such a small thing.

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

If you were expecting this man to be adventurous in this camp, I'm sorry to say he is not. He's something of a traditionalist; if his partner isn't on some form of contraceptive, he's using condoms. If they are, he'll finish inside. He isn't fond of finishing on his partner - he thinks the whole thing is a little degrading, honestly.

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

Is it really a secret if it's kind of obvious just from looking at him? This man is a massive sub, and on the rare occasion that he does top, he's a service top. He really enjoys his partner having their way with him and using him for their own pleasure.

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

Inexperienced, but makes up for it with enthusiasm. He's had maybe one partner in the past, and he doesn't really know what he's doing, but by the Gods is he eager to learn. Tell him what to do, how you like it, and he'll do his damnedest.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. I sincerely believe that sex is something monolithic and sacred for this man; he likes the romance, the ritual of the thing. He wants to hold hands and make eye contact. He's also not opposed to his partner being on top.

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

He tries to be serious, but he's so shy and there's more than a few blunders during the act, and that lends itself to some giggling. It takes him a while to relax and realize that sex isn't some intense, strict thing.

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

I think he trims, but doesn't shave completely.

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

Intensely romantic. As I said in the favorite position section, sex is about much more than the physical to him; it's about the union, it's about showing his partner how much he loves them. Lots of breathy 'I love you's.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I really don't think he masturbates often. When is there time for that, really, with how busy he is with Harper business? When he has a partner, too, I feel that he prefers to get off with them instead of alone. On the rare occasion that he does, it's a quick affair that's done mostly out of necessity - usually ends with him biting down on the heel of his palm to stifle his sounds, thinking of his partner as he spills onto his fingers.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man would go insane if his partner edged him. He just would. Edging and overstimulation, 100%, I will not be taking criticisms at this time.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He's not really the... adventurous type? I feel like he'd really prefer to be in the bedroom, to have a specific place set aside for an act that he puts so much importance on. He's not opposed to bath or shower sex, though.

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

The little things. A lingering touch, a stolen glance, the bead of sweat on his partner's brow after a long day. It really doesn't take a lot; he's got a fairly high libido (covered more in the Yearning section).

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

He does not ever, ever want to hurt his partner. Sorry to all the hard!dom Geraldus girlies (gn) out there, but have you seen this man? He looks like he's going to cry constantly. I think he would genuinely be distraught if his partner ever asked him to indulge in sadism. Or masochism, for that matter; sex isn't meant to be painful, in his eyes.

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

GIVING!!!! I'm not saying he would be good at it at first, but dear god does this man have enthusiasm. The sloppiest head his partner has ever received in their entire life; so much fucking spit.

If his partner returned the favor, though? I think he'd short circuit. Give this man a blowjob.

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

Slow and sensual, always. Sometimes he gets a little over-enthusiastic or desperate, but even then I wouldn't call him rough.

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

He would really, really prefer to take his time with his partner, but he isn't opposed to the occasional quickie if they both really need it. He'd still be soft and sweet during the whole thing, and would probably forget that a quickie is, in fact, supposed to be quick.

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

He's open to experimentation in some aspects - softer kinks, mostly. Nothing hard. As for risks... no. He's really not the voyeurism or exhibitionist type, he's not going to hurt his partner, and he doesn't think sex should be associated with danger.

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

One, and he finishes relatively quickly unless he's being edged. You can get more than one orgasm out of him if you're dabbling in overstim. But even if he finishes before his partner, he's more than happy to make it up to them by settling his mouth between their legs or using his fingers.

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

I don't think he's really the toy type, though if his partner wanted to introduce them, I don't think he'd be opposed. Give this man whatever the Faerun-equivalent of a Hitachi is? It's over for his partner.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't like teasing, I don't think; but he enjoys being teased.

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

This! Man! Whines! So! Loud! Part of the reason why he really prefers to have sex in the privacy of his own home is it means he doesn't have to hold himself back. He's a whiny little thing, probably whimpers when he comes.

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

He's hesitant the first time his partner brings up pegging, but when he actually goes through with it? He's a changed man. Eyes rolled back, literally drooling, practically sobbing. Moral of the story - please peg this man.

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

Average, in my honest opinion; 5 inches with the usual amount of girth.

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

High. Very high. He doesn't act on it all the time, but he is constantly down bad for his partner - he's inexperienced, and he's needy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I don't think he falls asleep all that quickly, really; I think he likes to take his time drinking in the closeness with his partner after the fact. Will probably wait for his partner to fall asleep first.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Atsushi doesn't understand the Agency.

At the Orphanage no one had any expectations of him. He was to be neither seen nor heard, like a ghost that haunted the place.

Dazai grins when he'd spot Atsushi walking in and call him over. He always did, no matter how quiet Atsushi was.

