#transformers prepare for us to make you cry!

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚉𝙴, 𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙾 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ It's such a small statement, a throwaway in the wake of his son baring any feelings with him. He knows the weight of Nero's statement ; understands the implications and empathizes with it and him. He was quick to anger and alone once, too — and to think of everything lost in the wake of his choices was like being chained to the bottom of the sea . . . again. Vergil tries not to dwell on the statement too much, standing, holding out a hand to his son to help him up. 

                         ❛ But yes, we should go. Cake . . . And then whatever lies beyond. ❜ His wording is deliberate — an offer to extend what they have now, to remain in the company of one another for a little longer than the time it takes to bake pastries. To be let in. He only hopes the offer is not too subtle to go unnoticed, and is taken kindly. and even if it wasn't . . . Nero always knew that he was welcome at Devil May Cry. Vergil is certain that his younger twin would have made that well and clear several times over, now. The fact that he was now here, too, did not change that.                            He allows Nero the moment needed to prepare, and kicks off once he is, transforming in the air — taking to the skies is as easy as moving his wings to the breeze . . . but that doesn't change the route. Instead of heading for the sea, to fly over and back to the mainland, Vergil makes the decision to take the ferry, anyway. And in good time ; he touches down just as the second-to-last horn sounds, and quickly pays for both of their tickets ( not that Nero would have needed a ticket . . . he was certain the boy had free use of any service in Fortuna for as long as he lived, for the good that he has done for the island ). Still, it only feels right.                           ❛ You don't mind, do you ? ❜ His voice is . . . normal, even, but his eyes tell a different story. He had forgotten his lack of the Yamato, again. In the moment, so proud of Nero for trying to fly, and successfully flying some distance, it had been put out of his mind. His apprehension is as clear as the distant look in his eyes. A side of Vergil that Nero does not get to see often .❛ I'd forgotten how . . . long the flight from here to Red Grave can be. It would do no good to have you crash into the ocean. ❜                           But his explanation sounds more like a concealed excuse, and a poor one at that. With a tightly locked jaw, he gestures politely, offering for Nero to go first just as the final horn sounds — only a few minutes to board, now. People around them, some lucky tourists, a few residents, and some others, are walking towards the small vessel, luggage and groceries and whatever else in their hands. But Vergil, curiously, does not seem to step on it just yet.

Frankly, Nero decides, he doesn't want to know anything about shittin' out an egg or anything even remotely similar. The more he learns about his mutated and mixed nature, the more he actually finds he doesn't want to know it. As always, the youth would prefer to reach those things naturally and not think about it or cross the bridge, so to speak, until he was physically stood at its footing. A problem for another day; a day he'd absolutely hate, that's for sure but--- it wasn't that day.

Nero's thoughts deviate quickly, however - briefly chuckling to himself at the mention of his first meeting with his dearest Uncle Dante - - not that he'd know that at the time. In fact, he'd known very little at all other than the sudden murder of the Holy Priest, the panic, Nero's own instinct to try and eliminate the threat. Looking back... it made him smile.

"He dropped through the stained glass cupola above and shot the Holy Priest square in the head. It was in the middle of a service too - - panicked people running everywhere. So I did my job and tried to take him down... ended up having a spat, basically destroyed the inside of the church, and I almost bested him at one point. Pinned him to the stature by his own sword through his chest, thought that was the end of it... But yeah; my initial response to get him away from people was to run at him and take both of my boots square to his face." Good memories, to an extent - - but remembering Credo being there... how he'd helped the people out... it hurt him. Not being there fast enough later on in their endeavours was Nero's greatest failure, and Credo's death yet haunted him terribly.

"For the most part, y' ain't missed much." Growing up he had been a quiet and uncertain child who had preferred his own company and that of books about the stars - but as he grew older and more agitated with the world, he grew angry and rebellious. His time in the Order of the Sword was likely the most structure he had ever had, and even then he was a typhoon of Chaos at best. Nowadays... he was far more stable in his actions, had calmed a lot - - but it seemed the disasters continued, regardless.

Even as he speaks, he reaches out to accept a few of the candies, beginning to feel better for consuming them while eyes fixate briefly on the distance. It's weird... thinking back - -how comfortable he had felt confiding in V while they'd gone about their business, only to find himself speaking to the more complete version and feeling... strange. Perhaps it was the reality of it, the full weight that made the youth feel that... strange way. He'd always surrounded himself with found family, but now he had discovered to living relatives...

"Don't think we'd have gotten along when I was younger, anyways--- I was way too quick to anger and hated being around anyone so - - - could say you dodged a bullet, really." Even he knew, looking back, that he'd been a nightmare and if it wasn't for Dante's intervention Nero's life could have really taken a darker turn after the whole Sanctus thing in Fortuna.

As for apparently looking pallid - Nero shoots a glance at company and then looks away, humming in idle thought. He was feeling utterly drained that was for sure, but generally feeling better by the moment. Perhaps it was the reflecting upon certain memories that had made him appear somewhat sickly, given their traumatising nature, but he idly nods regardless.

"I guess I always just--" His sentence comes to a rather screeching halt as he contemplates whether he even wants to talk about it - old traits of burdening everything by himself beginning to rise once more. Things seen, things acted within, things that had happened... they were his to bare, burdens forever on his shoulders. "--end up feeling like absolute shite when thinking about what got lost on the way." Vague, certainly, but they offered enough.

"But yeah- lets get moving, either way."

[guiltyasdave]

making forts under covers

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~2k

summary: You and Joel wake up to a gloomy fall morning and all you want to do is drink your morning coffee and stay in bed.

warnings/tags: post outbreak, jackson!joel, fluff, unprotected p in v, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, so many pet names, Joel is a menace, tiny hints of dom!Joel but he's very very soft, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, this is very much a fix-it fic, nothing bad happened to him ever

rating: explicit 18+ content, MDNI!

a/n: this is the first joel that i've ever written, back in 2023, so if any of this sounds familiar, that's probably why. i have been thinking about these two lately, and because i'm not thaaat happy with my writing from two years ago, i thought i'd rewrite it. also, given that today was probably the last time that we'll ever see him on screen, it feels very fitting to say goodbye to him with this <3 (i'm not crying, you're crying)

find my full masterlist here & follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates! :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Your eyes blink open slowly. The light that’s filtering into the room is gloomy, accompanied with the sound of rain pattering against the window. The bedroom air is chilly where it hits your bare skin and you burrow deeper under the covers. 

Joel is still asleep, laying on his side turned towards you. His body is warm, calling to you to move closer. 

You marvel at the sight of his handsome face. Relaxed, for once, his brow unfurrowed and his breath going slowly. It’s rare that you see him like this; usually he rises before you do, waking you up with a cup of steaming coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead, a “Good morning” mumbled into your hair. 

You like sleeping over at his place, like the routines that are slowly forming between you two, a feeling of familiarity that makes you feel like you belong. That makes you feel safe. 

You take in his face for a few more moments, a small smile tugging at your lips. Then, you quietly slip out of bed. Goosebumps erupt over your skin and you suppress a shiver before tugging on the flannel that Joel discarded on the chair in the corner last night. His scent clings to the soft fabric, engulfing you with the phantom of him. 

You pad down the stairs to the kitchen and busy yourself with preparing coffee for the both of you, then wander into the living room while it's brewing. Stopping in front of his bookshelf, you run your hand over the figure of an owl carved from wood that you’ve admired several times before. You picture Joel, his large, strong hands, crafting something this delicate, adding all the intricate details, transforming a simple piece of wood to this. The thought makes you smile. 

The smell of coffee, strong in your nose when you fill two cups, brings you a sense of comfort that you revel in. When you carry the cups back to the bedroom, Joel is still asleep. You set one on his nightstand, take a sip from your own coffee and slip back under the sheets to snuggle up to Joel. You nuzzle your face into his bare chest, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth that is radiating from his body. Joel grumbles and wraps one arm around you, encompassing you further in his body heat and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mutters, his voice still heavy with sleep, the words bleeding together. 

“Hi,” you smile, your eyes tracing over the mess of his hair and the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles back at you. You love seeing him like this, all soft and gentle, not shielded by the rough exterior that he builds up around himself. Stretching up in his arms, you reach his mouth with your lips. The kiss is languid, unhurried, moving slowly but deepening as his grip around your waist tightens. His fingers hit a ticklish spot and you giggle into his mouth, pecking his lips once more before pulling back. 

“I brought you coffee for once.”

Joel’s eyebrows rise, the corners of his lips pulling up when his eyes find the cup on the nightstand. He sits up against the headboard, pulling you with him until your back is leaning against his chest. His arm is slung around your shoulder while he picks up the coffee with his free hand and lets you do the same. 

“Thank you, darling,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. 

You both sip on your coffees for a few minutes, enjoying the peacefulness of the quiet morning. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm and shoulder, his eyes falling down to the flannel that's halfway slipped off. 

“Nice shirt,” his low voice floats into your ear and you giggle.

“Thanks, I stole it.” 

He chuckles and tugs you closer as he finishes off his coffee, placing both of your cups on the nightstand. Carefully, he cups your face, tilting your chin up to kiss your mouth. The feeling of his big roughened palm against your cheek, combined with the gentle pressure of his touch and the warmth of it sinking into your skin has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Joel deepens the kiss, his tongue dipping out and licking over your bottom lip. You whimper softly and open your mouth for him, meeting his tongue with your own. His mustache scratches against your upper lip and heat starts pooling inside of you. 

“C’mere, darling,” his voice rumbles straight from his mouth into yours and he pulls you on top of him. 

Straddling his thighs, you melt into him as his arms wrap around you, pressing yourself against him. His scent engulfs you as he's running his hands down your sides, leaving a trail of heat over your body. Joel slides the flannel completely off of you and dips his hands under the tank top that you slept in. His touch on your bare skin makes you writhe in his lap, desperate for more, desperate to be closer. Your lips connect again and you mewl into his mouth, your hips grinding down on him and his hold tightens around your waist, pressing you onto his growing hardness.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmurs as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin there, causing you to shudder and sink your nails into his bare shoulders. He separates his lips from your skin to push the tank top up and off your body, revealing your breasts and your already pebbled nipples. He groans softly and leans forward to suck on your sensitive peaks, your back arching and pushing yourself closer to him.

“Joel, please—” you whine, “I need—”

He leans back, his hands on your sides again, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts with a featherlight touch.

“Yeah? What do you need, baby?”

You rock your hips against him, feeling his bulge press against your panties and another whimper falls from your lips.

“Need you, Joel, please—”

It's almost embarrassing, how quickly he gets you to this point, how little effort it takes. but you can't bring yourself to care, not when he's this close, with his hands all over your body and his achingly handsome face right in front of you.

He smiles and pulls you into him again, murmuring, “Need you, too,” before he seals his lips back over yours. Joel kisses you until you're breathless and squirming on top of him before he flips you over, his face hovering above yours. His hand travels down to your panties and dips beneath the fabric, finding you already slick and swollen with need. He circles your clit slowly, making you gasp and buck your hips up against his hand.

“You're so pretty like this. Just ready and waiting for me, aren't you?”

His hand trails down further, one finger dipping into your entrance.

“Yes, need you so badly, please Joel—”

Smirking, he adds a second finger and slowly pumps them into you. Your hips meet his rhythm instantly.

“I know, baby. Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. Being so good for me.”

The praise makes you keen, the fact that this usually so stoically quiet man can't stop running his mouth when you're together like this. All while he's reducing you to an incoherent mess that can barely get any words out.

You eagerly slip your hand into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around him, making him hiss and thrust his fingers particularly hard into you. You grab at his briefs, pulling them down his hips, wanting him as close as possible. He chuckles at your impatience but indulges you, his dark eyes betraying his own impatience and desperation for you.

Joel grabs his hard length and slides it through your folds, his precum mixing with your wetness. He nudges your clit teasingly with the head of his cock, causing you to moan and arch your hips up into his touch. Leaning down to kiss you again, his cock stretching your entrance wide, he whispers, “You want it, sweetheart?”, to which you respond with an eager nod. He tuts, cupping your face in his large hand.

“Words, baby. Tell me. Tell me what you want, how much you need it.”

You whine, your cheeks heating at the thought of putting your desire into words.

“I— I need it so much, Joel. Please?”

You bite your lip and he groans softly, murmuring, “So fucking good,” against your mouth as he pushes into you in one hard thrust, filling you up.

You cry out as your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion, to the way he always feels so big inside of you. The exquisite bliss that only Joel can bring you is taking over your body. Your hands grab at his shoulders, your nails digging into the skin and moans of his name falling from your lips as he pounds into you with long, deep movements. His mouth finds your neck again, sucking hard and biting down on your skin, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

His arms wrap around you and he holds you close while he keeps thrusting into you, whispering into your ear.

“Fuck, you're such a dream... So wet. Feels good, yeah? This what you wanted?”

You nod frantically, one of your hands scratching down his back while the other grabs at the curls on his neck as you're barely able to form words.

“S—so good Joel, fuck, 's perfect...”

He hums in smug agreement, his thrusts becoming even deeper and his fingers sliding between your bodies to toy with your clit. The heat inside your body threatens to spill over at his touch and you moan loudly, your earlier inhibitions about voicing your needs wiped from your mind.

“Yes! Just there, please— please don’t stop, oh God...”

He's drawing precise circles on your clit, keeping his gaze on your face as your eyes glaze over, your moans growing even louder.

“That's it. So tight around me, fuck... Show me how pretty you come for me, go on. I know you can.”

Your jaw falls slack and your whole body trembles, your walls clenching rhythmically around him and soaking him in your wetness as your orgasm washes over you. He growls at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock and pounds into you a few more times before he pulls out and spills himself over your stomach.

He stills, his head forward, both of you panting hard and not moving for a few moments. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, smiling at your blissed out expression, before he gets up from the bed and pads to the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth and cleans you up, gently stroking your sides with his fingertips and making you hum happily. Your whole body feels warm, sated, like you’re floating on a cloud. 

When Joel's finished, he collapses back beside you on the bed, a deep grunt in his throat. You turn around, wrapping the both of you up in his blanket and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. 

“Good morning indeed,” you grin and he huffs a laugh, pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“You got anything planned today?” he asks after a moment of peaceful silence and you shake your head.

“Nope, I'm all yours.”

“Good,” he smiles, letting your head rest on his chest and pulling the blanket up to your chin, so that you're entirely shielded from the slight chill in the air. Gloomy light filters into the room and you can still hear the rain splattering against the window. Joel kisses your forehead softly.

“Let's just stay in bed, then.”

thank you for reading ♥️ reblogs and comments are love!

[hatethysinner]

Papa remmick oh lord my heart…more hcs with an older daughter maybe??? Like tween-teen age

ᴘᴀᴘᴀ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴘᴛ. 2

ᴀ/ɴ: PART 2 OF MY 3-PART PAPA!REMMICK SERIES WOOHOO (part 1 here)! I love writing headcanons so please don't stop requesting them y'all, whether they're more of this or something else. I don't have many more ideas in the tank but I'm gonna work my ass off on that third part!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Just more of the most sickly sweet papa!remmick headcanons, tween edition! Minor exploration of hybrid physiology too, but nothing crazy.

she, just like everybody else, can not get a lie past this man. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ can literally hear heartbeats, so he'll simply listen to her make up a whole story to explain something and once she's done he'll simply say:

“ya wanna try it again with the truth this time?”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ was patient zero of the sassy man apocalypse. don't let her try to backtalk him cause he will shut it down with EASE.

speaking of, if she ever says “you just don’t get it, papa,” ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ will turn around and unload a millennium's worth of “getting it”. after the first few times of an hour long lecture, she just stopped saying it. yapper ass 😭.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ still does her hair every sunday morning. she groans about it now, tells him it takes too long and all that jazz. but she never once asks him to stop, and he still ends it with three kisses and compliments galore.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ takes every single one of her tweenhood rants very seriously. plot holes in her favorite book? he's nodding along. complaints about homework? arms folded and agreeing with every critique. she's wrong more than half the time, but he just loves hearing her talk.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is THAT parent who checks to see if she's sleeping multiple times a night. he's literally the warioware mom but if the game was entirely rigged and not winnable.

“mmhmm. i see them eyes movin’. hand me the book, baby.” “i was just-” “you was just stallin’. now gimme. ain’t no story better than sleep.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ still sings to her, and now she sings back. she's way better, but he'll never admit it. they've been getting really into this one irish jig recently...

when she gets a compliment, she always turns to ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ first.

“they said my dress was pretty!” “i told you it was. papa always knows.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ keeps a running mental list of the little things she likes. favorites snacks, books, clothes, colors. updates it daily, and he will turn the house upside down if her preferences change.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ wakes her up soft, always. even when they're in a rush, he will never wake her up with anything but a kiss to the forehead and a gravely “mornin’, baby girl.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ starts planning for her birthday at least six months in advance. theme ideas, guest lists, menus, gifts, he's got everything in a secret folder. and when the big day comes, the whole house transforms overnight. do not come out of your room while he's preparing though because his ass will be looking like a madman.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ spoils his daughter constantly. new shoes? hers. favorite dessert? made fresh. saw something cute in the window a week ago? already wrapped and waiting. but she never expects it and always, ALWAYS, thanks him and gives him the biggest hug. he gets real close to crying every single time. HE'S A SENTIMENTAL MAN OKAY?!

