#obviously she still marries him

[brumiramybeloathed]

They Both Leave AU Snippet 7

"Veronica, are you sure you want to do this?" Anna asked as she tied off and cut the final string.

Mirabel held her dress up and examined it with a critical eye. It was without a lot of embellishment and embroidery and looked very plain compared to some dresses she has made, but it was a brilliant white and looked exactly how Mirabel wanted it to.

"Yes, Anna, I am sure. Bruno is a wonderful man."

"Mija, he is so much older than you, I am worried."

"I know, Anna. But he is respectful of me, has helped me financially without asking for anything in return, and I would gain my own family. He is a good man."

"Aye, he is a good man, but is he the right man for you? Or is he just the only man you know?"

Mirabel pauses ever so slightly at this. It is something she's wondered. How different would things be if both Bruno and herself had grown up with a proper community?

"I've asked myself that question too, Anna."

Anna pulls Mirabel close and kisses her forehead. "Aye, Veronica, you are brilliant and would shine brightly if you stretched your wings just a little bit further."

She pulls away slightly to look Mirabel in the eyes. "If he is who you chose, I will not stop you and I will be here for you in any way you need me. Veronica, mija, I only ask that you consider if Bruno is who you really want or if he's the only one in your life right now providing what you need."

"I will, Anna," Mirabel smiles gently, touched by the older woman's concern and love for her.

"Now, I believe we need to make the future groom's suit?"

The rest of the afternoon is filled with planning and jokes and wedding planning, but the question Anna asked haunts Mirabel's mind, joining the chorus of questions that comes out at night, when there is nothing else to distract her. Did Mirabel make the right decision in leaving the Encanto? Did Mirabel make the right decision in deciding to stop in Santa Laura? What if she hadn't left? What if Bruno hadn't left? Where would Mirabel be if she had made different choices?

She has no Miracle, no Abuela, no hermana major, no Mama, no Papa, no anyone to tell her if she messed up. Just her own thoughts going round and round and round, wondering at the possibilities and morality of her own choices. And now she had one more question to add to the mix.

Is the reason she loves Bruno because he is the only one to actually take care of her in the way she needed?

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Ballroom dancing isn’t actually particularly queer coded in fact it plays more into tradition and has very clearly defined gendered roles associated with it - male leader - female - follower.

And that’s what’s interesting about it being the activity Eddie was signed up for by Helena, especially in relation to Eddie’s incoming queer arc. Eddie was forced to grow up too fast and to step into the role of ‘man of the house’ by Helena because Ramon was by all accounts an absent father - hero complex provides us with plenty of canon information about Eddie being pushed into a husband/father role at a very young age and being told to man up and not to cry etc - machismo in action.

Helena sending him to ballroom dancing classes is likely because it was a way of reinforcing those traditional gendered stereotypes held by wider society and particularly in Latinx culture that the Diaz’s are entrenched in.

It becomes an especially interesting choice if it’s something Helena did because as well as it reinforcing gender stereotypes, she could see that her son was queer and wanted a way of trying to push him towards girls/women - encouraging him into straightness by surrounding him with girls as generally classes are female dominated and away from activities that would have him surrounded by boys/men.

It’s not about ballroom dancing being queer it’s about trying to prevent him from being queer through the structure of ballroom dancing.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I don’t understand it when people say that Carrie was also the problem bc she was anxiously attached bc like …. maybe she had a moment or two but for the most part it was absolutely Big being such a selfish prick and then justifying it w “ohhh I have commitment issues bc my last marriage fell through” umm ur a 45 year old BABY actually

[nami-moittli]

I think you like Leah

…A little

[rogloptimist]

is this what you wanted?

kopering ficlet: demi is getting married!! just not to lotte. and she’s very happy and excited about it 😀. (also on ao3 because i’m shameless. and maybe you like the font better)

Lotte’s still in the bathroom when Mischa finally finds her jacket, so she grabs her helmet and waits on the bed. Even though it’s been new-- the two of them rooming together-- she’s enjoying it. Lotte’s funny and unshakably composed on the bike; it’s hard not to see why Demi liked her so much. The two of them fit. For Mischa, clicking so quickly with one of the strongest riders in the team had been wonderful, but it left her feeling a little detached upon Demi’s absence. She’s glad to be putting more proper roots down. 

