#no he would not actually say that but it amuses me to think about it

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis, ch3 p2

Masterpost

please no editing or concrit, brain and hands eepy.

“So, um, Lois invited you over for dinner Friday,” Kon said as they waited for class to end. He kept his eyes on doodle of Red Robin he was making. “She thought we could work on our project and offered to help too.”

“Lois?”

“Oh, um, my step-mom? I guess?” Kon answered before he paused and asked, “Does it count as a step mom when you didn’t have a mom first?”

“You know, I don’t know. I suppose it depends if you’re counting ‘mom’ as a role or from a biological perspective,” Danny answered without even a pause.

It was one of the great (and worrying) things about Danny, Kon could say the wildest shit and Danny would just roll with it. Still, Kon didn’t think it would be a good idea to say that he didn’t have a mom biologically either. He sure as fuck wasn’t putting Lex Luthor in the mother spot, even if Kon regrettably had some of his DNA.

“That’s a good point. Either way she offered. She’s a really good writer so she could be actual help,” Kon said. He added a bird chewing on Red’s hand. “And, like, totally can say no if it’s too weird or whatever, but, like, she said you could stay the night too if you wanted to stay for breakfast and work some the next day too or anything.”

“What is it with your whole family wanting to feed me?” Danny asked, sounding amused.

Kon risked a glance at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. Must be genetic.”

Danny raised a brow at him. “Step-mom.”

Kon rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, infectious or some shit. My dad’s from the Midwest; people are weird there.”

“Oh, no, that totally explains everything actually,” Danny said with a grin that quickly fell. “Wait, was my offer to help fix things enough?”

“More than enough.”

“But… okay, I should bring over a hostess present though.”

“Danny.”

“Not that I can bake a pie, but I bet there’s a bakery on the way—”

“Danny!”

-

Danny held out the box with the pie in it towards Kon’s parents. “Um, for desert, as a thank you.”

“Well isn’t that swell of you,” Clark said. He was obviously charmed by Danny, which Kon guessed was good.

[suiana]

thinking of a guilt ridden reader and a silly manipulative yandere who looks exactly like someone from reader's past.

maybe you did something bad to a friend, perhaps ended a relationship on bad terms with someone who never deserved to be treated badly. whatever it is, just the mere thought of that person causes you to physically curl up and pray for forgiveness.

so you spend the rest of your days like a dead man walking, the guilt of your actions clawing at the depths of your heart. it makes it hard to do anything, let alone think. because when you are left alone with your thoughts, all you can imagine is their expression when everything went wrong. oh how you'd give up anything just to change the past and your actions.

as if your guilt wasn't enough, he just had to skip into your life looking exactly like that person. like them.

at first, you thought of this as a curse. this... this stupid guy? looking exactly like them? then as you sort of warmed up to him, you still think it's a curse. because what gave him the audacity to come into your life, looking like them, and telling you how much he wants you? especially claiming that it was love at first sight and that you two were fated to be?

"i love you."

"can i be yours?"

"we'd be so good together."

you keep pushing him away. you know how this will end up, with you messing up just like last time. wouldn't it be better to just keep him at a distance? unfortunately for you he doesn't seem to think so. and it's like a curse. a demon from your past coming back to haunt you in the form of your greatest mistake.

if anything, your costant rejections only seem to keep him wanting... more?

"please, just one chance. that is all I'm asking for."

"no? you don't want to entertain me even the slightest bit?"

"how cruel, i never realised you were this heartless."

you eventually end up giving in. he just has that sort of effect you suppose. or maybe it's the guilt that's constantly eating you alive that's causing you to make this decision. after all, he looks so much like them and... you don't know what you'd do if he looked at you like that. not ever, not again. maybe this would be your way of making up for your wrong doings.

he couldn't be happier obviously. finally! the person he's been pining over finally accepted his confession! even if it took a long time, it all worked out. you're happy, his happy, everyone's happy!

until he found out you're not actually happy and you're just doing this because you feel guilty.

"what do you mean? am i just a replacement to you? a way to correct your mistakes?"

"hah! you're so- ugh, I don't even want to think about you anymore."

"save it, those are just excuses."

he's always been a manipulative person. he knows. and he knows that you know it too. yet he continues to manipulate you through it all. i mean, it's your fault for even treating him like a second option in the first place! what? he's the one that's been pestering you? no no, you could've just rejected him. it's not his fault, it's yours. you're not stopping him anyway so like, you're basically admitting you're in the wrong.

"yeah you should be sorry. how mean do you have to be to think of me just as someone you've hurt? I'm my own person too."

he says that but continues to use the fact that his familiarity elicits something in you. and he'll continue abusing it, continue taking advantage of your weakened state. why? because he can and because he wants to.

plus, it's amusing in it's own right to see you bending head over heels just to appease him. huh, guess the guilt runs deep, doesn't it?

oh it's whatever. he'll slowly condition you to start showing him the affection he so desperately craves anyway. he just needs to hold on a little longer. break you down a tiny bit more and then you'll be all his. he can feel it.

you two will be truly happy together. no other people, no guilt in your heart. just you and him, alone and content with one another.

that would simply be salvation, wouldn't it?

[mariasont]

HEAR ME OUT!

post prison Spencer and shy!reader bonding over being total nerds. Books, shows... you name it

Bookstore Physics - S.R

summary: spencer suggests you should compare moral biases more often. you think he's making a philosophical point. he thinks he just asked you on a date

pairings: post!prison spencer reid x shy!medialiaison!reader

warnings: fluff, second hand embarrassment im sure, philosophical debates that are probably wrong bc i had to google and i know hardly knowing about mr kant, existential crisis but make it romantic, post prison reid, shy reader, prolonged eye contact

wc: 1.6k

a/n: thanks for requesting my lovely! happy superbowl to those who celebrate! go birds!

You were so close. Just one more inch, and your fingertips would finally graze the spine of the book that had been taunting you from its impossibly high perch. 

Rising to your tiptoes, you reached with all the reckless confidence of someone who had severely underestimated basic physics. The shelf wobbled under your grip, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and in that split second, you were faced with a terrifying possibility that you were about to take out the entire bookshelf, along with your dignity.

Something grabbed ahold of you, steadying you before you could faceplant directly into a pile of literary fiction. 

You went completely rigid. Because that wasn't just something. That was a Spencer Reid hand, long fingers, warm palm, and a freakishly strong grip for a man who treated physical exertion like a concept rather than a practice.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Reid," you blurted, the words tumbling out clumsy and unpolished, as if your tongue had forgotten how to function. You winced instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Spencer didn't answer right away. His grip on your arm slackened, but he didn't step away, didn't even give you an inch of space, like he had no intention of letting you breathe properly.

Oh, that's fine. Air is overrated anyway.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated as if he were genuinely considering the question, but you knew better.

His expression hovered somewhere between pity and uncontained glee, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

Your lips parted, but your mind refused to cooperate, stuck on an endless loop of oh my god, did you actually just say that?

To Spencer Reid. The same Spencer who had, on multiple occasions, resorted to scribbling entire paragraphs on the back of receipts and once, when truly desperate, his own wrist. Spencer, who physically flinched at the sound of a cracked spine and once spent seventeen uninterrupted minutes explaining the significance of marginalia. Spencer who read like breathing and talked about prose like it was something alive.

And you, a person allegedly with working cognitive abilities, had just asked him what he was doing in a bookstore.

You opened your mouth, whether to correct yourself or just inhale enough oxygen to function again, you weren't sure, but before you could, Spencer, with precisely zero struggle, reached up and plucked the book from the shelf like it had been placed there specifically for him. 

"You should've asked for help," he murmured, and oh, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

"I-I had it under control."

One brow arched, unimpressed.

"Sure you did," he mused, lips twitching like they couldn’t quite decide whether to commit to a smirk. "Although, considering that 20% of bookstore-related injuries stem from ill-advised attempts at reaching high shelves, you were probably just one statistic away from a minor concussion."

You narrowed your eyes. "That's not—there's no way that's a real statistic."

Spencer barely reacted, flipping open the book with the same casual disinterest of someone checking the sky for clouds, except this wasn't a change in barometric pressure, and you were positive your entire nervous system had just gone into meltdown mode.

Your face burned, heat creeping up your spine and flooding through you veins at an alarming speed, and—oh, no—you had officially run out of places to look that weren't him.

And he (unfortunately) made such an easy focal point.

His shirt was rumpled like he'd spent the whole day forgetting to sit properly and a barely-there ink smudge kissed the edge of his palm, the kind only noticeable if you were close. His hair was at war with itself, some strands curling forward rebelliously against the collar of his cardigan, others falling forward, brushing the edge of his cheek.

He didn't glance up as he murmured, "Philosophy?"

The words barely had time to settle before your brain supplied an immediate translation: he was about to analyze you.

You could practically hear the gears turning, the internal mechanisms of his brain whirring at a speed that actually did defy physics. If you concentrated hard enough, you might've been able to hear the faint whir of neurons firing, piecing together a framework of analysis that was surely seconds away from being spoken into existence. He was surely already forming a hypothesis, already constructing some impossibly insightful revelation about what this particular title said about you, your worldview, your subconscious motivations.

"Well—yeah, that one," you said quickly, the words tripping over each other. “I mean, it’s not real philosophy—well, obviously, it is, but not in the way you would define foundational philosophy, but it still presents some really interesting moral dilemmas, and the writing is surprisingly digestible considering the subject matter is so—”

You clamped your mouth shut so fast it was a wonder your teeth didn’t rattle.

What were you even saying?

"Um—yeah. Philosophy. Or... something like that."

Spencer's lips twitched, and then, in a move so profoundly unsettling, he smiled.

Not just any smile, either. A real one. The kind that didn't just curve his mouth but softened him entirely, the corners tugging upward, a barely there dimple surfacing at his cheek. 

It hit you like a perfectly aimed dart—sharp, direct, and entirely crushing. Something fluttered wildly in your chest, light enough to feel stupid, but heavy enough to be a problem.

Then, still smiling, he tilted his head, leaning in just enough to invade your space, his voice dipping like he was handing you something fragile.

"I didn't take you for the existentialist type."

Your first instinct is to argue, to insist that you're far too well-rounded, too multifaceted, too impossible to be pinned down by a single school of thought. But before you can even begin to string words together, Spencer tilts his head just a little more, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that feels dangerously close to that same expression of analyzing once again.

And suddenly, you need to redirect this conversation, desperately, urgently, before your body betrays you, before you start visibly sweating or keel over like a fainting goat. Neither feels like an optimal outcome.

"I—I mean... I could say the same about you."

His lips quirk. "Interesting. And why's that?"

"I don't know. I always assumed you'd be more of a rationalist? Like, Descartes' methodical doubt feels like something you'd respect, and even Kant's categorical imperative, although that's more deontological ethics than strict rationalism, kind of aligns with the way you view morality and decision-making, and—"

You stop. Blink.

Oh no. You’re heavily invested in this man’s philosophical alignment.

You purse your lips, clearing your throat like that’ll erase the absurd level of thought you’ve just admitted to having.

"I mean, I'm probably way off."

Spencer flips the book closed, considering.

"I supposed you could argue I lean toward rationalism," he allows. "But morality is messy. Kant insists on universal law, and let's be real, most people abandon objectivity the second emotions get involved."

He glances at you then, a shift so small it shouldn't feel significant, but somehow, it does.

“For instance, we all make exceptions. We justify things we probably shouldn’t. Sometimes we prioritize people in ways that defy reason.”

