#THIS WAS JUST SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR A WHILE

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which two twin gangsters return home after years in Chicago, to 2003 Jackson, Mississippi. Only to find that the chubby, brace-faced tomboy from across the street has grown into a woman they can’t ignore.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - drug use, swearing

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - something short because I literally have five other Smoke and Stack fics cooking in my drafts

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,178+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢

It always started with noise. Summer in Mississippi wasn’t just heat and humidity—it was loud. Between the swatting screen doors, the bugs flying, kids playing double dutch with mismatched ropes, and the rickety hum of box fans, it was hard to hear yourself think. But for young Juicy, the noise was a comfort… until it wasn’t.

Back in ‘95, Juicy was about eleven, braces still fresh, glasses sliding down her nose every five minutes, and dressed in a floral pattered dress that matches her sisters, though hers fit her more boxier than it did on the older girl. But she didn’t care much about appearances, and it didn’t help that her mama always compared her to her older sister, Sinclair, thin and pretty like the girls in those Jet beauty ads or the ones on the perm boxes. “If only you laid off them pork chops,” was her mama’s idea of encouragement. Her daddy didn’t say much at all.

Juicy found her peace elsewhere—mainly across the street.

The Moore twins, Elias and Elijah—known as Smoke and Stack to others—were about six years older, fast-mouthed, sharp-eyed boys sly grins and problems they never spoke too loudly about. Their father was known around the neighborhood for being the kind of man who left bruises instead of blessings, and their mother was long gone. But the Hall’s took to them like family. Martin, Juicy’s older brother, clicked with them right away over cassette tapes and corner store hustles. Sinclair even crushed on Stack for a while, though he never acted on it.

But it was Juicy—a little awkward, big-bodied, and always scribbling in her notebook—who lingered in the background. She wasn’t really friends with the boys, not like her siblings were. But some days, when things were too loud at her house and Mary, her only friend, couldn’t come out, Smoke would let her sit on the porch with them, passing her a freeze cup and tossing her lazy jokes that made her laugh until her gums showed. Or when Stack would let her old onto him as she rode on back of his bike as he made stops around the neighborhood.

Those little moments were enough. They made her feel seen.

And then, they were gone. Moved up to Chicago when she was fifteen, chasing something bigger—money, maybe, or just a way out. Life moved on. And the city was still as loud as ever.

But in 2003, the block got loud again in their return.

They came back in a long black Lincoln, rolling slow like they owned the pavement. Elias drove, toothpick between his teeth, silver chains glinting in the sun as she rubbed down his waves. Elijah was in the passenger seat, shades low on his nose, hair in tight cornrows. They’d filled out—solid, broad-shouldered men now, still dressed in dark clothes with just enough shine to show they had money. Word spread fast.

Smoke and Stack were home.

First stop was the gas station—for fuel and the liquor store next to it, then the old park where half the benches were gone and the other half were tagged up in Sharpie and knife scratches, looking for their homeboy in his usual spot. A few heads turned, so they dapped up old friends, nodded at familiar faces.

But the real reunion happened on Vernon Street.

Martin Hall was leaned up against his Impala, blunt behind his ear, gold ring glinting. He caught sight of the car before it even parked at the house across the street, and when he caught sight of the men in the car, he instantly grinned.

“Nahhh, I know this ain’t who I think it is.” He shouted, arms already wide open.

Stack stepped out first, grinning, and then Smoke followed. The three embraced like no time had passed at all, Martin falling the men up. Loud laughs, back slaps, the kind of reunion that made neighbors peek through blinds.

“Man, what the hell are yall doing back? And ain’t told a nigga?” Marin asked as he leaned backed against his hood, taking the blunt his girlfriend passed him from her place in his serving seat.

“It was quick to us too, man.” Smoke said, shaking his head a bit. “Them Chiraq niggas different, too much shit going on up there.” He said, placing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, his baggy white tee hanging from underneath a bit.

“Money was good, though.” Stack smirked, moving his gaze away from the woman in the car that was eyeing him with a lustful glint in her, to look at the against the hood.

“I bet.” Martin smirked. “I could only imagine what you niggas got up to up there. Especially to come back as fly as that.” He said, nodding over to the cars in front of the boys old home as he blew away the smoke from the blunt.

“Shit, us?” Stack questioned. “Look at you. The jewelry, new whip. Seems money down here moving smooth.”

“Mmm…it’s aight.” Martin shrugged, causing the twins to chuckle with a shake of their heads.

“You know we gotta celebrate.”Martin said, standing from the car a bit as he handed the blunt to his shorty in the car. “Whole block been a bit dry without y’all. Let me throw something together for tonight.” He suggested. “Plus, I gotta clean some paper anyway.” He shrugged, trying to ease the blow of an unexpected gathering upon the men.

Smoke and Stack exchanged a glance before both men looked back at their old friend and shrugged Martin clapped his hands with a smirk. “Aight.” He nodded. “Tracy, go call yo homegirls and shit, tell ‘em to come through while I get shit situated.” He said to the girl in his drivers seat. Tracy didn’t even say anything, she simply got out the car and made her at into the house, bit before making a bit of a show of pulling down her booty shorts. Stack and Smoke exchanged another look at that, but nothing was said further.

Plans were made fast. A block party. Speakers, coolers, grills were pulled out faster than the men could think. Now they just had to get everything jumpin’.

The men sat around Martin’s car catching up, reminiscing on old scams, and laughing at things they never got caught for. Smoke lit a cigarette while Stack leaned back, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.

That’s when they saw her.

Juicy.

She came walking up the sidewalk with Mary next to her, both of them laughing at something too far to hear. Juicy was still thick, but this time, she wore it like armor. Curves hugged up in a baby pink Juicy Couture set, midriff peeking under the hoodie. Her wedged flip flops clicked against the concrete with purpose. Her acrylics—French tips—glinted when she lifted her lollipop to her lips. Lips lined and glossy, brown skin smooth and glowing, gold hoops in her ears catching sun. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, the blonde highlighted tresses in a bun, looking like it just came out of a fresh roller set. It was only when she got closer that they could see that she still had the tiniest gap when she smiled, but now it looked like part of the charm.

Mary had her own vibe—low-rise jeans, rhinestone tank and a high pony—but no one was looking at her. Not the twins at least.

It was Juicy who had the street paused.

Smoke sat up a little straighter. Stack cocked his head. “Lil’ Juicy?” He mumbled.

And just like that, the heat of Mississippi summer wasn’t the loudest thing on the block anymore.

The heat clung to the air, and the bass from someone’s backyard radio pulsed low in the distance. Juicy walked like she owned the sidewalk, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the click of her heels. She was curvy in all the right places—thicker than the girls on TV, but built with softness and strength that couldn’t be ignored.

Smoke and Stack hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone still the second they saw her. Not obviously—nothing as sloppy as ogling—but they noticed everything. The gloss, the tips, the squinting, whenever from the sun or her needing her prescription. They both could remember how they used to slide down her nose every few seconds.

She no longer looked like the quiet girl who used to sit on the porch with a notebook. She looked like a woman now. A whole one.

Martin lifted a hand. “Juice! Come say what’s up.” He called out, waving the girl over.

Juicy raised a brow as she stopped at the curb, Mary lingering just behind her. “You actin’ like I don’t live here.”he caused, causing Martin to smack his lips. “You know what I mean.”

Juicy clocked the twins as soon as she approached. But her eyes didn’t widen, she didn’t blink. She just popped that lollipop out her mouth slow, head tilted, and said—

“Well, well. Look who finally came home.” All soft like.

Smoke stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. “Ain’t seen you in years, Juicy.” He said, voice a little lower than usual.

Stack nodded. “You done grown all up now.” He said, his eyes subconsciously giving the girl before him a quick once over, one that had him wanting to trace his eyes over her body again.

Juicy didn’t blush—she never did. She just looked between them, slow and deliberate, then popped the lollipop from her mouth and smiled, tiny gap and all. “Y’all look the same.” She said, though they really didn’t. “Maybe taller. Maybe.” She shrugged, not hiding the way she analyzed the men from head to toe, taking in their otherwise plain street wear, which she knew had to still be a decent penny for.

Martin chuckled. “They back for good. Figured I’d throw a little somethin’ tonight. Let the block know.”

Juicy nodded, barely glancing back at the twins. “That’s cute. I’ll see what’s up.” Then to Mary, “Come on.”

She turned without another word, strutting toward the house, and the two men made it their mission to not look at the rhinestones bedazzled on her booty, reading ‘Juicy’ across the span of the area. Mary, however, lingered just a second longer. Her eyes locked on Stack like she was sizing him up for dessert. No shame at all. She flashed a grin that was all teeth and trouble before jogging up the steps behind Juicy.

When they were gone, Martin lit his blunt, shaking his head. “Y’all look like you saw a ghost.” He said as he blew the smoke out. “Was it Mary? Yeah, I know, still freaks me out a bit to see her down here.” He added, not even waiting for an explanation from them.

Smoke leaned against the hood, eyes still on the porch. “Nah.” He muttered, voice tight. “Yeah, you right. Just didn’t expect that.” He said, though he was simply agreeing to save face.

A few minutes later, it seemed as though this party was about to take off as people began to show up, their drinks of chose and blunts in their clutches. This made Martin head inside to grab more beers while the twins stayed posted at the car, quiet now that the noise of the street settled down.

It was silent between them for a bit before Stack spoke up, not even looking at his brother. “Juicy is far from the girl we left them heard back.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck, internally questioning himself over the quick flashes of ‘not so pure’ thoughts he had about the girl he grew up with.

