#vitamin A for eyes brightness

[bombshelllblonde]

Moodboard for Fiji Water by Owl City.

“I ain’t a smooth talker, but thanks for the fiji water.”

(inspired by @stingrayextraordinaire moodboards!!!!)

[providence-park]

OWL CITY - VITAMIN SEA OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO

[loverofallthingssmart]

sickening how much my eyes have changed in only a year

[the-vitamins-shop]

IC-Bright Eye Health Formula

A Nutrigenomic Supplement packed with Antioxidants, Nutrients, and Carotenoids, Validated to Support Eye and Brain Health.

[mellowsaturns]

one for you and me

BUCKY BARNES X READER

summary: bucky takes care of you since you’re always taking care of others

wc: 430

warnings: fluff, sweet sweet bucky barnes, friends to implied lovers

a/n: hopping on the orange discourse

You knew he was the one when he handed you the sweet citrus fruit one afternoon.

Since the weather was getting colder, you decided to stock up on vitamins, and what better way to do it than buy boxes and boxes of oranges.

Whenever one of the team came by the kitchen, you would peel an orange for them. Or sometimes, you would just peel it and have it ready for them after their training sessions or morning jogs so they remember to get their daily dose of vitamin C.

You were reading your book by the windowsill in the living room one day when you smelled the faint bright scent.

Then, someone placed a freshly peeled orange in front of your sight. “Here you go.”

You looked up, eyes meeting Bucky’s.

You paused for a moment before reaching out and taking it from his hand. “Thank you,” you said, appreciative but kind of confused.

“How come you’re giving me this?” you asked, curious.

“You’re always looking after other people,” he answered immediately. “When was the last time you ate one yourself?”

You chuckled. “I don’t mind,” you replied, ��I just came back from a long mission. I’m free for the time being anyways.”

“Still,” he added, “You’re always doing things for others. Let me do this for you,” he said, eyes gentle and sweet.

Your heart swelled at his words.

It dawned on you. Something as simple as peeling a small fruit. It gets into your nails and the juice drips down your hands sometimes. It’s an act of labour—an act of love. And Bucky wanted to do it for you. He notices. He cares.

How sweet, you think. It made the butterflies in your stomach flutter tenfold. You had to look down to hide your grin and that action within itself made Bucky blush.

“Think you can handle peeling oranges for me for the rest of your life?” you teased.

He pondered for a bit, then a small smile crept up his face. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he replied.

Although the words weren’t said, the implication was there. He’s going to be by your side. He wanted to be by your side. He’s willing to get his hands dirty and sticky.

You grabbed the delicately peeled orange and split it in half. “Here, let’s share.”

The two of you sit by the windowsill, your book half forgotten in your lap, tearing segments of the fruit and giving it to each other—something promising between the two of you in the air.

[moonstruckme]

spencer reid waking up the next morning and reader's chest is cOVERED in hickies/bruises and he is freaked out and is so sorry that he hurt reader, and she has to talk him off a ledge bc she just bruises easily? thank you!

Thanks for requesting!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 728 words

Spencer’s wanted to get you like this forever. In his apartment, in his bed, with the pale morning light washing over your features. Your face is all smoothed out, placid and pretty against his pillowcase. Your eyelids twitch as you dream. Spencer’s never put as much stock into dreams as some other psychologists, but he really wants to know what you dream about. He hopes you remember enough to tell him. 

You stir a bit, rolling onto your back and letting the covers slip down from where you’ve been holding them tucked them underneath your chin. Spencer’s chest warms at the sleepy movement, but he pauses at the mark that’s revealed just above your collarbone. The bruise is stark and angry in the early sunlight, red turning to purple. Spencer’s heart contracts. Is that from him? He doesn’t remember treating you so cruelly. 

He holds his breath, brushing gently over the spot with his forefinger. It has to hurt. How could he have done something like this without knowing? He remembers kissing you there, sucking a little, but nothing that would leave a mark like this. 

You shift at the touch, and the sheet falls another few inches. Two more, one on your shoulder and another just below the first. Spencer sucks in a breath. 

You hum and roll towards him, eyelids peeling open. “Spence?” 

Spencer’s working the sheet out from under your arm, trying to get another look at the bruises. Trying to prove to himself that he did actually see them. 

“Spence,” you say again, groggily. “What’re you doing?” 

“Sorry I—” He lets the sheet go, trying to collect himself. “I just—I saw the hickeys, from last night, and I—”

“Oh, are they bad?” You push yourself upright, letting the sheet fall away completely. 

Spencer is aghast. He’s lost for words. He needs to be thrown into federal prison. 

Bruises cover your chest. Your collarbones, your breasts, the undersides of your breasts, your shoulders—all of it. Spencer doesn’t recall marking you up so thoroughly. He hardly recalls kissing you in half these places. 

“Oh my god.” He looks at your eyes, repentant. “Sweetheart, I had no idea I was being this rough with you. I’m so sorry.” 

“Spence,” you laugh. “It’s okay.” 

“You should have said something if I was hurting you. I never want to do anything like—”

“Hey,” you cut him off, and you’re still smiling, which he thinks is really rather inappropriate. He’s desecrated you. “It didn’t hurt, okay? I was fine, and I’m still fine. I just bruise really easily.” 

Spencer feels his eyebrows bunch disbelievingly. “This easily? These look like they could have been done with a pellet gun.” 

You shrug, looking a bit bashful as you pull your shoulders up around you. He’s willing to bet you’re fighting the urge to cover yourself with the sheet.

He covers one of the marks on your shoulder with his thumb, watching your face carefully. “Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing on it gently. 

Your eyelashes don’t so much as flicker. “No,” you say honestly. 

Spencer feels like his chest might collapse in relief. “Jesus. That really scared me,” he admits. 

Your lips twitch. “Yeah, I could tell. Sorry for freaking you out.” 

“Sorry for defacing you,” he responds, pressing an especially gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “And for waking you up with my freak out.” 

You let your smile bloom, bright and endearingly kind. “I don’t mind,” you say.

Spencer analyzes you, contemplative. “You know, that sort of bruising could be caused by an iron deficiency. Or a lack of vitamin C.” 

“Mhm?” You’re completely uninterested, leaning forwards to kiss his chin. You nose at the stubble on his cheek. 

“How would you feel about having some spinach in your eggs?” 

You sit back. “You’re going to make me eggs?” 

“Well,” Spencer smiles sheepishly, “first we have to go to the store for spinach and eggs, and then yes. If you want, I’d be happy to make you eggs.” 

“Okay,” you say breezily, swinging your legs out of the bed, “but if you’re only doing it so I’ll stop bruising, you should taper your expectations.”

“There’s no way I’m letting this happen again,” he says. “I can’t mark you up every time I kiss you.”

You hum. “I never said I minded.” 

“I mind.” 

“Well, to each their own.”

[cornsoupflavour]

Sick Day (Twice NSFW Smut)

⚠️18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI⚠️

TWICE Momo Hirai x Manager!Male Reader

Tags: 3.8k words, wholesome, manager x idol, multiple creampies, power exchange, role switching, possible romance, caught in the act

It was the day that the TWICE girls were supposed to visit an attraction together as part of a variety show, but your phone buzzed with a message from Jihyo, the leader of TWICE, the morning of the outing. Momo came down with a fever and was advised to rest. Being the group's manager, you acknowledged Jihyo's message and drove over to the hotel that they were staying in. Upon arriving, you climbed the stairs, two steps at a time, to reach Momo's floor. With a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

Momo opened the door, her dark, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a white tee, sweatpants, and a pair of fuzzy socks. Her face is flushed and glistening with perspiration. A steaming cup of tea sits on the bedside table.

