#also yes there was a prompt attached to this

[jilyism]

NEVER LEAVE

a summer one-shot for jily "week"— day 7: the inevitability of change

Thinking about him always comes to her in absolutes, he’s very rarely any of the maybes in her head, or the almosts.

READ on AO3

[puppetmaster13u]

Another Prompt in Memes?! Yes.

[red-flagging]

can i have a 💛 reunion kiss/relief pls!

(kiss prompts!)

There’s no one in the rink parking lot when Valtteri pulls in, which isn’t unusual. The front door is unlocked, which is. Valtteri drops her things off in the staff room and wanders towards the main rink. All the lights are still off, but she can hear the quiet scrape of someone on the ice.

They’re on the opposite side of the rink when she walks in. Not one of her students–they’re too tall, and too good at skating besides. As Valtteri watches, they take a lazy half-turn, then pop up, light and airy, into a lovely salchow.

Valtteri whistles under her breath. The sound carries further than she expects over the ice. Whoever it is looks over their shoulder, mid-stride.

The jolt of recognition catches Valtteri dead center in her chest. “Lewis?” she blurts out, before she can catch herself. 

Lewis meets her eyes. Too late, it hits Valtteri–does Lewis even know–but before she can even finish the sentence, Lewis is gliding towards her, disbelief flashing across her face.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Val?”

She doesn’t look how Valtteri remembers. Her hair’s not in the braids that she started wearing during their last season together; it’s tied behind her head in a curly puff that pokes out from under her toque. The frizzy edges catch the morning light streaming in from the high windows. Back when they were younger, she used to straighten it religiously before every competition until Valtteri could practically see her reflection in the smooth, unforgiving shine. She can almost smell the hairspray now. Even the memory of it makes her a little dizzy.

“Lewis,” she repeats. “Fuck. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, jeez,” Lewis says. At least she looks equally thrown off balance. “Wow. I didn’t–I had no idea you’d be here.”

“I had no idea you were going to be here.” After all, Valtteri’s the one who’s been working nights and weekends at the rink for the past three years. She hasn’t watched a tournament in years. The only times she hears anything about Lewis are when she’s scrolling through the figure skating news accounts that she knows she needs to just put her foot down and unfollow. Valtteri saw a picture of her a few weeks ago, celebrating with George in the Skate Canada kiss-and-cry about going into the free skate in 4th. She didn’t see any more headlines about them after that, so she can hazard a guess at how things ended up going.

Lewis shrugs, fiddling with her gloves. “Yeah,” she says. “Honestly, I didn’t know either, but my flight layovers worked out this way, and then Bono let me bribe him to get in here, and–” she shrugs again. “Here I am, I guess.” She glances up at Valtteri. “What are you doing here?”

Valtteri nods towards the duffel bag beside her. “Coaching,” she says. “I run the youth team here. Hockey.”

Lewis’s face actually lights up. “Oh my God,” she says, sounding genuinely delighted. “That’s so–wow. You used to play, right?”

“As a kid.” And then she’d hit puberty and gotten just tall enough to be able to lift all the girls but not tall enough to take a check from any of the other boys, and that had decided that. “I was never very good, but. Enough for the basics, I suppose.”

Lewis shakes her head. “Nah, come on, I bet these kids love you,” she says. “It really suits you. You look–happier.”

Valtteri doesn’t flinch, exactly, but something on her face must twitch, because Lewis’s expression shutters again, something in her eyes going a little more subdued. She scrapes a skate over the ice, drawing patterns in the bits of slush collecting at the edges of the rink. The sound echoes through the empty air between them. 

“Sorry, I’m–am I in your way?” Lewis asks suddenly. “I kind of just–barged in here.”

Valtteri’s first class isn’t until 10AM. Valtteri should tell Lewis to get out anyways. Valtteri is technically still mad at Lewis–at least, she thinks she’s supposed to be mad at her. At least as mad as Lewis was the last time they talked to each other, in Lewis’s hospital room after the second back surgery, when Valtteri told her she was quitting for good.

You’re fucking running from a fight, Lewis had snapped. She’d been dropping weight that whole season, trying to get her shoulders to look less broad compared to Valtteri’s; she’d looked tiny against the sheets, practically shaking from anger or exhaustion or both. You’re being selfish. Like Valtteri hadn’t bitten the bullet and buzzed her hair short and grown her beard out this season, just to see if it made a difference; like she hadn’t ignored the way her shoulder creaked every time she hoisted Lewis up over her head; like she hadn’t done the goddamn Carmen program, after eight years of resisting. 

Valtteri had been too tired to argue with her; had left and gone home, laid in bed to open and close Instagram over and over and fantasize about posting Fuck the ISU with a picture of herself flipping the bird across all her socials.

In the end, she’d just posted the meticulously-edited, purposefully meaningless retirement statement they’d sent her the night before, then texted Didi and asked him to reset the passwords on all her official accounts.

Want me to send you the new log in? Didi had texted back.

No, Valtteri had answered, and then turned her phone off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Lewis says, jerking Valtteri out of her thoughts. “This is–I know this is kind of crazy.”

She’s chewing on the side of her lip. She always used to leave an extra lipstick with Toto, in case she picked a scab off while waiting for their group to get called and there wasn’t time to run back to the locker room. That’s how Valtteri learned to do her own lips; ten years of touching Lewis up rinkside, Lewis’s eyes bright and her breath on Valtteri’s numb fingers hot enough to make something in her stomach burn. 

There’s a tube of chapstick in Valtteri’s pocket. If she let muscle memory win, she’d reach over and tug Lewis’s lip down right now. 

She reaches down to take off her own skate guards instead. “There’s time,” she says. Watches Lewis swallow, her eyes darting between Valtteri’s face and the ice. “Come skate with me?”

–

Even after all these years, the way Lewis’s body moves is more familiar than Valtteri’s own. Valtteri doesn’t even notice they’re matching strides until Lewis turns to skate backwards and Valtteri automatically moves to stay on her right as they round the corner. 

Lewis gives her an amused look. Valtteri shrugs. “Old habits die hard, I guess,” she says sheepishly, and feels her cheeks go surprisingly, pleasantly hot when Lewis laughs. 

“Does it translate?” Lewis asks, falling back into stride beside Valtteri. “You know. The–” she mimes shoulder checking Valtteri, lightly bumping against her.

Valtteri hums. “It’s different.” Half the kids on her team are shit skaters, for one. The only reason most of them show up to practice is because they like running headfirst into each other. But Valtteri doesn’t have any real reason to drill them into shape, so she lets them be. There’s worse things to teach kids their bodies are good for than casual, good-natured violence. “Hard to compare.”

“Mmm.” The rink’s quiet except for the soft scrape of their skates against the ice, rasping like breaths in sync. Valtteri sneaks a glance over at Lewis. She’s gotten more piercings. They somehow make her look softer than Valtteri remembers; or maybe she’s just grown into her features, after all these years. There’s a tattoo on the nape of her neck, almost covered by her hair, that Valtteri doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. She’s just as beautiful as Valtteri remembers.

“So, uh,” Lewis says, into the silence. She clears her throat. “When’d you start growing your hair out?”

Ah. So they’ve made it to this part of the conversation. “Basically as soon as I retired,” Valtteri says. As soon as she could. She gives Lewis a wry grin. “My head was getting cold, you know, so.”

Lewis half-laughs, shaking her head. “That was it, huh?” 

Valtteri shrugs. “It’s my hair,” she says. “Did I need a better reason?”

Lewis doesn’t say anything to that. They round the corner, back onto the long end of the rink, before she opens her mouth again. Valtteri internally braces herself for the usual onslaught–if anyone deserves an explanation, or at least an acknowledgement, it’s Lewis, she supposes.

“Is the mullet new?” Lewis asks.

Valtteri blinks. “Uh,” she says. “Yeah. Mullet’s new.”

Lewis nods. “Mullet’s pretty good,” she says, giving Valtteri a grin over her shoulder. Valtteri grins back. It’s not as hard as she expected.

They turn another corner. Lewis tucks a curl behind her ear. The light from the high windows is starting to creep up past the edge of the ice. It’s above Lewis’s ankles now, glinting off of her blades as they skate through the patches of sun.

“I should have said something back then,” Lewis says.

Valtteri’s skate sticks on a chip in the ice. She barely catches her stumble.

“What,” she says. “About–what about?”

Lewis doesn’t say anything. She reaches out to slow herself against the boards, gliding to a stop by the benches. She isn’t looking at Valtteri. “I just mean–” she has a funny look on her face. It takes Valtteri a second to place it as uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she says eventually. “Everything, I guess. They way they–were. About you.”

“They were pretty terrible to you, too,” Valtteri says, after a moment. Her throat feels like it’s been filled with sand.

She’s said as much to Lewis before, though maybe not in such blunt terms. The last time, it was after they’d gone minorly viral after some commentator made a joke about how they were the first pairs team where the man was the one who got lifted by the woman. Aren’t you tired about never being enough for them, Valtteri had said, and Lewis had snapped back, and that’s why Nico and I won Worlds, and you and I didn’t. 

This time, Lewis just makes a vague, noncommittal noise, tapping her fingers against the boards. “More of a reason to have said something, isn’t it.”

Valtteri squints up at the skylight. Swallows. “You’re saying something now,” she says quietly. “Counts for something.”

Lewis shrugs. “Maybe.”

The front door of the rink opens. Valtteri hears a few of the older students’ voices filter in, their laughter overlapping and echoing through the hallway. Lewis’s shoulders stiffen. She half-straightens up, like she’s thinking of leaving.

“You still haven’t told me why you came here,” Valtteri says, before she can. She has some guesses. The slight bulge of a brace along Lewis’s lower back that Valtteri might have mistaken for a fold in her shirt if she hadn’t been looking; the gossip accounts that have all been reporting for weeks about how sources have seen George trialing new partners, that they might do the swap before the end of next season, even. The Grand Prix de France gold medal sitting in her trophy cabinet, after all those years she and Valtteri spent winning everything on the circuit except that one.

Lewis stops moving. Outside in the hallway, a kid shrieks. Someone in skate guards clomps, muffled, up the stairs. Lewis swallows. Valtteri hears her throat click when she does. 

Just as Valtteri’s about to give up on her and change the subject, Lewis clears her throat. “I think I’m going to cut my hair,” she says. “After the season. Maybe sooner.” She makes a chopping motion with her hand, near her temple. “Just–all of it off.”

Valtteri blinks. Lewis is staring over the ice, still not looking at her. She’s chewing her lip again. There’s a mulish, sharp set to her jaw. Valtteri looks at her and thinks, suddenly, of skating into a twist lift, her hands tight around Lewis’s waist; Lewis’s hands resting over hers, steady and sure, certain that Valtteri would be able to let her go and then catch her on her way back down.

“It would look good on you,” Valtteri says softly, and means it. 

The corner of Lewis’s mouth twitches. “Yeah?” she asks, with a small smile. “Maybe I’ll get you to cut it.” 

A gaggle of kids bursts into the rink behind them, their voices echoing over the ice as they dump their equipment onto the benches. Lewis glances backwards over her shoulder. “Jeez, I just ate up your entire break, huh,” she says, straightening up. “I should get going. I still need to–”

“What are you doing tonight?” Valtteri interrupts, before she loses her nerve. Lewis blinks at her. “There’s a bar that just opened near here. If you wanted–we could go check it out.”

“Oh,” Lewis says, sounding surprised. “I–uh. Actually, yeah. I don’t have anything planned for tonight, so.” She looks back up at Valtteri, a small smile on her face. “Yeah. We could do it.”