“Yeah.” Smoke replied. “She is.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment, both thinking the same thing—how time had a funny way of flipping the script. How the girl who used to scribble doodles on everything and watch them from the corner of the porch now walked like she didn’t owe anybody her attention.

Smoke remembered the way she used to listen when he talked—really listen—without judgment or noise. How he used to feel stupid for sharing some of his serpent moments with someone so young. How at first he just needed her for an ear, and she levered that, and when he needed some answers, she was quick to help as well. And she had those same eyes. Soft but knowing. That hadn’t changed.

Stack was still thinking about her walk. The way she didn’t give them a second glance, like she’d seen men like them a thousand times. It didn’t bruise his ego—it just made him curious.

“And I peep she’s got a smart mouth on her now.” He finally said, half a smile on his lips.

Smoke nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave the front door. “Yeah.” He muttered, and that’s all he seemed to be able to say, as if she had rendered him speechless.

Stack’s smirked widen, longing his lips as a thought crossed his mind.

“Wonder who she’s lettin’ have it.”

[woniedarlin]

Shared Custody

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Breaking up with Jungwon was one thing. But agreeing to co-parent a dog afterward? That was how you ended up in the weirdest post-breakup situation ever. Because what kind of exes still see each other at precisely 10 a.m?

You broke up. You’re sure of it. So why does it feel like your relationship never ended? Just… got a schedule and a leash?

Author's note: Another fic has been sitting in the drafts for too long. I finally decided to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

Warnings: This story contains equal parts fluff and angst, with a dash of unresolved feelings, awkward ex moments, and a dog that might steal the spotlight. Reader discretion is advised! 🐾

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Here’s the thing no one tells you about breakups:

When you two bought a dog together while you were still dating, breaking up isn’t just about parting ways with a person. You get partial custody of an emotional support furball with no idea why mom and dad stopped living together. The breakup was mutual. There was no shouting, no ugly crying, no one storming out at 2 a.m. with a suitcase and a dramatic one-liner.

It was a quiet and tired conversation on the couch. Some nods. A few long silences. And Maeumi, curled up between you, unaware that his life was about to get complicated.

You probably should’ve fought over him. Or at least discussed like rational adults. Instead, you both just… didn’t let go. Now, you set schedules like divorced parents. Only with more awkward small talk and a lot of pretending it’s totally normal to see your ex every other day at exactly 10:00 a.m.

It started with meetups. Hand off the leash, say a polite hello, smile as if it doesn’t sting anymore. Then it became coffee afterwards. Then breakfast “because he looks hungry and I’m already here anyway.”

Then, last weekend, Maeumi ate an entire bag of chips and got sick all over Jungwon’s living room, which somehow led to you arguing about brand-name kibble.

“You were the one who said he needed variety!”

“Variety doesn’t mean junk food!”

“They were organic!”

“He threw up on my socks, (name).”

And you’re not proud of it, but you laughed. A little too hard. Then Jungwon laughed, and it felt like nothing had changed for a moment.

But everything had.

Now, you’re waiting for Jungwon in the usual meeting spot, Maeumi’s leash wrapped loosely around your wrist as he trots in excited little circles. Jungwon’s late. Not by much, just five minutes. Enough to make you wonder if he’s okay. Enough to make you check your phone. He shows up a minute later, hair a bit messy, holding two coffees. “Sorry,” he says. “I stopped by that place you like. The one with the stupid tiny straws.”

You take the cup without a word.

Maeumi barks, happy as ever, tail wagging because it was the best part of his week. Seeing his divorced parents together! ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა

“Did he eat?” Jungwon asks.

You replied. “Yeah. But he thinks spinning in a circle gets him more food now.”

Jungwon sighs. “You didn’t.”

You shrug. “It was funny. He almost knocked over my lamp trying it this morning.”

There was a slight pause before, “He seemed to miss you a lot when he was with me last week. A good thing he has spent with you these past few days.” Jungwon says, nudging Maeumi’s head.

You nod, eyes on your coffee cup. “I missed him too.”

You’re not sure which of them you’re talking about.

🍎

Maeumi planted his butt on the floor and refused to move. You tugged the leash gently. “Come on, it’s Dad’s turn.” Maeumi looked at you. Then looked at Jungwon. Then flopped onto his side. You sighed. “He’s being a brat again.”

Jungwon crouched beside you, holding out a treat from his pocket. “Maeumi, let’s not do this today.”

Maeumi sniffed the treat, stood up halfway, then turned around and pressed himself against your leg.

You and Jungwon exchanged a look.

“I think he’s made his choice,” you said.

“It’s not even a choice. It’s supposed to be my weekend.”

“You tell him that.”

Jungwon sighed and looked down at Maeumi, who was now rolling over, belly up, smug as ever. “You’re a traitor. You know that?”

Maeumi sneezed in response.

Eventually, after five minutes of bargaining and light bribery, Jungwon stepped inside your apartment to get him moving. One minute turned into five. Then ten. Now you were both sitting on the couch, a lukewarm mug of tea in his hands, Maeumi curled between you like a peace treaty in dog form. “You know,” you said, watching as Maeumi kicked his leg in his sleep, “he wasn’t like this when we first got him.”

“Nope,” Jungwon muttered. “He used to listen to me. Now he acts like he pays rent.”

“That’s your influence.”

He shot you a look. “My influence? You’re the one who started giving him tiny portions of your dinner because he’s a spoiled prince.”

You shrugged and grinned. “He deserves nice things.”

“He eats better than me.”

Jungwon glanced at you for too long, then looked away and sipped his tea.

You didn’t notice.

Well, yeah, you did, but you were pretending not to.

Jungwon leaned back a little. Then he looked toward the kitchen. And then he saw it. The mug. The one he bought for your birthday two years ago. You loved it to the point that you used it daily while you two were still dating. He nodded toward the cupboard. “Didn’t think you still had that.”

You glanced over. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes stayed on it. That dumb, ceramic memory sitting there as if it had every right to exist in a post-breakup world.

You added, “It’s a good mug.”

Jungwon barely smiled. “Yeah. Real high quality.”

You didn’t reply.

He looked back at Maeumi, who was still fast asleep between you, snoring lightly. “I keep one of your spoons in my drawer,” Jungwon said suddenly.

Your head turned. “What?”

“You left it after that one trip. The one where we bought those instant noodles that tasted like cardboard.”

“Oh. Right.” You stared ahead. “That was a good weekend.”

“It rained.”

“I like rain.”

You both nodded and pretended the conversation didn’t sting a little.

Maeumi snored louder as if he were trying to cover the silence.

🍎

Your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

You were half-asleep. Maeumi had gone home with Jungwon hours ago, but the apartment still felt…full.

You grabbed your phone.

Jungwon [11:42 PM]

Thanks for taking care of him this week. He seemed extra happy. When he saw you, his tail wagged about ten times per second.

You smiled without meaning to, your thumb hovering over the keyboard to send a quick "anytime" or maybe a "he missed you too."

But another message came in before you could type.

Jungwon [11:43 PM]

You’re still the easiest person to talk to.

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps you did, and that was the problem.

So you… didn’t reply.

🍎

Jungwon sat on the curb's edge, nursing a canned coffee. Sunghoon was sipping from his drink, watching him spiral in silence. “I’m losing it,” Jungwon finally said. “She still knows how I take my coffee. Didn’t even ask.”

Sunghoon glanced over. “She made it the same way she used to? Back when you two were together?”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “Exactly like that.”

“And you’re upset because…?”

“I don’t know,” Jungwon shaked his head. “She laughs at my jokes the same way. She still says ‘bless you’ when I fake sneeze for attention. And today, I saw the mug I got for her birthday two years ago, sitting in her cupboard like it never left.”

“Maybe it’s just a good mug?” Sunghoon offered.

Jungwon stared at him. “That mug has a whale on it saying ‘whale you be mine.’ It wasn’t just a mug.”

Sunghoon choked on his drink and wiped his mouth. “Okay, yeah, that’s tragic.”

“And she still wears my hoodie,” Jungwon added. “She likes that hoodie.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna ask for the hoodie back and confess your undying love in the same breath?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I was over her. I thought we were fine being exes who raise a dog together.” Jungwon let out a long sigh and tilted his head back. “I don’t know when it started feeling like this again.”

Sunghoon crumpled his empty drink can and tossed it into the bin beside them. “You mean the part where you show up with her favorite foods, sit on her couch like you never left, and keep pretending Maeumi’s the only reason you’re still hanging around?”

Jungwon looked at Sunghoon. “…Okay, rude. But not wrong.”

“Exactly. Look, man.” Sunghoon turned to face him fully now. “You two broke up. Sure. But you’re still texting her late at night, still wearing the cologne she once said smelled nice, and still looking at her like she’s the only person in the room.”

Jungwon groaned. “She’s just being nice. She always was.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “No one’s that nice, bro. She has your hoodie. She made you pancakes last week. You said she cut the strawberries the way you like them.”

“She always cuts the ends-”

“Exactly.” Sunghoon gave him a look. “At this point, you’re not just co-parenting a dog. You’re toeing the line of a romcom reboot.” He added, “Seriously, who even does this? Shared custody over a dog? With your ex? This is the weirdest post-breakup dynamic I’ve ever seen.”

Jungwon didn’t even deny it. He muttered, “…Yeah, but it’s kind of working.”

Sunghoon nodded solemnly. “You’re doomed.”

Jungwon groaned. “I think I’m accidentally falling in love with her again.”