His lips twitch. 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Well, yeah,” you say, caught up in the current of the conversation before you even realize you’ve been swept away. “People make emotional calculations constantly. Even when they claim objectivity, their decisions are shaped by personal attachments.”

The thought unspools too easily, words tumbling forward, carried by momentum.

“And it’s not just morality—it’s cognition in general. Have you read Jonathan Haidt’s work on moral intuitionism? He argues that people make moral judgments first based on instinct, and then rationalize them after the fact.”

You glance up, expecting a rapid-fire counterargument, some impossibly well-structured debate. But Spencer is just watching you.

"So what about you?" he asks suddenly. "Would you say you make exceptions?"

You pause.

"I mean… yeah? I guess I do. Everyone does, right? If someone I care about does something morally questionable, I’d probably be more inclined to defend them than if it were a stranger. I mean, that’s just human nature."

Then shrug. 

"But that doesn’t mean I’m being hypocritical," you add quickly, as if you just realized how that sounded. "I think there’s a difference between conscious favoritism and subconscious moral bias. It’s not like I have a specific person I’d automatically justify no matter what."

Spencer exhales. "I think you're more consistent than you realize."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, lifting the book in his hands, fingers drumming idly against the cover. “You try so hard to rationalize your emotions. But I think, if it came down to it, you’d make an exception for someone. Just one.”

Your stomach knots, and it's humiliating how obvious you must be. You can feel your pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your temples, like your entire body is broadcasting, Hey, Spencer Reid is making you malfunction because he somehow sees right through you, somebody send help.

“I—well, I mean—”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.”

But something about the way he says it makes you not relax at all. And before you can scramble for some kind of coherent response, he nods toward your book.

“You should get that one,” he says lightly, handing you back the book. “I’d love to hear your take on it next time.”

You freeze. Next time?

Oh. Oh no. The words settle over you like an ill-timed realization, and your brain is running the math like you're about to file a report on your own social incompetence. Next time implies... a prior time, a recurring time, a pattern of times. Next time implies he assumes there will be a next time. 

And you assume that he assumes that you are the kind of person who could logically expect another bookstore trip with Spencer Reid as if that's just a thing that happens in your life. Which is absurd.

Your fingers tighten around the book, like holding onto an overpriced paperback will somehow restore balance to your rapidly deteriorating world. Your pulse is a problem and your ability to think critically is a casualty. 

You scramble for something, anything, to say, but before your brain can reboot, Spencer is already moving. 

Then just as he disappears into the next aisle, he tosses one final parting shot of his shoulder—

"See you soon, then."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[hotties4gojo]

what pet names do you think that the jjk characters would use for their lovers 🥺🥺

uve unlocked a very specific demon in me with this cos the idea of them using pet names makes me feral i fear

ask and you shall receive 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, choso kamo, shoko ieiri, yuki tsukumo

satoru gojo:

• it’s a laundry list dawg

• the normal ones: sweets, sugar, angel, baby, pretty

• he doesn’t even call you by your name anymore. there’s always soooome sort of pet name he drops instead of your actual name. he overuses pretty, sugar, and sweets the most. cos he’s gotta let you know at every second that you’re pretty. PRETTY. pretty pretty pretty. sometimes attached ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ after pretty, ex: pretty girl pretty boy. sugar and sweets are cos you’re sweet like candyyyyy which makes you groan

• he uses baby regularly but he’s sure to use it when you’re annoyed with him cos he sings baby by justin bieber. satoru drops to his knees like ‘BABY BABY BABY OOOOOH LIKE BABY BABY BABY NOOOOO LIKE BABY BABY BABY OOOOOH THOUGHT YOU’D ALWAYS BE MINEEEE MINEEEEEE 😫’. you have to stop him when he gets to the ludacris verse

• the unserious ones: all of these are used to mess with you or embarrass you in front of others. pookie, pookie biscuit, snugglemuffin, babycakes, boo boo bear, sugar lips, toots, kitten, honey bunches of oats

suguru geto:

• 30% of the time he calls you by your name but the other 70% is a surprisingly long list of pet names

• angel, doll, beautiful, gorgeous, sweetheart, darling, pretty or pretty baby, sometimes babydoll

• ik a lot of people say he’d use ‘my love’ or ‘love’ but idkkkk i’m not feeling it for him 😣 even though he Is a romantic…

• angel doll and sweetheart are the main ones that he uses imo. he likes to put ‘my’ in front of angel with his possessive ass

• for fem!reader he uses princess, (‘my’) pretty girl, (‘my’) sweet girl… giggle giggle

toji fushiguro:

• eaaaaasy. cutie, sugar, doll for sure 😁🙂‍↕️

• cutie is used teasingly for the most part imo

• for fem!reader he uses princess too but also ma/mama. which i get Conflicted about sometimes but also im like… hehehehehe……… yeah he’d say that shit and I’d kick my feet a bit idk!

choso kamo:

• very romantic and cliché, almost corny pet names 😭😭

• lovely, my love, darling, bunny, sunshine, treasure are the ones he uses methinks. mainly lovely and darling

• again im kinda conflicted about my love… maybe i just don’t like that endearment now that i think about it???&42$ but anyways 40% of me thinks that he’d use ‘my love’ and the other 60% is like 🙅🏽‍♀️ naw

• he usually puts ‘my’ in front of treasure

shoko ieiri:

• ughhhtnwygbykdhwbrd now im rlly kicking my feet… writing about her in my nonexistent diary

• angel, princess (IM BUSTINGGGGG okay sorry), beautiful, pretty, cutie

• princess and angel are her #1’s 👆🏽 trust me

• just like toji, she uses cutie in a teasing way!! especially when you do something that she finds amusing/cute

• she refers to you as ‘the wife’ around others in a bit of a joking way. shoko’ll be like ‘gotta go, the wife’s at home and she’ll kill me if i’m not back at 6’ and ‘the wife wants me to go to the store’

yuki tsukumo:

• starts yowling like a cat in heat

• sorry

• princess 😣😣😣, bunny, pretty girl, sweet girl, angel, cutie, wifey

• it’s rare that she calls you by your name. it’s typically princess, bunny, wifey, and pretty girl with the others sprinkled in occasionally

• just like shoko she also does the ‘the wife’ thing around others when she’s referring to you :3 she’ll do it to your face too. like ‘whatever the wife wants, the wife gets 🙂‍↕️’

[cloudgirlsonfilm]

just answering these all on my own for hitorei because im thinking about them... :] (also gonna be focusing on lili as opposed to myself but some answers might be about me val ^^)

1. rei reminds me of many! snakes, peacocks, tanukis, foxes, hawks... anything flashy or elusive. hitoya is like a bulldog to me

2. me personally i'd give hitoya a gift card to some high-end steakhouse. or a bottle of scotch. and i'd give rei a pie to the face or perhaps rocks. lili might give him something slightly better but idk what

3. i don't know if hitoya lili OR rei have hobbies 💀💀 they're all too employed for that (and rei... is rei). THOUGH i do think hitoya wanted to do magic tricks at a point? it'd be cute if he still knew some tricks and taught them to lili, and then she uses the sleight of hand on rei to make him laugh... lili and rei used to read together a lot when they first became a couple too

4. hitoya sweeps dusts vacuums washes dishes you name it. i think he's very clean, and would make sure to stay on top of it even if he's run thin from work (just more distraction from The Feelings). rei leaves a mess in his wake

5. both of them yes. bonus points for hitoya for (probably) being able to drive a motorcycle too

6. unsure... i think hitolili both use very generic ones, rei has a special ringtone for lili that he like.. recorded himself or something so its unmistaken

7. hitoya would if a situation called for it, rei would if a situation called for it but he's manufacturing the situation himself so he can logically argue with someone online and then get something out of them

8. i think hitoya would seem outwardly stressed by the idea, but actually be very accepting of it (guy who has probably sat through kuko talking about reincarnation). to me rei is the opposite, outwardly indulges the idea but secretly feels stressed or even forlorn about it

9. OH GODDD lili probably gets mixed reviews when introducing rei because everyone can tell there's something about those two that needs to stay in containment

10. receiving a hug from behind in the kitchen or laying in bed together

11. idfk. old woman yaoi

12. hitoya i think is a silvery purple, rei i associate with dark red and gold

13. hitoya introduces lili as a good friend (no one believes him, which she's amused by), rei introduces lili as a drinking buddy of sorts (not exactly wrong, but it frustrates her)

14. if they're not perceiving lili as a doggirl what's the point...

15. hitoya would take lili out to dinner, rei would take lili out for drinks

16. hitoya/rei probably don't consciously think of any pet names for lili... rei calls her 'baby' all the time, but he calls a lot of girls 'baby' LOL. just saying lili's name makes him flustered though

17. hitoya likes sitting in the same room and doing seperate things, rei likes drinking (a given) and engaging in hands-on things together (he strikes me as a type to enjoy mixing vegetables while the other chops them, or doing lego sets together [first hands-on thing i could think of 😭😭😭 but tbh he probably needs that instead of inventing crazy shit])

18. hitoya shows it best through staying by lili's side, trying to be of some comfort, providing her with a place to stay when she needs to fall back on someone. rei shows it best through indirect actions-- ordering in food without being asked to, placing elaborate gift bags on the counter for lili to find later, putting her through a busy day so she feels alive again. lili also has a very weak spot for whenever rei talks really smooth

19. hitoya likes lili's eyes and lips, rei likes her legs and her freckles (her legs happen to have a lot of distinctive moles too)

20. i love how compassionate hitoya is, even if he doesn't give himself the credit that he is!! i love his conviction and his dedication to helping others find justice, peace and joy. rei i love for very opposite reasons LMAO i like that he's elusive and scheming. but i also like how he has a very obvious soft side no matter how much he tries to play the bad guy, but i ALSO like that this cruelly blends into all the bad things he's done. i like how complex he is...

21. i think hitoya's drawing of lili would be kind of sharp, brick-like, and i think she'd laugh and say it's kind of abstract in a way (this is not at all what he intended). i think rei's would be a little more realistic, maybe even scarily so, but i think he'd struggle to make it not look like a scientific plan of sorts (which would make lili roll her eyes a little)

22. yes. hitoya might complain about how big of a bite is taken, rei orders extras to make sure no one goes hungry

23. hitoya associates lili with blue (her uniform) and salmon (her favourite colour), rei associates her with pink (her affiliation with chuo and it's close to her favourite colour, also a colour she used to wear a lot of)

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PR.OSHI.P, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them? 

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online? 

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go? 

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o? 

What color do you associate with your f/o? 

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything? 

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most? 

How does your f/o show their love best? 

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.

[organic-bloodbath]

Knife Princess

Chishiya x Reader

Summary: You're Niragi's little sister, and he's not happy of Chishiya's interest on you. When the final game starts and you get hurt, Chishiya takes care of you.

Warnings: 18+ smut, lots of blood ig.

A/N: I was writing a Chishiya request but realised half way i needed to write a prequel for that first lmao. So, this will have more parts coming up ✨️

♤♡♧◇

During your time at the Beach, Chishiya became intrigued by you. He analyzed your movements when you weren't watching - atleast he thought you didn't notice him.

He could see that men eyed you while you were laying by the pool in your bikinis, but nobody dared to approach you. Everyone knew you were Niragi's sister and that terrified the shit out of them.

Why? Because Niragi seemed to be a little overprotective of you. If he could see even one pair of male eyes thirsting over you, Niragi wouldn't hesitate to beat them up. People here had seen that happen several times. Some men thought they'd get away with a little bit of flirting, but Niragi seemed to have eyes everywhere at any times.

