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kiwriteswords · 5 months ago

Note

Hi Ki! Could I get an Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader fic, where maybe she LOVES christmas and he's sorta grumpy about the whole thing and she really changes him!

A Season of Sunshine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Female!Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: 5+1, Christmas, Sunshine Reader, fluff, mentions of grief, mentions of holiday sadness, mentions of alcohol in social setting, legit tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, no use of Y/N.

Sypnosis: 5 times reader brought sunshine to Aaron Hotchner around the holidays, +1 time Hotch brought sunshine to her.

Aaron Hotchner observed you from across the bullpen, your laughter ringing out like a bright bell amidst the quiet hum of clicking keyboards and murmured conversations.

The first snow of December swirled gently outside the frosted windows, a backdrop to your seemingly boundless energy. You were leaning over a desk, cheerfully handing out small, festively wrapped candy canes to your teammates.

You looked so happy. That was the thought that lingered in Hotch’s mind as he watched you move from desk to desk, your smile contagious enough to soften even the usually stoic faces of Rossi and Morgan.

“You’re going to give me a cavity, Sunshine,” Morgan teased as you placed a candy cane on his keyboard.

“That’s what dentists are for,” you replied with a wink, earning a chuckle from him.

Hotch’s lips twitched, but the smile never fully formed. It was a rare thing for him these days, and while he appreciated your attempts to brighten the team’s spirits, he couldn’t help but question how someone who dealt with the kind of darkness their job revealed could remain so light—so...sunny.

The holidays were always difficult. For everyone. Suicide rates spiked, depression deepened, and grief—a familiar companion for Hotch—seemed sharper in the winter cold. He thought about Jack, about the guilt that came with knowing his son’s memories of Christmases past were punctuated by his absence, his work always pulling him away.

And then there was you. The newest member of the team. This was your first Christmas with the BAU, and you’d already brought in a small, sparkling tree to decorate the corner of the bullpen, strung colorful lights across your desk, and started an advent calendar that you insisted everyone participate in. You’d even convinced Penelope to wear a reindeer headband, complete with jingle bells that she delighted in shaking whenever someone passed her office.

“Hotch?”

Your voice startled him from his thoughts. He realized belatedly that you were standing in front of his desk, holding out a candy cane with a hopeful smile. Up close, you were radiant, your eyes sparkling with holiday cheer.

“For me?” he asked dryly, glancing at the candy cane as though it might be a trap.

“Of course. Everyone gets one,” you said, placing it neatly beside his coffee mug. “It’s peppermint. Good for focus.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. There’s research on it and everything,” you replied, as though your enthusiasm alone could make it true. You lingered a moment, tilting your head to study him. “You’re not much of a Christmas person, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied carefully.

“But you wouldn’t say you are one, either,” you countered, your smile never faltering. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix that.”

And with that, you were gone, leaving him with the candy cane and a faint scent of pine and vanilla trailing in your wake. Hotch’s gaze followed you as you returned to your desk, now chatting animatedly with JJ about the best Christmas movies.

He shook his head slightly, turning back to the stack of case files in front of him. Fix that, you’d said. As if he were some project in need of holiday spirit. He supposed he should’ve been annoyed, but there was something about your relentless optimism that he found...endearing.

Over the next few days, your efforts to “fix” him grew more deliberate. A holiday playlist softly played in the background of the bullpen, courtesy of you and Garcia. You organized a Secret Santa exchange, somehow roping even the most reluctant members of the team into participating. When the team went out for an after-hours dinner, you’d insisted on ordering hot cocoa for everyone, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.

It was infectious, your enthusiasm. Even Hotch, who prided himself on his unshakable focus, found himself humming along to a Christmas tune as he reviewed case notes late one evening. He stopped mid-hum, frowning. You’d gotten to him.

By the time the team’s annual holiday gathering rolled around, Hotch couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. The bullpen felt lighter, more alive, and the credit undeniably belonged to you. Yet, he still struggled to reconcile how you could be so bright amidst the shadows they encountered daily.

That evening, after most of the team had left, Hotch found himself standing by the small tree you’d brought in. The lights twinkled warmly, and a single wrapped present with Jack’s name sat underneath. You’d insisted on helping him pick out something special for his son, your genuine excitement rivaling that of any child on Christmas morning.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He turned to find you standing beside him, your coat draped over your arm.

“It is,” he admitted quietly.

“I know this time of year can be hard,” you said softly, your voice losing some of its usual buoyancy. “But it can also be really beautiful, in its own way.”

Hotch studied you for a long moment, taking in the sincerity in your expression. “How do you do it?” he asked finally. “Stay so…”

“Happy?” you finished for him, smiling faintly. “I’m not always happy, Hotch. But I try to focus on the good things, especially when the world feels dark. It helps.”

“Focus on the good things,” he repeated, almost to himself. His gaze shifted back to the tree, the warm glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“Exactly. Like candy canes and Christmas trees,” you teased gently, nudging his arm.

For the first time in a long while, Hotch allowed himself a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected gratitude. “For what?”

“For reminding me.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening as you replied, “Anytime, Boss.”

And for the first time, Aaron Hotchner found himself looking forward to Christmas.

II.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the corner of David Rossi's cozy living room, a glass of sparkling water in hand. The house was warm and bright, filled with the soft glow of Christmas lights and the hum of cheerful conversation. Children’s laughter rang out from the area near the tree, where Jack, Henry, and Michael were busy examining their gifts while Savannah held baby Hank on her lap, cooing softly to him.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to you, as it often did these days. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with Jack, helping him assemble a toy airplane with nimble fingers and endless patience. Jack’s face was lit with excitement as he explained the steps in his careful, deliberate way, and you listened with an encouraging smile. Occasionally, you glanced up to share a warm look or quick comment with the adults nearby, your laughter soft and genuine.

You looked so happy. And watching you, Hotch felt something he couldn’t quite name. Warmth, perhaps, or an ache just beneath it.

It had been over a year since you joined the team, and in that time, you’d become the one person who could cut through his carefully guarded exterior. You had a way of disarming him with your relentless optimism, your knack for seeing light in the darkest moments. He’d felt it most acutely during the holidays, when the weight of loss and responsibility pressed hardest against him. Somehow, you always managed to draw him out, to remind him that there was still beauty in the world.

“Dad!” Jack called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Look at this!”

Hotch stepped closer to the group, bending down as Jack held up the half-assembled airplane. “That’s impressive,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got a good helper.”

“Your dad’s just saying that because I haven’t broken anything yet,” you teased, glancing up at Hotch with a grin. There was a faint blush on your cheeks—likely from the eggnog you’d been enjoying—and your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

You gasped in mock offense, your laughter bubbling up. “I’ll have you know, I am an expert toy assembler. Just ask Henry.”

Henry, who was sitting nearby, nodded sagely. “She’s really good,” he said, earning a chuckle from the adults.

As the evening wore on, the children settled into a quieter rhythm, playing together under Savannah’s watchful eye. The adults moved to the kitchen, chatting over mulled wine and eggnog. You lingered by the doorway for a moment before making your way toward Hotch, who had retreated to the quieter edge of the room.

“You’re hiding,” you said, your tone light but teasing.

“Just taking a moment,” he replied, glancing down at you. You’d swapped your eggnog for water, but the slight sway in your stance betrayed your earlier indulgence.

“It’s Christmas,” you said softly. “No moments allowed. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” he said, and it surprised him how true it felt.

You studied him for a moment, your smile softening. “Good. You deserve it.”

The warmth in your voice unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t look away. You had a way of seeing him that no one else did, peeling back the layers he worked so hard to maintain. It was disarming, intoxicating, and he didn’t know whether to thank you or guard himself more fiercely.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Bringing people together. Making them feel…better.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful. “I try. It’s not always easy, though. Especially with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your eyes brightening again. “And you should also consider letting yourself enjoy things a little more. Just a thought.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he replied, and the soft, teasing edge in his tone made your smile widen.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You looked up at him with an openness that made his chest tighten, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—how someone like you had ended up here, in a world so often filled with darkness.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that lingered long after you’d turned to rejoin the group.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

III.

Aaron Hotchner stared out the window of the small motel room, the cheap curtains drawn back to reveal the dim glow of Christmas lights strung up on a nearby house. It was the only reminder of the holiday, a faint glimmer of cheer amidst the grim reality of their current case. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, tired and drawn, the weight of the day etched into the lines of his face.

The case was bad—one of the worst. Children were involved, and they were short-staffed, with JJ staying behind to be with Henry and Michael. Hotch had insisted on it, even though it meant carrying the guilt of being away from Jack. Jack, who was now old enough to understand that his father’s work sometimes came before everything else. Old enough to feel the sting of his absence.

The thought gnawed at him, a sharp pang that had been with him all day. This was a Christmas Jack might remember—one of the few left before he stopped believing in the magic of the holiday. And Hotch wasn’t there. He should’ve been there.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, half expecting Morgan or Rossi, but it was you. You stood there with a small smile, a wrapped package tucked under one arm. Your presence alone was a balm, a brief respite from the heaviness that seemed to cling to him.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your voice quiet but warm. You weren’t your usual bubbly self tonight—the weight of the case had tempered your sunshine—but there was still a light in your eyes that seemed undimmed.

He nodded, stepping back to let you in. You placed the package on the small table near the window, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned to face him.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. “But I thought maybe we could try to make it feel a little more like home.”

Hotch felt his throat tighten as you handed him the gift, your smile tinged with something tender. He unwrapped it carefully, his fingers brushing against the edges of the frame as he revealed the photo inside. It was a candid shot of him and Jack, taken during one of their rare moments of unguarded joy. Jack was laughing, his arms thrown around his father’s neck, and Hotch’s own smile was wide and genuine—a version of himself he hardly recognized anymore.

“Where did you…” His voice faltered as he looked up at you.

“I snuck a photo of you two over the summer at the get-together Penelope hosted,” you admitted, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “I thought you might want something to remind you of him. Especially tonight.”

He swallowed hard, the emotion catching him off guard. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “This means a lot.”

You smiled, that warm, gentle smile that always seemed to soften the edges of his world. “I’m glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint hum of the heater. Then Hotch cleared his throat, his gaze shifting back to you. “Would you…stay for a while?” he asked, surprising even himself. “I…I think I could use the company.”

Your smile widened, and you nodded. “I’d like that.”

The two of you settled on the edge of the bed, a small laptop propped between you as you queued up an old Christmas movie. The screen cast a soft glow over the room, the sound of holiday music mingling with the rustle of case files as you both worked quietly. Occasionally, you’d make a comment about the movie, drawing a rare chuckle from him, or he’d ask for your input on a theory for the case, your perspective always sharper than you gave yourself credit for.

As the hours passed, the weight on his chest seemed to lift, just a little. Your presence was steady, grounding, and he found himself watching you more than the screen. The way your eyes lit up during certain scenes, the way your laughter softened the edges of his grief, the way you leaned just slightly toward him, as though drawn by some invisible force.

Eventually, the movie ended, and the case files lay forgotten on the nightstand. You’d curled up on your side of the bed, your head resting on the pillow as sleep claimed you. Hotch sat beside you for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, the peaceful expression on your face.

Carefully, he slid down beside you, his own exhaustion finally catching up with him. As his eyes closed, the photo of Jack on the nightstand caught his gaze one last time. For the first time that day, he felt a flicker of peace.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured softly, the words barely audible in the quiet room. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

IV.

Aaron Hotchner adjusted his tie as he stepped into the bustling bullpen, the hum of holiday cheer filling the space. Twinkling lights wrapped around cubicle dividers, and Penelope Garcia had outdone herself again, transforming the office into a festive wonderland. The annual Christmas gathering was in full swing, and the team—his family, as much as he’d allow himself to admit it—were mingling, laughing, and enjoying the break from their usual grim reality.

He scanned the room automatically, his eyes landing on you. You were by the snack table, laughing with Morgan and JJ, your smile radiant under the soft glow of the holiday lights. You wore a deep green sweater that somehow managed to be both festive and professional, and your laughter, as always, was the kind of sound that warmed even the coldest corners of his heart. Jack adored you, the team adored you, and though he’d never said it aloud, Hotch knew you were the brightest part of his life. The thought lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

“Hotch, my man,” Morgan called, clapping him on the back. “Looking sharp as always. You’ve got to come try Garcia’s infamous eggnog. It’s got a kick that’ll put hair on your chest.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass.”

Morgan smirked but said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly toward you. Hotch didn’t miss the knowing glance, but he chose not to comment. The team had been teasing him for months now, their thinly veiled remarks about how well you two complemented each other becoming harder to ignore. And the truth was, they weren’t wrong. You were the sunshine to his shadow, and no matter how hard he tried to maintain his stoic demeanor, you always found a way to break through.

“Hotch, come here for a sec!” Penelope called, waving him toward the breakroom with an exaggerated flourish. Her excitement was suspicious, but he indulged her, weaving through the crowd of colleagues.

You were already there, standing by the counter with a cup of cocoa in hand, your head tilting in curiosity when you saw him approach. “What’s going on?” you asked, glancing between him and Penelope.

Penelope’s grin was practically devious. “Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, gesturing upward. “Except...look up.”