"Morning, Momo. Heard you're not feeling too good so I brought you some snacks, some hot beverage packets and a few other things. How are you feeling?" you asked, walking in and closing the door behind you.

"Oh, thank you... I'm really sorry for all this... I wish I could've gone with everyone."

"Hey, we don't ask to get sick... okay, maybe sometimes, but I know this isn't one of those times. So don't worry about it, it's no trouble at all. Trust me, alright? Let's get you all nice and well rested," you helped her to the bed, tucking her in while placing the back of your hand on her forehead to check her body temperature.

She frowned, her lips pouting a little as she spoke, "It's still pretty high, isn't it? I miss everyone already..."

"I'm sure they miss you too, but they'd want you to get better too. I'll make sure they take lots of pictures so you can have a feel of what it was like there. For now, just lay back on your pillow and I'll go make you some hot chocolate and something small to eat."

Momo nods, her eyes closing as she laid back. You set up a small table for her before heading to the kitchen, fixing her up a small meal along with a glass of warm water. You brought it over and placed it on the table with a bottle of vitamins. "Here you go, eat up, you need to eat if you wanna get better."

She sat up, and turned on the television to keep herself occupied as she ate. As she began eating, your eyes drifted to a stack of unread magazines. You picked one up and flipped through it, stopping at a page where Momo is being interviewed. She's smiling, her eyes bright, you can't help but feel bad for how she's feeling right now.

Momo looks away from the television, her gaze fixing on you, "Thank you. This is perfect."

"I'm glad you like it, when you're done, let me know. I'll come and clear the table for you and you can have your rest."

"Thank you again..." her voice damp and slightly hoarse as she leaned back from the table, allowing you to clear the dishes, "...I promise I'll make it up to you and everyone else next time." She sniffled, her nose red from her flu. You began clearing her table, bringing the dishes to the sink and washing them.

"What did I say? I told you not to worry about it. We all have our off days and it appears that today is yours. No shame in that, so just focus on getting better, alright?"

Momo smiled as she tucked herself further under the covers, her gaze momentarily locking with yours. You gave her a warm smile before planting yourself in the recliner, staying close by if she needed anything else. Slowly she drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, you groggily stretched your arms as your eyes peeled open, feeling stiff from your position in the recliner. "Oh, shit– I fell asleep–" You glanced over at Momo, now nowhere to be seen, and your heart skipped a beat. Panic surged through you, and you're about to call her name when you spotted a note on the bedside table.

Your breath hitched, and you let out a sigh of relief as you read the contents of the note.

I'm feeling a little better, so I thought I'd go to the pool to cool down. Please don't worry. I'll be back soon. Thank you for everything. –Momo

You gave your face a quick wash in the bathroom to freshen up before deciding to head down to the pool to find her. As you take a step out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, you're greeted by the soothing sounds of water cascading from a nearby fountain. You walked towards the glass doors that lead to the outdoor pool area, the sun hitting your skin, and you squinted as you surveyed the area.

In the distance, you spot Momo, her curvy form in the pool, the water reflecting the rays of the evening sun, her hair spread out like a fan around her. She was backfloating in a soft pink bikini. That sure is one way to cool off from a fever. She had a pair of red–lensed clear sunglasses as she floated.

You watched longingly as you slowly approached her, subtly admiring her figure. "Water's nice, huh? Enjoying the sun?" you asked, teasingly. She swam towards you upon hearing your voice, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she rested her arms and chin on the edge of the pool. "Hey, nice to see you're feeling better."

"Yeah, looks like I just needed some hot cocoa, a good rest and some care and concern from my favourite manager to help me feel better~"

"Yeah, yeah... you're my favourite too..."

"Huh? What was that?"

"I said you're all my favourites too," you answered, smirking a little.

You take a seat on a nearby poolside chair as you watch Momo try to get out. Your cheeks blush ever so slightly as you're presented with her assets, glistening from the water. Momo extended her hand out, requesting for you to pull her up, but upon grabbing her hand, she pulled you in, laughing excitedly.

Momo continued to giggle excitedly as you float next to her, splashing water at her. "You're so lucky I put my phone down before reaching out–"

After a little bit of playful splashing, you both climbed out of the pool. As you pulled yourself up, your suit and tie absolutely soaked, your gaze landed on Momo, her body glistening from the water, her assets shaking graciously with every movement. Your cheeks turned a soft red as you looked away, handing her a towel. She grabbed it and proceeded to wrap it around herself. "Much better, thank you. The water feels great, it helped cool my fever down. I'm feeling more refreshed now."

You nod, smiling, "That's great to hear. Now, let's get back to your room to get dried up. I'll  check your temperature again too, just to make sure."

Momo nodded, her eyes bright, "Alright, Mr. Manager~" she giggled, leaning into your side.

Before you both start walking, she shook her head, trying to get the excess water out of her  hair. As you watched, it felt as if the world disappeared and you were watching her in slow–motion.

"Shall we?" her voice snapped you back to reality. You blinked a few times, setting yourself back into the real world as you nodded, "Yeah, let's go."

As you walked, you threw on your own towel to cover your wet clothes. After a while, the two of you arrived back at the room. Upon entering, you head straight for the shower to get yourself out of your wet clothes. Once done, you threw on a bathrobe and stepped back out. Momo turned around, drying her hair with the towel.

She smiled as she walked towards you. You returned her smile, glad to see her in better spirits. "You can go and freshen up if you'd like, I'll go grab the thermometer."

"Thank you, thank you, but it's okay, I could stay like this for a while," her grateful smile tugging at your heartstrings as she stated, glancing down at herself in her pink bikini and towel. "Feels nice~"

"Alright then, at least go and dry your hair, don't want you getting sick again."

"Well, at least now if I do, I know you'll come and take care of me~" she teased before proceeding to dry her hair. You headed over to your bag and pulled out a thermometer for her to use. As she stuck the thermometer under her tongue, you placed the back of your hand on her forehead once more.

"Seems alright..."

She showed you the reading and it showed her temperature being back to normal. "Wow, looks like you're alright. I shall take my leave now, the girls should be back in a few more hours."

Momo fiddled with her towel, her gaze moving to the door, "Um, can you stay a bit longer? I'd feel more comfortable with you around, you know, just in case..." she trailed off, her voice a little shy.

You hummed, glancing back at her. "Of course, I could stay till the others get back. I'll just head to the mall downstairs to grab some new clothes. You wanna come with?"

She flashed a grateful smile, "Thank you, I appreciate it... Sure, just let me change into something less revealing. Wouldn't want to give fans a free show~" she added before grabbing some clothes and walking into the bathroom. After a while, she came out and followed you down to buy some clothes. About half an hour later, you're both back in the room.

You tossed your wet clothes into the wash, already changed into a fresh set of clothes. You took a seat next to Momo on the bed. "So, any plans on how you want to spend your 'sick leave'? Y'know, besides swimming in the pool. Or do you want to just relax and rest some more?"

Momo shrugs, her eyes drifting to the television, "I guess I'll just chill here and watch some TV... My phone's dead, so I'll be a little disconnected from the world today–" she smirked, "Not that I'm complaining," she added, her eyes meeting yours.

You chuckled, "Sounds like a plan. If you need anything, let me know."

Momo's eyes flicked back to the door, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she spoke, "Actually, there is something I need from you... I need to make sure you're not just a good manager, but a good friend as well."

