#The Good The Bad The Geeky

[georg-prime]

Gens sur Rennes et alentours

Petit appel dans l'espoir que ceci trouve des gens intéressés, pour soutenir un petit café bien agréable et ces gérants bien sympa, qui galères par manque de clients réguliers 💔

C'est l'endroit idéal pour ce prendre une bonne boisson fraîche, thé ou café, dans une bonne ambiance si vous aimez les mangas, comics, et/ou jeux vidéos, musique d'anime et kpop. Je trouve que les prix pour profiter des lieux ou pour se prendre un en-cas/dessert ou boire ne sont pas excessifs, surtout lors des happy hour et si vous êtes étudiants. Dans le pire des cas, un sirop/café classique ne coûte pas grand chose et les jeux de sociétés sont en libre service si on consomme qqch.

Y'a des évènements assez souvent, karaoké et tournois de jeux, cosplay et ventes de goodies etc. Ils peuvent ouvrir assez tard et ça change des bars trop bruyants je trouve.

Ils sont à deux rues de République et ouvrent même le dimanche.

Le choix de lecture niveau mang et comics et énorme, même quelqu'un comme moi qui a une sacrée collection, j'y trouve de quoi lire. Pareil pour les jeux vidéo, ils ont plein de consoles dont la PS5 et un casque virtuel, et une collection éclectique de jeux, du jeu de combat à du Zelda en passant par Stray, Okami, ou encore Spider-Man...

Les (grands-)parents qui veulent éviter d'acheter des trucs mais aimeraient partager certains hobbies avec leurs enfants, ou veulent se poser en ville boire un café, en laissant leurs enfants/ados jouer/lire un peu, y trouveraient leur compte soit dit en passant.

En tout cas, j'avais vraiment regretté le manga café qui avait existé près des Lices pendant 30sec on aurait dit, et Manga T n'a pas vraiment beaucoup de place ni de collection complète ni autre chose que des manga, et la nourriture et plutôt chère.

Du coup j'espère vraiment ne pas perdre cette boutique, et le fait de pouvoir y papoter avec des gens qui aiment les mêmes fandoms de temps en temps dans une chouette ambiance en plein centre ville, et histoire de me changer les idées et pas trop broyer du noir... Bref viendez visiter au moins une fois, ou parlez en autour de vous ce serait super merci ! 🙏 💙

[madegeeky]

31 Days of Horror Recs: Anthony Hopkins, who?

I'm sorry, okay, but after watching Hannibal (the tv show) I just can't see Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal. The thing is, you get hints and side glances in Silence of the Lambs at who Hannibal was before he was locked up: suave, charming, brilliant, charismatic, the sort of person who could seduce you into seeing them exactly the way they wanted you to see them. But it's only hints and side glances; looking at Hopkins' Hannibal full on you do get the charming aspect but he's also feral in a way that makes it hard to believe he was that charming. When violence comes from him it's fun to watch but not surprising.

Mads Mikkelsen's Hannibal though? Holy shit, y'all. He is so refined and charismatic. He uses words and body language like a scalpel. He makes sure to come across as knowledgeable, confident, proud, etc but never too knowledgeable, confident, proud, etc. It is so easy to see why people would want to be around him, why him taking you as a confidant or him listening to your problems would make you feel special. And when he does go feral it is visceral and, although less violent than other things happening in the show, it somehow feels more violent because it is so sudden and shocking to see.

Hopkins' Hannibal shows us a man who shoves people in ovens and doesn't wear his human mask all that well. Mikkelsen's Hannibal shows us a man that doesn't have to shove us in the oven; he convinces us to, happily, walk right in.

Synopsis: A talented but unstable profiler, Will Graham, is brought in by the FBI to help find a murderer. He is paired with a psychiatrist, Hannibal Lector, to make sure that helping the FBI doesn't compromise Will's sanity. However, Hannibal is more than he appears to be and so is his increasing interest in Will.

[dogydayz]

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It was at that moment that I knew I had to run. Sweet little Nicholas had been fucked with for far too long, and that stinging sensation on his face that left his eye black and blue was the final straw. It was in the moment that I fought back, against someone who'd fought off so many before, I held my damn ground against that sorry excuse of a father of mine and fucked off for good.

I ran, I ran so fast the wind whipped at my quills. My glasses fell off when I dashed through and broke the window, and I didn't look back as I sped into the trees. I heard the sounds of 'em yelling at me. He was enraged. He was 'the peoples' hero'. He'd hurt me. My mother called for me too. I didn't miss her yellow quills. She'd been just as bad, she'd wanted me to be less than I was, she wanted me to reduce myself to a fool, blindly following those damn Elites and their ideals which left out myself and everyone else alongside me from their 'perfect' world. They wanted to make me into a 'hero'. They wanted to make me into a government pawn.

Oh, I'd show 'em 'heroism', I'd fuckin show 'em what they created.

But at the time, I could only run. Trippin' on sticks 'n rocks, runnin' from the distant sirens that screamed into the afternoon air. It was growing dim, the sky darkening above me. I was alone, and I realized that I'd soon be fighting tooth-and-nail ta keep myself alive.

Was I ever truly alive, before? I can't really say I had been. Poor little Nich'las was always fearin' for his life, back then. He never got to enjoy what he shoulda enjoyed, and he learned fast that no kid got to enjoy what every kid should. He always shed green everywhere from fear, his fringe covering his eyes, he was always such a nervous kid. A little geek too, he wanted to be like the others at school, the ones so cool and popular, but he didn't give a shit 'bout sports or anything like that. His dad didn't like that. His dad also didn't like how easily he cried, and he cried at everything too. Little fuckin' crybaby, the kid was, huh? Eyes always watering about ta burst like a dam, his dad hated it. His dad yelled at him for it. Slapped him, too. That shit hurt like a bitch.

Some 'hero' he is. Piece of fuckin shit, pickin' on a child, and not any child but his OWN child. Y'know, I'll see him again some day, and I'll make him eat my fuckin' fists for what he did to a once-defenseless little kid like me.

It was that day that I ran that Nicholas was nothin', he was dead, and in his place was a kid who'd become a scourge to the city he lived in, a scourge to the kin he left behind, a scourge to the government who HATED powerful bastards opposing them...

And I was proud of it. Bein' such a problem to 'em. Those fuckwads deserved it. I let it become part of me, I let myself take that character because I LIKED it. And I still like it. I'd have ditched this name long ago if I didn't.

But I like it. And it sounds cool.

And I can't wait for the time I get to fuck them up for good, ending their shitty reign on this dying world, even if no one can be saved in the end of it all. At least they won't get out of it with any satisfaction.

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So why do the tears still fall? Why do I wanna stay here, when my world needs me to finish what is started? Why can't I find the strength to leave this place?

Why do they stick by me, despite the problems I've caused? Why do they show me forgiveness when for years, I'd been nothing but a nuisance? An idiot teenager, struggling to get a grip on his situation, on the fact that his world and everyone he'd found companionship in was now alone, and he was stuck with this idealized version of himself seemingly mocking him every moment?

I'm not meant to be here, yet I can't get myself to find a way to leave. I don't want to go.

Please, don't make me go...

[bossymarmalade]

#ok but...that is literally what Ex Machina is about #it's satire on white men's fear #executed brilliantly by Oscar and the redhead guy #not so much by Vikander bc I'm pretty sure #she was acting this version of 'feminism' #that goes hand-in-hand with white men's fear of insubordination #anyway I have a thicker analysis of this film #that extends deeper than the story #and right into the script and choice of directing/acting #don't get me wrong there's a lot about the movie that is very much male gaze #but to me its the same as Gone Girl in its muddy messaging

yeah like Byrne’s analysis is VERY pinned to a narrow white feminism -- to the extent where it falls apart completely when you consider that the creator of the AI in Ex Machina isn’t a white guy. Just because she read Oscar Isaac’s tech genius character as white doesn’t mean he is. Maybe she should rethink who exactly is doubting the sentience of people of colour in this scenario

Monica Byrne

[naydralikessoup]

finished thriller bark yesterday after being obliterated by enies lobby and i'm thinking about how one piece is such a joyful series despite it's dark themes because it's so deeply about the joy of being alive. my girlfriend and i compare it to jojo all the time (mostly just because they're both colorful, long-spanning series and they're both her favorites), which i think is actually very fitting, since jojo, if i remember right, was described by araki as being about "living." i think of how it explained to us that gecko moria lost his entire crew too, but let it make him cynical and put off accomplishing his dream, and how different that is from brook, who decided to carry on his friends' legacy, and who (it seems) is excited to form new connections. it's so... . one piece is about finding happiness for yourself, but also how important connection to other people is in doing that. luffy is always thinking about his own dream, but he doesn't hesitate to help his friends when they need it because he genuinely loves them... ik i'm not saying anything new but the one piece brainrot... it's so much..

[blackgumball]

i feel like i havent seen people talk about how cool the snake visuals for meg’s album are. THE COVERRRRRRR??? brooooo.

[eraenaa]

So High School

Inspired by the song "So High School" by Taylor Swift

Athlete Rafe Cameron x Scholarly Reader Tag List

Summary: He knows how to ball, you know Aristotle

Warnings: Jealousy, Dry-Humping, Fluff, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 4,638

A/N: Re-upload because I wanted to add a bit of spice and a few more elements inspired by the song. And I wanted to clarify that the Rafe here is heavily inspired by Zach Maclaren

You’ve never considered yourself as a cliche. You did love to read, watch, and think about cliches, you would sigh longingly when you see the differing variations be reproduced in media. The kisses in the rain, the jocks getting with the nerds, the popular girls kissing the geeky boys. All of them were great in theory, but you could never see yourself taking part in one of them. Not until you met him. Rafe Cameron.

You’ve never had a high school romance, nothing that even resembled it. If you recall your high school days, nothing remote to a teenage romance was achieved. You went to balls without a date, only the company of your friends; no flings were made nor ambiguous relationships achieved and could be added to your trophy case. You were not even certain you had a crush— sure, you would find someone attractive, but not so much that you would look forward each day to seeing them in the halls or classroom. It sounds horrid and sad now that you say it out loud or when you share it with any of your uni friends, but you truly did not mind. You were just not destined to have a high school romance. 

In truth, you preferred it that way. You’d rather avoid immature attachments. The shallow jealousy and petty fights you had witnessed over and over again. However, you were always curious about how they felt. How did it feel to look forward to going to school to see the one you liked or even loved? How did it feel to be a blushing mess just because they glanced back at you? What did it feel like to hold the person you wanted’s hand as you walked down the hall? What was it like to have your friends tease you for being so love-struck that it went straight to your heads? How does it feel to be down bad for someone while still being filled with the naivety of youth? But you suppose you don’t have to wonder at all anymore. The cliche things they say in the movies; your stomach filled with butterflies, your heart pounding hard on your chest, your skin tingling with electricity— you thought were just exaggerated reactions, romanticizing further the romances they produce, but they were right. Those are the exact things you felt with Rafe. 

You never saw him coming. He was an exchange student from the States, admitted into your university’s football team. He was a few years older, but with his commitment to the sport, he was taken back a few years and started off in the second year. He was your seatmate on the third day of class of the term. He took a seat by your right and sheepishly asked you for a pen at the start of the lecture. You were set to mind your own business, lend him the pen, and focus on the lecture, but you could not help but notice him leaning closer to you, trying to copy down the notes you typed furiously on your laptop. You thought twice before you decided to be a good samaritan, shifting your laptop screen more clearly toward his view. 

You tried not to get in between him and the professor as he was grilled to answer a question about Aristotle’s Poetics, the whole class’ eyes upon him as he stuttered and flailed to answer the lecturer’s question. You sighed and bit your lip, quickly typing up the answer as he was being shamed by your professor for not doing the readings. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to look at the screen and recite out loud the answer you had written. “Thank you,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer to you, who saved him from further embarrassment. You just nodded, but Rafe did not return to his place; he kept the rather close proximity of the both of you for the rest of the class. You just took his actions as his way of copying more of your notes.

