#Long live cringe or whatever

[kiracles]

Tagged by: @froglady-15

Tagging: @fiontach @misericordae @tennantfeltonsmith @violetknees @druidquest

.......... @tirednsmall (if you dare lmao)

Rules: post your top 5 artists/songs and your spotify personality!

[lumiink]

posting fanart for my own fanfics on main (again lol), don’t even worry about it. sometimes you gotta visualise something while you write.

[alister312]

so since i got 400 followers, there’s something i’ve wanted to do for a while and i finally have a good excuse to do it 👀 do y’all remember dA art memes?

i do 😏 and i’m bringing one of ‘em back and onto tumblr

and i do mean that last bit!! if you wanna do this meme, do it!! whether you follow me or not. i’m here to have fun and hope others have fun too <3 i’m putting the blank i used below the cut since the original got deleted from dA

[triglycercule]

i love characters with barely elaborated on personalities and traits and all that. dust sans??? absolute perfection i can do whatever the fuck i want with him. headcanon anything i want as long as it fits the framework that askdusttale has given me. nightmare??? his one main trait is that he's bad do you know how amazingly vague that is. i have even MORE freedom with him than anyone else. there are various different types of bad guy and i can make nightmare all of them and none simultaneously because he's simply not all that elaborated on. once i lose that creative freedom i lose all will to do anything with characters

[6kate1bishop6]

okay so i rewatched the batman for like the 5th time last night / this morning and i was having too many thoughts to put them all as a letterboxd comment so here are all my little semi connected ramblings on the film 

starting off strong with right at the start the drophead guy that tried to rob the convenience store, its just so interesting to me that he was scared of the batman even when he wasnt there and so he ran back into the street and got hit by a police car but the police just yelled at him like they didnt try to stop him or anything -- metaphor for how the batman is offering solutions and providing suspects for the police and stuff but theyre too corrupt to do anything about it ? maybe 

it’s the whole system -- just that quote is so good, i should remember who said it considering i literally watched the film 2 hours ago i think it was gil but again super good line just encompassing the fact that the gotham justice system does not offer justice, it is corrupt down to its core and it is failing the people 

bruce wayne my blorbo this is just a point about how smart he is and like he just catches on to things but its interesting because he can understand how the riddlers brain works also when bruce punched jim and then jim was like you couldve pulled that punch and bruce was like i did he is so im just kind of obsessed with the fact that he trains for this and its just interesting anyway point about my poor little meow meow over back to analysis 

the good cop batshit cop contrasted with brains and brawn -- bruce and jim work together well, they bounce ideas off eachother especially in that scene with the penguim and the way when jim pretended to side with his captain (??? i cant remember) bruce was like et tu? and then that contrasted with batman and the riddler the way riddler thinks hes working with bruce because they both understand a fundamental aspect of eachother and sure bruce is on the same wavelength as him sometimes but its only to track him down and riddler just completely does not realise 

when alfred intercepts the assassination attempt and the card reads see you in hell, i feel like that wouldve twisted the knife even more; im not 100% familiar with the original deaths of martha + thomas but the whole senseless crime thing kind of echoes here, like all the other cards to the batman had a cypher or a clue or something but this is just senseless hatred that has no obvious lead for bruce to chase up 

he mindmaps, i just like that its fun its fresh hes just like me fr 

the way bruce and the riddler are tied together, like in the small things with the diaries but also theyre obviously both orphans and they can understand eachother, they were both born out of tragedy and that was the renewal fund and thomas + marthas deaths, where bruce was left without a mother or father alone in the world (ignoring alfred, as bruce did) the riddler was left without hope, they both use fear, though the batman uses it as a deterrant whereas the riddler uses it as inspiration and almost thrives off it 

the way bruce misses the tucker, the carpet tool, showing that even if he fights for the city, even if he walks its streets, he is still a billionaire in a bat suit and there will be experiences and little things that he does not know and that shape his personality and the way he solves crimes 

the way the batman begins with the whole i am vengeance thing but comes to realise that he needs to be a symbol of hope, someone for people to fall back on as he ends in the movie, the realisation as he hears his words come from someone wanting to cause only pain and immediatly sacrificing himself by cutting the electric thingy and falling into the water just seconds later 

[cgspirl]

you all say that you hate your past selves but in truth i think you hate the fact you embraced 'cringe' things with an absolute lack of shame. you were open. you were willing. you wanted to fall in to something that made you feel alive and then when too many people told you it was wrong or that thing got horrible and bad that shame grew in like a kudzu in the vines of your soul.

and now, in your 'old age' (you're fucking 20 not 6-fuckin'-5) you let that kudzu suffocate whatever was left and now all that stands is an untamed, unchecked garden of elitist disapproval that you've made your goal to spread to every single fucking person involved in that thing you once loved and cherished with all your heart.

now, i beg of you the question: are you actually happy? or would you rather keep pretending you are; suffocate in your misery because accepting that you were just a kid that didn't know any better and that you're wrong about your view of your past self and the things they loved to try and kill them ? to stifle that realization, that new growth?

would be too much for your shallow pride to handle?

the kudzu is thick. too thick to cut, to shave, to slice- tear- rip- break- you let it curl and crush you, suffocate the life out of you because living is an admittance of shame and admitting shame isn't something mature people do. mature people deny. they deny wrong was done and condemn those that engage with the horrible thing because they're wrong and deserve it. they die in the kudzu, become apart of it.

in front of you, a single lighter. it's within reach, practically empty, but a slight shake reveals enough fluid for just one last light. and now you have a choice:

drop the lighter. why not let the kudzu take you, become another soul caught in its throng, ready to pull another hapless soul down in with you? misery does love company, after all.

or you could light it. it's never too late to change, even if the voices of those in the kudzu around you say otherwise. the kudzu will burn, along with whatever stifled growths that suffocated under its evertight grip.

but in the charred ashes of it all, you'll be free. not cringe, not based, not basic, not fake, not whatever-other-fuckoff-lingo there is.

you'll be free.

you'll be you, and you'll be free.

but it's your choice.

i just hope you'll make the right one.

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

i gotta say that i'm grateful for food metaphors because a) they make What Codependency Actually Is way, way easier to explain, and b) they give enough of a buffer to explain said things without delving too much into gory details of one's personal experiences

[versias]

New Brother Just Dropped! Limited Time Cryptid Edition!

Bruce was very proud of his status as a good foster father. You could see it in how he perked up whenever someone asked about his kids, even those no longer living with him. They spent a good thirty minutes discussing how each kid was doing.

Anyone could tell that Jim Gordon’s request for him to foster a witness for a few weeks was taken with respect as a badge of honor.

Tim, of course, was aware that Batman was investigating the disappearance of two Doctors Fenton and subsequent appearance of unusual technology on the streets of Gotham. The fact that their youngest, Daniel, had been found wandering those streets, battered, bleeding, and silent as the grave, had a fairly large impact on Bruce’s willingness to take him in. While he might have done so anyway, the incentive of getting information from him was pretty enticing, too.

When Daniel was brought in to meet Bruce, Tim snapped a surreptitious pic on his phone and sent it to the family group chat.

TimBot: New Brother Just Dropped! Limited Time Cryptid Edition! Several people are typing…

The boy was sixteen and scrawny in a way that spoke of not getting enough to eat, consistently. His hair was black and his eyes were blue (a fact that everyone was surely going to point out when they got a good look). His hair was unhealthy, though, greasy and brittle and too long in the back. His bangs had clearly been cut on his own to keep his hair out of his eyes. Bags under his eyes and the sallow tint to his skin spoke of nights without sleep, anxiety without end. His clothes hung off him, too big by a size and a half.

He looked kind of like one of the wet kittens Damian had brought home one night—sad and pitiable. A bit pathetic, if one was being uncharitable.

His eyes flickered around the room, sizing up exits and occupants. He cringed away from the officer leading him gently by the shoulder. It looked like he wanted nothing more than to curl into himself and disappear.

He looked hunted.

He looked haunted.

He needed help. Tim was going to make sure he got it.

“Hello, Daniel,” Bruce greeted with a winning smile, the tender version of his innocent grin, number four.

The boy stiffened and blinked. A flinch, suppressed.

Something about the attention of being talked to? Was it Bruce’s superficial resemblance to his father, Dr. Jack Fenton? Or was it a reaction to the name? He could possibly address one of those, at least.

“Do you mind if I call you Danny?” Tim piped up. “I’m Tim, another of Bruce’s gaggle of kids. Obviously, short for Timothy but– Ugh, please don’t.”

Danie- Danny nodded, looking the slightest bit relieved. Bruce gave Tim a grateful glance for the assist.

Tim grinned at both of them.

He checked his phone.

