#guess it’s self deprecating hours

[bi-writes]

i need to stop comparing myself to the other wonderful writers here but damn is it so hard.

[shilo-sumac]

sometimes i wonder who the real version of me is. if all the masks are removed... i think id just be an empty slate

[lucky-draws]

9.6.23

[malachitezmeyka]

Me: So yeah, in the Sacrifice AU in order to cope with her trauma Suiren develops an alterhuman thing where she thinks of herself as a malevolent swamp spirit, both to feel invincible and to prove everyone who turned against her right, in a "you want me to be the villain? Fine, I'll be the villain" kind of way. They think of her as evil and rotten and an omen of doom? Okay, so be it, maybe she is all those things and more, much more than they can ever imagine. She'll show them all

My brain: Mhm, mhm, and I suppose your intense self hatred, the endless criticism you face from everyone in your life, the unyielding sense of impending doom hanging over you like a dark cloud, the hysterics you fall into whenever you think about how this endless every day battle won't end with highschool and you still have to go to uni afterwards and then work every day of your life until you eventually drop dead, all the while knowing you will never be loved like you want to because there are more As in your aspec identity than in your report card which, combined with everything else, makes you want to say "fuck it" to every last expectation, stop putting in the effort, ignore assignments and stop caring about receiving bad grades, not do any studying at all and wing your exams and fail to get accepted anywhere with the low scores you'll likely get if you do that, effectively throwing your whole life away, just so your parents can finally be justified in calling you a disappointment, just so you can actually be as bad as they make you out to be and so much worse... has nothing to do with any of that, then?

Me: ...... oh for FUCK'S SAKE–

[inkskinned]

people have to make their own choices and make their own mistakes and you know that but you're on your third gin cocktail.

she's almost-angry while she talks. "he took the train with me. all the way home. it's an hour in the wrong direction." she's got a bright yellow raincoat and round glasses. she looks cute and thoughtful and like she reads books a lot. she's his type and you know that.

the bartender rolls her eyes and points to you. "he drove this one to her grandma's house. six hours both ways."

you were younger then, hadn't ever kissed a girl yet. were still saying "bicurious" because of your irish catholic family. it was so long ago skinny jeans were still socially acceptable.

and you'd met him, and he'd been perfect. his narrow face and dark hair and his wry self-deprecation. and - okay, yes, the fact he was a singer/songwriter was also hot. you liked the feeling of sundays with him, the two of you noodling through his new songs together while you slowly learned to play bass guitar. you liked writing his name on your converse. you liked his ironic "mom" tattoo and his fancy coffee obsession and his scrappy handwriting.

you didn't know, then, what kind of man he was. maybe he didn't either; he was young too. you say it into your earl-grey-gin-something. "he has... a playbook, i guess. the things he does... he does it with everyone."

she looks at you with wide, beautiful eyes. jesus christ, she's young. "we stood outside in the rain, just talking," she says. "i know that can't be fake. i have a ton of, like. examples here. he's a good guy. you should have seen him. i'm not, like, a complete idiot."

did you play defense attorney with him like this? did you bristle when others warned you about how quickly he leaves women?

you gnaw the thin black straw and stare at the other side of the building, where his band is setting up to play. you have no true rage against him, but it's not fun to watch him ruin other women. "did he get you a little stuffed animal yet?" yours had been a panda.

she stares at you and then nods, just once, stiffly.

you hold out your hand and start listing things, weighing them on your fingers. "did he tell you that he'd never seen someone like you, that you move like a dancer or something?" at her nod, you continue. "buys you ice cream and then drives up to the river to watch the stars? shows up at your place just because he missed your voice? takes you to the pet store to look at the fish?"

the bartender points at you. "don't forget he does that little dog game he does."

you close your eyes. you remember him in his stupid leather jacket, bouncing on his toes. he'd gotten the petstore clerk to allow him to handle a ferret. you had vibrated with joy, wrestling the noodle bodies from hand to hand. and then he'd said we're going to live together. we're going to get a big dog and a big lawn and -

"you get into a fake fight about what you'll name the dog," you monotone.

"chili," she says. she sets her jaw a little higher, and you catch a flash of muscle clenching. "we settled on chili. it's gonna be an irish setter."

the bartender snorts while she maneuvers deftly through making a batch of espresso martinis. "sounds about right. now i've got two rotties, but when that shit happened to me? we chose Portland. and we were gonna get a samoyed." she snorts again. "as if he could afford that grooming bill."

you had actually started that conversation in the pet store. you wanted a big, slobbery dog. a mutt, but a big mutt. something mastiff-like. something that you could walk alone at night with. your family has a tradition of "letting the dog name itself," where you'd write all the potential names on a piece of paper and then throw them. whatever the dog went to, it'd be the dog's name.

but he had said name it something girly since it's so big. he suggested Lavender or Pansy. at the time you'd thought it was funny and cut and sort of sweet. he wanted to pick up a dog from the ASPCA that weekend, he said. i'm gonna go get us Lavender. you hadn't learned yet that he would promise you a river but never even deliver a raindrop.

"it's like this every time, babe," the bartender says, not unkindly. "i'm sorry. i've seen too many like this, and you seem like a sweet kid."

the other woman bristles. "i'm not a kid. thanks for your advice. but." she stands up, slaps a ten down, stalks away.

the bartender looks at you and holds her hands up and shrugs. you shake your head and look down into the drink, stirring it idly.

"do you think he's written her the four lines yet?" the bartender asks, pushing a drink to someone.

you almost flinch, but don't. you'd been in the back shed, practicing together. he said he had a present for you - the beginnings of a new song. really just a couplet more than anything, barely more than 30 seconds. it should have made you feel glorious, feral, glowing.

but you had stood there, realizing you had books of songs about him, none of which he ever agreed to play. the song he'd written you had floated through the room and you felt strange and disconnected and insane all at once - it was such a vapid, stupid stanza he'd made. and then he said that terrible phrase - i love you babe.

and you had been suddenly both very out of your body and also very present, thinking: oh my god this guy is a buffoon and i'm wasting my time. the spiralbound notebook with pages of poems and lyrics and stories you'd written for him is now stashed in some rubbermaid. you'd wanted to burn it at first, but the effort had exhausted you.

the four lines of song are usually pretty banal - something about her eyes, something about her smile, something about how she's special. but they work. they always work, because people want to believe in the magical commodity of love - that it cannot be manufactured.

later in the night you watch that man get on stage and sing punk rock to a thinning crowd. he takes the time out of the setlist to try out a "new song" that goes out to his girl in the crowd, all of 30 seconds of music. he says he likes her eyes and her smile and she's special.

you think about stopping her physically. you think about showing her the group chat of exes in your phone. you think of how young she is - maybe 22? - and how you, at 22, would have told your current self fuck right off. you had believed it too, after all. people need to make their own choices. besides. maybe you're wrong. maybe this time it actually is that precious, starry, once-in-a-lifetime love.

you see her kiss him afterwards, her cheeks pink. it looks like a puppy being swallowed by a wolf. you have to check the floor to make sure no blood was spilled.

[defmaybe]

last night's mascara

12 Days of Christmas: Day 11, January 4th, 2025

Dreamcatcher’s Lee Gahyun x Male Reader

3.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

What a boring ass party.

It’s the thought that has been lingering inside your head for the last two hours. The decorations? Daft. The song choice? Lame. The conversations? Rote. So, there you are, one hand on your phone, the other fiddling with your fingers restlessly. Should’ve bought Balatro when it was on sale.

You scroll your Twitter feed aimlessly, pressing likes on the fan sites’ pictures of your favorite groups—fromis_9, Red Velvet, (G)I-DLE. It’s the only way to escape this party without raising much suspicion.

Well, not until Gahyun notices you standing in the corner of your eyes.

“Not enjoying it?”

You almost drop your phone on the ground, good thing you can balance it with your hands.

“Shit, y–yeah,” you reply.

Gahyun giggles softly, covering her mouth with the glass of champagne in her hand. She’s in her red and white Christmas dress, one that shows off a lot—her shoulders, her legs, her ample cleavage. Fuck, she looks so tantalizing.

“So,” she says. She’s pulling you into a conversation. Abort. Abort. Abort!

“How was your day?” she asks, “Wait, oh my god, that was a terrible question. I’m sorry if it’s too plain for you.”

It’s over for you.

“No, no, it was–great. I’m fine,” you reply. “How are you?”

Gahyun chuckles. “A bit drunk, but still standing!” she says with a bright smile, twisting her foot coyly. God, she looks gorgeous.

You only shoot a smile back at her. You don’t know what more to say. It’s difficult for you to continue the conversation like this. You can’t do this.

“Hey,” she continues. You’re finished. “I can keep you company here if you want.”

She’s kind, but you’ll have to say no. You aren’t good enough to hold her right here. You don’t have anything to talk about!

“Ah, I–I appreciate that, but I don’t think you’d enjoy my company,” you decline, taking a sip of the champagne in your hand.

She giggles, and you fall victim to your own self-deprecation once again. You just can’t stop pushing people out, can you?

Fuck.

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, come on!” she encourages. You’re taken aback by her enthusiasm to be with you. Is she really enjoying your company? Is it a dare? Is she just toying with you for her own entertainment?

“O–Okay, Gahyun,” you stammer.

The conversation begins at the expense of your solitude. It’s seemingly unending. You’re involuntarily dragged into an exchange with the talkative Lee Gahyun. However, you’re slowly dragged into her charismatic presence. You’re somehow not stuttering anymore? Goodness gracious! She’s a good talker. She’s a good listener. She’s genuinely comforting to be around.

“So–speaking of music, have you been listening to anyone recently? Well, outside of k-pop, it’ll be too boring,” Gahyun asks.

You contemplate a bit before you answer, “Well, I’ve been listening to Gracie Abrams a lot lately. Do you know her?”

“Gracie Abrams–hmm–is she the one who opened for Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah!” you happily answer. She’s really full of knowledge. “I started listening to her a few years ago. Quality can be choppy sometimes, but I still like her a lot.”

“I’m sure she’s great,” she says with a giggle. “That’s why you’re drawn to her.”

You can only chuckle at her warm words. God, she really knows how to reel you in. 

“What about you? Who have you been listening to?” you ask her the same question back. Normally, you’d be beating yourself up for not changing the question, but with Gahyun, it feels like you don’t have to worry about anything.

Gahyun laughs, cutely covering her mouth while doing so. “Well, mostly Billie Eilish, her new album. Have you heard it yet?”

“Oh, yeah! I love Birds of a Feather a lot. Wait, let me guess yours–uh–” you pause, trying to guess her favorite from the album.

Gahyun adoringly smiles, waiting for your guess. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the light, but, fuck, are you having a crush on her?

“Chihiro?”

“Aww~ that’s close! It’s actually my second favorite,” Gahyun says, pouting cutely. You can only awkwardly giggle along to cover the embarrassment from the mistake.

“I actually love Lunch the most, to be honest,” she says. “Makes me click my heels, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean–I also like Lunch, but–uh–it’s just not as sad as Birds of a Feather.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s definitely interesting!” Gahyun says. “So, you like sad songs? Do you like–uh–have any to recommend to me?”

You give her a few songs. She nods in acknowledgement. The exchange continues into the night. It flows so lively that you get lost in her charm, over and over again. You find out about her dog at home—Bae. You find out that she loves pineapples on pizzas. You find out that her favorite TV show is Goblin (yes, that Goblin).

As it goes on, you can’t help but steal glances at her body, even if you know how inappropriate that is. You’ll use the opportunity when she looks away to take in the view of her ample cleavage or her meaty thighs. She looks so good, so deli–

“Hey,” she derails your train of thoughts. “Did you just–stare at my tits?”

Your eyes widen in shock. You didn’t realize that you’ve been looking at her for a little too long. Your hands tremble in fear of getting called out. You should say sorry, now!

“F–Fuck, I–I’m so s–sorry, Gah–”

“Zip it,” she cuts you off, putting her index finger on your lips. “I don’t want excuses.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. You’re being mentally cornered by Lee Gahyun, the company darling. God, you’re beyond fucked. Your whole life is being undone because of a slip. Fuck.

Then, she whispers into your ear.

“Meet me at the women’s bathroom in five minutes.”

You nod with your eyes closed slowly, before she departs from you, giving you the view of her hips swaying before disappearing into the crowd.

—

The women’s bathroom smells of air purifier, it’s taken care of well. It’s brightly lit. You find Gahyun standing in the middle of the room—arms crossed, tapping her foot. She’s waiting for you.

“Come here, lock the door,” she orders, gesturing you to her. Her voice is much, much more stern than in the ballroom, but there’s also–something else. Is she mad at you, or is it something else?

The door clicks shut, leaving the bathroom only for you two. You slowly walk towards Gahyun, who’s looking at you expectantly.

The air thickens with anticipation. The silence is heavy. You’re stuck in the bathroom with Lee Gahyun. She doesn’t seem too pleased with your presence here, but why would she be calling you here, then?

“So,” she starts. You close your eyes shut in fear. “Anything to say before we start?”

You shake your head vigorously, hoping that the admission would lessen the punishment directed at you.

You hear a wicked laugh, as she starts to circle around you. Your body trembles in fear. Fuck, what is she going to do with you. Is she going to beat you up? Is she going to berate you?

“Are you sure that you’ve locked the door?” she asks from behind you. You can feel her breath on your neck. It’s terrifying.

“Y–Yes, Gahyun,” you stammer out.

“Good. Now, take off your pants,” she orders sternly. Wait, this isn’t going where you’ve expected.

“Wait, do you want me to–”

“Take off your pants, yes,” she finishes your sentence without any hesitation. Determination shines in her eyes.

“O–Okay?” you utter, before reluctantly unbuckling your belt. It’s so hard to come off when your hands are literally shaking like this. Your breathing becomes erratic with each second that passes by.

“Faster,” she sternly commands into your ear. Her warm breath touches your skin, eliciting goosebumps everywhere. Your hands quickly take off your trousers as she orders, leaving your lower body in your boxers. The outline of your erection becomes visible under them.

“Good,” she says, the warmth of your hand emanating into your firm ass. “Now, if you’d show me what you’ve been hiding under this–garment.

You immediately comply with her order, sliding down your tight boxers in a hasty motion. Your hard cock springs free from its confinement. It twitches in the anticipation of what’s to come. Gahyun presses into your body from the back, making your ass touch her warm crotch. Her perfume pervades your nostrils, making your legs wobble like jelly.