“No such thing as accidental. You just never stopped.”

🍎

Maeumi wasn’t himself. You noticed it the moment he refused his dinner. He moved slowly, dragging his paws across the floor, and his eyes looked distant. Something was off. He usually had a healthy appetite, but tonight, nothing. You knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. “Hey, Maeumi, what’s going on?”

He let out a weak whimper. Panic rose in your chest. You didn’t know what was wrong but knew you needed help. You grabbed your phone without thinking.

Jungwon picked up almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” His voice was concerned, even though he wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Maeumi’s sick. He won’t eat, he’s not moving much… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming over.”

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, his face tense as he crouched down to Maeumi’s level. The dog barely acknowledged him, enough to make you both nervous. “We should take him to the vet,” Jungwon said after a moment.

You nodded, already on the phone, setting up an appointment. The drive was tense, your hand gripping the door handle while Jungwon kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes between you and Maeumi.

When you finally arrived at the clinic, it was quiet. You and Jungwon waited in the sterile, cold waiting room. Maeumi was lying on your lap, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. You rubbed his head absentmindedly, trying to calm yourself. “He’s going to be okay,” Jungwon said quietly, glancing over at you.

You nodded but didn’t answer. He touched his hand lightly near yours as he reached for the water cup beside you, and for a fleeting second, you felt his warmth. You looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere else, not meeting yours.

For a brief moment, you wondered if he missed this. If he missed you. But before you could even entertain the thought, the door to the exam room opened, and the vet emerged, pulling your focus back to Maeumi. Jungwon stood up. “He’ll be fine,” he said.

And you weren’t sure what to make of it, but for the first time since your breakup, you couldn’t ignore how much it stung to see him so close yet still so distant.

🍎

By the time you and Jungwon returned from the vet, Maeumi was already dozing off on the couch, wrapped in an old blanket and looking much more himself. The panic had eased. You stood by the kitchen, hands on the counter, watching Jungwon kneel to check Maeumi. You glanced at the time. “It’s late. You should eat before you head back.”

Jungwon looked up. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I was gonna cook anyway,” you said, opening the fridge. “Don’t expect a five-course meal, though.”

“I never did,” he said, smiling as he joined you in the kitchen. “You still burn rice, don’t you?”

You gave him a light shove with your elbow. “That happened once. And the pot betrayed me.”

Then, he washed the vegetables while you stirred the soup. It was annoyingly comfortable.

By the time dinner was done, the table was set. Jungwon set down the last dish and glanced over at you. “This… feels like we never broke up,”

You froze. Then, you replied, “We never used to have this much garlic.”

He huffed a small laugh but didn’t push it. And for the rest of dinner, neither of you brought it up again.

🍎

The dishes were washed. The leftovers are packed. Maeumi, finally feeling a bit better, had claimed his usual spot at the foot of your couch, tail thumping gently as he dozed. You stood near the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel, when Jungwon spoke from behind you. “I didn’t just miss Maeumi, you know.”

“I miss…” He let out a soft breath. “I miss all of it.”

“Do you still think about us?” he asked.

The silence was deafening. You felt him watching your back, waiting. And if the room had stayed that quiet a second longer, you would’ve said something honest. But Maeumi barked as if he’d sensed the tension rising and decided to cut it clean. You both jumped slightly. You turned with a light laugh, avoiding his gaze. “I think someone needs his water refilled.”

Jungwon didn’t press. He nodded before crouching to check Maeumi’s bowl.

Neither of you said anything else.

But the question stayed.

🍎

It happens on a night that should’ve been uneventful. A regular handoff. Maeumi is snoozing on your carpet, belly full. Jungwon’s quiet tonight. You notice it right away, but you pretend not to. You handed over Maeumi’s leash, but he didn’t take it. “You still have my hoodie,” he says.

You glance up. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward the coat rack. “The gray one. I saw it last week. You used to sleep in it.”

You shrug. “It’s comfortable.”

His jaw tightens, but he laughs a little. “Everything I gave you is ‘comfortable,’ huh?”

You don’t answer.

“I saw your story the other day,” he adds. “Looked like a date.”

Now, you furrow your eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say. “You brought it up. So say it.”

“It’s confusing. For one moment, we laughed as if nothing had changed. Then, in the next instant, I remember how you used to fall asleep on my chest or steal all the blankets.” His voice wavers for a moment, but he pushes on. “I just can’t tell if I’m the only one stuck in the past or you’re better at pretending.”

You hesitate, then quietly. “I wish I could say I moved on, but I haven't.”

Jungwon’s shoulders drop a little. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks down. “Because you looked like you were doing okay. And I didn’t want to make it harder if you were healing.”

“I wasn’t okay,” you say softly. “I’m still not.”

Jungwon lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. “Neither am I.”

“I miss you,” he says. “Not just Maeumi. Not just Saturday mornings. I miss… talking to you. I miss knowing how you’re doing without having to ask.”

You look away. “Then why are we doing this?” you whisper. “Why are we acting like we’re fine?”

He lets out a breath. “Because maybe we don’t know how to be anything else.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He says, more gently this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

He bends down and clips the leash onto Maeumi’s collar. The dog wags his tail, clueless, happy just to be loved by both of you. Jungwon straightens up but doesn’t turn to leave right away. He looks around your apartment. His eyes land briefly on the hoodie by the coat rack, then the familiar mug on your kitchen shelf.

“I still love you,” he says suddenly.

You freeze.

“I didn’t think I should say it. I didn’t want to make this harder. I thought… maybe it’d get easier if I stopped talking about it. But it didn’t.”

He’s not asking for anything. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not to come back. He was standing there with his hand gently resting on Maeumi’s back because it kept him from breaking. “You laughed at one of my jokes last week,” he says softly. “And for a second, I forgot we weren’t together anymore. That’s how easy it is to fall back into you.”

You swallow hard. But he keeps going.

“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. Or corner you. I just needed you to know. It wasn’t because I stopped feeling everything when we broke up. I was scared. And tired. And maybe I thought it’d hurt less if we ended it on our terms.”

He finally looks at you. “But it still hurts.”

Maeumi lets out a soft bark. Jungwon reaches down and scratches behind his ears; for a second, it’s just the sound of his hand brushing fur. Then he straightens again, but now you notice his eyes are a bit glassy. “I’ll take him tonight. I’ll text you tomorrow. If you need anything, or if… you want to talk more, I’m one call away.”

You nod. Slowly. You can’t get your voice to work. But your eyes say enough.

Jungwon opens the door and glances back just once. “Goodnight,” he says.

And then they’re gone.

🍎

Jungwon sits on the edge of his bed, hair slightly damp from a rushed shower. Maeumi is curled beside him, his head resting on his paw, and his eyes blinking up at him as if he understands more than a dog ever should. Jungwon takes a small breath and runs a hand through Maeumi’s fur. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he mutters. “I didn’t yell.”

Maeumi blinks again.

“Okay,” Jungwon sighed, leaning back a little, “I maybe said too much.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Maeumi,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “She just looked at me like I was someone from a different life. That sucked.’’ Jungwon glances down and smiles sadly. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “Mommy and Daddy were just having a little disagreement.”

He lays back on the bed. “I’ll bring her back,” he whispers. “I swear, Maeumi. I’ll bring your mom back to me.”

Maeumi lets out a soft woof.

🍎

The rain had been pouring since morning. You didn’t expect anyone when the doorbell rang, especially not Jungwon. But there he was. Standing at your doorway, drenched from head to toe, Maeumi dripped beside him and looked more like a soggy mop than a dog. “Uh,” Jungwon offered sheepishly. “He refused to walk anywhere else.”

You said in disbelief. “You could’ve called.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

You step aside. “Come in before Maeumi gets mistaken for a wet sock.”

Towels came out. You wrapped one around Maeumi, rubbing his fur as he wagged his tail. Jungwon was quieter. You handed him a dry hoodie from your closet, which was his, actually. It still smelled like him, though it had sat folded for months.

He changed. You made tea. He sat across you on the couch, rubbing Maeumi’s ears absently. “I’ve been thinking,” Jungwon started, voice gentle. “We weren’t ready back then. But maybe now…”

You looked at him, guarded. “I’ve changed,” he continued. “You have too. And I don’t just mean getting better at feeding Maeumi actual food.” You smiled a little. He took it as permission. “I guess I want to say I’m sorry. For everything I didn’t say before. For not knowing how to stay when things got hard.”

You met his gaze. “I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away when I didn’t know what I needed.”

“Do you think Maeumi would be okay if we lived together again?” Jungwon asked suddenly, eyes hopeful.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking for the dog or for you?”

A sheepish smile curved his lips. “Both.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his shoulder, your head resting there like it used to. “Maybe we could try again,” you said quietly. “For real this time.”

Jungwon’s hand found yours.

Maeumi snored at your feet.

And outside, the rain kept falling, washing everything clean.