Hotch followed her gaze, his stomach sinking slightly as he spotted the small sprig of mistletoe dangling above the two of you. He heard the team’s collective laughter and chatter outside the door, and when he looked back at you, he saw the faint flush that crept up your cheeks.

“Penelope,” he said, his tone even but edged with warning. “This seems highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” Morgan’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Don’t be a Grinch. It’s tradition!”

The team’s voices joined in, a chorus of good-natured peer pressure that only made the situation more absurd. You laughed softly, glancing at him with a mixture of amusement and resignation. “Looks like we’re outnumbered,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile threatening to surface. “It seems that way.”

You stepped closer, your expression softening as you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your touch lingered, and when you pulled back, you gave the team an exaggerated shrug. “That’s all you’re getting. This seems like an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

The team erupted in laughter and groans, their teasing echoing through the room as they slowly dispersed, leaving the two of you alone. Hotch stood there, momentarily stunned. He was rarely caught off guard, but something about the way you’d handled the moment—with grace, humor, and that unshakable light of yours—had left him uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“You’re quiet,” you remarked, breaking the silence. There was a hint of teasing in your tone, but your eyes held something deeper.

Before he could respond, you stepped closer again, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious note. “For the record,” you said, your gaze locking with his, “I’ve thought about doing this for a very long time.”

And then you kissed him. Fully, softly, your lips brushing his with a warmth that stole his breath. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting, but gentle and deliberate, a kiss that spoke volumes without a single word. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a quiet confidence in your expression.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying that same warmth that always seemed to anchor him. And before he could find the words to respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there beneath the mistletoe, the faint taste of peppermint and cocoa lingering on his lips.

He stared after you, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite name. You’d left him stunned, questioning everything he’d been holding back for so long. And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—really wonder—what he was waiting for.

Aaron Hotchner stood frozen beneath the mistletoe, replaying the moment over in his mind. Your touch, the warmth of your lips, the quiet confidence in your voice as you walked away—it all lingered like a soft hum, reverberating through him. For a man who thrived on control, who prided himself on composure, he was suddenly untethered.

The sound of laughter and conversation from the bullpen drifted faintly into the breakroom, but Hotch barely registered it. His gaze had followed you as you disappeared through the doorway, the gentle sway of your steps a stark contrast to the rapid thrum of his pulse. He raised a hand to his cheek, where your earlier, teasing kiss still burned faintly, before letting it drop.

He should follow you. Say something. Do something. But what? His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slow and uncertain. You’d left him with no doubt about your feelings, and yet he still found himself grappling with the implications, the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

The door creaked slightly, and Morgan’s head poked through, a smirk firmly in place. “Hey, Hotch, you coming back out? Or are you still processing?”

Hotch shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, his tone even but quieter than usual.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “Take your time, man. But don’t let her get too far ahead of you. She’s got a lot of sunshine to give, and you’ve been standing in the shade too long.”

With that, Morgan disappeared, leaving Hotch alone once more. He exhaled deeply, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For all his teasing, Morgan wasn’t wrong. You were sunshine, the kind that warmed even the coldest, darkest parts of him. And maybe—just maybe—he was ready to step into that light.

With a resolute breath, he straightened his tie and stepped out of the breakroom, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You were by the tree now, talking with JJ and Garcia, your laughter carrying softly over the hum of the party. For the first time, Hotch felt a clarity he hadn’t allowed himself before.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the kitchen; his sleeves rolled up as he finished drying the last of the dishes. The faint sounds of Jack’s laughter drifted in from the living room, where you were sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sorting through the pieces of a puzzle you’d brought as a Christmas gift. Jack, now a teenager, had grown taller and lankier in the past year, but his laughter still carried the same unfiltered joy that made Hotch’s chest ache with pride and affection.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the two of you working together, your head bent close to Jack’s as you studied the image on the puzzle box. You wore a soft red sweater, simple but elegant, and jeans that hinted at your easygoing nature. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflected in your eyes as you laughed softly at something Jack said. Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at the way you fit so seamlessly into his life, the way you made everything—even something as ordinary as a puzzle—feel special.

The evening had been everything he could have hoped for. You’d arrived earlier with a bright smile, carrying a bag of gifts and a small dish of your signature dessert. Jack had met you at the door with a quick hug and an eager grin, his awkward teenage reserve slipping away in your presence. You’d brought him a few thoughtful gifts, including a hardcover art book filled with sketches and techniques, knowing he’d taken up drawing. Jack had practically beamed as he flipped through the pages, his gratitude clear in the way he couldn’t stop thanking you.

For you, Hotch had chosen something more personal. When he’d handed you the small wrapped box after dinner, you’d looked at him curiously, your fingers carefully peeling back the paper. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a tiny sun.

“It reminded me of you,” he’d said simply, his voice quiet but steady.

Your breath had caught, your eyes shining as you turned the bracelet over in your hands. “Aaron,” you’d murmured, your voice soft with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He’d watched as you fastened it around your wrist, the charm catching the light in a way that seemed fitting. You were his sunshine, after all—the bright spot in his darkest days.

You hadn’t come empty-handed either. You had given Hotch a new tie, one that followed a similar pattern to his others--it was very him. You’d slipped back to your bag and pulled out another box, this one wrapped in dark green paper with a neat silver bow. “This is for you,” you’d said, holding it out to him with a touch of nervousness in your smile.

Hotch had unwrapped it carefully, revealing an elegant, framed photo of himself and Jack. The picture was candid, taken during one of Jack’s soccer games earlier in the year. Jack was grinning, his arm slung casually around his father’s shoulders, and Hotch was mid-laugh, a rare moment of unguarded joy captured perfectly. These moments so far and few these days, Jack growing up before his eyes so fast. He couldn’t help but worry if he had missed too much, but this photo was a reminder he was present.

“I thought you could use an updated photo of the two of you,” you’d explained, watching him closely. “I thought it might be nice to have a reminder of how much Jack adores you.”

For a moment, Hotch hadn’t been able to speak. He’d traced the edge of the frame with his fingers, his throat tightening as he looked up at you. “It’s perfect,” he’d said simply, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you.”

Now, as he stepped into the living room, he saw Jack stretch and yawn dramatically, the puzzle only half-finished. “I’m heading to bed,” Jack announced, his voice carrying the exaggerated tone of a teenager.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” you said warmly, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Jack groaned in protest but didn’t pull away, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jack said, pausing by Hotch’s side before wishing you goodnight, “Thanks for the gifts; I loved them.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your smile softening as Jack disappeared upstairs.

Hotch settled beside you on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a gentle glow over the room. You tucked your legs beneath you, leaning slightly into his side as he rested an arm along the back of the couch. The quiet filled the space like a comforting blanket, and for a moment, Hotch simply let himself savor it.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” he said, his tone teasing but tinged with sincerity.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m just trying to win him over with gifts and puzzles. It’s all part of my master plan.”

Hotch chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against your arm. “It’s working.”

Your smile lingered, but your expression shifted slightly, growing more thoughtful. “Aaron,” you began, your voice softer now. “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned to face you fully. “Of course.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of the throw pillow beside you. Then you looked up, your eyes meeting his with an openness that made his chest tighten.

“This past year has been… incredible,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “Being with you, getting to know Jack, feeling like I’m part of something so special… I can’t even put it into words.”

He listened intently, his hand still resting on your arm, his thumb now tracing small, reassuring circles.

“What I’m trying to say is… I love you,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly on the last word. “And I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but tonight felt right.”

The room seemed to be still, the faint crackle of the fire the only sound as your words hung between you. Hotch felt his breath hitch, his chest swelling with an emotion so profound it left him momentarily speechless. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he leaned closer.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “More than I can ever say.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but your smile was radiant as you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. For a long moment, the two of you simply stayed like that; the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

Later, as the fire burned low and the room grew quieter still, Hotch held you close, his arm draped around your shoulders. He glanced at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny sun catching the last flickers of light.

“You know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “I’ve thought about telling you for so long, but I kept overthinking it. I was so nervous you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “You never had to worry about that,” he said. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into my life. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it.”

You looked up at him, your smile soft but full of emotion. “We’re quite the pair, huh? Overthinking everything when it’s so obvious.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Maybe. But I think we got it right in the end.”

Your hand brushed against his, your fingers intertwining. “The best kind of right,” you murmured.

Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the weight of your words and the warmth of your presence filling him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. As the fire flickered its last embers, he held you close, silently marveling at how you’d turned his world into something brighter than he’d ever thought possible.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the middle of the living room, adjusting the final string of twinkling lights around the small tree you and Jack had picked out together the week before. It was early Christmas morning, and the house was quiet save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint sound of Jack’s laughter from the video game he was playing upstairs. Hotch had been up for hours, carefully setting everything into place for what he hoped would be the perfect day.

Living with you had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the warmth you brought to his home but the way you’d taught him to savor moments, to lean into the joy of life rather than keeping it at arm’s length. This Christmas, he wanted to return the favor.

The first part of his plan unfolded at the BAU’s holiday party earlier that week. For the first time, Hotch had embraced the festivities rather than standing on the sidelines. He’d worked with Penelope to set up a hot cocoa bar, complete with toppings and festive mugs, and even organized a Secret Santa exchange. When you’d arrived in your cozy sweater and bright smile, you’d lit up even more upon seeing what he’d done.

“You did all this?” you’d asked, looking around at the decorated conference room.

“I had help,” he admitted, his lips curving into a rare smile. “But I thought it might be nice to bring a little sunshine to the team. You’ve inspired me.”

Your cheeks had flushed at his words, your smile widening as you leaned into his side. “I think it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Now, at home, he hoped to create something equally memorable. He’d waited until you were fast asleep the night before to finish wrapping the small but meaningful gifts he’d chosen for you. Among them was a leather-bound journal with your initials embossed in gold, a nod to the way you’d always jot down your thoughts or ideas. But the most significant gift was hidden beneath the tree, tucked inside a small box. It wasn’t extravagant—Hotch had never been one for grand gestures—but it was deeply personal.

When you came down the stairs later that morning, your hair still slightly mussed from sleep and a soft blanket draped around your shoulders, you froze at the sight of the living room. The tree glowed softly, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, and the mantle was adorned with garland and stockings. On the coffee table sat a tray with freshly brewed coffee and your favorite pastries.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “Did you do all this?”

“Merry Christmas,” he said simply, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “I wanted to make it special for you. For us.”

You looked at him, your eyes shining as you took it all in. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The morning passed in a blur of laughter and warmth as you and Jack opened gifts together. The journal earned a quiet, heartfelt thank you, but it was the last box Hotch handed you that brought tears to your eyes. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny sun-shaped charm, a perfect match to the bracelet he’d given you the year before.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over the charm. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you,” he said, his voice low. “And of everything you’ve brought into my life.”

Later, as Jack retreated upstairs to play with his new gifts--mainly video games this year, you and Hotch curled up on the couch together. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room as you rested your head against his chest.

“You really outdid yourself this year,” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “You’re like a whole new person.”

“Not new,” he corrected gently, his hand tracing slow, comforting circles on your back. “Just better. Because of you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your smile soft but radiant. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner. And you’ve given me the best Christmas I could ever ask for.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible. “I love you too,” he said softly. And as he held you close, the warmth of the season and the light of your presence surrounding him, he knew that this—this life with you—was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

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i2rizz · 14 days ago

Note

HI CAN I REQUEST L with a S/o that's super girly and she really likes having a shopping spree

Someone requesting smth other than them "no way he pulled that" fics feels like heaven

Tho jokes aside i adore this request(* >ω<)

Sugar rush & too many shopping bags

L didn't usually come out in public, let alone step foot into a glittering mall with glass escalators and pop music echoing off marble floors.

Did i mention L didn’t do malls?

He didn’t do loud music, crowds of strangers brushing past, or fluorescent lights that hummed against his sensitive brain like a warning alarm. And yet here he was—hunched forward in his usual slouch, dark eyes glancing left to right, and pale fingers hooked loosely around the strap of one pink shopping bag.

Just one of… fourteen.

Him being with shoulders hunched, thumb to his mouth, and his ever-messy hair attracted the attention of confused passersby. He didn't care. His gaze was fixed on one person

You.

Bouncing between store windows, your nails were freshly done-a glossy pastel pink. Your outfit was coordinated down to the last gold charm on your bracelet. You beamed as you strolled in front of him.

"Ryu, look!" your voice chimed like a bell, soft and bright, cutting through the noise around him.

L blinked and turned his head slowly, finding you a few steps ahead—posing in front of a boutique mirror, holding up a glittery pink handbag shaped like a heart. "Isn’t it cute?" you asked, already spinning on your heel to grab the matching wallet.

L stared.

It was cute.

But mostly because it was you holding it—eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed with excitement, your lip gloss catching the light like glass candy. You looked so alive here—like you belonged in a world of glitter shelves and pastel mannequins. In your element.

"You already have six bags" he murmured.

"I know, but this one is a different shade of pink. This one is, like, marshmallow pink. That’s a totally different vibe"

He stared again. "You make up new categories of color every ten minutes"

You leaned forward, resting your chin dramatically on his shoulder. "That’s called being an aesthetic visionary, thank you"

He paused. "Is that the same reasoning you used for the sparkly beret and the unicorn-themed eye palette?"