Spoiler Alert!: what’s with this can’t be captured on film shit we adoptin vampires now??? Dancing Queen: 🧛❓❌ 🆕 👯✅ 💃🏻💕 Damian Wayne: He is not a new brother, Cain. We are taking him in to protect him and to gather whatever intel he is privy to. Cease this nonsense. Dancing Queen: 😠 😢 Duuuuuuke: lol denial. 10 bucks says he’s here to stay

[aromantic-pantyanarchy]

It's me. I'm the cis, heterosexual, aromantic man. I will never marry, I will never be married, I will grow into middle age and elder age and I will die unmarried. I will be forced to support a household of myself on only my wages alone for the rest of my life. I will be asked about women and marriage and children by my family for the rest of my life (or men, the progressive ones might say). I may not ever come out to them. I feel like I burned my coming out on something stupid. I don't want to explain it. I don't want to run them through the definitions and intricacies. I don't want the acceptance without understanding, placating me with ceased questions and poor explanations to other, drunk adults.

I like my hair to be long, I spent a year with it dyed a golden blonde with dark roots because I like the trashy party girl aesthetic. I want to dye it again with pink tips. I like painting my nails, black and blue are my favorite colors. I like wearing chokers. I also like wearing baggy jeans and ratty hoodies. I like having stubble. I like having chest hair. I like having a square jaw and broad shoulders. I wish I had a flatter stomach and a thinner profile frame. I don't know what this makes me, perhaps this is something no more GNC than Machine Gun Kelly. I think about this a lot, how queer my appearance truly is. I should think about it less. I have thought long and hard about if I could be trans or if I could be non-binary or if I could be genderqueer and the conclusion I ultimately came to is that I most enjoy being a man open to whatever self-expression I want.

I don't date, but I've thought about it. I would like to meet people, and I would like to have sex with them. But I don't want to hurt them. I fear if I explain what I am beforehand it'll scare them away. I fear if I explain after they'll feel manipulated or abused. I don't know how many people in the dating scene want what I want. I fear my own lack of experience will make me a bad lay, an embarrassing story to tell to confidants in hindsight. I fear my own virginity, a boundary to those I wish to be like. All of these fears are baseless, as I've not been able to even begin a single relationship in my life. Despite this I still heavily identify with terms like "slut" and "manwhore" and "thot" because my interests lay so deeply within casual sex, sex without great intimacy or emotion. This may be some form of stolen valor. I hope the true sluts are not too mad at me.

I made this blog several years ago because a mutual of mine reblogged memes making fun of aro and ace people, making fun of the concept of aphobia, and in addition well known aphobes. I didn't feel comfortable talking about aro stuff on my main blog, for as little as I talk about it. Living through the ace discourse of the 2016 era has largely caused me to cringe in embarrassment any time I am forced to discuss my orientation with people who aren't aro or ace themselves. I no longer follow this person. I unfollowed many people I was mutuals with from that time, most of them because they posted too often about how much they hated men and I didn't want to see that, some because our interests simply drifted too far apart, only one for explicit aphobia reasons. (Also one because they became a "both sides are bad, any vote is wasted" libertarian, but that's unrelated.)

I guess at this point I don't care deeply about what strangers on the internet think of me. If a trusted friend told me that they don't think I'm truly queer that may hurt. But I am going to continue to use the word for myself. I take up no resources. I go to events that are open to me. If an event was not open to me, I think I'd not want to go anyways. I am not a hypothetical, I am not a strawman, I am a person with lived experiences both within and exterior to the queer community. If you hate me, I will permit you to continue to do so. But ultimately, I am who I am, I cannot change these facts, and I would not choose to do so even if I could.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is too well-mannered for his own good.

when you walk into his living room, a lidded paper cup in hand, he’s seated on the couch. right in front of the coffee table, his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop, a series of clicks filling the open air.

he’s just as beautiful as always. light shines in from the veranda, through parted curtains, licking along the contours of his face; illuminating his face lines, soft crows’ feet by his eyes. he’s got his hair tied up into a messy bun, raven locks and silver strands, only slightly grayed, some of them tickling the back of his neck — behind a pair of reading glasses, his eyes narrow in concentration.

you can see his age, like this, but also not at all. he looks younger than ever, with the sun as his gown.

suddenly, he raises his head, meeting your adoring gaze with his own; two pools of amber, always warm, like they were made to reflect sunlight, made to pull you in. his lips curling up into a fond smile.

but your gaze strays down to his hands.

big, steady hands. hands that always find their way to the dips of your waist, or your shoulders, or the top of your head. reaching out to pinch your cheek, to soothe your headaches after long lectures, to mend and mold any lump of clay you place into his waiting palms — guide it into whatever shape he pleases, with those skilled fingers.

when you think of suguru, you think of pottery. you think of something beautiful, and there he is.

and he’s holding a cup.

as you step farther into his line of vision, hungry for a proper look at him, you can’t help but notice it. painted a deep, dark green, his favorite, but the shape is all wrong — uneven, not nearly polished enough, rough around the edges. when he puts it back down on the table, it wobbles.

(you visibly cringe.)

”hi, sweetie.”

that deep, honeyed voice tugs you back into reality, your gaze pulled up like a puppet on a string. suguru is patient, just taking you in, waiting for a response. there’s never any rush, when it comes to him. 

a shy smile blooms on your lips. 

”hi,” you echo, stepping closer yet; raising a hand, the one carrying the paper cup, swaying it lightly side to side. ”i got you a latte.”

”oh?” he lets out a soft noise, something like a coo, eyes blooming with fondness. ”chai?”

”mhm.”

his smile only grows. you watch him lean back, absently crossing his arms, thick muscles hidden under the turtleneck he’s sporting. when you take a step closer, eager to hand it to him, he stops you. 

”why don’t you give it a taste for me?” he asks, giving you a sweet tilt of his head. eyes soft and amused.

you blink.

after a moment, you raise the cup to your lips; taking a tentative sip of the brew. it’s hot on your tongue, a dash of pleasant spices, but mellow and sweet. just the way he likes it. you sigh out in bliss.

he only chuckles. ”how is it?”

”tasty,” you hum, licking your lips. holding it out for him to take. ”not too sweet, don’t worry.”

suguru accepts the cup with a smile, his thumb lingering on your hand for a moment, caressing the skin in a soothing motion. his voice a low, tender murmur. ”thank you, honey.”

(a warm feeling sprouts in your chest.)

”i’ll get you a cup next time i pass by a café,” he continues, taking a tentative sip of his own. he visibly perks up at the taste. ”what would you like?”

”you don’t have to!” you’re quick to assure him, blinking sheepishly. but, of course, he won’t have it.

”i want to,” he chuckles. ”you’ll make me very happy if you let me.”

…

there’s no use protesting, when it comes to things like this. when he gets like this. telling suguru not to take care of you is like asking the sun not to shine.

so you let out a sigh.

”i… want a caramel frappe, please…”

another little chuckle. his voice is soft, as always, like a coo is resting on the tip of his tongue. ”understood.”

suguru watches you, silently, for just a moment or two. you’re meeting his gaze with a shy pair of eyes, always a little flustered by his attention, his care. his sweet little baby bird, coming over just to give him something to drink. straight out of class. 

(you must be in need of some pampering.)

he pats his lap. ”come here,” he croons, parting his legs to give you space to take up. ”keep me company while i work. i want to hear about your day, sweetie.”

you blink, again. looking down at his lap, then back up at him, at the light catching onto the silver of his half-rim frames. he gives you a patient, closed-eyed smile — waiting for you to take your rightful place.

and you do.

his thighs feel solid, beneath you, big arms curling around your waist as you crawl into his lap. one hand goes to rest on your hip, the other on your lower back, cradling you close, secure in his embrace. you wrap your arms around his neck, legs draped over his thighs, leaning into his touch; inhaling the scent of sandalwood and tea leaves.

”… it was pretty boring.”

”oh, i’m sure you can do better than that.” he grins, brushing his thumb over the fabric of your jeans, an absentminded gesture. ”any interesting lectures?”

”uhhh…” 

as you take the time to think, recollecting your long and tiring day, suguru leans forward — reaching for the cup. the ugly one. pulling it closer, putting the ceramic to his lips, to finish whatever he was drinking before you came in. green tea, you assume. the sip he takes resounds in your ear, your eyes sticking to his fingers as he places it back on the wooden table with a clink — it wobbles again. 

you give it a look of silent contempt.

… a look suguru seems to notice. because his keen, warm eyes trail down to where yours are still resting, and then back up at your little frown. he raises a brow, but he’s still smiling, an amused curl of his lips.

 ”… what?”

a moment passes. you consider staying silent, but the nagging curiosity gets the better of you. avoiding his gaze, still glancing down at the cup in question, absently clearing your throat.

”you still… use that one?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. thinking that it should be stashed away in some forgotten cupboard, not out in the open — but maybe your boyfriend is just too polite to do something like that. 

suguru only blinks. ”why wouldn’t i?”

…

you give him a look.

he returns it with a look of his own; silent, coaxing, that one questioning raise of his brow. he pairs it with a gentle squeeze to your hip, knowing it’ll make you relent. and he’s right.

”it’s…” you part your lips, searching for the right word, frowning down at the little ceramic bundle of joy. with its bumpy texture, that awkward-looking handle, the uneven bottom layer. ”so ugly, suguru.”