Something flutters in Valtteri’s chest. “Okay,” she says. “Uh. Great. I’ll see you tonight, then?” And then, before Lewis can answer, she leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Lewis’s cheek. 

Before she can lean away, Lewis grabs her, pulling her back in. It almost knocks Valtteri off balance; Lewis braces against her to keep both of them upright, squeezing so tightly that her chest hurts. Her nose presses into Valtteri’s shoulder. Valtteri cups the back of her head and feels Lewis sigh against her skin, has to close her eyes against the sudden ache in her chest.

It’s three full, long breaths before Lewis lets go. She crosses her arms and clears her throat, taking a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “It–yeah. I’ll see you tonight. But it was–” she looks back up at Valtteri with a small smile. “It was good seeing you, Val. I’m glad I got to.”

Right after retiring, Valtteri would lie awake in bed some nights, making lists of what she’d say to Lewis if she ever spoke to her again. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I don’t. I wish we’d met anywhere else except where we did. I don’t know if we’d ever have been friends without skating. I’m glad I got out. I wish I hadn’t had to leave you to do it. Everything jams up in Valtteri’s throat trying to get out. 

She takes a deep breath. There’ll be time. Lewis is standing there, warm and real in the morning light, for the first time in longer than she can remember. There’ll be time for all of it. For the first time in longer than she can remember, she actually believes it. 

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’m glad, too.”

[brainman1987]

@all my Gideon Coal lovers (hello hi nice to meet ya howyado) how about This Prompt

Gideon loses to gricko when he tries to hit the man with the weird bowtie but misses, and ends up giving an iou to Gricko instead! Yes normal plot we stan yes? Anyways the Sow Pig the strange not frog not human but something worse and the tall moon faced woman all meet him, Sow Pig goes "you don't have your TickEt" yadda yadda yadda and instead of someone important to him Gideons Manacles get taken away from him

Because y'know. It's something of equal value they have to take yeah? And Gideon doesn't consider himself a very materialistic man, only owning a two maybe three shirts two pairs of pants, it was always easier to forget and leave behind things that had emotional value because then it was easier to run or fight without abandon because what did he have to come back to? So when the Sow Pig came he thought he wouldn't have anything, nothing it (not she that thing is some horrible not human at best) until it reached out to him and took his Manacles. Idk just. Y'know hehe

Gideon stumbling and feeling... maybe... unprotected? Useless? Suddenly Very Much not con-fi-dant and boisterous as we all know him to be! Maybe a little empty! Anxious! Idk I might just be going crazy! anyways toodles ✨✨✨

[miraiq]

❛  why can't you just act like a normal person?  ❜ (to kyo, from yuki!)

Unprompted (?) | Always accepting

" Not my fault they got too close to me! I ain't the schools' "precious prince" who just adores being surrounded by his fan girls! "

He may or may not have pushed someone (to the ground) again. In his defense, Kyo was trying to leave.

[marvelfilth]

Family dinner

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova, platonic!Kate Bishop x f!reader

Warnings: a very poor attempt at humour

Summary: your best friend Kate needs backup after a mishap with Yelena's family

Masterlist

“I need you here yesterday!”

“What?” You whisper-shout, looking around the office to make sure no one noticed you ducking away to take a call from your best friend.

“Please, I'm desperate! I can't do this alone, they're like sharks and I just spilled blood!”

“Kate, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Yelena's family! They're scary as shit on a good day, but now we messed up real bad, and I think they're gonna decapitate me,” she whines.

“Okay, let's backtrack. What did you do?”

“...”

“Kate?”

There's shuffling on the other side, a deep sigh and then, “Melina found the handcuffs. With the fur. They were still attached to the bed.”

You snort, loud enough to attract annoyed looks from your coworkers. “Happens to the best of-”

“And the whip. It was on the bed too.”

You chortle, this time not caring about your surroundings, and swiftly move further down the hall. “She knows Yelena's a big girl, she can ha-”

“Natasha was there too!”

You stop in your tracks. Now that's interesting.

“She'll never let you forget it,” you say with all the confidence you have, even though you've never met the woman before. You know just enough from what Kate and Yelena told you to be sure of that.

“She's not letting me forget it now! She got all sneaky and secretive, whispering with Melina and looking at me, and now I'm on my way to a family dinner. A family dinner with my girlfriend's family, while said girlfriend got called away on some emergency mission,” she huffs angrily.

“There's no emergency mission, is there?”

“There better be!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. It's never a boring day with Kate Bishop.

“So,” she starts, aiming for a nonchalant tone, “I'm downstairs.”

“What?”

“Yep. Waiting for you at the front. Better hurry, parking is expensive as hell.”

“Kate.”

“I'm your bestie. And my girlfriend's mom found the handcuffs. I need you.”

You check the time, noting that the workday is nowhere near it's end. With a sigh, you head for the elevator, not even bothering to come back for your bag.

“I love you.”

“I haven't agreed to-”

“I know what that sigh means!”

You groan. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me.”

×××

Turns out, Yelena's family is even scarier then you imagined.

“So, Y/n,” Melina starts, looking at you like you're one of her lab rats, “Do you usually leave your… sexual… stuff after you're done?”

You turn red, choking on the wine. Kate sends you a look of pity.

Natasha smirks.

“I don't… I'm not sure- Um. Well, no.”

Melina hums, nodding to herself. “Good.”

She digs into her food, and you exhale in relief, feeling like the worst part is over.

“So where do you keep your stuff, Y/n?” Natasha asks over the rim of her glass, her eyes full of mischief.

Kate slides lower in her seat, boring holes into her fork.

Melina perks up, once again regarding you like one of her subjects. “I would also like to know. To pass the advice to my daughter and her girlfriend.”

You gulp.

“Well?” Natasha prompts.

You shudder from the intensity of the look she's giving you.

“Can we move on?” Kate whispers, looking around nervously.

“Yes, of course,” Melina nods, her eyes lighting up like she was waiting for a subject change.

Natasha sends Kate an amused smile, and you relax slightly. Now the worst part is over, you're sure.

“So, Y/n-”

Fuck.

“-are you single?”

You nod, shoving a forkful of some meat salad - which mostly consists of mayonnaise - to avoid talking.

“And you're gay, correct?” Melina asks, peering into your very soul.

You nod again, chewing fast.

“Why are you gay?”

You choke on a piece of potato, wheezing and reaching for a glass of water. Kate almost falls of her chair in haste to smack you on the back. Natasha just looks at her mother, unimpressed. “Really?”

“What?” Melina shrugs. “I'm a scientist, I'm conducting research.”

The redhead groans, rubbing her eyes. “Of course.”

You feel a little better now that Natasha is annoyed.

Melina still looks at you, expecting an answer.

You sigh, “Are you gay?”

She blinks, looking like an owl. Natasha chokes on a laugh, sending you a look of appreciation. Kate mutters something about bathroom and darts out of the room, hopefully to call Yelena and fix all this mess.

“Well,” Melina starts, deep in thought. “I suppose I've never given it much of a thought.”

You nod, feeling accomplished in swaying attention from yourself.

“Natasha.” The older woman turns abruptly. “You are gay.”

The redhead groans, sliding down in her seat. “Mother, please.”

“She's gay, and you're gay. You're both miserably single.”

“Huh?” You frown, affronted.

“Fuck my life,” Natasha mumbles into the table, her face pressed tight against it in a feeble effort of disappearing.

“Yelena's on her way!” Kate walks back into the room, triumphant.

“Finally,” you sigh, pointedly looking at the ceiling to avoid Melina's penetrative gaze. “Where's she, by the way?”

“Hiding, probably,” Natasha snorts, shaking her head. “Escaped the scene of crime and left her girlfriend to pick up the mess.” She raises her glass in Kate's general direction, “You're doing good so far, Bishop. Even brought reinforcement - good thinking.”

“Yes-yes,” Melina nods, her eyes darting between you three. “Yelena's a bit of a coward in that regard, but we have an important matter to discuss.”

Natasha glares at her mother. “No, we don-”

“Natasha can cook. Well, she can microwave.”

“What did I miss?” Kate frowns, settling back into her seat. “Actually, no. I don't want to know.”

“As I was saying,” Melina clears her throat, paying no mind to the murderous look Natasha sends her. You'd feel gleeful at that - Natasha's plan came back to bite her in the ass - if you weren't the other victim in this scenario. “Natasha can cook. She's excellent with knives. She's an excellent shot. She can dismantle a bomb in a matter of seconds. She's a… a catch.”

You smile at the miserable expression on Natasha's face, her cheeks dusted with pink.

“Oh…” Kate whispers, looking at you from the corner of her eye. “Well, actually, Y/n is-” she yelps loudly when your heel connects with her toes, and turns bright red at the shooting pain. “-a bitch. She's a bitch.”

The look in Melina's eyes turns gleeful. “That was excellent.”

Fucking hell, no matter what you do, your grave turns deeper and deeper.

Natasha snorts, chugging her wine like it's water. Melina's mouth opens again, and you say a stupid thing to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“Can we go back to Kate's handcuffs, please,” you mutter with a sigh.

The look of betrayal your friend sends you doesn't work the way she intended, because you don't feel guilty at all.

Melina's mouth snaps shut, her eyes widening. The sight alone tells you you said the wrong thing.

“Have you and Kate ever-”

“No!” you both shout, before the older woman can finish the question.

“Sounds defensive,” Natasha chuckles, reaching for the bottle of vodka.

“Wha- What?” You hiss, glaring at the spy.

“She's- Y/n’s not even my type! And I'm not her type either!” Kate splutters.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, “that I can see.”

You gape, not sure if you're supposed to be offended. “What?”

Natasha smirks, planting her chin on her fist. “You need a firm hand. Your best friend is anything, but firm.”

Her eyes trail down your body, pupils darkening ever so slightly. Your cheeks burn and, suddenly, it's hard to breathe. You clear your throat and gulp down the last of your wine, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“O-okay. That's- okay, yep,” Kate mutters to herself. “Fuck my life.”

“Am I wrong?” Natasha husks, reaching across the table to play with the golden bracelet on your wrist.

Really, right in front of her mother?

The front door opens with a loud bang, and you jump up, relieved to see Yelena. The feeling doesn't last long, because a second later you notice the bleeding wound on her torso.

“So that was an actual mission,” you mumble, missing the way Natasha snorts in your haste to get Yelena to the couch.

Kate looks pale, but swiftly starts helping Yelena undress. Melina's ready with the first aid kid by the time they finally tear off the shirt.

“So?” Natasha whispers into your ear, sending goosebumps down your skin. “Am I wrong?”

Apparently, not even her bleeding sister can stop her.

“No,” you reply, “you're not wrong.”

She hums, satisfied. “I am miserably single, you know?"

You let out a loud laugh, not even bothering to quiet down when Yelena sends you a murderous look.

“I am miserably single, too.”

She smiles, nodding to herself.

“Want to fix that?” She asks after a bit, her eyes glinting in the soft evening light.

“They'll never shut up about it,” you groan, stepping closer to her.

“Yeah,” she hums, her grin stretching wider. “So?”

"A little help?" Yelena wheezes, glaring daggers at the two of you. "Hello? Your sister is dying."

“Yes,” you reply, not taking your eyes away from her green pools.

“Perfect,” she breathes, before pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

"Fucking unbelievable," Yelena mutters and yelps when Melina shushes her with a pinch and a hissed "don't ruin my hard work".

Kate just looks like she's about to faint.