You gasped. "Are you judging me?"

L’s eyes flicked to yours. "Not at all. I’m… collecting data"

"On what?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully, thumb brushing his lip. "The average serotonin boost per accessory purchased"

You let out a laugh and threw your arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance. "You’re such a nerd, I love you" you giggled, squeezing him tight.

L stiffened like a surprised cat. But then slowly—so slowly—you felt his fingers press lightly against your back, one hand clumsily settling against your waist.

"I love you too" he mumbled into your shoulder, so quiet it was almost lost in the hum of the store.

You froze for a second—then pulled back with a grin that could’ve powered a small city.

"I’m buying the purse" you declared triumphantly.

"I anticipated that outcome"

"Come onnn, Ryu," you sang. "Just one more store!"

"You said that many stores ago" he muttered, his tone flat but not annoyed. You knew him well enough by now-this was his version of teasing.

You turned back with a cheeky grin. "I know, but this one has those glitter platform heels I showed you last week! I need them. For the vibes"

"For the vibes..." he repeated slowly, as if analyzing a foreign phrase. Then he blinked. "Do vibes have a functional purpose?"

You giggled. "Yes. They make me happy"

He paused. "...Acceptable"

L let you drag him along, his socks barely making a sound on the glossy floor tiles. He didn't really understand why you needed a dozen bags of accessories, lip glosses, tiny earrings shaped like cupcakes, or fuzzy cardigans in seven shades of pink-but he did understand one thing:

You looked radiant when you shopped.

When you twirled in front of a mirror in a new outfit, looking at him for approval with wide hopeful eyes, L would simply nod-his version of adoration.

Sometimes, if you caught him off-guard, he'd even mumble a quiet "Beautiful" before stuffing a lollipop in his mouth and pretending he hadn't said anything at all.

In one store, you turned to find him sitting criss-cross on a plush bench near the changing rooms, a small mountain of your shopping bags at his feet. He was slouched but oddly content, nibbling on a chocolate bar you'd slipped him earlier. His eyes followed your every move-like always.

"You're not bored?" you asked, cocking your head.

"I find observing you in your natural environment... fascinating"

You snorted. "I'm not a zoo animal, you weirdo"

"No," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "You're more like a butterfly. Loud, sparkly, and mysteriously drawn to expensive things"

You rolled your eyes with a smirk and leaned down to peck his cheek. He stiffened for half a second before returning to normal like nothing had happened.

"I'm done," you said. "Ready to go?"

Later, you sat side by side on a velvet bench just outside the store. L had all your bags stacked around him like a fortress, hunched over a cup of strawberry milk tea you’d bribed him with. His socked feet swung slightly above the floor.

You popped a mochi into your mouth and leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Did I drag you through too many stores today?” you asked softly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“You dragged me through seventeen stores, four kiosks, and one candle pop-up. I carried approximately 12.4 kilograms of merchandise. I’ve been mistaken for a lost boyfriend six times”

You bit back a laugh. “So... yes?”

He sipped his drink. “It was tolerable”

You sat up and gave him a skeptical look.

He stared straight ahead, still sipping. “Because it was with you”

Your heart jumped, just a little. “You’re getting better at being sweet”

“I’m learning through exposure”

You giggled and brushed his hair out of his eyes gently. He blinked at the touch but didn’t move away.

“You’re such a good boyfriend, Ryu”

“I am trying” he said, like it was a scientific hypothesis.

Then, after a pause, he added in a slightly lower voice: “Though next time, I will bring a rolling suitcase”

You burst out laughing. “Deal”

He leaned against you just slightly, eyes half-lidded as he watched people pass. He didn’t care about the stares. He didn’t care about the noise. All he cared about was the warmth of your arm pressed against his, the sugary scent of your new body spray clinging to the air, and the way you looked at him like he wasn’t a puzzle to solve—but someone already whole.

And for a man who lived in shadows, that was the most precious light he’d ever known.

#anime #x reader #x y/n #anime and manga #manga #death note #death note l #l death note #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #l lawliet x you #l lawliet x y/n #death note lawliet #dn lawliet #lawliet x reader

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tortillamastersblog · 13 days ago

Text

Where Light Bends Wrong - Part 4 | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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“She did what?” Enid laughs hysterically and slaps my arm excitedly while I just chuckle.

“Beat up Walker and his cronies,” I repeat myself. “You should have seen Weems. She was furious. Especially in the car.”

Enid cackles and I feel my own chest lightening at the way her emotions bleed into me.

After leaving the Weathervane, Weems drove Wednesday and me back to Nevermore. It was as uncomfortable as I imagined it would be, but luckily I was in the backseat and out of the way of Weems’ wrath, which was directed at a bored-looking Wednesday.

There was this weird moment when we drove by an accident on the side of the road where Wednesday somehow knew the driver’s neck was broken before we even passed the site, but it creeped me out so much I try not to think about it, much less tell Enid about it.

We are sitting on the balcony of her and Wednesday’s room, having had dinner earlier with the others but now choosing to be alone and enjoy the night air.

The half moon is shining bright above us and a gentle breeze is blowing, carrying the smell of the forest nearby up to us.

Wednesday is... wherever she is. I am not sure and I do not want to know, even though I can hear her heartbeat somewhere in the school. Probably setting fire to the library or admiring poisonous plants in Thornhill's greenhouse or whatever she does for fun.

“Oh, I can only imagine,” Enid’s laughter dies down and she tugs on her colorful sweater with a smile. “Good thing she’s leaving soon.”

“What?” The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it and Enid just raises an eyebrow before answering.

“Yeah, she plans on running away. Got Galpin to agree to drive her to the train station at the Harvest Festival tomorrow night.”

I frown. “Tyler is taking her to the train station?”

Enid just hums and looks out at the school and the dark forest beyond. “Yup.”

“Huh.” I don't know what else to say because I don't know how to feel about this. I mean, I don't care about Wednesday and what she does, but then again I am confused at the fact that my pendant heats up at the thought of Tyler driving her. I touch it absentmindedly through my shirt before turning back to Enid and asking what she is looking forward to the most at the fair.

She launches into an excited ramble about the Ferris wheel and the new cotton candy flavor she heard about, which— isn’t cotton candy just cotton candy? When my ears suddenly pick up on a tapping sound.

I glance over my shoulder and pause when my eyes land on a literal severed hand, skedaddling its way over to us on its fingertips.

“Uh... what the hell?” I ask calmly, making Enid stop mid-sentence and turn around to see what I am looking at.

Her face lights up at the sight and she waves at it. “Oh, that’s just Thing.”

“Thing?” I repeat, raising an intrigued eyebrow when the hand climbs up the stone wall in front of us and literally waves at me.

I smile unsurely and wave back before looking at Enid for some clarification.

“Yeah, he’s Wednesday’s. Or rather part of her family. I like to think of him as her sidekick,” she says, which makes Thing flip her off in what seems like a playful way, and I let out a surprised laugh.

“Nice to meet you,” I chuckle, which makes him shoot me a finger gun before sitting on the edge and twirling his fingers like someone would when sitting on a kitchen island.

How he can be related to Wednesday is a mystery to me because it seems like no one in the Addams family has a sense of humor, but then again, I've only met Wednesday so what do I know.

Enid gets back to talking about the Harvest Festival, and much to my amusement, Thing actually chimes in here and there with sign language and some gestures.

It's weird how he is basically just an extremity, but I can still feel him radiating emotions.

Speaking of radiating, I suddenly feel my necklace heat up again and I know Wednesday just entered the room behind us even though I never heard the door open.

I don't turn around or acknowledge the fact that I know she is there though. I just continue listening to Enid, trying to ignore Wednesday’s presence.

That is until I hear something slicing through the air. It's a metallic zing and I know I could turn in time to check what it is, but I don't think much of it until I feel something hit the back of my shoulder softly before it clatters to the stone floor.

I frown and turn around at the same time as Enid does, only for my eyes to widen when they land on the sleek knife lying on the ground.

I grasp my shirt and pull it over my shoulder to see a tiny hole in the fabric before letting it go again and looking up to see Wednesday standing by the window with a curious expression.

I go to say something, anything, but then Enid shrieks, jumping to her feet.

“What the hell, Wednesday?! Why are you trying to kill Y/N?!”

I bend down, still a little confused but completely unharmed, and pick up the knife, letting my finger glide over the back of it for a moment while Wednesday steps closer.

“I am not trying to kill Y/N,” she states calmly. “I am simply conducting some research.”

Enid gapes at her while I just continue to look at the sleek knife. It is thin and black, probably sharp enough to slice a sheet of paper in half midair.

“Research?” Enid screeches. “You know throwing a knife at someone can literally kill them?”

Wednesday sighs, almost like she is impatient. “And yet, it did not kill Y/N. Just like I thought it wouldn't. Hence, research.”

I purse my lips, feeling the pendant still warm against my skin. The reminder that I still need to go through that hidden book in the Nightshades’ library flashes through my mind. Maybe then I can finally figure out what the hell is happening.

For now though, I just shake my head slightly, close my hand around the handle of the knife, and stare at Wednesday like she is completely insane. Which, honestly, she probably is.

“That’s just psychotic,” Enid snaps, completely outraged, before turning to me and tugging on my shirt to examine the little hole. “Are you okay?!”

I shift away and clench my jaw. “I’m fine.”

Enid knows about some of my powers, yes, but the invulnerability was something she didn’t know about until just now, and the fact that she knows makes me feel uneasy and closed-off. This is exactly what Weems told me to try and prevent from happening—people finding out about my powers, because the more they know, the easier it will be for them to figure out what I am despite Weems’ efforts to erase any trace of my kind from the library.

“Are you sure?” Enid tries again, her eyes filled with worry, but I just get to my feet and tuck the knife into the waistline of my pants. If Wednesday dares to throw it at me, I might as well keep it.

Seeing that I’m not going to react any more to this, Enid turns back to Wednesday, who’s watching me with calculating eyes while Thing looks between all of us, equally as stunned as Enid, having jumped to his fingertips the moment the knife hit me.

“How did you know the knife wouldn’t harm Y/N?” she asks, calmer now that she knows I’m okay but still completely flabbergasted.

Wednesday shrugs. “I didn’t know. I just had a hunch because Xavier told me he saw Y/N get hit by that gargoyle while saving me and it didn’t leave a single scratch.”

I hadn’t told Enid about that, but based on her not reacting particularly much, I’m assuming she somehow found out about it through the gossip chain or Wednesday told her.

“So you thought you’d just test that theory, to what? Get proven right?” Enid asks, gesturing wildly.

I can feel how upset she is, just the way I felt how happy she was earlier, and just as her happiness did before, her emotion is now bleeding into me too and it’s slowly but surely overwhelming me because I’m battling with my own confusion and fear and outrage right now.

“Getting proven right is just an extra perk. I want to know what kind of outcast Y/N is because I’ve listened around quite a bit and no one actually seems to know, which got me thinking,” she states it so casually, which is kind of a juxtaposition to how my heart literally drops at her words.

I want to know what kind of outcast Y/N is...

That is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. What I’ve literally been taught to keep from happening.

Not only because it would endanger me if it ever came out, but also because being an outcast in the first place literally made me lose the only people I ever considered family before they dropped me off at Nevermore.

I feel my hands shake, from fear and grief and anger all at once, but still, I keep my mouth shut while Enid asks, “What does it matter to you?”

Wednesday doesn’t answer. Instead, she sets her eyes on me again, quietly daring me to say something myself, maybe defend myself or yell at her, but I don’t.

I shouldn’t add fuel to this fire that is her curiosity, and I also know I would likely explode if I opened my mouth now, all that pent-up grief and hurt spilling out. So I just turn to Enid and mumble, “It’s getting late. I’m gonna go to bed, yeah?”

Her eyes widen, obviously having expected me to say something—anything—about what just happened. “O-Okay.”

I send her a tight-lipped smile and say, “Goodnight,” waving at Thing who waves back before leaving, completely ignoring Wednesday and the fact that my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest.

Enid keeps glancing at me, but I ignore her. After going to bed last night, I had a nightmare about the day my adoptive parents dumped me at Nevermore and how Lara clung to me, begging me not to go even though it wasn’t my choice, before being dragged off. It left me tired because I couldn’t sleep properly for the rest of the night.

I had half a mind to sneak out and go to the Nightshade’s library to finally find out why my pendant is acting up and why my hearing has somehow attached itself to Wednesday’s heartbeat, but I couldn’t risk her spotting me in the courtyard from her and Enid’s room and potentially leading her straight to the answers she’s looking for, so I stayed in my room.

I honestly don’t know what to think of Wednesday anymore. All I know is that she’s a danger to me now and I have to try and stay away from her more than ever.

Enid nudges me and I look up to find the entire table’s eyes on me.

“Yeah?” I ask, having completely zoned out for a second.

“Do you want the rest of my French toast?” Yoko asks, smiling gently and pushing her syrup-sticky plate toward me with the last piece of French toast on it.

Even though no one knows anything about what I am or where I came from, it is basically common knowledge now around the school that I love French toast, which is served for breakfast every Sunday.

It’s actually the only reason why I came to breakfast in the first place today. I didn’t want to come initially because of Wednesday maybe cornering me again, but then my love of that sweet goodness won, which is why I’m here now, and the best part is, Wednesday isn’t.