One day, Chishiya watched you, sitting by the edge of the pool once again in your yellow bikinis, legs tangling in the water to cool yourself down. You were enjoying the sun, black sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose. You weren't aware of his gaze, you had no idea how his eyes lingered on your skin. Atleast, that's what he thought.

Chishiya turned around just for a moment to leave, and suddenly you had appeared right behind him.

"You like what you see, hm?" you asked and put your hands on your hips. Chishiya stayed silent, an amused look on his face as he turned around to face you. "I've seen you looking at me, you know," you smirked and bit your lip. "You're not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Is that so?" Chishiya hummed.

"Mhm. A lady like me has grown eyes on her back too," you said proudly.

"I see," Chishiya said, intrigued once more. "So, tell me. Why do you wear boots at the pool?"

Chishiya had noticed that you always had the same leather boots on, while most people wore sandals or were just bare foot.

You only smiled and tilted your head, slowly stepping closer to him so you could reach to put your hands on his shoulders. You leaned so close to his face that you were only inches away from him, and he could feel your minty breath when you whispered: "You'll have to take them off and find out."

And then, only with a smile and a wink you let go of him and turned around, leaving him to stand there by himself to go back inside.

Chishiya wasn't sure if he only imagined it, but it felt like you swayed your hips more dramatically than usual as you knew that he would watch you walking away. If your plan was to not let Chishiya's eyes leave your body - you succeeded with that.

"Careful," Kuina said next to Chishiya. "Don't let Niragi see that you were checking his sister out."

"I wasn't checking her out," Chishiya denied, but he knew that it was a lie. He knew that he'd be dead if Niragi found out even about his thoughts on you, but Chishiya also knew that you were a woman with your own choices.

"Mhm, whatever you say," Kuina said, a hint of worry in her voice.

♤♡♧◇

After your short talk by the pool, it took only two more days to get Chishiya to take you into his bedroom and push you on his bed.

You knew that with right words, you could get any man that you wanted. Not every man could be seduced with the same methods, however, so you needed a little time to calculate what kind of person you were dealing with. You let men flirt with you here, even though you didn't plan to actually do anything with them, but you knew it pissed off Niragi and you enjoyed that.

Of course you wouldn't sleep with everyone here, though, you did have quite high standards and a specific taste and none of the men at the Beach had raised your curiosity enough.

Until you met Chishiya. He stood out from the crowd, usually staying mostly by himself or with a limited one to two people. You wanted to get to know him. No, you needed to get to know him. Maybe not emotionally yet, but atleast physically.

Truthfully, you hadn't had sex in months, you needed it much more than you had thought. Chishiya sucked all the stress and worry off you with his touch which gave you pleasure, even if it was only for a moment.

Right now, Chishiya had you pinned on the bed under him, holding your hands above your head and planting kisses around your neck and collarbones. You didn't know how he managed to find all the sweet spots which made you go insane already on your first time together, but he did nevertheless.

He untied the top of your bikini and threw it away, not caring where it would land. He took off his shirt as well to stay fair with you.

He peppered kisses all around your body as he slowly crawled back, until his head was located between your legs. He pulled the bottom of your bikini off, seeing now every part of your body. It didn't take long for him to rub your clit and push his fingers inside, starting to explore your vagina with different movements.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped. He moved his hand away for a moment but you quickly stopped him by grabbing his hair. "Wait, can you- can you do that again?"

Chishiya smirked. "Do what again?" he asked. "This?"

You arched your back as Chishiya pushed his fingers back inside you, curling his fingers just in the right angle like he had done earlier. You had to grab the bedsheets into your fists to stay still.

When he pushed himself inside you, you felt like this was what you had needed the most during your time at the Beach. During all the games.

Sleeping with him was something you felt like you had needed for years. He was the perfect balance of both rough and gentle in the best way possible to give you pleasure in its highest form.

You had no idea how much time passed while you were trapped between his body and the mattress, you were in complete ecstasy and you never wanted him stop what he was doing.

You were sure your body would be full of marks he had created on your body and you'd have to show it off to everyone, but right now, right at that moment, you didn't care about anything besides you and him.

♤♡♧◇

"What's that?" Niragi asked next morning and stepped closer to you, looking at the bruises on your neck, trying to hide themselves behind you hair. He grabbed your hair and yanked it back to see your neck better. "Are those hickeys? Who made those?"

"What is it for you?" you spat. "You can do whatever you want with whoever and so can i."

Niragi narrowed his eyes for your attitude.

"Who," Niragi growled with a low voice, finger pressing on one of the many bruises, his dark eyes directly on yours, "made that?"

You just grinned smugly.

"Try to guess," you challenged him.

♤♡♧◇

"You fucked my sister?!" Niragi shouted louder than ever before. Chishiya jumped back when he saw Niragi storming towards him, pointing his rifle towards Chishiya.

"Well, to my defense, she came to me," he said, lifting his hands up to surrender and trying to ignore the rifle, inches from his face.

"Out of all the girls here, dozens of them, you just had to choose her?!"

"Niragi, we're-"

Niragi put his gun down and instead grabbed Chishiya by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Chishiya winced a little when the back of his head hit hard on the wall but otherwise he kept his regular pokerface.

"What should i do with you now, hm?" Niragi asked. "Shoot you dead right here right now or take a knife and carve little marks on your skin before shooting you. Any last wishes?"

He took a knife from his pocket, pressing the tip against Chishiya's cheek, a little too close to his left eye.

"Did you want to get a revenge on me? I thought we were buddies, man."

"Listen," Chishiya chuckled nervously in Niragi's tight grip. "Just let me down and we'll-"

"I know she's pretty, obviously, it's in our genes," Niragi interrupted, not caring to listen to Chishiya's defense. "But atleast talk about it before to me, man. Don't just go and screw her like that."

"So, if i had asked you for your blessing to sleep with your sister, you would have been okay with that?"

The anger rose back to Niragi's eyes. Chishiya was basically throwing more fuel into the fire flaming inside Niragi.

"Niragi, what are you doing?" you shouted from the end of the hallway before Niragi would be able go put a bullet in Chishiya's skull, walking towards the two guys with long steps. "Let go of him this instant."

"Or what?" Niragi asked. "You'll stab me over this guy?"

"If i have to," you said and crossed your arms against your chest.

"You can't be serious-"

You pulled a knife from your boot and pointed it at him.

"Let. Him. Down." You gritted your teeth, the same kind of anger in your eyes as in Niragi's. "Or you'll lose an ear."

Niragi huffed and let Chishiya go, coming towards you.

"Seriously, Y/N?" he whispered to you. "Him?"

"Mind your own damn business," you spat.

Eventually, Niragi left, but he wasn't in a good mood. At all. You hadn't seen him that angry in a while. You didn't lash out at him like that because he was threatening specifically Chishiya, no. You were just tired of Niragi constantly meddling into your business with men over and over again. Whenever you'd have a single hickey on your neck, and Niragi saw that, he'd immediately lose his temper for someone touching you - as witnessed here. It had been the exact same back at home before ending up to this world, but back then he only had his fists and not a gun. You had tried to make him quit it so many times but he wasn't having it.

You let out a frustrated groan, and Chishiya walked towards you now that Niragi had disappeared.

"So, you always carry knives with you wherever you go?" Chishiya asked, hands in the pockets of his white hoodie and an amused smirk on his face. "That's why you wear boots even with a swimsuit?"

"Shouldn't everyone carry a weapon with them?" you asked seriously, raising an eyebrow. "You never know when you need to defend yourself."

"Fair," Chishiya admitted.

You stepped right in front of Chishiya and put your hand behind his neck, slowly caressing his shoulder.

"Want to have a round two in my room tonight?" you asked, clicking your tongue.

"I'm not sure if i want to lose my right eye for that," Chishiya smirked, still feeling the cold blade against his cheek.

"Niragi's not the boss of me," you said and rolled your eyes. "I'm not some little kid that needs to be protected."

"Oh i can definitely see that," Chishiya agreed and nodded.

"So, my room tonight." You put your finger on hips lips. "Don't make me wait too long, hm?"

♤♡♧◇

The fire was flaming high outside, waiting for corpses to be thrown in there.

When the 10 of Hearts game started and Aguni's men were slaughtering people left and right, you only sat back and watched the shitshow. You knew Niragi would never allow anyone to touch you so you weren't afraid of being accused of being the witch and getting thrown into the fire.

That was, as long as he was there to witness it, and right now he wasn't. Still, you didn't stress about the game nearly as much as the others there.

You had no idea what Chishiya and others were doing, but right now you really, really just craved for a snack and was heading towards your room.

However, before you managed to get any further, someone grabbed you by your hair and yanked you towards them, causing you to let out a small cry for the pain on your scalp.

"Ha! Maybe she's the witch!" a man, who you didn't know at all, shouted at your face, spit flying on your cheekbone. "Let's burn her!"

One more guy joined him to drag you towards the place where the fire was located. But they weren't able to get very far.

You managed to get free yourself from their grip, then reached for your boots and took the two knives out of them. You didn't hesitate a moment longer as you threw the knives towards the two men, the blades digging deep into the men's necks.

You had practiced throwing knives for the past decade - as a nice little hobby of yours.

The men fell on their knees, and you kicked them on their chest, causing them to fall on their backs. You leaned down to remove the knives from their throats, leaving them to bleed out on the carpet. You wiped the blood on the men's shirts, then putting the knives back into your boots and continued your way towards you room.

As you walked through the corridor, you didn't notice two pairs of eyes watching you behind a corner.

"Well, i sure wouldn't want to anger her," Kuina mumbled. She was in shock how such a small girl was able to take down two grown men at that speed.

"She managed to surprise me too," Chishiya admitted, arms crossed on his chest. And very few people did surprise him anymore, both Kuina and Chishiya himself knew that. "Although, she's related to Niragi, so i don't know if i should have been surprised."

♤♡♧◇

A little later, you were leaning against one of the pillars on the 3rd floor, watching Aguni beat up Arisu with all his strength. You felt another presence join you, but you didn't need to turn your head to see who it was.

"Enjoying the show?" Chishiya asked.

"It's like watching a violent theatre play with real blood."

"Mhm," Chishiya hummed. "Hearts games are brutal but this is definitely something else."

"It's kind of entertaining how insane people can go during the Hearts games," you commented and turned your head towards Chishiya. "Did you ever suspect me as the witch?"

Chishiya eyed you for a moment.

"You could have pulled it off," he admitted. "With those knives and all."

"Aw, i'm touched," you smiled, hand on your chest. "If i was proven to be the witch, would you have been able to burn me in the fire?"

"Well," Chishiya started slowly and turned his face back to the crowd downstairs. "Everyone just wants to survive and get out of here, right?"

You didn't say anything back, only followed the events happening two floors down.

After everything had finally started to calm down, the fire suddenly spread and Niragi stepped inside, looking like he had been thrown into the fire too but got out before turning into complete ash.

"Oh, shit," you mumbled.

Niragi started to shoot in every direction possible with his rifle, not caring who he hit with the bullets. He wanted everyone here to die, that was for sure. He shot not only vertically everywhere, also up in different angles.

That meant, also right into your direction. Chishiya pulled you back, but just a second too late. You felt burning pain on your right shoulder and right after your leg, blood starting to pour out of the wounds. You stumbled backwards, but Chishiya managed to catch you and held you up by your waist.

His eyes widened when he saw your shoulder being painted red, as well as your leg.

"This just isn't my day, is it?" you chuckled, trying to ignore the pain radiating through your arm and make fun of the situation.

Chishiya didn't have much time to start patching you up right now, you had to leave this place as soon as possible to get to safety.