“thank you, papa,” “you’re welcome, baby. i’d give you the world if i could.”

speaking of sentimental, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's the type of dad who says “my girl’s growing up” EVERY OTHER DAY. she could drink a glass of water and he'll start with his misty-eyed reminiscing about how he used to hold her in his arms. it always makes her giggle.

she sleeps exactly like him. dead silent, barely breathing, sprawled in weird poses. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ thinks its adorable.

when her fangs started to come in, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ lost his mind. walked around the house beaming and asked her to smile a million times that day. he still gets a kick out of it.

“that’s my girl, look at them teeth! ain’t she perfect?”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's explanation for why his reflection is always funny in the mirror has stayed the same for years.

“papa’s just shy.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's teaching her gaelic. he just is. in his eyes, she's going to revive the “dead” language.

they have a million inside jokes between each other. they'll say the most random shit and have each other in stitches, and nobody else will ever get it.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ does not play about school picture day. her clothes are ironed out the night before, her hair is always done, and he walks her to school personally while plucking out every speck of dust that dares to threaten his baby's look. and yes, he has every school picture framed in chronological order.

the one and only time she called herself ugly, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ sat her down, looked her dead in the eyes and said:

“don’t you ever lie like that again, baby. you’re the sun. you hear me? the sun.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ makes her lunch every single day, and best believe there's a handwritten note in perfect cursive tucked inside, with a doodle on the back. each one is unique and incredibly heartfelt. sometimes, she’ll write a note back.

and every night, guess where ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is? kneeling at her bed and asking the same question he's asked since she was still in his arms.

“ya know who loves ya?” “you do, papa.” “damn right i do.” same as always. hand over heart. eyes full of stars.

[kaivenom]

Omg omg, OP Dilfs with a virgin reader? 🥺

One Piece Dilfs first time with a virgin reader HCS

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: omg people, i am freaking out of how much love the posts about these men are getting. For the past few weeks all i am getting is Dilf fans. Thank you so much.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He doesn't care.

If he is in a relationship with you, then you would have to had sex for the first time, what's the difference if it's your first first?

He see it as both firsts, becuase he doesn't know how would you be in sex.

The thing it's that you didn't know the answer either, so, you were really lost.

The good thing is that this man is really good at saying orders which means that when the time came, you were at his mercy.

It was like being hipnotized.

"Take off your clothes" "Come here." "Kiss me" "Use your mouth"

There were no words of reasurrance but you didn't care, his touches told you he was enjoying your actions.

Something in the atmosphere was extremely serious but deep and lovable.

Gentle and stoic, even when he just told you to suck him off.

All your intrusive thoughts were gone every second his touch was on you.

He would look like he doesn't care but if it's important to you, then he would make it important, even if it's not with his words.

When he isn't giving you orders, he needs to have his lips on you somehow: kissing your neck, your lips, your tits.

Aftercare based on service acts, like rubbing your hair, cleaning you up, giving you water.

He had everything prepared and set, to make you feel good and cared.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He got an instant boner and wanted to take you right there.

The mere thought spliting you in half with ruthness made him all worked up but being the first one to make you feel it was his wet dream.

He was being dominant and agressive, eager to be inside you.

It was intoxicating and almost obsesive.

You were sure it was bad idea to tell him because now he won't be gentle with you, and you were right.

When he tried to put his dick inside you and you began to cry a little and scratch his arm, he stopped instantly.

He knew that you would have that reaction and on his mind he would like it like he always likes the idea of torturing others but suddently it was different.

His mind was racing between all the posibilities while you try to prepare yourself for the pain.

Then he was a little softer, scarily softer, starting to touch every sensitive area with care.

You started to relax and the cries transformed into whimpers, without you knowing, you were finally able to take all his shaft.

He left out a small unexpected groan and slowly started to move.

Your wrap around his arm was still strong but now the pain transformed to pleasure.

When you both finished he putted you on his arms and waited for you to fall asleep.

He was surprised of himself, he always likes to hear the cries and bruises of his lovers, maybe you are something else and he doesn't know what to do about it.

Sr. Crocodile

He couldn't care less.

But he understands that is important to make you feel comfortable and secure, to make you sure that you are not being used and that nothing would be wrong.

He is a very good dealer so, when you said you were a virgin but you wanted to be with him, you both sat down and talked.

You both talked long and deep about all things and emotions possible.

He was confident and calm, everything you needed to feel safe to say everything out loud.

Then, he got up and started to kiss you, it was the time.

He took you up in bridal style and left you on the bed.

His movements are slow, you though it was because he wanted to make you feel safe but in reallity he was a little nervous.

He is used to breaking things not trying to keep it together.

He swears that your dove eyes while naked in bed, expecting for him, just makes him feel something primal.

He carreses your skin and never breaks eye contact, that makes you embarrased and at the same time excited.

He is a somehow scared that he would crush you with his weight but still he gets on top of you and kisses you with passion.

Painfully slow but is worth it, he is concious men.

In aftercare, he just lets you tell him what you need.

Smoker

I think he would be a virgin too.

Too focused on his job and duty to do these things until he met you.

I picture him as akward, he will try to look tough and masculine but he would be like a pudding, soft and shaky, but also tender.

He will set a cozy aesthetic cheeky room for you two.

Rose petals making a trail to the bed, candles, heart-shapped cushions and chocolates, all that manual sappy things.

He will be waiting for you in the bedroom only in boxers, he will never admit it but he was feeling cold.

You got there all flustered, knowing from the start what was everything about.

He went to you with a soft smile, and started to undress you carefully.

Soft and tender kisses while he takes you to bed.

Incredibly passional and masculine, just as he wanted.

Very traditional but yet still exciting.

Amazing with his fingers and very carefull all the time, he knows he is stronger.

Good old missionary, his moans on your neck almost made you cum.

And he almost cummed by the time his dick passed thru your slit.

He knowed it would feel good but never imagined that good, but he last good and gave you the pleasure you deserved.

Aftercare like a god, like he read everything on a book.

Big secret, he read a book, and listened to a podcast, and asked other woman at work (he died of embarrasment).

Akagami Shanks

He is surprised at first.

He pictured you as someone who already had some type of intercourse in these but when he tried to make the move and you flintched, he was shocked.

His first thougth was that you had a traumatic experience, but then you both talked and he was recalculating everything.

His goal now it's to make you have the best experience possible, to the point were he put a little to much effort on himself.

So you needed to remind him that the two of you were going to have sex and that meant that he can get pleasure too.

Very cute from then, little laughs and reasurance.

"I am going to move.... ouch, a cramp." you both laughed while he laid on your tits.

"Now i want you to ride me so..." and now you are both on the ground.

It's really funny beacuse he is amused by your beauty and by being your first and having his dick inside you for the first time, that he isn't aware of anything else, which makes these kind of situations (even after your first time).

Very giggly and cute, i can't say anything else, if you were nervous and insecure at first, all that would be wiped away in a second with his laugh.

[dilfsfordinner]

summary- toji fails to prevent a completely preventable messy incident from occurring, involving his son

pairing- husband toji x fem!reader

—————————————————————————

“You wanna do it?” Toji grinned, eyebrows raised as he watched little Megumi tug the ratchet from his grasp, waddling towards the raised car, brave enough to face the thing he’d thought a transformer just months prior.

Your car was in dire need of an oil change and being the caring husband that he was, Toji took up his place as mechanic for the day, his worry about typical shop workers taking advantage of women evident in his pleas for you to just stay home and let him do it.

Megumi also took up his place as the incredibly curious and stubborn one year old, his job apparently to make Toji’s work as hard as humanly possible, every babble or questionable crash tearing Toji’s attention away from the task at hand, which is why he stopped trying, and just let his son indulge in his childlike curiosity.

Of course, you would lose your mind if you knew that your baby was around such a large machine, but Toji knew himself and his capabilities, his reflexes practically inhuman, so he didn’t really mind a little thing running around his feet, as long as he kept an eye out.

“Alright, Megs, give it back,” Toji said gently, hand curling open to reveal a waiting palm, Toji realizing that the young boy did not intend to help him underneath the car. Rather, he’d started a game of tag, little feet scurrying to the other side of the garage, awaiting his father’s move.

Refusing to let a one year old bruise his competitive spirit, Toji used his skills to be across the room in a split second, large hands grabbing Megumi before he could run away, a loud slew of giggles leaving the young boy’s lips, Toji smiling as he held him up with only two hands, walking towards the car like he was holding a feral cat.

Setting the babbling child down, Toji got down on his level, kneeling to tell Megumi to stay back and watch for a second. Pulling himself under the car, Toji then began to use Megumi like a little assistant, asking for tools as needed. “Wrench please” and similar phrases continued for a while before Toji was ready to actually do the task at hand.

Humming in approval at his handiwork, Toji made one final request to the boy sitting beside his feet. “Can you get the jug of oil for me, please?” he asked gently, hands busy holding the port above him closed, his ears catching an excited “yes” and the patter of running feet retreating farther into the garage.

Too preoccupied to notice the unusual length of time it was taking for his son to grab the requested bottle, Toji continued his tinkering before an odd smack sounded, glugging sounds following soon after.

Pausing his movements, Toji craned his neck to try and see his son but before he could even question what had happened, a familiar sniffle sounded at his feet, loud cries flowing from his baby’s mouth.

Sighing, Toji quickly screwed the oil duct tight, and pulled himself from under the car. The sight he emerged to was certainly a surprising one. There, right next to all of his discarded tools, was an oil-covered Megumi, his whole body completely drenched with the thick, black substance.

Letting out a sympathetic laugh and sweet “It’s okay”s, Toji scooped up his crying child, tutting as the dripping kid hid his face in his dad’s chest, trying to hide or remove the liquid, Toji couldn’t tell.

Completely clueless to the situation outside, you were busy in the kitchen, making a snack for your husband as a thank you. For the first time in an hour, familiar footsteps sounded behind you as you chopped up some vegetables, smiling to yourself as you expected two arms to come wrap around you. What you didn’t expect was to hear the wails of your baby boy, and you especially couldn’t have prepared yourself to see him in the flesh.

“What happened,” you gasped as Toji held the young boy to his chest, a black trail of droplets gathering around his feet as you rushed up to the two of them. Cradling little Megumi’s face, oil coated your hands, anger bubbling inside of you, the only funnel being a slap to your husband’s shoulder, narrowed eyes turning up to meet his own.

“I told you to leave him in here,” you huffed, your angry tone fizzling into sympathetic coos as your attention turned back to your son. “It was an accident,” Toji’s voice had that humorous lilt to it, one that was really good at making your very motherly nature less worrisome. “It happens to workers all the time, he’ll be okay.”

And he was right, because after what seemed to be hours of scrubbing and a whole bottle of dawn dish soap later, the previously oily Megumi was squeaky clean, and incredibly happy as he munched away on his dinner. Toji couldn’t help but retell the story a million times, ignoring your reprimanding words as he fell into a fit of laughter, which eventually had your lips starting to pull into a smile, Megumi none the wiser, his memory about the incident already wiped away.

—————————————————————————

[rootedinrevisions]

I'll Be There With You

Summary: It’s the day you’ve both been waiting for - the day Glen and you say “I do”. From tender flashbacks, to emotional first looks, laughter-filled photos, and a night of unforgettable dancing, this wedding day is filled with love, joy, and all the little moments that make forever feel like home.

Warnings: Alcohol Use (Casual references to drinking (champagne toasts, open bar, etc.), Some Mild Sexual Tension (nothing explicit, but a few suggestive moments).

Word Count: 10,575

Author's Note: This one kind of took on a life of it's own. This is three weeks of me pouring myself into this fic. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. Also sorry it's so long...

**Italics identify flashbacks**

**Bold Italics identify texts and letters**

MORNING OF THE WEDDING (Reader’s P.O.V.))

Late spring sunlight spills across the worn hardwood floors of the master suite that has been transformed into a bridal haven.

The scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air. Bouquets of peonies and roses are tucked into vases around the room. The windows are open to let in the morning breeze. Birds can be heard chirping outside like nature knew today was something special.

You sit in an upholstered chair near the vanity. A silk robe is loosely tied at your waist, bare feet tucked beneath you as the makeup artist works her magic. There’s a glass of mimosa in your hand, still barely touched. It’s more for nerves than anything. Laughter bubbles around you like background music for the moment.

Your mom is curled up on the couch near the window, dabbing at her eyes even though you haven’t even put the dress on yet.

“I’m not crying,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m just…misting. There’s a difference.”

Your best friend laughs from across the room. “I think she’s been misting since we woke up this morning.”

“He texted her ‘Good morning, future wife’! How could I not?” Your mom interjects.

“Okay I’ll admit, that was sweet,” Leslie says as she tugs a curling wand through a strand of her hair. “Also, it’s kind of unfair that he’s already winning the sappy award. I didn’t get sappy until we put my dress on at my wedding.”

You glance at your phone where Glen’s text from earlier still glows softly at the top of your lock screen.

Good morning future wife. Today’s the day. Can’t wait to see you. I love you more than all the tacos in Austin. - G.

“I don’t know,” you say, raising your brows as you sip your champagne, “he really does love tacos.”

Cyndy, Glen’s mom, laughs from where she’s getting her hair curled near the mirror. “He used to rank his relationships based on food. If you were above queso, you were doing really well.”

“He told me he knew you were the one when he gave you the last bite of brisket,” Lauren adds. “That’s Powell level commitment.”

The room fills with warm laughter, but beneath it, there’s a quiet thrum of anticipation. It settles in your chest. It’s not nerves. Not really. Just excitement for the big day to finally be here.

A gentle knock sounds on the doorframe, and everyone turns as Lauren’s husband, Will steps into the room, a warm grin on his face and a small velvet box in hand.

“Special delivery from the groom,” he says, holding up an envelope with your name written across the front in Glen’s unmistakably messy handwriting.

You blink in surprise  as a hush falls over the room.

“Oh no,” your mom says, clutching her tissue tighter, preparing for the next round of tears.

Will laughs. “Don’t worry, he didn’t write a novel. Just a note...and this.”

He crosses the room, careful not to knock over any curling irons or mimosa glasses, and hands you the envelope first. The paper is thick, the ink a little smudged in the corner.

Then he passes you the box — small and navy with a subtle gold ribbon tied around it.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Will says, backing toward the door. 

You take a breath, then open the envelope.

I know we said no big gestures this morning, but you had to know I wouldn’t make it to the altar without finding some way to say I love you again first.

I’ve been trying to picture you all morning — what you look like up there in our room, robe on, hair half-done, probably giving someone a look for stealing your lipstick. I can’t see you, but I feel you.

I keep thinking about the first night you stayed here. You stood barefoot in the kitchen and said, “Wow, this place already feels like home.”

That’s what you’ve done, babe — you turned a house into a home, turned my quiet into laughter, turned my life into something I never even knew I was missing.

Today’s just the formality. I’ve been yours for a long time.

But I can't wait to see you walk toward me and know — finally, officially —you get to be mine too.

Love you,

G

You don’t even realize your fingers are curled tight around the edges of the letter until Lauren gently touches your arm. “You good?”

You nod slowly, blinking fast. “Yeah. I just...I love him so much.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice catching a little. “We all kind of do.”

The girls lean in as you untie the ribbon on the box, revealing a delicate rose gold hairpin nestled in soft satin. Tiny pearls and crystal sprigs shimmer in the shape of wildflowers — elegant, subtle, and completely perfect.

You run your fingers over the pin, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You swallow hard, smile shaky.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Now I’m misting.”

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MORNING OF THE WEDDING (Glen’s P.O.V.)

The man cave isn’t exactly quiet — not with one of the groomsmen messing with the Bluetooth speaker and two of Glen’s childhood friends arguing about whether or not bolo ties are considered formalwear — but Glen barely hears any of it.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his white shirt for the third time even though it’s already perfect. He’s not fidgeting because he’s nervous. He’s just…ready. 

Will walks back in, sliding his sunglasses onto his head.

“She got it,” he says, just loud enough for Glen to hear.

Glen meets his brother-in-law’s eyes in the mirror. “Yeah?”

Will nods. “Didn’t cry, but she looked pretty damn close.”

That gets a smile out of Glen. A quiet one, a knowing one.

He turns from the mirror, pressing his palm against the back of the chair in front of him for a second, grounding himself. He’s been calm all morning. Heart steady, hands sure. Not because he’s indifferent. The opposite. Because every part of him knows this is right.

When people asked him if he was nervous, he’d just shrug and say no. Because how could he be? He gets to marry you.

You. Who made the ranch feel like a home. Who laughs like she means it and fights fair and kisses him like she already knows every lifetime before this one. You. Who let yourself fall for him slow and steady, but all the way.

Glen’s not nervous. He’s already halfway down that aisle in his head, waiting for you to take that first step toward him.

“You good?” Someone asks, passing him a bottle of water.

Glen cracks it open and takes a sip. “Better than good.”

“Don’t get cocky, Romeo. You’ve still got to get through the vows without choking up.”

“Oh, I’ll choke up,” Glen says easily, setting the bottle down. “But it won’t be nerves.”

Glen closed his eyes as he thought of you. And just like that he thinks about the moment he knew.

It wasn’t some grand, cinematic moment. There were no fireworks. No romantic music playing in the background.

Just you.

Curled up in his hoodie, legs tucked underneath you on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your lap as you animatedly explained the plot of a book you were obsessed with. Your hands moved wildly as you spoke—eyes bright, voice full of passion. You barely paused for breath.

Glen had read maybe two pages of that book before giving up. But he could listen to you talk about it for hours.