You grin. "I can't wait."

[pigeonpeach]

Genshin men as cats!

Prompt: the genshin men are temporarily turned into cats for one day and you as their lover must take care of them and make sure they stay safe

A/n: idk what happened but apparently half of the post got deleted? I’ll have to rewrite it later ;(

Ayato

Oh he’s not happy. He’s probably a shorthaired white cat in terms of appearance. But he is quite annoyed with this predicament. No one is allowed to tell anyone that the Yashiro Commissioner is suddenly a cat. But being a cat is nice. He can lounge and nap all day. He’s probably demanding of attention though. He simply must have your eyes on him. He adores being brushes so lovingly too. Maybe he should have you brush his hair when he’s back to normal.

Al Haitham

Virtually no change. He may still try to read though he won’t be able to turn the pages as easily. He doesn’t mind a few pats but he mostly prefers to be left alone in the nice warm sun to nap the day away. He’s definitely a grey tabby.

Kaveh

He is so distraught! He meows a storm in fustration as he finds he is completely incapable of finishing his projects! You simply must take care of him! You need to have him strapped in like a baby carrier on your chest because he’s just so clingy. He needs constant reassurance and attention. He’s so needy but so cute. Probably a cute little cream colored kitty.

Kaeya

He is also probably a bit annoyed. While yes he gets a complete day off, he can’t do much as a cat. So he’ll probably try to find some entertainment if you don’t keep him thoroughly entertained. He will find a way to sneak out and go play with Klee or annoy Diluc if you don’t keep him in your grasp at all times.

Neuvillette

He is very confused but also curious. On one hand this form is verrrry different than he’s ever had before but its also very beneficial to him. People are far less intimidated and strangely he enjoys being coddled and pet more than he would. Of course miss Furina is teasing the crap out of him but he doesn’t really care. Sitting on your lap, small and warm. Its such a unique experience he will probably never have again.

Wriothesley

Once the dust settles he’s quite relaxed. This is temporary so might as well enjoy it. Sigewinnie has become very attached to him as she constantly makes sure he’s okay. But in particular he loves being held by you. He’s used to being the big strong man who lifts you all the time etc etc. its nice actually being the reverse here. He gets fed special fish from the cafeteria and gets to spend his day in your arms! The perfect break for him! He’s almost sad it’s temporary but he knows he can’t stay like this forever.

Childe

Oh he’s mad! Even when it’s confirmed to be temporary, he is annoyed! How can he improve his fighting skills if he’s a kitty! Sure he’s a adorable little kitty of course but he looks like a baby! Oh his ego is in shatters. It’s unfortunate too because it wasn’t even around his family so he could play with his little brother at least. He’s practically quarantined to keep him safe. He can’t go on kitty adventures. Therefore YOU must make it up to him. He spends his time sulking and trying to play with anything he can. Dangling uniform piece? New toy! Someone’s foot? New toy! He bites! He meows! He hardly naps. He does love cuddling with you though. Still he’s a ball of energy and he cannot simply sit still for long! No doubt will his office be trashed. You’re making him clean it up once he’s back.

Thoma

Stressed! So stressed! He has so many chores! He cannot hold a broom with two paws! You have to make arrangements for him to have the day off which was hard because everyone was upset by his sudden cancellation. Even so he tries to help. He tries to drag the broom but it doesn’t do anything unfortunately. Oh he feels so useless. You must pamper him. Lavish him with kisses and gentle praise. Call him the cutest little kitty in the world! Oh he’s such a affectionate boy too. He acts like a cat with separation anxiety almost. He cannot sleep if you’re not there with him. Therefore you end up spending the day with him, trying to dissuade him from trying to clean a mess and just making it worse, distracting him with a warm blanket and pets.

Zhongli

He probably did so on purpose actually. Perhaps he was a bit bored and decided to spend the day exploring Liyue from a different perspective. It was quite fun for him actually. He watched as people came over to pet him. Unfortunately they also tried to feed him seafood which wasn’t too good. But after the long day he returned home to see you panicked as to where he could be. He decided to come on over to you, still in his cat form, and distract you. It worked as he helped you relax.

You werent too amused when you found out that cat that broke in was him.

Pantalone

He is quite annoyed. Angry in a more agitated way. Don’t mess up his fur! Pet him properly! Don’t ignore him now! He is a demanding little feline. He is not content unless you are entirely focused on him. He even wants you to break up the fish ro serve to him. He isn’t going to eat like a animal! Oh but he is such s cute kitty. Entirely black with big expressive yellow eyes. Oh you can’t help but comply and spoil him a little more! And he has such lovely fur! He does like hearing your gentle praises as you pet him. He never knew how lovely it felt to be small, sleeping on a nice warm lap, being gently brushed, and told sweet little compliments. He may actually want to do this again sometime.

Diluc

Biggest drama king! How can he protect you or Mondstadt like this! Therefore you cannot leave his sight or he’s convinced you will immediately die. You must stay with him so he can protect you? He is a very warm kitty though so it feels nice to snuggle with him. His fur is a bit messy so you’ll have to brush it. Despite him trying to stay vigilant he ends up falling asleep quickly.

[eddiesxangel]

My Little Bunny | Older!Eddie x Reader

For Evie, @oneforthemunny prompt for her writing challenge. “based off the lore that older!eddie gets slutty on tequila lol. gimme tequila eddie. make it slutty. the og prompt was at the beach for a wedding of a cousin, if you’d like to follow that, but if not- where does it happen? how do you think it would go? don’t spare a single detail please!!!!” I hope I did your man justice 😘 happy one year!

Happy new year! Here is some smut to start the year off right.

This is pure filth, don’t look at me🫣

Cw: age gap, oral, p in v, ass play, anal. Minors DNI. Only slightly proofread so if you see a spelling mistake… no you didn’t 😤

“Bunnnnnnnnnnnnnny” Eddie slurred. The man could not handle his liquor. But neither could you.

After what happened and the wedding, Eddie swore he wouldn’t drink tequila for a very long time. However, tonight was special. Tonight, the baby was with your parents, and Bri was off with your sister for the evening. It was just you. And Eddie. Alone for the first time in what felt like years. Eddie was wining and dining with you tonight.

You convinced him to go to a bar to dance. Well, you danced, he watched. He watched your body; he loved the new curves you got from bringing Delilah into the world. You returned to the bar where he was sitting and ordered four tequila shots. Eddie had been nursing a beer all night; he was shocked at your drink of choice.

“Bunny you know what happens when I drink this…” giving you a stern look.

“Maybe I wanna get a little freaky tonight…. It’s been so long” you run your hands up and down his chest.

“I don’t know”

“What if I gave you an insensitive?”

“And what would that be?”

“I want you to fuck my ass tonight” you whispered against your husband’s ear.

“Bunnnnnnnnnnnnnny” Eddie slured again as you both stumbled into your home.

“Fuck I need you. I need your tight ass so bad”

You can’t keep your hands off one another. Your lips are attached to his neck, and your hands run up and down his body. You barely make it through the front door before your hands are trying to get down his pants.

Somehow, you make it to the bedroom. You were stripping your man with each step. Something inside of you was burning, and Eddie was the only thing to put it out. A visceral ache in your core, screaming at you to do something about it.

“I need you, I need you so bad,” you whined because he wasn’t moving fast enough. You were already on the bed waiting for him.

Eddie giggled as he tried to unbutton his dress shirt, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Come here,” Eddie coxed you closer to him. “I need your help.”

“Arms up,” your mom instincts kicked in, and you pulled off Eddie’s shirt in one swift motion.

Without hesitation, you worked on his pants the second your fingertips left the fabric of his shirt. Your nimble fingers worked his belt, button, and zipper, and finally, why you craved most was released before you.

"God, you're so hot! How did I land a wife so fucking hot?"

You let Eddie cup your face, kissing you as he pushes you back onto the bed. His tongue parted your lips, and you gladly let him take charge.

It was needy and messy but so deliciously delightful. You missed your hundreds touch. You’d been so busy being a new mom, and Eddie tried picking up extra shifts to make a little more cash so you could take a nice vacation this summer. You hardly spent time together. You needed this. He needed this. The fire in his belly was also burning the second you mentioned your perfect tight little hole wanting to be stretched and pounded by his cock.

“You gonna be my good little bunny?” Eddie spoke as he slinked down your body so his face was level with your throbbing pussy.

“Yes!” You had zero patients, and he thought it was cute.

“Well then... You gotta get nice and wet, f’me”

“Already ammmmm” you wined again. Why was he prolonging this?

“Oh is she? I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.” Eddie didn’t spare another second. His hands wrenched your legs open, pressing them as far as they could reach.

You let out a moan of pleasure when his mouth finally attached to your lower lips.

Eddie needed to taste you. He usually didn’t do this often, but tonight you deserved to be thoroughly fucked. He needed to feel you cumming in his mouth, to taste you, to feel you. His eyes rolled back into his head as he moaned into your pussy.

“Looks like you were right, baby bunny, and you taste so good. Just can’t get enough,” Eddie dove back in, flicking and licking at your clit. Your body was so reactive to him tonight. Let’s thank the tequila because it didn’t take much to make you cum from his mouth.

“Baby, I’m so close”

“Already? But I just started playing with her” he pouted.

“Yes! P-please.” You stuttered.

“You wanna cum? You going to cum for me?”

Unexpectedly, Eddie replaced his mouth with his finger just as you were on the brink. Before you could say anything, his finger was inside your wet fold, collecting all of your slick, and was quickly replaced by his mouth again.

You could feel the warmth building back up. Eddie continued to work your clit. All the while, his finger, drenched with your own natural lube, was starting to tease your other hole.

“Oh my god,” you moan as his finger slowly makes its way inside.

“You okay?”

“Don’t stop!” You begged as your first orgasm washes through you.

“Fuck, your tight little ass is sucking me in so good,” Eddie continues to finger you as you ride out your orgasm.

“Good bunny. Turn around, ass up, show me what’s mine.”

You quickly obeyed his orders and flipped around so you could show him what he wanted. You loved when he got possessive.

“Tell me what you want bunny”

“You.”

“Nu-uh,” Eddie tutted. “Be more specific.”

“Edddiiiieee, please, I need you.”

Eddie couldn’t believe your extra brattiness tonight.

“No,” a sharp slap filled the room and your ass stung. “Tell me what you need, Bunny,” he spoke, and he massaged the area he slapped. Soothing your skin.

“Your tongue… and your fingers,” you pant.

“Good little bunny,” he smirked. “You want me to tongue fuck your tight little hole? Get you nice and ready for me?”

“Yes,” you sigh as you arch your back more so Eddie can see more of you.

“Fuck bunny, you’re perfect.” Eddie gripped each cheek, spreading you open before dipping his head down.

When you felt his tongue make contact with your hole, you cried out again. You were revelling in the fact you were in an empty house. You could be as loud as you wanted.

“Mmmmmm, you taste so good, Bunny,” he moaned into you.

“Eddie!”

“Yes, Bunny?”

“More!”

“More what?”

“Please fuck my pussy”

“You’re such a good little slut for me. Good girl telling me what you want…. But is that all you want?” God, he was so condescending.

You let out an irritated huff. “Eddie, please,” you begged as you wiggled your ass in the air to entice him.

“You need to behave, little bunny, or else you’re not going to get what you want.” Eddie’s hands gripped your cheeks tighter.

“I’m sorry, I just need you so badly baby”

“Ohhh, I like that; tell me more.”

“I need you so bad! I’m aching for you. Please.”

“That’s my good girl.