When the class ended, you quickly gathered your things and tried to exit the lecture hall, but Rafe blocked your way. “I’m Rafe, by the way,” he introduced himself, letting out his hand for you to shake. You did, and he swore he felt electricity at your touch; you, too had felt it but mistook it for static. You quickly introduced yourself and tried to sidestep to get to your next class, but he was quick to block you again. “I just wanted to say thank you again,” Rafe said, trying to catch your eye, but it kept flying towards the door. You flash him a small and almost forced smile, “It’s just recitation. It’s no problem.” You said and finally looked him in the eyes. You felt your heart stutter at the smile that crossed his lips, and you once again mistook it for something else, anxiety, perhaps that you might be late to your next class that was all the way on the other side of the campus in a building without an elevator and your classroom conveniently placed on the top floor. 

That was when you noticed that Rafe had still not let go of your hand, nor did he have the intention of letting you go too quickly. “I’m sorry, not to be rude or anything, but I really have to go to my next class,” you say, the tone of your voice a bit frantic so he’d buy into the guilt and finally let go of your hand. Rafe bit his tongue to prevent a grin from slipping his lips; you had the most melodious voice and the most adorable accent he heard while he stayed in your country. “Yeah, no problem… see you next week,” Rafe finally unblocked your path and let go of your hand, watching as you hastily walked out of the classroom, leaving him grinning at himself like a fool. 

You were walking down the halls of your university the next day. Your headphones covered your ears and made you a tad oblivious to the surroundings around you. Rafe caught you by the side of his eye, and quickly ended the conversation he was having with his friends to get to you. He was calling your name, avoiding the sea of students who were venturing to their next class. Everyone’s head turned to him, their attention on him as he called for you, but you were oblivious to him. Rafe finally caught up behind you, grabbing the headband of your headphones to finally get your attention. You yelped in surprise at the sudden actions, turning behind you, ready to take the blow of your attacker, but you were only met with Rafe, who had an amused grin by our wide-eyed and startled state. 

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief when you realize it was not a complete stranger who had done that abrupt and rather rude action. You watch with a slight furrow in your brow as Rafe wears your headphones, momentarily listening to the song you were listening to. “What is this?” He asked with a confused look, “Patti Smith,” You answered as he returned to you your headphones. “Never heard of him,” Rafe shrugged, and you bit your tongue, “He’s a she,” You said and looked around the corridor only to realize that the two of you stood by the middle of it. Earning curious and even annoyed glances from other students because you and Rafe obstructed the pathway. You stepped to the side, and Rafe followed; you looked up at him in curiosity, “Did you need something?” You asked, wanting an explanation from him for startling you in the middle of the hallway. 

“I…” Rafe trailed, not truly having a concrete reason for calling for you. “Uh… where are you going?” He asked instead, and you felt your brows twitch into a quick frown before you recomposed your expression. “The library,” you say, and he nods. “Come on, then,” He said, taking hold of the handle of your shoulder bag and carrying it for you. Your lips agape, not at all certain what is happening; you watch him walk a few steps forward, but he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “You might wanna lead the way; I’m kinda new here,” You bit your lip as you wanted to laugh. You nodded, and the two of you walked side by side on the way to the library. 

“What’s your degree?” You asked him as you walked through the hallowed halls of your university. Rafe still carried your bag, and you could not help but notice the curious glances pointed at the two of you. “Finance,” you nodded but grew rather curious as to what he was doing in your literature class, so you then proceeded to ask him the question swirling in your mind. “Oh… I ran out of units; either I take that class or be underloaded,” he shrugged and opened the door of the library for you. “So you have no idea nor interest about what we were talking about the other day?” You asked and felt your stomach weirdly twist when he pulled out the chair for you and assisted you to sit. “Not really, no,” He said and took a seat across from you. “Thanks again, by the way, for giving me the answer,” Rafe said in gratitude once more. You flashed a quick smile and took your bag from him, taking out the readings for your other class. It took a few minutes of you reading your course material before you realized that Rafe was just sitting there, watching you. “Don’t you have any requirements to do?” You asked him, eyes locking with clear ocean blue ones. “Nope,” he shook his head, his lips popping the ‘p.’ 

“Then what are you doing here…?” You asked. Rafe refrained from letting his grin turn wider. He just shrugged and watched you furrow your brows; a cute little pout of confusion appeared on your lips. He was uncertain if you were truly oblivious or just pretending to be. What was supposed to be a productive day of reading and staying above your requirements turned into a day of laughing fits and jokes. You both tried to stifle your laughs caused by your random conversations and anecdotes, but it was proven impossible, resulting in both of you being ushered out of the library. “Oh god—“ You laughed as you recalled the stern look of the librarian as they pushed you and Rafe out. In other circumstances, you might have died in embarrassment for having to be escorted out of the library, but somehow, right now, you felt thrilled. 

Rafe watched you as your laughs died down. His gaze studied the crinkle on your nose and the sides of your eyes, the way you would bite down on your lip to stifle them, but it would be to no avail because your melodious laughs still blessed his ears. “Do you want to go to grab lunch?” Rafe suddenly asked, and your laughs finally halted. You looked up at him, his expecting gaze on you, hopefulness in his ocean-blue eyes that you could not shatter. You smiled and nodded, your heart stuttering when he took the bag on your shoulder once more. His warm hand brushes with your skin, causing a jolt of electricity in you that you never thought could happen. You followed him out of campus, your mind in a hazy battlefield as to where this was leading. 

You bit your lip as Rafe waved at you during their practice; you could barely make out his face through the obstruction of his helmet, but you would guess there was a boyish grin on his lips. It had been a week since the incident in the library, and quickly after that, you two found a deeper understanding between each other. You realize the cliche they insisted upon that said ‘you'll find love when you least expect it’ was quite true. You never expect to meet anyone like Rafe. 

“There you are,” you hear your friend arrive, having him see you on the football field because he needed to brow your notes for a class. “What are you even doing here? I practically had to drag you here the last time I wanted to watch a game,” He asked in deep confusion, entirely uncharacteristic of you to be by the field. “Uhm…” you trailed, not having told him about Rafe yet. “I met someone,” You started, watching as his eyes grew wide in surprise. “A player?” He asked, and you nodded, “Which one?” He asked in great interest. You squinted your eyes and looked for Rafe’s number, not wanting to have to point. “The one from the States!? You’re dating a Yank?” He asked as if it was a scandal. “A Yank? Seriously? They’ve stopped calling Americans that for almost a century,” You said, trying not to laugh.

Rafe turned to you, surprised you were no longer alone on the benches. Instead, you were laughing along with some dude who sat a bit closer to you. It made him rather… curious. A good alternative feeling as he did not want to overstep with his emotions and admit to himself that he was quick to grow jealous. “Hey, good game, mate,” Rafe’s teammate complimented and clapped his back, and he returned the compliment, but he could not help but notice that his teammate’s gaze was flying over to you. “What is it?” Rafe asked as he removed his gloves, "Are you… with her?” He asked hesitantly, and Rafe turned to you, who was still enveloped in conversation with the man who was a stranger to him. 

“Yes.” He said even though it was too soon and neither of you had a discussion about where the week of dates you two went on would lead. Rafe watched as his teammate’s brows shot up in surprise. “Do you know her?” Rafe asked, and his teammate nodded. “Yeah, I went to secondary school with her,” He said, and Rafe was in the midst of thinking another question to ask when his teammate spoke once more. “Good luck to you; the word is she has very high standards. A bit stuck up if you ask the other lads in our school.” His teammate and Rafe frowned in confusion. “What?” He asked, “Yeah. She was notorious in our school for being the girl no one could get. A lot of blokes fancied her rotten, but not once did she pay them mind. She was never in any relationships or flings, for that matter— and if I remember correctly, she did not even take a date to the balls.” Rafe’s teammate explained, his gaze flying to you, remembering how the boys at your school would always follow you around or try to get your attention, but you’ve always ignored them. “Anyway, congrats to you, I guess. Never knew her type were Yanks,” Rafe heard his teammate mutter and once again clapped his back before leaving. 

You turn away from your friend as you hear Rafe approaching, flashing him your beaming smile that you only bestowed upon the most deserving of people. You’ve only known him a week, but you felt that your genuine smile was made to be pointed at him and as well be caused by him. “You ready to go?” Rafe asked, ignoring the presence of the guy who sat next to you because he knew himself, and if he acknowledged the guy next to you, his jealousy might shine through. “Uh… yeah, this is my friend, by the way,” You say as you see Rafe was a bit reserved at the moment. “Hey,” your friend greeted and stretched out his hand for Rafe to shake, “Hey,” he muttered and barely turned to your friend. There was a pause of steely, awkward silence that you were not certain the cause of. “I’m gonna go… thanks for the notes,” Your friend quickly excused himself, and you turned to Rafe. “Are you okay?” You asked, and you heard him let out a grieved exhale. “Uh, yeah, just tired,” he fibbed, not wanting to bring out the subject of his jealousy that was quick to stew. 

“Oh, that’s a pity. My friend you’ve just met— he and his boyfriend are throwing a party tonight and I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come. But if you need to rest, that’s completely fine,” You said and watched as his lips agape slightly, “He… he has a boyfriend?” He asked slowly, realizing his jealousy was completely out of place. “Erm, yeah, why?” You asked and found it odd how the almost grumpy expression on his face quickly turned into a smile. “Nothing. Of course I’ll come with you to the party,” Rafe smiled and draped his arm around your shoulder as you two walked off the stands. 

You came to the party with the thought that perhaps you could help Rafe mingle with the others in your year. He could find other friends in this foreign land, but as cliche as it was, you two were lost in each other. Everything faded, and all the two of you could focus on was each other. It was later in the night when you and Rafe’s close proximity was interrupted by your friend. “Come on, we’re going to play spin the bottle,” Your friend pulled at you, who reluctantly stood and stepped away from Rafe. “Spin the bottle? Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” You asked as you were forced to sit on the floor; Rafe was being led by your friend’s significant other to sit across from you. He flashed you his charming smile. You bit your tongue to not let the giddiness in you shine through.

“Rules first,” Your friend replied. “As always, whoever the bottle lands to, you must kiss that person, but if you do not want to, you can play for truth or dare. Your friend says, and all in the circle nod. “Okay then. Who goes first?” Rafe asked, and you turned to your friend, “Well, seeing you are the guest here in our lovely land, you get the honor to go first,” Rafe shrugged and smirked, leaning forward to spin the bottle and prayed that it would land on you, it didn’t. You turned to where the bottle pointed to a girl from your secondary school who licked her lips and looked positively excited at the prospect of kissing Rafe. You bit your lip and sat quietly in your seat, making sure that your face was rid of any reaction. 

Rafe warily shifted his gaze between you and the girl, “I’ll do a truth,” he announced and saw from the corner of his eyes as the strange girl pouted and her shoulders deflated in rejection. “A truth it is,” Your friend said; there was a quick silence whilst he thought of a question. “Why did you choose truth?” They asked Rafe, and you fiddled with your fingers, raising your gaze towards the boy you had been seeing for the past week but had no label to call him. “Just… just didn’t want a kiss,” He shrugged, his gaze flying to you, who quickly avoided his. “Okay then, next,” Your friend said, and you waited for your turn, already knowing in yourself you’d skip the kiss part if it did not land on Rafe. 

“Truth or dare?” You were asked and paused for a moment. Usually, you would quickly pick ‘truth’, not having the nerves to choose the other option, but somehow, right now, you were leaning towards picking ‘dare’, so that is what you had done. You hear ‘oohs’ from your friends, surprised by your boldness. “Dare, then. Okay… I dare you to kiss the person you fancy in this circle the most,” Someone cruelly said, and your eyes widened, cheeks blooming with color as you quickly regretted your choice. “No! I chose ‘dare’ to skip the kissing part! That’s unfair,” You countered, but they only shrugged and replied with “Rules are rules,” 

You pursed your lips and looked around the circle. You already knew who you wanted to kiss, but you lacked the courage to do so. “Okay, everyone, close your eyes, and you pick who you want to kiss,” Your friend decided, showing you kindness, for he knew that the situation was quite too much for you. Rafe chewed on his cheeks, heart beating loudly in his chest, praying to anyone who would hear that you would choose him. 

