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moonstruckme · 4 months

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have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

i’m such a sucker for a fake dating trope, could i request a drabble with eddie or tasm!peter? (i feel like out of all of the boyfriends they are the most likely to do it lol) <3

Thanks for requesting lovely!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

You drop Eddie’s hand as soon as you’re around the corner. “Baby?” your voice comes out disgusted, blissfully steady. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“I don’t have a shit ton of practice being couple-y,” he replies, huffy. “Sorry if I didn’t have time to whip out my domestic dictionary.”

You shrug. “Guess I just expected a little more creativity from you.” He does spend most of his time fucking around with chords and making up stories involving dragons and mages.

You cross your arms, walking with a couple of feet between you and your part-time boyfriend now that there’s no one around to see. Eddie turns to look at you, his hair falling over his shoulder. “You like it.”

He’s teasing, you think. He can’t possibly know that. But your face heats and you can’t look up from the sidewalk, because there had been an undeniable commotion in your stomach when Eddie had said in front of everyone, voice smooth and sweet as iced tea, You getting tired, baby? I’m about ready to head out.

It had been a warm sort of commotion, more bees than butterflies, buzzing all the way from the pit of your stomach up into your brain, where they’ve stayed, humming quietly even now.

You try to pass your flustering off as pique, rolling your eyes and making sure Eddie sees. “It’s infantilizing,” you say. “I hate when guys call girls that, it’s so weird. I’m not a literal baby.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” You look over, and Eddie’s grinning at you now, laying it thick on in the way he has been all night, except that was for show and this appears to be just for you. With how wobbly it makes your limbs feel, you don’t know how much more of it you can take. “You seemed a lot like a baby, the way you let me open every door for you all day and were just about falling asleep on my shoulder a couple of minutes ago.”

And just like that, the happy buzzing quiet. Real indignation sparks to life in your chest. “I thought you were just being chivalrous for a minute there, but I figured that was ridiculous.” For a second, Eddie looks confused. “And anyway,” you go on, “it’s not like you were any better. I thought I was gonna have to pry your hand off my waist if you got any more comfortable.”

“You still might have to,” he teases, reaching around your side to squeeze at that favored spot. Your vexation breaks up as a laugh jostles out of you, and you try to move away but Eddie doesn’t let you get far, pulling you roughly against his side.

Any more of this, and you’ll have to get a tattoo of his handprint on your waist with Eddie’s spot written inside. It’ll be tasteless and suggestive, and you know Eddie will laugh for days.

“I’ve got to find something equally punishing for you now,” you say. “How do you feel about sweetpea?”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“No? Honeyboo?”

“You know—”

“Pookie?”

“—I actually don’t care what you—”

“Oh, I know! Stud muffin.”

“Would you shut up?” Eddie squeezes you around the middle again, cutting you off with your own giggles. He doesn’t look nearly as embarrassed as you’d like, still grinning down at you like you’re a source of endless amusement. “Stud muffin actually isn’t bad, but I don’t give a shit what you call me, so long as it’s you.”

Some of your playfulness fizzles out, and he smirks at what he takes for your dissatisfaction, stopping and grasping your upper arms to look you in the eye. The metal of his rings are cool on your skin. “Got that, baby?” he asks, stretching the endearment out long and teasing.

It takes you a second to react, grateful for Eddie’s hands on your arms as you try to remember how to balance on your own. Once you do, you scoff, ripping out of his grasp and continuing ahead. “Fuck you,” you say.

Eddie all but skips to catch up to you. “Oh, you wish.”

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stormhearty · 7 months

Text

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel angst #( .inbox request : death anniversary )#( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: set during S1E6: LDSK - another baby Reid fic bc he’s a sweetpea

Warning: actually really sweet Gideon lol I know he’s a tad controversial amongst stans but pls allow for a sweet fatherly moment ty

gif from an unnamed source on google so if it’s your please let me know and I’ll credit!! ♡

CCSW: Close Contact Serial Worrier

Ever since Gideon requested Hotch and Spencer go to check the surgeon’s story with a witness, you have been on edge. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and it isn’t just that your favorite person is no longer at your side.

Immediately picking up on your anxiety, Gideon bumps your shoulder with his. “Hotch’ll look after him.”