Eddie lined up his cock with your wanton hole and slowly stretched you out.

“Thank you.” You sighed with relief.

His thick long cock stretched out your walls. You couldn’t help yourself as you rocked your body back and forth onto his cock.

“That’s it, bunny. Show me what you really can do” he slapped your ass again. You rocked your knees and hips back onto Eddie’s cock as he stood at the edge of your shared bed.

“Mmmmmm”

“More!”

You felt a wad of spit drip down your ass, lower and lower, until Eddie’s fingers found it and rimmed your picked hole. As you rocked your body against Eddie’s cock he dipped in his single digit, adding another and another until you stretched out.

Your body is screaming; Eddie was making you feel so good.

“Ok, bunny, you’re going to ride me, bounce on this cock and show me how good of a Bunny you are.”

“Yes, please. Need you.”

Eddie pulled out so he could get underneath you, but not before he reached the nightstand to pull out the lube you had stashed away for nights like these.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asked as he covered his cock in the slippery substance.

“Yes,” you swung your leg around his hips, aligning yourself with his hard cock that lay on his stomach.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered as he guided your hips down onto him.

“Oh fuck” you both grit out in unison.

You watched as Eddie glazed over with lust.

“Fucking so good. Damn, tight.” Eddie gritted through his teeth.

He planted his feet on the mattress to ground himself. His hips started thrusting up into you, matching your strokes.

“Fuck fuck fuck I love the way you take my cock. Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it,” you panted as you bounced on his cock. You felt so full, so complete. So ready for his cock to fill you.

“Baby, touch me,” you commanded.

Eddie dipped his head to take a nipple in his mouth as his hand found your pussy, finding your clit. A rush of pleasure ran through your body as his mouth and hands explored your body.

“Oh baby,” you threw your head back with pleasure.

“How much do you want it, baby bunny?”

“I want it so bad!”

“What do you want?”

“Your cum”

“Sucha little slut, want me to fill your ass with my cum?”

“Yes!”

Eddie’s hand never stopped working your clit. You could feel the pleasure build and build. Your legs were burning, but it was in measure to how Eddie was making you feel.

“You’re close baby I can feel you clenching down on me so tight.” He squeezed his eyes shut with pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby, cum for me, then I’ll fill you up so good you’ll be leaking for days. Do you want that? To feel my cum dripping out of you tomorrow?”

“Fuck. Eddie!” You cried out as your body clenched around his cock, cumming hard.

"Eddie continued to pound into your ass until he unloaded up into you, filling you up just like you begged him to do.

Your body went limp and your soar muscles rested as you lay your weight fully on your husband.

"Remind me again. Why don't I do tequila?" Eddie laughed as his brain released serotonin. "That was amazing." He kissed the top of your head.

"Remember that question tomorrow, big boy." You giggled, and Eddie finally pulled out of you.

"Come on, Bunny, let's get you cleaned up. " Even in his drunken state, he still needed to take care of you.

"Can't move. You fucked me too well." you sighed.

"I think you did most of the work Bun, you fucked me."

"I did, didn't I?" You smile at the realization.

"Don't get cocky now" He slapped your ass, and you jumped up out of bed with Eddie following close behind you.

[xpau-official]

XPAU Wallpaper/Card + Art prompt!

“Heya guys, howzzitgoin’! Can you believe it? I got everyone together for a photo!

It turned out pretty well, so I thought it’d make a nice card. What do you think?

Happy holidays!”

What’s this? There’s something else attached…

“Oh, before I forget! I’ve included a picture of our background for you! You can use this to draw something in, like… you and your pals, maybe?

I felt bad since everyone couldn’t be included in the picture, so go ahead and add yourselves in! Have fun!”

Although everyone was invited to the party, not everyone could fit in the photo. Please take this backdrop to draw you, your OCs, other Sanses, or even any of the featured guests to create your own unique festive card! This is a self-insert opportunity, yes!

✣ Feel free to mention @xpau-official or @kuuuuro in your posts! (Please do, I want to see them)

✣ You can also use the tag #xpaucard !

✣ Also feel free to submit your drawings to this account!

Any questions, comments, concerns? Drop an ask!

I look forward to seeing your cards!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Friends-with-Benefits Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of August AND September, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including friends with benefits/situationships using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

🥰 Song Prompts 🥰

"Sex" by The 1975

"Too Sweet" by Hozier

"dress" by Taylor Swift

"august" by Taylor Swift

"Casual" by Chappell Roan

"Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier

"Close to You" by Gracie Abrams

“Stuck in the Middle” by Tai Verdes

"Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by Arctic Monkeys

💌 Dialogue Prompts 💌

“I’m just in it for the snacks.”

“No wonder you’re single…” (joking?)

“So... what’s the stance on cuddling?”

"You deserve something real. I want us to be real.”

“We’re just friends with benefits.” // “Right, and the benefit is being madly in love.” (sarcasm?)

“We’re… friends. With benefits.” // “Without sex? What’s the benefit?” // “My delightful company, asshole.”

"I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." // "Do you want the benefits?" // "Yes—No... I'm your fluffer!" ('New Girl')

“What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

General & NSFW Prompts Below!

🌹 General Prompts 🌹

Someone figures out the situation. A and B try to figure out how.

A is blindsided by jealousy when someone shows an interest in B.

A and B try to be normal so no one knows. Literally everyone knows.

A is so worried about B falling for them that A fails to realize A already fell for B.

A realizes they are happier with B than any actual significant other they’ve had.

A is totally B’s type, which has never worked out before. As a result, A keeps sabotaging things.

A agrees to a situationship with B because they think it's the only way they'll be able to have them.

A reaches out to B for a hookup but gets rejected, and they each struggle with their disappointment.

A is treating the arrangement like a formal business deal. B gets tired of it and shuts them up with a kiss.

A and B used to be friends with benefits. When they meet again later, the arrangement is still appealing.

A has to leave town for a long time. They have one last night with B but don’t tell them. They’re gone in the morning and leave B wondering what they wanted to say the night before.

Anything else you can think of!

💋 NSFW Prompts 💋

A completely defies B’s expectations of what they’re like in bed.

A and B decide to hook up one last time (or maybe not the last...)

A agreed to take B’s virginity as long as B didn’t catch feelings. It seems like B didn’t. A did, though.

A and B's no-judgment rule means they're finally comfortable to ask for what they've always wanted to try in bed.

A is annoyed with B, so they start loudly complaining/joking about their situationship. Angry/playful sex ensues.

A and B have never felt truly satisfied in bed until there were no strings attached... it definitely wasn't because of finding the right partner.

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around Sept. 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

[cera-writes]

So… a bit of a (potentially) weird fix request. The crop top has me in all kinds of feelings. The hair metal look on Gambit even more so. But I have the idea that the self insert (SI) is a massive fan of the bands that he uses T-shirts for, and Gambit has no clue about the music, he just loves the designs - and to rile up the SI. I’d love to see something in that vein, teasing or stealing his merch maybe? Could be SFW or NSFW? I’d imagine nsfw if it went too heated or playful an argument.

Sorry if this seems like a ramble. I just have the funniest images of myself having these arguments with him and it makes me smile.

Okay, BUT I LOVE THIS PROMPT. Yes, I'll write it asap ≧◡≦ pairing: reader x Remy Lebeau tags: nsfw, rough sex, kissing, face riding, teasing, dry humping, edging [Prompt: Reader steals Remy's crop top to teach him a lesson]

"You Wearin' My Shirt I See."

Dammit.

Why did he have to be so freaking hot in that tee shirt?! And his hair. GODS. You wanted to run your fingers through it.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of Remy. He was wearing one of your favorite bands on a sinful crop top that he had absolutely no business wearing. In front of you.

And he looked so damned good in it.

"Where'd you get it?" You asked him, taking a plate of beignets that he made.

"Get what chérie? These good looks?" Remy winked, clasping the tongs together in a clapping motion.

You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of a beignet before your eyes settled back towards his midriff. That sexy, defined midriff.

"My eyes are up here mon ami," he teased you.

You huffed, blushing and embarrassed from the way he was making you flustered. The way only he could make you.

"Your shirt." you said as a matter of fact, trying to hide your annoyance.

"A thrift store." Remy shrugged.

Your eyes widened. "That shirt?! Do you know how hard it is to find that specific shirt? And you just found it? At a thrift store no less?" you shook your head.

Remy chuckled. " They must be important or somethin'. Shoot, I mean, I don't even know the band. Just liked the design."

You playfully smacked his arm.

"Rock God ?! You don't know who Rock God is?" You looked at him in disbelief. You absolutely loved that band. Worshipped them even. Hell, you'd basically worshipped them when you were in high school.

Remy simply shook his head.

"Poser," you smirked, crossing your arms. Remy arched a brow and moved closer to you, backing you up against the kitchen counter.

He noticed the slight dusting of powdered sugar on the corner of your lip before taking his thumb ever so slowly and swiping it across your skin. You tensed for a split second. He then brought his thumb to his lips before licking the sugar clean off.

"So sweet," he teased, dangerously close to your ear before moving away from you like nothing had happened. You could feel the heat of his breath tickle you, exciting you in the littlest of ways.

You felt your body suddenly heating up at his little act of flirting. So that's how he wanted to play? Two could play that game.

Later that night, you went to check and see if Remy was in his room. After a few knocks with no answer, you proceeded inside. You knew his room had an attached bathroom and you saw steam rising behind the closed door, meaning he was in the shower.

You also couldn't help but notice the shirt he was wearing earlier tossed carelessly on top of his bed.

Perfect.

You didn't know how long you had but you stripped down in nothing but your underwear. You threw his shirt over your head, leaving your other clothes discarded on the floor.

It smelled so good. You inhaled the scent of him. A hint of tobacco, sandalwood, and the faint scent of beignets he made earlier lingered on the linen. It was just so incredibly Remy.

You heard some rustling in the bathroom and quickly posed on the bed before he noticed. You laid down in the usual sexy cliche pose, one hand resting on your hip as you used the other to prop your head up on one of his pillows.

What you didn't expect to see was him clad in nothing but a towel draped over his waist as he came out of the bathroom after flicking the light switch off.

It was dark in his room, but you could see him plain as day. He hadn't noticed you yet. He shuffled around the room until he found the lamp on his bedside table. He yanked the pull cord down and nearly jumped in surprise upon seeing you, at last.

"Putain, tu m’as fait peur!" Gambit jumped back, holding his towel tight against his ass. He then noticed what you wearing and a lack thereof, on his bed.

"Damn, chére, you look good enough to eat sprawled out like that. And what's this?" He smirked before biting his bottom lip. "You wearin' my shirt I see?"

"Nice of you to finally notice," you said in your most sultry voice.

The plan was just to tease him. But you didn't expect him to actually be into it. You figured he'd kick you out of his room or something after pulling a stunt like that, but you should know Remy better than that.

Remy climbed up onto his bed, getting ridiculously close to you again. "Now, ma petite, you should know by now when Gambit sees somethin' he likes, he goes after it."

You felt your body growing hotter with each word that came from the creole's smooth tongue. You wanted him. You wanted this man from the very second you set eyes on him. You wanted whatever this was between you both.

Without a second thought, you were pulling him into you. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him into a very heated kiss. All those months of you teasing each other finally culminated into this exact moment.

His stubble tickled your cheek as he kissed you back with even more ferocity and lust. God, you couldn't get enough of Remy Lebeau.

He groaned into the kiss, letting his tongue wrestle yours in a game of dominance. You needed to be above him. You needed that sense of control. So you did. You flipped positions so that you were now straddling his waist.