You took a deep breath and glanced as everyone had their eyes closed. You gathered whatever courage and nerve you had to stand from your seat and lean closer to Rafe. Admiring his handsome face for a moment before placing a quick, chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. You feel him twitch in surprise, and you quickly return to your seat as he opens his ocean-blue eyes. His lips were agape in shock, and he was being tugged into a wide smile that showcased his dimples. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at you, filled with romantic giddiness. The game went through a few more rounds until everyone eventually got bored, and you and Rafe were left in each other’s company once more. 

The music was blaring; the chatter was loud, but not a single noise was heard by the two of you as you had been enveloped in conversation. You quickly grew entranced by how random your topics were. It could be a deep, philosophical engagement, one where you were both perplexed and engrossed by the subject, then the next, you were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard at one of his jokes.

“Where’d everybody go?” Rafe suddenly asked as he reluctantly rested his gaze on anything else other than you. Your lips agape as you saw the flat was cleared out, the remnants of the party and the mess it caused still present but not those who had caused it. You let out a bubbling laugh as you two were now the only ones present; not even the hosts of the party could be accounted for. “We should probably go home, huh,” You say, your eyes shifting between Rafe’s gaze and the floor that was riddled with confetti and spilled drinks. “Yeah, come on, I’ll walk you home,” He said as he stood, reaching out his hand for you to take as he assisted you to stand. 

“Rafe,” You called as you two stood by the entrance of your flat. “Yes, pretty girl?” He asked with a grin, and you bit your lip to hinder yourself from grinning like a lovestruck fool. You took a deep breath before you spoke, “Not to sound so high school, but I… I really like you,” You confessed. You did not know how to relay how you felt seeing he was the first one to spur this type of giddiness in you. You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes twinkled with mirth and the smile on his lips widened. You held your breath as he leaned in and kissed your lips. It was a chaste kiss, just like the one earlier, but it was still capable of leaving you both grinning. 

Your eyes alight with newfound affection as you and he stood below the pale moonlight. You sighed happily as Rafe placed his warm hand on your cheek, caressing your skin before ultimately leaning in to kiss you once more. A different, more fervent, and deeper kind of kiss than the first one shared. You feel your heart flutter and your body turn warm as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him downwards to your height, feeling him smirk against your lips.

When you parted for air, you bit your lip as a wide, cheek-aching smile spread upon it. “I think like you more,” He said against your lips. You knew it was a line, a cheesy one at that, but your stomach flipped in violent delight, and you stood on your toes to feel his lips against yours again. “Do… do you wanna go in?” You asked him as your lips parted again, your mind spinning from the way he kissed you and pulled on your waist. “Yes,” he said a bit too eagerly, the tips of his ears growing red a he realized the slight desperation in his voice, but you simply found it endearing. 

When in the privacy of your flat, you grinned against Rafe’s lips as he gently pushed you against the wall, his large frame flushed against yours. Your fingers reached to run themselves through his hair as his hands on your waist strayed hesitantly higher. “You sighed as his lips moved to place kisses on your neck, “I hope you know I didn’t offer to walk you home for this,” Rafe sighed against your neck, breathing deeply your scent as his need for you bulged painfully in his jeans. “I know,” You smiled and whimpered as you felt him nip your skin. 

You were not certain if you should warn him of the truth that you’ve never done anything such as this and that you have never reached this level of intimacy with anyone. But you swallowed the words as you feared you would run him away. You gasped as Rafe effortlessly hoisted you on his waist. Your mind spun as he deeply kissed you and led you to your sofa, him sitting on the cushion and you straddling his waist. You panted as you felt his need against your core. 

Rafe swallowed thickly as he gazed at you, your lips swollen and eyes filled with need for him. “I… I don’t have protection,” He sheepishly, regrettably said, and you could blink. “Oh,” Was all you could say, uncertain if you should move from the position you both were in even though your body screamed for you to stay put. “I’m sorry, I—“ He started to speak, and you shook your head, “No, don’t be,” You rested your palm on his chest and felt the erratic beating of his heart, a rhythm that matched yours. Rafe took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze as if in shame; you chewed on your lip and spoke. “Maybe uhm… maybe we could do something else?” 

“Like what?” He asked hesitantly; you couldn’t really verbalize your intent, so instead, you showed it to him. Rafe’s jaw slacked as you started to grind your hips, your core rubbing against his length. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and placed small kisses on his skin as you tried to stifle your sighs of pleasure. 

Rafe’s hands found home at your rear, guiding and aiding your movements. Rafe let out a hiss as he felt himself quickly be led to climax. You finally vocalized your moans as you, too, were on the precipice of your peak; your hand moved to grip Rafe’s dark blonde locks as you came, calling his name. Rafe moved to take your face into his hands and intertwine your lips as he came undone, his seed spilling out in his trousers. He never thought he could come undone so harshly with ought actually being touched by someone. 

When your lips parted, and the hazy want in you subsided, you grinned widely at Rafe, who let out an amused breath. The both of you stayed silent, but Rafe’s thoughts screamed loudly in his head. Would it be cliché of him to say that he had fallen so quickly? That seeing you in the lecture hall was love at first sight, and now, even only knowing you for only a short time, he knew you were the one. 

[mxgyver]

“"Momma, I don't need-" Javy grumbled, but broke off when his mother just lifted an eyebrow. His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror again, before they darted down to the reflection of your dress, and up again.

“You look beautiful," he said.

And it was three words, three very simple ones, but they settled deep in your skin, the kind of compliment that made the sun shine warmer. Javy looked like he meant them, too, he looked earnest and honest, which was a combination you'd never stood a chance against.

“Thank you," you said quietly, hoping you didn't seem flustered. After all, surely Javy would give his actual girlfriend compliments like that all the time-but you got the feeling that if he told you the same three words every day for the next fifty years, you'd still glow from them.”

okay but Javy seems like the type of guy to always means what he says and when he compliments? he truly means it and I just 😭

“"It wasn't that big of a deal," Javy grumbled, and you shook your head.

"It was to that girl" you insisted. "It was to me."

You weren't sure when you'd moved, but your hand was on his forearm, an unspoken emphasis of the weight and meaning behind your words, but you withdrew it quickly. He wasn't looking at you, but you saw his jaw clench, looking down at the table; you looked back at Mrs. Machado, who was smiling proudly at her son.”

JAVY BABY HONEY 😭

“You stopped talking when Javy pushed away from the sink, his long legs crossing the room quickly. The laid back air of earlier was gone, replaced by an intensity that seemed to crackle the air, and you backed up as he walked closer to you. Your back hit the opposite wall and you yelped quietly, but Javy didn't stop until he was right in front of you.

He didn't touch you, and you could've moved, but you both knew you wouldn't.

Not when he leaned his forearms against the wall behind your head, his large body caging you, and all you could see, all you could focus on, was him.”

Cross is stronger than me because my knees would have buckled & I would have whimpered if he caged me in like that

“And you were sure there was a lot you could've phrased better, maybe held your tongue on, but you didn't. Instead, you told your restless body to get over itself and slid back across the bed, into Javy's side. He kept his hold on your hand over the blankets, but you tucked yourself against his torso, more determined to be comforting than comfortable.

“You're not selfish for asking someone to love you, Jay," you said, your voice muffled by his tshirt. "And I think you deserve someone whom you don't have to ask."”

oh this broke me 😭

your love is the love i need || chapter 2/4

pairing: javy machado x femme reader (no y/n), callsign Cross

summary: Cross and Javy continue their charade, try not to think about the kiss, and share secrets of heartbreaks past

warnings: 18+, minors please DNI – even though there is no smut in this chapter, there will be some in the next

length: 7.3k

A/N: once again, thank you to my anons who send inspiration, and the people who let me brainstorm with them @daggerspare-standingby (also ty for beta-ing!) @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @peakyrogers💙

previous chapter

Sunday

It’d been a productive morning, which you were choosing to believe was because you were a productive person.

Absolutely not because if you sat still for more than two seconds you started panicking. 

You cleaned your kitchen—not merely putting away dishes and swiffering the floor, no, you windexed the windows of your kitchen. Outside and inside.

You ran a load of laundry for the dagger squad—after a day of dogfight football and the news that the laundromat on base had flooded, they’d dropped sandy towels, tshirts, and swimsuits off with you, promising to pay you back with coffee.

You made dough for cinnamon rolls—it  took 8 hours to rise in the fridge, and you could have a good answer for “what did you do this morning?” or “and what will you do for the rest of the day?”. And in the absolute worst case scenario, you could use it as an emergency escape plan if required, but you doubted it would come to that.

You turned your closet inside out, trying to decide what kind of image you wanted to present and ultimately deciding on a sundress with a light cardigan. You were wondering if it was too on the nose when you heard a car pull up outside. 

Javy’s mom probably expected him to walk to the door to fetch you and, as fun and confusing as last night had been, that wasn’t how you wanted to start today. You locked your front door quickly behind you, and were sliding into the backseat of the car before Javy was able to get out of the driver’s seat. 

“Good morning!” you sang, wondering if you sounded as fake-happy as you felt. 

“Good morning,” Mrs. Machado said warmly, smiling over her shoulder at you. “What did you up to this morning?”

“Ah, not much,” you lied through your teeth, pulling on your seatbelt. “I did get started on a batch of cinnamon rolls, so that’s exciting.”

“Oh, do you bake much?” she asked.

“Not at all,” you sighed, wanting to lie, but also knowing you’d be doing enough of that today, so the truth slipped out easily. “I was just nervous, so I needed something to do.”

“Sweetie,” Mrs. Machado fully turned in her seat to smile kindly at you, “you don’t need to be nervous! I’m just pleased to have time with you and get to know the other special lady in Javy’s life.”

You smiled back at her like you were reassured, when the opposite was true. You looked nervously at Javy, to find his eyes on you in the rearview mirror. You didn’t recognize the expression on his face, which did nothing to calm the butterflies in your stomach from her words, so you looked away quickly, hoping you hadn’t blown this already.

“That’s,” Javy cleared his throat, checking over his shoulder before he turned the car around, “that’s a great dress.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, flattered that he’d noticed. You supposed you didn’t wear dresses that often around the squad, so it was probably something like a shock. 

“Duckie,” Mrs. Machado chided softly, “you can do better than that.”

“Momma, I don’t need—” Javy grumbled, but broke off when his mother just lifted an eyebrow. His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror again, before they darted down to the reflection of your dress, and up again. 

“You look beautiful,” he said.

And it was three words, three very simple ones, but they settled deep in your skin, the kind of compliment that made the sun shine warmer. Javy looked like he meant them, too, he looked earnest and honest, which was a combination you’d never stood a chance against. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, hoping you didn’t seem flustered.  After all, surely Javy would give his actual girlfriend compliments like that all the time—but you got the feeling that if he told you the same three words every day for the next fifty years, you’d still glow from them. 

You looked away first again, out the backseat window to watch the car pull over the Coronado bridge. There were runners in the pedestrian lane, bright neon splotches against the bay and the sky, the same shade of gray as the morning mist hovering over the sea. North Island blurred into La Jolla, and Javy dropped you and his mom off in front of Harry’s Coffee Shop, while he looked for a spot to park the car. 

Mrs. Machado linked her arm through yours, as you walked up to the restaurant and asked for a table for three. They seated you at a brown leather booth in the back and you busied yourself with the menu before recognizing Javy’s voice as he spoke to the seating hostess. You expected him to slide in next to his mom, but he sat on your side of the booth, facing her. His arm went across the back of the booth, not quite touching you, but you could feel the warmth of him through the cotton of his henley all the same. 

Mrs. Machado was studying her menu, but the corners of her mouth turned up suspiciously when you pushed your menu towards Javy.

“So,” she asked brightly, once a waiter had come to drop off waters and take your order, “I want to hear your version of how first you met my son.”

Of all the questions she could have asked, you were relieved she’d chosen one that would require little to no embellishment on your part. You glanced at Javy, who was fiddling with the wrapper of his straw, somewhat embarrassedly, before looking back at Mrs. Machado. 

“Well, it was right after I was assigned to this detachment,” you began. “Some guy was being creepy to this girl at a bar, I called him out on it, he wasn’t backing down. Then Javy stepped in, flexed a bit, and the guy was humbled pretty quickly.”