You nod, trying your best to reassure yourself, but it does little to calm the raised hairs at the back of your neck.

Standing with Elle, JJ and Gideon, you continue theorizing about the unsub, something not quite adding up about the profile so far, but your conversation is suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire. The heart previously in your chest all but leaps into your throat as you run towards the sound with your team, leading you all to the Emergency Room, but finding the doors already barricaded from the inside by the LDSK you all came here in search of, with Hotch and Spencer locked in there with him.

Time seems to freeze in place as you shakily lower yourself into one of the hospital’s waiting room chairs, your legs bouncing anxiously as tears sting your eyes, and that is how you stay.

“Hey, pretty girl, what’s-” Derek begins as he enters the room with a folder in hand of the unsub’s professional record, but Gideon stops him.

“Leave her, Morgan, what’ve you got?” Gideon advises, the rest of the team circling around you to discuss the information Derek has found, doing their best to keep you included, but you are in far too much shock to participate in the conversation.

A moment later, Gideon lowers himself to the chair beside you, a kind smile on his face that you can see from the corner of your eye, your gaze otherwise fixed on the hospital floor.

“He’s a strong kid, he’ll be alright.” He tells you, knowing the source of your anxiety without you needing to say anything. Gideon saw your crush on Spencer blossom the moment you laid eyes on him, on your very first day.

You nod. “I know, just the thought of him getting hurt, I-” You can’t even finish your sentence, closing your eyes in a pained blink as you shake your head, trying to push the thoughts from your mind.

Gideon gently pats your knee to reassure you. “I guarantee you, in a few minutes you’ll see him again and he will be absolutely fine.”

You nod again, finding the strength to turn and give Gideon a small smile. “Thanks, Boss.”

With that, Gideon stands up to talk with the SWAT Team leader, your ears straining to overhear the conversation. “Please, don’t send your men in yet.”

“You have to consider the possibility that your men are dead, or at least disarmed.” The SWAT Team leader responds, his words making you feel physically sick as you stand up and walk a few feet away to lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

A couple of minutes pass in the blink of an eye and the slowest eternity you’ve ever lived, simultaneously, and you watch as the SWAT team approach the door, ready to break through it and put your colleagues' lives even more at risk.

Then, a single gunshot makes you jump out of your skin.

“FEDERAL AGENT, FEDERAL AGENT, HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Hotch’s yell comes through the other side of the door.

The moment he opens it and tells the SWAT Team it’s all clear, you bolt for the door without hesitation, pushing through the SWAT Team until you find Spencer on the floor, gun held in bound hands with nothing more than a few superficial wounds on his face, but that is enough.

“Spencer!” You cry out, running for him and falling to your knees on the floor, pulling him into your arms in a tight hug before abruptly pulling away to check over his face in a panic. “A-Are you hurt? Do you need anything? I-I’ll go get it!” You blurt out, eyes wide like a deer in headlights as tears continue to fall from your eyes.

Spencer watches you with a curious and bashful smile, having not at all expected his first hug from you to be the result of something like this, but definitely not complaining. “I’m fine, (Y/N), are you okay?”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and pull Spencer back into another hug, sniffling into his shoulder, too overwhelmed to say anything as you help him to his feet and lead him out of the hospital.

The two of you perch yourselves on the back of an open ambulance, and you’re yet to acknowledge the fact you haven’t let go of Spencer’s hand, but the lovestruck smile on his face is enough to confirm he is very aware of it.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” He asks you again in a gentle voice, seeing your glazed-over eyes and the shock that lingers on your face.

“I was so worried, back there. I’m sorry, Spencer, I know you can handle yourself, I just- the thought of someone hurting you-” You ramble, shaking your head as tears threaten to enter your eyes again.

Spencer’s expression softens as he moves to stand in front of you. “Hey, look at me.”

Lifting your head, your gaze locks with his, and he gives you a dazzling smile.

“I promise you, I’m fine, Hotch kicks like a 9 year old girl.” He jokes lightheartedly, managing to bring the desired laugh from you, which causes his own smile to widen into a grin as he laughs with you. “There’s that smile!” He says, knowing it’ll make you giggle, and it does. Spencer squeezes your hand in his. “I do really appreciate your concern for me, (Y/N), I don't think I’ve ever known anyone that worries over me like you do.”