"Wait a moment, i'll be right back," he said and left you there on your own for a moment, running to the room where you had previously been. For a minute you were afraid he had actually left you here to bleed out, not wanting to deal with your injuries.

Chishiya grabbed a first aid kid, towel and brought them with him as he hurried back to you as fast as he was possibly able to run.

"Hold these," he said and gave you the kit and the towel, then scooping you in his arms. He knew he couldn't run very fast carrying you, but it would be faster than dragging you by his side.

It didn't take too long for people to burn the witch and finish the game just before the time would run down to zero. You had finally passed the last game.

As you sat outside and watched the mansion burn down among all the other survivors, Chishiya was by your side sewing the bullet wound shut with a needle and thread. The bullet had exited your body on the back, so Chishiya was more than thankful that he wouldn't need to start operating on you any deeper.

You had started to look pale and feel dizzy for all the blood loss, but you managed to stay conscious. He had wrapped the towel tightly around your leg. It had been white, but was now dyed half red.

"Shiya..." you mumbled, but he didn't lift his face towards you, only concentrated on stitching you up. "I promise i'm not getting hurt on purpose just to get you to touch me."

Your words did amuse Chishiya and you could see a slight smirk on his face.

"Good, because i don't have any more supplies to left to treat your wounds," Chishiya said and cut the thread off, leaving you with clean stitches on your skin. He finally looked into your eyes, looking serious and worried. "Let me know immediately if the stitches open and you start bleeding again, got it?"

"Are you like a doctor or something?" you smiled and bit your lip.

"Something like that," he answered, and you could see a little smile on his lips as well.

"I've never slept with a doctor before," you admitted. "Before the Beach, i mean."

"Was it on your to-do list?"

"Might have been," you said. "Along with a firefighter, of course."

"Too bad we didn't have firefighters at the Beach," Chishiya concluded. "Would have saved us a lot of trouble. Or if there was, they clearly failed their job miserably."

"Perhaps," you said slowly. "I would have still chosen a doctor first though."

"Hm, really?" Chishiya wondered. "Good to know. So, your type is men who can save you from trouble?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress," you scoffed, coming off as offended and a bit too defensive.

"And still i did have to carry you out of there," Chishiya pointed out.

"Shut up," you said and gently hit him on his shoulder.

"You'll promise to take it slow with your arm and leg, okay?" he stated seriously.

"Of course, doctor," you teased and bit your lip. "How can i ever repay you for taking such a good care of me?"

"I have a few things in my mind, but i think we should go somewhere private first," Chishiya reminded and sat next to you, putting his hand around your waist for a moment.

"Why aren't we already leaving then?" you asked and brushed your finger against his collarbone, right by the zipper of his hoodie.

"Tempting, but i'd rather have you rest for a moment," Chishiya said and pulled you tighter against his body, whispering right into your ear: "But don't worry, i'll make sure to find us some time alone."

His hot breath against your ear sent chills down your spine.

♤♡♧◇

A/N: I'll have update for the Child of Hearts too at some point no worries, just have to figure out some scenes for it and shape it a lil bit 🫶🏻

[daysoftheyears]

This is my first Hamzah fic ayeeee!! based off a request I got: "OKAY! what if helping Hamzah bleach his hair and it became something domestic. the reader thinks it would be ugly, but then the reader did not expect it to be so good 🙏"

Please let me know if you like this or theres anything I can change or fix

words: 700

Enjoy!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆

It had been a month and a few weeks after Hamzah had shaved his head and his hair had started to grow back pretty fast. You and him went out for dinner and he proposed an idea. 

“So babe, I was thinking that since my hair is growing back-” He paused and looked at you, as you bit into a burger. He continued his sentence, “Would you perhaps bleach my hair for me?” He smiled awkwardly at you, not knowing what you would say. You stopped chewing and looked at him. “Bleach? Your hair? Hamzah-” You went to go lecture him but he had cut you off. “Look babe I know what you're going to say but it would be cool and it would look good for the fight.”

You looked at him, almost a look of pity., “Hamzah I think it's going to look bad and like if im the one doing it I don't want to be responsible for making you ugly.” 

“It wont look ugly bro I promise! Pleaseee.” He jokingly made a pouty face like a kid would make after you told them no to candy. “We’ll see Hamzah” the rest of the night went smoothly and the subject wasn't brought up again.

The next morning you awoke to Hamzah shaking you up. 

“Babe c’mon get up bruh” You had sat up and rubbed your eyes, picked up your phone to read the time. 11:06 AM. “What do you need Hamzah?” He ran into the other room to grab something. He came back not even a minute later with a grocery bag with mystery items. 

“Look what I got.” He said with a smirk. He pulled out a bleach kit and some extra gloves. He threw them in your hands and smiled. “Bleach my hair now please.” Your tense shoulders had dropped following up with a sigh. “Hamzah, ill do it but I don't want to look at you after.”

“It wont look bad trust, I put a blond tiktok filter on last night so I basically know.” You held in a laugh and told him to wait 30 minutes. 

You sat him down in the bathroom and read the instructions for the bleach. “You’re gonna look like that one wig you have.” You laughed, “Stop you’re scaring me!” 

You put on the gloves and mixed the bleach together with the end of the brush. “Im not ready for this baby.” 

“Just dont fuck it up please.” He smiled in the mirror as you applied the bleach all over his hair. You wouldn't say it out loud, but you thought it was coming out nice. You took some pictures as he let the bleach sit in for half an hour. “Are you ready to wash it out?” you asked him as you started the shower. “Yea, do you think I'm gonna need to tone it?”

“I don't know, I've never bleached my hair before.” 

He stuck his head in the shower and you began to scrub his hair and wash the extra bleach out, 

“Hamzah, it's actually looking pretty good so far.” He couldn’t see you, due to his head being held under water, but you were smiling ear to ear. 

You finished washing it out and he dried his hair with a towel. Once it was fully dry you took a good look at him and his new era. “Yea you're definitely going to need some toner.”

“But it looks good tho, no?” He asked you with a goofy smile. “I guess.” You jokingly eye rolled giving him some sass. “Girl bye.” He copied your gesture, rolling his eyes playfully. “Im just joking! I think it looks handsome.” You whispered the last part and he put his hand next to his ear as if he didn't hear you. “Im sorry, you said what” His face was filled with amusement. 

“I said I think you look handsome.” You repeated louder. “And you thought it would look bad boi.” He leans down and kisses you, walking out the bathroom and into your shared room to facetime Martin about his hair. You looked in the mirror and sighed happily that you were wrong about it looking ugly.

[kaqtusm]

As I promised, here's a microfic that's actually the first draft that started it all! Since Moonage Daydream won't be seen too fast ever again you may see it ;))

@indigostation @read-reblog-repeat you have adopted the wrong person.

Suffer.

Moonwater microfic

Word count: 822

TW: angst

Context for the confused one's since my dad @indigostation needed an explanation

Regulus finds a solution to all his problems during the Christmas break. This idea requires changes, a lot of changes. Nonetheless he's ready for them if it means he doesn't have to take the dark mark and can stay with Remus.

But maybe it's not as good of an idea as he thought?

Even as he is wrapped in Remus’ arms, Regulus feels like he is drowning. The warmth surrounding him is a lie - it cannot reach the coldness that has settled deep inside his bones. It cannot fill the gaping hole in his chest, the one that has been festering for months, the one that will never heal.

Remus’ fingers brush against his cheek, gentle, searching. He knows. Of course, he knows. Regulus has been quiet for too long, his silence a crack in the foundation of the world they have built together. He can feel Remus watching him, feel those golden eyes peeling him apart piece by piece, trying to understand.

But Regulus cannot look at him. Because if he does, he will break.

“Starlight?” The whisper is hoarse, rough with concern. A kiss, featherlight, presses against his temple, and his throat tightens so violently it hurts.

He hums in response - because that is all he can do. His body remains frozen against Remus', their bare skin pressed together, their breaths mingling in the dim candlelight. It should be perfect. It should be enough.

But it isn’t.

“Something’s wrong.” It isn’t a question.

Regulus exhales slowly, shakily, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The moment their eyes meet, his stomach twists into knots. Remus is watching him with furrowed brows, his amber gaze soft but sharp, warm but wary. He sees too much.

Regulus swallows. He cannot hesitate. If he does, he will lose his nerve.

“Do you love me?” he whispers.

Remus blinks, then lets out a quiet laugh - like the very idea of not loving him is ridiculous. “What kind of question is that?” He shakes his head and reaches out, tangling his fingers in Regulus’ hair, like he always does when he wants to soothe him.

Regulus’ heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might be sick.

“And would you do anything for me?”

Remus frowns, as if confused by the shift in his tone. But still, his answer comes without hesitation. “Anything.”

It is the answer Regulus knew he would give. And it is the answer that makes this hurt so much worse.

“Then bite me,” he says. “During the next full moon.”

The words drop like stones between them. The weight of them, the sheer wrongness of them, fills the air so thickly that it feels like the walls of the Room of Requirement are caving in.

Remus stares at him. Stares at him.

And then, without a word, he shoves back the blankets and bolts upright, his entire body trembling.

“Remus-” Regulus reaches for him, but Remus is already yanking his trousers from the floor, his movements clumsy, frantic.

“Wait,” Regulus pleads, his voice rising in panic. “Please, listen to me!”

But Remus won’t. He won’t even look at him.

Regulus scrambles after him, grabbing his wrist with both hands, his grip desperate. “Just let me explain-”

Remus rips his arm away so violently that Regulus nearly falls forward.

“How dare you,” he spits. His voice is shaking, but his eyes are burning with something Regulus has never seen before. Something sharp, something furious, something betrayed. “How fucking dare you ask me that.”

Regulus’ stomach twists.

“You don’t understand-”

“I don’t understand?” Remus barks out a laugh, but there is nothing amused about it. “You think I don’t understand?” His hands are trembling as he buttons his shirt, as if he cannot get out of here fast enough. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”

Regulus does. He knows. But he doesn’t care.

“I need this,” he whispers. His throat is raw. He reaches for Remus again, and this time, when his fingers brush against his arm, Remus flinches away like he’s been burned.

“You need this?” Remus repeats, his voice cracking. “You need me to - what? Turn you into a monster? You need me to be the one who-” His voice breaks entirely, and he presses his lips together, shaking his head violently.

Regulus grabs at him again, clawing at his hands, his shirt, anything he can reach. “Remus, please-”

But Remus wrenches himself free so hard that Regulus stumbles backward, his knees hitting the mattress as he collapses onto the bed. His chest is heaving. His vision is blurred.

And then, just like that, Remus is walking away.

Regulus is shaking. “Don’t-” His voice is a wrecked whisper. “Don’t leave me.”

But Remus doesn’t turn around. He yanks open the door with a force that rattles the hinges, steps through.

And slams it shut behind him.

The sound echoes through the room like the crack of a whip.

Regulus doesn’t move. He can’t. His entire body feels like it has been torn open, split apart. His breath is coming in sharp, gasping sobs, but he barely hears them over the ringing in his ears.

The bed is cold now. The room is empty.

And Remus left him.

Just like Sirius.

[fluentmoviequoter]

You Know I Love You

0.5k+ words of you stressing Deacon out by not saying "I love you" back.

“That’s not right,” you murmur. “He didn’t even read her Miranda rights.”

“Are you still watching this show?” Deacon questions, chuckling as he returns from the kitchen with your favorite drink.

“I thought it would get better,” you defend. “It hasn’t.”

“So, you’re going to turn it off now?”

You shrug, and Deacon shakes his head in amusement.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he promises.