I smile gently and nod, stabbing the rest of Yoko’s French toast with my fork and putting it onto my own plate, which makes Enid and the others smile knowingly before diving back into conversation about the Harvest Festival later while I start eating again.

I savor every bite, enjoying the fact that at least one thing in my life is still good. But then, as usual, all good things come to an end quicker than I’d like.

I hear something whizzing through the air again, not a knife like yesterday, but it’s rapidly coming toward me—or rather Enid—so because I don’t know what it is and I can’t risk her getting hurt, I actually react this time.

I look up and snap my hand out, catching what turns out to be an apple inches from Enid’s face, almost the same way I caught the fist of that guy who tried to punch Wednesday.

The table, including Enid, gasps and flinches in surprise before they all turn to see what, or rather who, I’m already glaring at.

Wednesday is standing halfway across the quad, amidst tables where other students are also having breakfast in the sun.

She’s not in her school uniform, just like the rest of us, wearing tailored black slacks and a black and white checkered knit sweater.

Enid gets halfway through a “What the—” when I get to my feet, letting my fork clatter against the table and abandoning the rest of my French toast.

“Y/N—?” Enid tries to grasp my arm, but I move away and make my way across the quad with determined steps, the apple clutched tightly in my hand.

By now, the other students are all unashamedly staring at what’s happening, their eyes darting between me and Wednesday with a mix of curiosity and fear on their faces.

They’ve never really seen me angry or display any kind of emotion, really, so this will really be a sight to see.

“Stop fucking testing me and sticking your nose into things that are none of your business,” I spit when I stop in front of Wednesday, my voice laced with anger but restrained.

“Or what?” she challenges, drawing herself up to her full height and jutting her chin out. It would be amusing under different circumstances because she looks like an arrogant garden gnome, but it’s not right now.

I scowl and shove the apple against her chest, not even pretending to acknowledge her challenge when I add, “And don’t you dare try to hurt Enid in any way, shape, or form again.”

Then, I turn and leave, heading straight for my room under the watchful eyes of everyone while they whisper about what just happened.

I’m starting to think it was a horrible idea to save Wednesday from that gargoyle, because if I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be this obsessed with me now. But then again, I know I could never just stand by and let anyone get hurt, so I guess I was destined to be screwed.

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Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag

#x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday netflix

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walkingnearfoxes · 2 months ago

Note

Hi walker!! Bit of a stretch, but I loooove how your fanfics have been turning out and was wondering if I could make a request? I've been having a little bit of a tough break right now (college stuff, family, you know, the works) and could use a good comfort fic from the Homie himself? Feel free to go crazy, it can be just fluff, or fluff turned NSFW, whatever first comes to mind. Thank you soooo much! Well wishes, H. Dok

Hi, there! Thanks for the adorable request. I’m so sorry you’re going through a rough time right now. Wishing you all the best and hope this brings a little comfort <3

“How much does this paper actually matter?”

Your responding sigh is exhausted - the kind of exhausted that has already answered this question twice. You turn in your desk chair to look at the pouting supe behind you. Homelander has been sitting on your bed for most of the day. Despite warning him you would be working on this assignment for the better part of the day, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He sits with his legs spread, his fingers impatiently drumming on the tops of his thighs. He looks every bit the child denied their favorite candy.

“I told you it would be an all-day thing,” You remind him as gently as you can manage - which, at this point, isn’t very.

The wrinkle between his brows crinkles further. “How does an essay take this long?”

Your grip on the back of your chair tightens a bit, and his eyes follow the movement curiously. You reply slowly, “It’s not just an essay, Homelander. It’s the final. It’s the biggest part of my grade.”

He scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Just turn it in already.” His knowledge of college, though he’d never admit it, is minimal. Anything he knows about postsecondary education comes from movies where courses last twenty minutes, and the rest of the day is in booze-covered basements.

“I can’t,” You tell him as you turn back to face your laptop. “If you’re bored, I’m sure a few sororities would lose their minds at a Homelander spotting.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, and you hear the squeak of your mattress. His gloved fingers descend on your shoulders a moment later, squeezing them lightly. “Why have them when I could have you?” He purrs, and his voice is dangerously close to your ear. He sucks gently behind it and smirks against your skin at the unconscious gasp you let out. “C’mon, babe. You deserve a break.”

He is a master at temptation, enough that you nearly fall for it. It would be so easy to let him use his many talents to climax away your problems. But your eyes remain locked on the paper, and you find the willpower to shake your head. “I can’t.”

There is a long pause, and you don’t need to turn around to read his expression. People do not say no to Homelander. Hearing it from his partner is an insult that has him frowning and immediately removing his hands from you. He lets out a growl of frustration. “For fuck’s sake…you’re doing all of this for what? A diploma no one’s gonna look at?”

That gets you to turn and look at him. He looks so ridiculously out of place, the bright colors of his costume too harsh against your apartment’s landscape. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask him. You stand up from your chair, and the motion worsens his irritated glare.

“It means you’re stressing yourself out over bullshit that doesn’t matter!” He snaps. “You don’t need this degree. You have-”

“You?” You snap immediately. “And what exactly does that make me, Homelander? I am not just your partner. I’ve worked hard for this and won’t throw it away because you can’t stand to be alone with your thoughts for a day!”

In a flash of expression so quick anyone else would miss it, he looks like a kicked puppy. His blue eyes are wide, his lip jutting out in clear insult at anyone else talking back to him in such a way. You’re sure he would rip anyone else in two for daring to say such words, but you have always been the exception for him - even now. He expertly masks the hurt to a cold annoyance and huffs. “Fine. You wanna be alone so bad? I’ll leave.”

You don’t have time to say anything before he storms out of the room. He’s too quick for you to be sure if he leaves through the door or the balcony, but the apartment feels eerily absent without him. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. You slowly sit back in your chair and stare numbly at your laptop. He’ll be back. You know that. But now, on top of everything else, you’ll be dealing with a very grumpy supe at one point or another.

~-~

It takes you a few more hours before you finally submit the assignment. Your eyes are strained, your back hurts, and you have never so desperately wanted to be clean. You manage to get yourself up and into the shower. You think back to your little Homelander spat as you wash. It’s not the first time you have disagreed as a couple, but it’s certainly the closest you have come to losing your temper with him. You’re so stressed. There’s classes, there’s family, and there’s him. Can he blame you for losing it?

Yes, you think to yourself as you exit the shower. He can. Homelander always gets what he wants, which doesn’t involve his partner sassing him. You shake your head as you exit the bathroom and pull a cozy bathrobe over your body. Whenever you saw him again, there would be hell to pay.

You didn’t expect him to be here already.

Homelander stands in the center of your bedroom with his hands folded behind him. You give a little jump and squeak in surprise. His lip curls up in fond amusement so briefly you nearly miss it, and then he steels his face. He nods curtly over to your desk. You follow the motion and find a pile of things next to your laptop. You take a step closer for a better inspection. Among the treasure trove are your favorite snacks, bath bombs and shower steamers every color of the rainbow, and candles in your most beloved scents. You spy a new video game you had mentioned being excited about, a book you eyed in a bookstore months ago, and jewelry that perfectly reflects your eyes. You stare at the valuables for a long moment and then slowly turn to look at Homelander. He quietly clears his throat and bounces on the pads of his feet.

“I put ice cream in the freezer,” He murmurs with a near-boyish shyness. “Didn’t want it to…melt. On your desk. Get all sticky.”

“What is this?” You ask quietly. He loves lavishing you with gifts, but you had practically kicked him out a few hours ago.

He stops lightly bouncing and gestures to your personalized fortune. “You’re pushing yourself too far. Your body smells like adrenaline and defeat.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean…” Homelander growls, pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes shut. He takes a breath and then looks back at you. His frustration fades immediately, and his hands twitch at his sides - like he’s using his whole reserve of self-restraint to keep from reaching out to you. “You need this, so I got it.”

Homelander will never form the words “I’m sorry.” Not seriously, anyway. He may never be able to come out and say that he’s worried - that he needs you to be okay. But he is, and he does. You move over to the pile and pick up one of the snacks. You tilt your head. “Wasn’t this discontinued ages ago?”

You see him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Had to call in a favor or two,” He explains, and you could swear you see his chest puff.

You laugh and place it back down. You walk over to him, and for a split moment, he looks nervous. Then, you gently wrap your arms around his waist, and he deflates. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief and nuzzles his head into the side of your neck.

“I’ve got good news for you,” You murmur to him, smiling at his quiet hum of acknowledgment against your skin. “That’s the last assignment for the term.”

“Thank God,” He mutters between soft kisses to the side of your neck. “Sure you’re not gonna quit?”

“Very sure, yes.”

“Worth a shot,” He brushes his lips up your jawline and gives a nip beneath your ear. His hands shift from embracing you to running purposefully along your sides, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. “You know, there’s plenty of other ways I can help you to relax…”

You snort and tighten your arms around him. “If you want to do all the work, sure.”“Oh, I’d be honored to do so,” He purrs, reaching around to give your ass a good squeeze. “Anything for my poor, overworked lover.”

#fic requests #the boys #homelander #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #we are all just stressed beans that need a personal homie #or maybe not that's too many homies

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z0mbbiegvrl · 10 days ago

Note

stan’s gang (singular but idk if you do that already) x fem reader for prom headcanons? 💐

✮⋆˙ MAIN FOUR WITH FEM!S/O PROM HEADCANNONS

↳ an: just in time for prom season!! hope you enjoy this! i'm only going to prom just for the pics and so i can wear a hairspray roach dress. also butters is the best wingman in this. Was gonna post this tomorrow morning but nope!! Yall deserve a post today!!

↳ cw: slight suggestive material

↳ mlist

: ̗̀➛ ★ STAN MARSH

Okay Stan, Stan is the most lowkey about the promposal thing but dont worry, he’s not going to ask you out over text or the phone (he considered it)

So, he invites you over to his house on a night when his parents are out, his sister is off with her friends. He made sure there would be no distractions. Decorates his bedroom with [YOUR FAVORITE COLOR] balloons, party streamers, and flowers. He also gets you [YOUR FAVORITE SNACKS/CANDY/DRINKS] and puts them in a basket with a teddy bear in it.

He cleaned his room before this, and when you said you’d be leaving your house soon, he quickly got himself looking nice and waited for your arrival.

Once you got to his house and up to his room, he was very nervous as you looked around his room with a smile. You then reached the basket, reading the small heart the teddy bear was holding. You turned to face him and gave him your answer, hugging him, which took a huge weight off his shoulders.

After that, he then remembered why he picked a night he’d be home alone, and you two didn’t do much talking for the rest of the night.

On prom night, he’s all dressed and ready. Just waiting for his mom and Shelly to get done dressing you up. While he waits, Randy for sure gives him some bad advice on not being stupid and becoming parents that night.

When you finally come downstairs, Stan fights every urge in his body to not puke on the spot. Just seeing you dressed so differently compared to what he’s used to, he’s starstruck.

Sharon forces you two to take photos, basic poses. Stan behind you, hands on your waist and smiling at the camera. Another one with you kissing Stan on the cheek, Stan’s face in the photo is bright red.

At the prom, he lets you go see your friends first, taking this time to go see his friends.

Despite what you might think, Stan actually will dance with you on the dance floor outside of a slow dance. Just take a little begging and he’ll cave. Smiling as he spins you around.

Slow dancing with different for him, yeah, there are some nights at your place or his where you two just randomly slow dance. But now it’s a moment of ‘wow’ for him. You like him. Like Really. The whole dance, he’ll hold you close and hide his face in your hair to ground himself. Once the dance is over, he’ll excuse himself to go to the bathroom, because did we expect him to keep it down for that long? He’s not Superman.

After prom is over, he’ll go back to his house, and the two of you will just get unready together and spend the night eating leftovers, putting up a fort in his bedroom to watch movies until you two fall asleep, holding each other.

: ̗̀➛ ★ KYLE BROFLOVSKI

Kyle has everything planned out for your promposal, he wants it to be perfect for you since he not so subtly has been eavesdropping on your conversations with your friends regarding prom.

Shelia invites you out to dinner with his family somewhere very fancy. You’re not a stranger to being invited to family dinners. After Sheila realizes just how much you love her son, she starts to invite you for dinner even if Kyle is out at practice or with his friends.

The dinner went by very smoothly. The first time you were taken to dinner without Kyle was weird, but now you were used to it. Chatting with Sheila about some school drama she was invested in, listening to Gerald talk about the weird case he has at work, and Ike’s hockey game.

Kyle finally joins the dinner, talking about how practice ran late, a small kiss on the head for you, and then the dinner carries on.

When everyone’s done eating, a waiter comes by with a small white plate, placing it in front of you. You’re a second away from saying you didn’t order this before you notice Sheila is filming and you glance down to see red icing around [DESSERT OF CHOICE], asking you out to prom.

Kyle is a nervous wreck when he sees you looking a the plate, before he sees the smile and then gets the answer he was hoping for.

On the night of the prom, you and Wendy get ready at Bebe’s house. Clyde’s parents got a limo for him and Bebe, so Bebe invited her two best friends and their dates for the night.