He was sitting sideways, arm resting across the back of the couch, completely captivated. Not by the story. But by you. The way your whole face lit up when you talked about something you loved. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed at your own joke. The way you kept tossing popcorn in the air trying to catch it with your mouth and missing every single time.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, grinning as a rogue piece of popcorn bounced off your forehead and landed somewhere between the cushions.

Glen chuckled, reaching over to pluck it out of your hair. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. “I just…really love you, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder.

He didn’t say it out loud. Not then. But that was the moment. That ordinary, beautiful night in his living room, with you in messy hair and mismatched socks, laughing so hard you snorted at your own joke. That was the moment he looked at you and thought “This is it. This is the girl I’m going to marry.”

You didn’t have to be dressed up. You didn’t have to be pretending to be someone you weren’t. You were just you—real, open, unfiltered.

And even though he didn’t ask the question that night, he tucked it deep into his heart—knowing without a doubt that he’d ask someday.

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GETTING READY (Reader’s P.O.V)

Back in the master suite, the room has quieted. The laughter, the music, the hum of conversation from earlier has faded into something softer.

You step carefully into the dress, the satin lining cool against your skin, the delicate lace grazing your shoulders as your mom lifts the train and helps ease the fabric into place. Cyndy is there too, steady hands fastening the tiny row of buttons down your back.

“Okay,” your mom whispers, her voice thick. “Turn around.”

You do. And for a second—just a second—you forget to breathe. There you are in the mirror. You, in the dress. Hair curled just right, veil clipped gently into place. The bracelet Glen gave you on your birthday twinkling on your wrist. Everything you dreamed of, somehow looks even more like you than you imagined.

Cyndy presses her hand to her heart. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Your mom sniffles then laughs, waving a hand in front of her face like it’ll stop the tears. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just watch the reflection. The quiet, poised woman in white staring back at you. She doesn’t look nervous either. Just…ready.

The two women you love most step forward again. Your mom tucks a loose curl behind your ear. Cyndy smooths your veil, making sure it falls just right over your shoulders.

“I still remember the first time Glen mentioned you,” Cyndy says, her voice soft with memory. “He said, ‘Mom, I think I just met someone who sees the world like I do.’”

That nearly undoes you. You reach for their hands, squeezing both at once. “Thank you both for everything. Glen and I wouldn’t be here today without all you’ve done for us.”

They smile, misty-eyed but glowing, and then they both step back.

“We’ll give you a minute,” your mom says, brushing her hand along your arm as they quietly slip out.

The door clicks shut, and for the first time all morning, you’re alone. The silence is warm and gentle. You walk toward the window, the train of your dress whispering across the wood floors. Outside, in the clearing just beyond the trees, you can see the archway covered in flowers. The white chairs. The soft flicker of candles being lit.

Your heart beats steady. You don’t need to calm yourself. This is what certainty feels like.

You close your eyes for a second, let your hands rest on your stomach, breathe in the soft scent of eucalyptus and roses and Texas air.

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GLEN’S FIRST LOOK WITH HIS MOM AND SISTERS (Glen’s P.O.V)

Glen stands in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the lapels of his tuxedo for the last time. It’s tailored just right—sharp, classic, a little nod to Old Hollywood—but nothing about the moment feels performative.

It’s not about the suit. It’s about the reason he’s wearing it.

Will stands behind him, straightening Glen’s tie with a smirk that doesn’t quite hide how proud he is. “You’re too calm. It’s weirding me out.”

Glen chuckles, brushing invisible lint from his jacket. “You want me to panic a little? Break into a sweat?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. Just for tradition’s sake.”

Before Glen can reply, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Cyndy steps in first, followed by Lauren and Leslie, and the moment they see him, all three stop in their tracks.

“Oh my God,” Lauren says, covering her mouth.

“Glen!” Leslie beams, tears forming in her eyes.

Cyndy doesn’t say anything right away. She just steps closer, taking in the sight of her son on his wedding day.

“You clean up alright,” Lauren teases.

Cyndy finally reaches him, placing both hands on his face like she did when he was a kid before the first day of school. Her thumbs gently brush his jaw.

“You look so handsome,” she whispers. “You ready?”

“I am,” Glen says quietly. “She’s it, Mom.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she smiles through them. “I know.”

Leslie and Lauren move in, linking arms with him on either side.

“We never thought this day would come,” Leslie says, pretending to wipe a tear. “Our little flirt is finally off the market.”

“Miracles do happen,” Lauren grins.

Glen rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives them is pure love. “Y’all done roasting me, or is there more?”

Lauren laughs, pulling him into a hug. “Just had to get it out of our system.”

Leslie wraps an arm around them both. Cyndy steps in, and suddenly he’s surrounded—the three women who helped shape him into the person he is, holding him tight.

They don’t say much after that. They don’t need to. They just hold on a moment longer, as if sealing this part of life with one final hug before letting it change.

Cyndy kisses his cheek. “Go see your girl. She’s waiting for you.”

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GLEN’S FIRST LOOK WITH YOU (Reader's P.O.V.)

The house is quiet as you stand at the top of the staircase, your fingertips grazing the smooth wooden banister. For a beat, everything stills—like even time is holding its breath. You can hear soft murmurs from somewhere downstairs, maybe the photographer coordinating with Glen, maybe the click of a camera adjusting its focus. But it all feels far away, muffled beneath the thundering of your own heart.

Your hands smooth down the front of your dress, the fabric cool and crisp beneath your fingers. Every step you’ve taken to get to this day—the long talks, the laughter, the quiet mornings, and the harder moments too—they all gather in your chest as you begin to descend the stairs, your gown whispering softly with each step.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, and for a fleeting second, you hardly recognize the woman looking back. She’s radiant. Steady. Ready. But beneath all the satin and lace, she’s still the girl who once watched Glen chase fireflies barefoot behind the house, who saw him cook shirtless at midnight, who learned the way he carries both the world and everyone he loves with the same quiet strength.

And somehow—somehow—he chose her back.

The photographer gives you a quiet nod, signaling that Glen’s in place. You can see the soft light spilling through the glass of the patio doors now, painting golden stripes across the floor. One more step, and you’re almost there.

You reach for the handle.

Your gaze drops to the weather-worn patio stones just beyond the glass. The same ones you’d danced on. The same ones you’d knelt on. The same ones where everything changed without needing to.

You blinked, and suddenly, you were back there when he proposed.

It had been an ordinary day. The kind you’d lived a dozen times before, the kind where it was just the two of you,  which was probably why Glen had chosen it.

You’d spent the morning wandering through a weekend farmer’s market together. Glen had stopped to buy you a bundle of fresh wildflowers someone had picked from their garden because you’d once mentioned that wildflowers reminded you of summers at your grandmother’s. You grabbed a coffee from a local truck, his hand never once letting go of yours as you walked. Then you'd gone back to his place, where the afternoon turned slow and lazy. Music playing softly in the background, sun filtering in through the windows.

He'd made dinner. But nothing had tipped you off. 

Not when he lit the candles on the patio. 

Not when he insisted on sitting outside, the two of you bundled in soft sweatshirts, the air crisp with early spring. 

Not even when he pulled out a worn blanket and the old portable record player you’d used a handful of times before placing it gently on the table and setting a familiar vinyl on top.

It was your favorite song. One that had played once in the car, and you’d softly sung every word while Glen drove, glancing at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

Now it floated through the night air. Familiar. Intimate.

He stood and held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

You laughed a little but took it. “Out here? In front of the squirrels?”

Glen grinned. “We’ll keep it PG for the squirrels.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already racing as he pulled you into him. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other cradling your hand against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath your fingers.

You danced like that for a few minutes. Bare feet brushing against the patio stones. The world was quiet, wrapped in the hum of crickets and the faint scratch of vinyl.

And then Glen pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you. You caught the shift in his gaze before you saw anything else.

And then he let go of your hand. He knelt. And your breath caught.

“I didn’t plan some big speech,” he said, his voice low, steady but soft around the edges. “Because I knew if I tried, it’d come out all wrong.”

You smiled through the tears already pricking at your eyes.

“But I’ve known for a while now,” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “Being with you feels like breathing.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small box. 

“I don’t need a perfect life. I just want this one. With you in it. So… what do you say?” He opened the box, eyes never leaving yours. “Will you marry me?”

You didn’t even need time to think. You were already sinking to your knees, and nodding as your fingers found his cheeks.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, of course.”

He kissed you before even sliding the ring on, both of you laughing through it, shaking a little with the adrenaline of what you’d just promised.

And when he finally slipped the ring onto your finger, your hands were trembling.

You danced again after that. No music this time.

Just the sound of two people who knew they’d found forever.

The door eases shut behind you with a soft click, but Glen doesn’t turn. His hands are tucked into his pockets, shoulders rising and falling slowly like he’s steadying himself.

You catch the little tells. The subtle way his foot taps against the ground like he’s keeping time with some rhythm only he can hear. The way his shoulders tense every few seconds. You can feel his nerves from here — the way his heart must be beating just a little too fast. Yours is right there with his.

You move toward him, and his spine straightens just slightly at the sound of your footsteps. When you reach him, you hesitate only for a second before reaching out and tapping two fingers gently on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say softly.

Glen exhales, then slowly turns to face you. His breath catches, lips parting as his eyes sweep over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and a shimmer of tears gathers in the corners of his eyes.

“Wow,” he breathes, voice cracking just a little. “You’re…you’re unreal.”

Somehow, despite all the emotion bubbling beneath the surface, you haven’t cried yet. A few watery smiles, a few deep breaths to collect yourself — but no tears.

Until now.

The dam breaks. Quiet tears slip down your cheeks as you take in the man you’re about to marry, standing there coming completely undone in the best way at the sight of you.

Glen’s expression softens instantly. “Oh, sweetheart…”

He reaches up and gently brushes the tears from your cheeks, careful not to smudge your makeup, his touch warm and reverent.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says, giving you a watery smile as he pulls you close.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice cracking. “You just…got me.”

His hands frame your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin like he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’ve been holding it in all day, haven’t you?”

You nod, biting your lip as another tear slips free.

“Well,” he whispers, “now we match.”

That makes you laugh — soft, broken, happy — as you press your forehead to his.

He lets out a shaky breath, pulling you so close the world fades away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re—God, you’re perfect.”

You lean into him, fingers slipping into the lapels of his suit jacket, grounding yourself in the familiar warmth of him. “You’re not supposed to out-romance me,” you tease, blinking back another wave.

“I can’t help it,” he says softly. “You’re the one. Always have been.”

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WEDDING PHOTOS (Reader’s P.O.V)

The moment lingers—soft and quiet and sacred—until Glen leans in, his hand still cradling your cheek.  His lips brush against yours in the gentlest kiss, like a promise spoken without words. It’s not rushed. Not performative. Just full of everything you’ve both been holding onto all morning.

It’s your first kiss as almost husband and wife. And it steals the air right out of your lungs.

You barely notice the quiet click of the shutter at first. But then it comes again—subtle, quick. The photographer captures the moment that feels like it belongs to just the two of you.

You pull back slowly, a soft, breathless smile forming as you rest your forehead against Glen’s. “Guess we forgot we’re not alone.”

Glen chuckles, warm and low, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Let ’em get the good stuff.”

Your photographer gives a gentle cue, motioning toward the first photo location, and Glen steps back just enough to take your hand. When you glance down at your train, he beats you to it—reaching carefully to gather it in one hand so it doesn’t drag across the patio stones.

“Let me,” he says, lifting it with care.

The way he says it—it’s simple, but it hits you square in the chest.

You squeeze his hand, a quiet thank-you in the gesture, and walk beside him. The train of your dress is in one of his hands, and his other hand holds yours as the two of you move.

Glen steals a glance at you and grins. “You know I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful, but then you went and did this.”

You laugh, slapping his arm playfully. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Powell.”

The photographer calls for the first pose. It’s a classic one. She instructs you where to stand and then she fluffs the train of your dress so that it’s in position. Then she instructs Glen to close the space between you. He gently touches his forehead to yours, his hands settling on your waist. You tilt your face up, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest lightly on his chest. 

For a moment the world fades, and it’s just him and you.

The photographer calls for a dip pose next. Glen grins, already sliding one arm behind your back, the other at your waist as he lowers you into the pose. Your dress flows out around you, and you giggle as you cling to his shoulders.

“You practicing for the kiss at the altar?” You tease.

Glen lifts you upright again. “Nope. That one’s gonna be way better.”

The next shots are playful. Glen spins you in a slow circle, your laughter echoing off the barn nearby. You stumble slightly in your heels, and he catches you, steady and smiling. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, effortlessly.

“Always?” you ask, without thinking.

“Always.”

Just as the last of your solo shots with Glen wrap up, you hear footsteps and laughter drifting from the path behind you. A moment later, the bridal party appears—Glen’s sisters, Lauren and Leslie, walk out first and immediately start fussing over Glen like he’s ten years old again.

“You clean up nice, little brother,” Lauren teases, giving Glen a once-over and raising an eyebrow.

Leslie steps in for a hug anyway, fixing a crooked corner of his boutonnière before whispering something that makes him laugh under his breath.

Meanwhile, your friends swarm you, careful not to wrinkle your dress as they squeal and twirl in their matching gowns. Your best friend loops an arm through yours, pulling you into a side hug.

“You ready?” she asks softly, eyes shining.

You smile, heart already full. “I think I’ve been ready longer than I realized.”

The photographer gently calls everyone into place. The energy shifts as you all begin lining up for group shots. Glen stands with his sisters first, flanked on either side. Lauren rests her head on his shoulder while Leslie makes a dramatic face like she’s holding back tears. Cyndy stands just behind the camera, hands over her mouth, her eyes misty.

Next, you step in with your friends—arms linked, flowers clutched, all of you laughing at something someone mutters under her breath. Someone suggests a “Charlie’s Angels” pose and, despite the high heels and formalwear, you all strike your best version of it, laughter erupting again.

Then the full group comes together—Glen slides in beside you, his hand naturally finding yours as the photographer adjusts everyone’s positioning.

“One serious one,” the photographer says. “Then a fun one.”

The serious one holds for a beat—smiles soft, everyone standing tall and glowing with the weight of the moment.

Then the fun one.

Lauren throws an arm around Glen’s shoulders and messes up his hair. Leslie grabs your bouquet and pretends to toss it early. One of your friends leans dramatically on another’s shoulder as if overwhelmed. Glen leans in and kisses your temple in the middle of all the chaos.

The shutter clicks over and over again, freezing this little moment in time.

As the photographer steps back to check the shots, someone glances at their watch.

“It’s almost time,” someone says.

The laughter quiets into a gentle hush. A few of your bridesmaids squeeze your hands before drifting off to touch up their lipstick or grab bouquets. Glen’s sisters exchange a knowing look and disappear toward the ceremony site, leaving just you and Glen in that fading, golden bubble of light.

Glen’s eyes find yours again—steady, warm, shining with everything he hasn’t said out loud yet. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, slow and grounding.

“Next time I see you…” he murmurs, voice low.

You smile, your heart catching at the base of your throat. You take a small step closer, letting your hand settle against the lapel of his tux. “I’ll be your wife.”

His breath hitches just for a moment. Then he leans in and presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he wants to memorize the feel of this second. When he pulls back, his eyes are a little shinier than before.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too.”

He steals one last kiss. A real one this time, gentle but deep, his hand cradling your cheek like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then he exhales and takes a small step back, his fingers slipping from yours as your friends and bridal party begin to gather again.

“See you out there,” he says, a small smile curving his lips.

And with that, Glen heads down the path, shoulders square, heart full, ready.

You watch him go for a beat longer, then turn toward your girls, bouquet now in hand.

The next time you see him, you’ll be walking down the aisle.

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THE WEDDING CEREMONY (Reader’s P.O.V.)

Everyone is in position.

Guests have taken their seats. The soft murmur of conversation fades into a hush. Somewhere up ahead, the wedding party begins making their way down the aisle, one by one, until it’s just you — standing at the edge of everything.

The moment you’ve dreamed of. The one you weren’t sure would feel real until now.

You take a deep breath.

And then you see him.

Glen stands at the end of the aisle, tall and still. His eyes find yours instantly, and everything else disappears. His lips parted, just slightly, like he forgot how to breathe for a second. He doesn’t blink.

You smile, and his whole expression softens. He lets out a quiet, unsteady breath that you can almost feel from here.

You don’t look at the flowers. You don’t glance around at the guests. Not when Glen is looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

And in this moment—you are.

As you reach the end of the aisle, your maid of honor steps forward, her hands gentle as she takes your bouquet. You barely register the exchange — your eyes are locked on Glen, and his on you, like you’re tethered by something invisible but unshakable.

He reaches for you instantly. His fingers slide into yours, warm and steady. He gives your hand the softest squeeze, his thumb brushing the back of it like he’s grounding himself in the feel of your skin.

Then he leans in, voice just barely above a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyes shining.

“Thank you,” you whisper back.

He lifts your joined hands slightly, pressing the lightest kiss to your knuckles before lowering them again. You can tell he’s trying not to lose it — you both are — but in this moment, all that matters is that you made it. Together.

The officiant offers a warm smile as the guests settle into their seats, a quiet excitement humming in the background.

“Family and friends,” he begins, “we’re gathered here today to celebrate something rare and beautiful. Two people who have found in each other not just love, but a home. These two have chose to share their hearts and their lives, and today we witness the beginning of that next chapter.”

The officiant glances between the two of you, his voice softening.

“Marriage is built on promises. Quiet, steady ones. Ones that are spoken not just today, but lived out every day after. The couple have chosen to write their own vows. We will start with the lovely bride.”