[augustsblossom]

I need to make classmate! Mark Grayson happen it is rotting my brain

── ── ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ── ──

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ main! Mark Grayson x fem! reader

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ cw: mark doesn’t have powers, marks lowkey a perv, reader is super girly, kind of insinuates that Mark jerks it LOLLL, reader teases mark some bit lolol

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ a/n: hiii I promise I will get to my requests I’ve just been needing to clear my drafts! This also is a pretty common fic I see with characters I’m not for sure if there is one of Mark but creds to the people that did it first! Inbox is still open if you would like to see anything else 💋

── ── ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ── ──

classmate! Mark who is one of the biggest geeks at school, he’s like super hot but still people get a laugh or two when they see him reading Seance Dog

classmate! Mark who takes a chemistry class with you and is super smart, he turns in his tests before anyone else and people come to him for help

classmate! Mark who notices you ALL THE TIME. When you walk into class he is always eyeing you to see which outfit you picked out. He likes to think you pick them for him, buuuttttt

classmate! Mark who noticed you’re into girly stuff. A lot of your outfits resemble just true girlyness and he adores all of them. One day you wore a matching Juicy Couture tracksuit and he LOSSSTT ITT. It hugged your curves perfectly and left some imagination for him to use tonight

classmate! Mark who almost shits himself when you guys get paired for a project. Your professer assigned you guys together and when she called out the names he looked over to see you applying your cherry Victoria’s Secret lipgloss. He was in awe with just how truly unbothered you were

classmate! Mark who hypes himself up to ask if you wanted to go to his place to work on it. He took a quick few deep breaths and walked up to where you were sitting

“I know we don’t talk like a lot and it can be weird going to a strangers house but I was wondering if you wanted to work on our project at my place? I have like the whole thing to myself and-“

He rambled for a bit before shutting up and was waiting for an answer. You looked up at him just staring for a second before you respond

“Yeah, I’m down”

His heart might have just fell to his ass. God you were so confident and unbothered he was SO into it. And it didn’t help that the shirt you were wearing was a size smaller so your twins were suffocating and pushing for air

You weren’t oblivious to his actions and tone. You knew he liked you and you known for a while. But sometimes you liked to act oblivious so he would HAVE to push out of his comfort zone even more, it was a fun little game you played

classmate! Mark who lets you into his home and leads you to his room. He was ready to start the project and you guys got to work. To be honest he lowkey did all the work, you were tired and he didn’t mind! As long as he still had an imagination for the nights that kept him awake he would have no problem doing whatever you asked

classmate! Mark who when after you left he immediately got to his room to calm down. He truly couldn’t believe you were just in his home, with your sweet scent lingering on his bedsheets where you were sitting

classmate! Mark who then notices you left your jacket, and boy was he over the moon. Leaving your jacket helped his imagination feel more like a reality

You were just glad you could return the favor of him doing your project :)

[themissinghand]

Genshin Impact Marked by the Sea

Summary: In which Neuvillette is your soft husband, a loving one with some dragon tendencies. 

or, here are snippets of a domestic dragon husband. 

Pairing: Neuvillette x GN! Reader! 

Note: Going through my drafts and yes, I had a Genshin phase

Warning: Lots of fluff >.< because we love our hydro dragon sovereign. 

★・・・・・・★

“You’re staring again,” you murmur sleepily.

Every morning, you wake up to long white messy hair on your face and sometimes, even purrs coming from your beloved husband. 

Neuvillette tightens his arms around your waist. 

“I’m simply…appreciating.”

“You’re very clingy for someone who acts like the world’s most composed man in public,” you tease, turning in his arms.

He presses his face into your neck. 

“You’re the only place I feel at peace.”

Your fingers comb gently through his hair.

A soft whine escapes him. 

“Stay with me a little longer.”

“Love, you have to go now.” You managed to sit up and let out a small yawn. You eyed the clock, and realized that it’s time to get ready for the day. 

“Must we get up?”

Neuvillette’s voice was muffled against your hip, arms still around your waist.

You laughed, gently tugging him upright. 

“You’re the Chief Justice. Pretty sure pajamas aren’t court-appropriate.”

You quickly pull him out of bed and help him wash his face and teeth. Help him clean up and look like the respectable Chief Justice everyone knows. 

He blinked at you, bleary-eyed, letting you button his shirt. 

“Now arms up.”

He obeyed, now a bit more awake, but his head thunk on your shoulder. 

“You’re too good to me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you teased, guiding him to the kitchen.

He sat, still drowsy, while you went to make a quick breakfast. His eyes lit up the moment he saw the carefully packed lunch.

“You made soup again…” he murmured, picking up his spoon. 

“You know me too well.”

You peck his cheek.

“Someone has to make sure you eat something that isn’t stressful.”

Neuvillette caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I don't know I would do without you.” You raised a brow. 

“Dramatic.”

“Truthful,” he said, giving you that soft look that made your chest ache. 

“I’d be lost without you.”

You poured him water, leaning in close. 

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then.”

He hummed, content, and smiled softly.

“Thank you.”

The courtroom echoed with voices, petitions, disputes, and lies dressed as truths.

Neuvillette listened, silent and unreadable as always, yet the weight of it pressed heavily on him today.

Humans, no feelings are difficult to understand for Neuvillette. 

During a short break, he retreated to his office. He didn’t expect peace, but when he opened the simple wooden box you'd prepared for him that morning, the tightness in his chest eased.

Carefully arranged: poached fish, soup, soft rice, steamed greens. And nestled beside it, a folded note.

“Don't forget to eat. And breathe. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

You’d drawn a little doodle of him, half-asleep with his hair floofed.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile touched his lips.

He took a bite of the fish. Light, clean. Just the way he liked it. His heart unclenched, if only a little.

You always knew what he needed before he did.

He tucked the note back into his coat pocket, among the many others.

Then he returned to the courtroom, still weary, but a little steadier.

You found him hunched over his desk, buried in paperwork. Rain tapped on the windows like it was echoing his mood.

Silently, you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"...You always find me,” he murmured after a pause, voice tight. “Even when I don’t want to be found.”

“You don’t really mean that,” you whispered, resting your cheek against him.

When it got late, you knew Neuvillette was stuck at work, being the workaholic he is. 

He didn’t argue. Just exhaled shakily, fingers clutching a paper like it had wronged him personally.

“Why are they like this?” he asked. “Humans. So much… cruelty and lies.”

You held him tighter. You knew sometimes these cases could be too much to listen to, after all, people only go to court for frustration, guilt and confessions. 

“Because we’re messy. But we’re capable of kindness too. You don’t have to understand all of it. You just have to be you.”

“But I’m not human,” he said, looking up at you. “How can I judge them if I don’t understand them?”

For a moment, you hesitated because you remembered the time he told you about his true identity, but even then, you never cared for it because you truly loved this man dragon from the moon and back. 

“You don’t need to be them to care,” you said gently, brushing his hair back.

“You’re already doing more than most. That’s enough.”

A deep breath before he turns in his chair and buried his face into your chest. 

You didn’t speak. Just stroked his hair, kissed his temple, and held him. 

“…Thank you,” he whispered. Then he tipped you down and you let him. He kissed you, slow, tender, like you were sunlight and he hadn’t seen the sky in days.

When he finally pulled back, he glanced toward the window.

“…The rain stopped,” he said, almost in disbelief. You smiled, running a finger along his jaw. 

“Told you. You just needed to let someone hold you for a while.”

He smiled, really smiled, and leaned in for one more kiss.

“My heart listens to you more than it does me.”

Another day, another migraine as you would sometimes say. 

"Neuvi, you need a vacation."

He had meant to protest, he always did, but the look in your eyes had silenced him more effectively than any decree. It wasn’t disappointment or frustration. 

It was care. Concern. Love.

He sat at the edge of the bed, fingers absently tracing the letter you had slipped into his coat earlier. He unfolded it now, reading your familiar handwriting:

“You are allowed to rest, Love. You are allowed to be more than the Chief Justice. Let me take care of you.”

He closed his eyes.

For centuries, he had carried so much. 

Dignity. Duty. Distance. 

And yet you, gentle, persistent, loving you, had chipped away at his solitude like water to stone, reshaping him with kindness.

Perhaps...just this once...

He let out a slow breath. And then, deliberately, he stood, walking to the open balcony. 

The moon was dim tonight, and the streets were empty except the automatons guarding the city. With one smooth motion, he shifted, scales rippling over his skin, horns glinting, wings unfurling into the night air.

A dragon once more. It felt liberating despite only showing his half dragon form. 

And as he looked down at the palace below, a deep, low growl rose in his throat. He wanted to take you far away from this place. 

From politics. From judgment. From all the noise.

He wanted to keep you close. Closer than ever.

He took to the skies and took a deep breath.

Perhaps...a vacation has been long overdue. 

After months of court and chaos, Neuvillette finally, finally, listened to you.

You had never been so excited as you pulled out your notes and forgotten plans of just hanging out without work looming over your heads. Still, you wanted it to be relaxing for your dragon husband because you wanted this to be all about him! 

He deserves rest and you would make sure he gets spoiled! The first thing you did was just take him away from the palace and into the Fontaine wilderness, where it would just be you, him, and the sea.

What you didn’t expect was to see Neuvillette showing off in his half dragon form.

You watched as he shifted, wings unfurled, silver-blue scales gleaming in the sun, and you swore you saw him breathe for the first time in weeks. 

No courtroom. No robes. 

Just Neuvillette, in all his dragon majesty, curling his massive body around you in a protective sprawl. 

“You’re hovering,” you teased when he kept nuzzling you every time you moved an inch too far.

A low, rumbling growl vibrated through his chest. 

“You wandered out of sight for two minutes.”

“You sound like you were ready to drown someone.”

“I was.”

Each day, he softened. The weight on his shoulders lightened. 

You massaged the tension from his back, whispered reassurances into his neck, and watched him melt under your touch.

But as the days passed, something changed. His touches grew bolder. His gaze lingered longer.

At night, in human form again, he’d pull you close, hands trembling just slightly. 

“Tell me I’m allowed this,” he murmured once, voice rough and low as his fingers trailed your spine. 