He let out a low whistle before drinking you in. "My shirt sure does look better on you."

He then sat up, only to lean into your ear. "But I bet it'd look even better off." He nipped at the soft skin of your ear, making you whimper and shudder pleasantly as you felt yourself getting wetter for him. He knew that got a reaction out of you earlier and loved the way you came undone for him.

You then found yourself grinding against him through that pitiful excuse of a towel he still had tied around his waist. This time, Remy was the one letting soft whimpers escape his lips. "A-ahh, ma chere..."

Oh.

Oh.

That definitely did it for you. You ground your hips into his again. If it wasn't before, your underwear was definitely soaked now.

"Continue comme ça," he begged. Oh, to have him begging in French underneath you was such a treat. It definitely turned you on more than you'd have liked to admit.

You continued teasing him. Just feeling him against your core was almost enough to send you over the edge but Remy stopped you from abruptly reaching that high. You pouted in frustration at this.

"Not yet. I wanna taste you," he licked his lips. You didn't have time to react before he was scooting your frame above him, positioning you so that you were practically sitting on his face. He pulled your underwear down your thighs before they were even completely off of you as he didn't stop until he had tasted every inch of you, his skilled tongue dancing patterns against your hot, drenched skin.

"Oh, fuck!" You screamed. You gripped the brass metal headboard, gripping it for dear life as his tongue explored everywhere. You started grinding again, not realizing the sound his bed was making as it creaked back and forth. Honestly, you didn't seem to care and neither did he. You would soon rather wake the entire Institute before letting this kind of pleasure slip away.

"Gods, Remy...I'm about to-" Your eyes slammed shut and you screamed in ecstasy as waves of pleasurable relief and bliss washed over you. He lapped up every bit of your essence and proudly grinned once he'd made you come. He did that.

After you caught your breathing and had time to recuperate for a second, you decided you weren't done with him...by no means anywhere close to being through with this man.

You positioned yourself on top of him once more, not that he had any conplaints. "It's my turn again." you smirked, face and hair sticky with beads of sweat. But you looked like a goddess in his eyes. "Angélique," he sighed, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip and tasting any remaining remnants of you. "So sweet," he purred.

His erection had practically slipped from underneath the towel by now and you ripped the rest of the fabric away. He was big. He was already dripping precum for you before you'd even lowered your mouth completely down his length.

His hands instantly gripped the sheets. He hissed as a gasp of pleasure escaped his lips, just from you doing god's work.

He was a whimpering hot mess, uttering broken French as you bobbed up and down his shaft at a pace comfortable enough to edge him close but not enough to make him orgasm. Not yet anyway. No, you wanted to enjoy seeing him squirm for you.

"Oh, mon ami, I should let you borrow my-unf-shirt more often if it leads to this," he moaned, tilting his head back in pleasure.

You teased him sinfully, bringing him dangerously close to climaxing but denying him that release.

You didn't have time to continue before he wanted control. "I can't stand it anymore, chere. I have to have you." He growled, flipping positions again but this time you were on your hands and knees, pressed into the mattress.

You hardly had time to even notice him slipping on a condom. He was making fast work of his hands.

"So eager," you teased.

He lined himself at your entrance before slamming into you with such a need that would bring the whole Institute down. You gripped the brass headboard again, screaming in writhing pleasure as he pounded in and out of you with such relentless force.

You were damn sure the other X-Men could hear every single moan and scream coming from Remy's room but you could own up to that later. You honestly couldn't give a fuck. The only thing that mattered right now was this man literally fucking your brains out. And Gods. He was.

"Harder!" you begged. Remy was already so close. He obliged you and gripped your waist with both hands, throwing his head back as he moaned your name over and over again. All you could think about was him in that crop top and his hair done in such a way that could have sent you over the edge right then and there.

He was hitting that sweet spot over and over, causing you to come a second time before his movements became sloppier as he finally released himself inside of you.

You were both a panting, hot sweaty mess when you collapsed down onto the mattress. Remy carelessly tossed the used condom in the bin beside his bed.

"Fuck, Remy. That was...amazing." You smiled, laughing incredulously a bit as you kissed his cheek as he laid beside you.

"You're amazing, ma petite." He grinned, pulling you into his chest.

Somewhere amidst all your fun, your underwear had gotten lost in the sheets. Remy found them before sliding them into his bedside drawer for keeps.

"Can I keep your shirt?" You asked, not expecting him to say yes.

"As long as I can keep those," He smirked, alluding to your underwear.

"Deal," you sighed contently as you both drifted off to a great sleep.

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting this @cookiesandcosplay! It was so much fun to write! <333

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[rileyslibrary]

Idk if you’re taking commissions rn but if you are.. Can you do one where reader acts as Ghosts weighted blanket after an anxiety attack? I feel like he’d love that xx

I’m glad you asked for the reader to act as Ghost’s weighted blanket instead of the other way around because that would be like being flattened by a road roller. Also, it is good to note that anxiety attacks are not the same as panic attacks. Yes, they do have some similarities, but they differ. This story is about Ghost having an anxiety attack, so bear that in mind.

And let’s be clear here: he would never explicitly ask you to do such a thing.

Never.

In fact, he would never ask you to do anything that would need you to be physically attached to him, neither from the front nor back. And his anxiety, if he ever suffers from it—which I’m sure he does because, come on, who doesn’t in our times, plus it is mentioned in the comics—he can cover it pretty well.

But it takes one to know one, right? You’ve had your fair share of anxiety attacks; you know they are not sudden or obvious. Instead, they develop slowly, gradually. That sense of general unease lingers, haunting him for weeks, even months. He doesn’t start trembling or shaking out of nowhere. This one is subtle but constant, like a leaky faucet that drips every few seconds. He feels restless and triggered by something vague that he can’t understand himself. All. The. Time.

He knows what a panic attack is; he experienced it multiple times before, mainly due to the nature of his work. But an anxiety attack? To a soldier who associated the word “attack” with something swift, sudden and imminent? There’s no such thing as an anxiety attack to him.

No.

He doesn’t comprehend this constant need to stay in control, why he’s always tense, his inability to take a full, deep breath. To him, that’s just how his body functions. Relaxation has been a foreign concept since childhood, so he’s normalised it. And he learned how to bear these symptoms instead of understanding what triggers them and learning how to alleviate them.

You’ve observed the pattern; he tends to become like that a few months before a mission, so you were able to put one and one together.

And one day, you find him lying face-down on the bed. Something prompts you, and you crawl on top of him. He shifts and asks you, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing”. Maybe he even tries to stand up while you are on his back, and you ask him to trust you; he’ll see.

He’s hesitant but obeys, though he’s more alert than ever now. You settle on top of him; he feels like he’s carved from wood, but not because of his physique. He’s tense. Stiff. Rigid. He’s afraid to let go. He holds his breath. His palms are pressed into the mattress beside his chest, ready to spring into a burpee and launch you back to where you came from.

Yet he doesn’t do it. Slowly his muscles relax under your body, and you feel him gradually—though clumsily—release tension in each body part; his legs, back, and then his shoulders. He finally lets go of the breath he’s been holding, replaced by a long exhale, his first in months. He places his hands on the sides of his body and lets out a repressed chuckle.

You ask him why he’s laughing, and he asks you to turn your face away because you are breathing into his ear. You comply.

With you not watching, he can finally close his eyes now. Good.

But even Ghost can take so much weight. Or so much intimacy. After a while, he snaps out of it, and he wriggles out from under you, letting you fall on the mattress, muttering a brief “Enough.” He doesn’t thank you for anything. What did you really do? Yes, he feels a little lighter, and his mind is clearer, but all you did was rest on him. That’s all. No need to thank you for that.

He needs it, though. Again and again. No, he doesn’t need you, of course. No, silly. He craves that sensation again—letting go. So whenever he feels overwhelmed, he awkwardly gestures toward his back and asks you sternly to “do that thing”. And you try to suppress your laughter and obey his command.

And slowly, just like his anxiety attacks come and go, he realises that it’s not just your weight on top of him that soothes him. It’s you, your will to make him feel better, your heart beating against his back, your form attached to him that makes all this chaos in the world feel a little bit more manageable than before.

[reeniecon]

- THEIR TOXIC TRAIT -

Idia S. , malleus D.

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😮‍💨‼️ : gender-neutral reader, some grammar error (sorry not my first language lol)

My other fics

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IDIA SHROUD

Jealousy

He is jealous of the way you spend your time outside with your friends than with him in his room. He is jealous that now you laugh harder with your friends than with him. Why couldn't you do that with HIM instead of THEM?.

Overprotective

Ortho, he lost ortho before and he didn't want to lose you too. So he... Programmed ortho to follow you around and help you with anything, it may seem nice and convenient but, sometimes ortho would do too much for you, that you cannot even choose what you want.

"Let me do it, you will not understand it anyway" / " Are you sure about this? "

Ah yes underestimating, such an idia move tbh, so he will underestimate you in certain things, especially with the things that he is good at... You know that Idia is a very logical type of person, so of course he would be using the fastest way to Rome and not waste any time on the way.

"Just leave me alone! "

Idia is used to being alone and handles his feelings alone. So if he gets a little overwhelmed/annoyed because of his game or with your nagging, talking about your day, or whatever it is he will just explode and yell to you to leave me alone.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

I would say that malleus are kinda similar to idia but they have a lot of differences at the same time.

Overprotective

Pfft...This is malleus draconia that we talk about the fae DRAGON, ofc we would be so protective towards you... His beloved. So that no one can taint you no one can hurt you no one...

Jealousy

Ahuuu... Not that different than Idia for this one, he is jealous when you look a little bit more interested in talking with your friend than him and you look happier with another man other than him. He hates it. He hates when someone try to take you away from him.

Never taking "no" as an answer

" Why not? " You would be hearing this all the time especially when you refuse his gift...

°•°•°

"Why? You didn't like the color perhaps? Or something? Just tell me my dear I would fix it. "

" No... That's not the problem, mal. Uh you gift me too much this week already, you didn't have to do this you know.. "

•°•°•

Attachment issues

I felt this is very self-explana-

Tory isn't it?? Just look at book 7!! So when you say yes to him... Congratulations!! You will be on his side forever and will not be able to leave his side forever and ever!!

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A/n : this is so suck, anw.. Please give me harsh feedback on my inbox lol and also my request are still open (selective writing tho- srry)

Ah also please use <3 for request and !! For critique in my inbox .

A/n 2.0 : mybe would do another character in the future.. Keyword MAYBE but please comment what chara you want to read next with this prompt i prob write vil, or sum

[pigeonpeach]

Mother and Father

A/n: Its genuinely wild to me how i went from like only porn bots following me to like actually 291 followers! It almost doesn’t feel real but I’m so grateful for you all! I held a poll earlier to determine who’d id write for as celebration for the milestone and arlecchino won! So here it is!

Prompt: how I met your mother

Arlecchino x fem reader

Your job wasn’t too easy, but it also wasn’t too hard. You loved kids. You found their antics amusing, you found it hard to suppress a smile when they looked so cute. With Arlecchino’s most recent addition: Lyney and Lynette however is when you truly came out of your shell.

The children watched as you sewed together their favorite teddy bear. A disagreement earlier led to the bear torn right down the middle.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” one child cowered.

“You know better now, you guys have to be careful with these. We don’t get toys too often now.” You gently scolded. The other children seemed a bit surprised. Including the guilty ones.

“So… you aren’t mad?”