Everyone and everything else fades away just a little as you look at the man standing across from you.

You take a deep breath, and Glen’s fingers give yours a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

Your voice is soft at first, but clear. Honest. But steady with the kind of love that’s been tested and deepened over time.

“When I met you, I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t expect you.”

You see the smallest curve of a smile tug at his mouth.

“You are kind in ways that most people never see. You are steady and thoughtful, and better than you’ll ever admit. You make me feel safe. Not because you fix everything — but because you never let me face anything alone.”

Glen’s eyes are glistening now, just a little, and your own start to sting, but you breathe through it.

“You see the best parts of me — even when I can’t. And somehow, you make me want to be that version of myself. The one you believe in. The one who laughs more, loves harder, and doesn’t run when things get messy.”

You pause for a breath, voice tightening with the weight of it all.

“I promise to stand beside you, even when it’s hard. To support you in every dream, and every ridiculous project you take on. To keep showing up, even when it’s easier not to. I promise to celebrate you on your best days and hold you tighter on your worst. I’ll be your partner, your teammate, your safe place.”

You smile through the shimmer of tears.

“And I promise to love you for exactly who you are — because who you are is already everything I need.”

Glen’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, like he’s grounding himself. He takes a deep breath.

“Damn,” he murmurs under his breath, a crooked smile pulling at the edge of his mouth as his voice catches just a little.

A quiet laugh slips from you, barely audible, as your thumb mirrors his and strokes over his hand.

He takes a breath — a deep, steadying one — and blinks up at the sky for half a second like he’s trying to get it together. Then he meets your eyes again, more sure now, voice low and warm and full of feeling.

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life—some of them cool, some of them insane, and at least one that involved jumping off a moving boat in cowboy boots.”

Laughter breaks through the emotion, and Glen smiles wide before growing a little more serious.

“But nothing, nothing, compares to loving you.”

His voice drops a little, rougher now. A little choked.

“You ground me. When the world gets loud, you’re the quiet. The calm. You see me when I don’t even know what I’m showing.”

He pauses to take a deep breath. Then another, like he’s trying not to lose it.

“I promise to always love you in the way you deserve — not just with words, but with actions. With the little things. The coffee in the morning. The hand on your back when you’ve had a long day. The reminders — every single day — of just how amazing you are.”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, lingering there for a second before lowering them again.

“I’m yours,” he says, voice quiet and rough. “Always have been. Always will be.”

The officiant smiles, giving both you and Glen a moment to breathe and collect yourselves.

“May we have the rings?” The officiant asks.

Your maid of honor steps forward first, placing Glen’s ring into your hand. Glen’s best man does the same to him with your ring.

“These rings are more than metal. They are a promise — a circle with no end, a symbol of the vows you’ve spoken here today.”

You turn to Glen, sliding the ring slowly onto his finger as you say softly, just for him, “With this ring, I promise to love you, stand beside you, and walk with you through every chapter of this life.”

Glen’s hand trembles just slightly as he takes your ring in his own. He looks at you like you’re his entire world. He slips the ring onto your finger, and then says “With this ring, I promise to love you, stand beside you, and walk with you through every chapter of this life.”

The officiant beams, eyes flicking between you both. “By the power vested in me, and with the greatest joy, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

They pause, grinning at Glen. “You may kiss your bride.”

Glen steps forward slowly, eyes never leaving yours. With careful tenderness, he reaches up, brushing a stray curl away from your face. His hand lingers against your cheek, warm and reassuring as if to say that every whispered promise has led to this very heartbeat.

Then, with a soft exhale and a playful twinkle in his eyes that belies the profound emotion within, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a kiss that is everything—a melding of joy, relief, and the quiet certainty of forever. For a beat, the kiss deepens, filled with all the promises made in those sacred vows. You feel the weight of his love and the lightness of hope all at once.

And as if choreographed by the universe itself, he dips you ever so gently—a romantic flourish that sends a ripple of delighted gasps from the guests. The kiss lingers, full of the raw, beautiful truth of two souls uniting in that singular, perfect moment.

When you finally part, your foreheads remain pressed together, eyes shimmering with shared wonder. The crowd erupts in applause and cheers, but you and Glen remain in your own world for a few precious seconds longer—a silent celebration of love, of promises kept, and of a future unfolding with every heartbeat.

The music swells with joy as you and Glen turn to face your guests—now husband and wife.

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A QUIET MOMENT ALONE (Reader’s P.O.V.)

You barely hear the cheers as you and Glen turn toward the aisle, hands linked tight, hearts full.

The music swells and your friends and family rise to their feet, clapping, whooping, a few people even dabbing their eyes. But the only thing you’re really aware of is Glen’s hand in yours and the way he keeps looking over at you like he still can’t believe this is real.

Your smile hurts in the best way. Glen leans in as you start to walk, his voice warm against your ear. “You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

You laugh, blinking back fresh tears. “Good. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You move together down the aisle, hearts in sync, surrounded by love. It’s the kind of moment that feels wrapped in sunlight, in warmth, in everything you ever hoped your wedding day would hold.

You and Glen make your way up to the house while the guests are ushered towards the barn for the reception. The wedding coordinator gives a soft smile and pulls the doors closed behind you, giving you and Glen a few moments alone.

Glen exhales, then gently tugs you toward him, his arms slipping around your waist. “Hey,” he says softly, resting his forehead against yours. “We did it.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice full of disbelief and love all tangled together. “We’re married.”

He grins and rushes up, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “Mrs. Powell.”

You laugh. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Nah,” Glen says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Sounds pretty perfect to me.”

You don’t rush.

The world outside the door can wait — the music, the champagne, the clinking glasses, and laughter. For now, it’s just you and Glen. Husband and wife. And somehow that still doesn’t feel real.

You lean into him, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek resting against his chest.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married,” you whisper, smiling into the fabric of his jacket.

Glen’s arms tighten around you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. “I can. I’ve been ready since the second I met you.”

You laugh — quiet and breathy — as you look up at him. “That’s a lie. You didn’t even like me when we met.”

He grins, eyes crinkling. “I didn’t know what to do with you. You were all... quick comebacks and sharp edges. You scared the hell out of me.”

Your hands slide over his chest, fingers playing with the button on his jacket. “This feels like a dream.”

“It’s not,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “It’s real. You and me. Married. Finally.”

There’s a pause — not heavy, just still — and then he presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You close your eyes, tilting your face just enough to meet him halfway as his lips find yours.

It’s not a kiss for the camera, or the crowd, or the moment. It’s for you. Soft. Slow. Familiar in all the best ways.

When you pull back, your forehead stays pressed to his. You’re both smiling now, hands still linked, hearts steadying together.

“Think we can sneak away for five more minutes?” you ask, only half kidding.

Glen leans in again, voice low and warm. “For you? Always.”

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RECEPTION: THE GRAND ENTRANCE(Reader’s P.O.V.)

The two of you wait just behind the barn doors, tucked out of sight, hands laced together. You can hear the music thumping softly through the wood, the sound of laughter, and clinking glasses as your friends and family find their seats.

Glen gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he leans in close.

“You ready, Mrs. Powell?” he asks with a grin that still manages to make your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you’re smiling too big to pretend you’re not smitten. “More than ready, Mr. Powell.”

From inside, the DJ’s voice rises over the speakers, full of energy and warmth. “Alright, y’all. Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Let’s make some noise for the brand-new Mr. and Mrs. Powell!”

The barn doors swing open.

The crowd erupts in cheers, whoops, and applause as you and Glen step through, hand in hand. The soft glow of string lights overhead, the music, the joy…it all hits you at once like a warm wave.

Right in the center of the dance floor, Glen tugs you gently toward him.

You laugh as he spins you in a full, twirling circle that flares the skirt of your dress and sends your heart soaring, and then he catches you, dips you low, and kisses you.

When he pulls you upright again, you both can’t stop smiling.

Arm around your waist, Glen guides you toward the sweetheart table at the front of the room. You take your seats together, a candlelit oasis surrounded by flowers and the people who love you most.

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RECEPTION: DINNER & TOASTS (Reader's P.O.V.)

Guests are seated, plates are full, and the sound of laughter hums through the air, mixing with the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar in the background.

Glen reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ve got that just-married glow,” he murmurs, eyes dancing as he leans in closer.

You grin. “That’s just the champagne.”

He laughs but doesn’t argue. He cuts off a bite of steak and holds it up to your lips. “Try this. I swear it’s better than what we had at the tasting.”

You take the bite, eyes never leaving his. “Mmm. You were right to go with that over the pork. Again.”

He smiles like he’s keeping a secret and then gestures toward your plate. “Now give me a bite of that chicken. Don’t be stingy.”

You feed him a forkful, and when he ends up with a tiny smudge of sauce near his mouth, you lean forward and gently wipe it away with your thumb. 

The DJ’s voice cuts in a few minutes later, signaling the start of the toast.

First up is Lauren, Glen’s older sister, holding her glass as she walks up to the mic.

“I have to say,” she begins, smiling over at you both, “I’ve known Glen his whole life. I’ve seen him go through every phase—from ‘wannabe cowboy’ to ‘Hollywood heartthrob’—but I have to say this version of Glen? The one that lights up when she walks into the room? That’s my favorite.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd, and Glen chuckles softly beside you, brushing your knee under the table with his.

“And to you,” Lauren continues, looking at you now with warmth in her eyes, “thank you for loving my brother the way you do. For grounding him. For seeing all the good in him even when he leaves his boots in the hallway and forgets to run a new project by you.”

More laughter fills the room.

“But seriously,” she adds, voice catching slightly, “you make him better. And he’s already pretty great. So welcome to the family. We’re so lucky to have you.”

You blink fast, suddenly aware of the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

After Lauren’s toast brings both laughter and tears, the DJ announces the next toast giver. The crowd cheers as Chord Overstreet steps up to the mic, grinning in that charming, slightly mischievous way that promises a good story is coming.

He lifts his champagne glass, eyes scanning the room before settling on you and Glen.

“So,” he starts, “I’ve known Glen since we were both broke, twenty-something dreamers with bad haircuts and worse taste in furniture. We shared a shoebox of an apartment in Hollywood, lived off protein bars and gas station coffee, and thought ‘meal prep’ meant splitting a rotisserie chicken from Ralph’s.”

The crowd laughs, and Glen just shakes his head with a smirk, clearly bracing for whatever’s coming.

“But even back then,” Chord continues, “Glen was the guy you could count on. Loyal to the core. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who’d drive you to an audition at 5 a.m. even if he wasn’t auditioning himself. And the kind of guy who always checked in—really checked in—when you were going through it.”

Chord pauses, his smile softening.

“So when he called me a couple years back, out of the blue, and said, ‘Man, I think I’ve met someone…’ I knew. That was it. And then I met her. And listen, it all made sense. You’re sharp, you’re grounded, you’re kind, and Glen lights up when you’re around. It’s not subtle. Like, at all.”

The crowd laughs again, and Glen squeezes your hand under the table, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“But here’s my favorite story,” Chord adds, his grin returning. “Back in the day, Glen once said—dead serious—‘I don’t think I’ll ever settle down. I mean, I might get a dog someday…’”

Everyone erupts in laughter as Glen covers his face for a beat, and Chord raises his glass higher.

“Well, buddy…you got the dog, the house, and the girl. And I’ve never seen you happier.”

Chord nods toward where you and Glen are sitting, voice softening again.

“So here’s to the person who changed the whole game for him. To love, to laughter, and to finding the person who makes all the old rules irrelevant. I love you both. Congratulations.”

Applause swells as Chord steps down, and Glen pulls you close.

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RECEPTION: CAKE CUTTING (Reader’s P.O.V.))

The lights dim just slightly as the DJ announces the next moment: “Ladies and gentlemen if you’ll turn your attention to the cake table…”

A soft instrumental version of your favorite song plays as you and Glen make your way over, hand in hand. The cake is a stunner—three tiers of soft ivory buttercream, fresh blooms, and delicate detailing that matches the lace of your dress.

A silver knife is placed carefully on the table. Glen picks it up first, glancing at you with a teasing raise of his brows. “You ready for this?” he murmurs under his breath.

“You mean to cut the cake or to trust you not to smash it in my face?” you shoot back, grinning.

He laughs, his hand resting lightly on your lower back as you both guide the knife through the bottom tier. Cameras flash, guests cheer, and once a slice is served, Glen picks up a fork, scooping up a bite with exaggerated care.

“For you,” he says, holding it out.

You lean forward and take the bite, humming in approval. “Mmm. Not bad.”

He raises a brow again, now suspiciously quiet as he scoops a bit more frosting—and before you can react, he dabs just a little onto the tip of your nose.

You gasp, “Glen!”

He grins like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You looked too perfect. I had to humble you.”

You grab a napkin and swipe at your nose, and Glen leans in to gently kiss the frosting off anyway, murmuring, “Still perfect.”

You loop your arm through his and press your cheek to his shoulder as the photographer snaps a candid of the two of you—frosting, laughter, and all.

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RECEPTION: FIRST DANCE (Reader's P.O.V.)

The reception lights dim again, and a hush falls over the room. Soft string lights overhead glow like starlight, casting everything in a warm, golden hue.

The DJ’s voice cuts gently through the hum of conversation, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please turn your attention to the dance floor…it’s time for the newlyweds’ first dance.”

You feel Glen’s hand find yours, steady and sure. He leans in close, his lips brushing your temple. “Ready?”

You smile up at him, heart full. “More than ready.”

Glen leads you out, hand on your waist, fingers laced with yours. You hear the first notes of a song. It’s soft, slow, and unfamiliar…but beautiful.

Then a voice begins to sing. Not a recording—live. Familiar. Warm.

Leslie.

Your eyes flick toward the small stage, and there she stands, mic in hand, eyes shining. The song she’s singing isn’t one you’ve heard before, but every word lands like it was written just for the two of you.

Open your eyes, take in the view

Sometimes I wish it would slow down…

Glen’s eyes never leave yours. His thumb brushes softly against your back as you sway together, slow and gentle. He pulls you a little closer, resting his forehead to yours for a beat, his voice barely a whisper.

“This song…she wrote it for us. I asked her to. Months ago.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. You shake your head, smiling through sudden tears. “Of course you did.”

The melody begins to wash over you. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck. It’s just the two of you swaying in time.

Glen doesn’t take his eyes off you, and you don’t either. 

There’s something quiet in the way he looks at you now — a softness that lives beneath the smile, beneath the glint in his eyes. Like he’s still a little in awe of you. Of this. Of the fact that you’re his.

There will be laughter, there will be pain

There will be sunshine, there will be rain

You feel Glen’s hands pull you just a little closer. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” he says against your skin, his voice low and sure.

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I love you too.”

As the chorus swells, he spins you slowly — just once — and when you step back into his arms, he holds you like he never wants to let go.

When you need a friend, I will carry you through

 No matter the moment, I’ll be there with you…

By the time the final chorus swells and begins to fade, Glen’s fingers tighten around yours just slightly.

He gives you a look — playful, full of love — and then he spins you.

You laugh, breath catching as the skirt of your dress flares out around you, the room blurring for a second as you twirl under his hand. And when you come back to him, he catches you effortlessly, drawing you in close.

And then, without missing a beat, he dips you — one arm strong and steady at your back, the other holding your hand as he leans down and kisses you.

Your guests cheer and clap as the final note fades, but all you can focus on is Glen — his grin, the sparkle in his eyes, the warmth of him wrapped around you.

When he brings you upright again, his forehead brushes yours, breath warm as he whispers, “God, I love you.”

You smile, cheeks flushed, heart full. “I love you more.”

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RECEPTION: MOTHER / SON DANCE (Glen’s P.O.V.)

“Now we’d like to invite Glen and his mom, Cyndy, to the floor for their mother-son dance.”

Glen glances towards the edge of the dance floor where his mom stands, already blinking back tears. He walks over, offering his hand with a smile.

“May I have this dance, Mama?”

Cyndy smiles and nods as she places her hand in his. Glen leads her to the center of the dance floor. His palm rests gently against her back, her hand curled into his like it has been since he was little.

For a minute neither of them say anything. Then Cyndy whispers, “I still remember the first time you ever slow danced. You were standing on my feet in the kitchen. I think you were six or seven.”

He chuckles, “You taught me everything I know.”

“You always had such a big heart,” she says, eyes brimming. “You just needed someone to be soft with it.”

Glen glances across the room, and there you are, laughing at something your maid of honor just said, radiant and glowing and entirely his.

“I think I may have found her.” He says.

Cyndy follows his gaze, smile trembling. “She’s perfect for you. I see the way you look at her, honey.”

They sway for a few more beats in silence. No need to fill it. Some things just speak for themselves.

As the song begins to fade, Cyndy squeezes his hand and leans up to kiss his cheek. “You make me proud, Glen. Every day. But especially today.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you for everything. I love you, Mama.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Glen and Cyndy slowly make their way off the dance floor, still holding onto each other. Cyndy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, but there’s a steady smile on her face—one only a proud mother can wear.

Glen guides her toward you, and you stand to meet them instinctively, your hand already reaching for his.

But it’s Cyndy who steps in first.

She reaches out and gently takes your hands in hers, her fingers warm and slightly trembling. Her gaze settles on your face, full of emotion, but also peace.

“I’ve always been Glen’s number one girl,” she says softly, a little teasing smile on her lips. “Since the day he was born.”

Glen chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Cyndy squeezes your hands a little tighter. “But today, that changes. Today, I give that spot to you.”