Deacon places his hand on the back of the couch and leans down to kiss you. As he stands, you click the remote and begin the next episode.

“Don’t,” Deacon warns. “You’ll regret it. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I won’t,” you assure him. “I’m giving it five more minutes. Ten maybe.”

Deacon slides his phone into his pocket and retrieves his keys from the table beside your door.

“I love you,” he says as he opens the door.

“See you when you get back,” you reply.

Deacon pauses in the open doorway and watches you. You’ve never hesitated to tell him how you feel; you said I love you first and kissed him a minute ago, so he knows you aren’t mad at him.

“Want me to bring dinner back?” he asks.

“I was actually thinking we could cook,” you say, turning to face him. “If you want.”

“Sounds good.” With your attention on him, Deacon tries again. “I love you.”

“Be safe.”

“Yeah… Text me if anything comes up, okay?”

You nod, and when Deacon says, “I love you,” again, you smile and turn to sit properly again.

Deacon drops his keys onto the table again and closes the door. He walks around the couch and then drops to sit directly beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you promise. “Just wondering what these writers were thinking.”

“Can I get your full attention for three seconds?” Deacon requests.

You pause the show and smile, leaning toward him as you nod. “I’m all yours,” you say.

“I love you,” Deacon says slowly, intentionally.

“I know.”

Deacon’s brows raise, and his shock is evident. You can’t take it then, laughing as you fall forward into his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” you force through your laughter. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”

Deacon raises your hand to his chest, and your amusement turns to guilt when you feel his heart beating rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Deacon,” you repeat, sitting up and taking his hands. “I love you - you know that.”

“Well, I thought I did, but then I said it a half-dozen times and you just asked about dinner.”

“Dinner with you!” you point out. “It was stupid; I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Say it again,” Deacon requests.

“I love you, Deacon.”

Deacon sighs, kisses your forehead, and then stands.

“Although, after a kiss like that, I shouldn’t have to tell you,” you joke.

“I will be back in a few hours,” Deacon says again, and you can tell he’s fighting not to smile. “And I hope for both of our sakes you are in a better mood.”

“I’m in a great mood when the man I love is here,” you flirt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs as he opens the door.

“I’ll see you later with food!” you call. “Love you!”

“I know."

[reiding-writing]

in my head cold!reader fs has her silly moments because she’s a funny gal!!! she just hides it 😞 i also would love to see them all go ice skating because they tease her about being an ice princess all the time

SLIP ‘N SLIDE — SPENCER REID!

for someone often likened to all things icy, you don’t deal with actual ice all that well.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.3k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not quite ice skating, more like ice walking, but close enough i hope 😭

Snow blankets the ground in an unbroken sheet of white, thick and heavy, muffling the world. The air is sharp enough to slice through layers of clothing, and each breath curls into a ghostly mist before vanishing. It's the kind of cold that settles in your bones, the kind that reminds you of all the reasons you despise winter.

The wind cuts like a blade against your cheek, biting through the layers of your FBI-issued winter coat. You bury your chin deeper into the fleece-lined collar, eyes narrowed against the sharp glare of the mid-morning sun reflecting off the ice.

“The crime scene is on the other side,” Hotch announces, his breath fogging in the air.

“Great,” you mutter. “Just great.”

A frozen lake. Of course.

You glance at the ice stretching out before you, the crime scene a stark, crimson-streaked contrast against the pristine white of the snow on the far side. The local authorities determined it would take too long to go around, and in these temperatures, time is everything. The killer's trail is fresh, the evidence vulnerable to the elements.

So, naturally, your team has decided to cross the ice.

“Let's move carefully,” Hotch warns. “We don't know how thick it is.”

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Morgan says, shifting his weight as he surveys the slick surface between you and the body. “Guess we’re getting our morning cardio in,”

Beside him, Spencer adjusts his scarf, his breath puffing in front of him like smoke. “Technically, the increased difficulty of walking across an unstable, frictionless surface means our energy expenditure will be higher than normal. It’s not exactly—”

“Kid,” Morgan cuts in, shaking his head, “it was a joke,”

Spencer closes his mouth, but the corners twitch like he’s fighting the urge to clarify further.

You sigh, already feeling the first inklings of a headache forming. The case has been dragging on for days now—cold, bleak, and utterly relentless, much like the weather. The victim count is rising, and the unsub’s patterns are erratic, making it harder to form a cohesive profile.

Everything about this case feels unsteady, and now, looking at the vast stretch of ice before you, that instability has become a literal obstacle.

The team step onto the ice in what’s almost a single-file line, following the careful steps of the local detective guiding them safely across the lake.

You, however, stay firmly planted at the edge.

“You coming, Ice Queen?” Morgan calls over his shoulder, smirking.

The nickname grates, but you don’t react. You never do. You've heard it all before—it’s nothing new.

But today, for once, the title feels ironic. Because as much as you might be an ‘Ice Queen,’ you are not in your element.

The moment you step onto the ice, you know you're doomed.

Your boot slides, and suddenly, gravity isn't your friend. Your arms pinwheel as you scramble for balance, heart lurching into your throat.

Morgan barks out a laugh. “Damn, Princess. You sure you’re not playing it up for effect?”

You shoot him a glare. “Bite me, Morgan.”

He just chuckles, clearly amused by your suffering.

JJ glances back with a smothered smile, and Emily—traitor that she is—grins outright. “Need a hand?” she offers, but there's amusement in her voice, and you refuse to give her the satisfaction.

“No.” you say stiffly, planting your feet more firmly.

Except the ice has other plans.

Your boot skids again, and for a split second, you think you might recover—until you don’t. Your feet fly out from under you, and you hit the ice with a spectacular lack of grace.

The impact rattles through your bones, and for a moment, you just lie there, staring up at the grey sky, wondering if it’s too late to quit your job and move somewhere warm.

You hear Morgan’s laughter first—loud and unfiltered. Then Emily’s, followed by JJ’s soft giggle. Even Rossi looks vaguely amused.

And Spencer.

When you turn your head, you find him standing nearby, eyes wide, lips twitching like he's trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

Your dignity is in shambles.

“Glad I could entertain you,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

Morgan wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “I gotta be honest, I expected better from you. All that ice in your veins, and you can't even stand up on it?”

You level him with a look that could freeze hell itself. “Say that again, Morgan. I dare you.”

That just makes him laugh harder.

You try to rise—carefully, deliberately—but the moment you shift your weight, your foot betrays you again, sending you skidding forward. You barely catch yourself on your hands before your knees slam into the ice.

This is actual hell.

You hear a quiet shuffling, and then Spencer is crouching beside you. “Here,” he says, offering his hand. “Let me help you,”

You stare at it, then at him. “I can do it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says patiently, “but statistically speaking, the longer you struggle, the higher the likelihood of you falling again,”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you just calculate my probability of embarrassment?”

“Technically, it’s your probability of losing your balance,” he corrects. “But if you’d prefer, I could just—“

“Fine,” you snap, before he can retract his offer.

You grab his hand, and he pulls you up with surprising steadiness. His grip is warm, fingers wrapping securely around yours. He doesn’t let go immediately, waiting until you find your footing.

“Okay?” he asks.

You nod, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His lips quirk in the smallest smile. “Anytime,”

Behind you, Morgan lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Man, that was cute,”

“I hope you drown.”

You manage to stay upright as you start moving again, though it's a battle with every step. Spencer stays close, occasionally offering a hand when you falter. You try not to let it bother you—try not to acknowledge the warmth lingering on your skin where his fingers brushed against yours.

Eventually, you reach the other side of the lake, and you’ve never been more grateful to feel solid ground beneath your feet.

Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder as he passes. “Nice work, Permafrost. That was real impressive,”

You resist the urge to trip him.

“Go die.”

“You wound me,” He presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “And here I was, thinking we had a special bond,”

“If by ‘special bond’ you mean I tolerate your existence, then sure.”

Spencer snorts beside you, and for a brief moment, you almost smile.

Almost.

But then the cold seeps back in, and the reality of the case presses down on you once more. The victim is just ahead, her body pale and still against the snow.

Your amusement fades.

There’s still work to be done.

“You really don’t like the ice, huh?” Spencer asks after a moment.

You sigh, brushing the remnants of frost from your jeans. “No. I really don’t.”

“Noted,” he says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

[emphasisonthehomo]

More Popstar!Au

For context, this takes place right before the first actual concert Buck and Tommy perform together.

Here's Buck in peak drama queen mode.

•

“Tommy Kinard, is that you?”

As Buck turns, a rail thin man with a long beard starts waving his arms like a windmill.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy grumbles under his breath, before saying louder “Artem! Good to see you man, I didn’t know you worked here now.”

Artem comes jogging over, dressed all in black with STAFF in bold letters across his chest.

“Yeah, for a couple years,” Artem says, holding Tommy by his shoulders and shaking him a bit, “Damn dude, tech death doesn’t pay shit if you’re doing this too.”

Buck bristles, and Tommy starts laughing awkwardly.

“I’m here as a favor,” Tommy says, “Last minute thing.”

“Oh really? Cool. Doing sound again? You’re late as fuck if that’s the case,” Artem speaks a mile a minute, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Buck and Eddie are both staring at him.

“No. I’m drumming,” Tommy says, easy as anything.

“For Buckley?” Artem looks cartoonishly shocked.

Honestly? Buck can relate to that. Part of him still can’t believe it. 

“Uh…” Tommy’s eyes are very wide, and they look shockingly blue under the florescent lighting as he glances at Buck. Buck just raises his eyebrows in return. Eddie looks like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh or not.

“As I Lay Dying always needs a new drummer, you don’t have to resort to that,” Artem continues, before laughing hysterically.

“I would genuinely rather choke,” Tommy says, “I gotta go dude. See you around.”

“Cool man,” Artem pats him on the shoulder, “Bye!”

Just as suddenly as he appeared, Artem is jogging off in another direction.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy mumbles, “He’s uh. He’s nice enough, but he’s… a lot.”

“Can he not see?" Eddie sounds bewildered.

“He used to do a lot of mushrooms,” Tommy explains, before speaking to Buck directly “Also I don’t think he knows what you look like.”

“My face is on a 50-foot screen in front of the building,” Buck feels obligated to point out.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says defensively, “I once saw Artem eat a live grasshopper for a McDouble, and that was back when those were only like a dollar. He’s not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.”

“What does he do?” Buck asks, anxiety starting to claw at him, “It’s not stage effects or anything right?”

“Oh no,” Tommy shakes his head immediately, “I don’t know what he does here, but when I’ve worked with him, he’s always done merch.”

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie says confidently, “I don’t think MSG hires people that can ruin shows.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Buck says bluntly.

“C’mon,” Eddie rolls his eyes and grabs at Buck’s hand and starts dragging him further down the hallway, “You need to chill out.”

“I’m going to. Throw. Up.” Buck repeats, but he lets Eddie pull him into the greenroom.

“For real?” Eddie asks, pushing the door open “Or are you being dramatic?”

“I’ll let you know if it’s ever for real,” Buck says sourly, throwing himself onto one of the couches.

Unmoved by Buck’s distress, Eddie just grabs the trashcan in the corner and places it delicately next to Buck’s knee. Buck scowls at him. It’s frustrating, but more than that it’s stupid. Buck knows he’s being difficult, but that doesn’t stop him from doing so.

“I’m going to go grab food,” Eddie says, putting his hands on his hips, “Hey? Tommy?”

“Yeah?” Tommy says, wandering into the greenroom behind them.

“Can you make sure Buck doesn’t leave this room?” Eddie says, placing a hand seriously on the top of Tommy’s shoulder.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Tommy says, looking amused, “He’s a grown man.”