“Not that much. You’re kids, its natural that you may wreck your belongings. You must learn to be more careful and how to repair them. But you are too young Talia, I’ll teach you how to sew when you get a bit older. Then you can repair your own toys.” You pat her on the head.

“I’m sorry.. I’ll do better next time.” Talia looked down as you raised her face to meet yours.

“I’m not mad Talia, i just want you to be more careful next time that’s all. Okay?” You changed your tone to be more sweet. Talia teared up a bit. You out the bear aside as you used your hands to wipe her tears, you placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Okay… can I help in some way?” She asked.

“Yes. I want you to gather all the stuffing Mr Bear lost so i can put it back in him. Okay?” You said. She nodded as she set off to retrieve it.

It didn’t take too long for the kids to like you. You were sweet and soft spoken. Your hold was gentle and loving, and they’d come to love your kisses. Especially Lyney.

“Lyney you know you should be asleep, your father won’t like it if you wake up too early.” You gently chided. He stubbornly attached himself to your thigh even more so. “Lyney you know I can’t just stand around all day. I have to make breakfast.” You couldn’t even kneel down.

“No..no… where my lynette… wheres my sister?” He cried. You brushed his hair lovingly.

“Your sister is in the girl’s barracks now. I’m sorry it must be hard to get used to that.” You knelt down carefully as he nuzzled his face against you.

“Can.. I see her? Please?” He looked at you so sweetly how could you resist. You picked him up, resting him against your chest as you headed over to where Lynette would be.

“Just be quiet now. We don’t want to wake anyone up.” You said.

“Why are you up then? Father won’t let us out until 6am.”

“Because I’m her employee, you, are her child. My job is to prepare you all breakfast. And my only help is sick today.” You sighed. Lyney seemed to think for a bit.

“Maybe i could help you?” He said. You thought about it. It would be better than nothing.

“Alright then. Just be sure to not let Father catch you out so late.” You smiled. Opening the door to the girl’s barracks, you noticed Lynette stood up from her bed. Quietly she crawled off her bed and trotted over to you, her little tail swaying in a excited manner. You felt your heart melt seeing how happy she looked to see her brother. This was their first night apart. You gently let Lyney down as he immediately hugged her.

“Brother, did you sleep?” She asked innocently.

“Not well. I kept having nightmares.” He said. She seemed to understand. “Lynette, we must help today.” Lyney leaned into Lynette’s ear “She said she has to prepare breakfast alone.” He said. Lynette seemed to agree.

“Well you don’t have to. You two could just go back to sleep.” You said. They shook their head.

“No no.. we must help.” Lynette said. You sighed. You couldn’t say no to them. They were just cute and determined, Lynette in particular was such a cutie with the bowtie on her tail. You struggled to maintain your composure as your instincts screamed at you to just pepper kisses on her cute little face and hug her tightly. But you held back.

“Alright just be quiet.” You said. The three of you now set off to the kitchen. You realized quickly that it’d be difficult for them to help given how short they are.

Nonetheless the twins were persistent. They cracked the eggs with caution. Lyney eagerly scrambling them as you prepared the wok for it. Its not easy cooking for so many children. But you’ve gotten used to it. A lot of what they eat is prepared by rations sent by various companies partnered with the Fatui. But the children always preferred fresh scrambled eggs than the ones in the rations, you noticed that when you do so they’re far happier and more well behaved. The only problem is how much that requires.

“We’ve finished the first batch.” Lynette held out the bowl of liquid eggs with pride as you smiled. There was thankfully no shells you could spot. But you trusted she would notice. Lynette was the most observant.

“Hmmm.. yes this is satisfactory indeed. Get to start on the next one and we should be finished.” You said.

The children were delighted to have fresh eggs ready for them. Even if they weren’t actually fresh but just warm. You helped portion out each child’s plate which took almost forever. But hearing their happy little ‘thank you’s helped you feel better. The room was filled with chatter and laughter.

“I worry you spoil them too much.”

You jolted as you looked behind you. “A-arlecchino!” You were a bit surprised. “Its just that… they’ve been working so hard lately I wanted to reward them with something small.” You explained, trembling. The children fell silent as they watched with anticipation for her reaction. But Arlecchino didn’t seem upset, nor angry or sinister. She was always hard to read however.

“I see. Children.” She sai, every child looked at her with alertness. “Since your caretaker has gone out of your way to provide you a must delicious meal, I expect no slacking off today’s training yes?” She said with authority.

“Yes father!” The children said in unison.

“You may continue eating.”she then turned to you. “Did.. you buy these eggs yourself?” You nodded. “Your own money correct?” You nodded. She looked over you, her gaze feeling almost… warm? You weren’t too certain. “Don’t work yourself too much next time. If you want to arrange such rewards I’d be happy to help. As long as its within reason of course.” She said with a surprising softness. You gulped.

“Th-thank you. W-would you like some?” You smiled nervously. Little did you know in that moment was the start of her ever growing feelings for you. But she merely shook her head.

“I’ll have whats leftover. I have my own chef so I wouldn’t like to deprive the children of their food.” She said. “Keep up the good work. I’ll be looking forward to it.” She said walking away. You looked on in awe, you knew she was scary yes, but something about her didn’t seem nearly as menacing. You weren’t sure but.. it appears you made a good impression on her. The children looked at you, concerned until you smiled at them.

“And you ordered… 67 bags of flour for the orphans? Yeah right don’t they have rations.” The rude guard said. The seller seemed a bit upset at the guard too.

“I’ve already told you that I work for the house of hearth as a caretaker. What crime could i be committing with this much flour anyways? I paid for it, every cent is paid. What is your deal!” You were annoyed at this rate. The guard seemed to not back down.

“Well how do I know if you have some secret? Huh?”

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” A voice came from the crowd that formed. You recognized it as one of the children you cared for, a teenage boy named Andrej. “You are a officer are you not? Do you not know it is illegal to falsely accuse someone without a trial to prove one’s guilt first? You shameful man! You dare to use your power for what exactly?” You were a bit surprised at his actions. He’d always been so quiet when you handled him, you didn’t know he’d value you so much.

“Why you-“

“He’s right though. What exactly are you doing officer! Picking on innocent civilians!” Another joined in. You recognized them as Danica. The officer quickly seemed surprised.

“Well i-“

“Zip it! Just wait until the Knave finds out the guards have been unjustly harassing her employees.”

“Please calm down you two. There’s no need to get that worked up here.” You said, placing a hand on their shoulders. “We’ll just file a report and be done with it.” The guard looked shock as they backed off.

“Don’t mess with our mother.” Andrej whispered at him.

“Andrej told me you were harassed today?” Arlecchino asked as you just settled in the flours into the walk in pantry.

“Just a powerhungry guard. I can handle it.”

“It isn’t a matter of wether or not you can handle it. Its a matter of why he felt it was okay to do so in the first place.” She stood infront of you. Looking down. “My children adore you alot, they would do anything for you. But they also shouldn’t have to. Rest assured, that man will be dealt with.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble that’s all. I’m not that fragile.” You said.

“Its no trouble to me. You are very important for the children’s wellbeing and morale. Infact I was wondering if you could do full time. Increased pay, more breaks of course. Don’t worry about the walk home at night. You will have a escort.” She said. You felt quite surprised.

“I’ll take you up on that offer then.” You smiled. She seemed to calm down.

“Very good then. Next time, let them your children protect you, its their way of repaying your generosity.” She left then. But you wondered what she meant by ‘your’ children.

“I don’t want him to touch me no please!” You heard little Lynette cry in her sleep. You had been passing the barracks ready to clock out when your maternal instincts kicked in. You bursted through the door rushing to her bed. You sighed in relief seeing she was okay.

“Lynette?” You called. She moved in her sleep. “Lynette!” You sat by her side until she woke up. Her eyes teary as she backed away. “Its just me sweetie. Don’t worry I’m not going to hurt you.” You offered your hand to her, to your surprise she rubbed her face against it. She wiped her tears as she came closer to you.

“I had a scary dream.. that’s all.” She said.

“I know.. do you want to tell me about it?” You asked. She shook her head. “Alright then, how about I make you some tea?”

“Tea?” She asked. “Isn’t that for staying up? That’s what father drinks.”

“There’s a special one I have, its to relax yourself. Come.” You stood up, she followed suit as the other girls sneakily watched.

You set the kettle on the stove as you showed her the packet.

“This is the special tea, you don’t use this if you want to stay awake. See the packaging is purple. Use it sparingly though. Now we boil the water and when its warm enough we just add it in. You’ll see.” You said, Lynette watched observantly. You could still see she was a little bit shaken up.

“Can I ask you something?” Lynette seemed nervous, though her face was stoic, her hands fidgeted with her bow.

“Of course dear.” You smiled warmly at her. Unbeknownst to you some of the other girls had snuck out to head your conversation. Many unable to sleep as well.

“Father is.. well our father. Because she provides for us and guides us. I once heard that a mother is the one who gives warmth and love to a child.. you fit that definition perfectly to me.. it feels wrong to call you miss or caretaker so much… could I call you mother?” She asked. Your heart soared. You took a minute to steady yourself. “Did i say something wrong?”

“No-no… its just..” you wipe a tear before she could spot it. “I’d love that Lynette. I don’t mind being called mother if that’s what you or anyone else wants to call me.” You said smiling.

“But why are you crying then?” Another voice asked. A little girl hiding in the shadows with a few others.

“How ling have you been there.” You said confused.

“We couldn’t sleep.. we just wanted some tea too.” The other girl said.

“Very well. Don’t make this too much of a habit though. We don’t have enough teabags for everyone to have tea time.” You said.

As Arlecchino walked the halls intending to just head to her sleeping quarters, the echo of laughter came from downstairs. Skeptical she immediately descended the stairs, pausing to watch as you sat with 5 little girls in a circle drinking tea.

“See you hold out your pinky like this, then you take a few sips at a time.” You whispered. The girls followed suit. Arlecchino leaned against the wall as she felt a sense of pride in her cold heart. Something about you was warm, warmer than her vision, warmer than the sun, and gentler than any cotton. Something about you made her forget the curfew as she focused on how domestic of a scene it was. In that moment you weren’t her caretaker or her employee, but the mother to her children.

“Like this?” A older girl showed her cup. They were empty currently as you waited for the water to cool. The cup slanted, if it was full it would’ve scorched her lap. But you had been clever not to allow so.

“You still use your other fingers Tanya. Oh see, Lynette had got it.” You smiled. The other girls followed suit.

“What do adults use teatime for? It seems so long..”

“Well typically you do so to relax and unwind if you’re alone, or to talk with other adults in a more causal but still refined setting.” You explained.

“What do they talk about then?” Lynette asked. Arlecchino noticed how her tail would curve slightly as she and the rest of the children sat at one of the dinning tables.

“Buisness, personal life… boring stuff. But sometimes its gossip.” You smile. The girls seem intrigued.

“What kind?”

“Well.. I heard that allegedly, miss Trudane, a very upperlady, may have altered her unwed brother’s will to make herself the sole beneficiary to his estate.” You smile. The girls light up in shock and intrigue.

“Really? Wait is that true?”

“Sh! Mother said to be quiet remember.”

Arlecchino felt herself soften at that. The children we’re referring to her as mother.. if she was their father and they their mother then.. her heart blossomed as she clutched her chest composing herself. She strode in catching the group by surprise.

“Father.” The girls lowered their heads.

“I’m actually rather curious, how do you know that?” Arlecchino asked looking at you.