Her phone begins to buzz from where it’s still charging on the nightstand. To her surprise, the screen reads Demi :).

Another reason why she’s been so relieved for the team’s preseason buildup is that she hasn’t gotten that particular notification in months. She’s not sure why, or how, but their communication has dwindled to commenting on and liking one another’s Instagram posts. She understood there would be adjustment, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit hurt by the radio silence. 

Mischa lifts the phone to her ear. “Demi?” 

How are you? How is the new team? 

Why haven’t you called? 

There’s a moment of buzzing silence in the receiver, but she doesn’t fill it with her questions. Demi likes to explain on her own. But instead of their usual script, Demi’s voice rings through the mic laced with uncertainty. 

“He proposed to me.” 

Mischa’s mouth makes a little o before she remembers to respond. “Oh, wow! Congratulations!” 

She’s always liked Jan-- he seemed quite sweet, and Demi made sure to never say anything outright. But there were moments where she wondered. He was yet another meticulously fit puzzle piece in Demi’s life; visiting her at races, never forgetting an anniversary, bringing flowers, though sometimes he seemed like just that-- another box ticked off on her grand checklist of ambitions. There was never anything wrong with Jan, but he’d always felt more like an easily forgotten inevitability than her friend’s soulmate. A way to start sentences. My boyfriend, Jan and I, with Jan, my boyfriend said… 

Then, of course, there was the Tour two years back. But Mischa had come along at the wrong time to hear about it from either Demi or Lotte.

“Thank you.” Demi says quietly, using that tone of voice when she’s upset about something in a race, but doesn’t want to bring it up right then and there. 

“Have you guys talked about when you’re holding the ceremony?” Mischa asks. It’s their little dance; talking circles around whatever topic until Demi says what she actually wants to say. It’s because we’re both people-pleasers, Demi had told her with a laugh on the team bus last summer, swiping at her eyes. Sitting with their hands clasped like schoolgirls, Mischa tasted the thrill of being trusted. It’s part of what makes Demi so magnetic, she thinks; the ability to make anyone feel like a confidant.

“I-- next fall, probably. It depends on how my race calendar is while we’re planning.” 

“Right, yeah. Of course.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” Demi sighs. “I’m not sure if it’s what I had in mind for the next few years.” 

“You know you don’t have to unless you’re ready, right?”

“No, no. We've been together for eight years. It makes sense.” She says stolidly, as if that is justification. “I love Jan.” 

“I know, Demi.” 

“It’s just a lot to think about.” 

At that moment, Lotte exits the bathroom, smoothing down her ponytail. “Sorry that took so long,” she says in English. “Are you ready to head out?” 

“Mhm-- one second.” 

“Oh, is Lotte with you?” Demi asks. There’s a slight awkwardness that descends over the line. She didn’t think that Lotte’s voice would carry through the mic. 

“Yeah, we’re supposed to head out for a training ride in a minute.”  Mischa rolls her bottom lip over her teeth, sheepish.

“You’re with the team!” Demi says, suddenly apologetic. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.” 

“No, no, don’t worry. Just… just text me, okay?”

“I will. I’m sorry I haven’t called.” 

“It’s okay.” She finds that she means it. She‘d bend herself backwards for Demi— maybe too easily. But most people would. “We miss you, you know.” 

“I miss you guys too,” Demi echoes after a pause. It might just be the speaker, but her voice feels a little tight. “Bye, Mischa.” The phone beeps in her ear as they hang up abruptly. Mischa glances back down at the screen, then gathers her things. She and Lotte head out the door. 

“Who were you calling?” Lotte asks over the music in the elevator. 

“It was Demi,” Mischa puts on her helmet. She decides to test the waters a bit-- there’s a bit of twisted curiosity you can’t help as an observer of a semi-open secret. “She and Jan got engaged.” 

“Oh.” Lotte’s expression shifts, but reveals nothing. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if she was expecting it.” 

Lotte raises her eyebrows slightly, pressing her lips together. “Nice surprise, then, hm?” 

The doors slide open then, leading them out to the main floor. 

“For sure.” They both smile at each other, Mischa’s slightly rueful and Lotte’s inscrutable.