“Put him in a headlock if you have to,” Eddie continues, “He’s ticklish.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Buck bristles.

“Ticklish,” Tommy repeats with a sharp nod, “Got it. And what happens when he fires me?”

“He can’t fire you,” Eddie snorts, “Bobby signs your checks.”

“I sign Bobby’s checks,” Buck says mulishly, crossing his arms and sinking low against the couch cushions, “I’m going to fire you.”

“No, you won’t,” Eddie says easily, before turning to Tommy, “You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Tommy says with a shrug, sitting down on the couch opposite Buck, “I’ll get something later. I gotta go find out where my practice pad is.”

“I’ll ask Bobby if I see him,” Eddie says, already halfway out the door.

“I wanna beer!” Buck calls after him.

Eddie flips him off without looking back, and vanishes down the hallway.

“It’s a bit early for a beer,” Tommy says mildly.

Buck doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. He makes a point of laying down on the couch and turning his back to Tommy.

“Okay,” Tommy mumbles under his breath, “You’re the boss, you sign Bobby’s checks, you can have a beer at noon.”

Buck doesn’t respond to that either. He’s so tired his eyes hurt. He feels sick to his stomach, and the show is still hours away. He forces himself to breathe slowly and tries to relax against the cushions. There’s movement behind him. Tommy says thank you to someone, and a few minutes later the muted and rhythmic clatter of drum sticks on a practice pad starts up.

It’s a sound Buck’s used to. Lucy uses one as well, though she prefers to limit her warmup to right before going on stage. Tommy isn’t Lucy, a fact that Buck is well aware of, and honestly still irritated by. The noise is comforting in its familiarity all the same.

-tatatata-tatata-tatatata-tata-

He’s a little cold, he should have thought to grab a jacket.

-tatatata-tatata-tatatata-tata-

Buck shifts on the couch and closes his eyes.

-tatatata-tatata-tat-

Buck wakes with a jerk. His face is mashed against the arm of the couch, and there’s a wet smear on his cheek that lets him know he’s been drooling. Gross.

“Wassit?” He grumbles, sitting up and rubbing at his face. A thick black piece of clothing flops down off of his shoulders, and he blinks down at it in confusion.

“Oh, sorry I woke you.”

Buck twists around to see Chimney gingerly closing the door behind him.

“‘m good,” Buck says, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He picks up the clothing, turning the fabric over in his hands, and realizes it’s a hoodie. Tommy’s hoodie. It’s soft and well worn, the white screen printing of Tommy's band's insane logo cracked in some places.

Tommy, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

[sturniolohohoho]

In Frame, In Fame, In Fate Part 1 - Roller Rink

summary: nick, a complete stranger, walks up to you out of nowhere, pretending you're his friend to escape crazy fans. You become friends and you end up hanging out with the triplets at a roller rink, where you meet matt sturniolo... <3

c/w: Flirting, hand-holding, cursing, teasing, falling

requested by @mattsslvtzx

dividers by @anitalenia here

proofread by @lailasnight (tyssmmm!! <3)

word count: 1579

Nick stood in the chip aisle, holding a sour cream and onion pringles can, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with the group of giggling teenagers who had been following him around the mall and grocery store, despite having already taken pictures with him. 

He wanted desperately to go home, but bringing a group of crazy fans straight to his address was the worst course of action. 

Suddenly, he spots you in the next aisle over. You had wavy midlength blue hair, a bunch of piercings, and rollerblades slung over your shoulder. Exactly the kind of girl Nick would love to be friends with anyway. He decides to just go for it, really wanting to escape the fans and head back home.

“Hey girl, I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you??” you look up, startled at first. He sends you a pleading look, eyes darting over at the ogling fans not too far away. You immediately catch on, smirking. 

“Oh my god hey…” “Nick,” he whispers. “Hey Nick, it's been so long!”

Nick lets out a relieved breath, shifting his weight as he steps closer to you, playing into the act. “Yeah, seriously! What’s it been, like… a year?”

You raise a brow, amused at his lack of commitment to the lie. “More like two,” you correct smoothly, tilting your head. “How’s your mom doing?”

Nick blinks, caught off guard. “Uh—great! Yeah, she’s, uh, doing really well.” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flickering to the group of fans still watching from the end of the aisle. “Actually, I was just about to grab something for dinner. You wanna walk with me?”

You glance over at the fans and then back at Nick, your smirk widening. “Sure thing, old buddy. Let’s catch up.”

Looping your arm through his like you’ve done it a thousand times before, you tug him down the aisle, grabbing a random bag of chips off the shelf as you go. “So,” you say loudly, for the fans to hear. “Are we still on for that thing this weekend?”

Nick stares at you blankly for a second before quickly nodding. “Oh, totally. Wouldn’t miss it.”

You grin. “Great. You still vegan?”

Nick makes a face. “Never was.”

“Well, you are now.” You toss a bag of plant-based nuggets into his cart, and he snorts, finally relaxing a little.

The two of you continue strolling through the store, casually tossing items into his cart and making up ridiculous stories about your “long-lost friendship.” You can feel the fans watching, whispering amongst themselves, but they don’t approach, eventually seeming to leave.

As you reach the checkout, Nick leans in and mutters, “You’re a lifesaver.”

You shrug. “I know.”

Nick laughs, then tilts his head. “You should come hang sometime. My brothers would think you’re hilarious.”

You smirk. “I do make a great first impression.”

Nick snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you sometime soon,” he says. “Yeah, see you soon!”

And that was not the last time you'd hang out with him.

The second you step into the roller rink, you know exactly how this night was going to go. Nick had texted you a couple days after you met him, asking if you wanted to hang somewhere– you suggested the roller rink.

Nick drags behind the group, already making it clear he has no intention of actually skating. Chris is eyeing the rental counter like he's debating whether or not to commit to the chaos. And Matt? Matt is standing there with his arms crossed, trying way too hard to look confident.

“Are you sure you know how to skate?” you ask, smirking as you sling your rollerblades over your shoulder.

“Sure I do,” he says looking confident. “I used to roller blade when I was a kid.”

Nick laughed, “Yeah, that’s why you were watching tutorials in the car?”

Chris loses it. “Dude, no way.”

Matt glares. “I was refreshing my skills.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Well, let’s see what you’ve got, pro.” You drop onto one of the benches, lacing up your skates with practiced ease. “Unless you’re scared?”

You give him a wink, skating out onto the rink with practiced ease, picking up speed slowly as you roll around the rink. Matt and Chris tie up their shoes, joining you on the rink, unsteadily. 

Nick sits right on the edge pulling his camera out “Just to be clear, I’m not skating, just here for the entertainment and content."

“Hey you don’t mind if I film, right.” You look back at Nick, “Yeah, no problem.”

Chris skates over to you, surprisingly smoothly. Matt tries skating out onto the rink after him, immediately wobbling. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh as he moves unsteadily. 

“You good?” “Yeah,” he says quickly, trying to regain his balance. He takes a step forward. The second his weight shifts, his ankle gives out, and he flails wildly before catching himself on the back of the bench.

Nick cackles in the back, filming with his phone “HAHA! This was so worth coming for!”

Chris skates past, grinning. “You looked so confident five minutes ago, what happened?”

Matt glares at both of them before looking back at you. “Maybe I just need a—” he hesitates for half a second, then smirks, “—better teacher.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You need me to hold your hand, Matt?”

Matt shrugs, playing it cool. “If you insist.”

Nick chokes on a laugh. Chris skates past again and mutters, “Smooth.”

You shake your head but extend a hand anyway. “Alright, Matthew. Let’s see if you can stay on your feet.”

Matt takes your hand, and the second you pull him forward, he stumbles—right into you. His hands grip your arms, steadying himself, and when he looks up, there’s just the tiniest hint of pink on his face.

He blushes, letting go and standing himself up unsteadily. “Okay, just watch what I do,” you say, showing him how to push off each roller skate. He tries copying you, but stumbles again, as you steady him by grabbing his hand.

You don’t let go, slowly guiding him forward until you are both moving at a slow and steady pace. 

Matt stays quiet as you guide him, his grip on your hand firm. He’s trying so hard to act like he’s totally got this under control, but every time his balance wobbles, his fingers tighten around yours just a little.

Chris skates past, grinning. “Aww, look at you two. Adorable.”

Matt glares. “Shut up.”

Nick, still planted safely on the sidelines, smirks. “Nah, I’m enjoying this too much.”

“There you go,” you say, grinning. “Baby steps.”

Matt glares half-heartedly. “Don’t patronize me.”

Nick, watching from the sidelines, taking pictures. “I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

Matt lets go of your hand, a little more confident. “Okay I think I’ve got this.” Just as he says the words, his legs slide out from under him and his arms flailing around, bringing you down with him.

There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before you both go down, limbs tangled, skidding across the rink floor in a mess of laughter and groans.

Chris howls with laughter. Nick finally puts his phone down, covering his mouth to muffle his snickering.

Matt groans, sprawled half on top of you. “Sorry… are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m good,” you say giggling. “I hate this stupid sport,” he mutters.

He got up, face completely red. “Ugh can we go get Mcdonalds or something? I’m done with this.”

Chris skates to the edge of the rink, getting ready to pack up. “Okay, let's go,” says Nick following Chris out of the rink.

You and Matt are left in the rink, slowly making your way to the edge. 

“Um, thanks for trying to teach me by the way.” You give him a sweet smile. “No problem”

As you step off the rink, Matt’s grip on your hand lingers, just a second too long. His fingers brush against yours before he finally lets go, almost reluctantly.

“You sure you weren’t holding my hand for other reasons?” you tease, tilting your head with a smirk.

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, looking away for a moment before glancing back at you. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, I would.”

He exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “I swear I’m not usually this bad at skating.”

You grin. “I don’t know, you seemed pretty natural at falling.”

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. So that’s what I’m gonna be remembered for.”

You nudge his arm. “Could be worse.”

Matt watches you for a beat, like he’s debating saying something else, but instead, he just smirks. “Guess I’ll have to give you something better to remember me by next time.”

Your brows lift. “What?”

His smirk twitches, almost sheepish now. “Next time. Y’know. If you’re up for it.”

You pretend to consider it, then grin. “Only if you promise to stop falling on me next time.”

Matt laughs, nudging your shoulder. “No promises.”

And as you both head toward the rental counter, you get the feeling you wouldn’t want him to.

“HURRY UP, LOVEBIRDS!” Chris yells from the other room, making exaggerated kissing noises.

Matt rolls his eyes, his face a little red, and calls back, “SHUT UP, CHRIS, YOU’RE AN IDIOT.”

a/n: well well welll thats the end of part 1!!! the fake instagram post took me WAY too long so i hope this does well.

also thank you @mattsslvtzx for this amazing request i would've never though of the idea

[pascaloverx]

MESSY

Author's Note: The character Michael does not belong to me, but to the film Hoard (2023). There won't be a summary at this time because I'm unsure if the fanfic will continue. So, if you enjoy this preview, please comment and like. Engage! Thank you for your attention.

PREVIEW

There is a growing desperation within you. Just a few weeks ago, you would never have imagined yourself in this position, but you have run out of options. Your father took a new wife mere months after your mother’s passing, and she had no interest in playing the role of a stepmother. So, he cast you out, leaving you with nowhere to go. "It’s my house," were the last words you heard before being thrown onto the street as if you meant nothing.

Now, you are about to knock on the door of a man named Michael, who is looking for a roommate. He could very well be a lunatic, living in a house that, from what you can tell, is surrounded by garbage and rats. That is not an exaggeration—there is a massive mouse scurrying into the alley beside the house, carrying something in its mouth. But even that won’t stop you from taking what little savings you have and paying to live here.