”ugly?” he echoes, a spark of amusement in his amber eyes. but he sounds a little discontent, almost protective. ”now, now. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my love.”

his deep voice buzzes in your ear, as he reaches out again, cradling the cup with one large hand. gazing down at it with a look you can’t quite place — so sweet it makes you shiver. out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving you a pointed look. 

”… and i happen to think this cup is very charming.”

you can’t help but pout, shying away from his gaze. gnawing at your bottom lip, crossing your arms and resting your cheek near the crook of his neck, muttering under your breath. ”what’s charming about a cup that can barely stand…?”

”you made it,” he answers, simply, no hesitation in his voice. ”with your own hands and fingers. and you gave it to me.”

ever so gently, he grips your jaw; his pointer and middle finger tilting your chin to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

”… don’t you think there’s an awful lot of charm in that?”

(warm. his eyes look warm enough to fall into.)

a sigh slips past your lips. he gives you a soft tilt of his head, and you part your lips in pliant response. sulking. ”the ones you’ve made for me are so much better, though…”

you think of all the bowls, all the cups, the plates he’s given you — the same ones you use every single day, sitting tall and proud on your shelves, made entirely by him. in all kinds of elegant patterns, your initials carved at the bottom of every single one. he always gives you the ones he’s most proud of, after he’s finished with his classes.

… in comparison, yours is just…

”we don’t make art for needless comparison,” he shushes you, ever so fondly. ”there’s no end to that. we make it because it’s fun. my pieces aren’t better or lesser than yours just because i happen to be more experienced.”

…

when you don’t respond, suguru shifts — cradling you close, lifting the cup up to catch the light of the evening sun. it cascades down the ceramic, a mellow orange glow gliding across the green expanse. he watches it with barely concealed adoration.

”… this is my favorite one, you know. in my entire collection.” a joyous little hum buzzes in his throat. ”i’ve never made a cup i liked as much as this.”

you watch his expression change, eyes flickering with something soft and subtle, crinkled at the edges. his voice is nothing but sincere — coated in that sturdy, reliable tilt, like nothing he says could possibly be a lie. even if he tried, you doubt he could fake this kind of delight. putting the cup back down, as gentle as he can, as if it’s a cherished possession. he only looks more delighted when it wobbles a bit.

without thinking, the words slip past your lips.

”… i’ll make you another one.”

suguru’s gaze flicks down to meet yours. all bright and determined, your cheek squished against his shoulder, enough to make him want to coo. he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

”oh…? joining us in the studio again?”

”joining you,” you’re quick to correct, letting out a quiet huff. ”i… don’t want your students to make fun of me.”

a raspy chuckle leaves his lips. ”they won’t,” he assures you, a hint of pride in his voice. ”they’re much too well-behaved.”

”well-behaved around you, maybe,” you mutter, with a roll of your eyes. nuzzling against his jaw, frowning softly. ”… you’re coddling them.”

”i coddle you,” he purrs, with an affectionate squeeze to your hip. ”i don’t see you complaining, do i?”

”… that’s different.” 

the tiny pout on your lips makes him laugh. but he indulges you, always, all too eager to let you have your way. ”of course it is,” he coos, deep and teasing. ”how could i ever suggest otherwise?”

you fail to stifle a smile. feeling his skin against yours, his fingers rubbing absentminded patterns into your back, that soothing voice rumbling in your ear. when he leans down, to pick up the paper cup, you’re filled with a sense of purpose. you’ll just have to make a better cup next time — one that doesn’t wobble, with an smoother texture, perfectly symmetrical. one he can show off to his students and coworkers, the same way you do with all the pottery he’s given you.

suguru deserves nothing but the best, after all.

… what you don’t realize is that it won’t matter either way. even if you give him a better option, he’ll undoubtedly continue to use the cup he has now — with a sheepish little smile, and a sorry, honey. it seems i’ve gotten attached.

(… you suppose it’s the thought that counts.)

[griddlegold]

i need to shower but i'm so determined to actually write this fic before i lose motivation again that i might just put my phone in a ziploc so i can keep writing while i do so

[dollerinna]

WOULD YOU LIKE AN ALMOND JOY .ᐣ

( black noir x gn!crime analyst reader )

summary: after a long day of work, you try to unwind by watching your comfort show, but your solitude is interrupted by yet another visit from noir, who seems to be finding more and more excuses to spend time with you… (includes a C.AI bot as part 2 below!)

wordcount: 2k

tags: brief mention of NSFW pop-up ads, nerdy n’ socially awkward reader, noir’s disdain for almond joys but he makes up for it at the end <3

It had been a long day at the crime analytics office in Vought. As the sun began to set, exhaustion crept over you after reviewing incident report after report. Your eyes strained from the blue glare of your computer screen. You knew you had promised your boss you would organize the ever-growing database, but the tiny voice of procrastination was pleading for rest before your overworked brain turned into a pile of mush.

Rather than more paperwork—you, being the slacker of all slackers in this department, decided a well-deserved break was in order. And what better way to recharge than turning off the noggin and filling it with good ol’ fashioned mindless entertainment?

With a few tired clicks of your mouse, you booted up your go-to streaming site, which was none other than 123movies. Scrolling through the options, your cursor hovered over the play button of your favorite trashy drama. The kind of cheesy, perfectly predictable melodrama spun from the worst of amateur YA plots. It was practically comfort food for your fatigued mind, just what you needed to loosen up after the mental marathon that was this long day.

As the opening credits began to roll, your computer began to whir and hiss like an overtaxed engine, emitting gusts of unusually hot air from the vents. Suddenly, its screen slowed to a sluggish crawl, cluttered with a barrage of not-so-savory pop-up ads. Barely a minute in, the pixels already scrambled to form images better to left unseen—half naked women in risqué yet tacky mermaid-like attire, claiming they were ‘just around the corner and ready for a good aquatic fuck.’

First of all, what the absolute living hell is an “aquatic fuck”??

Did you even want to know? And most importantly, what happened to the ad blocker you installed just the other day? Judging by the contents, you had a sneaking suspicion that slimy, sea-dwelling degenerate, The Deep, had tampered with your computer… yet again.

“For the love of-… what’s with all these pop-up ads?” you muttered under your breath as excessively explicit ads crowded out the episode. Your eyes darted furtively around the room to check for wandering glances, hoping against hope that none of your coworkers had noticed the unwanted filth invading your screen. Heart pounding, you squeezed your chair closer to your monitor into a makeshift barricade, shielding the display as best you could while hastily clicking away at the intrusive ads.

As you hurriedly closed the remaining windows, an ominous shadow fell across the screen. Dreading what—or who—might be behind you, you slowly swiveled your chair around to find Black Noir's stoic stare boring into your own.

You stifled a yelp as you instinctively clutched the armrests, catching yourself on the edge of your seat before an ungainly spill to the floor. Noir had a way of materializing without warning, and it never failed to unnerve.

“N-Noir!” you managed, inwardly cringing as your voice broke on his name. “Fancy seeing you in these parts. I was just taking a quick break and y’know- stretching ‘em brain cells.” You tried for a lighthearted chuckle, but it emerged as more of a strained squeak that faded into an anxious hum.

With a jerky flurry of clicks and the browser minimized from view, whatever dignity you still retained disappearing along with it. All that did remain was you praying to the heavens above that he hadn't noticed its questionable contents (even if he most definitely had and simply chose not to comment)

When Noir offered no response, you of course charmingly barreled ahead in your frazzled daze. “But anyways, s-sorry about that… how uh, can I help you today?” your words tumbled out in a breathless rush, punctuated by a shrill laugh you hoped disguised the mortification simmering beneath.

Noir cocked his head, observing you with that same silent intensity. You fidgeted, hands twisting in knotted discomfort, the heat in your ears now engulfing your entire face. Was it the invasive pop-ups that had you squirming in your seat? Or the fact he could snuff out your existence faster than you can say “workers’ comp”?

Either way, beneath the weight of his stare, you already felt as if you were some peculiar, freakish creature pinned for study, rather than some bumbling employee just trying to unwind and watch their comfort show.

And to him, you indeed were a fascinating, bizarre little human.

Mercifully, Noir chose to extend a folder toward you, putting an end to your somewhat pathetic withering. You accepted it with a wordless nod, nearly sagging in your chair as tension drained from your shoulders.

Whirling towards the familiar clutter of your desk once more, you pretended absorption in the folder’s material, hoping this signaled Noir’s leave. After all, has anyone seen the state of you? It certainly wasn’t a flattering one. Yet from the corner of your eye, you detected no movement, no receding footsteps—his shadowy form remained statuesquely in place.

Believe it or not, this has been becoming a thing, a growing habit of late—and a suspicious one at that. Lately his breaks had grown longer, minutes lengthening to quarters of an hour, all spent hovering at your desk as you worked. However, his focus was solely on watching and observing you. He never exhibited a hint of thought or motive for his reason there, only leaving you with questions that seemed to multiply by each and every visit.