Lotte steps out of the elevator first, leaving her to trail towards the team alone. Blanka jumps up from one of the faded leather chairs in the lobby to wave them towards everyone gathered by the doors. Mischa’s phone buzzes in her pocket as she waves back. Demi. Thank you Mischa 💗

A photo pops up in the next notification. It’s Demi’s hand-- on her finger, a delicate, golden ring. 

[softquietsteadylove]

Red and Green

Gil is glowering. He's been glowering almost since they arrived. He's happy to help, of course. Jack is in the winter play, and since Sersi is also teaching at his school, they've all come to help out with last minute decorating and such. He's baked five sheet pans worth of goodies for the bake sale taking place before and after the play.

Thena is on stage, helping Jack and a few other kids with putting fake snow everywhere. She's not exactly taking part but she's good at keeping them from throwing it on each other or anywhere unnecessary.

That's not the problem. The teacher talking to her is the problem.

Gil doesn't know who he is. Ben says he thinks he's the gym teacher or something. Seems a little young--aren't gym teachers always old dudes who don't actually play sports? This guy is their age, visibly handsome, even from a distance.

"You're a natural with them," the tall, blonde stranger insists.

Thena shakes her head, "I couldn't disagree more. I am here for Jack and no one else. The little hellions can fend for themselves."

She says, and then still decisively stops two boys close to the stairs from seeing what the fake snow tastes like.

"Well, I think you're a natural." Who does this guy think he is? He was moving some larger stuff around with Ikaris all afternoon. Apparently until Thena caught his eye and lured him away.

Gil rolls his eyes as Mister Blondie pulls off the fleece he's been wearing. His t-shirt gets pulled up a little with it, just enough for the stage lighting to really emphasize the full, washboard eight pack of abs he's got.

Phastos clears his throat loudly in Ben's ear. "Ahe-hem, Mister Stoss."

"Habibi, please," Ben attempts to lean away from his husband. "It is not a sin to have eyes, my love."

Gil sneers to himself. Thena has eyes. And while she wasn't openly admiring like Ben had - no matter how briefly - he knows she's seen them. He just...knows it.

"Gil?" Ikaris walks over to him, tugging at his own t-shirt now that boxes are moved or sets are arranged, or whatever they've been doing. "Wanna give us a hand?"

"Who is that guy?" Gil points blatantly at the man still chatting Thena up while she's trying to keep an eye on Jack and his friends.

Ikaris looks and shrugs. "Teacher."

Gil shakes his head at him. If Ikaris weren't both Thena's brother and Sersi's husband, sometimes he really wonders how they would have become friends. "Thanks, helpful--I meant how did he and Thena get to talking. She doesn't usually talk...with people."

It's not his most subtle tactic. But Ikaris doesn't seem to pick up on his greenish aura. "I heard him ask her a little about what she used to play. Guess they're talkin' about college sports?"

Gil's discomfort only increases, though. Thena did play sports when they were younger. He didn't. And he knows that she misses how she used to play soccer in high school and even in the first year of college.

His eyes are glued to them as Thena smiles and even laughs faintly as she talks to Whats-His-Face.

"What?" Ikaris asks him outright (no tact at all).

Gil huffs, deciding he's done just watching things unfold. "I don't think you'd like it if he was chatting up your wife."

Ikaris makes a face. "I guess not. But he's not. And Thena's not your wife."

Gil doesn't have a defense to that. He storms off so Ikaris can't announce to all the auditorium volunteers how flushed he is. Instead, he hurries up the little stairs onto the stage. "Uh, hey."

Thena stops dead in her conversation to smile at him, "hey."

He has to give it to him, if Mister Golden is bothered at all by the interruption, he doesn't let it show. "Hey, thanks again for helping out. The school doesn't have much to offer for things like these. Volunteering really goes a long way for the kids."

Gil tries not to scoff at Mister Perfect's magnanimous speech. He offers a stiff smile and hovers closer to Thena. "Yeah--I need Thena's help with the bake sale stuff, if you'll excuse us."

Thena lets him grasp her hand and all but pull her away. She only lingers enough to point over her shoulder, "Jack is in charge."

The other kids whine, but he's still riding the high of having all his 'cool' aunts and uncles help.

"Oh," Mister Friendly laughs faintly with a bright smile (and perfect teeth). "Well, it's already snowing out. You should stay warm inside."