He'd be pulled into a debate, or rather be stuck watching Kunikida and Dazai argue.

Atsushi didn't understand why they wanted him around. No one had ever wanted him around. The fact they smile at him too, like they're happy to see him.

It was strange.

Kyouka tugs on his arm when it was time for lunch. Atsushi never realised the time, he wasn't used to eating regularly.

The idea he could eat food every day was something he didn't think he'd ever get used too. And good food too, not leftovers thrown at his feet.

Lucy would give him a knowing look and push the plate infront of him. Atsushi never knew what to get but he trusted her choices.

He'll never forget the day he didn't like something and how Lucy had quickly swapped with something a lot more his taste.

Atsushi didn't understand that. At the Orphanage you were supposed to be greatful for any food. To complain would be to lose the luxury of a meal.

At the Orphanage whenever something went wrong, it was Atsushi's fault. No matter what, even if Atsushi wasn't around it was always his fault.

The Agency don't let Atsushi take the fall for anything he hasn't done.

Ranpo admits to leaving a case early to grab sweets before the words could even leave Atsushi's mouth.

A suspect got away and Atsushi was mid apology before Kenji said it was his fault for losing them.

And while all true, Atsushi doesn't understand why they didn't blame him.

They didn't get punished for it, that was a relief. In fact no one at the Agency gets punished. Unless you counted whatever Kunikida does to Dazai.

Which Atsushi didn't, it was different.

Fukuzawa always had the final say, but even on the rare occasions he was genuinely mad... Never did he raise a hand at anyone.

Atsushi didn't understand why no one punished him here.

Atsushi was only ever hurt during fights and even than Yosano always checked him over. She even told Atsushi to tell her if he was ever hurt, no matter how small.

Atsushi didn't understand.

Shouldn't he be trying to not be a burden? That's what the Orphanage would want, they didn't dress his wounds or care about his pain.

Pain was his oldest companion, to the point it wasn't so much punishment as it was what Atsushi deserved.

And Atsushi agreed even if he wasn't a fan of it.

But the Agency did not punish him, ever. They didn't even have a cage here. He'd asked about it once but Kunikida assumed he was joking.

Atsushi was not but didn't ask any further.

It all seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was, but Atsushi supposes he should enjoy it for however long it's lasts.

Because as much as he'd like to hope otherwise it won't.

His parents were kind once.

The Headmaster was kind once.

Shibusawa was kind once.

Atsushi only drags the people around him into darkness. He brings only misfortune, and to save themselves they abandon him.

And one day even the Agency with all it's kindness and strength will not want him either.

That, is the first thing about the Agency that Atsushi understands.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

hi! i saw your autumn writing event post and maybe you can do a nikolai lantsov x grisha!f!reader (preferably a tidemaker) using the prompt of "The Great War"? thank you ^^

War Of Hearts- Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

A/N- Hi anon! Tysm for this request I had a lot of fun writing it! So I hope you enjoy reading it.

Warnings- None

Summary- You were by Nikolai's side through all of his battles. You helped him endure all kinds of hardships. Yet, you never found yourself to be worthy of him. Until you were proven wrong

You'd met Nikolai during the hunt for the Sea Whip. You were originally with the Darkling's crew, but not upon your will. So you betrayed him, and helped Alina and Mal to escape along with Sturmhond's crew. And that might've been one of the best decision you ever made.

You were quite startled to find out that Sturmhond was actually the second born prince of Ravka, Nikolai Lantsov. But your reaction wasn't as extreme as Alina, who decided to immediately punch him in the face. 

At first, you didn't pay much mind to the prince as he was too deep indulged elsewhere and you were just happy to be back with your friends at the Little Palace. But soon you found yourself getting attached to the him as you spent more of your time with him. But you dismissed any unnecessary feelings from entering your heart, because you knew he was meant to be with the Sun Summoner or someone who was as high status as him, and not just another Grisha soldier. Yet still you found yourself to be the one who was mostly affected when he'd been plagued with Merzost. And you've been by his side when its effects wore off and he became him ,again.

When the civil war ended, Alina left to live the life she always wished for, and made you a member of the triumvirate to represent the Etherealki. You wondered if the prince even remembered you after all this time, but it turned out that he did more than just keep your memories alive. 

You were the person he trusted to share his secret with, and help him through it all. And so you did, every night you went to the Grand Palace, to his chambers and binded him in chains so as to not let the demon within him come out. No matter how much it shattered your hear, you did it every night with a fearless look. 

You accompanied him during the trip to find the thorn wood and perform the Obisbaya to rid himself of his demon, even though it didn't work out in the end. You fought by his side when the Fjerdans unleashed their army of parem-drugged Grisha.

Yet even after all, you didn't find yourself to be worthy of him. He was the King of Ravka, the saviour of the people, their protector and you, you didn't even know who you were anymore. He deserved to marry a princess or some respected noble's daughter. And yet still, you would stand by his side and be happy for him and you would protect him with your lie, yet still. 