Noir, on the other hand, was somehow utterly convinced that you and him were two peas in a tightly-knit pod. He swore you two were best of buds for life—even if "life" so far had only amounted to the past two weeks' worth of half-hour stretches where he silently observed your work from the corner.

Ironically, you didn’t have the slightest inkling of how he really felt. Instead, you always assumed that he, like most supes, regarded you as little more than a puny mortal—a fragile, near-useless sack of flesh and bones whose skull he was one misstep away from caving in with bare hands.

But nope, Noir was simply here to bless you, the nerdy but cute crime analyst, with his presence—his rather… unsettling presence.

The familiar hush settled as you reluctantly returned focus to the task at hand. Hocus-pocus-focus, you chanted mentally, peeling away the last shreds of stray thoughts to tap into the zone of productivity. Unfurling the dossier Noir provided, you began sifting through documents for insight on his purpose in approaching you. Meanwhile, a flick of movement in the edge of your vision revealed Noir's attention veer off course, the almond joy perched beside your keyboard capturing his notice.

You tensed, hocus-pocus-focus breaking, all too aware of past disappearances of snacks in these briefings. Sure enough, his hand drifted noiselessly toward the candy bar, no doubt spurred by ingrained impulse to dispose of it per his usual custom. But you'd grown wise to his methods by now.

Not again, you sighed inwardly, snatching the almond joy and cradling it protectively as if it were your dear, beloved child.

Noir made no move to withdraw, palm outstretched expectantly. You frowned, struggling to keep frustration at bay. "Please, come on- not this time!.. It's my last one for the day." Brows pinching, your tone threatened to rise before steadying with a slow and calm inhale. No use losing composure over candy, no matter the principle. So all you could do was peer beseechingly at Noir in silent appeal, legs jittering restlessly under your desk in building apprehension.

Unfortunately, you found no signs of leniency in his obscured face—only his hand beckoning relentlessly for the almond joy. You plea was once again met with stony resolve, as if he was internally distressed by the mere presence of it. What was he? Deathly allergic to almond joys or something?

With a resigned breath, you delivered the almond joy towards Noir's waiting glove, unable to hide the disappointment dimming your features. Your lips curled into a slight pout, gaze sinking heavy into your lap at being parted from the treat. Though Noir was never one for words, it really didn’t take a rocket scientist to see you felt bullied into submission by his demands. At the end of the day, what power did a measly analyst like yourself hold against one of the Seven? As your fingers uncurled, releasing the candy into Noir's grasp, you couldn't help but feel a bit put upon, even if that wasn’t his intention at all.

Noir was well aware of the upset feelings his request had caused, so in an attempt to remedy the situation, his arm was sent in a backwards reach for the notepad he often used to communicate. However, he found himself at a loss as words eluded him, his thoughts swirling in frustrating circles of “What should I even say?”—muddled and incoherent. For a moment he stared at you, mask betraying no emotion as he grappled to find the right words, despite the prick of guilt nibbling at his conscience. Then, lacking any better option, he simply tossed the offending candy into the trash, perhaps with more force than intended.

Clearly, socializing was not Noir’s strong suit.

With no further acknowledgment, Noir spun on his heel and marched away. You watched his retreating, rigid form with discomfort clenching your insides, eyes falling onto the lonely candy discarded in the trash, its colorful wrapper mocking your current disheartened state.

Wearily, you turned away from the almond joy, redirecting your attention toward the computer as a means to divert your now soured mood. Maximizing the browser, you hoped that your planned show may have had time to load during the interaction. But upon inspecting the screen, you found the video remained stubbornly stalled, stuck on buffering dots and refusing to roll despite the minutes passed.

Just. Peachy.

One (super)human encounter had sucked the very life source out of your dog-tired body, and now this. It was really shaping up to be one of those days.

Thoroughly worn out, you gently laid your head down onto the desk, pillowing it against the crook of your folded arms as eyelids slid shut. All you craved was to simply sleep away the remaining time until you could finally escape this wretched shift and retreat to the sanctuary of your home sweet home.

─────────────────

As your shift wound down to its end, you were finally stirring from your slumber. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes, your blurred vision sharpened to show your colleagues had long since departed while you were snoozing away.

Rising and squaring your shoulders, you began to gather your belongings in preparation to leave as well. Once you had collected everything and lifted to your feet, something in the far corner of your desk caught your eye. Approaching for a closer look in the dim lighting, the fuzzy outline gradually came into focus—a cluttered collection of Hershey's Kisses, their jumbled placement grouped to form the shape of a heart.

You blinked in bewilderment, rubbing your eyes once more to ensure you weren't imagining things. Stepping closer, you spotted a sticky note nestled within the heart of chocolates, scrawled upon in a crude, blocky hand. At first, you assumed it was some silly prank from one of your coworkers, but you knew you recognized the handwriting anywhere—it was Noir's.

Gingerly, you plucked the sticky note from the desk, lifting it to your line of sight to read the message. “Kisses taste better than almond joys…Sorry.” you read softly, your voice trailing off as confusion crept in.

Designed as a very apparent flirty gesture, the intent behind the note and chocolates still managed to whoosh straight over your head. As always seemed the case, even the most painfully obvious social cues could so easily evade your understanding—this proving no exception.

You slipped the sticky note into your pocket, then selected a foil-wrapped Kiss from the pile. Gently rolling the chocolate between your fingers, you unwrapped it and popped one into your mouth. You took time to savor its light cream filling beneath a smooth outer shell, face crinkling in thought and head tilting as you considered your verdict. “Eh… I’d beg to differ.” you mused with a shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you took your leave from the office.

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Pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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a C.AI bot as your very own part 2 where you thank Noir the following day:

a/n: saw somewhere that kisses don’t contain nuts but then I also saw someone else say they actually do??? So let’s just pretend the kisses Noir chose are completely nut-free for the sake of the plot 😭

also, the reader is very much based off Anika if it wasn’t obvious enough haha! She’s so y/n coded 😤💗

♡ divider credits: @/ianrkives

[shenachigans]

LITTLE ONES | Ningguang

PAIRING: Amab!Ningguang x Fem!Reader

CW: smut, angst, fluff, unintentional baby-making (or breeding) at first, unprotected sex, readers is ill but illness is unspecified only that pregnancy is a risk, a lot of pet names ig, bottom female afab reader

SUMMARY: Ningguang has been wanting children of her own, but she must hold her desires back during a night of pleasure, or does she?

A/N: I cringed and almost got sappy writing the fluff part but whatever, I barely do fluff for a reason. Also, this is my first post of the year :> I wrote and posted this past my bedtime, excuse my mistakes…

WORDS: 1,928

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

There are rumors that Lady Ningguang had a soft spot for children. You can confirm that. The children of Liyue Harbor adore her just as she adores them. She had a motherly side, giving the kids irresistible sweets to see them smile. Of course, Ningguang gains something in return, but being around the little ones relieves her from her duties and the harsh business world. 

Ningguang isn’t the Tianquan of Liyue nor a ruthless businesswoman. She was merely a friendly elder sister who mingled with the common folk, and the children were the only ones who could give her that satisfaction without calculating moves — unless creating schemes to get the most sweets from her counted.

You can see joy in your lover’s eyes when she sees the children light up whenever they see her and receive delicacies. You remember the kids almost fighting each other for Ningguang’s head pats and praises for doing well in their missions (informing her about the latest news in the Harbor). 

There was a time when one of the children accidentally called her ‘mom’ instead of ‘big sister.’ Ningguang wasn’t fazed and instead responded as if she were their mother. It was such a wholesome sight that it brought you to your countless dreams of having her own flesh and blood where you lived as a happy family. 

The conversation of having children has yet to be brought up, but Ningguang’s eyes say more than her lips can. Even if she mastered the art of putting on a perfect facade, you can see through her. There is a visible glimmer of longing whenever she’s with the kids; it makes your chest ache.

Ningguang wants to have children with you. She does. She wants little versions of yourselves running around the floating palace and experiencing what it’s like to become a mother. But she holds back. She stops herself from painting your womb white, risking getting you pregnant. She doesn’t want you to carry her child, even if a baby bump on your tummy would make her heart swell from joy. 

You always blame yourself for preventing your lover from getting what she desires, for your weak disposition makes it a risk of surviving childbirth. You were already struggling with your illness. It was a gamble she didn’t want to take. But she doesn’t know you would gladly give your life to your little one because you have been wanting children with her as well.

It was a night of pleasure. Ningguang’s hips thrust into yours, her girthy cock stimulating your slick walls. Manicured nails created light crescents on your thighs as she gripped them for leverage, slowly losing herself in the song of your moans and whimpers harmonizing with the squelching created where you two are connected. 

You were ravishing in her hooded eyes, clawing onto the sheets below you, and tears rolling down your cheeks as pleasure coursed through your veins. Only Ningguang can see you like this. But her eyes subconsciously dart to your belly, imagining something she mustn’t. She longs to touch your empty womb — feel your skin on the pads of her fingers — but it will only indicate her want, and she doesn’t wish to make you solemn in the midst of pleasure. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything a long, long time ago.