Her smile grew as she stood up, swaying her hips a little as she came closer to you. Momo then straddled your lap, her body pressed against yours. She lifted her shirt to reveal her pink bikini top. She tilted her head, her hair cascading around her face, "Is there something I can get you in return, Mr. Manager? I know you like this top of mine~"

You stared, somewhat in disbelief, at the situation you're currently in. You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you gulped before responding, "Umm, I don't know, I'm not really in a position to ask for anything, but if you insist..."

Momo leaned in, her lips grazing your earlobe as she whispered, "Just be a good boy for me, and I'll make sure you won't regret it."

You nodded, a smirk appearing on your lips, along with a smug look. As she pulled back, her hands landed on your chest, gripping your shirt. She began to gently tug, her eyes locked onto yours. "You really are a good friend, aren't you?"

You responded with a flirtatious confidence, "Yes, I am~" you answered, knowing where this was headed. Momo then pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest. She trailed her fingers down your chest, her touch feather–light. You let out a soft hum at her touch. "Mmh, so strong..."

With her hands now on your abs, she leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from yours. Her breath was warm, her scent enveloping you. "Now, let's see if I can make you even stronger," she whispered, her lips brushing against yours. As she pulled back, her hands moved to the strings of her bikini top.

You grabbed her wrist, refusing to let her take the top off, "No. Leave it on... I like the way it looks on you..." She blinked with a mix of confusion and desire. She brought your hand to the center of her top, hooking your thumb on it as she slowly slipped it upwards, dragging the top with it.

"We could leave it like this, not on, not off~" she whispered, revealing her perky breasts, topped by dark pink nipples. Her eyes never strayed from yours, her mouth curving into a seductive smile.

You licked your lips, your hands reached out, tentatively, to cupping her breasts. She let out a soft, satisfied moan, arching into your touch. "Ungh, there you go, don't be shy."

You gave in, your hands massaging her breasts, kneading them, feeling her nipples harden beneath your fingers. Her nails dug into your shoulders as she leaned in, her lips capturing yours. She tasted sweet, her tongue dancing with yours as she gripped your hair, her hips rocking against yours.

Momo broke the kiss, her breaths shallow as she leaned back, a satisfied smirk on her lips. "I thought you could use a little distraction, Mr. Manager. You're doing well," she praised, her hand drifting down to the growing hardness between your legs.

You brought your lips to her neck, your head swam against it, planting kisses along her jawline. "Of course, you're my favourite distraction~ Don't tell the others I said that..." you joked but her touch and actions had you on edge. "You really are something aren't you, Momo?" 

You continued to kiss down her neck, your breath warm against her skin. Momo smirked, leaning in to nibble on your earlobe as she grazed your length through your pants.

You let out a soft whimper against her neck. You gripped her hips tightly, knowing this was crossing boundaries, but you couldn't resist her. "Mmff, Momo... So eager..."

Momo sat up, her eyes bright as she pulled down your pants, just enough to release your arousal. She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving yours, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm just happy you're here for me."

You bit your lip, a smirk forming on the corners. Momo wiggled and shifted in your lap. She spread her legs slightly, inviting you to join her. You obliged, Momo's siren call was too strong. You raised her up slightly by her hips, lining her slit with the tip of your length.

Momo leaned forward as she lowered herself onto your member, her hands gripping your shoulders as she connected her lips with yours. As you entered her, a small moan leaked into your kiss. You slowly thrust up into her, her moans filling the room, as she set the pace.

You gripped her hips, your thrusts growing faster and more forceful. "Ahh, goddamn... you feel good, Momo," you panted, your voice rough. "You're so tight, so wet..."

Momo let out a soft, breathy moan, "Ooh, just like that... Nnngh~ You're not so bad, Mr. Manager."

You increased your pace, the sounds of slapping flesh filling the room with every thrust. You gripped her tighter, your lips pressing against her neck, your breath hot against her skin. "Mmh, you feel so good," you groaned, your grip tightening.

Momo's moans grew louder, her body arching towards yours as she grinded herself to meet your thrusts, her body quivering. "Ungh, yeah, don't stop, you're making me feel so good," she panted. The pleasure was building, each thrust bringing even louder moans to the pairing.

You slammed into her, gripping her hips, your thrusts growing more intense, the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping together. Momo's moans grew louder, her head thrown back, her nails digging into your shoulders. "Mmf, yeah, Mr. Manager~ so good... I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," she cried out.

You let out a low growl, your thrusts getting harder, "Cum for me, Momo, cum on my cock. I bet you'll look so good while you do it," you encourage.

Momo's hips bucked against yours, her body shuddering as her climax took over, her pussy tightening around you. "Ahh, daddy, yesss, I'm cumming~" she screamed out, her body trembling, her release shaking her.

Your own climax was nearing, your thrusts frenzied, "Goddamn– you're so fucking good, Momo. Fuck, I'm gonna cum too–" you groaned, your release taking you over the edge, exploding deep inside her.

Momo leaned forward, her chest pressing against your own, her breathing quick and heavy. You both enjoyed the afterglow for a while, her body still quivering, her pussy milking you softly.

You leaned down, bringing her breast to your lips, your tongue swirling around her nipple, gently pulling on it with your teeth. "Mmh, you taste so fucking good..." your voice thick with satisfaction.

Momo let out a soft, contented sigh, "Thank you, daddy, that felt so good... I can't believe I'm calling you daddy, but it feels right~"

You chuckled, giving her a tender kiss on the lips, "Well, you're my favourite, so anything goes, right?"

Momo smiled, her body still clinging to your length, "Right... My favourite Mr. Manager~"

"But I'm not done. You think with a cock like yours that I'll just hope off after one ride? You're in for a real good time~ Let me give you a 'thank you' gift for being such a good manager for us~"

You smirked, "I'll do my best to keep up with you, Momo, don't worry."

Momo grinned, her hands guiding you to lay down on your back. She raised her ass and leaned forward, her breasts pressing against your chest. She wrapped her arms around your head, hugging you into her cleavage. "This is how a good manager should be, right here, in the cradle of his favourite Momo's tits," she purred.

You chuckled, your hands gripping her hips, "So bossy, Momo, but that's what I like about you."

Momo's eyes locked onto yours, a lustful intensity in her gaze that mirrored the hunger in her soul. Her hips shifted, ever so slightly, before she began to lower herself back onto you, her lips parting in a soft moan. Inch by agonizing inch, she descended, her wetness enveloping your hardness.

Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as she sank upon you, her pussy tightening around your length. Her breasts squished against your face, swelling slightly with each tantalizing inch. Your eyes followed the descent, drinking in her sensuality, the way her nipples hardened, the way her throat arched, the way her lips quivered in a mixture of pleasure and exertion.

Once fully impaled, Momo traced a finger along your jawline, a wolfish grin curling her lips. She began to rise, her hips grinding against yours, the head of your cock dragging against her swollen folds. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, her moans adding to the crescendo of desire.

"Mmf, daddy– My Mr. Manager~" she panted, her eyes never leaving yours, "Make me feel good." The challenge hung between you, a promise of the submission she so eagerly gave.

You gripped her hips tighter, your own arousal building. "Just like that, Momo," you encouraged, your voice deep, hungry. "Give me everything you've got."

Momo's pace quickened, her breasts pressing onto your face, punctuating her movements. Her moans grew louder, her nails digging into your shoulders, her hips rolling, her body swimming against yours. The room trembled with the intensity of the rhythm.

She continued to grind herself onto you, going from quickly to slowly, her eyes locked on yours. Her body came down on your length, her pussy swallowing you whole. She rose and fell, her tits engulfed the bottom half of your face with every movement, her eyes never leaving yours. "Mmf, yeah, daddy, make me feel good," she moaned.