Mrs. Machado’s jaw dropped, looking at Javy. “I thought you met while you were playing darts!”

“We did,” he said stubbornly, and it didn’t surprise you at all that he’d downplayed his role on that night. “She came over and beat Jake—you should’ve seen his face, Momma, it was hilarious.”

“That’s when we met,” you acquiesced. “But my first impression was before that, when this guy was in full Knight In Shining Armor mode.”

“Yeah, call me Lancelot,” Javy joked, winking at his mom, like it was easier to brag than accept praise. He’d started peeling strips in the paper wrapper, a little pile of confetti forming on the glass tabletop. 

“More like Galahad,” you told Mrs. Machado, who looked at you fondly. “No, seriously, it was like something out of a movie. I half expected him to have some John Wayne line like ‘I think you’d better listen to the lady’, something like that.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Javy grumbled, and you shook your head. 

“It was to that girl,” you insisted. “It was to me.” 

You weren’t sure when you’d moved, but your hand was on his forearm, an unspoken emphasis of the weight and meaning behind your words, but you withdrew it quickly. He wasn’t looking at you, but you saw his jaw clench, looking down at the table; you looked back at Mrs. Machado, who was smiling proudly at her son.

“That’s my boy,” she said fondly. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the clear affection between the two. A waiter came by with coffees, cleaning off the table and picking up Javy’s scrap pile. You felt the bench start to shake and you realized he was bouncing his leg—was he nervous? He couldn’t be. His mom seemed like the kindest person, and this story was pretty damn congratulatory. 

But his leg kept moving, and it was making you nervous, so you shifted slightly, your leg resting next to his. You regretted it almost immediately—with his arm almost over your shoulders, and his long leg now pressed against yours, Javy was entirely too close to you for you to be able to complete full sentences. But his leg did still, so you figured that was better.  

“Anyways, darts came after that,” you said, continuing the story. “Jake was beating him pretty embarrassingly, and I’d wanted to say thanks anyways, so I went over and introduced myself.”

Mrs. Machado poured some sugar and cream into her coffee, sliding the sugar jar down the table to you. 

“Well, I’m glad I asked,” she said. “I figured there was more to the story than a bar game.”

“He may not have noticed me before then,” you shrugged, “but that’s when I saw him.”

“I noticed you,” Javy said quietly. 

He didn’t seem to realize he’d said it aloud, but the table was quiet as you and Mrs. Machado stared at him. He looked between the both of you, lifting a shoulder lightly. 

“Come on, are you kidding, of course I noticed you.”

And it warmed you, the same way his compliment in the car, that he’d say something so kind with absolute conviction. A tiny voice in the back of your head whispered that it wasn’t real, but his brown eyes held brightness and honesty, so you told that voice to stuff it, and turned back to Mrs. Machado.

“Well, there you have it,” you said, reaching to fix your own coffee.

Mrs. Machado smiled over the rim of her mug, looking between the two of you, before the conversation shifted. You talked about your hometown, what Javy was like growing up, how training was going between missions. 

Safe conversation topics, topics without surprises. 

Maybe that’s why you felt brave enough to lean back a little, relax into the warm leather of the booth, your shoulders brushing against Javy’s arm. Maybe that was why his hand dropped from the back of the booth, his thumb ghosting over the thin material of your cardigan. 

The rest of the meal flew by, and you’d tried to break away after breakfast, but Mrs. Machado had insisted that you come with them as they walked around Balboa Park. So you joined them in playing tourist for the afternoon: picking out glass ornaments in the Spanish Village Art Center, coming up with names for the koi fish in the ponds at the Japanese Friendship Garden, struggling to pronounce Latin names in the Botanical Gardens. 

Your phone died somewhere between the Casa de Balboa and the Old Globe Theater, and so it was Javy’s phone that you handed to strangers offering to take pictures of the three of you. The wind caught Mrs. Machado’s scarf as you were posing by the lily pond; Javy took off to chase it, and the kind tourists held out his phone to you, photo opp deferred. You thanked them, waving apologies for having interrupted their afternoon, as Javy leaned dangerously far over the pond, trying to snag where the scarf had tangled in some bulrushes. 

You swiped through the pictures they’d taken, laughing at the stop-motion effect of the wind blowing her scarf away, but the pictures they got before then were cute. You minimized the camera by force of habit; you didn’t mean to look, but Javy’s background made your heart skip a beat.

It was a picture of the two of you.

Last month.

“This is the dumbest idea any of you have ever had,” Phoenix announced, to a roomful of ears that were absolutely not listening. 

“Yes, but it’s team bonding,” Fritz said, dragging a stack of chairs across the Family Center. “You know how Mav feels about that.”

“THE dumbest idea,” Phoenix reiterated, “and, really, guys, that saying something.”

But she grabbed another stack of chairs. 

Fanboy’s latest comfort youtube content was various Star Wars cast members on Hot Ones—the show where celebrities were interviewed while eating increasingly spicy chicken wings—and as a gag gift, Payback had gotten him a verified box of the hot sauce lineup. One thing had led to another, and now an industrial amount of wings had been delivered to the Family Center, while half the squad was raring to prove that they had the strongest tastebuds.

Or, at least, the most fireproof ones.

“So, Phoenix,” Rooster called, “is that your way of saying you’re not gonna join in?”

“Absolutely not,” she responded. “This is not a question I need answered.”

Everyone laughed, as you arranged chairs around a foldout table. 

“Halo?” Hangman asked, lifting his hands in dismay when she shook her head. “What? Come on.”

“I feel like she’s protecting our dignity,” Bob said, as he carried over a couple gallons of milk and some paper cups. 

Everyone looked at Callie, who smiled slightly.  

“I was raised on Ma La Xiang Guo, guys,” she shrugged, pointing to a sauce with a literal skull and crossbones on the label. “I could brush my teeth with that stuff and be okay.”

“It’s all good,” Hangman said, with an impish smile as he looked between Phoenix and Halo, so you knew what he was about to say was just to goad them into reacting, “we all knew a man was going to win this anyways.”

And apparently it worked. 

Because, without batting an eye, Phoenix announced, “Cross’ll do it.”

Your head whipped around as you heard your name spoken from down the table. “Cross will what now?”

“Welcome to the competition, Crossy,” Jake crowed, slapping a paper plate down in front of you.

You looked down at it. “Guys, I’m not—”

“Feminists everywhere are counting on you,” Phoenix said solemnly. 

“Remember when you said this was a dumb idea?” Payback asked, and she waved a hand at him. 

So that’s how you ended up sandwiched between Rooster and Harvard, eating wings doused with hot sauces that sounded like terrible porn star names, and hoping the lining of your stomach could take it. 

It was fine, and then it suddenly really, really wasn’t. 

Bob tapped out on the fourth one, bless him, and Omaha was out on the fifth. Rooster hung on for a couple more, Payback too, but by the time you were down to the final two sauces, it was you, Fanboy and Coyote. 

“For our penultimate round, ladies and gentleman,” Hangman croaked, his voice hoarse from Da Bomb, the sauce that had knocked him out in round eight, “I present to you—Unique Garlique, by Puckerbutt Pepper Co.”

“That is not the name of the company,” you groaned, your eyes streaming. 

You’d started crying around round six, and had accepted it as your fate. No way were you about to touch your eyes, and sweet Bob stood beside you with a tissue, patting at your face helpfully, but it really was no use. 

“Tragically, he’s not,” Fanboy sighed, dabbing some sauce onto a wing, before passing the bottle to Coyote.

And honestly? Fuck him. Because you were actively weeping, Fanboy was sweating patches into his uniform, and Coyote looked like he’d maybe gone for a light jog. If anything, he was glistening, like some eau de perfume commercial from the early 2000s, and it really was ridiculous. 

He handed the bottle to you, and you grimaced, reading the label. “How does something as innocuous as garlic somehow contain 642,000 Scoville heat units?”

“You can always tap out, if you need,” Hangman teased, and you wanted to flip him off, but that took more energy than you had to spare.

“I want you to know,” you told him, not looking up from the wing that was practically glowing with garlic poison, “that I’m channeling all of my pain into anger at you specifically, and I will win this damn thing on spite alone.”

“The American way,” Coyote said, cheersing his chicken messily into yours with supernatural enthusiasm, and then Fanboy’s. 

You three took a bite.

You three chewed, thinking maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

And then you three saw hell.

You could not drink enough milk, and Natasha was trying to be helpful by fanning you with a notebook, but somehow it felt like that was stoking the spiciness higher. Your mouth felt like it was actively on fire, and you were pretty sure your throat was closing up on itself.

“Holy shit,” Mickey wheezed.

“What if we just die,” Javy rasped, “what are they gonna tell our families?”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled. “Only one more, right? Then I have clear and convincing evidence that I am more of a man than Hangman could ever dream to be?”

Javy might’ve snorted beside you, but he also might’ve just been choking. 

“Oh, babes, you passed that a while ago,” Callie said soothingly, rubbing your back.

“One more,” Bradley confirmed, and he slid the bottle down the table to the three of you.

The Last Dab, it was called.

You looked at the bottle—orange red, with a flame logo, and a lovely worded description that explained how it was the only hot sauce in the world made with the apollo pepper, and the Scoville heat units couldn’t even be calculated.

“Well, I have had a stunning epiphany,” Mickey said, slapping his hands on the front of his pants. “And that is that I straight up do not need this. I’m out.”

“Garcia’s out!” Omaha yelled.

“He yieldssssssssssssss,” Jake called, like he was an announcer at an internationally broadcasted sporting event, not standing in the middle of a team of dripping, miserable pilots. 

You looked at Coyote.

At his ridiculously handsome face, with his ridiculously calm demeanor, with his ridiculously nonplussed expression, as he handed the bottle to you. “We doing this?”

You desperately wanted to say no.

Just go stick your head in a freezer or stand under a cold shower for the next three hours or drink your weight in orange juice until your body felt some semblance of normal. But Javy was looking at you like he was having fun, like he and you were the only ones in on this joke, and you weren’t about to walk away from that.

Also, feminism, peer pressure, all that. 

“We’re doing this,” you sighed, coating the final wing. 

He poured the sauce onto his wing resolutely, then shrugged, following the tradition of the show and dabbing an additional glob on top. 

“Lagniappe, and all,” he muttered. 

“Laissez les bon temps rouler,” you offered, those two phrases combined being the extent of the New Orleans slang that you knew. Javy flashed a smile at you as you clunked your chicken wings together in a cheers, then took a synchronized bite.

God, it was awful.

Truly horrendous, mind-bogglingly painful, and if you hadn’t already been openly weeping, this would’ve done it. The squad was going crazy. You were pretty sure Natasha was taking pictures, Jake was being an exceptionally good sport and had started clapping and the whole room was yelling, cheering like you’d won dogfight football, and for a moment, you felt it—you were on the team. 

Javy caught the scarf. 

He returned, brandishing the colorful fabric like a banner, and Mrs Machado patted his cheek as he helped wind it about her shoulders again. You didn’t say anything about the picture, turning off the display on his phone, before you handed it back to him, and tried to forget about it for the rest of the day. 

Mrs. Machado had an evening flight and there were a few more things that Javy had wanted to show her before she left, so you thought that now would be the perfect opportunity to give them some time alone, and use your cinnamon roll excuse. You borrowed Javy’s phone to call yourself a ride, and bid your goodbyes to your fake boyfriend’s mom. She held you so close when she hugged you goodbye, making you promise to text Javy once your phone had battery again, letting them know you’d gotten safely home, and you felt guilty the whole ride back to your place. 

Maybe that’s what all this was—an extension of your guilt. 

Guilt had you so on edge that you’d imagined Javy being calmed by your touch this morning. And he’d probably kissed you last night because it was part of convincing his mom. And his phone background—well, the phone background was hard to explain. 

It looked like the picture had been taken right before that final wing, at the impromptu competition last month. A nervous smile was on your face and you’d closed your eyes bravely. Beside you, Javy was laughing at something you’d said, his eyes on you, his expression one you didn’t remember. 

But, maybe you’d remembered that wrong too. 