Gil bristles as Mister Flirtatious' hand comes dangerously close to touching Thena's shoulder. He pulls her closer to him.

"I can give you a hand," he offers.

Gil is now borderline tugging Thena with him. "Thanks, but I need to, uh, ask her opinion on some things."

He wants to get right in the guy's face and tell him that of course he knows it's already snowing. He's not going to let Thena get cold! He rushes off the stage with her and makes sure to grab her coat off the back of one of the chairs. Maybe it's a bit obvious, but he loudly shakes it out and holds it up for her to slide her arms into the sleeves.

Mister Sunshine just smiles and waves before going back to watching the kids.

Gil sniffs. "He's friendly."

"Quite." It doesn't tell him what he wants it to. Usually Thena isn't warm to people just coming up and talking to her.

"What were you guys talking about?" he asks, realizing it's too late for him to be asking in a fake-casual way. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk out of the auditorium and head outside.

"He introduced himself as the physical education teacher," she states factually, which at least isn't the smitten fondness he was dreading hearing from her after their interaction. "He told me Jack is doing exceedingly well in his activities."

Of course that was his in; Thena is a sucker for talking about Jack, in any way, shape or form.

"Phastos is insistent Jack learn American football, but my practices with him have been paying off," she states with her nose all the way in the air with pride.

Gil laughs. Thena is determined to get Jack so hooked on it that he calls it football instead of the American 'soccer'. "It is a little less physical than football."

They get outside and Gil shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. Maybe it was dumb for him to get Thena's coat for her and not go looking for his own.

"Gil, aren't you cold?" she asks outright.

"It's okay, I just need a hand with a few of the trays," he excuses with a smile, unlocking his car from where they stand.

"What did you need my opinion on?"

Oh, right, the blatant and bold faced lie he told in order to soothe his own jealousy. What was he thinking? Ikaris was right, Thena isn't his wife--she's not even his girlfriend. But that never really bothered him so much as when he saw Mister Model up there chatting her up...showing off his abs to her.

"Gil?"

"Uh, well," he hesitates to get out as they step out from the school doors' cover and into the light evening snow. "I guess...do you think what I made will sell well?"

It's lame--it's super lame, and embarrassing. It's a bit late, isn't it? He's made a full dozen of five different desserts. Wouldn't he have asked this before he got so far into the process? And she and Jack were there when he baked them at Ben and Phastos'!

"Of course they will," she answers honestly, though. He likes the blunt and earnest realism on her more than Ikaris. "Your baking is always amazing. I'm sure the school will make back the cost of the play and then some."

"If they make the 'then some' I think I should get to keep the profit," he mutters. Thena laughs at his joke, but butter is expensive, and he's made three dozen different shortbreads! "Here."

He hands Thena a tray of the frosted cookies, which have to be separate from the rest to keep their design integrity pristine. He carries the other three trays himself and closes his trunk.

"It's nice that Jack is excited about it."

Gil smiles, some of his earlier agitation melting away. Thena, for all her insistence that she didn't like anything to do with children, lives for Jack. She loves coming to his school events, helping with parent stuff. He knows she's lied at her job so she can attend every single soccer game he has, even when they're at 4 in the afternoon on a tuesday.

"I didn't expect him to be so happy to have all of us here."

"Well sure," Gil chuckles, breathing a little easier now that it's just them. "Jack thinks you're the coolest aunt in the world. He's bragging to his friends right now about how you were a pro soccer player and know how to use swords."

Thena rolls her eyes modestly. "I keep telling him it's an amateur fencing class."

Calling it amateur is a disservice; Gil has witnessed a little of it giving her a ride once, and she dominates in it.

"I hope he never gets tired of having us around for things like this," she admits to him quietly, maybe even sheepishly. "Even when he's a teenager."

Gil smiles even wider, because Thena is just so sweet and loving under her calm and placid exterior. "I'm sure he won't. At least not you--maybe Uncle Ikaris."

Thena laughs, and it shows off her teeth in a cute way.

Gil shifts his load to open the door for her. He really didn't need help with anything, but he doesn't need to confront what it means that he was so desperate to get her out here with him just yet.

"There you two are, people are starting to arrive!"