“Hmm, excited, aren’t we?” she coos. Her right hand reaches from the back to tease you. She leaves just a little space between her hand and your cock. You wish you could just grab her hand and make her touch your hardness right now, but that’s not how you play this game. You can only wonder how Gahyun can hide this side for so long—the side that dominates the shit out of you.

“Do you want me to touch it? Say it.” Her hot breath brushes against your ear, teasing you, pushing you towards the limit.

“Y–Yes, I want you to touch it, Gahyun,” you utter, mind going all haywire from the sheer intensity of her body warmth against your back.

You hear Gahyun giggle mischievously from the back, before her hand latches onto your cock firmly, making you groan in sheer ecstasy.

Slowly, she begins her dirty display on your cock. She lazily drags her hand up along your length, eliciting a shudder from you. When she’s at the top, she makes sure to take a swipe on the tip to make you moan. Your brain is now filled with nothing but her otherworldly handjob she’s giving. She feels so good.

You moan and whimper in her tight restraint, naked from below the waist. Her hands are slowly jerking you off with an unmatched mastery. Her smell is intense—her perfume, and something that’s explicitly her.

She slowly finds her rhythm, knowing when to pump, knowing when to swipe. She goes faster, eliciting guttural groans and whimpers out of you. 

Your cock is being fondled by the company darling, and that thought alone sends you into rapture. She’s the same woman you see every day. She’s the same woman you’ve talked to. She’s the same woman who everyone loves. Now, she’s jerking you off in the women’s bathroom, making you moan and whimper.

Maybe it’s the sheer intensity of the situation, you can feel your loins tightening. Your body becomes rigid. Your breathing becomes erratic. You’re going to cum in Lee Gahyun’s hand!

“You know, I’ve been told a lot that I have nice lips,” she says. Her hands remain a little too eager to finish you off. It’s becoming too irresistible to cum right now. You can feel the tension rising within your loins. You do want more than her hand, indeed. That pair of lips are a little too tantalizing for you to not be on your cock—so plump, so pouty.

“F–Fuck, Gahyun, I–I’m gonna cum,” you utter. Time is running low, and you have to make her stop before you blow a load all over the bathroom floor and get short-circuited for the rest of the night.

Gahyun lets out another wicked giggle. “Say please, then.” She’s not going to stop so easily, not before you profusely beg her to.

“Nghhn~ p–please, Gahyun,” you plead, voice already shaking in the intense sensation.

“Again, and I’ll lift my hand off,” she teases, jerking you off even faster. Your mind is all hazy from the sheer pleasure you’re getting from her hand. Your blinking becomes rapid. Your vision becomes blurry.

“Nghh~ please, G–Gahyun.”

Gahyun suddenly removes her hand from your cock, leaving it twitching in the air. You sigh, as the tension slowly drops back to normal. You’re happy not to cum before you get to take on her mouth.

“Close one,” she says, letting go of you from her warm embrace. You feel like you can fully breathe for the first time in years. She was suffocating, but you won’t deny the pleasure she gave you, of course.

Gahyun slowly walks back to your front, putting the highlight of her next act for you to see—her lips, those dick-sucking lips. You and the guys have talked about this behind her back (well, behind everyone’s back) about how good her lips would feel on your cocks, head bobbing up and down in a hypnotic motion, bringing intense pleasure to whoever gets their dick sucked. 

Now, it’s your turn.

Gahyun kneels, not without seductively swaying her wide hips as she goes down. Your cock twitches at the sight violently, so ready to be taken into her mouth.

“Say please, just like when I jerked you off,” she commands. She seems to know when to raise her voice and when to not.

“Please, Gahyun,” you utter, your voice all dry from the moaning and the internally burning desire.

The first contact is nothing short of divine. Gahyun starts slow. She starts by taking in just the mushroom tip into her mouth. She feels so warm, so tight, so right. Gahyun gives the underside of your cock a playful lick, making your body jolt in response.

She then begins her show, pushing herself further on your cock. It’s a lewd sight, really—the direct eye contact, the sound she’s making (it’s kind of a low, satisfied hum), the way she fondles your balls with her fingers. Pleasure just shoots through your body like a bullet. Without any restraints, you could just cum into her mouth right here and now. She pushes further and further, making you groan in pure bliss, until she starts to gag.

“Y–You don’t have to take it all, G–Gahyun.”

She says nothing, instead diving deeper onto your cock, all while using her tongue to play with the underside of your length. No woman has ever given you a blowjob as good as this—the deliberate movement, the will to gag, the pouty lips. Gahyun really has it all.

She keeps the eye contact intact, a reminder of her control. The gagging sounds she’s making don’t hinder her dominance by a little bit. She lets you know who’s in control here. It’s her and only her.

She finally pushes herself up to the hilt of your cock. She gags. She chokes. She sputters. Globs of spit leaks out of her mouth. Your head falls backwards from the pleasure. Her eyes are barely opening from the sheer size of your cock. You love this. You love the sounds she’s making. You love how she dominates the shit out of you. You love that she’s willing to suck you off like this (even if she’s the one in full control).

She stays there, gagging, choking, sputtering on your cock. She’s taking in the pungent scent of you, judging by the way she takes a deep breath through her nose. Her lips look so good on your cock like this. The base of your length becomes saturated by her red lipstick and spit. Streaks of black mascara run down her cheeks. You’re revelling in it. You’re revelling in the sight.

“G–God, G–Gahyun,” you utter.

With that, she slowly pulls back from your cock, leaving a trail of her rosy lipstick on it. Her eyes are fluttering violently with the thickness and length of you. She can barely breathe, and you’re loving it.

Instinctively, your right hand goes to the back of her head, tugging her hair to pull her out of the predicament called your cock. She gets to breathe again, and she quickly dislodges herself off you.

“Ah, y–you taste good,” she says, still trying to catch her breath. The marks from the earlier act are evident.

You say nothing, letting Gahyun catch her breath again, waiting for the time she can take in your cock once more. She breathes in, she breathes out, and finally, she’s ready again.

“I’m not holding back this time, alright?” she says, determination sparks inside her eyes.

“S–Sure.”

She grabs onto your cock with her right hand, pulling you close, before she takes your cock into her mouth. This time, it’s more violent, more fervent. She catches her rhythm and doesn’t look back. She starts to bob her head back and forth on your cock, and doesn’t that make you whimper like a bitch?

“Nghhh~ s–so good,” you mewl.

Gahyun only replies with a giggle on your cock. Her grip is still firm. Her free hand fondles your balls gently, trying to coax cum out of you.

She catches her rhythm, moving her head in a hypnotic motion. She really wants you to cum under her influence like this. You hear her gag. You hear her choke. You hear her sputter.

The tension in your loins starts to rise again. You’re on the verge of cumming with the help of the earlier handjob, and she doesn’t seem to stop at all. That’s it. You’re unloading your cum inside of Lee Gahyun’s mouth, making her taste your white essence.

“G–Gonna cum,” you utter.

Gahyun responds by going as rapidly as she can on your throbbing cock. The sensation is electric. It shoots through you like a bullet. The knot tightens, and you can do nothing to stop it.

With the final stroke, you unload your pent-up lust into Lee Gahyun’s throat, making her taste your essence. Your body jerks forward in pure pleasure. You let out a low, guttural groan at your precipice, unable to make sense of the situation. She lets out a satisfied hum as she feels your white, hot cum hit the back of her throat. You’re probably salty, like the other women have said.

You slowly come down from your peak, finally catching your rhythm again. Your cock’s spurts turn into soft drizzles off the slit. Gahyun pulls off of your cock with a loud pop. What an obscene sight. Her face is a fucking mess—mascara, lipstick, it’s all wrong. You’re still too dazed to say a thing, though.

“You taste good,” she says, opening her mouth, sticking her tongue out lewdly to show the emptiness of her wet cavern. She drank it all.

“I–I wanna do this again,” you involuntarily utter from the depths of your heart. “I want you to suck my cock again.”

Maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of your words. Maybe it’s the wake of your climax. She bursts out a laugh, a genuine one. You watch her laugh awkwardly.

“Ask me–ha–properly,” she says. “Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Suck–”

“Suck my cock again?”

She lets out a chuckle, before answering, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 5)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

Edwards eyes were glinting again with the emotion that Y/N still could not place.

'What?' Y/N asked, rolling onto her stomach, head resting on her arms.

'Nothing. It's just nice to finally feel the sun again.' Edward smiled, closing his eyes and laying on his back, breathing deeply.

Was there something on her lips? Why was he touching them? Y/N lifted her hand to brush over her lips.

‘Was there something on my face?’ Y/N asked, sitting up. ‘If you say there's a bug I will scream.’

‘No, just some grass, it's gone now.’ Edward lied smoothly. He looked a mixture of frustrated and amused. Where else would he find such an oblivious girl who was adamant on not seeing how much he liked her? It was as if she couldn’t see herself at all.

He stood up, offering a hand. Y/N let herself be pulled up, grasping his marble hands. He looked rueful, dropping her hand as soon as Y/N stood up.

‘How can you not be afraid?’ He let out a growl, dashing past Y/N before her eyes could focus on his form. He was now standing ten metres away, eyes boring into her from just beyond the thicket.

Was Edward having his emo moment? 

‘You can't run from us.’ He said, suddenly In front of her again, impossibly fast.

‘You can't scream or-’

‘Look, you’re not a spider, or a roach.' She rolled her eyes, interrupting.

'The only thing scary about you is the fact that you mood swing so hard.’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, her tone final.

‘I get that you think you're the world's best predator, but so are humans.’ Y/N pointed at him, as if scolding. ‘You may be dangerous, but so is every human being, plant or animal. You may be a vampire Edward but you nor your family scare me.’ She jabbed at him with her finger.

‘Hell, not even ghosts scare me.’ She threw up her hands in frustration. ‘If you wanted me dead, I would have been the day that van skidded.’  

‘But I-’

‘Edward, you’re a good person and I’m betting you’re also a good friend.’ She shook her head emphatically. 

‘I am not scared of you more than I am scared of every other man nor do I think you’re an angel. You may be a vampire but that is you physically. Everything else about you is still human.’ Y/N rubbed her hands on temples, looking down and continuing.

‘Your emotions, your moral compass and your brain is still human Edward.’ She ended, hands on her hips looking as imposing as she could.

‘I don't think I've been scolded by anyone since….’ He trailed off. ‘I don't even think Carlisle has scolded me.’ He let out a small laugh, disbelief evident in his eyes. In the books, Y/N was pretty sure Carslie let Edward runoff during the mid 19th century so she wasn’t surprised.

‘You really are something.’ He murmured, placing a hand on her arm, willing her to drop her stance. ‘I’ll try not to be so self deprecating.’ 

Y/N looked at him and sighed. ‘Old habits die hard right?’ She relaxed her arms and shrugged, allowing him to coax her from her temper.

‘Eighty year old habits.’ Edward grinned, looking slightly self-conscious. It seemed as if time did little to expand a vampire's emotional maturity.

It made sense seeing as the immortal children were also stuck at a child’s mentality.

‘Yeah I don’t think you've aged mentally since, to be honest.’ She smirked, then added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Although I would like to add that I do have two graduate degrees in Medicine.’ He crossed his arms, his face reminded her of a puppy, waiting for a treat. It was so unfair how Edward’s face was able to dazzle her so easily. Who in the world was Stephanie Meyer thinking of when she wrote this damn book?

‘Huh, you can study all day for twenty four hours. I guess it makes sense. One could say you had a slight advantage…’ Y/N cheeked, to which Edward playfully hummed. He jokingly took a step forward, his hands poised.

‘Why you cheeky little..’ He sneaked forward as Y/N stepped backwards with an impish smile.

‘Shouldn’t I get a headstart?’ 

‘I would, but if I'm being honest. I'm afraid you'll get lost or trip over something…’ With that he blurred to Y/N’s side, gently snatching her up by the waist and spinning her around.

‘So I think I'm going to just keep you right here with me.’ He flashed a grin, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight. 

‘Honestly if you glittered the same way in the moonlight, I could use you as a torch.’ Y/N blinked, she poked his forehead with a finger, awkwardly dangling from his gentle hold.

‘Wow, you are exceptional.’ Edward closed his eyes, breathing in deeply with a wistful smile.

Y/n was miffed, ‘Whadd’ya mean?’ She mumbled, as Edward set her down, kneeling on the ground.

‘Get on, we’re going home.’

‘It’s like five o'clock.’ Y/N protested, nudging Edward over with her foot to which he chuckled, playing along.

‘You need dinner. We’re going home so I can drive us.’ 

‘Can’t I have more pasta?’ Y/N mumbled, climbing back onto Edward’s back, hands around his neck, brushing her thumbs over his cool skin. Edward hummed pleasantly as Y/N mushed her warm cheek into his back. 

‘Hmm, I could have that arranged.’ He said, shifting her weight. ‘Close your eyes.’ 

The trip back lasted less than ten seconds. They reached the familiar window, landing on it as Y/N flitted her eyelids open. The sun was beginning to set, casting a breathtaking orange glow across the horizon.

‘They made pasta without us even asking.’ Edward gave a light chuckle, setting Y/N down smoothly. 

‘I love your family. Can I marry them?’ Y/N joked, skipping through the door, next to Edward as he led them to the kitchen.

‘No one but me is single in my family.’ He smirked, looking down at her, ‘You’d be marrying me.’ 

‘Hm, I’d have to think about that.’ Y/N mused, putting her chin between her thumb and index finger. ‘You do have all the qualities that matter in this day and age.’ 

‘What’s that?’

‘Money, good looks and youth.’

‘I’m glad to know you think I’m good looking.’

‘What am I? Blind?’ Y/N laughed, reaching the kitchen, smelling the same delicious scent as this morning.

‘Welcome back!’ Alice called from the table.

The Cullen's were all sitting around the dining table, behind the kitchen island. On the marble white table was a single plate of spaghetti with a set of utensils.

‘Is that for me?’ Y/N smiled gleefully, keenly looking at the plate.

‘Of course,’ Rosalie answered, pulling out a chair. ‘Come sit.’ 

‘So, has Edward told you everything?’ Carlisle smiled, both his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. Y/N picked up her fork and replied,

‘Well, mainly everything but…’ Y/N brought the food to her mouth and chewed. 