You’d only looked at the picture for a couple of moments, and maybe there was something you hadn’t seen—Jake acting a fool or something funny that would make sense for Javy to keep it as a background. 

Guilt and emotional exhaustion made a hell of a cocktail, so you let autopilot take over as soon as you got home. Plugged your phone in, rolled out cinnamon rolls, put them in the oven, cleaned the kitchen while they baked, set them on a rack to cool and clipped your hair up before you hopped in the shower. You were almost done with the arduous process of moisturizing your whole body when there was a loud knock on your door. 

You made a face at your foggy reflection in the over-the-sink mirror; someone must’ve gotten the wrong address for one of your neighbors. As you readjusted the towel under your arms to continue rubbing lotion into your legs, the knocking continued.

“Wrong apartment,” you called, hoping they’d realize their mistake soon. 

“Cross, come on, open up.”

You froze, recognizing that voice.

Shit. 

Glancing around the still misty bathroom, you realized your clean clothes were in your bedroom, opposite of the way to the door, but you weren’t about to answer the door in a towel. Thankfully, the closet that held your washer and dryer was right next to the bathroom, and you rooted around in the dryer for the first tshirt you could find, sending a moment of gratitude to the universe that your front door had none of those filtered glass panes on it. You shoved your arms into the shirt as you struggled into some pajama shorts on your way to the door.

“What are you doing here?” you asked before the door was opened, and even then, only wide enough for your head to poke through.

Javy was leaning against the door frame, arms braced on either side of it, and you noticed his shoulders relaxed a bit when he saw you.

“You’re okay?” he asked, his eyes running over you, seemingly scanning for some nonexistent injury.

“What?” you blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine, what…”

All at once, you remembered the promise you’d made to his mother, and your phone charging in the other room, and how long it’d been since you’d gotten into the car at Balboa. You looked up at Javy, clocking the relief and stress warring in his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, your nose wrinkling. “I just got carried away with stuff and—”

“Is that my shirt?” Javy interrupted you, and you looked down. 

It was his shirt. 

You’d grabbed it out of the tumbled load in the dryer, which you now remembered was one of the last dogfight football loads.

“It was the first one I grabbed,” you said, quickly. 

Javy didn’t say anything, but his hands did drop from the door so he could cross them across his chest. And he was smirking, damn it, something that should be annoying or at least not attractive, but it was, and it made you want to stomp your foot. 

“It doesn’t—“ you tried again. “Don’t be weird about it, okay, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, Cross,” he said, that lazy smile growing, and you pursed your lips, refusing to give into the impulse to smile back. 

“Okay,” you said, knowing it was petty, but pointing to the phone he held in his hand, “is that my picture?”

Javy’s jaw actually dropped.

“Don’t be weird about it,” he mumbled, a moment later, stuffing his phone in his back pocket, parroting your words back to you. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

It was your turn to hum, amused. 

But you did feel bad that he’d been worried enough to drive to your place, so you stepped back, opening the door to your apartment. You walked through it without waiting for Javy to follow you, heading into the kitchen to cover the cinnamon rolls, the smell of them still lingering in the air. You heard the door shut behind you, and smaller shuffling sounds as Javy toed off his shoes.

“You actually made cinnamon rolls?” he called after you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be offended by the surprise in his voice.

“To everyone’s shock and amazement, yes,” you replied, flipping on the tap. “Want some water?”

“Sure,” Javy said, his voice closer this time, and by the time he made it to the kitchen, you had filled a glass and held it out to him. You wrapped the cinnamon rolls carefully, while Javy stayed in the doorway. 

When you glanced over your shoulder at him, he was looking around your small kitchen curiously. He looked at ease, like he almost always did, with the calm aura of assurance that was deeply grounding. It was something to see him like that, in your space.

He finished the water and walked the glass over to the sink, turning to lean his hips against it. You pushed the cinnamon rolls to a corner of the counter, crossing your arms in front of you self consciously as you became aware of the casualness of your dress. 

“Well,” you said, awkwardly, “thanks for checking on me. I am alive, so this has been a win for due diligence.”

Javy nodded slowly, his eyes still flitting around the kitchen, as the silence stretched. 

“What if it did?” he asked, and you tried to track what that could mean, but couldn’t place it.

“Sorry, what?” you asked, confused.

Javy shrugged, his posture casual, but you noticed his hands gripping the countertop behind him. 

“Mean something,” he said, before continuing as you shook your head, still confused. “My shirt. Our picture. What if…what if it meant something?”

The room felt like it’d been de-pressurized, like suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air and you couldn’t breathe. 

“What?” you managed again, your voice sounding like more of a squeak than your actual voice.

Javy didn’t move from the sink, merely lifting an eyebrow while he waited for you to process what he knew you understood he was asking. It made his forehead wrinkle, which was annoying, because he couldn’t be adorable while he was tilting your world off its axis. 

Your mouth felt dry and when you wet your lips, you felt Javy’s eyes dart down to watch your tongue as it slipped between your lips. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” you said, your voice sounding shaky, even to your own ears, “it was really sweet having breakfast with your mom. And today was fun. And like, it was a good kiss, but it’s been like twelve hours of faking it, we can’t—”

You stopped talking when Javy pushed away from the sink, his long legs crossing the room quickly. The laid back air of earlier was gone, replaced by an intensity that seemed to crackle the air, and you backed up as he walked closer to you. Your back hit the opposite wall and you yelped quietly, but Javy didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. 

He didn’t touch you, and you could’ve moved, but you both knew you wouldn’t. 

Not when he leaned his forearms against the wall behind your head, his large body caging you, and all you could see, all you could focus on, was him. 

“First of all,” he said, and his voice sounded different up close, like it rumbled out of him, “it wasn’t just good, and you know it.”

You knew what he meant, and his eyes darkened when you nodded, after a beat.

“Second,” Javy continued, in that same voice, and you shivered, “we’re pilots, not actors. Twelve hours…if that was all it was, neither of us would feel like this.”

You shook your head, knowing that if you let yourself imagine, just for a moment, it was going to hurt all the more. 

“You said you had no plans to ask me out,” you whispered, aiming for a cavalier tone but coming up short. “That this was just the easiest lie.”

“I’d take it back if I could,” he said quickly, and you read the honesty in his eyes. “But, look, I was panicking. I’d been telling Momma about you for months and then she showed up and I had to say something before she told you how much I…before you got freaked out. I didn’t know you felt the same thing I did.”

You both desperately needed, and were terrified of, what he’d been going to say. 

“This is wild,” you mumbled, your mind reeling. “You can see that, right?”

Javy smiled, the inevitable, gorgeous smile of his, and he lifted his chin a little bit. “Kiss me again.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

And you knew it wouldn’t solve anything, wouldn’t explain any of it, would probably complicate things further, but if the tradeoff was clarity or Javy’s mouth over yours, you knew what you were choosing. Your fingers curled into the front of his henley, pulling him down to you, and then you could feel that smile against your lips as he kissed you. 

It was different when you weren’t two steps above him, when one of Javy’s hands fell from the wall to hold the side of your face as he kissed you. His lips were so soft, and of course he was teasing you with it, his mouth brushing over yours with light chastity until you pulled harder at his shirt and he pressed closer to you, his lips parting. At the first sweep of his tongue, your knees literally weakened and you swayed into him, your bodies coming flush together. Kissing him was dizzying, dreamy, and when you came up for air, you thought this might be your favorite sight—beautiful Javy, from this close. 

You reached up to wipe at his mouth, where some of your chapstick had smudged, and he turned to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Told you,” you whispered, “Galahad.”

He laughed softly, another sound that was different up close, warm and deep and you wanted to hear it again. Unfortunately, Javy cleared his throat, kissing your forehead before standing up straight. 

“I should get back to base,” he said, regretful but responsible. And he was right, of course, because you had drills in the morning, and whatever was between the two of you could wait another day. 

“Stay,” you blurted.

You almost took it back, embarrassed of how needy it had sounded, but when you looked up at Javy, he looked almost as hopeful as you felt. 

“Snuggles?” he asked, and you pressed your lips together at how freaking adorable it was, that this enormous man lit up like a kid on Christmas at the thought of something so innocent.

“If you want,” you hedged, and Javy gave you a look like it wasn’t even a choice for him, before he thought it through. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said gently, “but, hell, I want to.”

You shook your head determinedly. “We won’t do anything. I don’t want to rush it, and today’s been a lot to add that, too... but it’d be nice to be together, without the pretending.”

You couldn’t believe you were practically begging the man to stay and just cuddle, but also it was Javy Machado. You’d do a hell of a lot more than beg, if push came to shove. 

You could see him deliberating, and you decided you might as well throw in a final desperate bid. 

“And you can give me a ride to base in the morning,” you added, “so I don’t have to catch the bus.”

Javy chuckled, before nodding seriously. 

“Well, when you put it like that, it’s only practical,” he said. “The rational choice.”

“I’m a very rational person,” you said. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks to be a WSO.”

Javy blinked. “Do they—”

“They definitely don’t,” you laughed. “It’s off of rank, same as the rest of the Navy.”

He rolled his eyes, but followed you obediently deeper into the apartment. 

You showed him where extra toothbrushes and toiletries were in the bathroom, and offered his shirt back, which he adamantly refused. He ended up grabbing a nondescript Navy shirt from the pile, which you were pretty sure was Jake’s, but didn’t want to comment on, since it seemed deliberate that he hadn’t asked. 

Being in the same squadron, and being based in San Diego, there was a level of physical awareness that you two had passed months ago, so it was oddly anticlimactic to be sharing space as you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed. 

Which is why the nerves, as soon as you and Javy settled into your bed, surprised you.

It was dumb, because you knew you had nothing to be nervous over. You’d both already agreed nothing else was happening tonight, you should be tired enough to just be chill about this. But as soon as your back hit the mattress, it felt like someone had injected straight caffeine into your veins and you couldn’t lie still.

Javy’s arm was under your head and you’d turned slightly into him, but suddenly your feet needed to be out of the comforter. Or maybe you needed to lie on your other side. Or the top sheet felt weird on your skin, or you weren’t sure if—

“Cross,” Javy sounded like he was trying not to laugh, “I’m gonna leave if you don’t lie still.”

You winced at the ceiling, disengaging so you could put just a few inches between the two of you. You felt yourself relaxing, like some weird performance anxiety, after he’d been so excited to hold you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “it’s just—”

“A dream come true, I know,” he sighed, like it was a heavy burden to bear, and you swung halfheartedly in his direction. Your hand swatted at the comforter over his chest, and you could feel the bed shaking as Javy chuckled. 

“Unfamiliar,” you revised, “is what I was going to say.”

Javy hummed, and you both knew his answer was closer to the truth, but he was kind enough to drop it. 

You shifted slightly, settling more deeply into the bedding, trying to tell your body it was comfortable so it could just be still. But even with the distance, every inch of you seemed hyper aware of the fact that Javy freaking Machado was literally in your bed. You knew you’d made the right call earlier, that you didn’t want to rush this, and everything else rational…but you were only human, damnit, and you were too curious to drift off to sleep. 

You chanced a peek at Javy, at what little you could see of him in the dark of the room. 

He was on his back, facing the ceiling, his hands folded over the top of the comforter like it was a sitcom from the 60s. His eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and falling rhythmically with his deep breaths, perfectly at ease. Except…if what he’d said last night was true, he should’ve been as ill at ease as you were, sharing a bed with someone. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked quietly.

“Ah, sure,” Javy said, still sounding amused. “Not like we’re sleeping till you’re tired out.” 

“Okay, well—” you huffed, but Javy lifted a hand from the comforter placatingly. 

“I kid,” he said. “Honestly, we should all be impressed that I’m staying PG and not slipping into a ‘well, I can think of an easy way to tire you out’ line of thought.”

Your mouth snapped shut; you hadn’t even considered that. 

Javy shifted and the comforter crinkled as he cleared his throat. “Okay, neither of us can think too hard about that; ask your question.”

You hesitated for a moment, kind of enjoying the comfortable silence of the room. You turned your body to follow your head, settling on your side with your arm between the pillow and your head, before you asked, “Why hasn’t there been anyone since the Academy?”