"Sorry, just had to keep 'em nice and cold y'know," Gil murmurs as Sersi rushes forward to take Thena's tray for her. He sighs but Ikaris has some decency and extends his hands. Gil lets him take the top tray from him. "Are you sure I'm supposed to have this much real estate?"

Sersi waves a hand. "I've run this bake sale the last three years. I am not exaggerating when I tell you two parents at most will actually bring enough. Everyone else just brings a store bought cookie platter and lets it suffice. They don't sell well and they just take it home with them after the play."

"Gil will put them all to shame."

He blushes at the confidence Thena has in him. "If it's to help the kids put this play on again next year, then fine."

Ben has his phone out, snapping pictures. "They're gonna knock people's socks off, Gil."

"Thanks guys," he sighs as he unwraps his trays upon trays.

"They certainly look great!"

Gil's blood pressure spikes again. He turns and someone has let the golden retriever with a whistle around his neck out of the auditorium. "Thanks."

"Jack's been bragging about how his uncle is the best cook on the planet. I hope I can snag one for myself before the play!"

He's just being friendly, but Gil can feel his veins tightening under his skin with every word out of this guy's mouth. He looks at Ben, who's all excited and bouncing with his phone up. "What?"

Ben points.

Gil looks up, as does Thena. There's a pretty half-assed sprig of mistletoe hanging from the decorative archway put up over the table. He looks around; none of the other ones have this. He's ready to tell Ben to stop messing around. But then the presence of Mister Smiley and the memory of him flirting with Thena resurfaces in Gil's mind.

Thena's eyes go wide but she doesn't move as he pulls her closer. He slides his hand up her cheek, letting his palm angle and hide where their faces make contact, and not too briefly. Her eyes flutter closed.

Everyone's jaws drop (except Ben's).

Gil pulls away. He's kissed her close enough to her mouth that it will look the part, but not actually on her lips. But far away from her cheek that it can't be misconstrued from her view. He smiles as her eyes open again and she blinks at him.

He's never seen Thena blush before.

"You know I wouldn't kiss you without asking," he whispers before pulling himself away from her. "But, uh, come find me after the play is done?"

"H-Hm," she squeaks out, taking a few stiff steps away, her heels clicking like a fawn's hooves as it learns to walk.

Gil goes back to setting up his bake sale spread, some renewed vigour swirling in his chest. He peeks up from the table. Mister Perky seems to have gotten the hint and has started directing parents with trays to take the other (smaller) tables. Gil is satisfied.

Ben loudly snaps a picture, practically giggling. "Habibti, you're as red as the tinsel."

"Stop it! And delete that!"

Gil chuckles to himself as Thena rushes back into the auditorium and away from the commotion he's just caused. He does hope she comes find him after, and not just because he's her ride home.

Ikaris gives him a strange look but Sersi rushes him inside too. She leans back into Gil's view to give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He blushes, but if Sersi thinks it was the right move then maybe he's onto something.

Gil takes a seat, ready to start selling. He has to admit that maybe he owes it to Mister Chatty to save him a brownie or something. But only if he gets to kiss Thena again later.

[cosmic-walkers]

okay im gonna get off of steve and tom wolf hall parallels but i can't get over the whole father parallel things.

the more i think about it, the more at least in the show the whole wolsey bastard situation probably pissed stephen off because he saw how dorthea was essentially treated the same way he was treated by his own father. wolsey probably reminded stephen of his own father, in a negative way. because he had to have known about it. he probably had such a high opinion of wolsey at first, and then saw how dorthea was hushed away like a nuisance, and again, that is what happened to stephen. it's like they were both punished for being born out of wedlock.

which is so funny because the contrast to thomas is that thomas also saw wolsey as his father, a father figure who saved him and whom he loved. one who would never hurt him, and actually gave him the chance to be well, him. they were both essentially 'sons' of wolsey, sons that he had brought up, both lowborn just like wolsey but they also had such different views. and stephen started to resent him, even if in secret. at least in the show - because historically wolsey and stephen were besties.

i know we don't really develop into stephen's mind, but we know his parental situation in the book is a sore spot for him and i *think* that context is left out of the show. but that would've been another awesome parallel between them.

now tho, if stephen and thomas were friends, and stephen saw how thomas treated his own bastard now that probably would've given thomas some points in his book--

[valkyurii]

it’s funny how things have gone full circle with malenia. she was so hated when the game first came out, but then people grew to like her. then the dlc came out and now people hate her again lmao

[zivaninja]

Blue Bloods finale things/spoilers under the cut that I wanted to yell about:

• Jamko parents!!! Parents!! Oh how far they've come 😭

• I'm going to miss Eddie Janko so damn much, that's my girl.