‘I told her everything she asked.’ Edward frowned

‘Well, one thing I want to know more about is why he says that he can’t stand to be near or away from me.’ Y/N said, after swallowing her mouthful of food.

‘Well, you’re what we would call, his blood singer.’ Carlisle began explaining. ‘Your blood entices him more than any other, your scent is the most appealing to him in any situation.’

‘So, what I’m like a drug to him?’ Y/N blinked, twirling her pasta with her fork.

‘Yes, you’re like my personal brand of cocaine.’ Edward answered, resting his elbow on the table, head resting on his closed fist.

‘That’s… interesting?’ Y/N looked disgruntled, continuing to eat her food.

The conversation took a lull, the Cullens deciding to discuss their plans for an upcoming hunting trip. Meaning that the sun would be out soon.

As soon as Y/N had finished her plate, she spoke up,

‘Just one last thing… If there are vampires, do werewolves exist? ’ Y/N raised her eyebrows quizzically, standing to put her plate in the sink.

‘I’m afraid that's something you’ll have to ask the people you’re thinking about.’ Carlisle said in a grim tone. His perfect statue face, carved in an ironic, stony expression. It seemed as if he already knew where she was going with that question.

‘Okay, thank you Dr Cullen.’ Y/N nodded, as Edward moved to take her plate to the sink, slipping it from her grip.

‘Carlisle is fine. We aren’t at the hospital. Besides, I think we’re past the point of titles don’t you think?’ He smiled, standing from the table. ‘I assume Edward will be driving you home?’ 

‘Yes sir!’ Y/N nodded, before correcting herself. ‘I mean, Yes Dr- I mean, yes Carlisle.’ She fumbled, wringing her hands nervously.

The Cullen family were getting too friendly. What was Y/N going to do when they met Bella? She was the main character after all. And what was she supposed to do about Jacob? He had to imprint on Bella and Edward’s daughter, that was his story line wasn’t it?

As Y/N spiraled in her head. The rest of the family chuckled, saying their goodbyes as they one by one stepped out of the room.

‘I haven’t said this in almost a century but, a penny for your thoughts?’ Edward smiled gently, leading her by the waist.

‘Just thinking about what will happen to me when you eventually get sick of me.’ Y/N word vomited, looking at Edward in a slight panic.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Edward frowned, eyebrows furrowed, looking mildly disturbed.

‘Well, won't the novelty of you not being able to read my mind wear off at some point?’ Y/N shook her head, picking at skin on her hands. 

‘I’m sorry but even if I can't hear your mind, your facial expressions speak louder than words.’ Edward’s marble hands closed over Y/N’s fidgeting ones.

‘You speak without words sometimes, I like that you're so open.’ He whispered, his golden eyes were glittering, lit up by the lamps inside the corridor.

‘So you’ll still be my friend if I'm not the only one you can't hear?’ Y/N stared at her covered hands. Edward’s skin was freezing but comforting all the same.

‘Also, do you guys need lights? Don't you guys have night vision?’ She looked up abruptly while Edward in turn, stared at her incredulously.

‘Where on earth does your mind go in between thinking I'm going to abandon you and asking me questions I’m not expecting?’ 

‘I think about getting a dog too sometimes.’

‘Hm, I’m not too fond of dogs myself.’ Edward grimaced, looking as if he knew something she didn’t. The family called out their goodbyes from their rooms as Y/N walked by.

‘Why? Puppies are cute and they love you so much! Y’know beside the fact that they kinda stink and you have to clean up their poop.’ Y/N hummed, pulling her shoes on and tying up the laces.

‘Well, we can get one someday if you’d like.’ Edward smiled, offering his hand again to lead her to the car.

‘Huh? What am I? Gonna marry you?’ Y/N teased. ‘Planning our future already? You haven’t even taken me on a date yet!’

‘I just took you to meet my family. What do you think that was?’ Edward gave a humoured laugh guiding Y/N into her seat.

‘Huh?’ Y/N blanched, eyes bug-wide and mouth open in complete confusion.

‘You couldn’t tell?’ He chuckled, gazing at the shell shocked girl with affection. Edward was leaning over Y/N, his arm bracing his form on the open car door.

Y/N shook her head, mouth snapping shut.

‘I can slow down if you’d like.’ Edward grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges warmly.

‘Huh?!’ Y/N was not processing this at all.

‘But I have no intention of stopping unless you explicitly tell me to.’ Edward gently closed the car door and blurred over to the opposite side, opening the door and sliding in perfectly.

Y/N stared at Edward, unable to comprehend the current conversation.

‘You like me?’ She asked for the third time, not believing her ears.

However, to Edwards credit. He took the questions all in stride as a true gentleman.

‘Why me?’ She asked the first new question in five minutes.

‘You’re kind, you’re emotionally mature and you’re not easily shaken. Not only that, you make it so that I don't hate myself.’ Edward shrugged, one hand on the wheel, his head resting on the other hand curled into a fist. He was doing very little to hide the smile on his face.

‘We’ve only known each other since Friday! ’

‘That is true.’ He hummed, shifting his gaze onto her with a tender smile. ‘But I can’t exactly help it. Once one of our kind forms an attachment to someone, it only snowballs from there really.’ His smile turned apologetic.

‘Does it have something to do with having a perfect memory?’ Y/N asked, suddenly interested in this new information.

‘Something like that.’ Edward looked back toward the road. ‘For example, this afternoon, i will remember for the rest of my life. From the way your voice blended perfectly with the forest birds. To the way your eyes were illuminated by the setting sun.’  

Edward gave a content sigh before turning the car to park in front of Charlie’s driveway.

‘Even if I wanted to forget, I don’t think I could forget that.’ He closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a second before opening his eyes again.

‘How are you single?’ Y/N gave him a dubious look to which he snorted.

‘I’m actively trying to change that status with you right now.’ He opened the drivers-sided car door and whisked over to Y/N in a flash.

‘Edward…’ Y/N sighed, as the boy opened her door and held out his hand.

‘I didn’t tell you to pressure you Y/N.’ Edward hummed, leading her toward the front door.

‘I did it so you know I’m not going to randomly abandon you as you so fear. I hate that you think I'm so fickle. That is something I'll have to work on.' He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead, giving her ample time to pull away. Time that Y/N did not take. Edward’s lips were cold and smooth on her skin, like nothing she had ever felt before.

Before she could speak, the front door was flung open by a disgruntled Charlie.

‘Seven Thirty on the dot huh.’ Charlie's eyebrow lifted into a perfect arch.

‘Yes Chief Swan.’ Edward gave him a polite smile, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently before relinquishing her. ‘I’ll see you soon Y/N’ He gave her an implicit look, glancing at her room for a second.

Luckily for him, it was a gaze that Charlie had missed. Instead, he was checking Y/N for any signs of possible harm before ushering her back inside, almost not letting her wave goodbye to Edward.

‘How was it? Did the boy treat you well?’ Charlie spitfired questions as Y/N shrugged off her jacket.

‘He was a gentleman! His family was very gracious and we had pasta for dinner.’ Y/N laughed, amused by the fatherly instincts that were currently on display.

‘Enough about me, is Bella here?’ Y/N peered into the kitchen, spotting an empty table and chair.

‘She went upstairs, said she wanted to unpack after dinner. I could knock on her door?’ Charlie looked unsure of what to do. He wanted both the girls to get along but he wasn't sure how.

‘It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll say hello in the morning!’ Y/N gave Charlie a reassuring pat on the back before moving to go upstairs. 

‘I’ll see you in the morning?’ She smiled.

‘Yeah sounds like a plan, Goodnight kiddo.’

‘G’night Uncle Charlie.’ Y/N called out, trekking her way up the stairs.

Y/N glanced at the door on the far end of the hallway before shaking her head and opening her own door.

‘What is that smell?’ a voice whispered, starling Y/N.

‘What the-’

‘I did say see you soon.’ The musical voice replied cheekily.

‘Seriously though, your house smells like rotten fruit and white chocolate. I hate white chocolate.’ Edward growled, grabbing a pillow and nuzzling his face into it. Y/N took note of how he relaxed when he seemingly inhaled into the pillow.

‘Are you sniffing my pillow…’

‘I CAN’T HELP IT! YOUR HOUSE SMELLS TERRIBLE!’ He whisper-yelled in a whiny voice.

‘I think you might be smelling Charlie's daughter, Bella Swan…’

‘Seven hells she stinks.’ Edward groaned, unhanding the pillow and pulling Y/N's arm, allowing her to fall onto his lap. He nudged his cold nose into her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Just for a second, please. Need to clear my nose.’ He huffed, his nose barely grazing the nape of her neck.

‘This seems normal for teenagers.’ Y/N mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot. ‘Also are you sitting on my bed with outside clothes? Her voice took on a stern tone.

‘Mm I’ll change your sheets for you.’ Edward’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes ticking Y/N’s skin. ‘Are they in that closet?’ He jutted out his thumb.

‘Uh huh. I’m gonna change. If you peek I will scream and Charlie will shoot you. You won’t die but it’ll hurt.’ Y/N pointed, before grabbing some clothing from the opened closet and walking into the bathroom.

‘Feisty one aren’t ya?’ Edward snickered, pulling off her covers and starting to swap out her sheets.

-

It was now nine and Y/N had settled into her sheets, allowing Edward to slide in with her. He had gone home and changed his clothing in about ten seconds.

Unbeknownst to Y/N he had literally torn off his shirt in such a hurry.

She was leaning into his side, his arm resting on her bed frame.

‘You’re not going to watch me sleep are you?’ Y/N wrinkled her nose.

‘No, I would never do that without your permission.’ Edward shook his head, his tone insistent. ‘I only came up here because I wanted to wish you goodnight before tomorrow.’ He sat up straighter, looking panicked.

‘I was joking.’ Y/N laughed quietly, nudging him with her elbow. ‘Now go home so your family doesn’t think I put out on the first date.’

‘They wouldn’t think that. They adore you, Alice and Rosalie especially. Rosalie thinks you’re cute and Alice wants to take you shopping.’ Edward sighed, slipping off her bed and straightening up his clothes.

‘Huh, I knew i should’a dressed better…’ Y/N frowned, looking back at her closet.

‘You would look great in a trash bag.’

‘Why the flying fuck would I be wearing a trash bag.’

‘Good point.’ Edward smiled.

‘Until good morrow my dear kind sir.’

‘I bid thee a fine farewell fair lady.’ Edward gave a small bow, hand over his heart, eyes lowered.

‘Close the window on your way out Edward.’ Y/N rolled her eyes, sliding back into her bed.

‘Sweet dreams Y/N/N.’ He winked, sliding smoothly out of her window and shutting it quietly. With a final wave, Edward dropped with a soft almost unnoticeable whump leaving Y/N alone in her room.

‘What a day.’ Y/N mumbled, turning off her lamp.

EDIT-

OK SO IDK I kind of want to write out Bella, I think as a character she isn't quite as developed (Stephanie Meyer kind of self inserted so.... She's pretty one dimensional making it kind of hard to write unless I make her my own character.) So lmk what you think? Sorry it took so long! I'm going to the doctors today so I thought i might as well show you guys what I have for chapter five! Follow the post if you want to see the updates! (you can unfollow after I've updated! Tag lists are beyond me-) (p.s if you comment I'll probably @ you when I've updated!)

[chaotic-birds]

hi!! i saw you wanted to write fluff and i love your work! i was wondering if you could write a jasonxfem!reader on their wedding day, like getting ready and just being sweet and dopey.

(i tried to send this in earlier but it said it didn’t work so if you already got an ask like this is was from me 🙏🏼)

im so sorry about how late this is but tysm for sending something in! and ty for loving my work 🥺

TW reader has she/her pronouns, one rated r joke (tho its tame aha) | WC 1.5k | G fluff

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty!

masterlist

Jason is usually not one for superstitions, so you were surprised at how adamant he was about not seeing each other until the altar. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop him from designating Dick as his messenger.

“Dude, seriously? This is your seventh note to her,” Dick scoffs at the folded paper in his hand.

Jason looks at his brother through the mirror while fixing his tie for the tenth time.

“And there’ll be an eighth, so stop bitching and go give it to her.”

Dick grumbles, mumbling curses as he huffs out of the room.

“You know, you could just wait and tell her whatever it is in person,” Tim comments.

“And you could just mind your business,” Jason replies.

Jason notices Tim pursing his lips; he’s no doubt repressing his snarky comeback due to it being Jason’s big day.

The sound of the door opening makes Jason snap his head in that direction. Is Dick already back with your note?

Stephanie walks in, a big smile on her face.

“I thought wedding days were supposed to be filled with happiness. What’s up, grouch?” Stephanie questions.

Jason releases a big sigh and turns to face her.

With a pout, he answers, “My tie keeps looking weird.”

She laughs. “You really are nervous, huh?”

Stephanie comes to stand in front of him, undoing his tie.

“Can you blame me? Things don’t exactly go well for us, and I need this day to go well.”

“Is that why there’s a gun in your jacket?” Damian pipes in.

Jason shrugs. He’d feel naked without it.

Stephanie flattens the tie against his chest then taps him to confirm she’s done. Jason turns to the mirror again, overanalyzing the article of clothing. It still doesn’t feel right, but he guesses it never will.

“Thanks,” Jason mutters.

Dick walks back into the room, holding up a small piece of paper.

Jason eagerly meets him halfway and snatches the item from his hand.

You’re unbelievable, Jay. Ditching is not an option! I’ll see you soon xoxo (:

Jason grins at your scribbling. He can tell you’re in a rush and wonders if you’re as nervous as him.

There’s less than an hour to go, and he can’t tell if time is moving too fast or too slow. He just knows he’s ready to say I do.

There was a time when Jason believed a day like this would just be a fantasy. He never thought he’d wear a ring on his left hand. Never thought he’d find a home in a person.

But he’s so glad he did.

Jason stares at you with a smile so large it makes his cheeks hurt. However, he feels it can’t be helped. He’s buzzing with overwhelming joy.

Though, despite that, there’s the ever-present dark cloud above his head, threatening to shower him with self-deprecating thoughts. Thoughts that he wishes he could overcome, but somehow they keep sprouting. The most consistent out of them all is that he’s not deserving of—

���Jay?”

He turns his face and his gaze finds yours. They’re analyzing his features.