“Tell me I can want you.”

“You’re allowed everything, Neuvi,” you whispered against his lips. “Especially me.”

He kissed you slowly, starting off with gentle kisses before turning desperate, with whispered promises.

By dawn, you lay tangled together beneath his draped wing. His breath is warm at your nape. His arm locked around your waist.

“You’re not letting go, are you?” you murmured, half-asleep.

A hum. 

“Never.”

You could say the same. 

The sky was streaked with pink when you tugged Neuvillette’s hand. 

“Beach walk,” you said. “Doctor’s orders.”

He let you lead him, fingers laced with yours, quiet as ever, but relaxed. Peaceful.

The sea air suited him. Personally, you liked that he was out of his “judge” outfit, and in a more shirt and pants. 

Then you spotted them.

“Otters!” you gasped, pointing excitedly at the group rolling around in the surf. One, in particular, caught your eye, blue-gray fur, an almost regal posture, and sharp eyes surveying the world.

You burst into laughter, as you quickly led Neuvillette to them. 

“Wait, look! That one looks just like you.” Neuvillette blinked. 

“You think I look like an otter?” You nodded as you looked back and forth. 

“Same dignified vibe. Same colours. Same mysterious energy. Very composed. Very you.”

He gave you the most bewildered expression. 

“I...see.”

You giggled and crouched near the water’s edge, where the otters now swarmed, squeaking little “kyu” noises as they playfully nuzzled you.

Neuvillette stayed behind, watching. Silent. Still.

One of the otters nestled into your lap, eyes closed in bliss. You cooed at it.

And he frowned.

“…They’re quite clingy,” he muttered, barely audible.

You looked up. 

“Are you… pouting?”

“I am not,” he said, a touch too quickly. 

“Merely observing. They seem rather… attached.”

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. 

“You are jealous.”

“I am not jealous of an otter,” he said stiffly, before stepping forward and sliding his hand into yours, gently pulling you up and into his side. 

You laughed, letting him pull you close. 

“Jealous much?”

“I prefer ‘protective.’” 

You smiled up at him. 

“Don’t worry. No amount of adorable otters could ever take your place.”

He exhaled slowly, brushing a hand through your hair, gaze softening. 

“Good.”

Still, you made him take photos with otters anyways. 

And now Neuvillette sees it all the time on your nightstand. 

While he judges it all the time, you know that Neuvillette could never be mad at otters forever.

One night, you lay on deck beside Neuvillette on a ship. The lakeside is quiet, with the moonlight catching in his eyes, stormy and somehow intense. 

What was he thinking about even on vacation?

His fingers traced your skin slowly, pausing at your neck.

“You always touch there,” you whispered.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to the spot.

“It’s my favorite place,” he murmured. Then softer, with a hint of hesitation. 

“May I leave a mark?” Your breath hitched as he leaned over you, staring at you intently, making you feel like you were in the eyes of a dragon.

“A mark?” You asked, breathless. 

“A symbol. A promise.” His eyes didn’t waver. 

For a moment, you simply stared into his eyes, a little pensive. Neuvillette caught your hesitation but did not falter. 

“In dragonkind,” Neuvillette explained softly, “a mark is a symbol, but also a bond. One created from instinct, will, and power. When a dragon marks someone, it means they’ve chosen them as mates.”

“Mates?” You blinked, your heartbeat fluttering.

He nodded. “More than that. It’s a soul-deep tether. A dragon only marks once in their lifetime. Once we do… that bond cannot be undone. No matter time, distance, or circumstance, our hearts remain bound.”

Your lips parted slightly as you looked into his eyes, searching. 

“So…you can’t ever choose someone else?”

“No,” he murmured, “Even if you walked away, even if I never saw you again…I would remain yours. That is how dragons love. We don’t fall often. But when we do, it’s forever.”

You were silent for a moment, taking in the weight of his words. Then, with a soft smile, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his.

“Forever sounds nice.” You leaned back, exposing your neck to him. 

“I trust you.”

You heard him suck in a breath before he swallowed.

“I love you.” You widen your eyes in surprise, he had never said it so explicitly before, which made it all the more special.  

He kissed your neck, warmer this time, and whispered something ancient, words that shimmered like falling rain. Then, he bit down, making you shiver and gasp, but he held you close, making sure you felt comfortable yet safe in his arms. 

A pulse of hydro energy flowed through you, cool and comforting. You felt it settle, and when he pulled back, a glowing symbol remained, blue and silver, delicate yet powerful.

“It’s done.” He looked so relieved, content and satisfied before kissing the mark again. 

You touched it, awed. 

“It’s beautiful…”

“So are you,” he said, reverent. 

“It binds us. Now and always.” You met his gaze. 

“I was already yours.”

“As I am to you,” he said, pulling you close. “But now the world will know too.”

He kissed you then, deep and slow, as if sealing the bond with his very breath.

From that night on, the mark stayed. And every time Neuvillette saw it, his eyes would soften, and he’d kiss it again, like a quiet vow, Mine.

[nhmkhnh]

sugarmama!caitlyn x sugarbaby!fem!reader

preface: oh the woman you are, caitlyn.

author's note: just found it in my draft, and decided to post it up! enjoy!

wrn: lowercase.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

caitlyn absolutely adores spoiling you, and she doesn't even try to hide it. she’ll take you shopping in the piltover upper market, letting you flit from boutique to boutique while she trails behind you with that soft smile and her credit sigil ready. you only had to mention liking a pair of shoes once—by the next day, three pairs in different colors are waiting for you on satin cushions in her townhouse. you pout and tell her she’s doing too much. she just chuckles, tilts your chin up, and says, “nothing’s too much for my girl.”

she acts all prim and proper in public—but the moment you're alone, she melts. outside, she’s the dignified enforcer and heiress of house kiramman. inside her estate, she’s sitting on the floor in her silk shirt, holding your feet in her lap while painting your toes, letting you vent about your day and nodding with the most adoring, lovesick expression on her face. her favorite words? “yes, darling,” and “of course, sweetheart.”

caitlyn’s love language is acts of service—and she thrives on taking care of you. she brings you breakfast in bed—fluffy pancakes, imported strawberries, and artisanal teas. she keeps a meticulous schedule just to make sure she has time to run your baths, brush your hair, and pick out your outfits (which she bought, obviously). you're her little princess, and she wants to be the one to meet your every need. you teasingly ask if she likes being bossed around. she answers dead serious: “if it’s by you? always.”

she gets so jealous—but in a quiet, possessive way. the moment anyone flirts with you, caitlyn’s hand slides around your waist, and she gives them a look that could chill wine. she’ll lean in close and whisper in your ear, “they’re not worth your time. come, love, i’ve got something better for you.” and “something better” is usually a night in her velvet-draped bedroom with wine, kisses, and her completely at your mercy.

caitlyn has a private tailor just for you. she noticed how your eyes sparkled at the gowns worn at fancy galas—so now, there’s a personal designer who only works for you. dresses that cling in all the right places, lace and silk and diamonds, each one custom-fitted. caitlyn watches you try them on like you're a masterpiece in motion, whispering, “you wear luxury better than any noble i've ever met.”

she’s secretly so down bad for your approval. you say “you look hot in that coat,” and she’s grinning like a schoolgirl the whole day. you call her “baby” and she short circuits. even during work hours, if you text her something like “miss u”, she’ll excuse herself from an enforcer meeting just to call and hear your voice. her coworkers tease her, but she doesn’t care. “let them talk. she’s my world.”

she writes you little love notes and hides them everywhere. in your vanity drawer: “your smile is the reason i breathe easier.” tucked in your purse: “tell me what you want. i’ll give you the stars.” pressed into your book: “i love the way you curl into me in your sleep.” every word is caitlyn, hopelessly in love, completely wrapped around your finger.

caitlyn’s obsessed with how cute you look in her clothes. her button-up shirt drowning your frame? her jaw drops. you steal her enforcer coat and pout at her playfully? she immediately books a night off to stay home and “discipline” you. you can wear the most expensive gown, but nothing drives her more insane than you walking into her room in her oversized sweater and calling her “mama.”

she always keeps you safe, even in the smallest ways. crossing the street? her hand’s already on your lower back. feeling cold? her coat’s around your shoulders before you even say anything. she taught you how to shoot “just in case,” but the moment she found out you were in danger, she nearly burned down half the undercity just to make sure no one ever touched you again.

caitlyn genuinely believes you hung the moon. to her, you’re more than her sugar baby. you’re her muse, her comfort, her pride. every soft moment you share—curled up in bed, laughing while eating sweets, her stroking your hair as you nap—is another reminder that she’s found her person. and she’ll move heaven and earth to make sure you never doubt how loved you are.

[lokisknife]

Golden Girl - John Price

Summary: In a London club alive with the victory celebrations of Task Force 141, Captain Price just wants a night free from formality and the weight of war. But amidst the revelry, a new kind of tension emerges as his attention fixates on his newest sniper, Y/N, his "Golden Girl". Battling thoughts he knows are inappropriate due to his age and rank, Price finds himself drawn to her in a way that defies duty. pulling towards something undeniably "risky. And wrong. And so, so tempting".

Warnings: not sticking to the canon; age difference (do I really have to say everyone is an adult here? we're talking about the military, helloooo); heavy drinking; implied size kink; implied corruption kink (just a little bit!).

Word count: 2.3k~ish

Author's note: ok, this has been sitting on my drafts for quite literally more than a year. this month sucked, my pet died, high stress at the job, high stress at uni and I've been hospitalized with a kidney infection (plz drink water and pee after sex. i beg you). I'm too scared of writing actual smut, and I wanted to post this finally, so... sorry if this is too short. I don't think anyone is going to read this lol is cod hype even a thing anymore?