“I want to embrace you,” you say, albeit interrupted by grunts from the ecstasy between your legs and your lover’s pleasured disposition. Ningguang slowed her ruts, complying with your request and letting go of your plush thighs, opting to grip the soiled bed sheets as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her free hand holding your waist. 

Your lover was a sight to see. Tinted cheeks and hooded eyes — a woman lost in pleasure — which juxtaposed her usual professional disposition. Ragged breaths and relentless pounding made her seem desperate to bring you to your peak as if she were a servant pleasuring her master — and she was because everything she did was for you, all for you, even if it meant denying herself something she wanted all her life.

Ningguang could feel herself at the edge of the newfound angle as she resumed her previous pace, ensuring you were comfortable. Her body tensed and shivered at how you moaned in her ear, bringing her senses into overdrive. But she must contain herself. There have been many times when her reasonings almost slipped between her fingers, but she always triumphed in gaining control.

Your bodies hugged every part of each other’s skin, her chest against yours, erect nipples rubbing against each other. She held you close, kissing your forehead, down along your jaw, until they settled on leaving bruises on the crook of your neck as a form of gratitude for taking her so well. 

Nails clawed against Ningguang’s back as you bucked your hips to meet her thrusts, back arching, and your throat now sore from your sinful noises. You were beginning to writhe under her, subconsciously wrapping your legs around her waist, your walls fluttering against her cock.

“I’m close,” you moan, your body trembling as if preparing for your upcoming orgasm. Fingers clutched into Ningguang’s hair, pulling her into a passionate kiss where your tongues languidly danced against each other. Her lips swallowed your sinful noises until a string of saliva stretched between you two as your lips reluctantly parted to heave for fresh air.

“Me too, my love,” she huffs, hips stuttering, her tip on the verge of spilling her load. Her open-mouthed kisses littered your neck and shoulders once more. A sultry, airy chuckle left her lips as she maintained her pace, guiding you to your climax. She dared not change her pace and edge you, not tonight. 

The deep, moderate thrusts of her girth drove you insane as the veins of her cock pulsated against your walls. You felt so full. Ningguang's praises and constant rutting brought you to your peak with a high-pitched moan of her name. Her back would be displayed like a canvas the next morning from her dress, showing your love hold with scratches and brushed crescents.

Her free hand slithered from the soiled sheets to your sore clit, rubbing it with her thumb to elongate your orgasm. A flash of white clouded your vision as a white ring coated the base of her cock as you came, further lubricating your walls. You became a huffing mess as you recovered from your high, but Ningguang has yet to cum, and you’re overstimulated. 

Ningguang became rather impatient now, she could feel her release edge on the tip of her cock. But she has to cum on your stomach. She tapped your thigh once — an indication for you to let go so she could pull out — but you refused. Another gentle tap soon turned into a slightly painful grip as she tried to unwrap your legs forcefully.

“Release your legs, now, dear…” she whines, grunting and fingers twitching from being denied of her high as she slows her thrusts. “I can’t cum like this,” she says, but her heart says otherwise. The tone of her voice shows how much she’s holding back. 

“Yes, you can.” You counter with a smile, arms unwrapping around her neck to cup her face, and soothingly rub her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her porcelain skin under the pads of your fingers. A hearty, tired chuckle left your lips when she leaned into your touch. “Why don’t you indulge yourself just once, hm? Doing it once doesn’t guarantee anything, Ningguang. Please?”

Ningguang’s thrusts slowly halted as she felt a change in the lustful atmosphere. She presses your foreheads together and closes her eyes. “I can’t take that risk, we both know that…” she sighed and suddenly you see a pair of scarlet eyes pleading at you. 

“But you want to — to take that risk — and there’s nothing wrong with that, my love.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as Ningguang avoided your gaze, eyes now looking elsewhere. “Hey, look at me,” you urge and gently tilt her face toward you. “It pains me to see you like this, dearest. I…I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially right now. I’m sorry.” 

Guilt washed her features as you spoke. Was her longing so obvious? It didn’t mean you needed to give her a child. But your face expressed genuine want, no fear or hesitation in your eyes. However, you were frail, and she didn’t want to risk losing you and the baby. Ningguang can live without children of her own but she can’t live without you. 

If only she had an option to have both.

“No, don’t I apologize, my love. If anything, I should apologize for making you feel like you needed to give me children to make me happy,” Ningguang starts, giving you a sad smile, eyes downcast as she still ignores yours. “You make me the happiest person in the world, and having a family is only a bonus. I can’t force you to make any sacrifices. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You weren’t forcing me to do anything, love, and I appreciate that. I want to start a family with you, dearest. I’ve always had. You would make the best mother in the world,” you hum, pecking her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, happens in the future and we will tackle them together, alright?” 

“How did I deserve you?” Ningguang says with a smile, her heart leaping from your words, still, her stomach churned from the unknown future. It was a bittersweet feeling. Scarlet eyes observed your tired face. You see hesitance in them, but they expressed want. 

“You deserve everything in the world, my love.”

Her smile widens and gently kisses you before holding your hips for leverage as she starts to pump her hips in and out slowly. “Push me away if you change your mind,” Ningguang starts, pushing the damp, stray hair from your face. “I don't wish to force you.”

“I won’t. I want all of you.” 

“Mama! Mommy is being mean to me!” a child whined, pouting as tears of frustration were apparent in their scarlet eyes as they ran toward the bedroom. “She doesn’t wanna share Mama with me!”

Ningguang follows them, hiding an amused smirk with her hand. It was fun to tease them, even more now that they’re in the ‘possessive of mommy’ stage.

“Now, now, little one, your Mama might be asleep,” Ningguang said, but it was too late. The door slid open with so much force that you woke up. She grimaced, giving you an apologetic glance.

“Teasing them again?” You say groggily but flash a small smile as you lie on the bed’s headrest. The little one immediately clinging to your side with a smirk. “This teasing is all too frequent…” You pretend to ponder before your eyes light up. “Are you perhaps envious, dear?”

“I am not envious,” Ningguang said almost too quickly, but she narrowed her eyes at the cheeky child before her, clearly showing off by scrunching their nose and sticking their tongue out. 

The audacity for them to mock her.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you chuckle before patting the spot beside you on the bed and cradling your belly. “Why don’t you two come here? I could use some cuddles.”

The child beams at your words. Nothing can be greater than cuddles. “Mommy, can I be in the middle?” They say, looking at Ningguang for permission.

Ningguang’s heart swells and she smiles. 

“Of course, my little dove.”

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[nonushu]

hugs in secret - yoon jeonghan

genre: fluff, secret relationship | wc: 670 | warnings: mentions of being drunk? | secret bf!jeonghan x reader a/n: i love long-haired jeonghan BUT short-haired jeonghan... oh my lord... this is also a bit rushed, hopefully, it's not too noticeable!

whoever gave soonyoung the mic, he sure as hell isn't singing. instead, he's shouting at seungkwan through the booming speakers for whatever reason that there may be—most likely about something petty.

if you were drunk too, you'd be just as indulged as they were. but someone is making it hard to even care what's going on in the karaoke room. and if anyone else in the room was sober, they'd be able to see the literal hearts in his eyes.

jeonghan sits across from you, grinning as the lively scene of the two other men unfolds. no matter how much you motion for him to stop looking at you like he is, his stare somehow makes you feel more shy.

of course, jeonghan knows exactly what he's doing. he doesn't miss the subtle nervousness you try to hide from the others—if anything, he's enjoying the thrill of anyone who could become suspecting of the two of you.

you can feel his eyes on you as you get up when you decide it's time to leave. you take a breath before walking over to the food bar where you pack some leftovers for the next day.

jeonghan raises his brow at your sudden leave, rising from his seat to follow from behind.

"leaving so soon?" his voice soft, almost teasing.

you glance over your shoulder, snapping the lid on the container. "well, i have to go in early tomorrow. can't be too exhausted."

"but you're gonna miss the most memorable part of this," he chuckles, referring to soonyoung and seungkwan dispute.

you scoff, shaking your head. "and then, i'll miss my hearing if i stay any longer,"

jeonghan's lips crack a smile as he leans in closer to you. his hands find their way to the small of your back. he pulls you gently towards him in a comforting manner but enough to make your breath hitch.

"jeonghan," you whisper, eyes darting around the room but doing nothing to stop him. "someone might see..."

but you know no one's paying attention to what you and jeonghan are doing, yet the thought of confrontation at the moment did not sound fun while everyone was wasted.

"you're really gonna leave me?" he pouts, putting his chin on your shoulder. "leave me here with our drunk friends?"

your eyes sided at jeonghan. "you can leave too, hannie,"

"well, someone has to drive them home," he whines, nuzzling closer.

you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. "well, aren't you such a good friend?"