“What’s going on up there?” you whisper, sitting at their table at the front of the room. Everyone around them is eating.

It’s then he realizes his smile has faded, leaving behind a dejected expression.

You raise a hand to rub at one of his temples, not wanting to mess up his hair.

“Sorry,” he sighs. His eyes close briefly. When he opens them, you’re still staring at him.

“I love you,” he blurts. “I love you so much.”

You grin widely, hand dropping to grab his.

“I know.” You steal a kiss and squeeze his hand.

Jason opens his mouth to ask if you love him but stops. Out of all the places, all the events, this one should be a clear beacon of how much you love him.

As if reading his thoughts, you lean in and hug him.

It takes everything in him not to pull you into his lap and cuddle you like a stuffed animal.

“You’re the best man I know,” you say close to his ear. “You’re caring, thoughtful, funny, a little bit of a smartass,” you pause to chuckle, “and deserving.”

You pull away but keep a hand on his shoulder blade.

“And not only do I love you, but so does everyone in this room,” you continue. “I couldn’t have married a better man. You’re mine, Jason Todd. You know that?”

Jason hates crying. He hates it even more when it happens in public. But for fucks sake, he can’t stop the two tears that glide down his cheeks.

You kiss one and wipe the other.

“There’s darkness in us all, but focus on the light. Focus on us.”

Jason nods. His heart is beating rapidly from your sweet words.

“I was only supposed to cry at the altar,” he mutters, trying to bring some humor—some light—back into the atmosphere.

You smile. He can tell you’re recalling his tears as he watched you descend the aisle.

“Guess it means you’re a bigger crybaby than me,” you tease. Sure, you’ve shed a tear or fifteen, but not as much as Jason.

“We’ll see about that,” he huffs but there’s a smile on his lips. “The night’s not over.”

“No, it is not, little bro,” a voice joins the conversation as a hand slaps down on Jason’s other shoulder roughly.

Dick grins down at Jason. There’s something in it that’s wicked.

Dick turns, retrieves the microphone from the DJ booth, then walks back. The music lowers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time to start the fun,” Dick announces into the mic.

The room quiets as people’s attention shifts.

“I’d like to congratulate the lovely couple and share a few words,” he pauses to glance at Jason. “And you bet your zombie ass, I’ll be telling embarrassing stories too.”

Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, but one simple kiss from you on his cheek has him wilting in his chair.

He’s so done for.

Jason is perfectly content watching you on the dance floor from afar. But oh, that won’t do.

From being tossed from Stephanie to Dick, to Duke, to even Damian, he’s had his fair share of time away from his chair. A chair that his feet desperately miss.

“Woah, hey there, handsome,” you smile when you catch him. He sends Cass a glare as he stumbles after she made him spin.

“How are you still standing?” he groans, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

You shrug. “I’m surprised you’ve been dancing for so long.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” he grumbles.

He watches you peep over his shoulder and giggle–no doubt seeing his family laugh.

Jason loves your giggles.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I liked watching you shake your little hips,” you joke and wiggle him as if to reenact his moves.

Jason groans louder and grips your waist tighter.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he almost whines.

You pull him closer, whispering, “I rather be under you.”

Jason stops breathing for a moment. A bunch of thoughts fill his head, none of which are appropriate for a public setting.

You pull away, sending him a wink before scurrying off to who knows where. Jason watches you go. He wants to go after you, but truthfully, it’s better if he doesn’t. Or else, he might just find a secluded spot and turn his thoughts into reality.

Jason lets out a deep sigh and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Already can’t keep up?”

Jason turns to see Bruce at his side, eyeing you as you stop at your friends’ table. You throw your head back, laughing loudly as if no one can ruin your mood. You catch Bruce’s stare and smile sweetly—as if you didn’t just whisper something vulgar to Jason a second ago.

Bruce laughs softly, then directs his focus on Jason. He gives him a pat on the back like he’s done so many times before.

“I’m happy for you,” he says. “You’ve done well for yourself, son.”

Bruce gives Jason a genuine, big smile. It’s not one he sees much from him.

Jason nods. He may still have unresolved issues with the man, but there’s no mistaking the care and pride in his eyes.

“Thanks,” Jason says. He would say more, but he’s never been much of a talker… well, a sappy talker.

Bruce understands and gives him one more pat before he walks back to his table.

Jason takes one long sweep across the room. He takes in the pretty decorations and the smiling faces. He sees people who have been by his side through rough times and, now, one of his happiest.

His eyes land on you last.

You’re so beautiful that his heart churns.

Jason can feel the dark cloud forming above his head. He can hear the faint sound of thunder.

He shakes his head.

No.

Not today.

He won’t stand in the storm. He won’t be showered in doubt. If he were to be showered, he wanted it to be with your love.

Ignoring the thunder and drizzle, he moves away from the storm and makes a beeline for you.

Here, with his hand around your waist, there is sunshine and chirping birds. Here, there is happiness.

Here, there is love.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

Dividers by @strangergraphics (ty!)

[notjustjavierpena]

Candy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A shameless addition to the DILF!Joel universe. This is PWP, enjoy!

Summary: Another sexcapade in Joel’s bed. Lazy day filled with sex.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), PIV sex, unprotected sex, riding, face-sitting, fingering, pussy-eating, dirty talk, Joel smacks your ass, reader is a little insecure about her body

Word count: 2.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48297466

Candy

Sometimes you and Joel sneak off to your house, telling everyone that you’re going grocery shopping or something just as mundane, just to get it on like teenagers in your still new bed. Sometimes, when Sarah is at a friend’s house, you have Joel’s house to yourself. This time is the latter, and you feel grateful for the lack of a time frame for your sexcapades. 

It gives Joel time to really warm you up, take his time, go slow, then fast and then slow again. It’s times for living off of bottled water, ice cream from the tub and having multiple orgasms, placing the tub between your thighs to enjoy the cool it radiates as it soothes your spent cunt. 

You’re sitting in Joel’s bed like this now; legs spread out in front of you, tub of strawberry ice cream between your thighs and Joel cross-legged in front of you, one hand on each of your shins, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs into your calves. You’ve been screwing for hours by now. 

You feed him a spoonful, practically glowing with all the dopamine flowing through you from your brain to your body. Your heart rate is slightly elevated too but it could be just from looking at him; broad shoulders, naked chest and black boxers. His hair is a mess from how many times you’ve carded your fingers through it, but you swear that you like it much better this way. 

“You okay?” He asks after swallowing, reaching for the bottle of water on his night stand. He takes a large sip, offers it to you but you shake your head.

“Fine, just horny and tired… sore,” you say the last word with a smirk whilst digging out the last few bites from the ice cream tub, scraping thoroughly along the sides. You set the empty container aside, “I’ll get a tummy if we keep spending time like this between fucking though.”

“I’d like you even more with a cute little belly,” Joel rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating comment, yanks a little at your legs to signal what he wants; you scoot forward on your bottom to sit closer to him and drape your legs over his hips. He reaches up to cradle your face, pulls you in for a kiss that’s cold from the strawberry ice cream. 

“Yeah? You would like that?” You smile against his mouth, and he places his palms on the globes of your ass and drags you flush against him until you’re chest to chest. 

“I’d fucking love it,” he rasps before he devours your mouth once more. He tastes deliciously sweet of strawberries and cream, making you lick into his mouth with a newfound passion for making out. You suck at his tongue to make him growl for more, spurring him on to hoist you up into his lap until he can slide underneath your body so you’re straddling him.

“Up. Guess ice cream wasn’t enough,” he says with a pat to your lower back, hinting with his eyes whilst pushing you forward. You know what that means, swallowing thickly before crawling forwards, past his chest until you’re hovering your naked pussy above his face. 

You find yourself trembling and use the headboard to steady yourself, feeling Joel’s breath against your cunt and the way it hitches when you look down to find his eyes. You have wanted to ride his face all day, wondering when you’d be desperate enough for it to ask but this is perfect. He is perfect.

“Sit, and don’t take those eyes off me. Want to see you come,” he commands and when you don’t instantly follow orders, he curls two strong hands around your thighs and yanks you down onto his mouth. You take a proper seat, his tongue along your slit and his nose against your clit. It earns him a long, shaky and dragged-out moan. 

Whilst looking down at him, you start to feel the first movements of his slick tongue. It slides between your folds, picks up your arousal on its way before wiggling slightly. Joel tenses it up until he can slip the tip of the muscle inside of you, fucking your cunt open in the most obscene way. You’re dripping onto his mouth and chin, wetting his scruff. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan softly, staring down into his darkened eyes and starting to grind down on the arch of his nose. Occasionally, the tip of his nose catches on your clit and nearly has you flying forwards, “Fuck, fuck, hah, fuck Joel.”

He bobs his head too to grind his face into you, determined to not let you do all the work despite how much you know he loves when you use him. His tongue slips from you, and you can feel spit and slick drip from you and add to the shine that’s already on his face.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he mutters underneath you and makes your pussy clench in interest of more, “Fuckin’ love when she gushes on my face.”

Joel’s hands push you around after that, steers you with little care, seeming merciless in his state of hunger, until he can lap directly on your clit before closing his lips around it. Oh God, you think, he is determined today.

Your hands grip harder at the headboard, turning your knuckles white when he sucks hard enough to cause just a little pain amongst all the pleasure. It makes your eyes flutter closed, thighs shake and mouth hanging open in a silent moan. 

With a crack, one of his hands comes down onto the fleshiest part of your ass in a stinging smack. Your eyes fly open in surprise and you moan pathetically as you feel your pussy clamping down on nothing. 

“I told you to look at me,” he says, releasing you with a pop and relenting for a moment to speak, “Keep those eyes on me while I eat your pretty pussy.” 

“Yes— s-sorry, Joel, please,” you release the headboard carefully, but only to slide your fingers through his hair instead, ready to yank, “It won’t happen again, baby. Please. Make me come on your face.”

Joel lets out a pleased sigh as you scratch your nails through his hair. 

“Is this okay, baby?” You ask sweetly, referring to your fingers in his hair, but also starting to move on his mouth again. 

Joel spanks you again without warning. It stings more this time, but he is back to eating you out before you have time to react, and, additionally, whatever smart thing you want to say disappears from your mind as you lose the connection between your brain and your mouth. It’s all gibberish. 

You feel the hand on your ass slide down between your thighs which are shaking at this point, giving him signs of how close you are. He slips a finger inside your cunt, adding a second one only after a few pumps, working you from the outside and the inside. 

It’s too much when he rubs against your g-spot, curling his fingers as if to coax your orgasm to come. You yank his hair then, coming on his mouth with a sob and forcing yourself to stare down into his eyes despite wanting to squeeze your own shut. It feels so good. You clamp down on his fingers and Joel holds them still against your g-spot, sucking your relentlessly throbbing clit through your high. 

With ragged breath, you push yourself off of him and he lets you. You scoot back to sit in his lap, wet and spent cunt soaking through the fabric of his boxers when you settle there. It takes you a moment to find his gaze again, too busy with feeling his generous, but unfortunately clothed, length against you. Soon, you remind yourself.

Though when you see his whole face again, you gasp audibly; Joel’s eyes are hazy, satisfied and black with desire. His chin, nose and mouth are covered with your slick to the point where he is pornographic to look at, but the best thing is the boyish grin that he sports. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you scold playfully, placing your palms on his chest and scratching a little. 

“You taste like fucking candy,” he licks his lips for show, then sucks the fingers that he has had inside of you clean one by one. It makes you impatiently squirm in his lap. 

“Better than strawberry ice cream?” You ask, scooting down even further to tuck at the hem of his boxers and reveal his cock, now an angry red color from being neglected too long. You are too lazy to take his underwear all the way off, settling the hem below his balls.

“Better than strawberry ice cream,” he repeats to confirm, looking down at where your hands are now stroking him lazily, “You already ready for more? Greedy of you.”

“Greedy for you, you mean, Mr. Miller,” you correct him and get onto your knees, moving until you feel the head of his cock, slick with precome, nudge at your slit. 

The boyish grin fades with that comment, followed by a soft sigh and then Joel’s jaw goes slack as you start sinking down. He places his hands on your hips once more, thumbs pressing down into your hip bones to angle your pelvis.

“Fuck, right there…” You groan, leaning your head back a little as the tip of his dick pokes against your g-spot. You bottom out and it’s amazing to feel your sensitive walls stretched out around his cock, sucking him in the rest of the way with how wet he has made you. When you’ve gotten used to him, you lift yourself up to sink back down again, but just once, wanting him to lose control with you, smack your ass again, “Want me to come on your cock too? Mouth not enough?”

“You better, sweetheart, m-mouth ain’t never enough— oh fuck, I want you to milk my come into your tight cunt,” his eyes glaze over as you start up the first rolls of your hips, drawing a relieved moan from the man’s throat. He has been so good at waiting for you, so you start up a rhythm that is anything but teasing to reward his patience. 

When you have him panting underneath you, you decide to take it even further and put on a show for him. You bounce in his lap, your hands going up your body to squeeze your own tits. You press them together as you ride him in earnest, then release them with a moan and catch him hungrily watching as they bounce back into place. 

“Fuck, baby,” you keen when his hips snap up into yours for the first time. He grips your fleshy thighs heatedly, smacks them, forces you down on his dick every time you lift yourself off. You reward him with a chant of his name, breathless and bordering on religious worship, “God, you fuck me so well. Joel. Make me come.” 

He suddenly sits up and keeps you moving in unison, cups your jaw and pulls your mouth towards his own with desperation in the noises he makes for you. It’s generous to call it a kiss as it is rather a filthy clash of teeth and tongues. You try to say his name again, but he eats it from your hungry mouth, right off your tongue, before you manage to get it out. 

When he pulls away to suck in a much-needed breath, you lean back in his lap and reach behind yourself to rest a hand on his thigh. It makes you able to speed up, grind against his pelvis and gain stimulation to your clit that sends sparks throughout your lower body. 

“Come for me,” he says lowly, one arm wrapping around your waist to support you and the other groping your ass obscenely. He smacks it again, and your orgasm ripples through your body in the next moment and has you keening loudly, “Thaaaat’s it… Attagirl, there you are.” 

You clench rhythmically around Joel’s dick and there are a few more snaps of his hips before he pushes up into you and pulls you down onto him simultaneously. He lets out a groan from the back of his throat, spilling inside of you and causing you to gasp pathetically at the feel of warmth spreading inside your pussy.