You gripped her hips, your body arching up to meet her, "Just like that, Momo... I'm all yours–" you encouraged her, your voice thick with lust.

Momo let out a soft, satisfied moan, "I'll show you just how you're all mine~ Don't you dare cum without my permission, Mr. Manager," she warned, her tone playful.

You chuckled, your hips bucking up to meet her, "I wouldn't dare, Momo... But when you do let me cum, it's going to be explosive– I will flood you–" you promised, the lust apparent in your voice.

Your grip on Momo tightened, your hips bucking, matching the pace as her body rocked against yours. Her moans grew louder, resonating in the room, filling it with the sounds of pleasure. "Ungh, Mr. Manager, you're getting me so close... I can't hold it," she panted, her voice thick with lust. "Mmf, daddy, you feel so good, I'm close... So close..."

You groaned, your body arching to meet her thrusts, your voice growing hoarse, "Let go for me, Momo, let your juices coat my cock," you encouraged her, feeling your own climax nearing. From beneath her soft yet firm breasts, you took her nipples into your mouth, sucking on them as her movements became more erratic.

Momo's body shuddered, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. "Ahh, Mr. Manager, I'm cumming~" she cried out, her pussy clenching around you, milking you with each spasm. Her moans echoed in the room as her release washed over her.

Feeling her orgasm, you too couldn't hold back, your release pulsing deep inside her. You let out a low growl, your hips bucking up one last time, "Fuck, Momo, that's it, cum for me," you groaned, your release flooding her depths.

Momo collapsed onto you, her body shuddering, her grip on you not letting go. She rested her head on your shoulder, her breathing heavy, "Wow, I don't think I've ever felt so good, that was intense... I think I should get sick more often... what do you think, Mr. Manager? Or do you prefer... daddy~?" she whispered, a satisfied and cheeky smile on her lips, her body still quivering from her climax.

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her, your chest rising and falling in unison with hers, "Whichever you like better, Momo... But just wait until the next time, I have a feeling we'll be testing just how much we can handle," you teased, your voice laced with confidence and promise. You peaked from between her mounds and leaned up for a deep, passionate kiss. As Momo reciprocated, her body twitched at your slowly softening cock. Just as you both broke the kiss, a strand of saliva still connecting you two, the room door opened, to the excited chatter and banter from the other TWICE girls.

Both parties turned to look at one another, all their mouths agape.

"Hey, girls... back so soon...?"

[Let me know if you want a part two or if you want me to make this a long running story. And let me know who else you'd want to see a fic about.]

[ Sick Day Pt. 1 – See Pt. 2 ]

[plutolovesyou]

pool/beach day w/ ellie thoughts! source of pondering: i was in the pool and am never not thinking about ellie so…this is very much insane projecting LOL. (like projecting to the level of this was literally how i spent the last few hours but am writing as if it's ellie…with creative expansions obvi.) informal format, basically just thinking and not a fr story iykwim. closer to headcanons? I DON'T KNOW JUST A SHITTY YAP OF SORTS OK. loser!ellie kindaaa, jesse cameo, teeny suggestive mentions if you squint.

pool (or beach, either work) day with ellie, how fun!! let's start with her fit. she'd wear plaid swim trunks with a sports bra style bikini top, unbuttoned short sleeve button up shirt on top when out of the water, all pieces of her outfit totally different, clashing patterns. yet she somehow rocks it. and when she's in the water, she wears swim goggles because of course. she'd love wearing her outfit, and “f-boy” coded ellie would hike her bottoms down just enough so her happy trail would peek out perfectly, because she knew all the girls would drool at the sight. you included. (who wouldn't.)

in the water however, she'd be a nuisance like none other, literally turning into a teen boy. splashing you like crazy, goofing around until there's so much water in her nose you're sure you can hear it sloshing around inside her skull. at times you'd even have to act like her mother, yelling at her to reapply her sunscreen so her delicate skin didn't burn to a crisp. she finds this absolutely hilarious.

“ellie, you're gonna turn into a lobster, get over here!” you toss the bottle in the air and catch it, a fed-up look on your face. she stands up and shakes the water off her body as if she's a dog, then strides over to you, snatching the sunscreen out of your hand. she rolls her eyes, and you can clearly hear the smirk in her tone. “ugh, sorry mom. i bet i'd be delicious as a lobster though.” she chuckles at her stupid joke, a husky “heh”, but then doubles over laughing even harder once she sees your stone-cold expression not crack in the slightest. in the most bored, deadpan voice you could muster, “you taste fine as-is, dork.” cue her face turning as bright red as a freshly boiled lobster once the rebuttal properly registers in her mind. you = 1, ellie = 0.

you'd be over there away from the water on a towel trying to get some vitamin d, or hidden away in the shade with a book and cocktail with one of the tiny umbrellas in it, but your els would want you there with her, and try to drag you in the water.

as she grabs your arm to pull you to your feet, “c'mon babe, get in. just for a little bit, how aren't you bored over there?” when you don't move, she attacks your neck with cold, wet smooches, the temperature of her lips a shock against your hot, dry skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over. finally you'd comply, following her while she's pulling you in. “see, look how nice it is!” a grin so wide it melts your insides, you can't be mad at her, and you find a floaty to lay on. you can do some relaxation like that. but ellie, she insists to be close to you at all times, and finds a floaty to lay on next to yours. can't forget she's still holding your hand, you both look like two little otters floating down a stream, swept away on beds of seaweed, hand in hand.

as you're listening to the sounds of the water around you, the gentle rocking as a gust of wind passes by, you feel ellie's grip on your hand go limp, and you look over at her to see the fucker's dead asleep. “hey, ellie?” you ask, and are met with silence, her head lolled to the side with her mouth slightly open, she was out cold. it seems all that silly splashing around had made her tired, and that in combination with the comforting, warm environment had rocked her to sleep. you float there next to her peacefully for a short while, resting your eyes. then out of nowhere, you hear her yelp, and sit up to see that her friend, jesse, had made an appearance and threw a volleyball at her, which hit her smack-dab in the face. “what the fuck man!” he's looking smug, proud of his aim, and waves hi to you. ellie throws the ball back at him, but unfortunately she misses. and by a long shot at that, seems she was still drowsy. you're tuning them out and have returned to floating in relaxation, vaguely hearing them yelling profanities and “your mom” jokes to each other. in no time at all ellie bolts out of the water and dashes over to him, and you take a deep breath, happy to get some quiet, but also enjoying watching them from afar as they toss the ball around. ellie gestures for you to join them, to which you yell to her that you'll join in a bit, watching from the sidelines was proving to be better entertainment than you thought it would be, you loved observing her athletic form, whatever she's doing.

and so the evening continues like that, you two make it back home as it gets dark, and crash into bed immediately. bla bla bla...

yeah i dunno. had to write SOMETHING don't yell at me if it's crap idrc. ig i shall tag peeps anyway cuz that's what yall do! wrote while listening to tsp, especially 1979 which is a very summery song imo. sunset drives with friends blasting that song...UGHHHH

everything everything: @andersonfilms @fleshunger @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2

ellie everything: @flowrmoth @srooch @liddysflyer @fortune777

wanna be tagged in my fics? fill out the form!

[bombshelllblonde]

everyone don’t forget to leave out some lemonade and onitsuka tigers for adam young tonight.

merry coco moon eve!!!

[thesirencult]

How Will Your FS See You ?

1--2

*****************************************

Pile 1

I'm seeing a vision. A girl is gathering flowers and playing in the sun between trees. At the same time, a man is looking at her like she is his whole world.