"yeah..." he mumbles, arms now fully wrapped around you. "am i able to see you after work, though?"

you tilt your head to look up at jeonghan, returning the hug. "could you come over to my place as well?"

jeonghan's grin is boyish, his eyes lighting up. "it'd be my pleasure, angel,"

you sort of cringed at the nickname, but regardless, you loved it when he called you such. removing yourself from his arms, you head to the exit while giving him a playful smile. "see you then, jeonghan,"

before stepping out of the room, you feel a grip on your arm, slightly pulling you back. jeonghan stops you from exiting completely, still wanting you to stay with him longer.

with a low voice, he bends down to your level. "just one more hug before you leave?" his eyes are begging. "please?"

now you grin at jeonghan. "clingy, much?" but you embrace him anyway, hugging him closely.

his tone becomes sassy, yet he gives in. "yeah, well, you make it impossible to not be,"

the moment couldn't feel more perfect, but soonyoung's voice cuts through the air—through the very loud speakers, startling the both of you. "group hug!"

before you know it, soonyoung has his arms wrapped around the two of you, squeezing your bodies tight. you couldn't help but laugh while being squashed between the two men. jeonghan groans at him, but his grip on you doesn't loosen.

jeonghan must really love hugging you, you figured.

[amarmoria]

Summer Heat

Kook!Reader

Rafe Cameron x Reader or JJ Maybank x Reader?

Rafe is with Sofia here, JJ swoops in and saves you, though I don't think Rafe really liked that.

Wc: 3.2k

Notes: 'finish your wips! finish your wips! Finish your wips!' I will whip you, JK, ofc I will, but I js had to write these two ⁄⁠(⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠)⁠⁄

(set somewhere in s4)

You're watching them.

Rafe and Sofia. Dancing around each other with no care in the world for who knows how long.

The drink you've been nursing has long been warm in your hand when you hear them laughing, so sweet so bitter, if not the crowd around you, you would've been vomiting your stomach out.

Another gurgle in your stomach sends you sitting down on one of the wooden high chairs, the legs slightly sinking into the sand as you place your long forgotten drink on the counter.

You didn't even have the appetite to drink anything, let alone party, why'd you even come here? Your jaw flexes as another wave of nausea hits you, you should've stopped 7 cups ago. You're not normally a drinker, in all senses you hate seeing people drunk of their asses, you're always the sober sister when it comes to these parties, only drinking a cup or two to loosen up, never drunk though, not like this.

Despite the booming speakers you can still hear them, like they're just right behind you, the thought sends you shivering, you wanted to puke, so bad, not sure if it's because of the alcohol or the other, maybe both, you're not sure.

Then a guy comes beside you, recklessly stumbling to sit on the chair, you roll your eyes, oh good, a pogue.

You've never been the one to pay attention to the ongoing war between the kooks and pogues, you're all just people living on an island, even though your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, has always wanted to show them who's the boss, the one on top, it sounded childish, how a grown man, not really, like him would choose to have a beef with teens not less than one or two years younger than him, he seemed almost sure he can drive them off the island like insects.

Your thoughts were stolen away when the guy beside you bumps your shoulder, maybe from trying to adjust the chair or whatever.

"Shit sssorry— my bad, man" he chuckles as he downs a shot.

"It's fine-" you pause when you finally glance at him.

"Mhm? Got you speechless huh?"

"Aren't you—?"

"Maybanks' son, yeah, uh-huh, been there, done that," he waves you off. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Just a little shocked,"

"Shocked. Yeah, a very common reaction in seeing a pogue in a kook party."

"No I—!"

"Tis fiine, got nothin' to worry 'bout, sweetheart" you cringe at the name, if not the forced accent he just did.

"Hit a nerve huh?"

"N-no.."

"Yeahhhh, def did."

"Are you drunk?"

"Nahh, just tipsy, nothin' compared to me in a pogue party."

"Pogue party?" Your eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, like a party on our turf of the island? You're not that clueless are you kook?"

Your face heats up. "I-I'm not! It's just that, a party is a party no matter where it is, so might as well say that this party is boring compared to yours."

"Hahhh, you're very funnyy for a koook"

"And you're pretty rude for a pogue."

"Huh, didn't you say a party is a party no matter where it is?"

"I'm talking about the party, not you."

"Sooo, serious kook, you should loooosen upp firsss"

"Ugh, I'm too drunk for this." You rolled your eyes and turned around, making your back face him.

A few seconds passed and he was suspiciously quiet, your attention going back to the still dancing couple at the center.

"Sayyy, we get outta heree" you yelp as he flicks your head. "W-wha, I don't even know you."

"JJ Maybank at your service" he bows, pretending to put on a top hat and fixing his imaginary mustache.

You couldn't stop the chuckle that escapes you.

"Now you know me, so should we dip or what?"

"Still no, I don't go with strangers, especially at night."

"You kill joy doucheee" you laugh as he almost tips over. "Careful there."

"Sir yes sir!"

You laugh again. "You're very funny for a pogue"

He joins you laughing, then he burps abruptly and laughs again. "Well, you're not so bad yourself kook"

"What do you say huh? Ditch this thing-a-ma-bob of a party for a real one?"

"Hm, let me think" if you were any sober you would've quickly turned him down and safely went home, but the alcohol in your system was wurly burly, and it maybe, just maybe, had a play at your decision.

"Fine—"

"Yes!" He animatedly made a goofy jump, he paused when his hand was about to reach for yours, quickly taking it back like you've burned him.

"Follow me, mademoiselle!"

You chuckle as he jogged just further in front of you. You unknowingly followed him through the busy crowd, slightly get annoyed when the others curse at him quietly, angry that a pogue was here, but he didn't seem to mind, almost like he was used to it.

Your mood turns slightly sour, you can't even take a little criticism, a little curse at you would send you spiraling and weepy, you didn't like it when people didn't like you, so you can't imagine what he's even feeling right now, he didn't seem bothered by it, but it bothered you.

"Almost theeere," he glances back at you, the booming speakers awhile ago was fading in the background, your mind long distracted away from the couple.

Then JJ slows down, matching your pace as the music beats in the background, the waves replacing the booming speakers.

"So this is your party huh?"

"Nahh or maybe yeahhh, maybe I'm here to abduct you and give you to the aliens, or maybe here to lure you in the water and let the mermaids eat you,"

"First of all it's the sirens that lure you," you hear him hum, but you don't expect him listening, the way his eyes drift on the random things that pass by tells you he's high as a bird, only humming when you end your sentences.

"But you might be the one who wants to lure me out here, then kill me for the pure pleasure of whatsoever."

He chuckles, "Maybe I did, or maybeeee I might just be here to ask for ransom,"

"Hm, let's see here," you whisper, but just loud enough so that he can hear, he arches an eyebrow, putting his hands on the back of his head.

"No, please don't kill me, Mr. Maybank! I wanna be in the sequel!" You clasp your hands together, trying to contain your laugh, but a few seconds pass and he doesn't make a noise. Great, you've scared him off.

You sighed and you were about to take off when you heard him wheezing, your eyebrows furrowed and your face quickly heats up, the embarrassment creeping in.

"What's so funny?"

"You— w-what did you—" he kneels on the sand as he tries to breathe, but the laughing easily comes back to him. "I'm— your—"

"I'm what!" You stomp your foot.

His fit doesn't stop for a long time until he was on the floor, on his back, trying to get oxygen back in his body while you were there angrily crossing your arms.

"There, now can you answer me more properly?"

He gives you a boyish smirk, sitting up and shaking the sand off his hair.

"Dork." Your eyes snapped back to his. "W-what did you just call me?"

"I said you dork!" You didn't have time to react when he tackles you to the ground, right where the ocean touches the sand, so now your clothes are half wet half dry.

"Hey! No fair!" Okay so now you're mad, you didn't have extra clothes brought because you weren't planning to swim anyways.

"I'm wet now!" JJ snorted when you stood up, flicking the heavy sand off you. "What?!"

"Dude did you not hear yourself?"

"JJ I don't care! My clothes are wet, and it's cold! And I have nothing to change into!" You stomped on the water, briefly splashing JJ but he didn't mind.

"Woah, princess getting worked up," he raises his arms up, whistling.

"I'm serious, JJ!"

"Chill man, you're fine, its gonna dry later anyways," he speaks as if this was nothing to him, what if you get sick? The wet top and cold air blowing on your back will kill you.

You were somewhat sober now, not that drunk compared from earlier, and that was thanks to JJ's wake up call.

"It's not that big of a deal anyways— woah—"

You tried to tackle him further into the water, but he was big and heavy, and more stronger than you so all your might was only half of his, only throwing him off the ground where there was mo water than could catch him.

"Ha! See that! That's what you get!" You laugh, holding on to your stomach, you ignore the shiver than ran through you when another cold breeze came by.

You paused when you hear no JJ, he was crouched on the floor, his forehead leaning against the sand as he clutches his stomach, his face contorted into a painful one, letting out a pained groan.

"..JJ?"

"Agh— fuck—"

"Oh my go— JJ are you alright?" You hurriedly kneeled beside him, placing your hand on his back as he continued to crouch on the sand.

"I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, JJ, I'm— w-where does it hurt? Oh gosh, JJ answer me please? Did I hit you too hard? JJ—"

You pause when he wheezes, you thought he'd hurt himself even more but he lets out a series of out of breath laughs, wheezing and punching the sand, he lied on his back once more, clutching his stomach not from pain, but from laughing.