“You’ve got me spellbound, baby,” he rests his head against your shoulder when he dares speak again.

“Yeah? Changed your life with this pussy?” You tease, voice exhausted. You can feel him smile against your skin. 

“Possibly,” he moves slowly and then pulls out of you with a grunt. He lies down again, pulling you down with him by your upper arm until you are lying with your face in the crook of his neck, giggling softly.

“We should order pizza for dinner,” you think out loud.

“Didn’t you just complain about getting a tummy?” Joel rolls his eyes but reaches to sprawl a hand over your stomach, “Women.” 

“You said you’d love me with a tummy,” you argue with a playful slap to his chest but making up for it by kissing along his jaw, “That may be a good enough reason for me.”

“Pizza then.”

“I’ll just buy bigger jeans.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[kabsey]

Hey, I really love your thoughts and writing... how about "Boys Night" from the Wholesome Prompts? 🙂 Anything come to mind?

Thank you so much! <3 I had so many different thoughts for this prompt, but this is the one that stuck. Not quite a boys' night per se, but it is a boys' chat and it is at night 😊

-------

When the knock came, Viago glared at the door over the top of his reading glasses. The runner wasn't due for another hour, and he could not imagine who else Marta would allow to approach his study when she knew exactly how tall the stack of his correspondence had grown (she was the one who brought him the post, after all). Rook or Teia wouldn't have even bothered to knock.

Which left Viago no choice but to pause in his writing with a stifled sigh and a curt "Yes?"

The door opened, and the figure who entered explained all: the First Talon went where he liked. If it had been Caterina, Viago would have set his letter aside and risen to greet her.

Instead Viago resumed writing, though he paid Lucanis the courtesy of asking, "Is this urgent business, or can it wait a moment?"

"It can wait."

Lucanis crossed to the bookshelf, his near-silent footsteps drowned out by the scratching of Viago's quill. From the corner of his eye, Viago watched him peruse the shelves with his hands clasped behind his back. Two fingers on his right hand twitched in an uneven rhythm, a fidgety agitation that no lesser Crow would dare display in front of a Talon. From Lucanis Dellamorte, whose knuckles were striped with crisscrossed scars from Caterina's cane, it either spoke to his comfort with Viago or a mind very ill at ease. Possibly both.

Viago ended the letter with the correct signature (he had a variation for each of his regular correspondents, making a fake easier to spot) and set the page atop the outgoing post to let the ink dry. He wiped the nib of his quill, capped his bottle of ink, and placed both items in his desk drawer with his glasses. The soft sound of the drawer closing drew Lucanis's attention, and Viago gestured for him to take the seat across from his desk.

When he was seated, he opened his mouth to speak, but Viago cut him off with a raised hand.

"I can guess why you're here," he said, folding his hands back over his desk. "You want to make Rook a Dellamorte."

Lucanis raised an eyebrow, but a corner of his lips lifted in a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose my intentions have been fairly obvious."

Viago huffed a laugh. "Yours and half of Antiva's."

Lucanis's smile vanished. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I have received inquiries from the head of every House and even some of the merchant guilds besides." As if Rook would stoop to playing bodyguard to some bloated princeling.

For a brief moment, Lucanis's eyes flashed violet. Viago tensed and curled his fingers around the knife strapped to the underside of his chair arm, but Lucanis shook his head and turned to the thin air to his right, one hand lifted in a placating gesture. "Calm down."

"Apologies," he said as he looked back to Viago, and Viago relaxed his hand. "We're just surprised to hear it. Does Rook know? She's never mentioned it."

Viago frowned. "Of course she does. Do you think I would simply ship her off somewhere with no consideration for her opinion?"

"No, of course not," Lucanis assured him. His gaze dropped to Viago's desk as he fell silent. Viago wondered what the demon had to say about the matter. He probably didn't want to know.

"As far as I'm aware," he said, and Lucanis's eyes immediately returned to his, "Rook has no intention of accepting any of these other offers."

Some of the tension left Lucanis's frame, and Viago felt almost reluctant to continue, though he knew frankness was the better road.

"But you should know, I don't believe she intends to accept yours either."

Lucanis stiffened, tense again to the point of shock. "You... What makes you say that?"

"She's expressed to me that she's happy in my House." Viago was not one for providing comfort, but he knew his words were a blow to Lucanis, so he attempted to choose less direct phrasing than he might have. "She's endured a great deal in the past year. You both have. For the moment, she seems to crave the stability of the familiar rather than jumping into something new."

Lucanis's eyes fluttered briefly shut, in an attempt to control either the demon's reaction or his own. But when he opened them, he nodded.

"I'm glad you told me," he said. "It's something I hadn't considered. Perhaps I should have." A hint of a sad smile crossed his face. "You have to be the one to break it to Teia though. She was so sure Rook would say yes."

Viago raised an eyebrow. "You spoke to Teia about this?" Before Lucanis could answer, he shook his head. "Don't listen to her on the subject of Rook. She's always wanted her for herself."

Lucanis stared back at him, lips parted. "She has?"

"Does that surprise you?" Viago asked. Perhaps Lucanis had not paid much attention previously to the movement of Crows between Houses. Teia was notorious for attempting to charm away promising talent.

"A bit," Lucanis admitted. "You don't seem troubled by the idea."

Viago waved a hand. "We have an arrangement."

Lucanis looked even more nonplussed. "You do?"

"Of course." Viago stroked his beard as he considered the future. "We should probably include you as well moving forward."

An odd red flush crept across Lucanis's face. "Include me? In your... arrangement with Teia?"

Viago frowned. "You don't wish to be involved? Your grandmother always—"

One of Lucanis's hands shot up to stop Viago's words, while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. "Viago, I am starting to think—and really, sincerely hope—that we are talking about two different things."

Viago's frown deepened. "We're discussing Rook joining your House."

Lucanis's shoulders shook with silent laughter, and when he looked up, he was smiling. "We're discussing Rook joining my household. I'm going to ask her to marry me, Viago."

"Oh."

That had been such a foregone conclusion that Viago usually forgot it hadn't been formally settled, except for the moments when Teia griped about Lucanis taking too long. They'd already spent whole evenings with her sharing her thoughts on centerpieces and color coordination and other details that Viago couldn't follow, though he attempted to appear interested enough that he would not be kicked out of their bed.

He looked at the rest of the correspondence he had meant to address in annoyance. The runner would arrive any moment.

"You don't need her Talon's permission for that," he groused.

Lucanis only laughed again. "Of course not. But I would like to know that we would have the blessing of her family."

"Rook isn't—"

The automatic denial died on his lips at Lucanis's knowing look. He much preferred when the First Talon bestowed that smug expression on his rivals. Viago closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"Fine. Yes. You have it. Go find her and let me work in peace."

Ever a wise man, Lucanis said nothing more but simply rose and left Viago alone in his study. For all that Teia enjoyed the idea, he had a very difficult time reconciling Rook with a word such as "wife." When he tried, all his mind would conjure was the memory of an underfed girl with a messy braid and bare feet. But not that long ago, he would never have been able to associate the word "hero" with Rook either.

Since he'd managed the one, he was fairly certain that with time, he would manage the other.

[repressedqueen]

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening

Paring: Thunderbolts!Bucky x reader

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: reader went through the void, mommy issues, domestic violence, self deprecation, post fight, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings realization

Summary: Taking place right after the end of Thunderbolts. The experience of the Void still clings to you, overwhelming and heavy. You step away to catch your breath — and Bucky is right there with you.

A/N: Wow, i haven't written a Bucky Barnes fic in AGES. i guess I have to thank Thunderbolts for the inspiration (most of all, the nostalgia). Title is from Bohemian Rhapsody (Don't ask me why I used such a goofy title for a totally not goofy fic. It just happened.) Ireally hope my Bucky girls give this a read. <3 Note: I don’t speak Russian! I had to trust google translate, etc. I hope it didn’t betray me. Any Russian speaker is welcome to correct that one word.

read on AO3

What is this? What exactly is happening right now?

What do you mean this bitch isn’t going to jail? What do you mean the ‘New Avengers ’?

Your head is about to burst with all the questions, and the flashes of all the cameras in front of you only make matters worse. Valentina is still talking, people are shouting questions, but it’s all just too much.

You glance at Bucky, who seems much calmer than you; the deep lines between his eyebrows, though, betray that he is also confused and overwhelmed.

The noise is getting louder and louder, to the point where you cannot take it anymore. You just need a quiet corner, away from everyone, just for a few minutes.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, and stray off from the center of attention. In your peripheral vision, all heads turn to you, but at this point, you don’t give a single shit.

You don’t have to go too far before the corner you were searching for finally reveals itself — a narrow, forgotten nook at the side of the building. It’s dim, cool, and blissfully quiet. The low hum of the city remains in the background, muffled, distant, no longer a threat. You stumble into the space and your breath catches as you exhale, letting your exhausted knees give out.

Leaning back, your head finds the wall, you let your eyelids fall shut as your body sinks into the stillness. For the first time in hours, the world stops spinning. The adrenaline of the battle and the joy of saving Bobby — and, thus, the whole city — has started to wear off.

New Avengers.

You scoff in irony. It’s probably the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

You couldn’t be an Avenger. You are not worthy of that title. Weak, worthless, covered in shame — that’s what you are. You will never gather the strength to protect a whole country, let alone the whole planet. Those visions did a great job reminding you of that. You can practically hear her voice ringing in your head.

A constant disappointment. How come my kid grew up to be a nothing, a nobody? You can’t do anything right, you can only make my life more difficult than it already is. Useless. Go away, so I don’t have to look at your crying little face! You can’t take the truth, so you cry like a baby? Useless AND weak? Is there nothing worthy about you?

She went on and on, again and again, no matter how many times you tried to get away from that room. No matter how many times you tried to hug that little helpless girl, who had no one to protect her from those words coming from her own mother. Words that hurt as much as a belt against your skin — if not more. No matter how many times you tried to shut her up by talking back, by gagging her with your belt around her mouth. Nothing worked.

Then you started screaming for help, with every ounce of strength you had left, until your closest friends started coming. Steve, Nat, Wanda, Clint, Sam; many others. But each time you tried to reach them, they disappeared, one by one — turned into that terrifying black shadow. Until you heard Bucky’s voice. He was the only one who called for you inside the void;  everyone else was a silent figure. The moment you saw each other from afar, you both ran, ready to jump into each other’s arms.

You didn’t get the chance though. The moment your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of his, the world shifted — and you were in Bobby’s room. Your confused, panicked gazes met, but there was no time to take a breath. You had to rush to Yelena, save Bob, save everyone trapped in this madness. And you did it — you saved the day.

Then why the hell do you feel like a complete failure?

Υour head is about to explode from the pain. Closing your burning eyes, you rest your head against the wall behind you. The hard, chilly surface offers some comfort.

Soon, someone takes their place next to you, and you don’t have to open your eyes to know who it is.

“Hey,” Bucky’s soft, soothing voice runs through your veins like a caress to your overwhelmed nervous system. “Are you okay?”

Your nostrils dilate as a puff of air escapes in irony. This time, you open your eyes.

“Are you ?”

Bucky scoffs back, his smirk carrying nothing but bitterness. You vaguely remember his answer inside the void a few minutes ago — something along the lines of “I’m fine, I have a great past.” Sarcasm; his favorite line of defense.

“We all went through hell. I don’t think we’re supposed to be okay.”

Your teeth unconsciously press into your bottom lip as you nod slowly. With a long exhale, your head finds its place on Bucky’s shoulder. Your eyelids fall again and then, like magic, the voices in your head become more distant.

You can’t help but notice it’s not Bucky’s metal arm that is pressed against you. “You finally sat on the correct side,” you comment, the tiniest of grins on your lips.

Almost always, Bucky sits on your right, which means you have to lay your head on his hard metal shoulder, and that’s a constant complaint of yours. 

With a soft chuckle, he confirms, “I finally learned my lesson.”

You won’t admit it, but you kind of miss it now, even though his flesh arm is much more comfortable and warm. The memory of solid cold metal was somehow… comforting. Maybe because that’s what being with Bucky means.

After the Blip, everything changed so violently. You lost five years of everyone’s lives. You lost your closest friends. But Bucky was always there.

It wasn’t easy — it may have been painful at times — but he was always there. He is always there. Somebody to lean on, somebody who cares no matter what. He is the person closest to you. ( How close? You are not actually sure. The line between friends and something more gets blurred more often than not; but that’s a conversation for a whole other time.)

“It was worth it though,” he remarks as if stating a simple truth — but the tension in his jaw tells another story. “Wasn’t it?”

“Well, it made us fucking Avengers, so, pretty much,” you reply flatly.

Bucky snorts, slightly turning his head towards you. “You know that’s not what I mean, y/n.”

Your little chuckle indicates that, yes, of course you know. Bucky isn't one to care about titles and honors. In fact, you’re pretty sure he feels just as revolted by the hypocrisy of the whole situation as you do.

“Yeah,” a slow, tired smile starts to decorate your face. No matter the cost, you’re on the same page. “It feels nice to save people again.” You turn to him, and the same gratitude is mirrored on his face.

Soon though, Bucky returns his gaze to the ground before he speaks. “I may feel a little less shitty for dragging you into this.” His voice carries regret.

“Hey,” your shoulder bumps against his, “you didn’t drag me; I volunteered,” you remind him, gently.

A scoff escapes him as he toes a rock with the tip of his combat boot. His voice comes softer this time. “Right.”

Leaning your side into his, you tilt your head forward so you can enter his vision again. “Where you go, I go, remember?” He may be avoiding eye contact, but his grin is sweet like syrup.

And that’s because your statement is nothing but sincere. Somewhere along the way, you two became a team. You’re not sure how — it just worked. Even when he announced his intention to run for Congress — an idea you personally considered completely ridiculous — you didn’t walk away. You stood by him, through every awkward speech, every uncomfortable handshake and fake smile. (Thankfully, that chapter didn’t last long.)

Bucky nods once, finally meeting your eyes again. “Even through hell.” You add, raising your eyebrows, as if sealing the vow.

You watch as Bucky’s expression suddenly transforms from peaceful and content to blank and cold. The teal blue of his eyes becomes empty. You recognize that look very well — it’s a very specific face he makes when the void of his PTSD sucks him in; when he gets lost in the memories, the pain, the anguish.