“O-oh well it is just gossip. I heard it through the grapevine that’s all.” You said nervously.

“Do you by chance have another cup available? I’d like some tea myself if you wouldn’t mind.” She said. The children seemed surprised and almost excited as you quickly agreed. Getting up to get another cup while she sat next to where you did. Lynette looking up at her with curiosity.

“Y-you’re not mad?”

“No. I myself couldn’t sleep actually. So I’ll let this slide, don’t let this become a habit.” She said.

After sending the children to bed you and Arlecchino were left. You kissed each girl on the forehead while she watched from the doorway. Sense of comfort placated her as she thought of you. How she wished she had a figure like you when she was younger. How you now provide a loving mother figure for her children that she has thought of being. You both exit closing the door.

“Its late, If you want I could escort you myself, or you could stay the night.” She offered.

“S-stay?”

“I have a guest room you can stay in. Its in the upper levels though.” She said. You noticed it began to rain outside.

“I suppose I’d have to… by the way.. did you hear the conversation where they asked to call me.. mother?” You asked.

“I didn’t but I see no problems with it. The children have been robbed of any normal family life, abandoned by their societies with no love in sight, how could I ever deny them a mother when they have you. You work so hard to make sure each one is loved and cared for.. I have a great deal of respect for you.” Your heart raced seeing her smile, a gentle and genuine warmth from her.

“Thank you. That- that means alot to me.” Your cheeks dusted with pink as you smiled.

You truly became irreplaceable in the eyes of your children. They all clamored to protect you at any given moment. You noticed while cleaning up some drawings what looked to be picture of you and Arlecchino, side by side like husband and and wife. In the style that many family portraits are often drawn. You felt a little warm thinking about it. Arlecchino is a terrifying woman yes but… she is so kind to you. She is so soft and gentle with you, she protects you, you feel very safe in her presence nowadays. And the children, they’ve become more happy with you around. They call you mother and her father, a bond that is almost romantic to you. Its almost a bit embarrassing to you because you two aren’t romantically involved. Yet it seems now the children expect it.. Today would be mother’s day, and you anticipated having alot of gifts.

You actually underestimated how many you would receive. A plethora of drawings you planned on putting in a scrapbook, a surprising amount of jewelry that the children would combine their savings to afford, and even a little origami crane from some of the creative children. Freminet’s gift was quite noteworthy to you as he gave you the most pretty clam you had seem. Lyney and Lynette had gifted you a most beautiful earring set along with heartfelt letters that had you in tears. The excitement died down however as the children were sent for today’s training session. You watched from afar as the kids participated in physical activities. To your surprise Arlecchino came over to you once more, in her hands she held a most delicate box. You were a bit confused.

“Its only appropriate I award the mother of my children handsomely. It is mother’s day afterall, so take this as a token of my gratitude.” She said. You carefully took it. The children from afar noticed you two as some watched expectantly.

“Are they going to kiss?” Talia whispered.

“Shh!”

Your jaw dropped seeing the most intricate necklace. It fit your style nicely as she smiled at you with the most soft of looks you had seen in anyone. Your heart beat fast as you noticed the slight red in her cheeks.

“Thank you so much.. I- i truly cannot thank you enough..” you smiled gratefully at her. In that moment there was a sense of love you felt, her hands gently taking the necklace from its box.

“Here let me put it on you.” She said. Her fingertips brushing against your skin as you realized she wasn’t wearing gloves. Oh how your heart raced as you looked in the mirror she offered.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You said instinctively hugging her. Her hands in turn wrapped around your body.

“They’re hugging! Oh my gosh!”

“Talia be quiet father will hear you!”

Arlecchino’s gifts didn’t stop at mother’s day however. You frequently received flowers from her that you often used to decorate the house of hearth’s barracks or play areas, mainly because you ran out of space in your own home. Besides, you had been spending so much time here now that your house felt more like a hotel than a home at times. You were reading a book silently as the children gathered around reading in silence.

“Mother..” Lyney shamefully approached you as lynettr and freminet had their heads down. “Could I.. confess something to you?” You felt skeptical. What could he have done to warrant such shame? They weren’t troublemakers by any means, if he broke something then he wouldn’t be this upset…

“Go on.” You placed a book mark as you listened to him carefully. He leaned into your ear to whisper: “Lynette and I snuck in a stray cat we found.. and we have fed it for awhile now keeping it in the barracks.. but it must’ve gotten out because we can’t find it anywhere. Have you heard anything?”

“I know it was wrong but.. I couldn’t bare to see such a creature be homeless.” Freminet mumbled. You smiled.

“Oh dear you should’ve told me! I could’ve taken in the kitty myself and bring him with me here! But I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind having a cat here.” You patted his head. “I’ll help you look for him, you keep looking down here, I’ll go check out the upstairs.” You had a feeling the cat might’ve gone there.

Recently you had been allowed up there more and more so you simply bypassed the guards. You realized however you wouldn’t be allowed to check the rooms. You asked around finding nothing, you took a deep breath before knocking at Arlecchino’s office.

“Come in.” You opened the door to see the cat in question lounging on her lap. “I assume the children are looking for he correct?” She said, gently petting the cat.

“Yes actually. Could I convince you to let them keep her?” You sat across from her. You could hear the kitty purring in her lap.

“Of course.”

“You see-oh. I didn’t expect you would agree so easily.”

“Well, a cat is a useful companion. I’ve seen how the children try to sneak in strays or have formed close bonds with them and I see no reason to deprive them of those bonds. We can’t take in every stray yes but I have no reason to prevent them from bringing a cat. Dogs are another issue, they cause messes and may be more difficult. But this cat is quite well behaved. In fact, she came in here herself.” Arlecchino “she may be good for mice control too. In the winter months is when mice tend to invade homes more. So her timing is perfect. Besides, she is such a beautiful tabby. Orange females are quite rare.” You relaxed seeing how she seemed quite fond of the kitty.

“That’s a relief, I’ll let Lyney know the cat is safe with you.”

“Actually could you take her with you? I have to leave in a bit and she won’t get up on her own accord.”

“Of course.” You approached her to scoop the kitty up as it meowed in confusion. Arlecchino’s eyes were on your chest that became slightly more exposed as you leaned down. “Thank you again Arlecchino, I’ll make sure that cat doesn’t trouble you.”

“Its no problem at all. So long as she makes you and the children happy.” Arlecchino smiles.

“Mother… why don’t you and father kiss?” That question had you shocked. You looked at the child in question as you tried to figure a way to explain it.

“Yeah mommies and daddies always kiss. That’s what my friend told me..”

“Maybe they kiss in private?”

“We don’t kiss no.. your father and I aren’t in a relationship like that.” You cleared your throat trying to regain composure. The children seemed a bit sad at that.

“Why not?” One kid asked.

“Because we just aren’t. Now go play with that cat.. or something.” You quickly took a step back to compose yourself. Watching the kids interact with each other as you fanned your face trying to calm down. But why did the thought or suggestion of that even make you feel this way? How come you felt so warm in the face? You sighed as you tried to clear your head of it.

Were you in love with her? Your boss? A literal harbinger? You knew people died by her hand.. but.. the way she holds little Lynette’s hand.. the way she her hands may suddenly find themselves on your shoulder slowly becoming more of a familiar sensation, her presence doesn’t actually frighten you as much as it used to. You’re more nervous if anything, that she’ll see through your eyes how you truly feel about her. The kids love you two, calling you mother and her father, she refers to you as the “mother of her children”! How could you not feel so tingly and feathery inside! She’s become so alluring too. You once found her scary and intimidating but now… oh you secretly crave her. She is such a menacing woman.. is it bad that you want her? Your employer?

You sighed as you were taking your break, getting lunch at a simple cafe with a nice coffee to clear your mind. You thought about your children with her, not by blood yes but by heart. They call you mother, they bring you gifts, your birthday is never forgotten anymore. You’ve truly come to see them as your own now. You have to remind yourself at times that you didn’t bare these children. That some heartless people let them sat on the streets without taking them home, you could never imagine so. Especially Lynette and Lyney, a most adorable duo. How could anyone ever hurt such innocent souls?

From what you know, the previous Father was far crueler than her. Freminet told you of how he scolded them for crying or weakness, how he lied about his mother’s death to him.. how Arlecchino had slain him and taken his place, how she had slain the man who tried to hurt Lynette… you felt a bit warm knowing the children had such a fearless protector now. And you too were apart of the family she established… maybe its not the worst thing to be in love with your employer, especially in these circumstances. But for the sake of your job and your work relationship you simply can never act on these feelings. You don’t want to ruin things between you and her..

“You called?” You opened the door to her office. You noted how Arlecchino’s blazer wasn’t on. Revealing her under shirt… her dark hands.. oh… should you really be looking?

“Yes I did, come in. I don’t bite.” She said. You approached her timidly. “I just wanted to reward you for such hard work. You’ve truly helped shape this place into a far more comfortable environment. I almost feel envious that it wasn’t like this when I was growing up.” She smiled at you. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncomfortably so.

“That means alot to me. I really just have a soft spot for children.. I adore them greatly and.. it hurt to see them be in such pain.” You said.

“Yes. But I wanted to invite you to dinner sometime.” She said. You froze.

“Dinner?” You said. She nodded.

“Yes, You’ve done so much for me that I feel as though I’m in your debt almost. You’ve gotten even the most disrespectful of children under control and you single handedly made this a home rather than a house for these children. I feel as though as the father I must reward you even more than I have.” She said, relishing in the slight red on your cheeks.

“I-i see.. but the children seem to think of us as… partners… I haven’t really been able to properly explain to them that we aren’t… you know.. dating..” you said.

“I don’t mind that assumption, that is if you’re fine with it.” She replied. You felt even more nervous. “Do you want to go to dinner with me? I’ll have a reservation for the most extravagant of restaurants. I’ll pay for the bill of course.”

Your mind raced, was this a confession?

“I’d love to.. if you’re fine wit-“

“I’m with it. I wouldn’t offer this if I wasn’t.” She assured. You felt such a rush of adrenaline.

“Th-thank you.. I- I.. I look forward to it.”

“If you want you could spent the night here.” Arlecchino offered. “I’ll let you stay in my room. I’m going to be spending most of my time in the office anyways”

“I.. if you’re okay with that then sure..” you said nervously. It was pouring outside as you debated how to get home at this hour. You followed her upstairs as you felt a bit nervous. This was a big step in your relationship afterall. Sleeping in her bed.. it feels so intimate.

“Here.” She opened the door to her bedroom. It was incredibly red, it was very intricate and detailed as you would expect a harbinger to have. The pillows more for decoration than comfort. You looked around as she watched you awe the room. “You can sleep on here whenever you like, as long as you aren’t working of course. But make yourself at home here.”

“I will thank you.” You said. She closed the door, her high heels clicked as she went to her office. You felt so timid. You looked in the closet out of curiosity, noticing there was two. They were both huge but one was empty. You realized she probably got the other for your clothes.. it made sense. You would eventually move in of course but it almost delighted you to know how thoughtful she was. She was already planning ahead.

That night you woke up to the door slamming. You jolted awake to see Arlecchino closed the door quickly as she undressed almost immediately. You felt quite flustered as she seemed to pay you no mind. She didn’t seem in the mood for conversation now so maybe you should keep quiet. You laid back, the moonlight was the only light as you noticed the unmistakable red stain coating the sleeves of her jacket. She then paused, turning to you.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” She said in a low voice.

“I- just… um..” I’m a little startled that’s all.” You said.