Javy didn’t freeze, didn’t pull in a deep breath or tense up, but you felt his surprise, all the same. “Sure you don’t want a happier bedtime story?” he asked, his voice carrying a kind of hesitation that was new to you. 

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want,” you hedged, meaning it. “I can think of another one.”

You watched his jaw tense, and then he shook his head, just once. “Is it crazy that I want to tell you?”

You weren’t sure, but you did know that it felt an awful lot like trust, and you wanted that more than you wanted to know the story. Javy was fiddling with the end of the comforter, and the motion reminded you of the straw wrapper at Harry’s so you reached for him.

His movement didn’t break, he just accepted your hand and enveloped it in his. He wove the fingers of one hand between yours, and with the other he traced along the tendons on the back of your hand.  

“There’ve been folks since Academy,” he said, slowly, like the conversation had to pick up steam. “Just no one I’ve introduced back to Momma. You know how it is, how you can always find someone for the night. I found it was…easier. To keep it that way. No expectations, no strings, just fun. No one gets hurt that way.”

His slow motion of his fingers over the back of your hand was soothing, tracing patterns an retracing them with another finger. 

“You got hurt before?” you asked softly, watching Javy’s nostrils flare slightly as he processed the question. 

“I hurt someone,” he said, quietly.

You doubted the distinction was mutually exclusive, but you stayed quiet as you waited for him to continue. 

“We met when I was at Annapolis and she was at St Johns. She was from up North, so she was like no one I’d met in Louisiana. On a law track, in a sorority, all that. And we were…serious.”

He paused, and you could tell he was trying to decide how much to tell you.

“Pick out a ring, serious?” you prompted.

The pause lingered, before Javy traced down the fourth finger on your hand, saying quietly. “Put a down payment on one, serious.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised you. 

You tried to envision a younger version of Javy, bright-eyed and fresh at the academy, planning his life out, with conviction. That part hadn’t changed, Javy’s calm assurance, and you could envision some paralegal from Connecticut being absolutely swept away by him. 

“I got my first post, in Norfolk,” Javy continued. “She got into Law School at William and Mary, and we had a little place in the middle. Painted the kitchen yellow, had a hell of a fight with the landlord over it. We had window boxes with flowers; we couldn’t keep anything alive in there, winters were too cold, but we tried every spring.” 

It sounded idyllic, how he described it, and you could hear a painful undercurrent of longing in his voice as he told you about it. Like even now, it hurt how perfect it’d been. 

“What happened?” you asked, gently.

You watched Javy’s profile shift as his nose scrunched up, in answer to that question. 

“I had an accident, one day, flying—I made it, my wingman too, but the plane was rubble.They called her to meet me at the hospital and I remember when they let her in to see me; she was so quiet. She’d been real worried, I guess, and seemed pretty upset…I thought she might’ve missed an important lecture, or something, I don’t know, but it was weird.”

You frowned, squeezing his hand. “Surely a lecture wasn’t more important than being there for you.”

“Nah, she wouldn’t have thought that,” he said, then laughed wryly. “No, that wasn’t what she was upset about. When they discharged me a couple days later, and I got back to the apartment it was half empty. I remember walking in, and she was sitting on the hearth, one last cardboard box by her feet.”

You squeezed his hand again, hating that you knew where the story was going. Didn’t everyone who shared your employer?

“Yeah,” Javy sighed. “Uh, and she was right, you know, it wasn’t fair. If I’d died that day, she would’ve been stranded in Virginia, and every time I went up in the air, she was going to have to wonder if this was the time I left her for good.”

A dozen responses flash through your head, but you bit your tongue, before answering carefully. 

“Flying isn’t something you do against someone,” you said evenly. “No one plans on burning in.” 

“I know,” Javy said, and you hated how his voice had taken on this detached quality, like this speech was one he’d given himself hundreds of times. “But it’s selfish to ask someone to love you with all that on the line, and ask her to carry that fear. I get it, it was too much, so…yeah. I get it.”

He hadn’t stopped tracing over your hand, and your heart broke for younger Javy. How he must’ve felt standing in that empty apartment, as the woman he’d planned the rest of his life with left because she was scared. How blindsided and guilty, and clearly holding that guilt years later, as he relayed that story to you. 

“Run that last bit by me again?” you asked.

Javy looked at you. “It’s selfish to ask someone to love you with all—”

“Yep, that part,” you interrupted. “One more time?”

You knew Javy knew what you were getting to, because he didn’t repeat himself again. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled.

“You know what I mean,” you retorted. “Not everyone can take what we do, and that’s fine. But that’s something you hash out on a third date, when you talk about career plans and make sure your lives line up. Not when you’ve dated through college, have a home together, and when you get a call from the hospital. That’s when you need support, not for someone to ask themselves a question they should’ve asked years ago. Like. I’m sorry, but that’s a shitty thing to do.”

The room was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if you’d overstepped. Obviously you didn’t know the entire ins and outs of the relationship, but let’s face it, you were always going to take Javy’s defense against some WASPy lawyer. 

Or, as far as you knew, a wannabe lawyer. 

With her staying power, maybe she didn’t even pass the bar.

You let out a long breath, trying to release your animosity with it. 

“Thank you,” Javy said quietly.

And you were sure there was a lot you could’ve phrased better, maybe held your tongue on, but you didn’t. Instead, you told your restless body to get over itself and slid back across the bed, into Javy’s side. He kept his hold on your hand over the blankets, but you tucked yourself against his torso, more determined to be comforting than comfortable.

“You’re not selfish for asking someone to love you, Jay,” you said, your voice muffled by his tshirt. “And I think you deserve someone whom you don’t have to ask.” 

He didn’t say anything, but a moment later, you felt him shift, before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You felt the both of you settle, either lightened from the sharing of his past or from the relief of holding each other, and sleep came easily, this time around.

//

tagging: people who haven't told me to stop and people who interacted with ch1: @mxgyver @princessphilly @hangmanbrainrot @roosterforme @blowmymbackout @datemephoenix @fuckyeahhangman @lt-bradshaw @double-j @callsignvalley @sebsxphia @javihoney @rosiahills22 @andrewrussgarfield @teacupsandtopgun @katiedid-3 @beyondthesefourwalls @gretagerwigsmuse @auroraboreallisfine @bioodforbiood @m1ssmunson @rassvetsky @desert-fern @et-homephone @letskeepthislo-ki

[happy74827]

Real Life Fairytale

[Robby Keene x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You tried so hard not to be that girl, but the more you were around him, the more you were convinced clichés could be a good thing.

WC: 712

Category: Fluff, First Kiss

Since Cobra Kai coming back later this month, here’s some fluff with the Marty Mcfly of karate.

『••✎••』

It was a typical cliché, and as much as you hated it, there was something that still pulled at you. Something that pulled you right into the arms of none other than Robby Keene.

Your relationship had been rocky at best; it had started out with him pickpocketing your purse and the two of you becoming friends because, at the time, you believed he was simply returning what you lost.

Of course, when your friendship officially became a friendship, he told you the truth and apologized. LaRusso had offered him a job, and everything he did suddenly became about changing his life and earning his place. He wanted to prove to his father that he was more than just some punk-ass kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

So, how did that bring you to where you are now? How did a guy like Robby Keene, dressed up in Marty McFly attire, become the center of your universe?

The Halloween Bash, of course.

Originally, the entire group of friends, the past feud between Robby and Miguel, had long been forgotten, so they decided to do one big group costume. Demetri thought it would be a good idea to go with the Power Rangers, which was fine, except for the fact that Eli was the only one who actually wanted to be a Ranger. Everyone else was either not impressed or completely clueless about who they were.

In the end, the group split off into their own individual costumes, and that's how you ended up with your favorite movie being used as the basis for your outfits.

It took a lot of convincing on your part. I mean, the dude looked practically identical to the real actor; he was the obvious choice. Throw a Walkman on him, and boom, the costume is perfect.

He blamed it on the hair, which it technically was. Ever since he ditched Dora's cut with Diego, he just became that geeky kid who freaked at the word 'chicken.'

And in all honesty, you truly believed he hated that word, too. Eli said it to bait him once, and he did not go down easily.

It only took you an hour to convince him, but after a while, he relented, and the costume was finalized.

So, obviously, when the two of you walked in with swag that only the 80s could pull off, you stayed for about an hour before Robby got bored and decided ice cream was the cure.

Now, the two of you were sitting on the steps of an apartment building, eating a gallon of ice cream and talking.

You swear, you didn't mean for it to happen, but the way he looked at you with those soft, blue eyes and the smile that could make a nun blush, you found yourself leaning closer.

"I had fun," he spoke quietly, his words dancing over your lips. "Even if I do look ridiculous."

You giggled. "Well, isn't that why we have Halloween? To look ridiculous?"

He shrugged and leaned closer, his eyes searching yours.

"You don't look ridiculous, though," you continued. "I think you look pretty good in a life preserver."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

It was something about the way he said that. The way you could hear the smile in his voice, but most of all, the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he was looking for permission to continue with what was already happening.

So, you answered by leaning in, connecting your lips with his, and giving him all the permission he needed.

His hands instantly flew to your hips, tugging you closer, and you found your own hands wrapping around his neck, deepening the kiss.

It was perfect, just like the movies. You regretted dressing up as Doc Brown, though. Not only was the radiation suit itchy, but you were acting like Jennifer Parker, and you didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Still, with the white hair off and his headphones finding their home around his neck, you figured maybe you'd force him to keep that part of the costume because, the way he was looking at you, you didn't want it to end.

You were sure it wouldn't, not any time soon.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Best friend!Retro-gamer!Yandere x Fem! Or Transmasc!Reader

"My Player Two"

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, cum play, begging, general perversion, dry-humping.

(AN: Merry early xmas or equivalent holiday, guys! I have given you all the present of rising from the grave to deliver some submissive yandere horny thoughts.)

A gentle tug shakes you out of your thoughts, making you sit up quickly and turn your attention to your friend, Lewis.

The curly haired brunettes tongue just barely pokes out between his lips, thick coke-bottle glasses slipping off his nose. He's trying his best to play his video game, whilst also keeping one hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I asked you somethin'!" He says, not glancing away from the screen.

"Sorry, just zoned out. Whatcha need?" You tilt your head and adjust your posture when he puts the hand from your shoulder back onto his controller.

"I was telling you that I think I'm real close to beating my Galaga score at the arcade on 54th. Real close to getting my initials up on that screen."

"That's great, Lewis. I'm glad all that practicing with your hands is paying off." He blushes at the encenuation. "You know, if you'd like you could come and see me, when I get that high score. It'd be pretty great." He grabs an old plastic cup by the side of his bed, handing it to you with a shake.

"I've even got a few coins for you, if you want them. Maybe we could play a couple rounds side-by-side, or I could use them, and get you a slushie or something from the prize counter." He looks at you hopefully, with large eyes. You giggle, and reach out to adjust his glasses, pushing them back up his nose. "Sure, Lewis. I can bring my own coins though how much you covet those coins." He chuckles.

The clock chimes 9:00 and your head whips over to see the time. "Oh, geez. I gotta get out of here, Lewis, I've got classes in the morning." He pouts a little, trying to think of a reason to get you to stay a little longer.

"Hey, maybe you could sleep over, just borrow one of my shirts. I'd hate to make you go home, plus I've got food here." He stands. You shake your head as you fumble around for your stuff.

"I can't Lewis, thanks though, I'll see you soon, okay? Uh, call me when you plan to go to the arcade, alright."

"Okay, goodnight then, Y/N..." he watches wistfully as you leave, trying to resist the urge to pull you back for just a few more minutes. He'd give you soda, or some more snacks. Lewis is hesitant to let anyone touch his controllers, but if you wanna play two player, he'll allow it, you'd just have to promise to be gentle. He knows you would be though, your always so gentle. With him, with animals and other people, (though he wishes it was him mostly.).

Lewis has never been popular at your school, it was bad in elementary, and only got worse when the social politics of high school kicked in. He was scrawny, freckled, and loved anything geeky. He was bad at sports and an only child, making him a little socially inept. He didn't care though, he may had wanted someone in elementary to play with, or in sixth and seventh grade to be his friend, but by eight grade year, it didn't matter. That's when he met you. Sweet, perfect you.