You and Bucky have this ritual for times like this, when either of you dissociates. “Hey,” a hand on his forearm to ground him, and you shake your head softly, “don’t go there.”

Then, Bucky always responds with the same question, the same fearful, pained expression: “What if I don’t have a choice?”

That’s when you tilt your head, a bittersweet grin on your lips, and offer your hand, palm up, for him to hold onto. “Then, I’ll be right here when you come back.”

Bucky stares at your open palm, waiting between the two of you, for a few seconds. It works — just like every other time — as he finally threads his fingers through yours and holds on tight. You tighten your grip right back, and you hear him letting out the heaviest sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all this time.

You exhale too, and let your heavy head fall on his shoulder once more; this time his follows, landing on top of yours. You both close your eyes, allowing yourselves to cherish these few moments of peace, away from everyone.

Even though you both need it so desperately, it unfortunately doesn’t last long. Yelena’s voice, coming from afar, makes you jump on the spot.

“Hey, голубки!”

You have no idea what that means, but it makes Bucky scoff and smirk at the same time.

“Press is asking for all of us. Get off your asses.”

Reasonably, Bucky is up first, then offers you his metal arm to help you get off the ground with minimum grunting and swearing. God, you really are exhausted.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do most of the talking,” he assures you.

“I wouldn’t take the opportunity away from you,” you tease him while patting as much dirt off your uniform as possible. “You’re getting so good at it.”

Bucky throws you a death stare, even though you can tell he’s suppressing a chuckle. He knows you messing with him about his Congressman speeches is not ending anytime soon.

By now, he’s a few steps ahead of you, but your legs don’t seem to want to move before you have a chance to ask what’s been on your mind all this time.

“Bucky!”

He stops and turns back to you with a curious expression.

“How did you get out?”

Of the Void — you need to know. Was it a coincidence, the fact that you found each other inside your nightmares, or whatever those are called?

Bucky seems to read all of this on your face, without you having to voice a word. The knot between his eyebrows relaxes and his eyes become somehow bigger, brighter, before he replies.

“I found the only person who gives me peace.”

It is, more or less, the answer you were expecting. That doesn’t mean it didn’t still take your breath away. Your eyelids flutter, involuntarily, fighting to hold unshed tears — tears of joy, of relief. For now, all you can do is nod, a silent promise for a conversation that needs to happen. Now is not the time, but soon. Real soon.

Bucky — your friend, your partner, your love — nods back, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. He nods once more and stretches his arm again, for you to grab and follow.

The weight of everything still lingers, the crowd’s roar hasn’t died down. But his hand is warm and steady. Certain. And you take it. Like you always do. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*голубки= love birds 

My main MASTERLIST

[love-in-my-twenties]

Habits that changed my life for the better

I stopped joking about myself. It was mostly about suicide jokes (it was a decision that I made after the worst moment of my journey with depression, if I can call it that), but, really, it's about all self-deprecating stuff. It may be just jokes, but it stays in your brain.

Positive attitude. It's similar to manifestation, in a way, but in a... down to earth way, I guess. Thinking positively about stuff changes everything for me. Almost everything is simpler.

I deleted Twitter. It may be a different social media for everyone, of course - now probably TikTok for most - but, well, Twitter was where I spent long hours everyday. I started taking breaks from it about a year and a half ago and deleted it in August. It was hard - I loved the community there and I miss the daily updates from my fav fandoms, but it's for the best. I still can't explain how Twitter affected me but I do feel better since I stopped spending so much time there.

Taking vitamins. I didn't think it would really make a difference but it definitely did. The biggest surprise for me was vitamin C - my immune system has improved super quickly when I started supplementing it. I didn't even realise how bad it was before. Other than that, I take B complex, A+E (hair, skin), and iron (i tend to have a deficiency of it). (& D when it's winter).

Having a consistent skin care routine. It's calming and both doing the routine and seeing the effects make me feel better. (I do realise that many people have more demanding skin than me and searching for the right products can be frustrating and expensive. I'm just talking about my experience).

Other things that I think are worth mentioning:

Therapy - just a short explanation that I've been on therapy (with breaks) for about 6 years now. I've had social anxiety for most of my life, now still struggle with depression (and amnesia, actually) a bit, but what I wanted to mention here is that I learned a lot from it. It's obvious, but I just think it's important to pinpoint that I did not just learn how to think more positively and love myself by myself.

Exercising! - I still struggle to make it a habit, but when I actually do exercise regularly (I do pilates), I really feel better. It's worth it.

Hydration - same with drinking water. I really don't think I have to explain it in any way lol.

[pirateempr3ss]

Could you write a scenario where Ace surprises the reader on their anniversary?

Thank you :D

Thank you so much for this request, Anon! I'm sorry it turned out a bit angsty idk where that came from oops. Hope you enjoy! :)

Portgas D. Ace X Reader

You sighed dejectedly into the warm, summer breeze that drifted across the oaken deck of the Moby Dick. It was a beautiful day on the Grand Line – The azure ocean lapped lazily at the sides of the massive vessel as it traversed the waves, the morning sun beamed in the cloudless sky, the wind carried that unmistakeable salty-sweet scent – but none of it could temper your foul mood. 

Your crewmates obviously picked up on the dark cloud hanging around your shoulders and wisely were keeping a safe distance from you, lest you turn your incensed gaze in their direction. Your brothers knew how you could be when angered, and right now, you were furious. Most of them knew it was better to look the other way now until your anger abated, and approach warily later. All except a select few, of course. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. You didn’t even need to look beside you to know Thatch had joined you at the railing overlooking the ocean. Usually, it was impossible to stay irate around Thatch. His good-natured character, self-deprecating humour, and easy smiles could lift just about anyone’s spirit.  But not yours. Not today. 

“You already know what my thoughts are.” You almost growled, refusing to meet his eye and staring intently at the vast ocean in front of you. In your peripheral vision you see him turn his back to the railing and rest comfortably against it, making him nearly impossible to ignore. 

He pretends to think about it, “I can guess they involve murdering a certain flame-headed idiot.” Your snort confirms his answer as correct and he shoots you a grin. 

“You know how he is,” Thatch continues, “He’ll remember by tonight, don’t you worry.” 

“No he won’t, Thatch. I don’t know why I bothered.” Your frown deepens as you ponder the root of your aggravation. 

Today marks one year since you and Ace had confessed your mutual feelings to each other. The two of you had spent months skirting around the Moby Dick after you had joined, trying to avoid the undeniable chemistry you shared, until one night, likely fuelled by copious amounts of alcohol, several of the commanders announced that they were tired of the love-sick gazes you and Ace had been giving each other when the other wasn’t looking and that you two should just ‘shack up already’. Naturally, after you two had vehemently denied this in front of the whole crew, Ace had dragged you up to the crow’s nest in the early hours of the night as the party raged on and demanded to know what was going on. The two of you were notorious for being stubborn as oxen, and after several ‘You first!’, ‘No, you confess first!’, the best night of your life ensued as Ace confessed that as much as he tried to fight it, his heart belonged to you. You had easily returned the sentiment, much to Ace’s relief, and the two of you had spent the entire night locked in each other’s embrace under the midnight sky. 

This morning, knowing it was your one year anniversary, you had taken extra care to make yourself look beautiful. You donned a new outfit especially for the occasion – a figuring hugging ensemble that was seductive without being revealing - You had worn his favourite perfume that you’d acquired several islands ago, and you’d brushed your hair until it shone. You’d even borrowed one of Izo’s precious hair ornaments. But when you went to eat breakfast at the usual time with the crew on the main deck, Ace was too busy shovelling his breakfast in to even spare you a glance, nevermind wish you a measly ‘Happy Anniversary’. Then he’d departed hastily before you’d even poured yourself a mug of coffee, with a quick ‘I’ll see you later, babe.’ Thus, explaining your foul mood this morning.

“He will. You never know, maybe he has something special planned.” Thatch’s conspiratorial wink made you feel like he knows something that you don’t, but before you can barrage him with questions, he ruffles your hair and walks away, leaving your unanswered questions hanging on your lips. 

~ 

The day passes quietly, with no sign of Ace even as the sky deepens to twilight. Dinner was a sullen affair as you chose to forego the dining hall in favour of eating alone in your cabin. Strangely, no one questions your mood. Perhaps it’s because they already know Ace is the cause. Even stranger, nobody seems to know his whereabouts. When you had asked Pops about it, he’d just let out his booming laugh and told you not to worry about it. 

The nerve of him, you fumed internally as you paced your room in frustration. First, to forget our anniversary. Fine, okay, whatever, maybe I could’ve forgiven that. But to disappear without a trace without even saying goodbye? Who the hell does that? And don’t even remind me about the way he barely looked at me this morning – 

A rap on your door interrupts your internal monologue, and you know who it is even before you fling it open. 

“Portgas D. Ace, I am going to kill y-“ The man in question interrupts you with a swift kiss on the lips, and your anger abates slightly. It’s gentle, and over too quickly. He withdraws a fraction, lingering an inch from your face as he leans against the edge of your doorframe, those apologetic dark eyes searching yours. 

“I’m sorry for running off earlier, and I’m sorry for ignoring you today,” He starts, lowering his head slightly, “But I promise I have a good reason.” His onyx eyes plead with you and you know you’ve already forgiven him, but he can’t know that. Not yet. 

“Yeah, well, it better be.” You grumble. His usual mischievous expression replaces his look of solemn guilt quicker than a flash of lightning, and he grabs your hand and pulls you into the long corridor that divides the cabins. 

“I’ll show you what I’ve been up to.” 

He races along the ship, guiding you up onto the main deck which is for once suspiciously empty of your other crew members. The sky above you is a midnight canvas smattered with glittering stars, and the full moon casts a silver sheen to the dark wooden planks, lighting a pathway for you to the edge of the ship. Ace leads you to the gap in the railing that is home to the rope ladder hanging at the side of the ship, stretching into the darkness below. Usually it’s only thrown over the side of the Moby Dick if someone falls overboard – usually after a few too many drinks – or when some of the crew depart on missions that your captain orders. You can only assume at the bottom of the ladder is a rowboat or smaller vessel awaiting your descent. If there is, it’s impossible to discern in the darkness of the night. 

“Where are we going?” You hesitate above the ladder, as Ace begins to descend. 

“It’s a surprise. You scared or something?” He questions, a slight smirk on his face as he extends his hand up to you from his position on the ladder, waist height with the deck. His half smirk begs you to challenge him. 

“Me? Never.” You scoff, accepting his invitation and disembarking after him. His answering laughter carries across the waves as the two of you climb down the side of the vessel. Despite your answer, your heart races in your chest as you go down. The climb could be difficult at the best of times due to the towering size of the Moby, but with the starlight as your only guide it was particularly difficult to make out the hand and footholds. 

“Relax, I’d never let you fall.” He says this so assuredly you have no choice but to accept, feeling his hands brush against your ankles every time you step lower, directing you to safety and simultaneously sending shivers up your spine at the heat even his gentle touch provides. 

“And what help would you be if I fell? You can’t even swim.” You retort, and you can feel his answering grin even though you can’t see it. You can imagine how his bright eyes must be glinting in the darkness. 

Finally, you hear his feet touch solid ground, and he wraps both hands around your waist to help you detach from the ladder. No matter how many times he’s done this, it still sets your heart racing like the very first time. In the shadow of the night you can’t even discern the outline of his body, but you know by the way the ground underneath you sways that you’ve landed on a rowboat of sorts. 

Flame produced by his skilled hands illuminates the night, and he sets fire to two lanterns at either end of the boat, casting the small space in a soft yellow light. You notice a bottle of something in a basket, and an assortment of snacks that could only be from Thatch’s kitchen. Covering the base of the boat is a thick blanket that sports Izo’s embroidery and unrivalled skill with a needle and thread, and a golden gift wrapped box in the centre of it all. As Ace pushes off from the side of the Moby with the end of an oar and sends your little boat into the night, the realisation hits you. 

“Those bastards, they were all in on this!” You seethe, but ruin it by laughing. “I can’t believe it, I’ve been complaining to them all day and they knew you had something planned.” 

“Marco did the gift-wrapping.” Ace confirms, and you miss the uncharacteristically soft look he shoots you as you take it all in. He sets the oar down and sits opposite you on the soft covering. 

“I’m sorry I doubted you, I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.” Guilt is the only word to describe how you feel. However, you can’t help but notice how unusually quiet he is, the way his hands quiver slightly as he uncorks the bottle before passing it to you. He doesn’t answer, and you let the silence extend, waiting for something more. Eventually, he closes his eyes and sighs. 

“I just wanted to have one more night with you like this, before it’s all over.” His words send any icy chill through your body that has nothing to do with the night air. All over? What does he mean all over? Panic sets in but you try not to let it show, try to search his eyes with your own but he won’t meet your imploring gaze. 

“What do you mean one more night? Are you going somewhere?” 

“No.” His frustratingly vague answer does nothing to disperse your anxiety, and he still refuses to meet your eyes. 

“Answer the question, then.” You half demand, half beg. Finally, he looks up and you’re startled by the fear you see in them. 

“I’ll tell you later. Just for now, let’s enjoy the food that Thatch prepared.” He gives you a fake grin that doesn’t match that look in his eyes. You answer by taking a swig from the bottle in your hands, weighing your options. You want to enjoy this gift he has given you – a night under the stars just like one year ago – but how can you after what he just announced. It’s clear he’s made all this effort so the two of you can ‘enjoy’ your last night together, but how can you ignore the elephant in the room? You decide you can’t. 

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it now.” The sentence comes out colder than you intended, and interrupts his hands as they reach for the food. Again, that awful silence stretches between you, a silence that is never there when you two are together, and suddenly you’re afraid of his answer. 

“I just thought after all this time, you deserve to know the truth about me. How I’m not who I say I am.” His eyes darken as he looks at you, really looks at you, but the hint of fear in them remains. You feel your breath hitch in your chest and your stomach churns, a queasiness settling there that makes you regret your last swallow of the rich wine Thatch provided. You wonder what he’s afraid of – What he’s about to tell you, or the way you’ll react to it? Both? 

You can’t decide to be angry or nervous, and the result is a mixture of both. This change in character is so atypical, so unlike Ace. You don’t recognise the self-loathing look in his eyes that has replaced the usual mirth, or the twist to his lips that has replaced his easy grin. What was supposed to be an amazing evening has turned into something you’re not enjoying. 