You smile sheepishly at that, glancing down at your hand in his with a twinkle of something he can’t decode in your eyes. “Part of my charm, baby.”

On the flight home, you find yourself fast asleep with your head on Spencer’s shoulder as the jet flies through the night sky. He dutifully wraps a blanket around you and is just tucking it under your chin when Gideon sits down opposite him.

“She really does care about you a lot.” He says.

Spencer smiles down at you fondly. “I know.”

Gideon’s ever-evaluating eyes soften at the scene in front of him. “A love like that, from a girl like her…it’s a rare and beautiful thing. If she’s what you’re looking for, don’t let her slip through your fingers.”

Spencer’s eyes widen at Gideon’s mention of ‘love’, swallowing nervously but nodding regardless, very much appreciating the fatherly advice. “I won’t, ever. If she wants me, that is.”

Gideon chuckles, glancing out of the jet window before his gaze settles on your sleeping form. “Given the way she was unafraid to tackle several SWAT Team members to the ground to get to you, I think it’s a safe bet that she does.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #criminal minds #imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannons #headcannon

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takami-takami · 1 year

Text

Roost and Repair.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. comfort.

warnings— anxiety (could be from anything). keigo taking care of you.

If someone were to ask you what your plans are this Saturday afternoon, you'd internally answer, "rotting away, probably."

Externally, you'd say, "not much, how about you?"

It's a sickening twist of the tongue to utter such falsities; you never did enjoy burying the truth. But you'll be damned if you let the tides of others' perceptions and social regulations singe your exposed nerve endings; like cheap wiring, frayed and alight with the most unpleasant sparks at the utterance of a word or glance your way.

It's a lot easier to simply shut and latch all three locks on your bedroom door instead, to cover your body with the heaviest comforter you can find in order to insulate your raw wiring in at least some capacity.

It's fucking June. You can see the waves of heat eminating from the light of the sun through your open window, hot rays fractured through the glass; yet here you are, bundled up like it's the peak of December.

You would be sweating from the adrenaline regardless, you remind yourself.

You swear to God, if a single soul decides to lift a knuckle against your door, you'd lose what little grasp you have on—

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap, goes the glass of your window; and it sounds like a lifeline, instead.

Cloaking yourself in your quilt, your bare feet hop off the matress and meet the carpet. You drag the hem of the blanket behind you along the floor as you make your way to unlatch the lock.

"Heyo," Keigo sings, clutching the pane above his head with both hands and swooping in feet first. He lands in your room like he just finished a somersault. Waltzing inside, he pops the joints of his neck as he stretches like a cat.

"Got off patrol early on a Saturday, can you believe it? Flew straight over to see my favorite— oh."

He blinks at you, studying the stiff way you tremble as you look at him; like a sad, wet dog.

"Baby. It's burning up outside," he reminds you, tone taking a stark shift. "Are you sick? You don't look so good."

Gloved palms tap up your arms while he looks you over, removing one glove so he can place the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature.

You snort. "Not sick, Kei."

His eyes trail down. Your thumbs are working themselves into a frenzy against your cuticles.

Realization falls over Keigo's face and he mouths a silent oh. His right hand darts down to his coat pocket, pulling out some fidget toys and placing them with reverence in your palm. He closes your hands around it.

"Thank you, Kei," you squeak out, twisting the plastic this and that way, wringing your irritability dry against the faux little outlet instead.

"I gotcha, sweetpea," he says. Two palms, one gloved and one bare, reach out before him to make grabby hands in a silent request; and just as his feathers twitch with hope, you spring forward into Keigo's arms, wrapping your legs snug across the small of his back.

He coos, nuzzling against your neck while he walks you back to bed. Three feathers dart their way past while he walks. One retrieves two bottles of water from the kitchen, another turning on the AC. The third feather pauses in your bedroom, taking care in its selection of the perfect plushie for you to hold on to.

"Don't gotta put up a front around me. I can see right through you," Keigo teases, pulling his head back to poke once at your nose.

You scrunch it in mock offense, sending a jolt right through his beating heart.

"I know I don't," you assert.

"And I know you won't," he answers.

A pause drapes over the room as you reach your bed.

"Anything you need from me, dove," he asks, not bothering to pry your body from his when he sits down.

"Mm. Just you being here s'good... It's awful today, Kei," you explain easily, letting your shoulders down.