Everyone goes to some fancy restaurant in the city that Clyde’s father picked out. The whole time, Kyle was infatuated with just how amazing you looked. Took some cute selfies and silly ones for you to post later.

At the prom, Kyle is a little nervous to full-on dance with you to faster-paced songs; he will be okay with watching you and your friends dance while he guards your drink and bag.

When a slow dance comes on, Kyle will ask for your hand and dance with you. Will whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Kyle is so respectful of where he puts his hands and so technical, you would think he could be a ballroom dancer.

None of you cared about the king or queen voting, mostly because Kyle pulled you out of the building before it happened to have a moment with you away from the chaos inside the building.

He takes this moment to thank you for being with him, he gets super sentimental, but rushes through what he was saying; after being together for a while, you never fail to make him nervous.

As cliché as it is, the snow falls around the two of you when Kyle pulls you in for one final dance and a kiss to finish the night.

: ̗̀➛ ★ KENNY MCCORMICK

Of course, you and Kenny are going to the prom. A night where he gets to see you all dressed up and you’re his to show off. Kenny. Is. There.

Kenny’s Promposal for you is one of those funny medieval ones you see online, like Butters is at your front door reading a note in his little Paddlin costume with a accent while Kenny, Stan, Eric, and Kyle are walking onto your front lawn. Kenny is on a chair dressed in his princess outfit, holding flowers that are stolen, and the other three are trying not to drop him before they place the chair in front of you so Kenny can finally ask if you will join him at prom. After you say yes, as planned, everyone cheers, Kenny kisses your cheek, and then they carry him away.

For the night of the prom, Kenny, with the help of his sister Karen, sets up your dining table all fancy while you’re out with one of your parents getting ready for prom. They made it look all fancy, mood lights, fancy-shaped napkins, and a home-cooked meal of spaghetti.

When you get back home, Kenny’s there waiting for you, dressed in a suit, all nicely put together with an excited smile when he finally gets to see how you’re dressed. He pulls out all the stops, pulling your chair out, pushing it in, serving you your meal, hell, he’s even wiping your face for you.

Will ask to do the Lady and the Tramp a noodle, and of course, you do it. (Karen takes a photo)

At the prom, Kenny ABUSES the photoshoot area. He will force you to pose with him for everything. Even in the small photobooth, he’s dragging you in there for pictures he can carry around in his wallet. Takes one as he kisses you very roughly, then another with your lipstick if you wear it smeared on his face.

You two danced the whole night, you don’t even think you two have sat down once since the moment you got there.

You two didn’t win prom queen or king, losing to Bebe and Clyde, but it was okay. Kenny didn’t care much for that, plus, he already sees you as his queen, so you don’t even need the crown.

After the night is over, Kenny decides to take you to Starks Pond. Parking in the middle of the park, ignoring the no-parking sign. He helps you out of his truck, leading you to the back of the truck, which has blankets everywhere. There you two lay and stargaze, coming off from the buzz of being excited and dancing around.

Whatever happens that night, happens ;)

: ̗̀➛ ★ ERIC CARTMAN

Prom is definitely in the cards for you and Eric.

Eric plans this big promposal for you, is it out of spite because he wants to outdo what Kyle did for his S/O…maybe.

He plans this elaborate prom proposal during halftime at the next basketball game. He assigns Butters to get you to where he needs you to stand, and Kenny to play the music/lighting and all that.

Once you get there, Eric begins this whole song segment (yes, I’m going this route) while holding a sign that says something super cheesy that he thought was cool enough to have.

And of course, you’re surprised because he kept this under wraps better than he keeps most things he’s not supposed to tell you. So you say yes, and Eric will overplay his emotions because it’s Eric, but once you two are alone, he’s super happy you said yes.

OKAY, now for the actual prom day. His mom picks you up from your house, and Eric is in the backseat. He says this is his version of a limo ride. Liane didn’t want to get a limo, so they had to unwillingly compromise.

You guys go to Casa Bonita for your prom dinner (this is where the Limo money went); Liane takes an embarrassing amount of photos of you two in front of the building and then throughout the dinner.

Eric, every once in a while, will whine about wanting to go do things instead of taking photos, but Liane shoves it off. She’s just excited to see her poopsiekins all grown up. You two remind her of her prom night, so she wants to document this moment.

You two almost end up late to the prom because Eric didn’t want to leave the as he calls it, “The Disney Land of Mexican Food”. As Liane is about to drive away, she gives Eric a condom just in case. Eric wanted to die on the spot.

Once at the prom, you go join your friends wherever they are in the building the school rented for the night. Just showing off outfits and whatnot. Eric is doing the same, but mostly just bragging about how he has the hottest girl and showing you off.

Of course, you two share a slow dance. He’s not terrible at it, sure, he stepped on your toe a couple of times, but that’s the charm of a prom dance.

The night comes to an end, and you win Prom Queen, WOO, everyone is happy for you until the reveal of prom king happens, and it’s not Eric.

He gets super disappointed, even more so when the prom king and queen pictures have to be taken.

Dude is standing behind the camera, sulking like a child, practically stomping his feet.

Of course, you feel bad for him, so as a joke, you two head to Burger King and get him a kid’s crown.

You took a photo of both of you while Liane drove you guys home, it’s you still wearing your crown, kissing his cheek, his face bright red.

Eric keeps that photo in his wallet.

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crusty-chronicles · 2 years ago

Note

is there any chance you could add killua for the airheaded but strong s/o headcanons? If not, then no worries, I just love how you write them!

Yeah, I don't mind but it's gonna be platonic because I'm a little iffy about writing for him romantically. He's just a boy 🥺🥺🥺 This is mostly a crack fic.

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Killua (HxH)

Honestly tried to kill you at one point

Oh you're strong huh?

Then proceeds to hit you with everything he's got, only to see that it hardly affected you. (Kinda like the way he first treated Zushi)

After that he's petty, but impressed.

Congratulations 🎉🎉🎉 You've earned his respect 🥳🥳🥳

You're basically Gon 2.0

And he hates it

Cannot take you two anywhere

"We should break the lock to get in." Gon suggested.

"Are you stupid?" You scoffed.

"What's the point of having a door if you're just gonna break it?"

And Killua is momentarily at peace that at least one of you has some sense. Until you open your mouth again.

"Obviously we should smash open a window."

And Gon is nodding along enthusiastically

"You're right! What would we do without you 🤩"

And Killua is just 😮‍💨.

He is the parent of the group and I will die on this hill

If Gon's the sun, you're a nuke

He's constantly dragging you away from Hisoka

Nope. Not today

Why do you insist on talking to strangers.

No scratch that.

Why do you insist on talking to creepy strangers????

It gives him a massive headache everytime you almost get abducted.

Honestly thought about putting a tracker on you to avoid this happening.

But then he remembers you're practically indestructible so he drops it.

Is afraid Illumi will come for you and hurt you.

He was never allowed to have friends, and after Illumi threatened you and Gon at the Hunter Exam, he's very protective.

But then he remembers something you said after Greed Island.

"The three of us are all gonna become the best of the best. We're gonna get all wrinkly and old together and still kick butt!!! We're gonna stick together no matter what!"

And it temporarily quells the fear of his brother.

It makes him look forward to that outcome and gives him something to fight a little harder for.

When it comes to fighting, he does get a little envious of how you and Gon just rush in without thinking.

And how you always manage to win despite the circumstance.

But he never feels left behind because of it.

Like with Gon, he won't baby you, just call you an idiot and move on.

You fell?

Get up loser.

You can't read?

Find somebody else to translate. Or he'll make you do it and be laughing nonstop while you struggle to pronounce the word "Apple"

"Gon what color's an orange?"

"An orange is the same color as it's name. Just like a lemon."

Please somebody take you two back to first grade.

Killua is begging.

Even though he won't baby you, he'll rush as fast as he can if you're in actual danger.

You got caught by the phantom troupe?

"Are you completely brain dead!?!!? Where are you!?!?"

Now he regrets not putting a tracker on you.

"This nice clown man gave me candy and told me to follow him." You tell him over CALL.

"HISOOKAAAAA!!!!"

He is screaming and panicking.

You trespassed into the mountains his family lives to see him.

"WHY???? DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT MIKE!?!?"

And when he gets there he sees you rubbing the monstrous canine's tummy. Petting him and calling him a "Good Boy."

Names he has called you out of spite: Idiot, Moron, Dummy, Psycho, Airhead, Ditz, and probably Pea Brain

On the bright side, you are Alluka's favorite person.

"Give me your ribs."

"Oh, are you hungry? Let's see if we can't find you a smokehouse for those ribs."

And it baffles both souls so much that Nanika accepts that as fulfilling her command.

Plus you have endless amounts of energy that works to drain both girls out. Even when they've both already swapped twice.

Killua designates you her official babysitter when he's busy.

You are a complete lunatic and moron, but you're one of the people he trusts the most.

Even if he does complain about you a lot.

MASTERLIST

#killua x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #hxh killua #killua zoldyck #hunter x hunter #airhead s/o #stronk s/o #crack fic #x reader #x y/n #platonic

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sorrowfulmuse · 2 years ago

Note

Can I request a OPLA sanji x fem!reader fluffy story please? If you don’t like writing for Sanji, I’d also be fine with OPLA Luffy or OPLA Buggy.

Please and thank you. :)

♡ :: "opla!sanji x fem!reader." short imagine!

mentions/warnings:: nothing, just two pirates being in love although others had misunderstandings about your relationship but.. watch out for typos and whatnot, i am writing this at 4am TT also this will be a simple imagine as i’m rusty and didn’t know what prompt i should’ve used. 😭

p.s im sorry it took me so long!!! i got caught with a few things and almost finished it last night

✧ soft secret kisses being shared, longing touches and love affirmations being whispered into each others ears. sanji was floating on cloud9 every time he was near y/n, no other person could amount to her. not even a Goddess could compare to her beauty and light. she was everything to him, his universe.

sanji relished in her presence every time he was near her, his heart drumming to every kiss she left on his lips and ‘i love yous’. she was his own personal paradise. she hung the stars for him and he worshiped her for it.

although, in love and happy.. they never stated in their relationship to others, were they both single? were they long time friends? ex lovers perhaps? sanji being a flirt again? people had only guessed and assumed they both spoken for by other people. today, was very different that from that spotlight cause well,

"my love, you have to keep your eyes closed!" sanji laughed as he tried his best to guide to this ‘gift’ he kept talking about for weeks. "oh cmon handsome! can’t i just take a little peak?" y/n.. trying to use her charms against him was to no avail, sanji wasn’t going to give up and continued to lead her to his gift. "i wanna see your reaction so no peaks!"

y/n's palms were sweating, when questioned? she could only blame it on the summers heat. she was nervous, nervous about what sanji could possibly gift her. were they running away from the culinary life? the overbearing thoughts had consumed her in the worst ways possible until,

"okay, we’re here." he whispered in her ear, sending a shiver down her back. she almost didn’t want the blindfold off soon as the bright lights were hard to adjust to. "why.." now she was left speechless, a little hidden spot on a island, sanji had decorated the nature around them with beautiful colorful lanterns, bouquets filled with many sweets of her favorite candies and flowers. petals laid on the ground, kissed by more roses after roses.

"sanji.. what is this?" it was unusual for him to be this quiet.

turning to find him down on knee with a small box in his one palm while the other still held hers. "my y/n, we’ve hip to hip since the moment we were both stuck on that rock with zeff. we stuck with each other as we discovered the same passion for food, owing our own restaurant together and many more.. but i want something more than that. no, i need more. i want you and i.. to be happy and healthy forever."

tears flooded against y/n's eyes, "i know it’s just a ring but it’ll symbolize something in the future, anything you want! i just.. i.." now sanji was close to tears himself. "y/n.. will you be my wife?" without a word, the girl before him tackled him to the ground crying her heart out. "of course i will sanji!" they both laid there, crying and kissing each other. "oh! i thought you’ll never ask!" y/n giggled, (she knew) throughout the night they celebrated their engagement, celebrating to spending eternity together.

#vinsmoke sanji #opla sanji #opla x reader #opla x y/n #opla scenarios #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji icons #sanji imagine #sanji fanfic #sanji fluff #sanji angst #opla!sanji x reader #one piece #one piece live action

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turbulentscrawl · 11 months ago

Text

Modern Reader Shorts

This is just a couple little blurb ideas I had that can't really be used for anything else. No warnings, really, it's mostly humor.

Luchino

“Your socks are mis-matched,” the professor announces offhandedly, sorting his notes. You’re laid out on the cushy chair in his ‘office,’ shoes off and legs dangling from one arm. And it’s true, your socks are different colors.

“Yeah, I couldn’t be bothered to find an actual pair this morning,” you answer. Luchino pauses and looks pointedly over at you, through his lashes, and squints a bit. That’s his thinking face, you note. Like he’s working through an equation.

“You’re not concerned about being judged for the state of your attire?” he asks.

“Not really. It’s not like anyone really sees my socks anyway.”

“Well, I’m seeing them now. It’s a messy look,” he finally says. There’s the smallest of smirks on his face as he says it. This is some unspoken test, a probe of your reactions. He does a lot of those.

“Okay, but you already know I’m a mess so what the fuck difference does that make?”