“Tell me then. Tell me who you think you are. Since I deserve to know.” Your response startles him, causes him to withdraw as he steels himself to tell you the truth that only a select few people know. That he doesn’t want anyone to know. This last year with you has been a dream, but he can’t drag you down to hell with him. You, who graced his life with a peace and happiness he doesn’t feel someone like him deserves. It’s different with his brothers, Luffy and his crew. But you are so pure, so warm, he cannot allow himself to taint you. To corrupt your future – you deserve someone who is not the product of an evil man, a man who caused so much hatred and suffering. That’s why tonight, he knows he has to tell you the truth. That maybe you’ll hate and even scorn him, but at least your future will be safe – a future without him. 

Ace draws a deep breath, and you feel your chest constrict unwillingly. 

“My father,” he starts bitterly, “Is the worst man this world has ever known. And he brought me into this world even as he was dying. Most of the time, I try not to think about it. But I can’t, I don’t want to keep lying to you. To keep having you think I’m someone that – that I’m not,” Ace, usually so smooth with his words, who can ramble on about his brothers for hours, struggles to find the right words. “His name was –“ 

“I know, Ace.” You cut him off, stopping him in his tracks and earning a shocked expression in response. “I know who your father is. Is that what this is about? You think we can’t be together because the father you never knew was a famous pirate? Last time I checked, we were all pirates.” 

“How do you know? Nobody knows.” He asks in quiet disbelief, his face wary. 

“I overheard Pops and Marco a few months ago discussing it while I was taking stock of the sick room supplies. They didn’t say any names directly, but it wasn’t hard for me to guess. You even look like Roger –“ 

“Don’t say his name! Don’t tell me I look like him!” He jumps to his feet, fists clenched in anger, eyes ablaze with a fury that you’re not sure is directed at you or himself. 

“Or what?!” You’re yelling back at him now, rising to your own feet, chest to chest with him on this cramped rowboat. “You trying to tell me that’s who the real you is? That you’re not Portgas D. Ace, but the son of the Pirate King? That everything you’ve done until now is overshadowed by that tiny little fact –“ 

“It’s not a tiny little fact! He caused so much suffering, so much-“ 

“So? SO?” You shout the second word, “YOU don’t cause pain or suffering, do you?” 

“That’s not the point –“ 

“It is the point! What does he have to do with anything? With us? You think I care? You think anyone on this ship would care? I thought you loved me. But to think, you think so little of me you thought that if I found your real parentage I would hate you? You must not know me at all.” You almost spit the last part, bending down to grab the oar and return you two to the ship. But Ace grabs your wrist, spinning you back to face him as you practically fall against his heaving chest. His face is contorted in fury, in self-loathing and disgust at himself, so unlike him you want to cry. You’ve never seen him like this.

“I don’t think that about you. But I know that you deserve someone better.” He says, his rage dissipating into bitterness as he stares into the depths of your soul, searching for the truth in your words. 

“I don’t want someone better,” You whisper, unable to stop the tears welling as you observe the pain in his eyes, the way his hands tremble as they hold you fast against him, “I want you, Ace. I don’t care who your father is, don’t you see that?” Burying your face against his shoulder so he can’t see the tears that fall, you try to compose yourself. Damn it, why do I always cry. 

“I don’t want this to be our last night together, but if that’s what you want then-“ 

“It’s not what I want.” He interrupts whatever you’re about to say and tilts your chin back up to face him with his hand, the other caressing your back. The heat emanating from them steadies you, as they always have. “Do you really mean that?” The pain his voice carries slices through you, and you wonder how long he has carried this burden. Does he lay awake at night, wondering what you’re reaction would be? 

“I love you, Ace. I don’t care about anything else.” And unlike that fateful night exactly one year ago, you’re the one to utter those three words first. 

You don’t even have time to decipher his look before he’s kissing you. You’ve kissed Ace countless times in the last year, but this is the first one that sets you aflame. The first one that sends heat searing from your lips to the depths of your very being. Maybe he’s been holding out on you all this time, afraid to truly let himself go. But he does now. 

You don’t know how long you two stand like that, his hands in your hair and yours against his chest, but all too soon you’re breaking for air. You’re glad for the lowlight of the lamps as they flicker in the shade, hopefully hiding the remnants of dried tears on your lashes and the heat staining your cheeks. You’re both panting, from the kiss or the release of tension in the air or the aftermath of your combined anger, it’s hard to tell. 

“I’m sorry.” Ace apologises for the final time that night, pulling you back to the floor of the softly rocking boat. He tosses you the gift that Marco so carefully gift-wrapped. You can tell by his demeanour that this conversation isn’t over, that he has a lifetime of family trauma to unpack. But for now, he’s allowing himself to love you, to be loved by you. And that is a small victory. 

[reiderwriter]

hi i love your writing

could you do something with reid loving that reader is pregnant. fluff or smut or both

A/N Hello! Thanks for the request! Dad!Spencer is the cutest thing on the planet so this is some unapologetic fluff. And now I have baby fever.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, idiots in love. Loosely based on Haley and Hotch's conversation in 1x1. Very fluffy and probably very cheesy and sentimental too... Sorry, you give me girl dad Spencer and suddenly there isn't an impure thought in my head, I just want to lovingly stare at him like I'm the dead wife in an action movie montage.

My requests are open, check out my masterlist for more 🌸

“Okay, what about Amelia?”

“No, Amelia Dyer, Victorian serial killer. She killed multiple infants over a thirty-year period.”

“Okay, okay, how about, Myra?”

“Myra Hindley, she and her partner Ian Brady abducted and killed five children and teens in the early sixties.”

“God, not that then. There can’t be a psychopathic murderer called Belle, right?”

“You’re making this too easy for me, y’know. Belle Gunness, Hell’s Belle, she’s one of the most prolific female serial killers of all time, even 100 years after her supposed death. It’s fascinating, you know, people think that she actually faked her death - when the doctor who performed the postmortem testified, he noted that the cadaver was about five inches shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than Gunness supposedly was….” You raise a single eyebrow at your wonderful husband, and he immediately shuts up.

“I’m rambling aren’t I?” He smiled down at you as you sat curled up as much as you could in your favorite spot on the couch, the cosiest part of your shared apartment. You smiled back up at him as he leaned down for a kiss and you gladly craned your neck up in response, meeting his lips for a sweet moment.

“Hotch was right you know,” you joked when the two of you parted. “All of the best baby names have been taken by serial killers.”

“Yeah, you’d think with the ratio of female to male serial killers, a girl would be easier to name.” He leans down to kiss you again before falling into a crouch next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and placing his hand on your stomach.

“How big did you say our little girl is now?”

“Y/N, you asked me that half an hour ago. I know pregnancy messes with your brain a bit, but if you’re that bad we’re going to have to get you back to Dr Patel and see if you’re doing okay.” He was joking of course, but you showed him your little pout anyway, knowing that he loved seeing the silly expression on your face.

“Humor me, Doctor.” He strokes your stomach and moves away, but not too far away, taking up right next to you on the couch, and pulling your legs over his lap.

“At five months, she’s roughly 10 inches long with a weight of about 0.5-1 pound. But that ‘How Big is My Baby’ book would say that she’s roughly one banana in length.” You giggled up at him and he grabbed your hand and just held it, content to have you in his arms in any way, big or small.

“I can’t believe it’s been five months already,” you giggle as he presses another kiss to your hand.

“I get it. It doesn’t feel quite real yet to me, either. I thought for so long that fatherhood just wasn’t in my future, but you’re the gift that keeps on giving I guess. I don't know what I did to deserve you.” Even if the words weren’t so sweet, with all of the hormones, you would’ve started crying at anything. Or at least that’s what you’re going to tell him when he sees the small tears threatening to drop into enormous loving sobs.

“Spencer Reid, I am not a gift. I am simply the woman with the correct combination of sense and foolish luck that got to marry you.” He’d done this before, and you were used to his small habit of self-deprecating talk, but after a year of marriage and three years of dating before that, you’d managed to work him down to the occasional comment.

“Don’t try to argue about this, I’m definitely the one benefitting the most from the situation right now,” he joked with you, and you could see the genuine adoration shining from behind his eyes. It was a little spark that not many got to see, a glimpse of true happiness in someone usually so reserved.

“Spencer, you’ve given me foot rubs everyday this week, you’ve read more pregnancy and parenting books than every OBGYN and midwife in the area combined, and you’ve somehow attended more of my clinical check-ups than me, and I’m the one whose pregnant.”

“And you’re growing our child inside of you, which is itself more impressive than anything I could ever do with a book and some modern acts of chivalry.”

“Yeah, tell your boss that. I think the only thing keeping Emily from pulling her hair out over your constant absences is that she thinks she’s competing for the title of godmother. She thinks Penelope and JJ are trying to corrupt me with parenting advice and all those baby clothes Pen keeps bringing over.”

“She’s going to be crushed when she remembers we’re not religious, right?”

“Devastated,” the two of you shared a laugh on the couch, and it quickly devolved into a giggle fit after Spencer leaned over and tickled your side. You jolted away from his touch, but he was on you again, attacking your sides with small caresses, and you were gasping for breath between laughs.

“Spence stop- ahh!” Your squeals stopped as you cried out in shock. It was small but you felt something tap against your stomach. Spencer stopped immediately upon seeing your expression change, and a serious look settled on him as he assessed you for any damage.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you in pain anywhere, is the baby okay?” He shot out the questions rapidly, one after the other, barely leaving space to catch his own breath from the laughter of earlier.

It happened again and you put a hand to your stomach, finally realising what’s going on.

“I think I just felt her kick. Spencer, I think I just felt the baby kick.” You couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your face, as much as you couldn’t help the tear that dropped from your eye as your hand rested against your belly again, scared to move for fear that the baby wouldn’t communicate with you again.

“What? Now? Can I- Can I try and feel it, too?” His hands hesitated at first but when you enthusiastically nodded and used your other hand to put him close to yours, you could feel his eagerness to feel the small kicks of your daughter as well.

Almost as if she was waiting for him, as soon as his hand was in the right position, your little girl kicked again, almost as if screaming “I’m here mommy and daddy,” for the two of you to hear.

“I think she’s trying to tell us not to have fun without her,” Reid whispered in your ear, kissing your tear streaked cheek, and using his free hand to rub them away from the other side of your face.

“I am so thankful everyday for this gift you have given me. And for the record, the gift isn’t the baby. The gift is the overwhelming happiness you bring to my life, and the beauty you make me see in this world. The fact that you’re going to be the mother of my child gives me the confidence to get up and go to work every morning because I know that there is joy and there is kindness and there are beautiful people in this world, and you are one, and she will be, too.”

His attempts to dry your tears are now completely vanquished as you let your emotions run wild, but you almost laugh when you realise that his eyes are just as glassy as yours, and you both sit there, overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated joy that a small kick from a child who has yet to be given a name has bought you.

[callsign-rogueone]

questions

Ridoc Gamlyn x reader (sweetheart!) Part three of Ridoc and Sweetheart's story words: 2.9k 🏷: no real book spoilers, this will make more sense if you've read Resson (Garrick's version) but it's not required, set a week or two into Iron Flame, this is a sweetheart chapter so warning for intrusive / self-deprecating thoughts and anxiety spirals, I made a bunch of stuff up about Ridoc's life because RY never told us anything, Rhith being a cool mom, this hasn't been proofread, oops. gonna go have a bagel now byeeee

Rhith had told you that Ridoc would meet you at the gates at eleven — so naturally you’ve been standing there since 10:45, rocking back and forth on your heels and peeling your cuticles.

Why did you agree to do this? Actually, this was your idea — why did you bring it up? What if he’s not going to show up, and you’re just going to stand here for an hour like an idiot?

“Hey! Am I late?” he asks, startling you out of your thoughts. He’s a little out of breath, like he’d ran here, but he offers you a wide smile nonetheless.

You open your mouth to speak just as the bells chime. 

“Guess not,” he laughs when they’re done. “You ready to go?”

You nod, stuffing your hands into your pockets so he can’t see the state of your fingers. Thankfully it’s not too hot to wear your flight jacket. This is your first venture into town, and you don’t want to have your relic on display when you’re in a new place — just going is scary enough.

He leads the way — of course he knows where you’re going. He probably goes out every weekend with his friends; another way you’re completely different.

“I figured we could play twenty questions,” he offers. “Get to know each other a little more. You can go first, if you want.”

You take a second to remember how to speak again. “Alright, um… do you have any hobbies?”

“Coming up with jokes is pretty time consuming.”

“And here I thought they were all completely spontaneous,” you say, shaking your head. “Do you write them all down in that fabled diary of yours?”

He laughs. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t actually have one?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering it. “Only because I don’t see you spending your free time sitting down, writing.” 

“You wound me, sweetheart. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of writing complete sentences.”

“I never said you weren’t. I just said that I didn’t see you doing it.”

“Fair. Tell me about your book,” he prompts. “The one you’re always carrying around.”

“That’s not a question.”

He gives you a sly smile. “Well played. I’ll rephrase, then. What’s the book about? Do you like it?”

“That’s two questions.”

He laughs, warm and full. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“Three.”

“Okay, okay. The first one, then — what's it about?”

“The main character is a trained assassin who is called before the king to join a contest to become his hitman, basically. But the contestants keep getting murdered in the night by some creature that they can’t track down.  It’s part of a series, but I’ve never seen the other volumes anywhere. I like to imagine a different ending every time I read it.”

“You’ve read it more than once?”

You ignore the fact that that’s yet another question, answering it without protest. “Yeah. I know that’s dumb, but it was the book I was in the middle of when my life went to shit. It’s technically property of the library in Aretia, but it was burnt to the ground, so I never gave it back.”

Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of your hometown, and you immediately regret bringing it up, but thankfully Ridoc seems none the wiser. 

“There’s nothing dumb about it if it makes you happy.”

You’ve just stepped into the tiny restaurant when a man that you guess is the owner sees Ridoc and pulls him into a tight hug. “I was wondering when you’d bring your girlfriend!”

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t correct him — that would be too awkward.

Ridoc doesn’t correct him either. “I set up Ezra here with ice that never melts,” he explains with a smile.

“It’s been a blessing. Keeps everything fresh longer, so I don’t have to waste it. You two sit — I’ll make you something special, on the house.” He disappears into the tiny kitchen in the back, leaving the two of you alone in the nearly-empty dining room. 