Keigo hums. It's a low, empathetic sound that drums against your ears and rumbles within the cavity of your chest. You can practically feel it insulating the exposed wires, can feel his voice soothing the ache with its warm timbre.

Keigo, more than anyone else, knows you don't want to be percieved. You want to be seen.

With a single kiss atop the crown of your head, he sighs in contentment.

He'll always be grateful for the opportunity to protect you.

#kei immediately calling to light when he senses something is wrong. immediately talking about it. immediately going protective mode. wah.#🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

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i always get so nervous requesting lmao (you are way to cool and I'm way to shy )

but anyway I saw that you were writing for one piece, I'm not sure how far into the show you are so ill just ask for Sanji or zoro with an alt like s/o like with a lot of piercings short hair and such who seems intimidating but can be very shy

please and thank you : )

Zoro and Sanji with an shy and alt s/o

notes - DUDE DONT BE NERVOUS TO REQUEST OMFG! You're cool too, like literally, but thanks for thinking I'm cool tee hee that's such a nice compliment. But know that I love getting requests from you, so don't hesitate to send in more before the end of the month <333 Have a super day and stay super hydrated :)

Zoro

I think he would love your style so much omg

like when you roll up with some sick ass boots and cool ass piercings, he cant help but blush a bit lol

like at first when he met you, he thought you were a little intimidating tbh

and then when he realized you were shy, he thought you were such a cutie and couldnt help but fall for you

like he's your big protective bf who will talk to people first for you lol

and like when you're together you both look so intimidating, but deep down you're both super sweet

and if you ever want to dress him up, he would actually get so flustered

he would act like he hates it, but he would actually love it

overall he digs the aesthetic you got goin on and loves you to bits

Sanji

I think at first he would be intimidated by you

like a lot

like total heart eyes, yes, but at the same time, he is just too scared to talk to you lol

I mean from afar he will call you gorgeous, but he's a little scared to see what you'll say if he said that to you

but one day, after Nami told him what your favorite meal was, he made it for you and served it to you

that day he saw how much of a a sweetpea you were and it was almost off putting to him

like with the clothes and the piercings he never thought you would be as shy as you were that night when he made you dinner

so when you two start dating, he cant help being the golden retriever boyfriend to your black cat personality and the contrast is great

he knows that your inside is nothing like your outside and he thinks that is something that's really cool about you

he knows the real you and just loves to be your amazing boyfriend <3

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

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heartsofhounds · 1 year

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i’m sure you see me going insane in the tags BUT i had to pop into the inbox to tell you that i am so in love with your angel and davey designs, they mean the absolute world to me. it’s like you plucked their little faces right out of my brain and it brings me so much joy to see them!! thank you for sharing your insane talent with the world <3<3<3 sending you all the best vibes <3<3<3

Hey, sweetpea! Thank u so so much, im also so in love with them :))

and yes! i have seen u in the tags and it makes me smile so much aaaaa.. in response to ur comments on that one sketch i did of these two a few weeks back, there is a lot of love i put into drawing “non-standard” body types, cause they simply don’t get enough love, or attention or representation. Especially as someone living in a fat body, it means a lot to see bodies similar to mine represented as beautiful and even desirable. So yknow (without getting too into body politics and whatever for now) in putting out that content, id hope to help other people develop healthier relationships with their own bodies 💙

#i have a lot to say about body type representation in media #ESPECIALLY with character designs + character art it is overwhelmingly skinny and/or straight size #I’ve got a big ramble about body representation I’ll have to post here some day #some day but not today!#anywhoo hope all y’all are having a lovely Sunday! 💙#fen art #fen talks #fen redacted art #redacted angel #redacted David

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conkers-thecosy · 5 months

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Hi! 22 and 28 for the ask game 🙊

Hullo, sweetpea!

Thank you so much for sending these!!

22. What would you say to your future self?

"Stop letting other people guilt you into doing things you don't want to do. It's okay to say no and look after yourself sometimes."

28. Hugs or hand-holding?

Both!!

Thanks for playing!! Have a lovely day!