Luchino snorts a laugh at your response, and then coos a casual “touché.”

Frederick

“Has anyone ever told you ‘you have a slutty little waist’?” You call out to Fred. His fingers slip on the piano keys and the song comes to a cacophonous halt. He’s frozen still with his back to you—his dorito-looking back with its broad shoulders and snatched waist. You know by experience the man is boney as hell, so how dare he have such a silhouette?

“N-“ Fred coughs, voice croaking. “No, I can’t say that they have.” You can’t see his face, so you wonder if it’s shock or humor that makes him stutter.

“Well, you do,” you reply. A long silence settles over the room. He never dares to look at you, but you think you see pink turning at the tip of his ear.

“Was there anything else?” he asks. His fingers hesitantly move to restart the song.

“Nope. I just thought you should know.” You suppress a giggle as Fred clears his throat and begins playing again.

Robbie (platonic, obviously)

“There’s…games on this?” the too-tall headless boy asked, holding your phone in his discolored hands. He’d been asking around for a playmate all evening, until he found you. You weren’t much of a hide-and-seek type of person, however, and thought this might entertain him a bit in the meantime.

“Sure is! I’ve got crosswords, sudoku, Candy Crush, plenty of stuff!” You reach and tap around on your phone’s screen, pulling up the list of games you’d downloaded to pass the time, when you still lived in a place where there was time to pass. Candy Crush springs to life on the screen and Robbie flinches, nearly dropping your phone.

“It’s so bright…and loud,” he muttered. It was half awe, and half distress, you thought. Too stimulating for the boy, perhaps. You tried sudoku instead—it was a dark screen with no music, but by the time you’d explained the rules to Robbie, he was limp and snoozing against your shoulder.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #luchino diruse x reader #frederick kreiburg x reader #idv professor #idv composer #multiple idv characters #turbulentscrawl

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 11 months ago

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cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️

[plain text: cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️ cloud emoji]

[id: pastel fem looking person in pastel manual wheelchair looking down to slug in lap. there also slug on head n slug slide down skirt (don’t ask how). (all color pastel). person hair pink bangs, purple side hair, & blue low loose pigtails go below hips. purple eyes & medium-light ish skin. wearing bright turquoise ish color shirt collar with pink ruffles, & white shirt body with blue ruffles decorate, n green long sleeve cardigan over it also with ruffles. rainbow midi above knee skirt with white ruffles overflow from side of wheelchair. wear mismatch stockings, person’s left side rainbow stripes, n person right side turquoise blue with clouds on it. person not wearing shoes.

their wheelchair has yellow headrest, teal stroller push handle, green contoured backrest with supportive panels on two side lateral, teal to blue transition arm rest, orange big wheels with rainbow windmill candy swirl as cover & red push rim. frame is turquoise blue gradient to pink, has dump/slant, with yellow slug on one side’s turning point. purple fat caster wheels. attach to backrest is big white angel wings, & above arm rest has glowing yellow halo. their AAC device floating by them, has turquoise blue case with white cloud patterns. is saying “slug” icon. border of art lined with rainbow gradient lace. end id]

☁️.

(otherwise known as hate names terrible at decision)

VERY pastel n rainbow overload >:)

they level 3 autistic (“requiring very substantial support”) with high support needs—meaning they cannot independently do most adaptive functioning skills, needing other people physical help to do/do for them. they also need 24/7 supervision & physical help for all iADLs & bADLs.

they nonverbal & use AAC full time. their AAC is symbol based speech generating device.

their (most likely [<haven’t decided] partner who act as their) disability caretaker is hyacinthos shinya🪻🌌.

they also full time non-ambulatory wheelchair user with very specific posture & seating positioning needs so not out of it for long or really much at all.

angel wing on back of wheelchair is power assist! is magically powered by hyacinthos (who angel) & can be powered even remotely / far away. way control wheelchair & power assist part by intuitive / hand motions & gestures / etc, part by halo hover above armrest that act as joystick. can use it like traditional joystick or wear as bracelet n control that way! (gimme it i want one) (if you recognize this setting it may be because previous version)

they do mix of self propel, power assist, & caregiver push. their wheelchair have stroller style push handle instead traditional push handle for easier caregiver push, especially one handed.

is set in magical world & they do some magic (< haven’t decided]!

character not slug obsessed, artist the slug obsessed one

character sheet below cut!!

artfight character profile (VERY wip)

please do feel free draw them (with credit) n tag me!!!!!!

reblog welcome but please don’t repost

will fight you if debate about autism levels & support needs

hi under cut

[character sheet. functionally described below]

top left is full character clothing (with wheelchair translucent in background) because in original there some key parts blocked by wheelchair especially arm rest.

skirt around waist have purple band with blue small ruffles. center have rainbow bow with rainbow star on top.

n also have front n back of AAC device. what drawn here is 5x7 grid with various colored squares showing different parts of speech but grid size more so because like. is how much could fit comfortably. so even when redraw n isn’t exact 5x7 with colors exactly right where is right now, is okay. colors & where they are based on own AAC device >:) because of course

design of aac device case basically same as above. back side just have bigger clouds. oh also device has handles. tho it float around so handles get used less. float around so don’t have worry about how to carry it how to mount on wheelchair etc etc etc it follows you it automatic come to your hand when you wanna say something (kinda also acting as prompting bc sometimes think about say something but don’t actually say in device) it get out way when you don’t want it. if only like this irl lol

bottom left is info about character already said

bottom right is wheelchair design

parts covered up by person: rainbow gradient side guard, blue contoured cushion.

n also drawing of back of backrest: when not in use, wings power assist shrink to small decoration on back. not big there all time.

also have stickers! sticker of nessie, banana slug, sheep, cloud, star, rainbow, & an AAC symbol of “AAC”

wheelchair may also have magical tilt & recline & elevate. how? don’t know!!! why not just make full powerchair? uhhhh like manual chair look better

n picture of irl windmill candy

border of art also rainbow gradient lace.

yea that all please draw them 🥲

praise me put lots work into them

pls be nice to them

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abarbaricyalp · 19 days ago

Text

Hop To It

Happy Easter to those who celebrate, and happy regular Sunday to those who don't. And happy discounted-chocolate-tomorrow day to all 🐰🐣

"Bucky, are you gonna get an Easter basket?" AJ asked as he set aside the egg he'd been attempting to paint for half an hour already. Everyone else at the table had moved on to a second and third and fourth egg already, but AJ was not very interested in this part.

"A basket?" Bucky asked without looking away from the fine gold lines he was zigging and zagging around his egg. "I don't think I'm allowed to do the egg hunt," he said. "I'm gonna be hiding them, remember?"

Cass snickered across the table. His eggs were all beautiful water colors, a style they'd discovered by accident when Sam and Sarah had ended up flicking water at each other after a dispute over who messed up the tiny paint brush. The water had reacted with Cass's base layer on the egg, making it look like tie-dye and he'd been playing with that technique ever since.

"He doesn't mean for the egg hunt," he explained. "Mama makes us Easter baskets each year. It used to be 'cause the Easter Bunny would leave them when he hid the eggs, but we're both too old to believe that now."

"Yeah, the Easter Bunny isn't like Santa or the Tooth Fairy," AJ agreed.

Bucky set aside his egg and glanced over at Sarah, whose eyes were bright as she listened to the boys go back and forth. Sam looked amused too, but he was too fixed on putting the fine tissue paper across the top of his egg. He was being incredibly particular about the confetti amounts that went into each egg, so he was on confetti and sealant duty.

"I don't think any rabbit is interested in giving me a basket. A basket of what?" Bucky asked, when it was clear he wasn't getting any backup.

"Treats!" AJ said. "Lots of candy and some toys."

"And that illustrated bible story book every year," Cass added pointedly, glancing at his mom.

"Uncle Sam gets one, so you should to," AJ continued diplomatically.

"Sam gets an Easter Basket? Even though he's a grown up?" Bucky asked.

"Hey!" Sam objected.

"No, Sam sits next to me while I'm putting together baskets for children and steals the candy from them to make his own," Sarah corrected with a smirk.

"I make one for you!" Sam continued to object. The tissue paper was forgotten and World War Wilson was beginning to brew.

"Literally taking candy from babies, Samuel?" Bucky asked in shock. "How could you?"

"Not just babies," Sarah continued, delightedly. She tucked away the egg she was coloring to avoid Sam swatting at it. "I help make the baskets for the church's egg hunt. He's literally taking from the kids of the church," she laughed, folding over on herself as Sam tried to get a hand over her mouth.

"Samuel Thomas," Bucky gasped.

The boys oohed the way they did when either of them was in trouble too.

"We always have enough left over to run the whole event again!" Sam defended, trying to grapple with his sister. She threw her elbow back against his ribs and he groaned out an objection as he stumbled away. Bucky had seen him literally fight through stab wounds, but everything that happened to him in this house was treated like a fatal blow.

"It's the principle of it!" Bucky continued, keeping his face straight. He tried to focus back on his egg, though he was definitely not focused even a little bit.

"So what kind of stuff do you get?" he asked the boys.

"Last year, we got those fidget poppers!" AJ said. "The bunny and egg ones? And Cass got one of the animal Lego sets and I got a book about pirates!"

"And those little keychains. The soft toys that Uncle Sam uses as a stress ball," Cass added.

"And chocolate!" AJ finished with a flourish, flinging paint to the next wall over. "You've got to have a lot of chocolate."

"I'm discovering this about this holiday," Bucky conceded. "Egg laying rabbits eat chocolate rabbit effigies and chocolate eggs."

"And there are marshmallow chicks," Sarah reminded him with a grin.

Bucky pretended to gag, which launched Sam into a heated defense of original Peeps. (Only the originals, everything flavored or shaped differently was free for criticism, but those yellow and pink chicks were not.)

Bucky threw him a grin as the rant subsided and was pleased to see Sam beam back at him.

. . .

The idea of an "Easter Basket" stayed on Bucky's mind for a while. It wasn't something he'd ever heard of before. Not that he remembered anyway. But the concept didn't seem that difficult. Once it had been pointed out to him, he started to notice the pre-made ones in stores and understood an extra joke or two on the internet.

Knowing Sam liked them was another part of the intrigue. That's why Bucky ended up buying a nice faux-rattan basket, which wanted to look like faux-wood, from the spirits store that sold the expensive wine Sam liked. The fact that it was free after the price of the wine was a good motivator. He still didn’t fully understand the concept of filling it, but the basket was large and the wine seemed silly and small by itself, so he added some of the sausage and jerky from the meat market down the way and a couple of the crew-neck shirts that Sam liked but never bought for himself. He added in a record that he had been saving for Sam’s birthday to even out the height of the wine bottle on the other side, then dumped approximately twenty pounds of candy into the bottom of the basket.

That looked right, he figured. It was all things Sam liked. Did it honor the theme of spring harvests or Jesus rising or whatever these were supposed to represent? Not really. Did it seem like the kind of thing an egg laying rabbit would leave behind? Probably not. But he thought Sam would like it anyway.

Sunday morning, after Sarah had corralled the boys into their Easter best and headed out for church, Sam and Bucky went to the house to hide eggs, including quite a few that got tucked into the lower branches of the trees in the front yard. Sam had threatened to use the wings to hide the eggs earlier in the week, so the boys should think to look up.

By the time they were done, Sam teased that he had enough time to make it to service on time and Bucky, like a child, crushed a cascarón on his head so he couldn’t. Or, at least, wouldn’t.

There had very specifically been one carton of cascarones left for them to ruin on their own. After about five minutes, there was no carton and they were both covered in tiny, bright confetti pieces. Sam had made sure to rub confetti and eggshell into Bucky’s hair, even when Bucky threatened to make him get them all out in the shower later. And, since he didn’t mind shoring up his ego a little bit, he accepted that Sam very intentionally made the next round of confetti even messier and harder to get out.

The rule had been: No cascarones in the house. So, Sam and Bucky waited out the return of the other half of the Wilson family on the back of the truck, passing a bottle of coca-cola back and forth.

“Easter Sunday was always one of my favorite days of the year,” Sam said, tilting his face up as a breeze swirled around them. “It was always something I felt in and outside of myself.”

Bucky hummed and studied Sam’s profile, watching the early morning sun streak across his cheeks and paint long shadows beneath his eyelashes. He hadn’t had any strong opinions about Easter Sunday, but now he was suddenly getting the appeal.

“The air just seemed fresher and the birds were always out and it never rained and it wasn’t hot yet. It was one of my daddy’s favorite sermons of the year. He’d wander around the house, humming, ‘He is risen. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.’ It was our favorite. Hard to have a bad day after singing that at sunrise.”

Bucky leaned against Sam’s shoulder and let himself take in a little bit of that happy nostalgia. He didn’t really have any of it himself. Easter was just another day of the year and he’d hated the way his parents preened over them as kids to look exactly a certain way. It was a terrible way to wake up at five in the morning.

But, like this, he figured he could listen to Sam read the whole bible and still want more at the end.

He leaned over to kiss just below Sam’s eye, then hopped off the bed of the truck. “I got you something,” he said. “And no laughing if I did it wrong.”

“You think you can do a gift wrong?” Sam asked in amusement. He leaned back on his hands, a perfect picture of a joyful, warm sprawl.