You were immediately popular at school. You were friendly, attractive, and outgoing, everything he tried and failed to be. Becoming your friend changed everything for him. He was still bullied and picked on, but it didn't matter. As long as you saw him as worthy, he was happy. His parents even stopped goading him about going out more, once they saw he actually had a friend, which just led him to have more time to stay indoors, with you and his consoles.

He lays on his bed thinking about how much you've meant to him, having set his controller aside, when he realizes the scent of your shampoo is still lingering on his pillow. You smell so good, and there's still a warm patch from where your laying.

"No... fuck." He whines, feeling his cock twitch to life from under his jeans. He runs a hand through his hair, fighting shame and carnal need. He quickly pokes his head around his blinds, making sure his parents aren't home yet. After deciding the coast is clear, He locks his door and gets under his bed, digging around for his book. Eventually, he finds the family photo fromthe christmas card your family sent his last december, just a couple months ago. He feels so dirty for jerking it to your family photo, especially considering your other family members pictures are on the page, but all the cute Polaroid pictures he has of the pair of you are still developing, and he really needs to look at you right now.

Normally, he'd just just turn on the adult late night channels, but he heard from some of the guys at school that usage of those channels are starting to reflect on cables bills, and he'd rather not get his TV taken.

In a moment of desperation, he kisses your photo once, before taping it up to his headboard, and grabbing the nearest pillow. Even though it's not you, and his cock desperately needs to be free from his jeans, he wants to make it romantic. He straddles the pillow, pretending in his head that this isnt weird at all, it's just.... practice for if, no, when he convinces you that he can provide reasons for you to love him.

"Y/N..." he huffs, looking down at the pillow and trying not to think about how embarrassing he's being. "I like you so much, I do, and I need-" he rolls his hips. "I need to be in you, I do." He tries to imagine what you might say.

"I know, i-its my first time too, but it'll be really good. I'll make sure I make you feel good, and I'll go really slow, even if I want to speed up." He begins undoing his pants. "You know, you thought you were being funny, making that dirty joke about practicing with my hands, but I bet some of that dexterity might carry over?" He chuckles, before groaning as he kicks off his boxers. "Stupid, that was stupid. Don't say that when this is a sure thing."

He looks down at his freckled dick, the tip red and leaking, slightly bulbous. He's pretty thin, but a decent length. He's sure if he figured out the right way to use it, he'd make you feel amazing. He's know you'll make him feel amazing.

"I'm gonna put it in now, okay? Y-yeah, yeah I'll go slow. Of course, I wouldn't hurt you or anything, unless you wanted that. I'd do anything for you." He groans, before rubbing his tip against the pillow and pumping his hips slowly. He pants, glasses fogging up.

"S' really good, not just on my dick but... but having you up against me, feels so nice to hold you." He clutches the pillow like a life preserver while he ruts away into it, whispering and panting praises and assurances to it.

"Gonna cum, god, I-I feel it coming. I wanna be a good guy, and pull it out but-" He moans. "You feel so good, I can't." He imagines in his head your on the pill, maybe for cramps, but... maybe just for him. "I-I can cum inside you? Really? Go's, yeah, yeah. Okay, I'll do that. I'll give it to you, and I'll clean you up right after I- shit." He can feel himself losing control at the thought of ruining you, the sight of his cum leaking out of your holes. He moans loudly, though it choked back and emotional enough it sounds like more of a cry. Thick, white cum comes out in strings, all across the crisp white fabric of his pillowcase.

Once that post-nut clarity hits, he groans. How could he be so stupid? This pillow had to be cleaned now, and that would wash out all the remnants of your scent. He sighs as he chucks the pillow case into his laundry basket, and tucks his spent cock back into his jeans. Wiping off his fogged up glasses, he looks at the photo of you again, taking it down from his bedframe. He leans back against the headboard as he looks at it.

"M'so in love with you, I wish I had the guts to say it. I play the hero all day, everyday in my games, why can't I just be like them. Strong enough to get the girl, and keep her. Not jerk off to a pillow and a family photo." He tucks it back under his bed. He'll impress you, he's just gotta find a way.

Several days later, you got a call from Lewis to meet him at the arcade. Grabbing your keys, you head out.

Upon arriving, you enter, and see Galaga. Huh, Lewis's initials were already on the leaderboard! He must've won before you showed up. Heading outside, you hear grunting from an alleyway. Concerned, you peek around the corner, and gasp.

"Hey!" You yell, running up. The two punks who were standing over your battered friend turn there heads, only to snicker. It's two boys from you and Lewis's class.

"Oh, Y/N, perfect timing. This geek was getting taught a lesson." The jock snickers.

"What is your problem? He didn't do anything to you guys!" You push past them to try and help Lewis up, but he looks mortified to see you. "N-no, no Y/N, don't-"

"Yeah, he didn't do anything to us, it's about what he did to you, or maybe, what you did to him." You turn around, and Lewis pales. "What're you talking about?" Your brows furrow.

"This geek has been in that shitty arcade all day, playing that game. When he beat his high score, he started dancing like a little girl. We laughed at him, and he started going off. Yelling about how he didn't need our approval, and he wasn't upset. He had something we couldn't take from him. We asked him, and he said it was you." You tilt your head.

"Yeah, man. We knew this creep had been following you around for a while, but we didn't know he thought you were friends. We said we didn't believe him, and he got so upset he started claiming he was your friend, that you loved each other. Even, heh-" The two laugh. "Even that he fucked you."

"W-what?" You gasp and look at him. "Lewis?"

"I'm so sorry, I... I needed them to believe we were close, that you did care." He blubbers, reaching our weakly to your blurry form, glasses broken.

"He got graphic with it, too. Talked about condoms and taking you from behind up in his bed, since it isn't true, the little perverts been fantasizing about it for a while. If nothing else, we did you a public service, shutting this creeps mouth." The taller jock says, trying to put a hand on your shoulder.

"Don't touch them!" Lewis screeches, blindly lashing out, weakness replaced by a moment of fury. "Jesus, he's crazier than we thought. Need us to walk you home?" The jock winks. You shake your head vehemently.

"Just go." You say coldly, not turning to face them. "Whatever, bitch. Don't blame us if this sicko does something to you." Only you and Lewis are left in the alley now.

"Y/N..."

"Don't, Lewis." You snap, making him recoil into himself. "I trusted you, you were my friend, h-how could you say such lewd things about me?" You ask.

"I-I didn't meant them to be leed, I was just angry. I mean, I would like to do that stuff with you, but it'd be romantic! I'd never try and defile you or something shitty like that. Just please, can we go back inside?" He begs. "I'll get you that slushie like I promised!"

You shake your head. "I... I need some time to process all this, Lewis. I think it's best if we don't see each other for a bit." His face falls. Despite what's happened, you almost regret what you said. He looks broken.

He kneels before you, on the ground. "Y/N, no, please. Your my only friend, my best friend, I'm sorry! I'll never talk like that again, I'll do anything to make it up to you! I-I take hormone suppression pills, o-or... I don't know, take an abstinence pledge, just don't leave. Your my everything, my best friend-"

You've already left the alley when he looks up. A few game tokens lay scattered, meant for you but having been lost from his pockets during his beat down.

"No... you're supposed to be my player two..."

[madegeeky]

Hannibal (the TV series) seasons in one sentence:

Season 1: The least amount of police procedural you will ever see in a police procedural.

Season 2: Reins are off now, fuckers, let's do some goddamn character work!

Season 3: Wherein the first half is Hannibal writing fanfiction and the second half has completely new main characters.

[allpiesforourown]

thinking about the asshole roommate bingge au, and there has to be one (ONE) girlfriend that jumped through the impossible hoops to meet lbh’s mom. like, she’s under so much delusion and is so persistent that after dating lbh for like… three months (I don’t see lbh having gfs for longer than three and a half months) she finally girlbosses her way into meeting lbh’s mom for a small family dinner. (The only reason this works is because she looks kinda like sy… same color eyes, around the same height, short black hair… no glasses tho, but lbh might have killed her if she looked too much like gege, so maybe that’s a good thing.)

And when she gets there, finally ready to claim her triumph in fixing her man, there’s this twink sitting next to lbh’s mom. And when she asks lbh is like “this is a family dinner right? Yuan-ge is family” and this girl has to watch as her dark, six foot, bad boy boyfriend gets cooed over and pet on the head by some stick thin, geeky dude. And lbh ignores her the entire dinner just to talk to this guy.

(lbh dumps her after the dinner. then cries about it to sy, burying his face in his gege’s plush thigh)

SOOO TRUE

Dude binghes mom is the biggest victim here.. she saw her little boy following shen yuan around like a duckling and went awww how cute my baby boy is in love ❤️ young love is so wonderful ❤️ now it's been several years and she's watching some poor girl sitting in her dining room glaring at binghe while he's lovingly wiping sauce off shen yuans face, not sparing her a glance

She's tried several times to give binghe the "I'll love you no matter what" talk hoping that was what's holding him back from confessing and making shen yuan her son in law but binghe just says "I love you too mom!" and doesn't do anything about his OBVIOUS crush

Binghe: we don't have guest bedrooms so you'll have to take the bus home

His girlfriend: ?? Your bed is big enough for two people can't I stay the night

Binghe: yeah it'll fit two people. Me and Yuan ge.

Binghe’s mom: *sighing deeply while binghes girlfriend screams at him*

[trippinsorrows]

10 things + r. reigns

authors note: so, a lot of this stems from convos with the lovely @fearlesschimera where one tree hill was brought up. and i loved me some nathan and haley. plus, i'm loving everything about this otc era and needed to write something about it now vs having to wait with my other stories cause we ain't there yet lmao

might be a part two. idk if this even makes sense tbh

words: 3.1k

warnings: none, really? some language? kayfabe story.

There are exactly two sides to Roman Reigns.

The good side and the bad side. 

And Nova Reigns has experienced them both with an unfortunate increase in the latter versus the former. 

She can pinpoint exactly when it started, too. 

When things started to get difficult again.

2020. COVID. While the world was an absolute mess, chaos and death occurring globally every day, her husband of over ten years wasn’t much better. He’d decided to stay home, not wanting to risk bringing home anything that could put her pregnancy with their first daughter, Arabella, Bella as they affectionately called her, at risk. 

It was also so he could figure out just what the hell he was doing with his career. Roman was frustrated. Tired of going along with what was always told of him instead of doing it his way. And it’s why when he returned back to work that summer, he came back a completely changed man. Bigger, stronger, meaner.

This was a different Roman Reigns. The likes of which the WWE had never seen.

And it’s been a ride ever since.

Up and downs along the way. 

A lot of ups up until WrestleMania 40 where after 1,316 days as the undisputed universal champion and unable to let go of a betrayal from so many years ago, Roman lost. He lost his title and something so much deeper that night.

His sense of self.

Nova did the best she could in the months he’d been off to keep his spirits lifted, to support him, often encouraging Bella to ask her dad to do stuff with her even when Nova technically could. Asked him to care for their two year old daughter, Camillia, Cami, as she worked from home, something she’s done for almost the entirety of her post college career. 

But most importantly, Nova worked to help Roman repair the relationship with their oldest son, Roman Jr., RJ, as they’ve called him since the day he was born.

To say the relationship is awful would be an exaggeration. No, it’s just…..fragile.

A fragility that Nova has tried so hard over the past couple of years to strengthen to no avail. A large part of the issue being the fact that her twenty year old son is just as stubborn as his father. Twins, she often calls them. Similar heights, build, personalities, etc. 

Great when they want to be. A pain in the ass when they don’t need to be.

A painful situation all around though, especially when she thinks back to how this all started, to how someone like Nova ended up with someone like Roman.

And it’s a simple answer, really.

He was an idiot.

Well, when it came to English, that was.

Once upon a time ago, Roman wasn’t the massive WWE superstar that he is now. He was just Roman Reigns. The typical, popular jock of their high school. A football player with the stereotypical ego to match. And she was just Nova, the geeky underclassmen who always had a secret crush on the boy she never thought in a million years would look her way.