#soft asks to get to know people #ask #yacrimago

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inkykeiji · 1 year

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after reading some of ur responses to anons, i reread bmb with a better picture in my head of tomura and dabi's relationship, past, how they really are *that* close. Now I kinda look at bmb differently (in a good way). is tomura ever jealous of reader getting dabi’s attention? and dabi of reader bc she gets all tomuras time? I think weve all been in positions where our friends are dating and we miss spending time them but its not to the extreme level of tomura and dabis obsessive/toxic mentality

aaaah anon this makes me SO happy to hear!!!

PS. read to the end for a tiny snippet of my bmb sequel christmas series!!

yes, it’s very subtle, and i wrote it that way on purpose. it’s quite iykyk, read between the lines, subtext type stuff, because dabi himself doesn’t even know what he’s feeling—he can barely make sense of his new, unfamiliar feelings for reader, and buried way beneath those are his feelings for tomura, which are subtle, yes, and nothing in comparison to his feelings for reader, but are there and exist nonetheless.

these feelings of jealousy are so light and so deeply submerged in his subconscious that he doesn’t even know they’re there festering in his soul; that he can’t even separate them from feelings of jealousy related to reader. it’s all so entwined that it blurs and blends into the same thing. he’s jealous of tomura for having reader, he’s jealous of reader for taking tomura’s attention away from him, he’s jealous of the connection and relationship they have, etc.

dabi’s complicated feelings for tomura, as well as how close they truly are and just how much dabi actually cares about him, become a little more obvious in parts four and five, when dabi becomes a little more protective over tomura, a little more careful and compassionate towards him. he speaks to him more gently, his actions are softer, and, as part five demonstrates, he truly does know how to handle tomura better than anyone else in the world.

ah! okay, so your questions of if tomu gets jealous of dabi + reader and if dabi gets jealous of tomu + reader are both answered and explored in depth in my sequel series (aka the christmas series) but to answer quickly, it’s a yes to both! my sequel christmas series explores all of the nuances in this new relationship + trio dynamic, and it demonstrates how each of the three of them are adjusting and dealing with this very new, very big change; the struggles they’re individually going through and the issues they’re facing.

with that being said, here is the tiniest lil snippet from part three of my bmb christmas series and sequel to give u a taste of what’s to come <3 this is just my first draft so it may change slightly in the final version but the idea will obv stay the same <3

And although it’s all fun and great and whatever, although Dabi and Tomura have technically made up, Dabi can’t stop his gaze from straying to the two of you, desperate to sneak another peek.

It’s the worst type of self torture, every smile you give Tomura, special and private and just for him, every giggle he elicits from you, sweet and beautiful and just for him driving another sharp stake further into Dabi’s heart, an ache that cements itself deep within his chest, dull and aching and caged by his ribs.

The two of you are off in your own little world, it seems, despite the fact that this is, technically, a baking competition and there are five other people in the room.

None of it seems to matter; none of it seems to register at all, every ounce of your glittering attention focused solely on your Daddy, who beams down at you with warm, soft, loving eyes.

Dabi’s only gotten that look once or twice before, but you seem to get it all the time.

He knows it’s unfair to compare himself to you, to compare his relationship with Tomura to yours, but he just can’t seem to help it. He measures them up against each other in every way, tallying up the positives and docking the negatives and seeing who’s in the lead, even though they’re playing completely different sports.

#loved this ask so much anon thank you!!!!!!!#i'm so glad to hear this eeeeee <333 #also!!!! thank you for re-reading and taking a moment to send ur thoughts n questions!!!#that genuinely means so much to me <3 #genuinely i am so flattered i love u lots n lots!!!!!#please have a marvellous day sweetpea <3 stay safe and stay hydrated!!#bmb universe #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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appalamutte · 2 years

Text

inspired by this post about jack’s general disregard for his phone

Bitty’s halfway to putting the maple apple turnovers into the oven when Jack’s phone hits the ground with a sharp smack, face down, and it’s as if Bitty’s heart stops plum in his chest.

Nothing happens for a painstakingly drawn out moment. Then, Jack noncommittally says, “Oh,” and it’s not a word as much as it is a grunt. He doesn’t even drop down to grab it, just continues washing the bowls Bitty used like nothing happened, like his phone’s not face down and probably cracked as all get out on the kitchen floor, the poor thing.

Taking a deep breath, Bitty finishes putting the turnovers in the oven, closes the door, and wipes his hands together. “You gonna get that, sweetpea?”