What this tells me is that there is a very clear distinction between you and your future spouse's energies. Your FS is definitely more masculine (no matter their gender) and you are more feminine.

This person sees you as a ray of light. You are dainty like a flower and sweet like honey. I'm hearing the word "yellow" 💛. Whenever they are looking at you, you are draped in golden light.

Now, what makes me sad is that you don't see yourself that way. Your person knows that you are picking yourself apart and they hate it.

You are a shiny little star to them. Some words they might call you are : my little star, pooh bear, sweetheart, honey, sweetie, cutie. They believe you are the sweetest, loveliest, most sincere person on planet earth. You believe that you do not deserve love or that you are not that important but they are seeing "You are important. You are as important as the air I breathe. You are necessary to my survival."

Like the sun is the centre of our universe, you are the centre of their universe. Your FS is very affectionate with you. I'm seeing someone kissing the fingers of someone else and breathing in their scent from their neck/hair. First and foremost they find you sweet and cute. Like, to them, intimacy doesn't mean mindless physical connection but love making. They love your hands and your nose.

They adore your expressions and they find certain quirks you have cute. As an example, when you feel tired and puff air out or if you tag on their hand and look up at them.

This person might be bigger than you and they just want to protect and serve you. I believe that they want to set boundaries between you and the world. They want to hold up a mirror for you and help you see your own light.

Whenever you are sad they want to make you smile.

I believe that you and your FS are going to be really close. This is not a normal bond. To others it might not seem healthy, they way that you are attached to eachother, but for you it's perfect...

Pile 2

Your FS sees you as their dream person, not in a childish way but in a mature way. You are what they need not what they wanted.

This person has had lots of experiences when it comes to love. When they meet you they will be going through a "winter" moment, life will have lost its spark. You might be born in March, cause you are going to wash away the snow and help them see the bright side of life again.

This will not be easy. Your FS will see you as their wish fulfillment, but at moments they will be wondering whether God or the d*vil sent you. You will be triggering their old wounds and stagnant energy.

This person will be very caring towards you. They will constantly remind you to take your vitamins and drink enough water. They will tease you about your height or nose just to get to your nerves.

I'm hearing "They are so draining!". Now, this is really funny cause I heard it in a teasing way, like you are at the next room and they are telling your mom you are a pain in the butt when in reality they love your quirks.

They will be constantly worrying about your well-being lol. They will get mad when you are not taking care of yourself and they will be trying to guilt trip you into doing things that are good for yourself.

Let's say you are really shy and don't want to go to the beach but they want to go and you have a dog that loves the water. They will be telling you "See, the dog is broken hearted. You are not a really good dog mom/dad."

This person will think you are sneaky. They will love the sparkle your eyes have as you have a very "active" inner child.

I believe you don't show that side to others that often and no one will believe what they have witnessed. You could have made a crazy food combination or they found you teaching the dog muay thai, to them you can NEVER be boring. It's like, what is she up to, AGAIN?

I also get that you might give them the "puppy eyes" when you get caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing (ex. cheating on your diet) or playing all coy and sweet and they love that!

[cheeseceli]

With a hyper s/o

Pairing: Ot8 skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, headcanons

Request: hihi! i loved your skz with a quiet s/o! is it okay if i request skz with a extroverted and loud s/o? thank you!

Warnings: not proofread

A/n: stray kids comeback soon!! So excited what | fundraiser

Bang Chan

Honestly he gets a little bit worried every time you start to jump and run around lmao, but it's just his protective side showing out. He'd do everything to keep the smile on your face. The boys also are glad you are in his life, as since you came along he seems more carefree, like he can relax a bit more. Maybe you being so alive made him decide to live more as well.

Lee Know

Absolute chaos. When he is on those "I'll just start screaming and let's see what happens" moments, you both become unstoppable. And if you're up to joining in his crazy ideas, he might as well just have found the love of his life. But when he's on his calmer moments, he loves to just hear you talk about anything or just admire you. He finds you so endearing and loveable.

Changbin

I feel like you have scared him quite a few times by being loud but then he's being louder and you just click so well lmao. The boys love him, love you and love you both as a couple but they'd be rolling their eyes whenever you two got together😭 I feel like talking to him would be so easy too. Conversation just comes and goes so normally, you wouldn't even have to try.

Hyunjin

Honestly, he just loves how everything about you seems so bright. He can swear he sees colours more vivid because of you and your little habits. It's almost impossible for him to not smile along your antics and drama. Might even try to keep up with your hype sometimes (mostly fails but he doesn't mind that much, he just likes to see you be his sunshine).

Han

Yes he's an introvert but have you seen this man?? He's ready to set fire to everything most of the time. So this is kinda absolute chaos pt2. Such a good duo, you both share the same braincell. But when the situation calls for it, you are his vitamin and charger. And if you're the dramatic type as well, he's all in for that.

Felix

If Han is his sunshine twin you're his sunshine soulmate. Honestly, the room just brightens up the moment you two walk in. And people can always figure out where you both are just by following the sound of your laugh 😭 that's genuinely cute.

Seungmin

Teases you a little bit when it comes to you being extra hyper and happy about everything, but it's all in good fun. He actually finds it rather cute. It also gives me huge "If you dance I'll dance, if you don't I'll dance anyways" vibes (please someone understand what I mean). Most of the times he's wondering how you have such a big social battery tho lmao.

I.N

Honestly he loves to hear you yap. You always come up with the most random things to say, he never knows what to expect. And even though he doesn't say much back, you always know that he's listening. And it's even kinda cute because when he's only with the boys he'll randomly talk about what you said earlier that day. "Did you know you can hear a blue whale's heartbeat from two miles away?"

Masterlist | you'll probably like: with a quiet s/o

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji

Credits for images 1 2 and 3

Dividers by @isisjupiter

[steddieas-shegoes]

so glad i found you

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is coparenting'

rated t | 1,428 words | cw: mention of previous marriage (steve's) | tags: established relationship, single dad steve (except he isn't anymore *wink wink*), steddie dads, modern au, marriage proposal

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

"Sarah, come on!" Steve yelled from the kitchen, his eyes drifting to the clock that he hoped was lying. They were gonna be late for school. Again.

"Daddy, I can't find my jacket!" Sarah came running through the kitchen, only half-dressed, no backpack in sight.

"What do you mean? It was on the hook last night."

"It's not now."

Steve groaned.

And then a jacket was thrust into his hands and a sleep-rough voice was in his ear. "Found it on the floor in the bathroom."

Steve grabbed the jacket from Eddie, kissing his cheek in thanks.

"Eddie found it, let's go!" Steve yelled before whispering to just Eddie. "Thank you, baby. Sorry for waking you up."

"Needed to get up anyway. Wanted to say bye to Sarah."

Steve watched as Eddie walked over to the cabinet that held their vitamins. He reached in and grabbed the gummies Sarah was supposed to take every day. Steve wasn't always the best about remembering them, but Eddie never forgot.

He reached in the fridge next, grabbing the smoothie Steve forgot about and handing it to him. "Since I know you didn't eat anything," Eddie kissed his cheek again and leaned against the counter holding the gummies for Sarah.

"Thanks, Eds," Steve said as Sarah came crashing back into the kitchen and reached for her jacket. "Why did you move this into the bathroom?"

"I didn't."

"Ah, I fear the ghosts are at it again, Steve," Eddie said, smirking when Sarah giggled. He handed her the gummies once she had her arms in the jacket. "Vitamins to make you big and strong, your highness."

"Thanks, Dad."