"Wha.. JJ are you alright..?" You frown. "I-I'm— sssorrry but—"

"JJ what're you—"

"Did you actually— believe that shi—" he fell into a coma of laughter once again, kept on hitting the sand below him as you stood up with an irritated look.

"JJ, I'm actually tired, and too drunk of your bull, so if you want to keep dying here, I may as well let you."

You angrily turned around and stomped away from the twitching man. Just because you let him talk to you without getting called pogue slurs doesn't mean he can insult you like this, you won't let him.

"W-wait— wait up, stop—" he stood up staggering, calling out your name, but your ego was hurt, and you wouldn't let it past him.

"Wait— I'm sorry—" you didn't have time to react when a body hugs you from behind and throws the both of you into the water completely, you hurriedly sat up from the ambush and angrily looked around, you spot JJ, who was also drenched with you, already sat up and looking at you.

"Why did you—"

"I told you to wait up"

"I don't care If—"

“Alright chill, chill, my fault my fault, But you have to admit, that was def funny.”

You paused, trying to stop the snort out of coming your mouth. THE JJ Maybank apologized? How in the world did you—?

JJ flinched when you burst out laughing, you try to muffle it but you just couldn't stop laughing, a few seconds of you painfully wheezing then JJ bursted out laughing too, the two of you splashing around the water like children and laughing so loud you didn't even know you had in you.

"JJ Maybank—!" You inhale, wheezing it out once again. "Yeah?"

"Apologizing?!"

"Huh, why not?"

"Since the flip when?!"

"The flip?!—" that's when he bursts out laughing even more. "Now where'd you get that?"

"Wdym?!"

You splash him with water, the tides were getting bigger, and def stronger the more both of you stayed in it, he was about to splash you back when a grip on your arm pulled you up, you stumble in front of the very last person you wanted to see.

"What the fuck do you think your doing?"

You thought he was talking to you, but his eyes were trained on the soaked blond still in the water.

"No, what the fuck are you doin' here?" Now JJ was the angry one, both of them were, you meekly turned to glance at the blond behind you, silently begging him to just pull back and let everything slide on, but his attention was solely on the other blond in front of you.

"Last time I remembered, this was a no pogue zone, dipshit."

"Yeah, well I didn't see no sign, Cameron, so if you can just fuck off and leave us alone" he was standing now, just right behind you, careful on not getting too close, you might even think he was careful on not getting you wet, but technically you already were soaked in salt water.

"Since when does a fucking pogue order me around huh?" You can tell Rafe was trying to rile him up, and JJ seemed to be riled up enough.

"Since the fuck now— " you yelp as JJ pushes you aside, although he had his hand on your arm, you still trip on your feet, Rafe's hand caught your waist and pulling you up, you didn't have anytime to reload before they started punching eachother.

You had to stop them, before they kill each other again, you've always been there for each one of their party fights, the other always happy to oblige with the wishes of the opposite, but you were never the one to get involved, you were always hiding, taking your phone out just in case something happens, but this time it was just you, and the two warmongers.

That is until you hear the crowd hyping them up, then you see Sofia, uselessly standing right behind Rafe and yelling at them to stop.

No they won't stop the fuck? Hasn't she even seen them whenever they fight? No, you suppose not, she's busy flirting and frolicking around the bar and Rafe.

But what can you even do to stop them though? At least Sofia was trying, you were only standing frozen, and here you were calling her useless.

A shove from behind you quickly snapped you from your thoughts.

"S-sorry— oh shit, JJ stop no—!" It was Mr. Heyward's son, Pete? Pablo? It's on the tip of your tongue, just not quite there yet.

"Rafe, let him go, stop it!" You hear Sofia shout, but the two blonds kept landing punches on each other.

One moment they're still standing, next another they're on the floor, with JJ on top, of course Rafe wouldn't let his image get ruined like that so Rafe flipped the both of them, crashing into the waters, you hear the crowd whistling and howling, some even betting on them, it's fowl, how they think this is fun, how they think two half bloodied guys fighting are worth to bet on, Rafe had a bruised lip, while JJ was sporting a bruising black eye, both of them had bloodied noses.

Some time during everything, their friends managed to join their ruckus, turning their fight into a wrestling match, you see Topper fighting Sarah's boyfriend, uh husband, then Kelce jumping in to pull Heyward jr. away from JJ and get a punching of his own, their girls nowhere to be seen.

Except for Topper's girl, she suddenly appeared behind Sofia and pushed her away slightly, even she knew not to mess with Rafe's girl, huh, Rafe's.. girl..

You didn't even register that she was headed for you, not until she got a fist full of your hair, managing to pull you down on the ground, you didn't back up though when you got a grip on her newly bought necklace and ripped in from her neck, the necklace must've been expensive because of how tightly it clung on her neck despite how hard you pulled, the more she pulled your hair the more you pulled on her thousand dollar jewelry, then your hands finds its way to her top, if she was going to bring you down, your bringing her down with you.

"Fucking bitch!" She screams when you rip her bikini off, her grip on your hair disappears as she covers her boobs with her hands, you flip her off as you try to fix yourself, you are surrounded by phones and their flashes, but you couldn't care less when she was the one who targeted you in the first place.

You see her slink away in the crowd, muttering a curse before running off to whatever.

During the scuffle at one point the crowd slowly joined, the others just wanting to add fuel to the fire and hype up the people recording.

"Fuuuuu— booze and thiis?" You hear the guy moan, ugh, you thought, quickly scuffling away from him.

And just before you can escape the human stampede, a hand clamps around your arm, you try and keep up the mysterious hand pulling on you, only seeing a gust of blond hair on your guy, you try to pull against him but he keeps you steady behind him, your weak attempts at trying to escape looked nothing compared to his grip.

He dragged you across the brawl hurriedly, your feet taking twice as many steps as his did. "Y-you're hurting me!"

You didn't think he heard you, with the music being tuned up for the sake of the audience's enjoyment, you hear the others chanting 'fein' while punching a person square in the jaw.

"Stop! Please!" You pull for your arm, but the man yanks you back again, this time you bump into his chest that felt like bumping into a wall.

"Hold. Fucking. Still"

"R-Rafe?"

"C'mon" he grunts, you didn't even notice that you were already out of the riot until he places you in front of him, beside his truck.

Only then you noticed how bruised he actually was, his face was marked with the aftermath of the brawl—bruises blooming in dark purples and blues around his cheekbone and jaw. A cut near his eyebrow oozed slightly, leaving a faint trail of dried blood. The swelling along his lip made it difficult for him to smile, and a faint redness traced the area under his eye, hinting at a blow that landed too close.

"Rafe, you're bleeding—"

"—Don't" he raises his hand, you shut your mouth closed, as much as your ego loved seeing him like that, you couldn't deny the worry threatening to pour out, to drag him to your house and play nurse on him, you didn't like seeing him like this, you finally decided.

"We should wash that," you reach out to the cut in his eyebrow, he doesn't flinch, not like how he does when he's high. "Rafe where.."

You hesitate, he doesn't look up when you pause. "W-where's Sofia? The last time I saw her was before you—"

"—No."

"What do you mean no? What if Sofia's still back there, we should go—"

"Stop—! talking, about her I," he runs his hand through his buzz cut. "T-take, take me home, n-not, not tannyhill, no, not there, jus', yours, your house,"

You frown, what about—?

"Please.. please"

"Rafe, I don't —"

"'M not asking for a million, doll, js- just take me home..?" his voice slightly breaks at the end, his words were swirly and airy, if not high rafe then very drunk rafe.

...

"Okay."

[steddiealltheway]

It’s a cold Wednesday night in January that has Eddie turning the thermostat up and allowing the government supplied heat to fill the trailer. He glances up at the vents and gives them a quick middle finger, wondering if they bugged the place to observe him or make sure he isn’t spreading their secrets.

He doesn’t really care at this point if they’re watching though. They already held him at the hospital for long enough, poking and prodding as if he wasn’t even human. But he didn’t turn into a vampire or some shit because of those damn bats. No. The jagged, ugly scars littering his body served as a lovely reminder that he was ultimately human.

Eddie glances at a nearby mirror and cringes at his face, taking a look at the long scar running down his cheek, jaw, and neck. The Corroded Coffin guys all said it made him look metal, and he would throw in a, “Hell yeah,” before smoothly changing the subject to something that didn’t involve him for once.

He takes a finger and slowly trails it over the pale pink skin, wondering if there will ever be a day he won’t notice it.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out gently from the room down the hall.

Eddie jumps back and glances toward him, hand falling to his side and flexing uncomfortably as if he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“You okay?”

Eddie smiles and gestures toward the thermostat. “Damn thing wasn’t working for a minute there. You’d think with the amount of hush hush money they were able to pay all of us, they’d be able to give me and Wayne a better trailer.”

But Steve only crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, eyebrows raising gently. It’s not entirely accusatory, but it’s clear that he doesn’t believe a thing Eddie’s saying.