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You were sitting by yourself under one of the verandas of the grand palace, as it was raining steadily. You always enjoyed the calmness and peace the rain brought along. You reached out your hand to let raindrops fall on your palm, and then used your small science to freeze them. You slowly mended the raindrops to form various figures. You were entirely grateful for every moment of peace you attained after fighting in countless battles and wars. 

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Nikolai was passing by the verandas when he saw you sitting by yourself. He silent crept to a corner of a walk and leaned on to it as he watched you with great interest. He was delighted to see the rare sight of you without your armour of bravery. He was delighted to see you being, you.

He reminisced of all the memories he had with you, all the days and nights you were by his side. Truth was, that no one has been by his side as you had. You had held his hand when others didn't even notice how hurt he was. You'd saved him on countless occasions, even when his demon had almost succeeded in hurting you. 

He knew he was required to be with someone who was of high status, a princess, a nobel's daughter, but he could never stop his gaze from falling towards only one person that being you. He'd done so much for this country, sacrificed so many things, so couldn't he for once get what he wished for? 

So he finally decided to approach you

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You were too deeply indulged in your thoughts to notice Nikolai coming from behind. 

"Enjoying the rain? " You turned around in a haste to see him leaning against a wall. 

"Yeah, and the quiet environment" you responded as he sat beside you

"Peace, quite, difficult to come by these days" he sighed

"Yeah". You both remained silent for a moment and looked at the endearing scene in front of you before he spoke again

"Y/n?"

"Yes?" you raised an eyebrow

"Thank you, for everything. For being with me through it all" his gaze turned towards you

"Of course, Nikolai. Besides, there should be someone to stop you from doing the most idiotic things in the face of earth" You grinned. 

"I- well that is true. But you do enjoy my company, don't you" he raised both his eyebrows and tilted his side to a side

"Maybe" you shrugged playfully

He placed a hand on his chest to and gave you a fake hurt look. "I expected more" he frowned

" What, you want me tell you how much you mean to me and how you've been my light, my hope in the darkness" you responded, dragging the syllables in a mocking tone

"Yeah, actually, you have" His gaze grew softer as he looked deep in your eyes, making you look at him with confused expression

"You've truly been with me through all of my battles, y/n. You've helped me in ways no one else ever had,. You have healed me in ways, that no one else ever had. And even if you won't think of me in the way I do, I can never think of being with anyone but you, y/n. I can never need anyone as much as I need you" He held up your hand in his. 

His words made all of your worries fade away. You'd never expected him to say anything like this, and even when he did, you wondered if your ears had deceived you. 

You placed your other hand on top of his and smiled softly as your gaze met his. "I would do it all again for you, Nikolai.  You've no idea of the ways you have helped me. I would fight countless battles and wars, just to see you smile once again. And even though you're not mine, I would still do everything in my power and more to see you happy"

"Oh but I don't wish to be with any other but you, my love. I only want you" he slowly raised his hand and cupped a side of your face.

You no longer restrained yourself, and closed the distance between you and pressed your lips on his, but slowly pulled away from him hesitantly. You both looked at each other for a moment, before his lips crashed on yours. His lips had the kind of warmth that you never had felt before. It was the moment you'd always yearned for, but never thought it would every be true. And you wished for nothing more but just for this moment to last forever. 

You slowly pulled away from him and pressed your forehead on his. In that moment, you really won the greatest battle of your life. 

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

15

“I didn't know I'd feel relieved after ordering a dress.” you sat across from your fiance at a cozy little bistro you'd picked for lunch.

“I didn't really understand why it was such a big deal until today.” He replied picking up the menu in front of him.

“That hit me at dress number four.” You chuckled, “I feel like you saved the day.”

Law lifted the tri-fold laminate to hide the odd surge of pride he was feeling.

“That's a bit much.” He managed evenly, “All I did was pick something I thought you might like.”

“Well, it is perfect.” You smiled glancing down at the menu.

All of your reactions today had him feeling a bit cocky. He'd been the source of that happiness and Goddamn if that wasn't an addicting high. It was more than that though, part of your elation was the unexpected show of affection in the dressing room. Whatever rare occasion Law touched you was warm and comforting. This small kiss on the forehead was electric. Shivers wiggled down your spine just reflecting on it.

“Do you come here often?” He asked, still perusing the restaurant's offerings.

“I used to when I wasn't burying myself in work. A friend of mine from culinary school owns it.”

He glanced up, interested in this newly offered information, “You went to school with Sanji-ya?”

“Small world it seems. How do you know him?” You asked.

“Through an infuriating acquaintance.” He grimaced.

“Oh, now that sounds interesting.” Your chuckle faded as realization washed over you, “Luffy.”