Everyone froze. The clock on the wall stopped ticking. The air was sucked out of the room.

Sarah was bright red, and because she wasn't the type to stick around an awkward situation, she turned and walked out of the room.

Eddie blinked at Steve, lips parted as he tried to remember how to breathe.

He'd been with Steve for just over a year, and while he didn't technically live with them, he spent more time at their apartment than his own. He was on Sarah's emergency pick-up list, took her with him to run errands when Steve had to work late, bought her things when the budget allowed just because he wanted to, and would read to her most nights that he stayed over. In many ways, he was her dad.

She hardly knew her mom, only spent two weeks every summer with her and was perfectly fine with that. Steve's ex-wife had admitted from the beginning of the pregnancy that she thought it was a mistake and when she filed for divorce when Sarah was six months old, Steve wasn't surprised. She had no interest in being a mom the way Steve had so desperately wanted to be a dad. But even still, Eddie never wanted them to feel like he was trying to force any type of parental power.

She'd called him Eddie until this moment, and he'd been completely fine with it. He would've been fine with it forever if it meant he got to have them both.

"I can talk to her. I don't think she meant to say it and it's okay if you don't want her to. She'll understand and-" Steve started rambling, trying to prevent Eddie from panicking.

But he wasn't. He was just doing his best not to start crying.

"But did she mean it?" He asked, voice shaking as he realized how much he did want her to call him Dad.

"I dunno, Eds. Probably. You know she never says things she doesn't mean. But we can talk to her-"

"No. I mean, yes, we should. But not because I don't want her to." Eddie took a deep breath. "I've kinda been her dad for a while now. It feels like it, at least. We've been in this together for most of the last year, ya know? I wanna be this for her and for you."

Steve was going to melt into a puddle, maybe right through the floor into the apartment below them. The nice old couple who lived there would have to mop him up.

"Daddy? Da-Eddie?" Sarah's small voice said from the doorway.

"Come here, sweet pea," Steve got down closer to her level. She was tall for her age, but even at eight years old, she was barely level with his chest. "Do you wanna call Eddie Dad? There's no wrong answer."

Eddie nodded, getting down to her level, too.

"It won't hurt my feelings if you just said it by accident, princess. I promise I love being your Eddie," he smiled at her.

He meant that, he wouldn't lie to her. But a small part of him hoped she wouldn't go back to calling him just Eddie after that. Not after he had a taste of what it could be like to be her dad.

"Well, you do dad stuff with me. Like when we built that birdhouse because I was scared the robin would have her eggs in a tree and they'd fall and crack and the babies would die. And when you took me shopping for a dress so I could go to Daddy's awards for work. And you always read to me with the voices and stuff." Sarah was playing with her hair, a nervous habit she'd somehow picked up from Eddie in such a short time. "And that's stuff that Daddy does with me all the time too, like when you're not here with us to do it. And sometimes even when you are and you both do it it feels like I have two dads. I like having two dads."

Steve and Eddie were both barely holding back tears as she spoke. She'd always been incredibly brave about her feelings.

"I like doing all that stuff with you, princess. But I would love it all no matter what you called me, okay?" Eddie said around a barely contained sob.

"But you love Daddy and me right?"

"Of course."

"And you kinda live with us."

He let out a wet laugh. "Yeah, I guess I kinda do."

"And you maybe will get married?"

Steve nearly choked on his own breath. "Sarah, honey, remember I told you that kind of decision is something that takes time and-"

"Yeah, princess. I think maybe we will. Not right now, but someday," Eddie interrupted.

Steve resisted glaring at him. He knew better than to make promises to a child, they'd already been over this before, and he could already see Sarah's wheels spinning.

"Wait-"

"So I can wear a pretty dress?" Sarah asked, as if that was the most important thing. "Can I hold both your hands?"

"If your Daddy is okay with it when it happens. But you know what has to happen first?" Eddie poked her dimple, smiling at her with teary eyes. "He has to say yes."

Sarah looked over at Steve, who was...confused.

"Daddy! Say yes!"

"He's gotta ask!" Steve exclaimed. "And he doesn't have a ring. We've only been together a year."

"Stevie."

Something in Eddie's voice made Steve pause and look at him instead of Sarah.

"I have a ring. Not with me, but. I already know you're it for me." Eddie held Sarah's hand and Steve's. "I just wanted to make sure Sarah was okay with it first. So. Sarah Harrington."

"Yes, Dad?"

Jesus, Steve was pretty sure he would die from this. In a good way, maybe the best way, but Jesus Christ.

"Would it be okay if I ask your dad to marry me? I could be your other dad and I promise I can read to you every night."

"Hm." Sarah thought for barely a second before she beamed at Steve. "Daddy, I'm saying yes. So you have to say yes. I want Eddie to live with us forever."

The most important thing to Steve was someone who Sarah loved and who loved Sarah in return, someone who was part of their family because they wanted to be, someone who felt proud to be theirs.

Eddie checked off all of that and then some.

He looked at Eddie and smiled. "Well, you heard the princess. Yes!"

Being late for school turned into being absent from school. Steve and Eddie skipped work for the day so they could all be together. Eddie went to his apartment to get the ring and Sarah made decorations for a "real" proposal.

He didn't mind that it wasn't anything extravagant. None of them did.

[milky-aeons]

— REASON LIVING

౨ৎ . . . in which a man with no reason to live finds an unlikely one through the tribulations of being a father.

warnings: emotional dysregulation, slight angst, unplanned pregnancy, alcohol consumption, poor parenting (in the beginning), conflict, suicidal ideation, depression, depictions of birth, female reader, healing, w.c 2.4k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ dancing on my own — vitamin string quartet ꒱ ˎˊ-

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who wasn't ready to be a mother. Not now, perhaps not ever — was a rule you had laid in stone for yourself as a free-spirit intent on enjoying life to its fullest. It was why the world had tuned out into white noise when Yosano Akiko held the small test in her hand and spoke those terrifying words. With a shutter of sympathy in her eyes, coming to place a hand on your shoulder to give it a firm, comforting squeeze. She knew just as well how much you didn't want this to be true. Her touch felt condemning. You felt like you were going to vomit, just like you had been for the last four mornings in a row. Because how were you going to tell him?

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who didn't blink, didn't draw breath, didn't do anything when you let the words stumble from your mouth in one panicked rush. It was a bright afternoon deep into summer and the Agency's café was quiet — private enough for the two of you to have this conversation. You and Dazai Osamu — you were not an item, had been content to have casual shared nights together when either of you wanted to blow off a little steam. But that night, you had said to him, do you remember that night? When we were both drunk and stupid, so stupid?

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who, in that moment, decided not to grace you with any words. Instead, he did something far more uncharacteristic of him; he stayed quiet. He gave one shallow nod of his head and placed a hand softly onto the table so he could stand up. To steady himself, to ground himself back down when you had turned his world completely overhead, you did not know. And Dazai, who left you there, excusing himself in order to get some fresh air. The raking bastard that he was. Not once did he turn back to look you directly in the eye. Not even when you stood up, shouted his name, screamed at him, until tears spilled over your cheeks and your throat burned with the pain.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who saw life through a lens of grey in the couple of days following. Sometimes, you would feel so heavy that you did not wish to rise out of bed. The word swam around in your head like the song of a haunting ghoul — a mom, a mom, I am going to be a mom. Yosano would drop by your Agency apartment after work to see how you were doing, feeling your forehead, bringing you remedies to help with the nausea that roiled in your stomach. Every time, you would resist the temptation to ask where he was. And yet every time, Yosano would still tell you;

"He didn't come to work today, either."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who slowly came to grips with the fact that this was how it was going to be. The initial shock of it all was as relentless as it was condemning, but it was not infinite. The sun rose the next day, and the next, the world kept moving and you decided that you would have to, as well. That there was a little life growing inside your warm belly that needed a mother, no matter how unprepared you were for that fact. And, if you could do something about it, needed their father. You were not letting him just walk away from you, from the both of you, that easily.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who was exactly where you thought he would be when you set out that evening to find him. Of course, if he wanted to, Dazai Osamu had both the cleverness and the connections to absolutely disappear from the streets of Yokohama without a trace. If he wanted to, he could have abandoned you and this baby completely. But he didn't. Instead, he was here, laying sprawled long and lazy on his messy, unmade futon in his messy, unclean house, as if waiting to be found. When he heard you pass over the threshold of the door he didn't lock, he gave you a long, languid smile.