Your breath catches. You didn’t expect to cry again tonight, but the way she says it—with quiet grace and so much love—hits something deep.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she adds gently. “But I see the way he looks at you. And I know he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.”

You blink quickly, trying to keep your mascara intact and nod with a tearful smile. “Thank you… for trusting me with him.”

Cyndy pulls you into a soft hug that’s warm and maternal and full of acceptance. “Just promise to keep his head on straight,” she says, half-joking. “He’s always been a little stubborn.”

“I promise,” you whisper into her shoulder.

When she steps back, she takes Glen’s hand in hers for one more beat, then places it firmly in yours.

“You’ve got him now,” she says with a wink. “Don’t let go.”

And then she heads back toward her seat, dabbing her eyes with a napkin, while Glen leans in close and kisses your temple, his hand already twining with yours again.

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DRESS CHANGE & SUNSET PHOTOS (Reader’s P.O.V.)

As the reception continues you slip away with Glen, fingers intertwined as you make your way up to the house. Your dress rustles softly as you make your way upstairs to the master bedroom.

You step into the center of the room and glance back over your shoulder at him.

“Think you can help me out of this?” You ask, voice light and slightly flirty.

Glen’s already loosening the tie from his neck, tossing it to a nearby chair as he steps closer. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You turn, facing away from him, and feel his hands settle just below your shoulders. His fingers find the tiny buttons lining the back of your gown, working one by one.

“You looked beautiful in this,” he murmurs, his breath warm on the nape of your neck. “But I’m not gonna lie…I’ve been thinking about taking it off you since the second I saw you in it.”

You huff a soft laugh, but it dissolves as his mouth brushes the top of your spine, his hands skimming bare skin as the dress loosens and slips down your body. You let it fall, stepping out carefully as he loses his suit jacket and untucks his shirt, top buttons undone.

And then his hands are on your waist, tugging you back into him, your bodies flush. He kisses you — slow, deep, and wanting — like the moment has caught fire and he’s content to let it burn.

“You sure we gotta go back out there?” he mumbles against your lips, hands already trailing lower.

You smile against his mouth, catching his wrists before things get too carried away. “We’ve got a dance floor and people waiting. But...later?”

“Hell yes, later.”

You reach for the second dress — a soft satin number with delicate straps and a low, open back — and Glen helps you step into it, carefully zipping it up.

When you turn around, smoothing the straps into place, Glen goes quiet. His eyes drag over you slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting as he takes you in.

He takes a step toward you. One arm circles your waist, and the other slides over your bare back as he pulls you in and kisses you.

“We better get downstairs to get those last few pictures you wanted,” Glen says as he pulls away.

You nod and take his hand as the two of you make your way downstairs and to the backyard to meet the photographer for the last of the photos.

This time around the photos are effortless. There’s no posing. The photographer gives you and Glen a few gentle directions but for the most part, she tells you to just be yourself while she gets some candid shots. Glen twirls you again, this time watching the new dress catch the breeze. There are forehead kisses, laughter as you dip toward him dramatically, and one particularly steamy shot where his hands are low on your back, your lips just brushing.

The sun slips lower and lower, the sky painted in soft pink and lavender hues, and you steal one more quiet moment together before heading back inside to dance the night away.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

RECEPTION: OPEN DANCING (Reader’s P.O.V.)

The DJ shifts gears from slow romance to pure celebration. With a beat drop that sends a ripple of excitement through the room, the dance floor opens and it doesn't take long before it's full.

You and Glen are at the center of it all, hands intertwined, smiles wide. He spins you under his arm, and your laughter echoes above the music as your dress flares and floats with the motion. Someone lets out a cheer, and Glen dips you playfully—nearly to the floor—before pulling you back up into his arms.

The two of you dance like no one's watching, like you're the only two people in the world, even as guests surround you. Your friends are nearby, singing at the top of their lungs, drinks in hand. Glen’s sisters pull him away for a quick spin, and you find yourself dancing with your mom, both of you laughing when you mess up the rhythm. Leslie jumps back in with a live set of upbeat covers, keeping the energy high and the floor packed.

At one point, Glen slides up behind you, resting his hands on your hips as you sway together to the beat. He leans in to murmur in your ear, “You’re still the prettiest girl in the room.”

You glance over your shoulder, grinning. “Still?”

He kisses your cheek. “Always.”

There’s a moment where you're both dancing with your friends—Glen and Chord dramatically lip-syncing to an ‘80s anthem while your bridal party hypes them up. Then you and Glen link hands again and make your way through the crowd, greeting family members, sharing hugs, stealing cupcakes off dessert plates, and taking impromptu selfies with cousins.

Later, someone starts a conga line that Glen refuses to join—until you grab his hand and tug him in, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. He finally gives in, shaking his head but unable to stop smiling.

Everywhere you look, there are people you love—smiling, dancing, celebrating right along with you. 

But somehow, every time your eyes meet Glen’s across the room, everything else softens.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

RECEPTION: PRIVATE LAST DANCE (Reader's P.O.V.)

The reception has wound down to a slow hum, laughter lingering in the air like the last notes of a favorite song. Guests are grabbing sparklers, being gently ushered outside by the planner and DJ. The night air is cool, crackling with excitement and anticipation.

But inside, the world quiets. The dance floor is empty now—just soft candlelight flickering across the tables, a few petals scattered across the floor. And in the center, it’s just you and Glen.

The music changes. A soft, slow instrumental version of your first dance song plays through the speakers just for the two of you. No photographer, no guests. Just husband and wife, savoring the very last moment of the night before stepping into what comes next.

Glen extends his hand. “One more?” he asks, voice quiet but certain.

You nod, slipping your fingers into his. He pulls you close, arms around your waist, forehead resting against yours. The world falls away again. No chaos, no countdowns, just this.

You sway together, slowly, like it’s the first time and the last all at once.

“I don’t want to leave this night,” you whisper, your voice catching.

Glen smiles, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Then we’ll carry it with us. Every day.”

You lean into him. Neither of you speak again. You don’t need to. Everything is already being said in the way he holds you, the way your heart beats steady against his.

The song fades into silence.

You pull back just enough to look up at him. “Ready?”

He grins, just a little crooked. “To spend the rest of my life with you? Always.”

You share one last kiss—slow, lingering, and full of promise—before the doors swing open.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

RECEPTION: GRAND EXIT (Reader’s P.O.V.)

Outside, your guests cheer as sparklers light the night. It’s like a pathway of stars guiding you forward. You and Glen run through them, hand in hand, laughter echoing through the night. Someone yells, “Don’t trip!” and someone else shouts, “Kiss again!”

At the end of the sparkler tunnel, Glen opens the car door for you like a true gentleman. You pause, turning back to wave at everyone gathered there—your people, your hearts, your family.

Then you climb in beside him.

He starts the car, reaches over to take your hand, and with a final honk and a flurry of cheers behind you, you both disappear into the night.

Not as guests, not as fiancés—but as Mr. and Mrs. Powell.

Officially starting forever together.

[deadghosy]

SLYTHERIN BOYS X OWL! READER HEADCANNONS

Prompt: a wild owl appears, gaining some Slytherin boy’s attention as their own personally pet and companion

Ft. The riddles, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, && Lorenzo Berkshire

A/N: based off of how I use to do hazbin hotel x animal! readers. I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

When your white owl appearance took place in the common room of the Slytherins. Draco was a little cautious to get close of you whilst Lorenzo immediately found you enchanting. He wanted to make you his wonderful companion. Mattheo also wanted to making the two Slytherins fight for your attention. Trying to bring you mice thinking you were “that” kinda owl. When really you liked fruits a lot, to which Theodore fed you once and you were attached to him.

“Guess they like me more..” Theodore says with a grin, petting you under your chin to which you coo at. Immediately Theodore felt his heart melt as he kept petting you, walking away using a soft baby voice. “Aww you’re so cute my little bambino..aww..” meanwhile the others are like “did he seriously just adopt an owl?”

Lorenzo is still the number one caretaker of you. He literally schedules what time you eat, when you need a bath, when you need a nap. He’s like he’s taking care of a baby. Even though Theo tells him it’s not that serious. Lorenzo is not taking chances as he teaches your tricks.

He taught you how to unlock cages incase you get kidnapped from the Slytherin common room. Or maybe something I excepted happens to you and they’re not there to protect you. Makes them sad to think about it.

Blaise, plays his music softly around you. He loves how you just prance around howling and cooing around. He find you a comfortable companion to just vibe him with. And you think the same.

Theodore, the one to just feed you and you would be on his shoulder when he is in common room. He loves you dearly as if he birthed you😭

Mattheo sometimes joke around about how he would pluck your feather for it to be a quill, and you were so happy after hearing that as you avoided him for a whole week before Blaise made him apologize. But most of all, he loves you since you are adorable.

Draco, this ferret boy would be afraid that if he turned into a ferret that you would grab him and eat him. But when Theodore told him that you only ate fruits. He felt pleased. Then he would transform and you two were animals causing mayhem together. (I believe in my head he’s an animagus)

Tom….you don’t see him often. But when you do. He leaves you a small snack, he doesn’t really show emotion towards you. But it’s nice how one time he heard a couple of Gryffindors going to steal you. Let’s just say those Gryffindors were scared to even go near you. You admired Tom from afar and he did the same to you.

Group head pets from you. Be prepared to be smothered with love and affection from your Slytherin owners.

Lorenzo absolutely ADORES sleeping with you in his room. 🥹baby is in love with your nightly coos. He thinks they’re so adorable to the point he may cry or just fall asleep with a smile on his face.

You’re very chilling to be around, surprisingly Tom lets you in his room. He may find a small attachment to you to the point he maybe wants to be in your soul… just maybe.

There was a part of time where the Theodore and Lorenzo fought over who was the best owl dad for you. You didn’t know who to chose so you flew over to Tom who just sat on the common room couch reading. Not giving a care in the world. The two Slytherins were shocked and disappointed as they banned you from seeing Tom for a few days.

“They’re like an air cat!” Mattheo said as you coo at him from the pets you gained. “Please don’t ever call our owl that..” Tom said with an unimpressed stare. Mattheo still says it to this day in Tom’s face.

If anyone forgets to feed you, they feel guilty. Not Tom though. He feeds you before he goes to his lectures while those others are like. “Who fed them before we left??” While Tom is like “Pft….imbeciles.”

They love when you coo at them. Tom would never admit despite his own brother saying it out loud💗

You are the most beautiful owl Hogwarts know, and sometimes Tom tries to talk to you as if you are a real person. Talking about pregnancy and how you should watch out for “those” type of owls…he’s just trying to protect and not kill an owl.

[lukesvangelista]

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄ˡʰ⁴³

in which luke longs for the one person who understands him.

warnings; sad luke, crying luke, weddings, prom

part one here

part two here

part four here

Luke stood at the edge of the reception hall, watching the newlyweds glide across the dance floor. The bride, radiant in her white gown, laughed as Matt, Luke's cousin and her husband, spun her around, their joy infectious. The room was filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle hum of conversation, but Luke's mind was far away, lost in the memories of the relationship the two of you once shared. Jack and Quinn were talking beside him, reminiscing on the childhood memories the three of them shared with Matt, but Luke could've cared less. Instead, he zoned in on the couple with longing eyes, his face expressionless - that should've been him twirling you around on that dance floor.

It had been nine months since he and you had parted ways, but it felt like a lifetime. The two of you had met in high school, two awkward teenagers drawn together by a shared love of sports, music, and movies, and a mutual disdain for the superficiality of your guys' chemistry teacher. His first dance with you had been in your living room, the two of you clumsily stepping on each other’s toes to a scratchy vinyl record your father had given to you. The two of you shared so much laughter that day, the sound mingling with the music. Luke didn't think he was capable of laughing that much, but somehow, you had brought it out of him. In that moment, Luke had thought that your relationship would last forever.

As Matt and Amelie continued their dance, Luke remembered the night he had taken you to prom. You guys had spent weeks preparing. You agonized over your dress to the point where Ellen had offered to fix it up however you wanted to. She spent a week sewing this, and hemming that, but that dress couldn't have been more beautiful. It complimented you perfectly, the red satin fabric allowing your eyes to radiate. You laughed as Luke fumbled with the corsage during pictures. At the time, he didn't appreciate it, but now, he would give anything to hear your laugh again. When the two of you had finally arrived, the gym had been transformed into a magical wonderland, complete with twinkling lights and a live band. You guys had danced until your feet were sore, holding each other close as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Luke felt a lump in his throat form as he continued to watch the first dance. There was an empty seat beside him, designated for another one of his cousin's who couldn't make it, but Luke couldn't help but feel like it was for you. It was just another reminder that you weren't with him, but you should've been. All he wanted was to look away, but it's like he was frozen. It felt like a god damn punishment. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, he realized what song they were dancing to - 'Like Real People Do'.

No, no, no. This was your guys' song.

Tears sprang into Luke's hazel eyes immediately, and he jumped up from his seat to excuse himself. Quinn and Jack looked at their little brother like he was crazy, but Luke muttered some half-ass excuse about having to use the bathroom before walking out of the reception hall and outside the building.

As soon as he was outside, Luke tightly gripped the red brick of the building. He felt that if he didn't, he would've collapsed right then and there. He tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself down, but it felt as though nothing was working. So, he whipped out his phone and opened his contacts.

As he hovered over your contact, Luke tried to convince himself that it was because he wasn't in a clear state of mind. Maybe he could even blame it on the drinks that Jack had snuck over to him earlier in the evening. But deep down, Luke knew that wasn't true. He missed you, and maybe, just maybe, his longing for you would decrease if he heard your voice again. The night was quiet, which only seemed to amplify his thoughts. He missed you - every laugh, every conversation, every moment the two of you had shared. He missed you more than he could bear.

But the longer his fingers hovered over your contact, the more hesitant he became. The two of you had broken up nine months ago. The last time he had seen you was the night (or morning, he didn't even know) you showed up to his apartment, where he was sleeping with another girl and practically yelled at you for coming to see him. And it was the night that you needed him most. You were missing your dad and needed comfort. That was it. He had royally fucked up.

Was this a good idea? Would you even want to hear from him?

Doubts crowded Luke's mind, but the ache in his heart overpowered him. He took a deep breath and pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Four times, five times, six times.

Luke was about to hang up when the dial tone went away. Static ensued and then he heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Hello?" Your voice was soft, cautious.

Luke let out a whimper, a tear falling from his eye, "Y/N/N, hi. It's Luke."

There was a pause, then, "Luke. Hi. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has. I-" he struggled to find the right words, "I know it's sudden, but I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you, Y/N."

The line was silent for a moment, and Luke feared that you might've hung up. But then you spoke, your voice trembling slightly, "Why'd you call, Luke?"

He let a sob ring from his lips, his tone heavy, "Matt got married today, and him and Amelie just looked so happy. And I looked at them and it was like I couldn't even see them, I just saw us," another sob rang out, "I just... whenever I looked at you, Y/N, I saw my future. I would've married you if I had the chance." he admitted.

The line went silent again, this time for even longer than the last. Boy, did that scare Luke. Had he said too much too soon? He wouldn't be surprised if he did - his brothers had always told him that that was his fatal flaw. Thirty seconds had passed before he spoke up again, pure desperation evident in his voice, "Y/N/N?"

He heard you sniffle over the line. A few more seconds of silence followed before you spoke, your voice trembling a little more than before, "I... I miss you too, Luke. I think about you a lot."

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly followed by regret, "I messed up, Y/N. Remember that night when you called me an asshole? It's all I've thought about since that night. You needed me and I kicked you out and..." Luke had to pause as he felt his chest tighten. His breaths were ragged and it felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

"Luke? Luke, are you okay?" you asked him, concern evident in your tone.

Luke was able to compose himself just enough to keep talking as he heard your voice, "I was an asshole. I can't believe it's taken me seven months to admit it, but I was the asshole, and I am so fucking sorry, Y/N."

You took a shallow breath on the other end of the phone, your own eyes welling with tears.

Luke continued, "Listen, I don't know if we can ever go back to what we had, but I just needed you to know how much I miss you."

You sighed softly, tears of your own now slipping from your eyes, "That was hard for me, Luke. It hurt. But hearing you say that means a lot. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I didn't fuck up, too. We both made mistakes, and here we are." you faked a laugh.

Without thinking, Luke whispered through the phone, "Can we meet?" There was a lace of hope in his words as he spoke. Maybe it was a little bit of a facade, just to trick him into thinking he had more of a chance than he actually did, "Just to talk. Maybe start over, even if it's just as friends."

There was a long pause, and if it was as if Luke could almost hear you weighing the decision through the phone. It felt like hours had passed before you spoke again, your voice gentle, "Luke... it's not that simple. I miss you - more than you know - but I think that we both need to heal and move forward, even if it's hard."

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"It's pathetic really, how much I still hope it's you and me in the end."

"Take care of yourself, Luke," you said, "Goodnight."

Luke wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling the weight of your words. As you hung up, though, he felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. He knew you were right - you both needed to move on, to heal. But at least for tonight, he had the comfort of hearing your voice, a small connection to the woman he had loved and lost.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Bucky x pregnant reader

Bucky started working from home and everything was great! You spend time together and made plans for Baby coming along but the longer Bucky stayed at home the more he hid himself away in his office working, and one day as your hormones kick in, you're feeling very emotional and just wanting cuddles from him, so you go to his office and ask him about coming to bed and cuddling and he just says he's busy he will be there soon and you say that he's been working all day and you haven't seen him and he ends up snapping at you and it makes you cry and you tell him that you don't want to see him for the rest of the night and storm away, after a while bucky can't concentrate on work because he made you cry and he comes to find you and when he finds you aren't in your shared bedroom he panics thinking you left him and he shouts and runs around the full house only to find you curled up sleeping on the bed in your baby's room and he carries you to bed and apologises and tells stark that he won't be working anymore until the baby is here and settled

Priorities

Bucky x Pregnant!Y/N

Warnings: Slight angst. Pregnancy.