Law's brows raised, he shouldn't have been surprised. Your cousin hung out with Sanji and Luffy too.

“Smaller world than I thought.” He murmured, “You used to hang out with them?”

You shifted and cleared your throat.

“Something wrong?” He asked, watching your disposition change.

“I mean… to answer your question, kind of? Luffy is Zoro's best friend.”

Law sat forward as it clicked, “The little brother?”

You nodded.

The raven sighed, “Will everything always come back to that guy?”

“I really wish it didn't.” You slouched forward a bit.

“Sorry,” Law reached across the table and hesitated briefly before touching your wrist, “I didn't mean to ruin the mood.”

His hand was so soft and warm, you fought the urge to hold it, opting instead to stay still.

“No, you didn't ruin anything. It's actually something we should talk about.” Your gaze rose from his tattooed fingers just before he pulled away.

“Maybe not in public.” He glanced around, “Let's get back to the issue at hand. What would you recommend ordering?”

He’d found that getting you to talk about something you had passion for usually brightened you right up.

You sat up and flipped the menu between the two of you to show him all of your favorite items. He leaned in resting his chin in his palm, pleased with the mood change.

Soon your orders arrived as the conversation continued comfortably.

“So did you decide on going back to Olympia to look for your suit?”

He nodded, finishing his last bite, “I forgot to tell you, Cora-ya will be coming next weekend to help me.”

“Is he going to stay with us?” Your eyes lit up.

“Well, I assumed he'd stay at a hotel. Our place is small.” He answered appreciating your excitement.

Our place.

The phrase sent a flutter through your chest.

“It's a two bedroom apartment.” You deadpanned moving your napkin from your lap to the table.

“I guess I can take the couch so he can have my room.” He suggested thoughtfully.

You cocked a brow at him, “Is sleeping with me that bad?”

Law’s eyes widened as his face heated up, “I'm sorry?”

“Wai-I -” You covered your face and let out an embarrassed chuckle, “I meant like, if I snored or something.”

A soft laugh rumbled through your fiance's chest as he reached forward to gently move your hands from your face. The amused look on his face had you frozen for a moment.

That smile could end wars.

“You don't snore,” he assured, “I just didn't want to invite myself into your room.”

Your gaze trailed down to your hands resting in his, “I appreciate that. You can stay in mine.”

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“Look at the two of you, charming everyone around you.” A familiar voice chimed as a plate softly clacked against the table.

“Sanji.” You straightened yourself out now that you'd been reminded you were in public.

“I couldn't let my beautiful former study partner leave without her favorite dessert.” He'd placed a small plate of strawberry shortcake between you.

“Awe thank you.” You smiled up at him, “I'll hook you up next time you stop by the bakery.”

“Sanji-ya,” Law nodded toward your friend.

“Tra-guy, it's been a while. I see you're doing well.” Sanji shook his hand.

“Tra-guy?” You echoed.

“You know how Luffy is with names.” The blonde winked at you.

“How's Pudding? I heard about the bed-rest.” You changed the subject, deciding to circle back to Law's nickname when you had him alone.

Sanji's blue eyes sparkled at the mention of his wife. He immediately launched into an update on her pregnancy and gushed so much you almost wished you hadn't asked. You were glad she was well and the bed-rest was just a precaution due to high blood pressure. After the catch up and a few pictures your former classmate excused himself to get back to work.

“I definitely ate too much.” You sighed entering your apartment.

“What should we do with the afternoon?” Law asked removing his shoes and placing them with yours by the door.

“First, stretchy pants.” You suggested.

“And then?” He prompted removing the dark knit sweater he'd had covering the worn black t-shirt he had on underneath.

“I'm fine with whatever you choose Tra-guy~”

His sweater flopped over your head and shoulders as you tried to make a dash for your room.

“Not you too.” He grumbled blithely.

You gasped dramatically and pulled the garment off your head, “That’s abuse.”

“You're ridiculous.” His lips upturned enjoying this playful side of you.

“I could have fallen.” You pushed the sweater against his chest.

“I'm a doctor,” he leaned over you and dropped his voice, “I'd take care of you.”

Fuck.

That silver gaze flitted from your lips to your eyes so quickly you had to have imagined it. His expression was relaxed but there was something there he was holding back. Torn between learning what the consequences would be and being afraid to let you into his world completely - he held his breath.

It was a subtle but bold move. Wanting to match his energy and ride out the high of this tension without taking a move your brain might not be ready for - you gently nuzzled his cheek.

“I know you would.” Your fingertips brushed the sharp line of his jaw.

The rush of cool air that hit him as you stepped back was sobering. He cursed under his breath as you made your way to your room to change. Kissing your forehead earlier in the day suddenly didn't feel as intimate.

Confirming you wanted the affection was like opening the door to a locked room.