“You should get used to it. This home I’ve made is still nonetheless a fatui organization.” She said, she didn’t seem like she was in a good mood at all.

“I know… how often do you come home like this?” You ask.

“Ideally not so much. But realistically its not uncommon.” She answered. You nervously bit your lip as silence settled between us. Once cleaned and changed however she sighed. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” She walked over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“No no you’re right. I should just get used to this.” You said. She seemed pleased with that response.

“I have some things to finish up before bed, best not to wait for me now.” She said before leacinf without another word. You silently wondered if you had known what you were getting into by accepting her offer. But it was too late now. You weren’t going to ditch now. You’ll get through it, this time with her by your side.

[rubra-wav]

Yes! That’s exactly what I meant with the butterflies and characters!

I now have another request for main cast +Rosie and how they’d react with a Toriel (undertale)! reader where they’re basically a super comforting mother-like figure. I specifically want their reactions to reader making Toriels iconic and homely butterscotch cinnamon pie.

The main cast + Rosie × Toriel-like reader hcs

[ Part 2/ x Lucifer ]

A/N Glad I got the first one right! I've mostly written this as generally parental to keep stuff more gn, but reader is definitely more maternal than paternal.

I love this prompt sm. Toriel is such a sweetheart, and I feel like a reader who's like her would be a massive help to the cast and their progress of redemption.

Cw: SFW, technically gn but I use the words 'mum or dad' to refer to reader, platonic, kinda hurt/comfort in parts, suggestive in Angel's, references to cannibalism in Alastor's and Rosie's

Charlie

- Charlie would love you so much.

- She's got absolutely horrendous unresolved parental issues from both parents, so she would attach to you so quickly.

- If you tell her how wonderful of a job she's doing and that you are proud of her as a warm, caretaking parental-like figure, then she's gonna be bawling like an absolute baby.

- You want an unofficially adopted daughter?

- When you bake her the pie, she will feel years of ignoring her damaged inner child absolutely smack into her at once.

- Runs over to you and just grips onto your shirt as she bawls into your shoulder, saying thank you over and over again and apologising for crying. Probably accidentally calls you mum or dad as you're there hugging her and is then super embarrassed after it.

- After that? Yeah, she just keeps calling you mum or dad accidentally. It just becomes habitual at some point, and everyone else in the hotel just kinda accepts it.

- I can see her unconsciously calling you mum or dad on the phone to Lucifer himself and Lucifer going nuts about it, thinking she's either talking about Alastor or Lilith has come back.

- It'll just be the Alastor shenanigans all over again, but when Lucifer actually sees you, he can't even be mad.

- You offer him tea and stuff you've made for his visit, and he's just there angrily stuffing his face while slightly crying because he's trying so hard to stay mad, but Charlie looks so happy as she talks animatedly about him to you and you're so genuinely sweet unlike Alastor.

- He's also lacking a massive spot missing in himself that Lilith left that you could fill.

- ... Want an unofficial adopted husband, too?

Vaggie

- At first, she really doesnt like you.

- Nah, she hates you straight up.

- Finds how you act for a demon to be greatly untrustworthy, and she's very defensive because she thinks you're just another Alastor who's trying to get close to Charlie to potentially harm her.

- After a while, though, she sees you are just genuinely a deeply abnormal demon as compared to what she's seen.

- Then she quickly warms up to you.

- She never thought she had any kind of missing parent spot in her heart, being an ex exterminator and all, but oh boy, was she wrong.

- She's never experienced any kind of presence like yours - as an exterminator, she didn't have parents.

- And because of that, she's suddenly found herself unable to stop crying for some reason as you hugged her and told her she's doing a really good job protecting everyone.

- She's never had that in this way. Charlie is, of course, supportive but not in a way that's parental.

- If you tell anyone about her crying in your arms, she says she will deny it and end you.

- When you offer her the pie, she doesn't break down like Charlie, but she's so happy. Has googly eyes about it and is fighting tears as you come and hug her.

- Very much appreciates you and all you do, in a much less 'going to start actually calling you mum/dad' way, though.

- Does somewhat attach to you like that however.

- Absolutely becomes particularly protective over you.

Angel Dust

- You vex him so greatly.

- At first, he thinks it's some kind of roleplay thing you were trying to get him to play out, and he's not into it at all.

- Downplays it if you're male with a; "Well, I'm not usually into that kinda calling people daddy, but -"

- Straight up tells reader he's not into that if reader isn't male, however.

- Is even more confused when you are horrified he thinks you're trying to bed him.

- All his years of coming across terrible people have made him avoid you like the plague, he doesn't trust you because you're just so?? Weird?

- Thinks you're trying to break his walls down with kindness so you can take advantage of him, so his guard is literally always all the way up with you.

- He cracks a bit, though, when he's had a rough night and you find him sitting on the lounge in the TV room with his head in his hands.

- You bring him a slice of the butterscotch cinnamon pie, hearing he likes sweet things, and some tea with a painkiller on the side of the plate.

- When he says thank you hesitantly, you just smile and hum before leaving.

- After that, he starts to warm to you.

- You help to patch him up if he ever gets injured and take care of him when he comes home wasted.

- When you patch him up/take care of him, you sometimes help brush his fur out, and he loves that a lot.

- Will lie about not liking it, though. He's not meant to like soft affection. It goes against his persona he tries to put on.

- The way he leans into your touch though whenever you do this is very telling.

Husk

- He doesn't like you at all.

- Finds the way you treat him deeply unsettling and borderline humiliating, and wishes you would just leave him alone.

- He's a grown man, he doesn't want to be treated like someone's kid - especially some random.

- When you back off, he's thankful for it.

- He appreciates when you do smaller gestures for him though that are less parental/ emotional and are more just practical.

- If you help him clean up, give him stuff to eat while he's working, volunteer to massage his shoulders, etc. He's happy.

- When you give him some of the butterscotch cinnamon pie, he's gonna bitch he doesn't like sweet things but he'll be lying about not liking it.

- Probably will try to recreate the recipe in secret late at night.

- Absolutely mortified when you find him absolutely covered in flour with a mixing bowl in his hands after hearing him sneeze loudly.

- The ingredients on the bench very clearly match what would be in a butterscotch cinnamon pie.

- When you say he could have just asked you what the recipe was, he gets incredibly defensive and vehemently denies it.

- You wave him off apologising for 'assuming wrong', then leave him to continue what he totally wasn't doing.

- He gives up after that and goes to bed rather embarrassed, getting caught on his bs.

- He's extra embarrassed when the next day he finds the recipe written on a piece of paper slid under his room's door.

- He acts like he doesn't like you still, but it's an absolute lie.

Sir Pentious

- Deeply paranoid about you in the beginning, naturally.

- He finds the way you act extremely strange and the way it makes him feel even stranger, so he avoids you for a while.

- One night when he thinks you're asleep he comes to look longingly at you like with other members of the hotel.

- Only to find you are not asleep at all, and are just reading late into the night, lost in a book.

- He inwardly curses and tries to leave, but the floorboards outside of the door creak with his movement, and he's mortified, anticipating getting the living crap beaten out of him.

- Is surprised when you smile at him and beckon him over instead, though, asking him what he's doing up so late.

- Slowly comes over to you and sits down next to you hesitantly. He's still anticipating a beating, but figures if he does what you ask he will receive less of one.

- You of course don't, and your soft nature sweeps him in. His tired and secretly touch starved self is very quickly falling asleep curled against you.

- After that, he quickly warms up to you, finding your caring, affectionate nature very much something he's missing and wants.

- When you serve him the cinnamon and butterscotch pie, he goes very weepy about it. He doesn't really like sweet things that much, but he's so soft about the gesture.

- Would probably be one to attach to you hard as a parent-figure as well. Would never allow himself to call you mum or dad though.

-If he does, it's mumbled out while he's very tired and not thinking while snuggled against you.

- One of his eggs hears this and later addresses it, and he's absolutely horrified.

Alastor

- He's another person who's particularly fond of you for the get-go.

- He has a surprising soft spot for people who act parent-like - especially when it's more on the motherly kind of side of things.

- So, from day one, he's treating you much more genuinely nicely than he usually would other people.

- He would never in a million years act like the others do with you. However, he certainly does not shy away from you doting upon him.

- He'd accept tea and pastries (even though they aren’t exactly to his usual tastes), as well as the affection and praise you give out liberally graciously with a smile and warmness that is not as forced as it is with others.

- But he would certainly never allow himself to become attached enough to you to see you like a parent to him. He's got one parent, and you could never replace her.

- When you come out with the butterscotch cinnamon pie, looking all homely and soft with it in your hands, he feels himself smile widely and let's out a laugh that's so lacking of the usual mocking/underlying bad intent that it would surprise the listener.

- Happy to tell you about his day each time he comes home over tea.

- Of course he doesn't discuss anything under surface level things, though he certainly likes the smalltalk you bring to the table.

- You may be able to crack his outward persona a little bit and get him to very vaguely touch upon what's going on with him under the surface, but even then, it's never truly honest or obvious as to what his true thoughts are.

- When he has the breakdown in the final episode, he particularly avoids you afterwards as he just knows he'd risk letting his walls down too much around you.

Niffty

- Another one who absolutely loves you from day one.

- You let her put on puppet shows with the dead insects she kills and compliment her messed up collections and art, though you do push her towards less sadistic/unhinged forms of entertainment.

- She doesn't stop what she does, of course, but she will take up some of what you recommend. Usually in a very twisted way though.

- ie. 'paintings of butterflies', but it's actual butterflies mixed with other insects like a messed up form of taxidermy all glued down onto a page.

- Likes having you around to do the mopping and vacuuming around the hotel with her.

- She of course helps with the work, but she particularly enjoys sliding full speed across the floor while it's wet towards you and watching you panic as you scramble to catch her.

- Also likes to sit on the vacuum cleaner when you use it talking about anything and everything.

- You usually both end up absolutely covered in soapy water by the end of cleaning.

- She also likes the meals and desserts you make for her very much.

- When you bring out the pie, she's sitting down and kicking her legs excitedly as she looks at it as you bring her a slice.

- After shes done, she's going over to you and is sitting in your lap while kicking her feet even more excitedly and cuddling up against you, basking in your hugs while giggling.

- Absolutely calls you mum or mama. Regardless of your gender, you'd be getting called mum by her.

Rosie

- Pleasantly surprised to meet a sinner like you.

- You two get on like a house on fire the second you meet.

- She's of course cordial, but it's much less forced around you, and she feels a lot more easy going around someone like you.

- She's absolutely beaming in every meeting you have and absolutely adores being around you at all points.

- She finds how you instantly try to take care of everyone around you - including her - absolutely endearing and extremely cute.

- Loves having tea with you and Alastor.

- It's not often she can find someone who is unafraid enough to have tea with not only her but also Al, so she's absolutely elated. Most people are scared for obvious reasons to dine with cannibals.

- Normally, she would turn down the kind of food you make, but she just cannot bring herself to.

- You're too sweet to say no to in her books.

- She's somewhat hesitant to try it like with most of what you bring when you bring out the pie, but is delighted when she does.

- Truly loves it, and your gestures are just so absolutely lovely to her.

- Doesn't attach to you as a parental figure at all, but certainly does love having you as a friend.

- She absolutely tries to dote on you in the same way you do with her.

- A bit hesitant to start cooking more normal dishes though, so she ends up asking you to cook with her.

- She's surprised at how fun it is to cook with you.

- Rosie and you end up starting to bake or prepare desserts for your teatime sessions with Al. It quickly becomes an activity she absolutely cherishes.