He tries to keep his voice natural. He honestly, really tries.

Jack glances over at him before he turns to look over his shoulder at his phone. “Oh, yeah, in just a sec. I’m kind of...,” he trails off, gesturing down to his soap-covered hands wiping down a bowl with a rag.

Bitty chuckles. “Right, of course,” he breathes out, leaning back against the counter. He sends another uneasy glance at Jack’s phone because, really, he should just pick it up himself, but instead he says, “I can finish washing those if you’d like,” because he really isn’t sure he has the heart to handle checking whether or not Jack’s phone survived.

“No, it’s cool. I’m almost done.” Jack shoots him a crooked little smile then, like his phone is not still on the ground, and flicks on the faucet to start rinsing the bowl off.

Nodding, Bitty keeps daring glances at the phone and considers how many times a screen can hit hardwood floors before it finally shatters. He’s wringing his hands together into a white-knuckled mess, and when Jack finally finishes up, Bitty’s heart thuds precariously up into his throat.

“Hey,” Jack says, turning around, and—by god he bypasses the phone and steps right up to Bitty with that crooked little easy thing still on his lips.

Bitty thinks he manages a smile back. “Hey there.”

“Those turnovers smell amazing.”

“Oh! Well, thank you, but, I mean...”

Jack’s in front of him now, his fingers hooked into the belt loops of Bitty’s jeans, pulling him in and leaning down. The kiss teeters on the edge of something more, just distracting enough to loosen Bitty’s shoulders, and Jack tastes sweet like apple filling. It’s inviting and so, so promising, and Bitty would give into it completely if it weren’t for—

“Jack, sweetie,” Bitty says, pulling back and placing a hand on Jack’s chest to stop him. “Um, please, just—your phone?”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, could you maybe...pick it up?”

Jack furrows his brow but steps back regardless. “Okay,” is all he says, and with absolutely no hesitation at all he bends down to pick it up. Bitty actually sucks in a harsh breath and closes his eyes, nearly cringing at the sudden reality of seeing Jack’s phone shattered. His hearts racing in his chest and it’s as if the kitchen falls into a vacuum, void or any sound; Bitty waits to hear Jack curse or sigh or something, waits to hear Jack say his phone’s finally bit the dust, Bits.

He waits, and waits, and only opens his eyes when Jack huffs out a small laugh.

Bitty can’t take it anymore. “Well?”

“Shits sent this huge text about some girl in his seminar. Apparently, he caught her doing coke at some house party after she debated with him on the war on drugs. I think she supports the war, by the way.”

“What? No, Jack, you phone. Lord, is it okay?”

“My phone?” Jack looks up and takes in Bitty’s panic-stricken expression before he laughs, hard enough to bend over. “Bits, is that—is that why you’ve been acting so weird?”

Bitty scoffs, crossing his arms and feeling his cheeks turn beet red as Jack turns his phone around to show a perfectly fine, un-cracked screen. “I have not been acting weird.”

“Crisse, I thought I did something wrong or something.”

“It’s perfectly normal for someone to freak out when a phone is dropped!”

“Only if you’re always looking down at said phone,” Jack chirps, setting his phone on the counter and stepping toward Bitty again. He’s still laughing a bit but is clearly trying to repress it. “Phone’s have Twitter, right? Is that why they’re so important?”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “I don’t need the sass, Mr. Zimmermann. The heart attack was plenty enough.”

Jack chuckles low in his chest and brings a hand up to Bitty’s face. The kiss this time is softer, lingering, with Jack’s other hand finding its place at the small of Bitty’s back and Bitty rising up onto his toes. “Thanks for looking out for my phone,” he murmurs against Bitty’s lips.

“Do you know how many heart attacks that phone of yours has given me?” Bitty leans up and kisses Jack again, drawing his hands up Jack’s arms to his shoulders before pulling back just enough to say, “I still think you need an upgrade. An iPhone would do you wonders.”

There’s a sudden smack on Bitty’s ass that has him yelping, and in the process Jack pulls him in closer. “Heart attacks keep the heart young, eh?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Jack’s hand slides into Bitty’s back pocket. “It’s good cardio. Come on, we have 10 minutes until those turnovers are done.”