It’s a typical Friday night in London. To the civilians, at least. The club is buzzing with life, with groups of all sizes chatting and laughing, drinks being spilled by drunk people on the dance floor while the colored lights keep flickering. Red, blue, red, blue, purple. The unusual thing about tonight is that the club is packed with soldiers —they aren’t spotted by their uniform, no, they are all dressed to the occasion, thank you very much. But they are spotted, instead, by their demeanor: loud, expansive, with a certain arrogance to know that they can celebrate as hard as they want because they deserve it. Their drunken grins showed a type of euphoria you could only feel if you had just won the war. And that is precisely what happened.

The infamous Task Force 141, with the help of Los Vaqueros and the Shadow Company, spent thirteen months of non-stop hard work completely annihilating a major terrorist group that presented an international threat. Unfortunately, as part of the job, the soldiers' stress levels only grew in proportion to the way the dangerous organization crumbled to ashes: all of them, by some months of work, presented stiff muscles, dark underbags, and snappy responses. And Captain Price was a traditional man: was there a way of de-stressing better than drinking your body weight in alcohol and shit-talking with your friends? He didn’t think so. His boys deserved a little fun; they did an excellent job under his command. So, order everything you want on his tab.

And there she was, the Captain’s Golden Girl, basking in the energetic booming music that made the concrete floors shake. Being the newest one on the team, she earned the nickname from her teammates, who always found a way to tease her about the non-subtle preference of the older man for his newest sniper. Innocently, Y/N thought it was a consequence of her professionalism: she was reliable and precise, always following her superior’s orders without any hesitation, and her accuracy with her rifle was impressive. She was very proud of it, always biting back a grin when the Brit called her “my golden girl”, so, of course, her friends wouldn’t dare burst her bubble. After years under his wing, they knew the bastard too damn well to know that his acts of endearment to the rookie were very far off from the paternalistic proudness Price felt towards the rest of the Task Force. Especially when his drunken state can’t take his eyes off her, sitting so pretty on the other side of the table. 

“We’re off duty, so we better act like we’re off duty” was Price’s motto for the night. After the stresses of the battlefield, he only longed for a night out with his friends, and not an awkward happy hour with coworkers. So, not only was it mandatory to boast all you want, it was essential to leave all the formalities back at the compound: for tonight, at least, there were no ranks, no dog tags, and no uniforms. Wanting to impress someone (even though he said to himself that he shouldn’t), he dressed nicely: before stepping out, he spent an embarrassingly long time perfecting his beard and applying cologne, kicking himself for caring too much. He really shouldn’t; it’s not right.

Staring at the girl in front of him, taking in her mini-skirt and the top that enhanced every single one of her curves, he forced himself to think about how he was too old for her, and not how the clothing would look scattered on his floor. Analyzing the way she did her make-up to perfection, he repeated “I’m her boss” like a mantra, instead of focusing on how incredibly plush her lips look with that shiny lip gloss.

Price is pulled out of his thoughts as shot glasses are slammed down on the hardwood table, followed by the sound of tipsy giggles. As Soap pulled a disgusted face at the burning taste of the tequila, Y/N wiped her chin from any remnants of spilled alcohol. Unaware of the glances coming from the other side of the table, she watched the banter that was initiated between the Scotsman and Alejandro at her side. 

The Captain shouldn’t be so enticed by his snipper, and God, he tried to convince himself he didn’t feel a thing. She is pretty, he has eyes, and he is lonely, simple as that. But he couldn’t attribute the burning sensation at the pit of his stomach to all the whiskey he had downed, not when it only started when he paid attention to the scene in front of his eyes. He felt like a possessive dog, watching her laugh loudly at one of the Soap’s jokes, and the sweet cadence of the sound reached his ears above the music he didn’t recognize. MacTavish was a funny guy, Price gets it. He would laugh just as loud at the humorous remark if he weren’t so stuck in his head. His fingers turned white as he gripped his cup, gulping his drink away. He should be the one sitting so close to Y/N, making her laugh so hard her eyes crinkle. Not Soap. Not anyone else. She is his golden girl, what the fuck do they know about her?

“I’ll be heading towards the bar, have another round” Price spoke up, almost mumbling to himself.

He needed another one, that’s for sure. Whatever it takes to endure the sight of her flirting with other men. But was she actually flirting, or was his mind playing tricks? Could he know that with one hundred percent certainty?

The only thing clear in his wounded heart is that he ached for her attention. It was clear from day one when his golden girl skipped into his office lighting the dark space with her bright smile. Taking notice of her joyful personality, he remembers he thought how the job would ruin her. He was wrong: she ruined him. He turned soft; he was a 37-year-old man who blushed like a teenager whenever he made an excuse to talk to Y/N. It was embarrassing.

The loud music and the intoxicated state of his mind didn't allow Price's well-trained ears to catch the following footsteps, trailing behind in the direction of the bar. Sitting on the wonky bar stool, kicking at himself for letting inappropriate feelings ruin the night, his breath hitched when he finally noticed her small figure at his side. Y/N's hand, much smaller than his, gently grazed his biceps to catch the Captain's attention. Looking up at him with pupils so dilated he could barely see the color of the irises, she smiled innocently. What he wouldn't give to ruin that pure, sinless expression...

"Just checking up on ya. You are oddly quiet, are you okay?”. Her grin was like that of a Cheshire cat under the flickering lights. The snipper kept her palm on his tense muscles for three, four, five seconds before resting it under the chin. It was enough time to make his body feel like it had been electrified, and his heart was hammering so loudly you could hear it above the music. She had to know his effects on him; it could only be on purpose. It couldn't be just a simple, thoughtless act.

"I'm fine. My mind is just... on other things." He trails off, gulping as her skirt rolls up to reveal more of her legs as she sits at his side. It moved barely an inch, but the sight of her glistening thighs was like a full meal to the starved man John Price was. Especially when his thoughts started to become more and more unfiltered with each drink.

"Thinking about what?" Y/N urges innocently, tilting her head to the side and unconsciously exposing some of her neck. The soldier looked genuinely concerned about his mental state, but her captain could only think about covering the smooth, delicate skin with hickeys until the whole team recognized his ownership.

Price shakes his head slightly, trying to drown these thoughts. He felt dirty. And drunk.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you this way..." he snickers, turning his head to the front and drinking some sips of whisky. It's almost as if he didn't notice it was said out loud.

"This way?" She arches a brow, tilting her head again. Again, with those adorable puppy eyes, with that sweet perfume that urged the man to bend her over that very same pub counter, and– And then she leans closer, apparently to hear him better. An innocent act, as innocent as her, he tries to convince himself. "What way?"

No, she must know her effects on him. His mind is taken over by images of how Y/N would look with her eyes rolled all the way back while he pounded relentlessly into her. His body feels mostly numb, as if all of his blood went straight to his crotch. Trying to look away and calm down, he catches her gaze sparkling with mischief, bottom lip caught between teeth.

Shit.

"You know what that way means" Price's eyes trailed down, meeting her cleavage with dilated pupils. It almost made him uncomfortable, the situation looking too good to be true. A beautiful piece of forbidden fruit, taunting him to make a foolish mistake. She couldn't be possibly offering herself on a silver platter like this, not to him of all people. He blurts out, before gulping another sip of the glass "You are too young for me. And I'm still your commanding officer".

"What? I didn't say anything, Captain," She purrs, feigning the purity of her intentions once again. Smiling, she snakes her hand down to his, gently pulling him out of the stool. "C'mon, Price. We are off duty, so we better act like we're off duty, right? Give me a dance".

John could stop Y/N if he really wanted, but he let himself get led to the crowded dance floor, holding her soft hands in his rough ones. He wasn't a religious man, not at all, especially after all the horrors he saw in his line of work. But right now, he makes a mental note to thank God later as the DJ stops playing the hyper techno music he didn't like to give place instead to a slow, 90's R&B, he could recognize the low bass anywhere. The Captain watched with glee as his favorite girl closed her eyes and smiled widely as she sang along to his favorite lyrics. Five minutes ago, he would have told you a whole different answer to what his favorite music is, but the sight in front of him changed everything.

The brief wholesomeness of the moment quickly shifted as Y/N placed her hands on his broad shoulders, swaying her hips easily to the bass of the music, smiling up at him. Now, John recognizes it under the bright red lights: her smile is far from sweet and innocent, but tempting like the devil up on your shoulder that whispers the sweetest and wicked ideas in your ears. With that mischievous sparkle in her eyes, what was the point of fighting?

He was off duty. For one night, he wasn't anybody's boss.

So fuck it. Right?

Price can't bite back the lustful smirk stretching his lips as he finally grabs Y/N's hips and pulls her closer the moment she turns her back on him. The act doesn't scare her at all like she acted in Price's most lucid daydreams. No, in fact, the woman pushes her dancing hips against his, looking up at his icy eyes above her uncovered shoulder.

"Took you long enough" Y/N teased over the loud music, running a rosy tongue tip over the bottom lip. One hand traveled to rest on top of the one that gripped with strength the skirt's waistband, while the other moved back to his broad shoulders, incredibly tense to someone at the club. Price chuckled, not believing his ears.

"Took me long enough? Don't you know I work above you, you little rascal?" The captain teased right back, tilting his head down to speak right into her ear, the feel of his beard tickling the sensitive skin enough to give goosebumps, even with the heat of the night.