Although they’ve grown close while going through the same treatment and tests in Owen’s new secret facility, it still surprises Eddie how easily Steve can read people. More specifically, how easily he can read him of all people. “Just got lost in thought,” Eddie confesses while making his way back to his room as he sees Steve squint at the lights in the living area.

Steve steps out of the way as Eddie brushes by him and closes the door. He hope it’s enough honesty to end the conversation.

“What were you thinking about?” Steve asks, ignoring the signals Eddie is giving him.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand over his face and climbs back into his bed, quick to pull up the blanket around himself in an attempt to get some much needed warmth while simultaneously covering his scars from Steve. “Stuff.”

Steve rests his hands on his hips for a second and stares, mouth opening and closing for a moment before deciding against whatever he was going to say. Instead, he climbs into the bed with Eddie and joins him under the blanket, keeping enough distance so they’re not touching, but they can still feel each other’s body heat.

Eddie glances over at him, noticing the way the one lamp turned on in the room gives him a nice golden halo. He looks gorgeous and untouchable - exactly how Eddie used to think of him through high school and sometimes even now. The perfect golden boy. But despite the name Eddie gave to him years ago, he can’t ignore the flaws that Steve possesses, yet they somehow make him even more perfect to him. Or maybe just human.

Eddie shakes his head and glances away. He wishes Steve came over to smoke so Eddie could blame the drugs on the way his thoughts race when he’s next to him. Instead, he has to face up to his enormous crush on the perfect golden boy.

“Have any plans for Valentine’s Day?” Steve asks out of the blue.

Eddie snorts and glances at him, only to laugh harder when he sees the adorable look of confusion on his face.

Steve’s brows furrow but the edges of his lips quirk up. “What?”

Eddie pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to try to hide his wife smile. “Kind of random, don’t you think?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I never said I was great at starting conversations. But I was just thinking about what holiday is next.”

“The worst one,” Eddie complains.

Steve turns toward him. “And why’s that?”

Eddie sighs and let’s himself go on a tangent. “It’s the one day of the year where people feel like they have to do all this shit for their partner, and the rest of the year, they think they can just get by doing the bare minimum. And people are left realizing what it would be like if their ‘other half’ actually put in an effort day to day. And then for all the single people, it’s a day where love is shoved in their face, and they have to feel bad and sometimes disgusted by all the public displays of affection going on around them and… I just hate it all. The stupid chocolates in the red heart boxes and the teddy bears and big heart shaped balloons and roses…”

“I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about Valentine’s Day,” Steve says with a laugh.

“Well, now you do.”

They both sit in the silence for a few moments, Eddie thinking about all the other things he didn’t even touch on about Valentine’s Day that he hates, while Steve is probably taking in everything he just said.

Steve bumps his shoulder and asks, “So, I’m assuming that means you have no plans.”

Eddie laughs. “That’s what you got out of that?”

Steve shrugs and looks away with a smile.

Eddie glances at his clock and notices it’s technically Thursday now, and in these early hours, Steve will usually either silently fall asleep or he’ll lay awake in the silence until one of his thoughts has to make itself known.

Either way, Eddie knows he’ll be up for a few more hours, but he’s never regret the sleep he’s lost since they’ve made this silent arrangement.

The bed shifts, and Eddie follows Steve’s lead, laying down fully and staring at the ceiling, trying his best not to reach out for the hand laying beside his. He wonders if he should add something to the ceiling like some type of mural with stars and whatnot.

He tilts his head to the side, envisioning how it would look in the lamplight since he and Steve refuse to sleep in the dark. Or maybe it’s just Steve and Eddie’s picked up on the habit of leaving the lamp on.

“Do you think you’ll make plans?” Steve asks quietly.

Eddie turns to look at him, at a lost for a moment before realizing he’s still on the Valentine’s Day subject. He smiles sadly, “No.” Steve glances over at him and holds his gaze, expecting more. Eddie sighs and gestures at himself. “I mean, I’m not exactly what people want to bring home to their parents at the moment plus with the,” he gestures to his face and drops his hand quickly, averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

He hopes Steve will let it go and not connect the dots back to earlier.

A silence settles between them, but Steve’s gaze burns into the side of Eddie’s face. Then, he finally asks, “Is that what distracted you earlier?” When Eddie doesn’t answer he continues, “I saw you looking in the mirror, and I know you usually go out of your way to avoid them.”

Eddie wants to question how Steve noticed, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up about something that was just passively rather than intentionally observed. “Yeah,” Eddie states simply.

The bed shifts as Steve turns on his side to fully face him. “And you really think you can’t get a date because of them?”

Eddie sighs and rubs both of his hands over his face. “Steve, who is ever going to love me like this?” He turns and continues, “Privately, yes, someone could maybe get past the scars. But in public? You really think someone is going to be proud to say, ‘Here’s my boyfriend,’ and show off me?”

“Yes,” Steve says instantly as if he has no doubt in the world.

Eddie turns away, trying not to get choked up about it. Because how can he explain to him that while it’s nice that Steve has that confidence in him, Eddie wants Steve to be the one to be proud of him. To want him like that.

“Do you think my scars make me unlovable?” Steve asks.

“No! Jesus, Steve,” Eddie rushes to say and turns to him. He reached out and lays a hand over his side, feeling the way the skin puckers under the thin t-shirt. “These are metal as hell. Hot even. They make you more lovable if anything.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and slowly pulls it off his side to hold it up, the scar on it being presented out to Eddie. “And this doesn’t make you more lovable?”

“Steve…” Eddie protests quietly as Steve pulls his hand close to stare at it.

“The scars you got protecting us. You think those make you less lovable?” Steve asks, pulling his hand close enough that his lips ghost over the skin.

Eddie lets out a breath that sounds like Steve as Steve presses a soft kiss into the tough skin. He stares at Eddie with a worried look in his eyes as he whispers, “Too much?”

Eddie shakes his head, too stunned to get the words out.

Steve intertwines their hands and pulls Eddie’s arm toward him. “These scars,” he says kissing the next one on his forearm, “Are beautiful on you.” He moves on to the scar on his elbow stretching to his bicep, lips trailing against the sensitive unmarked skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “How could anyone hate these?” He asks leaving three soft, lingering kisses before shifting on the bed to hover above Eddie, still holding his hand but now against his stomach so he can press a kiss against his shoulder. “These scars show everyone what you were willing to sacrifice for us.”

As Steve moves to the scar on his neck, Eddie’s head drops back, giving him more access as he groans out, “Steve.”

“These scars,” Steve says, kissing up his neck over and past the scars, “Are exactly,” he murmurs as he kisses past his jaw and peppers kisses up his cheek, “Why I love you,” Steve finishes by pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth near where the scar that Eddie traced earlier ends.

Eddie glances up at Steve as he hovers over him, trying to make sense of everything he’s saying until it finally clicks. “You love me?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods and squeezes his hand before letting it go so he can lightly caress his cheek. “I have since you decided to be a hero and sacrifice yourself. Which was exactly what I told you not to do by the way.”

“I’ve never been great at following rules,” Eddie breathes out and reaches a hand up to run through Steve hair. “Steve?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you, too,” Eddie confesses.

Steve smiles and asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He pauses before adding, “You know, one time when I was little, I captured a squirrel and it may have attacked me and left a scar on my lip.”

Steve laughs. “Is that so?”

Eddie smiles and nods.

Steve’s eyes dart down to Eddie’s lips and he moves his thumb to swipe over his top lip. “You know, I think I see it.”

Eddie debates telling him that it was actually his bottom lip, but instead he just breathes out, “Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks with a teasing smile.

“Steve.”

Steve keeps smiling as he hums, “Hmm?” When Eddie huffs, Steve fakes surprise with a gasp, “Oh. You want me to find the picture for you!”

Eddie groans, “Steve!”

“Uh huh?”

Eddie huffs and cups his face. “You are infuriating.”

“Is that s-”

Eddie interrupts him by taking matters into his own hands and leaning up to kiss him. He feels Steve smile against his lip before finally kissing him back.

Steve pulls away and breathlessly asks, “So, do you think you’ll have plans for Valentine’s Day now?”

Eddie’s head thumps back on the pillow. “Oh my god.” Steve laughs. “Oh my god!” Eddie says and shoves Steve off of him only to roll over so he hovers above him. “You were trying to ask me out this whole time?”

“No, I just wanted to know your opinion of Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie gives him a light punch to the arm and smiles wide as he stares down at Steve, lying beneath him in the golden lamp light. His perfect golden boy.

“I still hate it by the way. Even if I have plans now,” Eddie comments seriously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put in the effort year round for you and make sure to keep you away from the public that day,” Steve says running a hand through Eddie’s curls before tracing it down the scar on his cheek in a way he thought no one would be able to do - lovingly.

Eddie leans down and gives Steve a quick peck. “I’ve also got some scars on my hips I might want you to check out.”

Steve laughs loudly and pulls him into a kiss that truly makes Eddie breathless, all while tracing his hand over the scar on his cheek. And for the first time, Eddie learns to love the scars adorning his body.