Ridoc gestures to a table in the corner, away from the door, and you settle into the chair silently. You can’t help but run through Garrick’s mental checklist — your back is to the wall, and you have clear sight of the two exits. You have a knife in your right boot and one in your left sleeve — plus the blunt one laid on the table in front of you. The fork would probably do more damage, though.

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Hm? Oh. Right.” You take a moment to look at him. “Why are you here?”

He gives you a stupid grin. “Because you asked me on a date.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I mean, why Basgiath? Why the rider’s quadrant?”

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to remind you that this whole thing was your idea. But really… probably because I’m an adrenaline junkie who feels like he has to prove to the world that he’s not an idiot. And I’ve always admired the riders and their magic. We can do some pretty cool shit.” 

There’s a pause, and his voice softens as he continues. “I know you didn’t want to be here, so I probably sound super ignorant saying all that. I do think it’s fucked up that you didn’t get a choice — and the way that they handled all of it.”

“I respect your answer. It was honest.”

His turn for a question. “How do you feel about it, really, being here? Not here as in here,” he clarifies, tapping the table, “but at Basgiath.”

You look at him for a second. “Is that your question, or…”

“It can be. But if you don’t want to talk about it, we can go back to the dumb ones.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say quietly, thinking for a second. “I’ve accepted it, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

He’s quiet, giving you space to elaborate — the same way Garrick does; not prying, but silently offering to let you tell him what you’re thinking, if you want to.

“Challenges are the one thing here that doesn’t scare me, because I don’t have to think about it anymore. I know what to do if someone takes a swing at me, and I know how to disarm someone, because Garrick made me practice hundreds of times. But everything else…” 

“Is uncertain and unfamiliar, and therefore scary,” he finishes for you. 

You’re a little surprised by the gentle tone of his voice, the lack of judgment in his words. “That pretty much sums it up.”

Another pause.

“I’ve had an anxiety disorder pretty much my whole life,” you admit. “I was that kid in school that everyone thought couldn’t speak, because I never talked to anyone, except my siblings. Liam was my first real friend who was my age. He didn’t mind the quiet. We would just sit together, and he’d do his wood carvings while I read my books. That was good enough for both of us.”

“Where are they now? Your siblings, I mean.”

You’re silent for a moment, looking down at the tablecloth and the barely distinguishable pattern of flowers woven into it. 

“I know that’s two in a row for me,” he says, backpedaling. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I had a brother and a sister. They were eight and ten years older than me, but they were my best friends. I think they knew that I didn’t have anyone my age, so they always let me tag along for everything until they left for Basgiath.”

“They went here?”

You nod. “As infantry. When they graduated, they joined Fen Riorson’s movement, and a few years later, they were executed along with my parents.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Something compels you to keep talking, to push past the awkwardness and condolences. “I don’t mind talking about them. It’s hard, but they were an important part of my life, and they deserve to be remembered. Losing them was devastating, but Garrick and my foster sister helped fill that void.”

You trace a fingernail over one of the tiny flowers. “I think… I think that’s why I kept pushing you away, and why I haven’t really made any friends here. Being marked doesn’t help, but I can never let myself get close to anyone, because everyone I’ve ever been close to has left me, one way or another.”

You can’t bring yourself to say “died” — and that wouldn’t be quite correct, either. Garrick is very much alive, last you’d heard, but he’s at least a twelve hour flight away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I only met her twice, but she was always kind to me and everyone she met.”

It takes you a second to realize that he means your foster sister — as far as Ridoc and the rest of the school know, she’d died at Resson along with Liam and Soleil.

“She was,” you say softly. 

It feels weird speaking about her in the past tense. You know she’s not dead, that she’s safe with Brennan and the elders, but the last time you saw her, she might as well have been — she’d felt so cold, and looked so drained, unable to respond to you or even open her eyes. 

She has to be awake by now, starting to recover. She has to push through, if for no reason other than that it would absolutely shatter both you and Garrick if she didn’t. 

Ridoc exhales, choosing his next words carefully. “I really am sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that, especially so young. But for what it’s worth, which probably isn’t a lot — I think you’re handling it all incredibly well, and you’re really brave for it.”

You, handling anything well? and being brave? Yeah, right. You take a sip of water to cover the look of dry disbelief on your face, but he sees it anyway. 

“I mean it. Bravery isn’t “never being scared”, it’s “being scared but doing the scary thing anyway”, and you’ve been doing that every day for the last year — for your whole life, honestly. I think that’s admirable.”

You blink at him for a moment, surprised. 

“It’s true,” Rhith says gently. 

“Thank you,” you say softly — to both of them. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

He offers you a soft smile. “I think that’s enough deep questions for now. Thank you for telling me all of that, though. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you agree. “But I feel… lighter.”

“Lighter is good.”

Ezra arrives at the perfect time, holding a tray with two plates of steaming noodles and two glasses of water, placing them in front of you and making a quick exit.

Ridoc brushes a hand against his glass, and you watch the pattern of frost crawl over the edges as it chills itself near instantly. “Want me to do yours?”

You blink, realizing he’s speaking to you. “Sure. Thank you.”

He pushes the cold glass toward you, taking the other and chilling it for himself.

The question comes out before you can think. “How long did it take you to get used to the cold?”

He looks up at you, surprised. “Not long. A week, maybe. I run hot, so sometimes it’s kinda nice.”

You nod in understanding. He’d been warm to the touch when he’d wrapped his arms around you, and you’d melted right into him. That was a first. But so is this, and it seems to be going okay.

You both eat without further discussion, every minute of quiet a little more comfortable than the last. The food is good — better than anything they serve at Basgiath. 

“So, where’s home for you?” you ask after a while.

“Deaconshire,” he answers. “My dad’s still out there. It’s been just me and him for a while.”

“Not too far, then,” you comment, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he hadn’t mentioned his mother. 

“Yeah. I’ve thought about going AWOL for an afternoon, just to see him for an hour or two. But at least the letters will arrive fast.”

“Right,” you say softly, pushing the last piece of pasta around your plate idly. 

It hadn’t really sunk in yet that you can write letters now, as a second year. You could write to Garrick, but it would be too dangerous to send anything to Aretia, with the professors reading everything to make sure there’s no classified information being spread. You might be able to write to the Duke, and hope he passes it on to the right people, but that would still be deemed suspicious. 

Maybe Bodhi could help you.

“Where’d Garrick get stationed?” he asks.

“Samara,” you answer quietly. 

He winces, knowing that’s right on the front between Navarre and Poromiel, but he recovers quickly. “He’s with Xaden, right? They’ll take care of each other.”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be fine,” he reassures. “They were the two biggest, most intimidating dudes in fourth wing. Nobody’s going to mess with them — but if anyone’s dumb enough to try, they’ll get what’s coming to them. And they can definitely kick ass in the air, too.”

He’s right — they’ll be fine.

Probably.

“Yeah,” you say again, hoping it sounds convincing. “They can definitely hold their own.” But against wyvern… what if what happened to Deigh happens to Chradh or Sgaeyl, and there’s nothing they can do? 

You force the thought out of your head before the universe can hear it and make it come true. 

“You ready to head back?” he asks gently.

You nod in affirmation, and he gets up, finding Ezra. The owner bids him a cheerful goodbye that includes a hearty pat on the back, while you stand by the table and offer him a weak wave and a soft thank you.

The walk back to the school is quiet, only the crunching of gravel under your boots, but this time the silence isn’t as loud.

You’ve already said everything you needed to say, laid all your cards face up on the table and shown them to the other — almost all of them, you think with a little flare of guilt, but there are some things you just can’t tell anyone, for the sake of Tyrrendor in its entirety.

“This one’s mine,” you say quietly, stopping in front of your door. 

You call it yours, but it doesn’t feel that way. Just because you sleep here and your stuff is piled up in the corner, yet to be unpacked, doesn’t make it feel like yours, and doesn’t make it feel safe, despite the ward that Garrick had helped you put up before he left for Samara with Xaden.

Ridoc offers you a warm smile. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I’d really like to see you again, if you want.”

“I’d like that too.”

He lingers, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s expecting something of you, but he remains a few steps away, his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you,” you add. “For today. And for finding me yesterday.”

“Of course, sweetheart. And next time you start to feel that way, you can have Rhith tell Aotrom to get me, okay? You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“Okay,” you say softly. 

He gives you another knee-weakening smile before he heads off, disappearing into a room that must be his — eight doors down, on the other side of the hall.

You make it inside just as the bells strike twelve thirty. The afternoon is still young.

You decide to unpack — starting by shoving the box of your sister’s things into the bottom of the armoire. You’d burned most of her stuff, to maintain the appearance that she’s actually dead, but you and Garrick had both taken some for yourselves. Malek couldn’t get mad about that, right?

You don’t know if you should worry what he thinks or not — you despise him for taking everyone away from you, but you need to remain in his good graces if you want to keep the few people you have left. But you aren’t sure how — it remains unclear what you did, or didn’t do, to deserve that. 

“It was nothing you did,” Rhith says gently, startling you. “And you didn’t deserve it.”

“Sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to project that to you.”

“We’ve talked about the apologies, sweet one,” she prods. “They’re never necessary.”

“Sor—” you stop yourself before you can finish the word. “I’ll work on that.”

She changes the subject for you. “I’m proud of what you did today. I know that was difficult for you.”

“It’s easier with him,” you say quietly. “I don’t know why, but it is.”

“Many things don’t require explanation. It is enough to simply appreciate them.” 

Spoken like a true green. “I wish I could be as logical as you,” you sigh. 

“There is value in both logic and emotion, but there is a balance to be found between them.”

You sit with the statement for a moment as you start to fold the laundry you’d shoved into a bag and dragged up the stairs when you’d moved, trying to smooth out the wrinkles to no avail.

“What do you think?” you ask. “about him, I mean.”

“I think he has a good heart. He genuinely cares for you, but it is your decision whether to trust him or not. And even if you do, there are some things that he can never know.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you, my girl.”

You’re a little bit proud of yourself too.

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi, can you write a story where the reader is pregnant with a baby girl. One day while Peter is playing “Isn’t She Lovely” by Stevie Wonder on the piano, the baby starts kicking and they decide to make that her song. Bonus: After she's born, it's the only song that will calm her down when she's fussy.

Hi there! This request was so cute. Thanks for requesting!

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . °

𝐈𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → none

Summary → "Isn't She Lovely" is your baby girl's song.

(gif not mine)

The first time it happened, you were lying on the couch, half-watching Peter fiddle with the piano in the corner of your apartment. You were six months pregnant, your baby bump round and firm beneath the oversized hoodie you'd stolen from Peter, and exhaustion was settling deep into your bones.

Peter was sitting at the piano bench, his fingers hesitating over the keys. "Okay, okay, wait—I think I got it this time," he muttered to himself, adjusting his posture like he was about to perform at Carnegie Hall.

You smiled, resting your hand on your belly. "Are you seriously struggling with ‘Isn’t She Lovely?’ "

"Hey! It's harder than it looks," he defended, shooting you an offended glance over his shoulder. "I wanna get it right."

You hummed in amusement. "For who? Me? Baby girl?"

Peter grinned, turning back to the piano. "Both of you. But mostly her."

With that, he started playing, his fingers moving carefully across the keys. The melody filled the room, warm and sweet, and despite his self-deprecating complaints, he played beautifully. You closed your eyes, soaking it in, letting the music settle into your chest.

And then—

"Oof!" Your eyes flew open as a sudden, strong kick thumped against your ribs.

Peter instantly turned his head. "What? What happened?"

You blinked in surprise, then let out a breathy laugh. "She kicked. Hard."

Peter’s eyes widened. "During the song?"

"Yeah." You placed a hand over your belly, rubbing the spot where she'd moved. "Like, really strong. Try playing again."

Peter adjusted his fingers on the keys, starting from the beginning. The moment the familiar notes filled the room, the baby kicked again—this time, twice in a row.

Your mouth dropped open. "Oh my God, she likes it."

Peter's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Are you serious?" He immediately stopped playing, shifting off the bench and kneeling in front of you. His hands found your belly, warm and gentle. "Hey, baby girl, you like the music?"

In response, another kick.

Peter gasped, looking up at you with wide, excited eyes. "Did you feel that?!"

You laughed. "Yes, Pete, I felt it. She's inside me."

Peter didn’t even register your sarcasm—he was too busy grinning like a lovestruck fool, hands still splayed over your bump. "This is it. This is officially her song. No take-backs."

You melted at the pure joy in his face. "Guess we better get used to hearing it all the time, huh?"

"I don't mind," Peter said, his voice soft as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your belly. "Isn’t she lovely? Yeah, she is. She totally is."

---

Four Months Later…

The first time Mayday Parker let out an ear-piercing cry, Peter nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get to her bassinet.

"Okay, okay, baby, we’re here," he soothed, reaching in to scoop her up. You were right behind him, rubbing your tired eyes.

"What time is it?" you mumbled.

Peter glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Three in the morning."

You groaned. "She just ate an hour ago. What’s wrong now?"

Peter bounced Mayday gently in his arms, whispering soft reassurances, but her tiny face was scrunched up in distress, her cries echoing through the apartment. He tried rocking her, walking back and forth, rubbing her back—nothing.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "What if—"

Peter suddenly paused. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait." His eyes flickered toward the piano.

You blinked. "Peter, no."

Peter ignored you, making his way to the instrument while still holding Mayday. He sat down, carefully adjusting her in his arms before placing his fingers on the keys.

The moment he started playing Isn’t She Lovely, the crying started to stop.

Your jaw dropped.

Peter stared at Mayday, utterly dumbfounded. Her tiny body relaxed against his chest, her sniffles fading into peaceful silence as she listened to the music.

You pressed a hand to your forehead. "You have got to be kidding me."

Peter looked up at you, his expression torn between amusement and absolute adoration. "She wasn’t kidding when she kicked to this song, huh?"

You crossed your arms, torn between frustration and overwhelming love for both your husband and daughter. "I swear, if this is the only thing that calms her down—"

Peter smirked. "Guess I better get really good at it then."

You sighed, walking over to sit beside him on the bench. Your head rested against his shoulder, watching as Mayday’s tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her breathing soft and even.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Peter’s shoulder. "Well… it is a pretty good song."

Peter beamed. "Only the best for my girls."

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