"Ah, c'mon, Price. I've seen you. How you look at me, always pairing us both together on missions, even if Gaz would be way more useful to you most of the time" She laughed, almost quietly, the mischievous smile plastered on that cute little face of hers. Following the music with a slow, calculated swing of hips against his crotch, she added. "I think you want to be above me in other ways, am I wrong?"

Goddammit, that was risky. And wrong. And so, so tempting.

Price sighed, his tongue pressing on the side of his cheek, looking baffled with himself. Accessing what was left of the captain inside of him, in this inebriated state, the Brit scanned the room, searching for any pair of familiar eyes on him, but instead, found his table full-on bantering about football or something that looked completely stupid and meaningless right now. This, and the crack of light coming from the back door of the club, leading to an alley that hardly gets any attention this time of night.

"What a witty little thing," John whispered in Y/S's ear, hot alcoholically breath fanning over her skin. One large hand rested beautifully on her waist, pressed back, forcing her to feel how hot his body was burning, how tight his denim probably felt now at this state. How desperate, how much he fantasized about something like this happening to him. "So clever... Let me see how sharp that tongue really is, hm?"

[ariesthrottle]

Nice, I'm nowhere near as deep in Battletech lore as I am with 40k (and even then, not exactly cutting edge either). There were a couple of stuff I wanted to add on to that post that I didn't in the end as I wasn't so sure about my facts 1. The Atlas IS far more reliable than the Tiger. I absolutely wanted to make that point too, but I couldn't remember any hard data regarding Tiger reliability off the top of my head. Wanting to avoid solely relying on the, admittedly very well earned, reputation of Tigers being kinda crap, I kept that out. 1a. Also, I felt uncomfortable because the Battletech setting, while it does better than most, still plays fast and loose with logistics. Comparing it with the real world constraints and challenges of the Tiger just didn't sit well with me in the end. (I know, its a strange hang up.) 2. Honestly, the comparison I had more in mind was the Tiger and Atlas being frontline assault platforms to be thrown into the teeth of the enemy's defences, to survive and to breakthrough. The phenomenon of "Tiger fever" segues well into the Atlas' intimidation factor as well. 2a. Also, the 100ton Atlas is only "standard" weight among Assault mechs. Its still a damn heavy thing to lug around, as I'm sure anyone who played with strict tonnage limit can testify! 3. Your points about Mechwarriors becoming less "knightly" also helps to clear up a question that got raised in my mind while drafting the previous post. I ALMOST wanted to add that both the Questoris pattern and Atlas models are similarly piloted by "hardcore chivlary LARPers". But then I had a doubletake and remembered that Mechwarriors are, by and large, depicted as professional pilots in modern Battletech media. Which led me to get puzzled over when and how did this change occur in the lore. Your explanation shed some light over things!

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

○ Thanos searching for you ○

A/N: I forgot about this one- it was chilling in my drafts since january, oops.

I'M SORRY, BOY! 😭

Characters: Thanos aka. Choi Su-Bong aka. #230

POV: gn!neutral

Warnings: May contain details from Squid Game season 2- if you haven't watched yet, this writing can contain slight spoilers!

We all know that Thanos likes to flirt with every pretty girl that crosses his way and so does he when he meets you for the first time.

Far before he notices you, you noticed him. You saw him on the display when some people get introduced by the pink soldiers - more like when they exposed some of the others - but different from most, you didn't judge him for his past or for what he was going through.

Because you are more of an introvert, calm and quiet expect to him, it took a while but he finally found you shortly after the "Six-Legged Pentathlon" where you caught his attention by accident.

Damn girl, he was focused on you, hoping you will make it out alive, 'cause bro, he NEEDS to talk to you at least once here before it's too late.

He was even cheering for you when you played your game so easily, Nam-Gyu (better known as player 124) was both surprised and shocked by his behavior, ngl.

Nam-Gyu: "Did you become more like a ... simp for a girl now?" Thanos: "Get yourself a pill and shut up you little Junkie, I'm enjoying the sunshine." Nam-Gyu: "What sunshine?"

It's really sad you're done before him, actually. He would like to impress you with his skills in Gong-gi ...

Anyways, back in the common room, you are the first one he is seriously looking for.

Funny to say he is even asking other players if they have seen you somewhere.

Se-Mi: "Would be easier when you tell them her actual name and not some ... flirty nicknames." Thanos: "Jokes on you, I don't know her name either." Min-su: "Then... try describing her..." Thanos: "That's my boy, Min-Su!"

He isn't giving up so fast, but that's okay you think.

Especially because you realised at some point with your friends that he was apparently looking for none other than you.

Kim Jun-hee:"You hiding from him?" Kang Dae-ho: "Nah, she isn't." y/n: "Just wanna see him asking and searching around a litte longer."

It's unknown how much time has passed until he finally finds you, sitting on one of the stairs, looking straight in his direction when someone finally points at you.

You can't hold it any longer and burst into laughter- just like Kang Dae-ho and Park Jung-bae, while player number 001 and 456 are just smiling in amusement.

[sillygoofyqueer]

I love the mad scientist au, i humbly beg for more

OKAY OKAY OKAY!!!! Now, where were we... Okay so Lan Wangji is possibly going through the many stages of both gay realisation and also dealing with pain beyond the average person's comprehension considering that he was just dragged by an already injured leg into what would have been his death. Would have. If not for this impossibly confusing, confirmed psychopath literally prying open the jaw of a huge, man-eating monster to save his life. And then carrying him to safety on his back as though he too was not injury. Now all he can do is stare emptily as Wei Wuxian walks around the cave they have taken refuge in, a fire crackling nearby and the sound of the man of the hour muttering to himself as he sizes up different pieces of wood.

Lan Wangji would ask what the hell happened back there, but he's currently trying not to think too much both because he cannot breathe from the agony. (Also because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Wei Wuxian looking down at him with those strangely mesmerising eyes, muscles straining and the light from a nearby fire falling over his face-) Next thing he knows, Wei Wuxian is kneeling beside him and nattering on about how his leg is "really fucked up, actually!" while reaching out to pull Lan Wangji's pant leg up. Of course, his natural reaction is to grab the man's hand because seeing each others' calves is something that only happens at least three months into courting surely!

There's a pretty similar interaction to canon with Lan Wangji actually losing his fucking mind with everything that Wei Wuxian is doing to him, times ten because he can't be gay about medically treated by a Wen!! It's Not Allowed. Then Wei Wuxian makes a joke like "but of course you're scandalised by my bare chest, I bet anyone who shows off even their wrists get cut down by the Lan, don't they?" This is of course not the first comment he's made in this fashion, and Lan Wangji is too tired to care about propriety as he's like "why do you keep saying things like that?" Wei Wuxian looks at him weird and goes "because the Lans are overly traditional lunatics who suppress other ideologies and kill anyone who disagree with them???"

Cue a moment of silence where they're both just staring at each other as each and every time Jin Zixuan was like 'I swear they're like brainwashed or something' only to be met with scepticism flashes in his mind. He, very calmly, is like "what about the other sects?" and sits there as this man describes twisted versions of the sects (all of them seemingly carrying an aspect of the Wen within them, intriguingly). He's drafting an apology to Jin Zixuan for not believing him. "And the Wen told you this?" "Uhh, duh? Who else would tell me the truth??" It could almost be regarded as a joke if it weren't for how sincere Wei Wuxian sounds, how sincere he looks as he stares right back at him.

Lan Wangji doesn't really want to unpack all of this right now - a secret, bitter part of him is telling him that it doesn't matter if the man (teenager, just like him) didn't know, because he still killed all those people for his experiments - but he needs to talk about the Lan Sect to someone. His home has just been burned to the ground. He's grasping for any sense of comfort he can find trapped in a cave with a Wen and a monster. He tells Wei Wuxian that his home isn't like that and ignores the boy's scoffs of "sure it isn't" as he starts (in short, succinct phrases) describing what his home is like. What his life is - was like, before the fire. He doesn't even know if Wei Wuxian is listening to him.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian is listening to this Lan speak of his home like it is this peaceful place built upon serenity and rules, organisation that exists only as a form of comfort for those within the sect. A romantic backstory of a monk falling in love and creating his own sect because of it. It's nothing like the picture he had had painted for him, one of a sect thick with suppression and fear, control gained through threat of death, no chance to change and grow with shackles pulling one down. The Lan is surely, surely lying to him, but he speaks with such conviction that it is hard not to believe even just a little. It's not real of course, it can't be real. What would it mean if it was?

It's nothing for Wei Wuxian to dwell on. He stands up, frowning to himself at the sight of the other boy looking so sickly and pale - the food that the disciples were given wasn't conductive for health according to Wen Qing, and it shows. Lan Wangji doesn't ask where he's going, opening one of his eyes to watch him leave after closing them at some point in the silence of the cave. Wei Wuxian needs to go - he needs to think, and find some logic in Lan Wangji's words (after all, there is truth in every good lie). Or, better yet, he needs to plan for Xue Yang (and perhaps the other Wen) eventually coming back for him. It would do no good to have him come face to face with a monster in his attempts to save him, and Wei Wuxian needs to take his mind off things.

The only logical thing to do is to kill the monster!

[monstersinthecosmos]

Girl, the fic about armand s sa recovery was a MASTERPICE. You have so much talent, I can t even describe it.