You stirred in bed, the soft fabric of the sheets cocooning you. It was quiet—too quiet. Reaching out, your hand brushed against the cold, empty side of the bed where Bucky usually slept. A pang of disappointment settled in your chest.

This had become a routine lately. Bucky, ever the diligent worker, had transformed your home office into his command center since he decided to work remotely. The idea was perfect in theory—more time together, more time to prepare for the baby. But the reality had been a little different.

You glanced down at your growing belly, resting your hand on the gentle curve. “Looks like it’s just us this morning, little bean,” you murmured, your voice thick with affection.

Sliding out of bed, you padded barefoot to the kitchen. The smell of coffee brewing wafted through the air, a silent testament to Bucky’s early morning habits. His notebook was open on the counter, filled with scribbled notes and diagrams. You frowned. He had clearly been here earlier but had retreated to his office before you even woke up.

The day unfolded much the same way as the past few weeks. You busied yourself tidying the nursery, organizing the endless stream of baby supplies that had arrived in neat little packages. Every so often, you’d glance at the clock, half-expecting Bucky to emerge and sweep you into one of his warm hugs.

But he didn’t.

By evening, the silence felt unbearable. Hormones amplified your emotions, leaving you craving the comfort of Bucky’s presence. Deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you ventured to his office, your heart heavy but hopeful.

Knocking softly, you pushed the door open to find him hunched over his desk, blue eyes scanning his laptop screen, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Bucky?” you called gently.

He didn’t look up immediately. “Hmm?”

“Hey, um, I was wondering if you’d like to come to bed. We could cuddle for a bit?” Your voice wavered slightly, a mixture of vulnerability and longing.

“I’m busy, doll,” he muttered distractedly, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard.

You swallowed hard. “You’ve been working all day. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there soon, Y/N. Just give me a little more time,” he replied curtly, still not looking up.

Frustration bubbled to the surface, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It’s not just today, Bucky! I haven’t really seen you for days. We’re supposed to be doing this together, remember?”

That was when he snapped.

“Y/N, I said I’ll be there soon! Why can’t you just let me finish this?” His tone was sharper than you’d ever heard, slicing through the air like a blade.

The tears spilled over before you could stop them. You stepped back, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. “You know what? Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.”

You turned on your heel, storming down the hallway to the sound of Bucky’s frustrated sigh.

Back in the nursery, you curled up on the small daybed meant for late-night feedings, the soft smell of baby powder and freshly laundered blankets surrounding you. Silent sobs shook your shoulders as you replayed the argument in your mind.

Hours passed, and Bucky sat frozen in his office. His mind kept drifting back to the hurt in your eyes, the tears streaming down your face. His work became a meaningless blur, and guilt gnawed at his chest.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

He pushed away from his desk and headed to the bedroom, expecting to find you there. But the bed was empty, the sheets untouched since you’d left. Panic set in.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice rising as he checked every room in the house. “Y/N, where are you?”

His heart thundered in his chest, the worst-case scenarios flashing through his mind. He was halfway through dialing Sam’s number when he thought to check the nursery.

There you were, curled up on the small bed, your hands cradling your belly even in sleep. The sight stopped him in his tracks, a wave of relief crashing over him.

Carefully, he crouched down beside you, his metal hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, doll,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You stirred, blinking up at him groggily. “Bucky?”

“I’m an idiot,” he confessed, his blue eyes shimmering with regret. “I’ve been so focused on work, I forgot what’s really important—you, us, this baby. Please forgive me, Y/N.”

Your lips trembled, but you nodded. “You scared me. I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

“Never,” he said fiercely, pulling you into his arms. “You’re my world, Y/N. Both of you are.”

He carried you back to bed, tucking you under the covers before climbing in beside you. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, he made a silent vow.

But even as your breathing evened out, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips against your forehead, lingering there as if he could kiss away all the hurt from earlier. He shifted slightly, cradling you closer, his flesh arm wrapped protectively around your belly while his metal hand gently traced patterns along your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the sheets. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You mean everything to me. I’d stop the world for you, you know that, right?”

You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but the small sigh you let out as you snuggled closer to him made his heart ache in the best way. He pressed another kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against the delicate skin there.

“I promise, kitten, I’m going to do better,” he murmured, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “You and our baby deserve all of me, not some guy glued to a screen. No more late nights in the office. No more pushing you away.”

His hand slid down to your belly, resting there as though to reassure himself that your baby was safe and sound. “Hey, little bean,” he said softly, his tone warm and playful. “I know I haven’t been around much, but that’s gonna change. You and your mama are stuck with me now, like it or not.”

A sleepy smile tugged at your lips as you shifted closer. “We like it,” you whispered, your voice slurred with exhaustion but filled with warmth.

Bucky chuckled, his chest vibrating softly beneath your cheek. “Good,” he said, his lips finding your forehead once more. “Because I love you. Both of you. More than anything.”

His words hung in the quiet room, a vow spoken not just in promises but in the tenderness of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, and the unyielding devotion in his heart.

The next morning, Bucky called Tony Stark and quit his current project. From now until the baby arrived, his sole focus would be on you and the little life you were bringing into the world.

Because no job was worth missing these moments with his family.

——————————————————————————————————

Hello, anonymous reader! I hope this fits what you imagined 🫶

Requests Open!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 10

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Loki entwines your life like the snake he is. You stare at the steaming cup of tea as you listen to him in the kitchen. You don’t really trust him not to ruin anything else but you’re powerless to stop him. Every move has another pang plucking in your stomach.  

God! You can’t believe it. Three days. With him? And you’re married? Right, none of this makes sense. He can’t be your husband. It’s impossible. 

You drag yourself up and clutch your stomach. There’s something else, a tingle as your thighs press together. A flash ripples behind your eyes and you hear him groaning, feeling him thrusting, his hot breath enshrines you. You blink and it’s gone. A moan drifts from your lips. 

You search your apartment and scowl. All this green... It’s not bad but it’s a bit much. None of you is left here. Aren’t marriages unions not invasions? 

No, you’re not married. He never even asked. You get up and suss out your phone on the side table. You pick it up as you keep an ear toward his constant stirring. You tap into the search bar and bring up City Hall. You have to call. Damn it. 

You tiptoe toward the bathroom and peek back as you ease the door shut. You tap the phone number and chew your thumb. You’re on hold for a while and after navigating through the directory, you finally get an answer. 

“Hi, er, wow,” you respond to the dull tone on the other end. “I don’t really know how to do this. Sorry, erm, I need to look up a marriage license?” 

“Do you have the registration number?” The woman asks. 

“No, but I can give you my name? My Social Security? Whatever you need.” 

“Social Security,” she sniffs into the speaker. She doesn’t seem very impressed. 

You recite the memorised number and wait as you hear the clacking of keys. She hums flatly. “Yep, right here...” she reads out your name, “and uh, Lachi—Loki Laufeyson.” 

Your heart drops. What? Your last hope that he’s as much a liar as ever evaporates. You stand stunned, starring into the drain. 

“Anything else I can do, ma’am?” She doesn’t sound genuinely helpful. 

“No,” you croak and hang up. You’ve wasted her time. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You lift your head and slowly let yourself look at your reflection. You shriek at Loki as he grins over you. 

“Oh god,” you spin to face him in the tight space, “do you have to do that?” 

“Well, I was concerned. I find my wife missing--” 

“Don’t say it. Stop. No. Wife? I can’t--” 

“It is the truth. Legal, as it were. Surely that lovely woman on the phone told you so,” he slithers. 

“Ugh, why? Why me?” 

“Oh, I know, how lucky you are,” he tickles along your sides and you nearly toss the phone. You stop him, latching onto one wrist as you push your cell against the other. 

“Haven’t you done enough?” 

“Hardly. Darling, we are on honeymoon, are we not? So let us taste the delicious nectar of our coming together--” 

“Honeymoon? Wow, it’s wonderful,” you look around. 

“Ah, yes, I do believe you mortals prefer to travel, so...” 

He untangles his arm from your grasp and snaps his finger. His figure is limned in ribbons of green and your insides twist as the world spins around you. Your feet leave the ground only to land heavier on something else.  

You blink and cry out. The sky is a vibrant violet and silver stars shine in a constellation all around. You crane to see the tapestry as your feet press on something rough. You look down and two golden sandals appear on your feet. The satin robe transforms into a gown with braiding that matches the shoes. 

Loki turns parallel to you and presses his hand to your lower back. “Beautiful, yes?” 

You peer around and open and close your mouth. You take inhale deeply. Several times. You know you’re nowhere on earth. 

“I can breathe...” you murmur. 

“As you know, I have my tricks,” he purrs. 

“Wh-where are we?” You ask shakily, the reality that you’re on an entirely different planet rattles in your skull. 

“Does it matter? We are together?” You look at him and he turns to meet your gaze, “why do you look upon me thus?” 

You shake your head. You can’t explain all the ways he makes you feel. Loathing, confusion, agitation, and a little fear. 

“It’s a lot,” you utter at last. 

“Yes, I’ve been told I can be much to handle.” 

You sigh and look up at the sky. It is pretty. Your eyes wander down to the rocky peaks along the far edge of the planet. It smells like... flowers and vanilla and cinnamon. You raise your nose to sniff it deeper. 

“What is that?” 

“I wouldn’t know. I smell sage and Asgardian oak. It won’t be the same as you.” 

“Huh?” You glance at him again. This time, he laughs. 

“Here, you can smell exactly what you like best. And the sky reflects the colours which you most love. To me, a sea of evergreen and sapphire, but now, a touch of the shade of your lips too. For you... well, what do you see?” 

Your heart flips. It can’t be true. 

“I’m not lying to you,” he affirms as if he can read your mind. Somehow, you believe him. 

“It’s purple. Lilac and plum and there’s silver stars.” 

“Lovely,” he wraps his arm around you. It’s strange. You don’t feel so... uneasy. Almost calm. “And you’ve not even seen our accommodation, my beautiful wife.” 

“Just... let me enjoy this. Just a little.” 

He hums but says nothing else. His fingers curl into your hips and his chest falls. You’re not happy but you’re not entirely unhappy. Not like it will make much difference. You’re in to deep. 

[roseandxanderfics]

"You cry when people shout at you" (headcanons) - The originals x reader

Klaus Mikaelson

Klaus has never been one to be caught off guard, and certainly not by someone’s tears. Raised on a foundation of fear and power, the concept of vulnerability is foreign to him. So, when you begin to cry after a particularly heated confrontation, Klaus’s first reaction is frustration. He’s just shouted, he’s made his point clear, so why are you weeping in front of him?

"Why are you crying?" Klaus demands, his voice sharp, more of a challenge than an inquiry. He never raises his voice without purpose, but seeing you break down like this — his thoughts begin to blur with confusion and something softer, something buried deep within him. He crosses his arms, waiting for an answer, but you’re too overwhelmed to speak.

The sight of your tears, the way your shoulders tremble with every sob, forces him to pause. This isn’t the reaction he expected — in fact, it’s a punch to his pride. He steps closer, his usual sharpness momentarily forgotten. “Stop crying,” he orders, though there’s no venom in his voice anymore, just the raw edge of discomfort.

You try to stifle your sobs, but it doesn’t matter. Klaus watches you for a moment, torn. Then, almost reluctantly, he reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. It’s not the comforting touch he’s capable of giving, but in this moment, it’s something. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something — guilt, perhaps, or the ghosts of his own long-held regrets.

The next time his anger rises, Klaus catches himself. He may not understand why your tears affect him so, but the very idea of making you cry again is enough to make him pause. He softens, at least in your presence, allowing his biting words to transform into something more controlled. If anyone else dares to raise their voice at you, they’ll quickly find themselves facing Klaus’s wrath, not in a fit of blind rage, but with the cold, calculated fury he reserves for those who cross lines he’s set for those he holds dear.

-------

Elijah Mikaelson

When you cry after a raised voice, it hits Elijah with an emotional punch that he wasn’t prepared for. He prides himself on his restraint, on being the calm in a storm, and the last thing he ever wants to do is cause harm with his words. But when you’re the one on the receiving end of a shout, it’s a blow to his very core.

He notices immediately, his brow furrowing with genuine concern when he sees you wipe away tears from your eyes. Elijah has always been the protector, the shield, but seeing you so vulnerable, so fragile, makes him feel a wave of guilt he’s not used to. He’s used to maintaining his own composure, never letting anyone see him falter, but for you? He can't help but show his concern.

His voice softens, a stark contrast to the harsh words that were previously exchanged. “It’s all right,” he murmurs, stepping toward you, his expression filled with nothing but empathy. His long fingers gently wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks. “You’re not alone in this. I won’t let them treat you like that.” His hands linger on your face for a moment, the touch both reassuring and tender.

Elijah stands tall, yet he’s never felt more vulnerable than in moments like this, where his own composure isn’t enough to fix what’s been broken. He is a man of great strength, but he knows better than anyone that strength is nothing without kindness. He places his hand on your shoulder, offering a firm, steady reassurance. “No more shouting, I promise.”

From that day forward, he takes extra care in how he speaks to you. While his leadership style remains resolute and authoritative, with you, he softens his tone, making sure that when he raises his voice, it’s never in anger, never in a way that could hurt you again. If anyone dares to shout at you, they’ll face the wrath of Elijah Mikaelson — not with threats, but with quiet, unyielding force. He will always shield you, no matter what.

--------

Kol Mikaelson

Kol doesn’t know how to handle tears, especially not yours. When you start crying after a shout, especially when it’s something he’s said, it shakes him in a way that’s almost difficult to comprehend. He’s not used to seeing people fall apart, especially not from something he said — he’s used to being the one who gets under everyone’s skin, not the one causing vulnerability.

At first, he tries to brush it off. “You’re too sensitive,” he says with a scoff, his arms crossing as he steps away, trying to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling swirling in his chest. He doesn’t mean to hurt you — in fact, it’s the last thing he wants. But the sight of you wiping your eyes, your face flushed with emotion, it stings in a way he wasn’t expecting.

But Kol’s not one to dwell on emotions for long, and that’s when his tone softens — not out of apology, but out of something deeper. “Hey, no need for all that,” he mutters awkwardly, moving toward you. His fingers lightly brush the edge of your cheek, his touch gentler than he’s ever allowed himself to be. “I didn’t mean it, alright?”

You don’t need a grand gesture from Kol — you know that by now. But the small, soft shift in his behavior, the way he reacts with an unfamiliar gentleness, is enough to make you feel heard, even if the words he offers aren’t the ones you were hoping for.

He never shouts at you again. In fact, the next time his temper flares, Kol is quick to keep it in check. He may not always express his affection openly, but when it comes to you, he tries — at least in his own way. If anyone else dares to raise their voice near you, they will find themselves looking into the eyes of someone who’s seen the damage caused by unchecked anger and is determined never to cause that kind of pain again.

---------

Marcel Gerard

Marcel has always been protective, but seeing you cry after a raised voice takes him by surprise. He’s not a stranger to confrontation, to anger, but seeing your tears makes him feel like he’s failed you, even though he doesn’t fully understand why. When someone shouts at you, his first reaction is to jump in and defend you, but the sight of you looking so small, so hurt, forces him to stop in his tracks.

“Why are you crying?” he demands, his voice softening when he sees how vulnerable you are. He’s quick to move toward you, brushing away the tear stains on your cheeks. Marcel has never been one for weakness, but with you, he can’t help but feel an overwhelming desire to protect you — to keep you from feeling anything less than safe and cherished.

He leans in, his voice lower this time, tinged with a rare softness. “Don’t let anyone make you feel like that. Not in my presence.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb running along your skin as he tries to comfort you in the only way he knows how.

He knows you hate seeing people shout — he’s come to learn the way it affects you, and he doesn’t like it. In the days that follow, Marcel keeps a close eye on the people around you. If anyone dares to shout again, they’ll see the protective side of him, fierce and unwavering. No one will ever raise their voice at you without facing Marcel’s wrath.

-------

Rebekah Mikaelson

Rebekah, having been raised in a world of anger, betrayal, and harshness, understands more than most the weight of raised voices. But when you cry, her first instinct is to rush to your side, her protective nature kicking in. She hates seeing anyone, especially you, so vulnerable.

When she sees the tears streaking down your face, she feels an immediate urge to fix it. “Shh,” she soothes, stepping toward you with an open, maternal warmth that you don’t always see from her. She places her hands on your shoulders, tilting your face up to meet hers. “It’s alright, darling. You’re safe.”

Her voice is soft, but there’s an intensity behind it — a promise that she will never allow anyone to treat you like that again. Rebekah’s entire being is dedicated to protecting the ones she loves, and in this moment, she’s focused entirely on you.

In the future, if anyone dares to raise their voice in your presence again, Rebekah is quick to intervene. She won’t allow you to be the victim of anyone’s anger. With her by your side, there is no room for fear or harsh words, only the reassurance that she’s there to protect you from the storm.

[candy-ac3]

The reader who has been abstracted but somehow recovered from it and everyone's reaction to the reader returning from it.

tadc crew x recovered abstracted reader

This really peaked my interst so I knew I just had to write it!