He steps back and throws Bitty over his shoulder like he weighs nothing, manhandling him out of the kitchen, which—goodness, still does things to Bitty, particularly in ways that make their bedroom seem so much more appealing, but—“Jack! You know my rule about leaving the oven unattended!”

#heart attacks keep the heart young is something i grew up hearing #please don't ask about the logistics behind it #omgcp #zimbits #my writing

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oh-stars · 7 months

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love your work and everything you do, so excited for the month of march fics coming up !!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ a fic a day is incredible and idk how you do it honestly 🙏🙏🙏 does this mean that hold is on hiatus for now ?

Oh thank you!!!

It was so fun doing @steddielovemonth so I'm excited to tackle Stobin Month! I don't write enough fics about them and them alone so it's been fun so far.

Hold is on a temporary hiatus. I'm aiming to get the next chapter out in April. Right now, I have so much going on, but I start a new job next week so my writing time is cutting down drastically. So I'm not able to tap into the headspace I need to write hold.

I added an update to the authors note for the last chapter, but to reiterate here: I AM NOT giving up on this story!! It's a passion project for me, but since it doesn't have a timeline or any outside pressure other than wanting to get the next chapter to you all, it has to be the first to go. I need to focus on my posting challenge, my STRBB fics, and my exchange fic (and I have a few big bangs I plan on signing up for!!) so I'll be shifting gears a little.

If I wasn't at such a pivotal moment in hold, I think I'd be able to continue writing as normal. But I have an Eddie scene and an Eleven scene to write for the next chapter that are heavier, so I need to do them the right way and not just knock it out.

Thank you all for the support and understanding!!! I'm having so much fun and feeling really fulfilled with my current writing load, so the patience about the hold situation is very appreciated!! That being said... Here's a teaser (under the cut) for the next chapter to hold everyone over (no pun intended) until I can post it:

“Hey, hey,” Steve coos, coming to a halt at the edge of her crib. He picks her up without hesitation, sending a sharp pain up his left arm as he cuddles her close. It doesn’t matter, he could care less about his pain as long as she’s okay. “You’re okay,” he says, “Daddy’s got you.”

“Steve!” Robin huffs as she comes up beside them. “You shouldn’t be picking her up.” Whatever look he gives her must tell her everything she needs to know. She sighs and runs a hand over Charlotte’s wild dark hair. “I can hand her to you so you don’t hurt your hand,” she says softly, “let me help.”

He presses his lips to Charlotte’s head and sways in place, shushing her. Charlotte, not Robin of course. “I know,” he tells Robin then goes back to talking to Charlotte. “We woke you up before you were ready, huh? I’m sorry, sweetpea.” He adjusts his hold on her to check her diaper, nose wrinkling. “Sure you want to help?” he asks Robin.

“I think I can handle a dirty diaper.”

Charlotte’s cries have stopped, but there are big tears on her cheeks and her bottom lip is pouted out as she looks up at Steve. He’d do anything for that face.

Steve has to look away, eyes going to the bare, white ceiling as the fury comes back to him all at once. He blinks his own tears out of his eyes, all of the emotions hitting him like a goddamn train. “She left her,” Steve breathes out. “She fucking left her, Rob.”

“She was so blasé about it too,” Robin punches out, walking away. She’s opening the drawers to grab something, closing them with force but not slamming.

“What’s that mean?” he asks, dropping another kiss to Charlotte’s head. He drifts over to the chair they stashed in here during the move, an extra from the set his mom gave him, and sits so Charlotte’s laying against his chest. The movement emphasizes the pain and settles his heart all at once, but Charlotte’s sniffles and little noises make it worth it.

Robin takes a moment, putting together the outfit for Charlotte. “Does she not have any dresses?”

Steve’s brow furrows as he thinks about it. “I think she’s grown out of a few. I don’t know.”

“I’m all for giving the bird to gender stereotypes and letting her wear boy clothes,” Robin says as she holds up the basketball onesie that doesn’t fit Charlotte anymore but Steve can’t part with, “but I don’t see any onesies with snaps that fit her and pants are going to be a nightmare for the foreseeable future.”

Shit.

Steve groans and adjusts Charlotte so her cast is more comfortable against him. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“When would you have had the time?” Robin asks, closing the drawer. She’s out of the room before Steve can answer her.

#ohstars fic #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #hold on to me #single dad steve

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