•Jack and Erin getting married!! They finally got their happy ending. And the looks on their faces at dinner as they decided to keep it to themselves was just so 💜😭

• Danny's face when Henry tells him to find his person to come home to. He already knows.

• Danny Reagan! Asking Maria Baez! On a date! And her saying yes! He doesn't need to go look for his person because she's right there besides him. And the look on her face when she agreed!!

[a-whiff-of-a-dream]

gonna be honest folks, the letter Blackwall sent to my dear Inqui in Veilguard makes me want to play Inquisition again

[mallahanmoxie]

i do not respect my sister's boyfriend even a little and that presents a problem because if she either marries him or dumps him i have no idea what i'll say

[where-the-wind-travels]

hey all uh quick question why the FUCK did no one tell me you HAD TO PAY DIAMONDS AGAIN FOR THE HONEYMOON FLOWER IN ES IF YOU PICK A DIFFERENT HAIR FOR YOUR MC????? i first played it w the curly haired mc and now i'm replaying it and i gave her the blonde hair (don't mind me trying to turn all my mcs into gals, i'm a gal myself and i want gal characters - in general alt characters that aren't goth or punk because they aren't the only two alternative styles that exist please pb get it together the only time i remember a different alt style mentioned is hayden's premium harajuku date scene in pm2 and even then it's still a dark spiky style) and then i got to the wedding episode AND WHEN I TELL YOU THE FEAR WHEN I SAW THE APPARENTLY UNPAID 30 DIAMONDS POP UP??????????? WHAT

also a heads up there is unprompted ranting about michelle in the tags. i love the woman and you'll definitely more than possibly be seeing me simp for her a LOT more.

yes i switch topics every 2 seconds

[highevara]

still losing my mind over the realization that, not only would elethea and all the cousland children have known maric, they would have known him fairly well. as well as a subject can know a king. bryce and eleanor were close with him, maybe not to the extent that loghain was, but still.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤLOVE ME GENTLYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Cute Things That They Do When They're In Love.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

He gets up earlier just to make you coffee —and not just any coffee, the perfect one: oat milk, a swirl of honey, exactly 173 degrees. He’ll place it on your nightstand with a silent kiss to your forehead before disappearing into Bat-mode. You pretend you don’t notice—but you totally do.

Leaves post-it notes when he goes on patrol. They’re hilariously robotic: “Breakfast in fridge. Don’t forget vitamins. Love you. — B.” But he draws a little bat in the corner every time, and you keep every one of them.

He reads bedtime stories to you when you can’t sleep —but it’s always classic literature. Pride and Prejudice. The Great Gatsby. He’ll be half-asleep himself, voice rough and low. One night he mumbles, “Mr. Darcy is weak. I would’ve burned down London for you.” You never let him forget it.

Sleeps with his head on your chest. The man carries Gotham on his back but curls up like a cat when he finally sleeps. His favorite thing? Your heartbeat. He won’t say it out loud, but that’s how he knows he’s home.

He keeps a framed candid photo of you on his Batcomputer. It’s you, mid-laugh, covered in flour, from when you tried to bake together. Tim caught it. Bruce keeps it where no villain will ever find it—but he looks at it before every mission. Every single one.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

He gives you piggyback rides literally everywhere. Down the street? Piggyback. Grocery store? You’re climbing on. You joke that his back must be destroyed—he grins and says, “Baby, I do flips off rooftops. You weigh like, three clouds.”

Kisses your cheeks 37 times a day. Minimum. Your temple. Your jaw. Your nose. Bonus kisses if you’re mad at him. He’ll follow you around the apartment like a puppy, peppering kisses like, “Still mad? What about now? Now?? NOW???”

He talks in his sleep and it’s always about you. Once he said, “No, she can’t marry Chris Evans, I’m hotter,” and you laughed so hard you woke him up. He whined, “Wait—what did I say?” You just kissed his dumb forehead.