“I know I can. You know I can.”

A lazy, amused smile curled Sam’s mouth and Bucky wanted to kiss him so badly it was almost an ache. He tore his eyes away and grabbed the basket out of the cab of the truck. Sam never checked the back unless they were with the boys, so it was an excellent hiding spot.Bucky had go-bags for all of them stashed under the seats and beneath the bench and Sam was none the wiser about it.

“Now you don’t have to take from church kids,” he proclaimed, dropping the Easter basket in Sam’s lap with a flourish.

Sam peeked open one eye, then grinned broadly when he realized what it was. “You made me a basket?” he laughed.

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said, suddenly a little shy with the idea. “Dig through it. I didn’t put any plastic on it ‘cause I hate the sound.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Sam teased, fully aware that they actually both hated it. It sounded like fire, or the rapid crack of a lightweight, heavy powered gun. Bucky had always thought he was overreacting, until he saw Sam flinch at the same sound during someone’s party.

Sam, as always, was methodical in taking apart the basket. He carefully lined everything up next to him on the tailgate and examined each piece like there might be a mystery to things he already liked. Bucky took an extra mini-candy every time he took longer than ten seconds to look at something.

“Buck, this is really sweet,” he sighed airly. He tugged Bucky between his legs by the shirt collar and Bucky obligingly dipped down for a kiss. (Finally) “I feel bad I didn’t get you one.”

“I still don’t get the appeal,” Bucky admitted. But he reached over the complicated bow that had been taped to the front of the basket and stuck it on Sam’s shoulder. “There,” he said. “Now you got me something.”

Sam beamed at him and kissed him again. The Easter morning sun rose on plastic eggs, and a quiet patch of world, and them tangled together.

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfic #writing

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witchingwithscissors · 1 month ago

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Agathario AU | One wanted more. One said no. Nothing was ever soft again. 🐰

The pink marshmallow Peep sat glaring from Rio’s grocery cart like it had a goddamn agenda. Garish. Sticky. Bright like a wound. She hadn’t put it there—she wasn’t that soft anymore. No, this was deliberate. A sugar-coated punchline from the same woman who used her body like poetry, laughed at her feelings with a painted smile, and vanished like none of it had ever meant a thing.

Agatha. Of course it was Agatha.

Only she would find a way to crawl back in—not with a call, not even a half-hearted apology, but with a five-cent insult from the seasonal aisle. A candy-colored ghost of a joke, disguised as nostalgia. Rio stared at it, jaw locked, heart kicking against her ribs. Something too bitter to be called heartbreak took root in her throat.

Because Agatha always knew how to leave a mark. She knew how to make you feel wanted—just long enough to leave you emptier than before. She knew how to whisper pretty things into the dark, then roll over and forget you by morning.

Now, here it was. The final trick. A marshmallow reminder of the woman who kissed her like she meant it, undressed her like worship, then disappeared like Rio had been a dream. And still—still—she had the gall to drop a Peep in her cart like it was an inside joke between lovers.

It wasn’t a joke. It was a humiliation wrapped in pastel sugar.

And just like that—

She was back in Agatha’s apartment.

Not the hollow version. The other one. The early days. The one with jazz on the record player and fresh cut flowers on the kitchen table, and the trace of something Rio had mistaken for softness. The memory hit like heat.

It was a late-summer night at the fair. The kind of outing Agatha insisted wasn’t a date, even though she'd picked the place, the time, and what Rio should wear.

“Come on,” she’d said, leaning against the doorframe in her fitted coat and cherry gloss. “You look like you’ve never let anyone ruin your lipstick on a ferris wheel.”

They went after midnight. Half the booths were closing down, but the lights were still glittering pink and gold across the pavement. Agatha wore a satin tank under her cardigan, her perfume sweet and floral and unforgettable. Her fingers brushed Rio’s lightly as they walked. Not possessive. Not quite casual. But charged.

They drank cherry slushies and ate funnel cake, laughing too hard, too freely. Agatha made sarcastic commentary on the stuffed animals at the prize booths, pretending to be their sassy talent agent until Rio choked laughing.

When they got to the claw machine, Agatha tucked her purse under her arm, adjusted her rings, and said, “Watch and learn, baby.”

She pulled out a garish pink bunny on the second try.

“For you,” she said with a coy smile, placing it into Rio’s arms like it was sacred. “Something to hug when I forget to call.”

Rio took it like it was a promise.

A week later, Rio stayed over for the first time.

Agatha had texted late.

Agatha: cum over, bring your mouth and something to drink

And Rio, too eager, too soft, threw on jeans over her sleep shorts and tucked the bunny into her bag.

They half-watched a movie on the couch, sipping wine, pressed against each other. Agatha’s bare legs brushed hers under the blanket. Her hair smelled like eucalyptus from the shower, and her eyes—half-lidded, mascara smudged—held Rio in place like gravity.

They kissed slowly, with a kind of decadent patience that made Rio’s skin burn.

Eventually, Agatha stood and walked toward her bedroom. No words. Just an unspoken expectation.

Rio followed.

Agatha was already under the covers, brushing her hair out of her face like she wasn’t inviting anything in particular.

“You’re staying, right?” she asked, without looking.

“Yeah,” Rio whispered. “If that’s okay.”

Agatha reached out, delicately tugging the hem of Rio’s shirt. “Wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t.”

That night, Rio curled against her, heart pounding. Agatha didn’t hold her. But she didn’t move away either. Her bare back was warm, her breathing steady.

For one night, that was enough.

In the morning, Rio woke to the sound of jazz playing low and the faint scent of espresso.

Agatha was in the kitchen, barefoot in her satin pajama pants and one of Rio’s old shirts, hair swept into a messy bun that looked more Paris than accidental.

She handed Rio a steaming mug and a folded napkin with a slightly burnt Pop-Tart.

“Ginger tea. And shut up, it’s the last one.”

Rio blinked. “This is weirdly domestic of you.”

Agatha smirked, biting into her own half. “Don’t get used to it. I’m terrible at consistency.”

They sat under a shared blanket on the couch, just listening to the rain. Agatha didn’t kiss her. Didn’t touch her. Just existed beside her. Let her lean in.

Rio rested her head on her shoulder.

And for that one quiet morning, it felt like maybe it wasn’t all pretend.

But the pretending didn’t last.

The first time they had sex, it was raining hard.

Agatha had her hair twisted up, lipstick smudged, voice low and syrupy. They made out until Rio couldn’t breathe, until Agatha’s hand found its way inside her sweats and didn’t ask twice.

“Okay?” she whispered against her throat.

Rio could barely nod.

It was good. Too good. The kind of sex that left your heart racing for the wrong reasons. The kind that felt like falling into someone and losing your name.

Afterward, Rio curled into the pillows, expecting arms. Words. Something.

Instead, Agatha stood, stretched, walked to the kitchen, and lit a joint.

No words. No kiss. No softness.

It became a pattern.

She was always tipsy. Or high. Or just elsewhere.

Rio convinced herself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

One Thursday night, they were kissing on the couch again, heat building. Agatha was beneath her, sighing softly, fingers tracing over her waistband.

Rio felt the words rising before she could stop them.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” she breathed.

Agatha stilled.

Then she smiled—faint, amused, devastating. “No.”

Just like that.

She kept kissing her like the question had never happened. Like it was cute.

Rio pulled back, heart racing for the wrong reasons. “Wait. Seriously?”

Agatha sighed and sat up. “We’re in the middle of fucking and you want to talk about labels?”

“I want to know if I matter to you.”

“You matter right now,” she said, reaching for the wine. “Why complicate it?”

Rio blinked. “So this is just fun for you.”

Agatha exhaled slowly. “Isn’t it fun for you?”

“It was,” Rio said quietly. “Until I started pretending you cared.”

Agatha looked at her then, face unreadable. “You’re not the first girl to want more from me. You won’t be the last.”

Rio got dressed in silence.

Agatha didn’t stop her.

Three days later, Rio sent the text.

“Did you mean it?”

Eventually, Agatha responded:

“It wasn’t supposed to be serious. Don’t make it bigger than it is.”

Rio didn’t reply. She packed a paper bag.

Inside: the pink bunny.

She left it on Agatha’s doorstep just after midnight. No note.

In the morning, it was gone.

No message. No knock. Nothing.

Until now.

It had been months. Real ones. Rio didn’t talk about Agatha anymore. Not to friends. Not to herself. Not out loud.

She hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t even tried.

Until she did.

It happened at the grocery store. Of all places.

Rio had turned the corner by the produce aisle and there she was—standing by the citrus. A silk blouse tucked into tailored jeans, sunglasses perched delicately in her hair even though they were indoors. Still stunning. Still polished. Still untouchable.

Agatha.

She was holding a grapefruit, turning it slowly in one hand like it was fragile. Like it deserved gentleness.

Rio froze.

And then Agatha looked up. Right at her.

Their eyes met for maybe two seconds. Not long enough to mean anything. Not short enough to mean nothing.

No smile. No wave. Just recognition. The kind that says, I see you. I remember you. I’m choosing not to speak.

Then she turned and walked away, effortless as ever. Not even a pause.

Rio kept moving, heart hammering like it was trying to claw out of her chest. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That it didn’t matter. That she’d made it this long without her.

She didn’t notice the pink marshmallow Peeps until checkout.

Right there, nestled in with her groceries like they belonged.

She hadn’t picked them. She hated them.

Too pink. Too fake. Too much like a wound that wouldn’t close.

And she knew—knew—Agatha had put them there.

Quietly. Casually. Like it was nothing. Like it was funny. Like it was theirs.

A five-cent smirk wrapped in cellophane.

At home, she unpacked in silence.

When she reached the Peeps, she didn’t throw them out.

She opened the freezer, shoved them behind the frozen peas, and slammed the door.

Because some things didn’t get to melt.

#based on a true story #this one felt therapeutic #some memories deserve to be frozen #agatha harkness #agathario fic #agatha all along #agathario au #rio vidal #agatha x rio

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see-arcane · 4 months ago

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As I am a fellow enthusiast of pink things and an overanalyzing sap who got too deep in a Steven Universe box set marathon, I am feeling things about this giant rosy space goddess again. Specifically, I am hung up on just how good the character design is for both phases of Pink’s/Rose’s existence.

(Ramble below)

For reference, let’s look at them as-is in the show.

Pink Diamond and Rose Quartz may come from the same color palette, but the composition of their looks is so beautifully, perfectly, utterly opposite.

We look at Pink. Despite towering over the average gem, she’s still laughably tiny compared to her fellow Diamonds. She could stand in the palm of their hand. Fitting, as she has the proportions and appearance of a doll. She is lithe and dainty, and though she is a pretty pink pixie of a figure, she’s also dressed in the most ridiculous and childish costume out of all the Diamonds. It’s a hodgepodge of clashing saturated rose tones, silly harlequin flourishes and the general outline of something a little girl would put together in play. And to the Diamonds, however much they care for her, however many millennia passed, she is a child and always will be to them. One who they treat alternately as a cheerful pet or a toy to be shut back in her box if she makes a mess. There is nothing in her design that suggests a character to be taken seriously. At a glance, she’s only a bubbly bauble there to sing and dance if you wind a key in her back.

(On that note, shout out to the casting decision of having Susan Egan voice her/Rose Quartz. What a retroactive audio whiplash to hear that rich grown woman’s voice come out of a character who looks like she should have a chirpy adolescent soprano piping out of her.)

Now turn to Rose Quartz, the visual Pink ultimately chooses to live in for the rest of her life. Certainly no Diamond-sized stature here, but she does have a physique that looms over and out-bulks the majority of gems in the cast. She is gorgeous but imposing. But more importantly, she looks far more mature and so much simpler. The puffy cotton candy cloud of hair is swapped for intense and weighty curls. The elfin face has been rounded and made fuller. The big bright eyes are now perpetually half-lidded and dark. The elaborate and outlandish form-hugging costume is switched out for an airy uncomplicated gown. Even the funny little ballet slippers and their pom-poms have been banished in favor of bare feet.

Give or take the longer process of inner growth and development, we see Pink Diamond put real effort behind using her new appearance to wholly shed the person she has been so long: A person ignored, belittled, imprisoned and infantilized for thousands and thousands of years. An eternal little girl-pet-toy, unable to protect what she loves from those who claim to love her, never an equal to her family or anything but a figure to mindlessly nod and smile for among Homeworld’s gems, Yes, my Diamond. Rose Quartz in her final shape is Pink putting her (new) foot down and turning her back on that history.

Rose Quartz is a woman, the Matron to Pink’s overstayed Maiden. A leader. A threat. Serene and stately. An enigma even to her closest friends and bitterest enemies rather than the prancing and bombastic Diamond she once was.

The character design is part of the storytelling for all the gems in the series, but this? This contrast is a story in itself.

(Psst, if you want some art of your own, I've got a Ko-Fi over yonder.)