"Hello?" The man you assume to be Michael opens the door just as you knock, catching you off guard, and you nearly stumble backward. Fortunately, he notices and grabs your hand to steady you. He’s sweaty, and you almost slip from his grip.

"Oh my God, is that a puddle of water?" you ask, realizing your body has lightly brushed against something wet in front of his house.

"Hate to break it to you, but we haven’t had any rain, so it’s probably…" he says casually, implying that whatever you touched wasn’t water, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Great. Now I need a shower," you mutter, straightening up and resisting the urge to strip off your clothes right then and there.

"Did you come here just to ask for a shower?" he asks, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it in front of you. Great. A smoker.

"Who in their right mind would show up at a stranger’s house in the middle of the afternoon just to ask for a shower?" you ask, still debating whether this is worth it. Every instinct is telling you to turn around and leave, but then reality hits—you can’t afford to be picky. The rent is cheap, and, more importantly, you have nowhere else to go.

"I’m actually here about the roommate ad." Michael tilts his head slightly, dragging his gaze over you as if trying to read your entire life story.

"You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d want to live in a place like this—no offense," he says, exhaling smoke through his nose. You hold back the urge to roll your eyes, biting down your irritation.

"When you have no other choice, you can live anywhere. The important thing here is that you have something I need, and I have money to pay for it," you say, stepping closer despite the heavy scent of smoke clinging to him. Michael takes another drag of his cigarette before smirking.

"The way you’re saying that makes it sound like you’re offering me money for something else," he muses, amusement flickering in his eyes. He steps toward you, finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. You scoff, letting out a dry laugh. His self-confidence is astonishing.

"And what exactly do you think I’d be paying you for, other than a place to live?" you counter, keeping your expression unreadable. His smirk deepens. "Come upstairs, and I’ll show you."

The way his brown eyes stay locked on you sends a wave of heat through your body—not from attraction, but from the sheer audacity of his words. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. That’s it.

"I knew this was a mistake," you mutter, grabbing your suitcase and turning to leave. You don't even make it two steps before strong arms lift you off the ground, catching you completely off guard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you shout, squirming in his hold, but he doesn’t let go. He’s stronger than he looks, his grip firm yet effortless.

"There are plenty of things wrong with me. It’s my job to keep them hidden from you, and yours to find them out on your own. Now stop squirming—I’ll let you go in a second," he mutters, his voice strained as he maneuvers you into the house with unsettling ease.

You barely have time to process what just happened before your eyes sweep over the interior. A narrow staircase leads to the upper floor, while to the side, the living room sprawls in cluttered disarray. At the back of the house, you spot the kitchen. The air carries a faint, unpleasant odor, and you do your best not to react too strongly as you take in the mess. Michael walks in behind you, dragging your suitcase inside before straightening up.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. Name’s Michael. I really do need someone to help with the expenses, so it’d be an honor to have you here. There are two bedrooms upstairs, along with the bathroom, which we’ll have to share. Kitchen’s straight ahead. Turn to the side, and you’ll find the living room. Rent’s due at the beginning of every month, and while I’ll try to be the best roommate I can, don’t expect me to change who I am," he says, extending a hand as if sealing an agreement. You hesitate, every part of you still screaming to leave, but the reality of your situation weighs heavier. You have nowhere else to go.

"Fine. I’ll stay. I’ll pay the rent on time, but you should know that I won’t change either. And I refuse to live in a dump," you say, watching as he pulls out yet another cigarette and lights it right in front of you.

Michael smirks, tucking the cigarette between his lips. "Do whatever you want, princess. Cleaning supplies should be around here somewhere. Officially, mi casa es su casa," he says, blowing out smoke as he steps closer, slow and deliberate. You stand your ground, refusing to be intimidated.

"I have somewhere to be, but when I get back, we can talk more. There’s a spare key on the hook behind the door. Since you’re so keen on cleanliness, I’d suggest you start with that shower," he adds with a smirk before giving you a wink and disappearing out the door, leaving you alone in the middle of the mess.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

OOOOOOOOO NEW EMOJI❣️❣️❣️❣️

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

HEY! <3

As you know, TWATK is complete, but here are the rest <3

45 for 🗻:

---

The thought is pretty exciting, actually. He finds himself excited to see little pieces of Buck in another human. Hell, he’s seen them start to develop in Chris, over the years. So a kid with fifty percent Buck DNA? That’s gotta come with some considerable personality quirks. Meant adoringly, of course. 

“Mm,” Maddie shakes her head as she finishes chewing a bite of food. ‘Buck’s thing at that age was jokes. He’d memorize joke books from the library and try them on everyone he encountered.”

Eddie snorts. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So what you’re saying is,” Buck points a fork at her playfully. “I am now, and have always been, a naturally gifted comedian?”

Maddie frowns. “I don’t think I said that.”

“I don’t think anyone would say that,” Chim adds.

Christopher laughs brightly. He’s at the age where he doesn’t always engage in conversations; preferring his phone and his friends. Eddie is happy to see him involved, even a little bit. They’ve been sort of isolated from their family since Eddie brought Chris back to Los Angeles. It’s been confusing Chris, for sure. He loves his grandparents. He doesn’t understand why they were so angry about Eddie and Chris reconnecting, or Chris going home. They’ve been sort of cold to him since - a lesson Eddie never wanted Chris to learn. 

Thankfully, Maddie and Chim heard the situation, and immediately started treating Christopher like he’d been their nephew all along. Birthday gifts, open invitations to whatever family things they do, genuine interest when they ask him questions. Eddie is really fucking grateful for them. 

It is in the middle of Eddie appreciating Christopher’s burst of laughter, that Buck reaches for his phone in his pocket. He reads it, and his face goes pale.

“Oh, come on,” Chim teases him. “Don’t look so sad. If you try standup, we’ll only heckle you a little.”

“Uh, no…” Buck mumbles. “I-I have to go.”

Eddie straightens in his chair. “Baby?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. Text just says I should probably come to the hospital now.” 

“Oh my god, go!” Maddie insists. “Go, go, go. Don’t worry, we’ll drive Eddie and Chris home.”

---

111 for 🦮:

---

“Alright,” Eddie laughs. “Alright, enough. You’ll rip it. Out. Drop it.”

Out is when you’re going to give it back to her, drop it is when she’s never going to get it back again, Buck’s voice runs through his head. 

“Drop it,” Eddie repeats.

Cranberry stills and opens her jaw reluctantly, spitting out the band. She looks rather put out to stop her mischief.

“Menace,” he says to her, examining the band. 

Eddie examines the band. There is a tooth puncture. 

“You owe me,” he tells her. “Gonna have to take it out of your kibble allowance.”

She wags her tail again, a little slower. 

Eddie crumples up the band and sits on the floor beside her. She crawls onto his lap and lays down flat. Eddie pets her in long, gentle strokes, from the top of her skull, down her spine, to her tail.

He’s spent the past few therapy sessions around one central discussion. That it has taken him a month to feel any sort of relief. Any sort of appreciation or gratitude for his life. It’s not that he was disappointed that he didn’t die. Obviously not that. But he spent weeks waiting to feel glad he didn’t, and he couldn’t summon that. His therapist said that that’s normal. That lots of people who go through trauma experience this sort of thing. That it doesn’t make him ungrateful or a bad partner or father. That as long as he keeps working on it, slowly, it’ll come back to him. Even if some of this experience will always be with him. 

And here he is now. On the floor with Cranberry, exhausted and sore and feeling like he’s been put on a stretching rack, but happy. Glad. Amused, even. 

Cranberry takes a big breath. He can feel her heartbeat on his legs. 

“It’s a good thing I didn’t die,” he whispers to the dog. 

🦮🦮🦮

Later that afternoon, Eddie picks Chris up from school. Buck gets home not long after the two of them. Eddie has already started getting stuff ready for dinner. He’s experiencing a weird and unexpected burst of energy. 

“Hey,” Buck says cautiously, walking into the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Eddie smiles, crossing the space to kiss him hello. “You?”

Buck just sort of stares at him. “Uh…”

“Not good?” Eddie frowns. “Something happen?”

“No, no,” Buck shakes his head. “Uh, work was fine. Your day was good?”

“Yeah!” Eddie confirms. “But your dog put a hole in my resistance band, and I don’t go back to physio for four more days, so if I have permanent shoulder issues, we’re blaming the golden retriever.”

“Wow, uh. Sorry about that, but-”

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie dismisses it. “Do you know my shoulder is doing well enough to play a quick game of tug with physiotherapy equipment?”

Buck laughs a little breathlessly. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”

And Eddie just… He sees it. He sees it all in Buck’s eyes. The weeks and weeks of worrying. Of wondering. Of feeling powerless but being a stalwart caregiver nonetheless. A new little spark of hope, that things are getting better. 

Eddie steps forward and hugs him. Both arms. As tight as his injured shoulder can handle. 

“I love you,” he says. “And I don’t say thank you enough.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, squeezing him back. “You don’t have to thank me, though. We have each other’s backs. Always, right?”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear how much I appreciate it,” Eddie says. 

Buck takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

vi.

If you charted Eddie’s good day to bad day ratio after that, it wouldn’t look very impressive. At least not at first. He doesn’t just hit a corner and cheer up. But it does go from every day being bad, to sometimes, he has a good day to punctuate the streak. A few more weeks and it begins to feel more even. And then, slow and agonizingly, Eddie is baseline okay to good more often than not. 

He goes back to work. Light duty. Boring stuff, but not nothing. He feels useful again. He feels like he can spend his brain’s still incomplete tank of mental energy on something other than himself and his shit. Which is good. He feels clearer. Less bogged down. 

By the time he’s getting ready to recertify, and get back to his work, he’s decided. No more waiting for a nebulous better. No more waiting for what feels like an appropriate amount of time post-Shannon to pass. Eddie is ready now.  He wants to ask Buck to marry him. He’s going to do it. Because life is fucking short and unpredictable and Eddie is happy to be here to get the chance to do something he almost missed out on.

[carpenoctxrn]

Confidence (Ominis x fem!reader)

Prompt: Ominis wants to ask out his crush (you) out to Hogsmeade. However, he feels overwhelmingly ill prepared. So he turns to Sebastian, his most trusted friend and the reason for his constant migraine.

AN: Its just cute Ominis tripping over his words. We love him.

Masterlist

"Hmm… I have to admit, Ominis, I didn't expect you to actually take the initiative to plan something." Sebastian smirked as he shut his Potions tome and tossed it onto the bed beside him.

Ominis frowned, arms crossing tightly. "I take initiative all the time, Sebastian. Your comment is completely unwarranted."

"I meant no harm, it’s just that you get so flustered around her, one might think you’ve been placed under the Imperius Curse. You barely move unless she wants you to; just standing there, nodding along like some enchanted statue, completely oblivious to the rest of the world." Sebastian’s smirk widened, thoroughly amused by how quickly Ominis bristled.

Ominis stiffened, grip tightening on the edge of his robe. "Will you help me or not?" His tone was clipped, irritation barely masked. If he let Sebastian continue, he'd be the one with the migraine soon enough.

I don’t get that flustered. He’s exaggerating.

Sebastian, however, chuckled knowingly. It wasn’t often that Ominis came to him for help usually, it was the other way around, with Sebastian begging for favors while Ominis rolled his eyes and reluctantly complied. In return, Sebastian would collect fresh potion ingredients for him and sneak in contraband books on literature and history.