"My bewitching Beeella~! At looong last, she has come to tempt me!" He slurred his speech, bringing your attention to the heavy scent in the air and the dozen or so bottles strewn about haphazardly. His hair was matted and unwashed. He looked just like you, curled in your bed, refusing to move for days. But unlike you, he was completely and utterly intoxicated. "You look awful." You said in a low voice. Hurt at how he abandoned you in the coffee shop was still a fresh, gaping wound. As if his head was too heavy, Dazai let it flop back down onto the cushions. He waved his hands about. "And you... look just as beautiful... as always. But—It is a trap...! A ruuuuse! A beautiful Bellaaa, sent from my torment... to tie me to this mortal coil!"

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who let him ramble his litany of incoherencies. If only for a few merciful seconds. When you felt like you had had enough, or perhaps fearful with how far he'd take it, you kicked one of the empty glass bottles. It skirted across his floorboards and hit a neighbouring wall, exploding into countless little shards. He looked up then, attracted to the noise, trying to focus on you with his glazed whiskey-coloured eyes. In that moment, you stood your tallest, and just like the bottle you mustered up every last shred of yourself until you built it all back together.

"You." You pointed at him, feeling your voice come on thick, but strong. "You listen to me and listen to me well, I'm only going to say this once, and if you're too fucking drunk to remember it, then more is the pity. But I'm carrying your baby—our god damn baby. And if you're not going to step up and be the father they're going to need, then I'll be that for you. Just say the word, Dazai. Say the word and I'll leave. You'll never hear from me or this child ever again."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who said nothing in contest to that statement, but also said nothing to affirm it, either. His wide, unfocused eyes studied every feature on your face, trying to make sense of something you didn't know. And for a second, your heartrate kicked up. Because somewhere deep down inside, you wanted him to tell you to stay. You wanted him to sober up, to wear that charming, all-endearing smile and convince you that everything was going to be alright. But he didn't. And that was the moment you deflated with a sigh — laying out all the feelings you once had for him on the floor, ready to cast it to the wind. You had made it to his doorway when two strong, heavy arms came around you and all of his weight collapsed against your shoulders.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who buried his head into the crook of your neck, who's hair tickled your face and made your eyes sting with tears. He, who smelled of whiskey and liqueur, but in that moment, held you so tight, crushed you against his taller frame and croaked;

"Stay."

"Please... just, stay."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who seemed like he had undergone a transformation overnight. He always did have a strange knack for that — changing his persona so easily, crafting masks and façades. And maybe it was just that, at least in the beginning. But he had started to come back to work, again. You would enter the familiar doors early in the mornings to the tell-tale sounds of his teasing tone and Kunikida's threats. When you would walk in, he'd straighten up from whatever headlock the blond had trapped him into, and catch your eye.

"Good morning." You would whisper. "Good morning, beautiful Bella." He would murmur right back.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who became used to the weight in your tummy growing heavier each day. It was Atsushi, at first, who recognised the shift in your scent and the sound of a little heartbeat in your belly through his superior feline hearing. Soon after, everyone in the Agency were offering you gifts and well wishes. Dazai received a less warm ovation. Especially from Kunikida, who threatened to flush him into the drainage system if he even thought about being one of those shitty laid-back dads who let the mom do all the work.

"That's cruel, Kunikida-kun!" Dazai whined at him. "To think of the rigid, torturous lifestyle your children will have to endure!" He just barely dodged the office chair that was hurled at his head.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who, after a short while, began to let Dazai close to you again. And maybe it was foolish of you, to let that thing which always existed between you two take spark and kindle with new life. First, it was sitting together in the same booth in the coffee shop. Then, it was gentle, quiet touches — his hand brushing your back as he walked past, your fingers twining together underneath the desk where no one could see. He stole you away for long walks in the nearby park when you should have been working. To your protests, he'd pout, and say, but a pregnant lady needs to enjoy as much rest as she can~! And then, he'd kiss you. Underneath the great spurting fountain at the centre of the park. Long and sweet and promising.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who one time, when you were especially close to your due date and he was feeling especially silly, drew a large smiley face on your swollen belly. Or peppered a shower of kisses along the stretched skin, telling you she was taking too long, that he couldn't wait any longer and had too many kisses saved up for her, already. And on that day where you did go into labour, he held your hand, he placed those lips on your forehead and whispered gentle encouragements as you screamed through the pain.

"You are strong, my beautiful [Name]. Come on, can you give one more push? Just one more." "You're doing so great. You are so unbelievable, so resilient and brave. My beautiful Belladonna, that's it. You can do it."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who, along with the chorus of elated cries from the Armed Detective Agents, made a sound of disbelief when his baby girl came into the world. Slick and wet, red and crying, but beautiful. A copy of her mother's features but with a wild head of curly brown hair. An emotion Dazai had not felt in an extremely long time crept up the back of his throat. It made him laugh, it made his eyes smart with tears. And when he came to your side to see your baby be placed onto your bare chest, a single tear escaped from the side of his eye and got lost when he buried his head into your hair.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who never thought he would ever grow attached to someone. There was you, of course, but if he sat with the discomfort of viewing his life without you in it, it could be done. But trying to see his life without her — his little baby girl — his mind would simply draw a blank. It was unbearable, impossible. Before long, Dazai had insisted you move into his apartment so he could be closer to you. After, of course, you threatened him to scrub the entire place from head-to-toe and remove anything non-child friendly in a black plastic bag. And he did. He used those nimble, clever hands to build the baby a little wooden crib. He would rock her to sleep and place her down, only to watch her for minutes, hours, contemplating how in the world he was ever bestowed with such a blessing.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who sang lullabies to her. Who sang at every given chance he had. For he was such a lovely singer, his soft, velvety voice would be a common thing amongst the walls of your little apartment. Who would sit down with the toddler and teach her all the words he knew.

"Can you say 'Kunikida' my little star?" "Kuni—Kuni—Kooni—!" "Kun—ee—kee—dah!" On the 'dah', he'd pinch her nose. "Kun—eeeee—keeeee—dah!" "Wow~!" Dazai pinched her nose again and she giggled. "Darling, did you hear that? Our little star is a genius." "She takes after her father." You would say from around the bend of the kitchen. Praises and chuckles and the shrieks of a delighted baby would fill the air. Dazai would then drop his voice, thinking you wouldn't hear, and say, "Now, can you say, 'is a bore!'" "Dazai!"