#we interrupt your regularly scheduled gothic horrors to bring you: Pink Time 🩷#really am having fun with the box set #forgot how in love I was with all the character designs #and I wanted to get some cute pretty pinkness out of the way before I put up [REDACTED] tomorrow >:} regularly scheduled Horrors en route #anyway #steven universe #character design #pink diamond #rose quartz #my art

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tortillamastersblog · 11 days ago

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Where Light Bends Wrong - Part 5 | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence, blood, and death

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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The Harvest Festival is overwhelming to say the least. The smell of cotton candy and greasy food hangs in the air like a suffocating cloud, alongside the deafening screams of kids and adults alike. Combine that with the excitement buzzing in the air, which is making my heart race, and the bright, colorful, flashing lights that make my eyes hurt, it’s making me feel lightheaded.

But it’s doing a pretty good job at drowning out Wednesday’s heartbeat in my ears and making me forget about my earlier breakdown.

After storming to my room, feeling angry and absolutely vulnerable at the prospect of Wednesday finding out what I am, anxiety washed over me because I kept thinking about what would happen if she knew—if anyone knew.

I’d be in so much danger. I’d have to leave Nevermore and run and hide for the rest of my life. And all that just as I’m starting to feel at home here.

Enid screeching next to me on the mini roller coaster makes my ears ring, but I keep smiling, pretending I’m okay again even though I’m not.

“That was awesome!” she exclaims when we get off a moment later, and I just nod and let her drag me over to where Ajax and Yoko are already waiting for us to get some cotton candy.

I catch a glimpse of Wednesday and Tyler over at the Balloon Darts booth, which reminds me that she’s planning on running away tonight. Honestly, after what happened this morning and last night, I can’t say I mind anymore. Even though my pendant pulses with warmth when her eyes briefly find mine in the crowd.

Her hair is in her usual braids, but she’s once again out of her school uniform, wearing a big black sweater jacket that comes down to the middle of her thigh and seems to swallow her whole. It works for her though, especially with the fitted black and white striped cardigan she wears underneath, and her black, high-rise slacks.

Wait, what. It works for her?

I clench my jaw and frown at my own thoughts before quickly looking away and turning back to the others, feeling her dark eyes on me for a long while after I’ve turned away until the feeling finally subsides.

A few minutes later, I can’t help but look back again even though I know she’s not there anymore. The unfamiliar twist in the pit of my stomach that follows makes me stuff a handful of candied almonds into my mouth.

Wednesday is trouble, and she’s leaving. That’s that.

Enid, Ajax, Yoko, and I find a spot near the Ferris wheel just in time to watch the firework show, while I continue to stuff my face with almonds.

I’m overstimulated and uneasy, but I can’t exactly leave now because I’m taking the shuttle bus back to the school with the others later, and where would I go now without making them worry about me again? So I try to enjoy the show.

But then, through all the noise and emotional buzz around me, I hear it again—that now familiar heartbeat. But it’s not as calm and composed as it usually is. No, now it’s frantic, and it makes my stomach flip in a bad way.

My pendant also gets hot almost instantly, and before I know it, I’m out of my seat and pushing my way through the crowd toward it, despite the others' confused protests.

I bump into people left and right but don’t slow down until I break through and get to the edge of the fair. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Wednesday is not here despite how loud and near her heartbeat sounded, which confuses me.

I really don’t know what I’m doing or why because I was just thinking it’s for the better that Wednesday is leaving and I literally cursed her out in front of the school this morning and told her to stay away from me, but my legs start moving again.

I run—yes, literally run—toward her heartbeat, now also feeling my chest constrict with fear that doesn’t seem to be my own.

I stumble into the forest, weaving through the trees seamlessly even though it’s dark. The only light illuminating my path every now and then are the fireworks exploding over the trees. And then I break through the underbrush into a clearing, and that’s when I see it.

Rowan, with his arm outstretched, using his telekinesis to pin Wednesday against the trunk of an old oak tree several feet above the ground.

He looks angry and very unlike the timid teenager I knew him to be, while Wednesday looks absolutely bewildered, although somehow still composed in the way only she can be.

For a second I freeze, only half registering that they’re arguing about something, but then her head snaps back and the tendons in her neck tighten as she gasps for breath. That’s when I dart forward at inhuman speed.

I snatch Rowan’s wrists with a bruising grip, feeling his surprise emanate from him before it turns to anger again and he scowls.

“Let her down,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“You don’t understand,” he seethes, “If I don’t do this—”

He yelps in pain when I tighten my grip and twist his arm. “Let. Her. Down.”

I feel a familiar heat rising in my neck and up my face, and then I see a glimpse of my eyes flickering gold in the reflection of Rowan’s glasses.

His eyes widen, and I hear him set Wednesday down behind me. I let him go and he stumbles backward, pointing at me and stammering, “You’re—you’re—”

But he doesn’t get any further because out of nowhere there’s a roar, and then he’s lifted into the air with a piercing scream before being slammed down again.

The thump of his body hitting the forest floor makes my stomach churn, but then I take in the grotesque, over six-foot-tall bug-eyed monster that attacked him and my blood runs cold.

I back up blindly, stumbling slightly and feeling my knees weaken when Rowan screams as the monster starts slashing into him with its claws, until I feel a hand on my back.

It makes the pendant around my neck burst into gold light that is visible through my shirt, but I couldn't care less about that now with the horror unfolding right in front of my eyes.

Rowan’s screams turn into nauseating gurgling as he starts to choke on his own blood, until his body goes still and I feel the life drain out of him.

The monster snorts and snaps its head around, its oversized eyes landing on me and Wednesday for a second, almost calculating whether to attack or not, until it decides against it and vanishes into the darkness again.

The fireworks have stopped by now, leaving everything eerily quiet and dark, but my eyes have adjusted enough to see in the dark, to see Rowan’s body, limp and lifeless on the ground when he was just standing and alive mere moments ago.

The sight makes my hands tremble and I actually flinch when I feel Wednesday step out from behind me, brushing against my arm softly.

It snaps me out of my frozen state though, and I follow her wordlessly toward Rowan.

She crouches down, seemingly unfazed by the sight, but then I see the faintest twitch in her shoulders, as though she’s uncomfortable.

Her heartbeat is no longer as frantic as it was before, but it’s still faster than normal, yet it’s not what I focus on.

I can’t. Not after what just happened.

I heard the rumors about the monster, and while it creeped me out, I never in a million years thought I’d ever cross paths with it.

And I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t followed Wednesday. But I wouldn’t have done a lot of things if it weren’t for her, so I shouldn’t be surprised at this point even though she’s been here for less than a week.

“We need to get help,” I finally manage to say around the lump in my throat.

For a moment, I don’t think Wednesday will say anything, but then she nods and gets up slowly.

“Are you... okay?” I ask quietly when she turns around, and I almost want to slap myself because of course she’s not. But then, in what I’m assuming is typical Wednesday Addams fashion, she just nods again, which makes me frown.

Not because she’s saying she’s okay—because I honestly should have seen that one coming—but because she’s so obviously not okay.

She seems unnerved for lack of a better word, but it’s not because of the literal murder we just witnessed.

No, there’s something else going on. I can feel it under her protective layer over her emotions, and I’m guessing it has something to do with why Rowan was attacking her in the first place.

I’m not one to pry though, because I evidently don’t like it when others do it with me, so I don’t ask about it.

We should also really be getting help, so I turn, ready to get away from here as quickly as possible as soon as I’m sure Wednesday is following me. But then she speaks up, which makes me stop and turn back to face her again.

“How did you know?” she asks, standing still with her arms hanging limply by her side, the tips of her fingers swallowed by the sleeves of her sweater jacket. Her eyes are on me, intense and unwavering, but for the first time, I see a flicker of vulnerability in them. It’s so brief, I think I might have imagined it, but I know I didn’t.

“Know what?” I ask, my voice shaking with the adrenaline still coursing through me.

“Where I was,” she clarifies steadily, although there is that flicker of curiosity in her eyes again that I saw last night after she threw her knife at me, and it makes my walls snap up immediately.

She’s still dangerous.

I have no idea why I followed her in the first place. It’s just like with the gargoyle and Lucas Walker’s goon all over again.

“I... saw you vanish with Rowan,” I say, hoping that that’s what happened, or close enough for her to not suspect the fact that I heard and followed her heartbeat.

She looks at me with her once-again unreadable expression, and for a moment I think she sees right through me. But then she just dips her chin in acknowledgment.

I spin around before she can ask anything else, adamant on getting some help now.

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Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97

#x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday netflix

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 19 days ago

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What Are You Doing?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: Asking Ben to help you hide Easter eggs turns out to be a bad idea. Takes place after my Take A Chance On Me Series!

Tropes: Established Relationship

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Cursing, Teasing, Fluff, LOVE, Sexual Innuendo, References to later sex, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC. Guys it's mostly fluffy.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: I really just wanted to write something really quick for the two of them. This is literally just cutesy and I had a random vision of a drabble and needed to write it down 🤣

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You shade your eyes with your right hand as you peer upwards at where Ben hangs from a tree limb fifteen feet off the ground. His jaw is set in determination, focused at the task at hand while a bright pink Easter basket loaded full of eggs hangs from the crook of his elbow.

“Hey babe?” You call hesitantly.

Ben grunts in response, not looking away from the task at hand.

“Um, whatcha doing?”

“I’m doing what you asked Petals, I’m helping you hide eggs.” Ben shouts back, as he places a brightly colored plastic egg in a nook of the tree, hanging by one arm.

I swear I turn my back for one second.

“Well, yes I can see that.” You say clearing your throat. “But you realize this is for toddlers right?"

The wind picks up, sifting through your hair and rustling the bottom of your pastel lavender colored Easter dress that you'd picked up when Annie and you went thrift shopping last weekend.

You’d brought Ben home for Easter with you, hoping that a few days out of the city would be relaxing. You'd envisioned sitting out on your grandmother's back porch at sunset with Ben, watching the sun drop low on the horizon, turning the sky a radiant orange before it dipped behind the trees or walking through the small town hand and hand to get a scoop of ice cream or even just Ben sitting and reading the paper while you tended to the garden.

But all of that had been ruined the moment you went to the grocery store to pick up a few things for your grandmother. Annie's mother had cornered you in the frozen food section between the potatoes and the fish sticks and roped you into helping with the annual Easter egg hunt that your hometown hosted in the town square every year.

So instead of watching the sunset, last night you'd spent several hours in your grandmother's kitchen stuffing plastic Easter eggs with candy. And this morning when you'd woke up at the crack of dawn, you'd asked Ben if he would come with you help hide them.

He hadn't been enthusiastic about it, as you expected, and spent the entire ride to the square griping and groaning about all the other things that he could be doing.

"Of course I do." He says while reaching into his basket for another egg, the motion making the candy within rattle against the plastic sides like an angry swarm of bees.

"Last time I checked there weren't any 15 feet tall toddlers walking around the neighborhood." You arch an eyebrow, still peering up at him from underneath your hand. "Unless there's a Honey I Blew Up the Kid situation I don't know about."

The morning sun was almost blinding, sending the imprint of the overarching branches and rustling leaves scuttling over your skin.

"They might as well learn now that life isn't easy." Ben drops from the tree and lands in a perfect crouch in front of where you're standing, somehow managing not to drop a single egg from the basket on his arm.

"Uh-huh. Well, I think that the kids might want the candy more than the life lesson Gramps."

Ben shrugs. "They gotta learn sometime. The new generation has gotten soft-"

"They're toddlers Ben, of course they're soft." You laugh, looking out and noticing a few of the other eggs Ben has hidden.

How did he get to the top of the gazebo?

You squint your eyes to look beyond the gazebo in the center of the town square to the small pond beyond, noticing a few colorful circles bobbing in the water that look suspiciously like Easter eggs.

Maybe we should have had a talk about appropriate hiding places.

Ben only rolls his eyes, as he nears you. "I was only doing what you fucking asked." He grouses with narrowed eyes. "I don't know why you're so pissed at me."

"Ben I'm not mad. It was so sweet of you to come help." You say, taking a step forward and gently smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of his shirt, watching as the tension in his shoulders relaxes beneath your touch. "You did such a good job baby." You murmur pressing kisses along his jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble you love so much against your lips. "But how about I take over for a little bit? Hmm? And you can go back to the house, relax for a little bit, have a glass of whiskey-" You purr, nuzzling your nose into the shadow of Ben's jaw.

"Fine." Ben sighs while he runs his large hands down your body to settle on your hips. His grip tightens on your waist, as he leans his face down, lips brushing against the curve of your ear. "But when you get home I expect you to do a few things for me."

"Like painting Easter Eggs?" You smirk, threading your fingers into his hair at the back of his head. "Because that's one of my favorite things to do-"

Ben smirks. "If we're going to do that, then I might as well take off your dress. Wouldn't want something to happen to it. Plus, I can think of something else you like to do."

"Hmm. I don't know I really wanted to paint those eggs-"

"I can think of something else you can paint."

"You're incorrigible." You sigh with a laugh.

"Call me whatever you want Petals," He purrs into your ear, slipping his hands down your backside. "As long as I get you all to myself later I don't care."

"Fine. I promise that I'll come home right after all of this is done." You say before dragging his face down to yours for a long kiss that pulls the breath from your lungs and makes your toes curl in your sandals.

When Ben drives away in your grandmother's pick-up you sigh, turning back to the town square.

At least they weren't hardboiled eggs. Can't imagine the smell if the kids didn't find them all.

A/N: See silly little thing, but it was nice to write for them again. 💗 Happy Easter Everyone 🐣🌸

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