Pain, fear, and anger were all you could feel when you were abstracted, in your newly twisted and corrupted mind the only two things you were able to do seem to be attacking and running

You were chasing your “prey” down the hall and into the main room when another sharp pain went through your body as you let out a whine and fell to the ground

You let out more small whines as your body once again changed this time though it was your original form

Caine

His reaction when you first transformed back was pretty calm claiming it was “all part of my plan” though in truth he was the most confused

After a bit he came to the conclusion that you were able to transform back by something specific in the code of your body that others didn’t have

So expect him popping up randomly to try and take samples, which happens at least once per day

After he got what he thought could be used to turn the other abstracted back to normal he tried to use it… it didn’t work for long and he had a large mess to clean afterwards

After that he went back to normal though would still sometimes try to take samples, became a fun pastime for him

Kinger

You thought he was on edge before? Well now he’s even more on edge

At first he tries to avoid you, he never seen anyone returned back from being abstracted how was he supposed to know you wouldn’t transform back

It took a few months for him to few comfortable standing next to you, let alone going on adventures with you

If you two were dating before then expect the complete opposite

After losing Queenie when she abstracted he didn’t know what to do, even more so when you returned back to normal

Very clingy not wanting to risk losing his lover again

Pomni

She didn’t know what to think at first, you had been a huge help and comforted her when she first came here

She also thought you were by far the most sane, she was proven wrong

It just so happened that she was one of the few going to check in on you when they had found your abstracted self, not very good luck for her

You were the first person she actually knew who had gotten abstracted before she could run away without a thought of who it was before, but she knew you, this was someone she cared about

When you returned to normal she didn’t know what to do then, she was also hesitant about being around you not out of fear though but because she just couldn’t believe it was true

She was very quick to warm up again though do expect her to ask if you're okay a lot 

If you two were dating before then she blames herself for you abstracting even if it wasn’t the case

As well with asking you if your okay expect her to give you small gifts 

Gangle

One of the others who had found you, had to be pulled away or else she would have probably stayed standing there crying

She couldn’t do much as many thoughts were going through her mind all coming out in sobs

When you returned to normal she was still sobbing but was also the first one to make sure you were okay

She decides to put up the whole you being abstracted to her imagination, it would be more believable than you abstracting and then just returning back to normal

I picture that even if you two didn’t have the best relationship she would have nightmares about your abstraction

If you two were dating then be prepared for her not sleeping at all since she doesn't need it and everytime she does she get nightmares she takes it out of her schedule 

expect a lot more cuddles then before, she wants to be as close together as she can with you afterwards

Jax

He was the last of the group who found you, he didn’t believe it, he couldn’t

As he ran away pulling Gangle with him he tried to tell himself that this wasn’t real, the abstracted being wasn’t you

When you returned to normal he was hesitant to tease you or prank you

He still did of course but it was a lot less often then before and with all the others

Will often go into your room if you’re in there or not, mainly to make sure you’re okay

If you two were in a relationship he becomes a lot more protective of you

Like a lot more protective, you be lucky if he wasn’t right by your side

Ragatha

When she had heard you were abstracted she couldn’t believe it, she ran to where you were seeing you right before you went back to normal

She froze her mind racing as she felt numb, until Gangle brought her back when asking you if your okay

When she get back to her senses she ran up and hugged you and kept asking if you’re okay

Many checkups to make sure you’re okay

Feels awful for not noticing the signs feeling like she should have seen them

If you two are in a relationship then she blames herself for your abstraction 

Many small gifts

Zooble 

Was the only one who didn’t see you when you were abstracted 

Was panicked and confused when they heard what had happened 

She didn’t really change much other then being nicer to you

Inside though he was cursing himself out for not doing more

If the two of you were in a relationship then expect them to care a lot more 

Tbh Zooble was the hardest one for me so I have the least for them, but yeah sorry this took a bit didn't have a lot of time to write today

[bones4thecats]

Tfp Ultra Magnus x pregnant Fembot reader, both are conjux, when the chapter arrives where Predaking breaks Magnus's hand, the reader rescues him, but ends up in a fight with Predaking, but he began to see her as his Queen, and wanted to take her away.

TFP! Ultra Magnus' S/O vs Predaking

Character: Ultra Magnus (Transformers Prime) Requester: @zinnia1506 A/N: There is no mention of the Reader being 'pregnant' (carrying), but you can imagine it being true. I just couldn't link it very well ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of war, fighting, complete body harm (hand being crushed-no gore tho), and maybe some underlying yandere behavior from Predaking ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ultra Magnus ═══════════════════════════╝

🎖️ Ultra Magnus did not like to show his emotions. They were in a war for crying out loud! But when it came to you, his longtime friend and current sparkmate, he couldn't help but let you see behind his mask

🎖️ It wasn't much of a change, but you got to see how some things got to him, like the loss of your home planet and you went on your own on his ship before settling with Team Prime on Earth

🎖️ As you spent days and then weeks on the muddy planet, you grew close with the humans your Cybertronian allies were close. Though, you were closest with the human named Miko Nakadai, she reminded you of yourself before the war

🎖️ Speaking of the war, it was hard to know that the Decepticons had boosted up their power with a Predacon, how they got a hold of a fragment of their CNA you have no clue

🎖️ Anyways. Because of how low the energon sources were getting for you all, your team had gone out and begun to hoist them back to your base, and while the others went back to the base, you stayed with Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus inside the mine

🎖️ And that was a big mistake

🎖️ You had seen the Predacon launch himself at your friend and sparkmate, and while Magnus grabbed you and helped you get away from where the Cybertronian-beast landed, you readied your weapon, a long spear, and began to fight alongside them

🎖️ The fear you had as the mechs all clashed and knocked one another aside as, like humans say, dolls, was something immense. And it only got worse when the 'Con managed to get the two of them practically wasted by using the surrounding rocks to his advantage

🎖️ As Predaking landed on Magnus' servo, your face went blank with shock. How dare he.

🎖️ While Predaking scoffed at the pain he caused Ultra Magnus by crushing his servo into pieces, he began his small walk towards the Forge of Solus Prime

"And here I was just beginning to tolerate you." You heard Wheeljack say as he laid down in pain.

"It's been an honor serving alongside you, soldier." Ultra Magnus answered.

🎖️ As Predaking lifted the Forge, you began to stand, lodging your spear's blade into the cave's walls before loosening your rarely-used seeker wings before taking a deep breath to calm yourself down

🎖️ The sound of the Forge being torn into two parts making your anger surge more, especially after Predaking threatened your sparkmate

"Prepare to perish." Lifting his clawed servo, Predaking was launched aside as you threw your spear, a large rock being attached to it.

"Magnus, Wheeljack! Stand and get out of here! I'll hold this guy off." You said, transforming into your alt-mode, a McDonnell Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle, and began to fire your AIM-9M Sidewinders at the larger Cybertronian.

"Y/N. We're not leaving you alone with him!" Wheeljack yelled as he tried to stand.

"Oh for spark's sake! Go!" You growled, flying at the Predacon and de-transforming to kick him in the face, knocking him into more rubble deeper in the cave system.

🎖️ Hearing Optimus' voice ring through the cavern made you relax slightly before turning back to your opponent as he stood from the rocks and looked at you with wide optics and a small smile growing on his face

"What are you smiling about, 'Con?" You asked, an expression of determination and annoyance on your own face.

"You're strong... stronger than the others... you must be... you must be mine." Predaking said, standing up proudly as he said this.

🎖️ Your optics widened as you began to tremble, remembering hearing those words once from a certain Warlord before the war even began, leaving your home as a floating ball of scrap metal

"Y/N, hurry!" Optimus yelled, snapping you out of your trance.

🎖️ Transforming again, you flew after your leader, who was carrying both Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack on his shoulders. And as you exited the cave, you blasted the rocks above the entrance, hopefully slowing the Predacon down more

»–•–«

🎖️ Sitting in front of Optimus while Ultra Magnus' servo was being operated on by Ratchet, you shivered, which made your leader look at you with a saddened expression

"I know..." He started. "You remembered that day with Megatron, Y/N."

"I just- I can't hear those words the same. Him saying it was enough for my spark to bear! But now, now I have that beast's words being mixed with his..." You said, holding your helm in your servos as you cried.

"Y/N, look at me."

🎖️ Looking up from your servos, you felt Optimus wipe your lubricant that fell from your optics with his own servo. He then looked at you and smiled gently, opening his arms in a gesture for a hug

🎖️ You hugged him as he hushed you and allowed you to weep as much as you wished, emotions were normal, so it was only normal for you to express them so openly

"Don't worry, Ultra Magnus will make a fine recovery. I'm sure of it." The Prime said.

"Thank you," you sniffed, "Optimus. Thank you."

"It is no problem. Now, I recommend you take some time to recharge. After all, fighting such an opponent must take some energy out of you. I shall awake you when Ultra Magnus also awakens, alright?"

"Yes."

🎖️ Optimus smiled as you walked off to recharge, most likely in your alt-mode in a nearby bunker. You really were scared though, weren't you? He was going to need to tell the others of the issue sometime. But for you, you needed to let this information finally calm down in your processor

[explosionkatsu]

Fulfilling Desires

Human!Alastor x Killer!F!Reader

Warnings: Gores, mention of killing and blood 🩸

Early 1929 - 1930

You were one of the people who were entertained by the Black Tuesday, known as the Stock Market Crash in 1929. You were one of the pessimistic bearish investors who betted against the market making you instantly rich in no time. But after this occurrence, you were somewhat delighted that it didn't cause the ‘Great Depression’ is what they named it. You can still catch a glimpse of how everything went to an ordinary state as if nothing major happened, but the trash and debris around you say otherwise.

As the year 1930 came close, a sudden number of murder cases ascended. You were unbothered by this though.

As the sun began to set, an eerie silence fell over the city streets. The once-bustling roads now lay almost deserted, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, as if the very air was thick with a sense of fear. Shops and stores, usually open till late, are now closing their shutters and locking up their doors much earlier than usual, as people seek the safety of their homes. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city, almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting for the danger to pass.

You find this odd since you haven't slaughtered anyone for a few months, so it seems like there's another murderer in town. You couldn't help but grin inwardly as you observed the group of people scurry towards the shelter of their homes, seeking refuge from whatever threat or danger loomed in the distance. The sight of their hurried movements and anxious expressions was both amusing and intriguing, and you found yourself quietly contemplating the amount of emotions that must be coursing through their minds at that moment. But it made you question, who is the murderer and what is their purpose.

Well, you know why you slaughter, and you wouldn't even deny the sense of rapture whenever you listen to the cry of your prey who was pleading for mercy. Just thinking back to this made you chuckle.

‘Oh, those poor souls’ You pondered to yourself as you now gazed upon the deserted street of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been months since you slaughtered, and you took it upon yourself to take a break after seeing how people do the same measures when you were still active.

Feeling sufficient at glimpsing out of your window, you fixed yourself a hot coffee before resting on one of your cozy settees and shifting on the radio, tuning to your favorite radio host.

Alastor, with a wicked smile on his face, finds it amusing knowing the sudden transformation of a bustling street into a lifeless ghost town. The fear and terror that radiate from every corner of the abandoned street only fuel his twisted sense of pleasure, driving him to keep moving forward with confidence. Nothing and no one can stand in his way as he relishes the power he holds over the once-bustling town.

But it is not yet the time to strike.

"Good evening, wonderful people of New Orleans! As you settle into the comfort of your homes tonight, I do hope that you are all secure and cozy. I cannot wait to share the latest news with you, but before we proceed, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the hardworking authorities. These amazing individuals have been working overtime on some important cases these past few days, and their dedication to keeping us all safe is truly commendable! So, let's give them a big round of applause!" Cue the sound effect. "Now, let's dive into the evening news!" Alastor leaned in closely to the microphone as he spoke. He carefully flipped through the pages of his script, making sure to stay on track with the prepared content. As he read, his rich voice filled his home studio with a sense of confidence. Despite being live on air, Alastor remained calm and composed, delivering each line with precision and clarity.

"Another civilian was found in a gruesome situation in an alleyway near a club. The authorities recognized the body to be Daniel Thompson who's a worker in a men's boutique." Alastor smiled wickedly as he performed his unnatural serious yet saddened voice. "Authorities said they found him with a few of his organs missing, including his heart. Up until now, the perpetrator responsible for the incident is yet to be identified due to insufficient evidence."

Alastor's grin was so wickedly mischievous. As he scrutinized his script, he was transported back in time, reliving every moment with vivid clarity. The words on the page had the power to evoke memories and emotions he felt, almost as if he were living the scenes all over again. Oh, what a pleasure!

Alastor leaned into his microphone, his resonant. "It's truly astounding the thoughts that run through people's minds these days, isn't it?" he mused. "But let's not forget about the safety of those working the night shift. Take extra care on your way home tonight. We don't want any more victims to fall prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark. With that being said, please enjoy this music while I'm off-air! Have a lovely evening everyone."

As soon as Alastor finished his performance, he switched off his microphone and decided to treat his audience with some smooth jazz. After that, he stood up, leaving his script behind in the studio. He walked towards his basement to retrieve a few items that he needed for his later agenda. He carefully checked if everything was secured before speaking, "I'm pretty sure you must be feeling famished by now."

Suddenly, his shadow appeared beside him, grinning playfully. "You know me too well," his shadow replied.

Alastor chuckled at his shadow's response. "Don't worry, we'll be out in a while after I present my final script to the audience," he said confidently, feeling proud of himself.

With that being said after the final music played, Alastor went back to his studio for his final script before bidding goodbye.

Alastor's voice echoed through the microphone, "I'm afraid it is now time for me to leave. Let's give my colleague, the next host, a round of applause. Thank you for listening, and once again, this is your host, Alastor, signing off." With a click, he turned off his on-air light and proceeded to unplug all the devices he had used in his studio.

He then reached for his velvet trench coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and put it on. He tipped his black trilby hat and walked towards the door with a small bag on his back. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way out of the studio, leaving behind the dimly lit room, and proceeded to the front door for his next agenda.

It was now 10 pm as he left his home with all the lights switched off. Every step he takes is hushed as he makes his way to the deserted street. He knew that he'd find every drunkard going home at this hour, especially since almost every club was still active at this hour which he was grateful for.

"I'm craving for a woman.." Says his shadow in his head.

Alastor arrived at a well-known club, his heart pounding with excitement. He made his way to a dark corner, where he could observe the establishment without being noticed.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of friends who were leaving the club. Among them was an intoxicated blonde woman who caught his eye. Despite her friends' attempts to convince her to ride with them, she declined and instead began walking away, waving goodbye.

Alastor's heart raced in excitement as he saw his opportunity. He followed the woman from a distance, his footsteps silent as he moved closer. He could hear her soft laughter and the gentle sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

'What an idiot,' Alastor thought to himself as he kept an eye on her.

As he trails her in the shadow, he watches a fleet of police vehicles zoom past without offering any assistance to the vulnerable woman. The sound of their sirens fades away in the distance, leaving her alone and helpless. It's as if they deemed her unworthy of their time and resources. When he finally noticed the coast was clear, he watched her vomit in a nearby alley.

He then began his approach.

"My, my. A pretty woman like you shouldn't be alone at this hour!" Alastor approached the woman with a friendly ambiance. "May I offer you assistance, my dear?" He smiled offering her his hand to hold.

Too drunk, the woman looked at him, captivated by how handsome the man who was willing to help her. Without thinking, she nodded and grabbed his hand. "You look so handsome~"

Alastor chuckled at this, "So I've been told, darling." He responded, ushering her to walk. "May I ask, why a lovely woman like you alone at this hour? Didn't you hear about the murderer on the loose?"

"Nah! I know I'll be fine~" The woman giggled. "Now that you're here. I know you'll protect me~"

"Oh, don't worry darling. I will keep you safe." Alastor smiled.

Guiding her to the unlit alleyway was too easy, especially when the woman suddenly passed out on him. 'This is too easy.' Alastor thought as he smiled viciously.

"Keep an eye on the area. Make sure no one sees." Alastor commanded his shadow who immediately nodded and left.

Of course, without letting any more seconds go by, he put a gag on the woman, as well as blindfolded her eyes.

As he lifted the weight of the woman in his arms, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. A smile played on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away as he felt a small dread over him.

Alastor's smile twitched. 'Fuck' He thought to himself.

You noticed him staring at you with a tense expression. Without a word, you raised your index finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, indicating that he should remain silent. The suddenness of the gesture seemed to surprise him, and he watched as you walked away with a sense of bewilderment, wondering what had just happened.

He now knows who's his next target.

The morning sun shone brightly as you stepped out, breathing in the fresh air. The street was slowly coming to life, with stores opening up and people bustling about. You walked with purpose, your steps confident and elegant.

As you walked, people couldn't help but notice you. Women scanned your outfit as you passed by, admiring your choice of clothing and the way you carried yourself. You were a sight to behold, a true embodiment of grace and poise.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to see the same man from last night, Alastor, standing before you with a smile on his face.

"What a stunning elegant woman you are," he said, his voice smooth and confident. You giggled in response, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Why, I appreciate the compliment, Sir," you said, slightly bowing your head in acknowledgment.

Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes, admiring your beauty. "A polite one as well!" he beamed. "What do you say I treat you to breakfast? I couldn't help but admire you from afar as soon as I saw you."

"Aren't you a charmer," you giggled, your hand covering your lips in amusement. "I don't mind the offer."