WHAT A KIND THING TO SAY, THANK YOU!!!! (If anyone wants to read my lil fic it's called Gallows Bird uwu)

I usually try to keep all my fics as canon compliant as possible (for the challenge LOL) but gosh I could not resist giving them some more time together once Armand really KNOWS what Marius is. In one of the Tulane drafts too there's a bit that mentions that Armand had KILLED SOMEONE during his wild Venice times as a human!? HELLO??? Just, something to me about, Armand being in love with this creature that is clearly not human, and realizing that this creature is very dangerous, and realizing that this creature rescued him from the brothel, and how indulgent would it be to recreate those situations over and over and over so that he can get some catharsis of being rescued again, of seeing this abusers killed, and eventually having the bravery to kill them himself.

(bravery? or axe-through-a-door horniness from being edged, you decide.)

Marius, on the other hand, trying to do the right thing when he's so far removed from humanity that he doesn't know what's the right thing, who struggles immediately (in canon) with the idea of turning him and doesn't think he can stomach it, but slowly realizing he's ruined Armand for regular life anyway. He will never have a life now! He will never be normal! Not just because of his abduction, but because Marius ruined him for human life!!!!!!!!!

anyway.

:D

I think it's easy to forget that the whipping & banquet scenes are the SAME NIGHT, and the Harlech fight is the DAY AFTER! It just happened way too fast, I wanted to sit with this for a while and give them some time with it. 😭

thank you im so glad you liked it!!!

[vicolette]

Cold Bed !

– A/N : got another Hector draft lalala

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, angst, mentions of breaking up, not proofread

"He… Hector?"

Your voice sounded groggy, as expected, and a bit different than usual over the phone. The clock in his living room was ticking, showing that it was in the middle of the night, yet you still answered.

"Y/n, I'm sorry for calling." Hector ran a hand through his hair in frustration, having to calm himself down. He didn’t know why he was calling, didn’t know why he was wasting your time like this, but something told him that this was the right thing to do.

Now, he just needed the right things to say.

Hector stared at your ID, feeling his heart melt at the fact that you thankfully haven’t blocked him. He sighed before continuing. "Actually, I wanna apologize for… for everything."

"Ah, is this about-"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Confusion washed over you at first, but slowly yet surely, shame did too. He could tell how you went quiet, deep in thoughts as he wanted to just have you close and assure of everything.

Of the dating rumors that he had, of the fans that were sometimes a bit too clingy and affectionate, of his teammates that seem to never mind their own business and instead think whatever – of every single reason that made you break up with him.

"It’s not you, it’s me." You had said, all while avoiding eye contact with your past lover, even though both of you could feel your hearts pounding in your chests. "I hope you find someone better."

"I just- I wanna talk. One last time, please."

Tears started to form in his eyes as he heard your breath hitch on the other side of the phone, wanting to throw it against the wall and let himself cry, but he couldn’t. Tomorrow, he will have training and maybe even bump into fans and his family will see and-

And you were here. Not physically, but mentally. If Hector was delusional enough, he could see you sitting on his couch, leaning on a pillow with popcorn in your hands and waiting for him to join in your movie marathon.

"Hector, it's over. We're over." The emphasis on 'we' made him clench his jaw, biting his cheek as he tightened his hold on his phone. It was weird to hear you like this – sounding so mad and irritated, when he knew that you were masking all of it.

"Darling, you’re just saying that." Afterwards, it was eerily silent as Hector could feel his incredibly fast heartbeat, furrowing his eyebrows at how you didn’t respond to him.

"Y/n." No reply, which frankly concerned him more than it should have. He slowly lowered his hand, his gaze not moving to see the screen before he suddenly saw something change. "Y/n?"

You had hung up on him.

Of course you did. Hector almost dropped his phone at seeing this, stomping his feet as he groaned in pure annoyance. Women were sometimes so confusing, but he couldn’t blame you, could he now? You had your reasons, after all.

Even so, it pained Hector to turn around and return to his cold bed, where your side of the mattress wasn’t warm anymore and your pillow no longer had your scent. He cursed himself for washing it.

As Hector looked down and see that you were still online, still thinking about him just he was thinking about you, his fingers were faster than his mind. This was stupid, not logical, the worst – but he didn’t care. One more message wouldn’t hurt, right?

'I'm sorry baby, will call you in the morning<33'

'Don’t bother.'

– A/N : no more exams for a whole week😍🤞🤞

[cervidaewasteland]

TLC

A/N: Here's a short thing!! it was gonna be longer but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long that I just need it to be finished, so here you go

Summary: Andrew is sick, and you're doing your best to take care of him

Warnings: f!reader

Word Count: 537

Andrew was curled up in bed beside you, his face buried against your chest. There was a TV show playing on your laptop, but neither of you were really paying much attention to it. He was sick, and you were completely focused on taking care of him. It was nearly noon, and he had been half asleep for about twelve hours now, too discomforted to fully drift off but entirely too exhausted to stay awake. 

“Mmh. Baby,” he mumbled, just barely conscious. You frowned, shifting to sit up a little more, urging him to lay between your legs. He drearily obliged, his head now laying on your stomach. You leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head before threading your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and trying to soothe him back to sleep. His forehead was still warm, cheeks flushed. 

“What is it?” You asked softly. He grumbled something in response and hid his face in your sweater, letting out a heavy sigh. “Hm?”

“I- erm,” he pulled away just slightly so his voice would no longer be muffled. “Could you get me some water, please?”

“Yes, of course.” You started to try to pull away from him to get up, but he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, holding you down. You giggled, halfheartedly trying to pry him off of you. “I need to get out of bed. I’ll only be gone for a minute, I promise.”

Andrew whined, resting his forehead against your ribs and trailing his hands down the sides of your body. “Wait. Just for a minute.”

“I thought you wanted water,” you teased. You ran your fingers through his hair, and he made another noise, not really responding. His hands slipped under your sweater to caress your skin, fingertips skating down your stomach and then back up again. 

“I do,” he murmured, lifting your sweater up just enough to let his lips press against your lower abdomen. “Just not yet.”

“Andy, really. Let me get up.”

He hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh and pulling back, collapsing onto the mattress beside you. He gave you his best glare as you slid out of bed, but he was really still too delirious to be upset. When you returned to the room with a glass of water and Tylenol, he was already sleeping again, curled up around your pillow. You sat down beside him, and he stirred, his hand reaching out to grab your thigh as you opened the pill bottle. He groaned, shuffling over to lay against you once more, and it took quite a bit of convincing to get him to sit up and take the medicine. He burrowed himself back against you the second the pills were swallowed, curling his body around yours and laying against your stomach. 

“Still feeling sick?” He nodded at your question and let out a heavy sigh. For a while, you both just laid there in silence, letting the sunlight stream in through the curtains, hoping it would somehow heal him of whatever bug he’d caught. Eventually, you fell asleep too, your limbs tangled in his and both of you encased in each other’s warmth. 

requests are open! masterlist

[astraeajackson]

*apollo hosting an intimate heart-to-heart session with his demigod children*

the security guard, slightly unsettled: sir, i'm gonna have to see some identification

nico: i have a note from my doctor

nico: *slips him a rather crumpled piece of paper*

the security guard: *squints* xoxo... will

nico:

the security guard:

the security guard:

the security guard: seems legit come on in

[ricky-mortis]

They're the best of each other!

[myuuchii]

adventure time's your huntlow

[teapetal44]

TW: ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE

“He wants to air this dirty laundry to the world does he…? Dabi, you fiend…you’ve been waiting for this moment…when they couldn’t prevent mass destruction…and faith in heroes is wavering.” - chapter 292

I truly, wholeheartedly, believe that MHA as a story upholds the myth of the perfect victim. I do not want to discuss if Horikoshi did that on purpose, or subconsciously because of inner bias – I find no meaning in doing so. For me the execution of an idea, in the grand scheme of the narrative, holds more value than the intention of the author. I’ve also had my fair share of people infantilizing Asian authors in the anime community for their poor writing decisions for one lifetime. It’s patronizing to both the author and the people reading it. Whether or not Horikoshi intended for his themes of abuse to paint the picture they did does not matter, because that’s how it reads as.

MHA puts victims of abuse in narrow boxes and softly dictates what’s an acceptable reaction to said abuse. Victims are continuously walking a tightrope between being deserving of compassion and sympathy and being unredeemable monsters who are too far gone and are only good for martyrdom after being put down.  

Eri fits the clean cut depiction of abuse victims that media usually gears towards. She is untouched by the cruelty around her - she preserves her innocence and kindness. She isn't assertive, but rather meek and passive. She doesn't fight back with force. And when offered help, she is receptive to it. That is not to say that Eri's depiction doesn't have a place in fiction, or that her portrayal can't be representative of the experiences of some - as we all deal with trauma and the inhumanity people throw at us differently. We see the same thing in the portrayal of Fuyumi, who shares many of the qualities discussed above. The same thing applies to her - i personally love the idea of all the siblings having different reaction to their childhood trauma and abuse. It shows that victims are not some type of monolith.

But the narrative treats the "forgiving" or "receptive to help/support" victims of abuse with more grace and with much more kindness. if you are willing to forgive, or the very least be quietly tolerant, the story grants you a happy ending. Forgiveness isn't a bad thing, it is an individual choice - but an abuse victim shouldn't have to do it for them to have a happy ending.

In a vacuum Eri and Fuyumi's character arcs and depictions of abuse are good but it becomes a problem when that's the only experience and type of victim we ever hold in high value or recognize as valid and deserving of compassion. Which the story reinforces.

Touya and Tenko's backstories aren't pretty nor comfortable or easy to sit through. Their responses to abuse aren't either. Reactive abuse is very much real.