He braids your hair. Like, really well. Like it’s a thing. “Comes with the package,” he claims. He’ll sit behind you on the couch, legs on either side, humming some 80s song while twisting your hair like he’s done it forever.

He fake cries to get cuddles. Full pout, big eyes, “Baaaby… you don’t love me anymore…” until you sigh and pull him into your lap. He melts. Absolute cuddle slut.

— JASON TODD ⋆

He lets you paint his nails. He acts all annoyed, muttering about toxic masculinity, but then he flex and be like, “Damn, I look good.” Also lets you do matching colors.

He makes you playlists with names like ‘If You Ever Leave Me I’ll Die (jk... unless?)’. It’s full of angsty rock and a few disgustingly romantic acoustic songs you know he’d never admit to liking. You tease him. He shrugs. “I’m a man of culture.”

Carries your lip balm in his jacket. He grumbles about it every time: “You have, like, five of these.” But he pulls it out before you even ask, like some sort puppy.

Always comes home with something for you. A book you mentioned once. A weird snack from a gas station. A kitten once. “He was gonna get hit by a car, what was I supposed to do?!”

He gets super possessive when you're sick. No one else is allowed to help. He makes soup (burnt), tucks you in (aggressively), and yells at your fever. “She’s not answering your texts because she’s DYING. BACK OFF.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

He draws you in his sketchbook all the time. But never shows you. He’ll be all tsundere about it—“It’s not for display,”—yet the moment you catch a glimpse and say, “Is that me?”, he’s like, “Tt. Obviously.” (It’s always you.)

He feeds the stray animals because you like them. Now Gotham has a growing population of cats, crows, and one raccoon named after you that follows Damian home. “She understands command. Clearly superior.”

He makes you lunch bento boxes. They’re perfectly arranged. Like, Michelin star level. Sometimes they have little food animals. You once teased him about it and he straight-faced replied, “Aesthetics are important.” But his ears were so red.

He picks flowers for you during patrol. Like—he’ll come home at 4AM covered in blood with a perfectly intact wildflower in his hand. “It reminded me of you,” he mutters. “Resilient. Pretty. Sharp if touched incorrectly.”

When he’s injured, he goes to you. Even when Alfred or medical professionals are RIGHT THERE. You could have no medical knowledge and he’ll still stumble in, covered in blood, saying, “I’m fine. Just… hold me for a moment.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

He only speaks to you. One or two words max. But when he does? It's so soft. You’ll be talking and suddenly hear a tiny: “Pretty.” Or “Sad?” Or “Stay.” He’ll tug your sleeve and rest his head on your shoulder and that’s it. You’ve melted.

He copies everything you do. You tilt your head? He does too. You braid your hair? He stares until you let him try. He mimics you like a curious baby bird, trying to understand the world through your eyes. He loves your laugh and repeats the sound softly under his breath when he’s alone.

He believes everything you say. You once told him ducks are just water chickens and now he will fight Bruce over that fact. “Chicken,” he says seriously, pointing at a duck on patrol. “No, Cass—” Too late. He’s already gone.

When you cry, he cries. He doesn’t understand why it happens—he just feels it. Even if it’s a sad commercial. Suddenly he's sitting next to you, eyes full of tears, holding your hand. “Why?” he asks softly. And it makes you cry harder.

You’re his safe place. You talk, he listens. You sit, he follows. You nap, he curls up at your feet like a puppy. Sometimes he tugs your hoodie sleeve and signs, Home? And he doesn’t mean a building.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

He falls in love with you hard. Like day one. He makes it everyone’s problem. “I think I met my wife,” he says to Barry (M!Barbara). He's like, “You’ve known her for five minutes dude.” Stephen shrugs. “Yeah. I’d die for her.”

He wants to match with you in EVERYTHING. Pajamas. Costumes. Hoodies. He even altered his vigilante suit to match your favorite color. Tim saw and just walked away like he couldn’t handle the secondhand embarrassment.

He builds you blanket forts. Complete with snacks, fairy lights, and a “no sadness allowed” sign. He calls it “The Anti-Depression Fortress.” You both stay up giggling like kids.

He cries when you do nice things. You brought him lunch once and he got misty-eyed. “No one ever packs me food,” he said, voice cracking. You put a sticky note on his sandwich and he framed it. It said, “Eat your damn veggies.”