"Shall we?" Alastor gestured towards the door of the nearby cafe, his eyes never leaving you.

"Why, thank you," you smiled as you entered the establishment with him following close behind.

The sound of smooth jazz filled the cozy and inviting cafe, creating a relaxed atmosphere that put everyone at ease. As you walked in, the patrons briefly looked up from their coffee and newspaper, taking in both you and Alastor's presence before returning to their affairs. The chimes hanging near the door suddenly made a delicate sound, adding to the already pleasant ambiance.

Alastor courteously escorted you to a cozy corner seat in the bustling cafe, carefully selecting a spot where there were fewer people having their breakfast. He pulled out a chair for you and patiently observed as you comfortably settled into it.

"Thank you." You smiled and watched him sit across from you.

As you settled into your seats, a courteous waiter appeared at your table, menus in hand. You both took your time reading the extensive selection of dishes, taking note of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. After a few minutes, you both decided on your meals and handed the menus back to the waiter, who gracefully took them and jotted down your order. He then returned to you with a small card bearing your table number, ensuring your meals would find their way to the right place.

Alastor's gaze fell upon the withdrawing waiter, his eyes half-lidded as he commented, "Hm. Such a nice young lady." His voice carried a sense of intrigue thinking what would her flesh would taste like before turning to face you. You could feel his presence looming over you as he continued, "I'm quite sure you know why I invited you." The tone in his voice made it clear that there was something important he wanted to discuss with you.

You smiled at him knowingly and replied, "Oh, believe me, I already know why." As you looked at him, you couldn't help but notice his striking eyes and his calm demeanor. "It is an absolute pleasure to have this unexpected encounter with you. My name is Y/n L/n." You extended your hand towards him, hoping that he would reciprocate the gesture and shake it.

Alastor's lips curved upwards into a charming smile as he reached out to take your hand. He didn't shake it, but instead, he pulled it towards his face and planted a delicate kiss on your skin. "I must say, the pleasure is all mine, Y/n. I am Alastor," he said, introducing himself with a suave tone. "Quite a pleasure."

Once Alastor let go of your hand, he spoke with a hint of closeness, "I'm quite positive you know me from my broadcast."

‘I see.’ A realization dawned on you, and you couldn't help but smile, "I am a big fan of your evening stories, Mister Alastor. They're my absolute favorite. Although, I was quite baffled when you didn't share any tales last night." You pouted your lips playfully, trying to taunt him. "I was truly saddened," you added with a tinge of disappointment.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at you as you made that face. He knew that you were trying to pull his leg. "I truly apologize, Y/n. But something suddenly came up, and I just couldn't make it," he responded while taking your hand in his and gently caressing it to comfort you.

You flashed a smile, trying to mask the growing emotions that were brewing inside you. "Do not worry, Mister Alastor. I quite understand your reasoning." A glint in your eyes almost showed your true as your smile slowly morphed into a knowing grin. The corners of your natural pink lips curled up, revealing the hint of a sinister plan that was about to unfold.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the familiar smile. He knew right away that this person was not as naive as he had previously thought. "If it would interest you," he said with a smooth and charming tone, "I would be delighted to invite you to my humble abode where I perform my nightly broadcast." His smile was inviting. "You can watch me live tonight if you so choose."

You flashed a smile at Alastor, conveying you're accepting his offer. "That would be lovely, my dear sir," you said politely.

Alastor's eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! I will have you taste my mother's secret jambalaya recipe!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Alastor's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will be a delight," you replied, eagerly anticipating the dish.

For a brief moment, you both stared at each other, as if silently communicating through your eyes. However, the arrival of the waiter carrying your food broke the spell, causing both of you to avert your gaze.

Alastor hummed, his eyes glinting as he watched the waiter approach their table carrying their orders and placing them on the table. You thanked the waiter and gestured to Alastor to tuck into your much-awaited breakfast.

As you finished, Alastor pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his address on it. "Make sure you arrive before dusk," he said, his voice low and intense.

You took the paper from him, tucking it safely into your bosom. "Thank you for the delightful breakfast and your company, Mister Alastor," you said, bowing your head in respect.

"Please, call me Alastor," he insisted, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're not some peasant beneath me."

Your lips graced a smile reaching your eyes as you locked eyes with Alastor, feeling a sudden and intense connection with him. "I'll see you this evening," he added, his voice dropping even lower.

The smile never left your lips as he kissed your hand and turned to leave, his back straight and his head held high. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

'This evening will be unforgettable,' you thought to yourself, turning to walk the other way your smile dropping.

Arriving at his home, Alastor quietly entered. Not a small squeak was heard from any of his movements. His eyes are still half-lidded while he makes his way to his cellar.

The cellar is dark, the only source of light is coming from the small window located at the end of the room. But it wasn't enough to illuminate the entire place.

Alastor took a few steps into the dark room. The scent of rotting flesh was all around the room, the floor was stained with dried blood, and the walls were full of scrapes, claw marks, and even a few splatters of blood. There sat the now awake blonde woman who was gagged and blindfolded. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together. Next to her was a stainless bowl with a spoon and a water bottle which Alastor used to feed her before he left.

"It seems like you won't be alone any longer in here, hmm." A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he gazed down at the woman who was crying in the corner. "Don't cry now, darling. I don't want my meat to taste bad."

You had a fast-paced day and were now making your way towards Alastor's house. The house was located in the middle of the woods, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calmness as you approached it. However, you were ready for anything, with a rapier in its sheath strapped to your thighs. As you walked closer to the entrance, you noticed the house was much like a cabin in the woods, but much bigger and tidier, almost like a mansion.

Once you knocked on the door, it was instantly pulled open by Alastor "Ah! Y/n. Please, come in," He said, welcoming you inside and locked the door behind you, which you couldn't help but notice.

You could see a bunch of deer antlers hanging on his wall, and the seemingly decomposed head of a deer hanging in the middle of the room where his chimney was located caught your attention, "I see that you hunt. Mostly stag." You slightly smirk turning your head to look at him. You could see that Alastor was a skilled hunter, with his collection of deer antlers and other hunting trophies on display.

"Ah, yes. I hunt for fun. But I sometimes crave venison meat, my dear." He chuckled and admitted. "They are quite softer than any ordinary meat."

"How curious." You giggled. "Now you made me wonder what they taste like, Alastor," you said, expressing your curiosity about the taste.

"I don't mind giving you one, my dear." Alastor chuckled. "But it might take a while for me to get my hands on it."

"Is that so." You mumbled looking at him. "But I know one type of meat that was indeed soft and scrumptious."

"I'm not quite sure what you are talking about, my dear." Alastor smiled walking toward his studio with you following behind.

"Alastor, dear. I am not foolish." You chuckled. "I am fully aware of your intentions after what I saw last night." Once you mentioned this, Alastor halted and turned to look at you. You can see his smile thinned. "And I do know this is the reason why you invited me here." You giggled covering your lips with your hand. "I know your game." You said as you confidently walked into his studio without asking for his permission, ready to take on whatever was waiting for you.

"Then I believe I don't need to hide anything from you, Y/n," spoke Alastor, his voice like velvet. As he gradually made his way towards you, he wrapped his arm around your waist in a slow, almost dancing motion.

You didn't feel uncomfortable with his touch though. You simply let out a carefree laugh, which delighted Alastor. You took your time gazing into his half-lidded eyes, which were staring back at you, before slowly pulling away from him. You dusted off your skirt, a small action that didn't go unnoticed by Alastor. "It's for you to decide, Mister Alastor," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful mystery.

Alastor arched an eyebrow inquisitively, his piercing gaze fixed on the object of his affection. 'Is she teasing me?' he wondered out loud. Without missing a beat, he reached out and placed a strong, reassuring hand on her lower back. "Perhaps you'll find this a lovely present, my darling," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

As you both stepped out of his studio, you looked around and asked with curiosity, "Hm? Where are we headed now?" You couldn't help but feel intrigued by the unknown destination as you walked alongside him.

"You'll see."

You decided to go along with his plan, despite feeling uncertain. You wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen next. However, your suspicion began to grow when you realized that he was taking you down to the basement. This sudden change in direction made you feel slightly uneasy.

The scent of rotting flesh was the first thing you noticed once you both reached the cellar. Despite the utter darkness that engulfed the room, you cautiously trailed behind Alastor, trusting his lead. As you neared the threshold, a faint glimmer of light illuminated the scene just enough to reveal the silhouette of a blonde woman. She appeared to be the same person he had carried on the night you apprehended him.

Alastor anticipated that you would be frightened upon witnessing the sight of the weeping woman who was captured. But instead, you displayed a devious gaze and a vicious smile. He became more interested in you.

With measured steps, you closed the distance between yourself and the mysterious woman. The soft click of your heels beneath your feet echoed in the stillness. As you drew nearer, you could see the delicate features of her face and the strands of hair that had fallen across her sweaty forehead. Finally, you knelt beside her, feeling the coldness of the ground beneath your knees before taking the blindfold off of her. The woman looked at both of you, terrified. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she whined through the gag as if begging for freedom.

"You poor thing.." You mumbled looking at her eye to eye. "This is why you should never walk in the dark." As you uttered words, your hand stretched out, delicately brushing away a solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

Alastor stood there, his eyes fixed on you, as you went about your task. He couldn't help but wonder if the way you were doing things was your usual method.

"Such beautiful face, my dear." You whispered. "Too bad it will go to waste.." With utmost care, you slid the gleaming rapier out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light. You held it up for the woman to see, her fearful gaze fixed on the sharp edge that seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you are, my darling," Alastor spoke behind you, brushing your h/c locks to the side. He then sensually leaned down, placing an alluring kiss on your nape just as he wrapped his arm around your waist and leisurely held your hand where your rapier was.

Your eyes narrow as you watch the woman closely, who is frantically attempting to flee from the both of you using her abilities. You can see the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her movements. As she tries to escape, you notice the subtle quiver in her hands and the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Despite her efforts, she seems to be struggling to try and escape, making her attempts all the more frantic. "Oh, I would assure you. Nothing is as beautiful as her bathing in her own blood.." You spoke.

The woman's final screech was heard through the night followed by your rapier's blade slithering against her neck bringing her blood to splatter on the pair of you.

But as he witnesses the death of the woman by your hands, Alastor can't help himself but bring fingers to your face, clutching you by your jaw and wringing your face to him before he aggressively places his lips against yours. His actions caused you to drop the rapier and wrap your arms around his neck, returning the kiss almost too desperately.

Your lips danced against his as you felt him fighting for dominance. You felt his arm unbuttoning your blouse, drenched in blood. This causes you to do a similar action, unbuttoning his clothes and sliding both your arms in, feeling his bare skin brushing against your palm.

You felt him pushing you gently, bringing you to lie on the blood-soaked floor while he pulled your maxi skirt.

[narcjsistx]

Hello:). Can you do a Rindou Haitani x gf reader headcanon. Where she's visiting him and Ran while they're in juvenile. Her sending them food and stuff to make them fell more comfortable.

— Rindou Haitani in a relationship in juvenile HCS ᡣ𐭩

You and Rindou had been together for a relatively short time when he ended up in juvenile. You found out a few hours when the TV news showed a report where his name and that of his brother appeared. You can swear he had a heart attack when you saw his face in the arrest poster broadcast by journalists

A few hours later you ran to the first shift open to relatives. Rindou didn't expect to see you right away so when you spoke to him he was a little reluctant for the simple fact that he thought he had disappointed you. On the other hand Ran was very calm, indeed almost amused by the situation and by seeing his little brother so embarrassed

Your dates have transformed into the weekly meetings that the prison organized when it left prisoners free to talk to their loved ones for 3 hours. Going from shaking hands to talking through a glass was a problem for both of you, to the point where it was Rindou himself who told you that if you wanted to break up he wouldn't have a problem because he knew how strange and complicated the situation was. You simply responded to him in another way, hiding a letter in his monthly package with all the reasons why you fell in love with him

Speaking of monthly packages... you used this technique right from the start. You made him tell you what he wanted and if necessary also what Ran wanted and you got it in a short time. More than a few times you hid something else in the package, like a photo of the two of you or mini dedications that you thought before handing the package over to the guards. The best moment came during the meetings, where he would talk to you about what he thought of the dedications

The days before delivering the package were busy days. You spent hours in shops to get what he asked for and hours in the kitchen to prepare what he preferred

Little by little, you gained the trust of the guards who ran Rindou's cell. You had to wait a year before having a little contact with him again, where you held hands through a hole in the cell that the guards had pointed out to you. Did you both cry? Obviously

The day of its release was really emotional for both of us. Before he even finished going down the stairs he found himself with you on top of you hugging him crying, and even though he hid it a little, he was extremely happy to be able to have you close to him again and not through glass

You only learned years later, when he had long since been released from prison, that his thoughts were constantly turned to you and the certainty he had received from the confirmation that you would be his wife. The reason? You could very well have broken up with him, yet you took care of everything without demanding anything... if that's not a loving wife, what else is?

[dioslesbianwife]

Hello!! This is “✨” !! I’m glad you were able to catch up and hopefully you’ll get to write the things you wanna write. I have a jofoe house headcanon ask!!

What do you think some of the jofoes favorite foods are? And ranking who’s the least to best cook in the house?

hii ✨! i seriously love writing jojo villain house type stuff lol tyyyy for requesting and i hope you enjoy :3

Dio Brando

Favorite Food: Rare steak (emphasis on rare—he barely cooks it at all). Also enjoys expensive wines, black truffle pasta, and blood oranges (for the drama).

Food Vibe: He eats like a man trying to intimidate the concept of dinner itself.

Kars

Favorite Food: Sushi or sashimi, something pristine and refined. Occasionally obsesses over perfect fruit, like a single flawless pear.

Food Vibe: He treats food like art. Refuses to eat anything he deems “aesthetic sabotage.”

Wamuu

Favorite Food: Simple meat dishes, probably grilled or roasted. Likes hearty stews.

Food Vibe: He eats like a disciplined warrior—efficient and clean. No crumbs. No mess.

Esidisi

Favorite Food: Spicy food. Like, nuclear-level spicy. Loves curry, chili, anything that makes others cry.

Food Vibe: He's the kind of guy who bites into a raw chili pepper like it's a carrot.

Yoshikage Kira

Favorite Food: Sandwiches. Also a sucker for elegant, perfectly sliced fruits. Low-mess, silent foods.

Food Vibe: He likes food that won't leave messy fingerprints.

Diavolo

Favorite Food: Rich, gourmet Italian food—like creamy risotto or veal parmigiana. Will absolutely not eat leftovers.

Food Vibe: He eats like a snob and makes weird eye contact while chewing.

Doppio

Favorite Food: Ice cream and sorbet. Also spaghetti.

Food Vibe: Will eat frosting from the tub with a spoon- he insists it’s a quick way to get energy when he’s working late nights.

Enrico Pucci

Favorite Food: Something elegant and symbolic like wine-poached pears or communion wafers dipped in espresso.

Food Vibe: He eats in contemplative silence, like he's analyzing the soul of the meal.

Funny Valentine

Favorite Food: Classic American fare—apple pie, roast chicken, and cornbread. Likes anything tied to national pride.

Food Vibe: Thinks a well-made burger is a work of art. Probably grills shirtless.

Diego Brando

Favorite Food: Raw meat (when transformed), otherwise loves rare steaks, oysters, and fancy champagne.

Food Vibe: Only eats expensive, high-protein food. Has carnivorecore energy.

Tooru

Favorite Food: Super trendy foods—matcha lattes, honey cakes, mochi ice cream. Loves wasabi peas and chewy candies.

Food Vibe: Eats whatever’s in right now, but makes it look effortless.

🔪 Cooking Skill Rankings (Worst to Best)

11. DIO – 0/10

Thinks cooking is beneath him. Tried once, set the oven on fire, blamed the oven.

“Why would I prepare food when I can command it to be brought to me?”

10. Kira – 1/10

Can technically make a sandwich, but that’s it. Also terrifyingly precise with a knife.

Scary clean kitchen, but soulless food.

9. Diego – 2/10

Has never cooked in his life. Took forever to learn to use a microwave.

Eats raw meat more often than he should. Do not trust this man in a kitchen.

8. Tooru – 4/10

Can cook decently enough..

Makes food look pretty but it’s always lukewarm. Leaves a huge mess for someone else to clean.

7. Diavolo – 5/10

Can cook, but acts like Gordon Ramsay. Yells at everyone. Screams at the sauce.

Overcomplicates everything. It’s just pasta bro.

6. Pucci – 6/10

Bakes occasionally. His muffins slap. Calm, methodical cook.

However, half of his dishes are based on religious symbolism. Sometimes gives strange sermons and acts like he’s teaching a cooking class.

5. Valentine – 6.5/10

Good at traditional comfort foods. Surprisingly competent with a grill.

Will tell you the “founding fathers ate this” every time he serves something.

4. Esidisi – 7/10

Passionate cook, but everything is spicy enough to kill a normal man.

Loud, fiery chef. Gets emotional for no reason while he cooks.

3. Wamuu – 8/10

Precise, tidy, and patient. Excellent at grilling and roasting. Makes hearty meals.

Will never cook anything too fancy, but everything he makes is solid.

2. Doppio – 8.5/10

Surprisingly amazing at baking and cooking homestyle meals.

Sweet little homemaker vibes. The only problem: sometimes Diavolo takes over mid-meal and ruins it.

1. Kars – 10/10

He’s the best cook in the house. Flawless. Could probably invent new flavors.

Cooks in silence, but every dish is breathtaking. Will not take feedback.