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who always took his little girl to work with him. Everyone in the Agency fell in love with her very quickly. Atsushi would transform his hands into that of giant tiger paws, pretending to growl, letting her pull at the little tufts even though it hurt him just a tad. Ranpo would ask the little baby mind-numbing riddles, then laugh, proclaiming how she barely had any braincells, but not to worry, because when she's old enough, he'd take her as his apprentice. Kunikida, who would let her handle his little ideal book, and then hold back tears when she ripped one of the pages out of it. The little girl would hold the page up high and from her little perch on the table, shout,

"Kuneeekeeda... is... a boooore!"

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who was still laughing when he met you on the terrace roof of the Agency that night. He went straight for his little girl and held her up in the air, proclaiming that he was so proud of her. You would settle down together, just the three of you, huddled on the concrete tiles and watching the sun set over the skyline of Yokohama.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would hold your daughter on your lap until her curly brown head of hair tilted into your shoulder and she snored softly. In that moment, you would crane your head onto Dazai's broad shoulder, and whisper;

"I'm glad I stayed."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who would run his long fingers across his sleeping daughter's face softly, so softly, so as not to wake her. Then, he would reach up to you and cup the side of your cheek, captivating you, looking at you with an expression so warm and tender as he whispered right back;

"And I am forever grateful."

requested by the lovely @ringsofsaturnnnn!

[ssahotchnerr]

Id love to take care of Aaron because we know he does not take care of himself 😭 id be all honey remember to apply your sunscreen 🫵🏻 daily reminders to take his vitamins and suplementos bc we know he needs them lol or sit down we are having a propper meal with vegetables and all and come here we are gonna meditate for 10 mins ... Etc

Hahah the dreammmm!

sunscreen

you're so so right and that's 😭 adorable i had to write a lil thing <3 cw; established relationship

as you stepped out of the suv, a thick wall of humid air smacked you right in the face, the bright sun instantly causing your eyes to water even behind sunglasses.

to say it was brutal was an understatement, and in the florida sun, you could never be too careful.

"wait," you said suddenly, causing aaron to stop in his tracks. he had already walked around the front of the car, so he already was within arm's reach. "c'mere."

applying spf was a standard part of your daily skincare routine, but of course not aaron's, who barely had one to begin with. you turned back to the car, grabbing the small bottle of sunscreen you had tossed in the glove compartment earlier. after shutting the door with the side of your hip, you popped the cap open, squeezing a bit into the palm of your hand.

stepping up onto your tiptoes for a moment, you first adjusted aaron's sunglasses, moving and resting them on the top of his head.

next, you sparingly dotted some lotion across the surface of his face, before putting the latter on the bridge of his nose. with the pads of your fingers, you rubbed the sunscreen into his nose gently, before smearing any remnants to his cheeks. your hands were working parallel together, evenly spreading the sunscreen into his fair skin. you worked quickly as a crime scene was waiting in the distance, but yet still efficiently.

and aaron, didn't complain or utter a word as you worked, even when you turned him around to get the back of his neck. he watched you with a fond glint in his eyes, until you were thoroughly satisfied with the coverage.

"there." you snapped the lotion shut, a pleased expression on your face and shoving the bottle into your front pocket for any future use, "and now angry UV rays have nothing on you."

"and what would i do without you?" the corner's of aaron's lips lifted in a soft, subtle smile, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

his preferred way of a thank you would've been giving you a kiss, but the current setting prohibited such, the crime scene unit just arriving as well as the rest of the team.

speaking of, aaron tossed a glare over at morgan, who had been watching in full amusement, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"y'know, y/n's right hotch. that last thing we all also need in this heat is you bitchin' about a sunburn."

[rambling-at-midnight]

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[tarjapearce]

Mama's Pick up Lines (Pt. 1)

Warning: Fluff, a bit of rizz ~

Summary: Mama looves rizzing up Miguel.

(In honor to Valentine's day a lil blurb jskjs)

If there was something that you loved, was watching Miguel a flustered or surprised mess. Mostly of the time he was the one that always provided the right amount of rizz to have your cheeks flustered or a trembling mess underneath him.

But this time, you were set into switching the roles. Sundays meant he'd spend the day at home, being a dad and a husband. Your perfect chance.

You'd grown to learn the sound of his heavy steps, and he approached, probably to serve another cup of coffee. As soon as he entered the room, you rushed to close the kitchen's curtains, leaving the space a bit darker, he quirked a brow at your sudden energy ourburst.

"Mi reina?"

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

He put the cup on the counter island, reaching for the coffee machine.

"Yeah... Just... These damned suns are too bright today."

"Suns?"

His brow knitted together in brief confusion, "There's only one sun, mi vida."

If something had him baiting, was inaccurate science facts. It ground his gears to no end. A total nerd through and through.

"No, no. I mean, one is outside" He blinked at your words, truly wondering if you were kidding or not

"And the other one is about to get himself some coffee."

It took a couple of seconds longer for it to click on his brain. You giggled at his speechless reaction, but his wide and unbelieving eyes and the bashful smile he gave said it all.

With a giggle you kissed his reddening cheek, letting the compliment to sink in properly.

-----

Miguel wasn't one for crafts or anything that involve glitter or intricately cut shapes. Hands too big for  the scissors. The living room's floor filled with paper and other material's leftovers.

And still, he would never say no to his kids. He was helping Benjamin to cut some things for a gift to one of his classmate's school birthday party

You entered the room, watching him.

"What are you doing?"

"Uh... wrapping this, apparently?."

"Oh, can I do that? I wanna wrap it."

He dropped the scissors in the coffee table, grateful that you were to save him of some stress. But to his surprise, your legs went around him, clinging on him and securing around his waist like you'd do in the privacy of your room and kissed him briefly while he was sitting on the couch

His brain froze for a moment, and he blinked as you removed your legs off him, an impish smirk on your face.

"Wha... What was that?"

"I asked if I could, so I wrapped it."

You ran away with a screech before hearing the hefty steps tailing after you. You were so in trouble.

----

Miguel was picking the vitamins for the kids in the monthly shop of them, He had Rosie secured to his chest within the pink baby carrier, bee shaped pacifier on her mouth, staring at everything that moved.

"I think..." he mumbled while taking another look at the list, "We've got them all."

Benjamin was helping Gabriella to pick the snacks in the other aisle.

"No, not all of them."

He frowned.

"What do you mean?, We've got complex B, Omega 3, your biotin, Iron, melatonin for us and the kids." He pointed at each bottle as he spoke

You shook your head. "I haven't had my vitamin D yet"

And oh boy... His face went through the five stages of grief in a couple of seconds, specially when you purposely bit your lip subtly. Cheeks flushed as another couple gave silent titters as they passed by you both. They had heard it all. He heaved a deep exhale and waved a warning finger to you, a deep shade of pink in his ears.

"Compórtate. O no te la doy." (Behave, or I won't give it to you)

----

Sometimes, you'd wake up earlier than everyone and would find him in the kitchen, brewing his coffee or chugging down his water bottle after running some laps around the block.

You'd get some cereal and waited for the kids to join. But you frowned and scrunched your nose at the taste of the cereal.

"You alright?" He sipped the coffee.

"No. This milk tastes weird."

His brow quirked, ready to see the carton for any expiration date

"That's why I rather yours."

He spat the gulp of coffee as you laughed silently to then smirk

"You ok, Papa?"

"Ya vas a ver." (You'll see.)

-----

"Miguel, mi amor, can you get me the salt please?"

You wiped Rosie's chin off the smeared puree, he turned around to grab the little square shaped salt container, and you seized the chance to take a soft hold of his chin and turn his head around to give him a deep smooch.

"Hey"

He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat as Benjamin and Gabi jeered.

"Papa's got pink cheeks!" Benjamin teased, and Rosie gave a bubbly laugh

"See? till got it."

You definitely did.