He accidentally proposes once a week. You’ll say “this soup is amazing,” and he’ll go, “Marry me.” You’ll trip and land in his arms? “That’s a sign. Marriage time.” He’s serious every time. You’ve started keeping a tally.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[applereid]

— WORK WIFE, AARON HOTCHNER.

this is my favorite hotch fic i’ve ever written! husband hotch i love u

“You’re married?” Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she’s afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

“How have I never noticed this before?” she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. “It’s not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy— unless you’re actively staring at my hands.”

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup— neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she’s only now just discovered.

“No picture of your husband anywhere?” she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. “Nope. I see him every single day. I don’t exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I’m working.”

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. “Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like.” She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to-go cup next to your keyboard.

“Did you know she’s married?” Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he says plainly. “I married her a couple of years ago.”

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, “They were out of hazelnut creamer, so I got you caramel.”

Emily blinks and there’s a pause— one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

“Okay, very funny,” she scoffs. “Good one, Hotch.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily’s laughter dies immediately. “Wait. What?”

“There’s no way in hell she would marry you,” she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that’s equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. “That was so mean!”

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. “Oh my God,” she breathes, shooting to her feet. “I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn’t know— I thought you were kidding! You’re not the kind of person who jokes like that!”

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn’t bother responding— he’s far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

“Poor baby,” you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips. “Don’t listen to her. I’m very happy to be married to you.”

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily’s wide-eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she’s trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that’s rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow,” he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Please?”

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. “Promise,” you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more— quick and sweet— before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[snail-day]

You can do this, Satoru. It’s just your wedding. Just the day you’ve been dreaming about since the moment she first smiled at you. Just the person you’re terrifyingly in love with. Who’s about to walk down the aisle and change his life forever. A day he's been dreaming since he first met you

He’s standing at the altar, trying to act normal. Cool as a cucumber. Like his knees aren’t locked and his palms aren’t sweating through his white gloves. Fidgeting with the cuffs of his dark tux every two seconds. Trying not to cry. Trying really hard not to cry.

His baby blues are not looking at the double doors. Nope. Not even glancing. He’ll cry if he does. He knows he’ll cry.

And then the music starts.

You appear.

And he’s a goner.

His breath punches out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs for the first time. You’re there. Radiant. Soft. Shining in a way he doesn’t even think the sun could compete with. And you’re crying. Oh god, you’re already crying.

He panics. Internally. Loudly.

Don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry, he begs in his mind, like he can will the tears away just by loving you hard enough. Your bottom lip is wobbling. Your hands are clutching the arm of your dad a little too tightly that his poor father-in-law is wincing. You freeze halfway down the aisle. Staring at him, practically on the verge of sobbing.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

He moves before anyone can stop him, taking long strides right to where you’re standing, wide-eyed and trembling. The officiant laughs under their breath and says something like, “Looks like the groom’s meeting the bride halfway,” but Satoru barely hears it. His entire world has narrowed down to you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs rapidly brushing your tears away. You sniffle. Nod. Barely.

So, obviously, he does the only thing he knows how to do: he teases.

“Didn’t know I was marrying a crybaby today,” he whispers, smiling crookedly, voice cracking just enough to betray how close he is to sobbing.

You swat his chest, laugh-wheezing through your tears, and he swears his heart nearly gives out. He wants to kiss you so badly, but it’s not time yet. Not technically. So instead, he holds your hands and walks you the rest of the way down the aisle, like maybe if he stays close enough, your nervousness won’t win.

He doesn’t remember the vows.

He doesn't remember the rings, or if his voice shook when he said “I do.”

But he remembers you. Every second of you. The way your fingers squeezed his like you were scared and excited all at once. The small little hi you spoke during the speech about you two coming together. The way your smile finally broke through the nerves when he mouthed mine during the ceremony.

He’s pretty sure he blacked out for the kiss. All he knows is that when it happens, the world goes quiet. All that’s left is you and him and the overwhelming realization that he gets to love you for the rest of his life.

And later, when he’s holding your heels in one hand and you in the other, dancing barefoot on the reception floor under fairy lights, he’s still chanting the same thing in his head he did the moment you walked down the aisle:

Be good. Be good. Don’t cry. Be normal. You’re married now. This is real. Don’t freak her out.

But also?

Holy shit. She’s mine.