But now? Now Ominis needed his expertise, and that made Sebastian’s ego swell just enough to ensure he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"I’ll help you… on one condition." Sebastian leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. "Admit that I am, without a doubt, the best dorm mate you could’ve ever asked for. And not that Weasley." His nose wrinkled in distaste as he recalled Ominis’ words from the previous night; something about how Garreth was a better dorm mate than him because, at the very least, his stupidity was contained to the occasional explosion.

That had stung. Not much, but enough.

Ominis huffed. "I will say it, and even mean it, if she agrees to go on that date with me."

Sebastian grinned. "Fair enough." He extended a hand, and Ominis clasped it, sealing the deal.

"Alright, first things first," Sebastian began, dropping back into his chair, "your plan is solid in its simplicity. What you lack, my dear friend, is confidence."

Ominis drew back, lips parting in offense. "I have confidence."

Sebastian shot him a pointed look. "Rule number one: you are not allowed to get offended when I point out areas that need improvement."

A heavy sigh. "Fine." Ominis grumbled, feeling as though he was quickly running out of options.

They moved to the study table, Sebastian rattling off various strategies, none of which seemed remotely useful to Ominis. And frankly, even Sebastian started to realize how impractical some of them were. A slow grin pulled at the corners of his lips as an idea struck.

"Forget all that, Ominis. The only tip you need?....Fake it till you make it."

-----

Ominis stood behind the girl he wanted to ask out, fingers curled tightly around the stems of the flowers he had carefully chosen. Their scent is soft, sweet, and fresh mixed with the crisp evening air. In the other hand, a bag from Honeydukes rested against his palm, filled with chocolates and candies he knew she was running low on, along with a few new varieties he thought she might enjoy. Thoughtful. Simple. Yet, as he hid them behind his back, they suddenly felt woefully inadequate.

She stood by the gardens next to the greenhouse, the glow of the setting sun casting golden highlights along her figure as she gazed out at the vast, rippling lake. A gentle breeze carried the scent of damp earth and blooming mallowsweet, mingling with the distant salt of the water. Ominis could feel the evening sun warming his face, the rest of him shielded beneath his robes.

Should I have changed?

His fingers twitched against the wrinkled fabric of his sleeve. He hadn't thought to freshen up, and now, standing here in the presence of someone so effortlessly lovely, doubt clawed at him. I probably look awful. Damn you, Sebastian.

Before his thoughts could spiral further, she turned toward him.

"Good evening, Ominis."

Her voice, warm and lilting, carried a softness that made his chest tighten. He could hear the smile in her words, the kind that wrinkled her nose and made her eyes glimmer. The same smile that, on more than one occasion, had rendered him utterly useless in conversation.

Ominis knew she liked him. He wasn’t oblivious, well not entirely. He had proof, after all. He had overheard Poppy, Imelda, Natty, and her discussing their ideal Yule Ball dates in the Great Hall one afternoon.

“I want someone poised, someone who looks put together,” she had mused, her voice thoughtful as she nibbled on a piece of fruit.

Ominis, seated behind her with his tome open, had pretended to read. In reality, he had been using his wand to subtly amplify their voices, a trick he had discovered by accident but employed more often than he cared to admit.

“You forgot to add that he has to be a Gaunt and blind, too,” Imelda had teased.

The girl had immediately elbowed her, a huff of protest leaving her lips before she glanced back; perhaps to check if Ominis had overheard. He had, of course. But he had kept his head bowed, feigning deep concentration over his book. Meanwhile, across the table, Sebastian had watched him with blatant amusement, no doubt wondering why in Merlin’s name Ominis was turning red while supposedly reading Potions notes.

Now, standing in front of her, Ominis took a steadying breath, forcing Sebastian’s words to the forefront of his mind.

Fake it till you make it.

He had faked emotions before. Confidence, too. It was a survival skill in his household. But here–now—he wasn’t sure he could fake anything. Not when her scent of mallowsweet and vanilla wrapped around him, not when her warmth radiated so closely, drawing him in like a beacon.

"Good evening," he greeted, keeping his tone even. "How was your day?" It was routine between them, an effortless exchange they shared daily.

She hummed thoughtfully. "Nothing new happened, but I suppose that's a blessing compared to having to battle an entire battalion of goblins."

There was amusement in her voice, but Ominis still winced. He remembered that day far too well; oh the chaos, the confusion, the distant sounds of battle echoing through the castle walls. He had been in the Great Hall with the other students, unable to do anything but listen. He had gripped his wand so tightly that his knuckles ached, mind racing with fear for her safety. It had been a startling realization— how much he cared for her, how much the thought of losing her had shaken him.

And now, standing here, trying to gather the courage to ask her out, that fear clawed at him again. But for an entirely different reason.

Ominis took a measured step back, clearing his throat as he steadied himself. His fingers tightened around the flowers and Honeydukes bag, hidden behind his back like a schoolboy concealing a poorly written essay. The scent of mallowsweet and vanilla drifted between them, further unraveling his composure. He could do this. He just had to fake it till he made it.

"I would like to ask you a question," he began, his voice carefully serious. "And please, feel free to be honest. Actually… I hope you will be honest."

His blind eyes found her, his posture straightening as if that alone could reinforce his resolve.

She tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in her voice. "You can ask me anything, Ominis," she assured him gently. "And I promise, I will only tell you the truth. You have my word."

Emboldened by her reassurance, he exhaled and extended his hands toward her, finally revealing the gifts he'd been clutching. A bouquet of fresh flowers, fragrant, vibrant, delicate. And a small bag from Honeydukes, filled with chocolates and sweets he knew she liked, including a few new treats he hoped she would enjoy.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as an involuntary gasp left her lips. "Ominis—"

But before she could speak further, he launched into his well-rehearsed speech.

"I have always admired your strength, generosity, and kindness from afar. And now…" He lifted his chin slightly, feigning unwavering confidence. "I would like to admire you up close. Will you allow me to take you to Hogsmeade on a date?"

The silence that followed nearly shattered his resolve.

His heart pounded in his chest, dreading the inevitable rejection. He braced himself for a polite letdown, his fingers already beginning to tighten around the bag in preparation to retreat.

"Ominis…" she started softly.

Here it comes.

"…Yes. I’d love that."

The breath he had been unknowingly holding escaped in a rush.

For a fleeting moment, relief flooded through him, washing away every ounce of doubt. A smile tugged at his lips, warmth creeping up his neck and burning his cheeks. But then—just as quickly, he remembered Sebastian’s words.

Fake the confidence.

Right. Confidence. He had to double down. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he tried to mask his overwhelming joy with what he thought was casual self-assurance.

"Of course," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Anyone would be lucky to be courted by a Gaunt."

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

She raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together in amusement. "Oh? Is that so?"

Realizing how arrogant that sounded, he panicked. "Especially someone like you!" he blurted out, scrambling to fix it.

Her expression shifted. "Especially someone like… me?" There was a warning in her tone, one that sent his nerves into a complete frenzy.

"No! I didn’t mean it like that!" he exclaimed, suddenly feeling like he was drowning in his own words.

She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying his distress. "Then how did you mean it?"

His brain betrayed him, throwing every logical escape out the window. "I meant that… well, it only makes sense for you to say yes… because it’s me."

There was a pause. Then, she let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, really?"

Why did I say that? Merlin, strike me down.

Ominis groaned internally, scrambling for recovery. "I just—what I meant was—you and I—" He sighed, shoulders slumping in surrender. "I’m making an absolute fool of myself, aren’t I?"

Her laughter was soft but genuine, and it made his stomach flip. "A little," she admitted, stepping closer. "But it’s alright. I know what you meant."

He swallowed, grateful she was choosing to be kind rather than completely obliterate what was left of his dignity. "You do?"

She nodded, reaching out to gently take the flowers from his hands. "I do." A smile, warm and reassuring. "And I still want to go on that date with you, even if you manage to dig yourself an even bigger hole before then."

Ominis huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "At this rate, I might just disappear into the ground entirely."

"Well," she teased, looping her arm through his. "I suppose I'll just have to pull you out, then."

His breath caught. He was certain now, no amount of faked confidence could compare to how she made him feel.

-----

The end!

@princesspinkss the scream request shall eventually be posted. After I am done with my microbio exam or possibly sooner.

and dividers by @pommecita

Masterlist

[rewatching-sam-and-dean]

It’s Rant Time Again, Friends!

And today’s rant is brought to you by the silliness that came scross my Twitter feed this week in the form of an absolutely pointless question, but even more so by some of the asinine answers I saw. Some of you probably already saw this (and responded) if you’re on Twitter, so I’m not screenshotting it. Besides, people are allowed to ask (stupid) questions. But, I’m also allowed to comment on how dumb the questions are.

The Question:

“If it came down to saving Sam or Cas, who do you think Dean would save first?”

Question Issues:

If someone watched the show at all, the answer to this question is more than obvious. But the question isn’t even just “who would Dean save” but “who would Dean save first?” I mean the answer to both is the same, but surly even the “found family” crew of fans should be able to recognize that Dean will always try to save Sam first. The ones who claim otherwise have to be knowingly lying, because if not … I fear for society that people are that lack that much media literacy.

The responses:

So, here’s what gets me even more than the “innocent” question, the responses. Of course the vast majority of reposts and replies are saying some variation of “Sam, obviously.” Because it is obvious. The show has showed us again and sngsinghdt Dean would put Sam’s life above his own, his parents, his friends, anyone.

But what’s really amusing/annoying/sad is seeing people twisting themselves into pretzels just to avoid having to admit the truth. These are the ones saying things like:

“Dean would find a way to save both of them!” - Would he though? When “Zeke” gave Dean the ultimatum between sending a penniless, powerless, helpless and hunted Castiel out into the world on his own … or him leaving Sam, stopping the healing and potentially (only potentially) resulting in Sam dying, there is no hesitation. Dean clearly feels bad, but he tosses Cas out on his ass in a blink. What does he not do? He doesn’t try to arrange something so they are both safe. Hell, he doesn’t even give Cas anything to help feed, cloth or protect himself. He just sends him out into the world to try and figure shit out on his own.

“Dean would kill/sacrifice himself, if it meant he could save Cas, too.” - Umm, where have we ever seen him put Cas above himself? Would he risk his life to save Castiel? Of course he would, but he would also risk his life to try and save a complete stranger. That sort of comes with the territory of being a hunter. But the only person Dean has ever directly and intentionally sacrificed himself for is Sam. I saw some argue that he was willing to kill or himself to bring Cas back after Chuck snapped everyone away in Season 15, but that’s a misinterpretation (selective listening), common among hellers and Cas stans, of what Dean is actually saying. Dean and Sam say they will kill each other if Chuck will bring everyone back, including Cas. They are not offering to do this just for Cas, it’s for the world. Besides, in his scenario I get the feeling that the intention is for both Sam and Dean to die, so they’ll go out together to save everyone else.

“Dean would save Sam, but his life would be over, or he’d give up after without Cas.” - LMAO. No. Unless you want to argue that a smiling happy and content Dean is secretly trying to drown his sorrows in the finale when Sam is the one to bring up Jack and Cas, and Dean is basically like, “yeah sure, losing them was sad or whatever, but like we gotta live Sam. Now let’s destroy this pie.”

And my personal favourite…

“It totally depends on what season of the show we are talking about.” - Bitch please, it would make no difference. There isn’t a single episode, let alone whole Season, where Desn would try to save Cas before, or instead of, Sam. See my examples from Season 9 and 15 above. There are so many examples of Dean not doing much to save Cas, vs him begging, pleading, or trading humans to save Sam.