And truth be told, if not for the fact his coach threatened to bench him if he didn’t raise his English grade, he probably never would have. Hell, she’s certain the only reason he knew she existed was because she was the best and smartest kid in class, so of course their teacher would recommend her for a tutor. 

The answer was initially no. Not necessarily because she was opposed, but more because her crush on him was too big to not get distracted. Even though his jerkish tendencies should have done just that. 

But Roman has always been charismatic and persistent, and before she knew it, she’d agreed. And that agreement changed everything because it showed her for the first time the nice side of Roman, the side that secretly loved music and was surprisingly good at math. The side that struggled with feeling like he’d never be good enough or live up to his family’s athletic reputation both in football and wrestling.

It made her realize and see that Roman was just as human as everyone else. 

It made her fall in love with him.

And that was rocky, too. Navigating his constant struggle of wanting to admit his feelings for her while also being embarrassed about her and wanting to hide their relationship. It created a fair set of conflict, and Nova shed her fair share of tears.

Especially as she sat on the floor of her bathroom, plush, purple rug cushioning her bottom but not the blow that was the two lines on the pregnancy test in her hands. But, seven months later, with her mom on one side and Roman on the other, she shed a different set of tears. Different kinds of tears.

Happiness.

Happiness at welcoming her first child into the world, Roman Reigns Jr. 

RJ

Being teen parents, especially at the tender ages of 16 and 18 was most definitely nothing like it was depicted on the reality shows. It was rough, especially as Roman started college, opting to stay local to help her raise their child as she finished her senior year. They fought, they argued, they disagreed, but at the end of the day, they still loved.

And it was that love that carried them through the rocky years of Roman trying to figure out just what he wanted to do with his life as Nova worked a job and raised their son while pursuing her degree in software engineering. She also stayed local to benefit from the help of her family while chasing her dream. It was rough, it was hard, but they did it.

Even with having to be on food stamps and financial assistance at times to take care of their child, Nova struggling to enter the male dominated workforce of tech and Roman not always having consistent income, they did it. 

And they were happy.

They still are. Just….not like it used to be. 

Nova still loves her husband with all of her heart and soul. They’ve been through too much together for her to ever really leave him, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t cross her mind from time to time. Especially over the past four years, watching him almost revert back to that bully from high school as he manipulated and mentally abused his family, his cousins, his lifetime best friends so much so that the Bloodline he worked so hard to create crumbled right before him.

And it’s only deteriorated since he lost the title to Cody Rhodes. Solo had turned on Roman, brutally kicked Jimmy out of the Bloodline and invited in non-family. Week after week, taking shot after shot at her husband, his cousin, his flesh and blood. 

Going so far as to take the sacred ula fala and declare himself the tribal chief. An honor that was bestowed upon Roman by the elders of his family. It finally reached a point where Roman had enough, making his grand return at SummerSlam and preventing his once enforcer from taking the very title Roman still believes is rightfully is. 

He’s made intermittent returns since then, each one proving just why Roman Reigns is being considered one of the greatest of all time, even while still in the middle of his career. His aura is unmatched. The sales don’t lie. The numbers don’t lie. 

The OTC is WWE. 

But, Roman has been a bit on edge since he was unexpectedly jumped by his other cousin, Jacob, Solo’s latest dangerous addition to the Bloodline.

Nova especially knows he was even more pissed because she’d taken the girls to his show that night, at his request.

He hates looking ‘weak’ in front of him, despite the fact that both were too consumed in kids' devices to pay attention. But, she was. And if anything, it was hard for her to see him be attacked like that, all alone. 

No one in his corner.

Jey’s moved to Raw.

Jimmy is still trying to figure out if he even wants to come back.

Solo has lost his damn mind. 

Sami…..no comment.

And Paul is still recovering from his brutal assault by the new Bloodline. 

The island of relevancy has a population of one. And while that one is formidable as all outdoors, he’s still just a man.

Granted, as much as it pains her to see Roman go at this alone, it’s hard for her to feel all the way bad for him. He did this. His actions drove his family away. 

Well, not all of them.

“Game!” Bella’s soft voice pulls Nova from reflecting on memory lane as she redirects her attention to where her son sits on the sofa in Roman’s locker room, Cami on his lap, grabbing his phone.

RJ chuckles, unlocking the iPhone and asking, “what you wanna play?”

Cami gasps and claps her hands. “Cookie!”

“Cookie Kingdom?” RJ asks, clicking around on his phone and handing it to her. “There ya go, lil’ bit.”

Nova’s smile is warm as she reflects on what feels like so long ago. “I remember when you were that little.”

RJ looks up at her, and it never ceases to amaze her how much he looks like his father. Complexion a little deeper, melanin he inherited from her, but outside of that, Roman could never deny paternity. 

He sucks his teeth. “Mama, don’t start that.”

“What?” Nova pouts, leaning back into the sofa, Bella tuned out of the conversation as she watches Bluey on her tablet. It’s always a bit funny to her how uninterested these kids just are when it comes to seeing Roman at work.

At least, not until he’s actually in their line of vision.

“You’ll always be my baby.” Because he will. Twenty and over 6ft tall or not, he’s her baby boy. “And speaking of baby, what’s going on with you and that girl you been dating?”

RJ rolls his eyes and adjusts Cami on his lap. He’s so good with his little sisters. “Nothing.”

Nova smirks knowingly, picking up on the faint hit of redness on his cheeks. “Sure don’t seem like nothing.”

“Mama, she’s just a friend.”

“So ya’ll aren’t sexually active?”

RJ turns up his nose, clearly disgusted. “Ma, how you just gon’ ask me that?”

“Because I’m your mama and not ready to be a grandma, and your daddy would kill you if you were to get a girl pregnant halfway through college.”

It’s not missed upon Nova how the mention of Roman seems to completely dampen his mood. RJ rolls his eyes. “Like he cares at all.”

His comment hurts her. Deeply. “RJ….”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.”

She ignores that apology, wanting to focus on the initial comment that has her stomach knotting for all the wrong reasons. “Your dad loves you, Junior. You have to know that.”

There’s a slight delay in his answer, and that alone is enough to make Nova know she needs to talk to Roman again tonight about actually talking with his son. A below the surface level conversation. A heart to heart.

“I know that, mama. I do. It’s just….” RJ blows out a breath and shakes his head. “You know how he is.”

She does. Very well. “You can say it. He’s an ass sometimes.” She’s so grateful for the headphones on Bella’s ears and the deep infatuation Cami has with her brother’s phone.

“You said it. Not me.” Mother and son share a laugh, RJ admitting, “I know he means well.”

“He does,” she agrees. “But, that doesn’t mean he can’t do better. I’ll talk to him again.”

RJ immediately looks like he feels bad, which only makes Nova’s chest ache more. “You don’t have to—”

She lifts her finger to silence him. “You’re my son. He’s my husband. I love you both, and it kills me to see ya’ll like this. I’m gonna do what I can.” And that’s a vow. The three of them have been through too much shit over the years for her to just allow the relationship between the two most important men to fall apart. She won’t let that happen. 

She can’t.

And speaking of, the door to Roman’s locker room opens, her husband walking in looking every bit as strong, powerful, and determined as he looked when he interfered yet again with Solo’s match and especially as he closed the door of that cage and challenged Jacob. 

Nova shifts in her seat, the memory bringing up other kinds of feelings which are entirely inappropriate given the presence of her children.

Cami is the first girl to notice him, lifting up her little arms and reaching for him, nearly dropping RJ’s phone in the process if not for his quick reflexes.

He most definitely got that from Roman as well, because Nova has not an athletic bone in her body.

Roman walks over and takes her from RJ, kissing her cheek, gaze almost reluctantly falling on RJ. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Nova starts to scold Roman for such a cold introduction to their son they haven’t seen since he left for his sophomore year of college over a month ago. “Mom asked me to.”

She’s good at reading between the lines, picking up on the fact that he’s essentially saying he’s only here because of Nova.

Not Roman.

Roman notices this, she’s sure. He’s a perceptive bastard. But, he says nothing. “How’s school?”

“Fine.” 

“RJ.” And her son can be a petty bastard. Like father, like son. She directs her statement to Roman, “I was thinking we could go to his game tomorrow—”

RJ, however, is quick to dismiss this. “You don’t have to.”

Nova’s gaze on Roman allows her to see the hurt that flashes in his eyes at the rejection. But as has been the case lately, he pushes it aside, replacing it with indifference. “You heard what he said. He doesn’t want us there, so we wo—”

“That’s not what I said.” RJ leans back against the chair and shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head, clearly frustrated. “You always do this. Always hear what you want to hear.” He scoffs, head turned, muttering, “I see why everybody left you.”

Nova gasps. “RJ!” She sees it, the hurt that’s just tripled and is about to be expressed in anger, leading to another big blowout between the two of them. Thankfully, this is the moment Bella finally becomes aware of Roman’s presence.

“Daddy!” She pulls off her headphones, climbs off the sofa and runs over to him, hugging his legs. 

Roman doesn’t hesitate to pick her up, both daughters in his arms as Nova leans over, running her hand through her fresh silk press. This. This is what she wanted to avoid. These are the kinds of situations that leave her in tears as she vents to her therapist about her ever growing stress levels, how torn she feels in what to do in moments like this. 

Roman is her husband, but RJ is her son. Neither is fully right, but neither is fully wrong either. How does one handle that?

Thankfully, it’s not long after that Roman is being called to prepare to get back out in the ring. This means a probably needed separation from the two titans in her life. Nova holds Cami this time, while Bella hangs onto RJ as they’re escorted ringside. 

It takes a bit of persuasion to get RJ to agree to come with her. She can see he’s ready to just leave.

But, reminding him of how big a help he is with the girls seems to win him over because while he’s certainly not in the best of places with his dad, RJ is a mama’s boy through and through. He loves him some Nova and would do anything to help her. 

Even if it means helping her with the two siblings that came as a complete shock to him.

It still makes Nova laugh a little as she recalls the horrified and almost disgusted expression on his face as she and Roman broke the pregnancy news to him.

“I didn’t even know ya’ll still did that.” And if his statement wasn’t bad enough, he just had to add insult to injury as the blunt almost 16 year-old he was at the time. “Ain’t ya’ll kinda old to still be freaking?”

No. 

Never that.

“Daddy!” This time it’s Cami who’s calling out to Roman, recognizing his new music before he even emerges from the back looking as badass as he always does. Nova is temporarily in a state of awe, overhearing Bella asking RJ to hold her so she can see better. 

Roman has come so far, done so well for himself, even with things with his family being a hot ass mess, there’s still no denying he is it. That he has it. It’s undeniable. She almost feels bad for Cody.

He’ll always be stuck in Roman’s shadow. 

The thought makes her suddenly curious about what could be one of the reasons behind the strife between her firstborn and husband. Nova tucks this in the back of her mind, planning to discuss it further in therapy.

As Roman moves into the ring, Nova stands on the sidelines, holding her baby girl on her hip, smiling back and forth between the two. She watches Roman move around the ring on their commercial break

And when his gaze falls on the set of them, her heart swells as he mouths ‘I love you’ before seamlessly transitioning back into that hardened, determined expression.

And this is why there’s two sides to Roman Reigns. The good side being the one that she sees in that brief, vulnerable exchange. The one that used to kiss her pregnant stomach as he confided in her his fears about not being a good dad, about feeling not ready, about worrying about failing in life. 

Failing her. 

Failing himself.

Failing their child.

The man who worked so hard and gave everything his all to prove he was someone, becoming that someone, yet somehow losing something in the process.

Nova knows it’s still in there though, knows that he is still the boy he fell in love with many moons ago. She knows that as frustrated as he makes her, as cold he can be, as disconnected he can seem, that love is still there and just as strong. 

And she’ll fight for it. 

For him. 

For their son.

For their family. 

She has to.

[sacharinee]

thinking ab peter having a bad tiring day and reader giving him face massages and body massages after they take a bath ‼️

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader

w/c: 780

a/n: hi anon!! i loved writing for this request sm so thank u for sending it <3 i did, however, completely forget to write abt the part about them taking the bath together. im so sorry 😭 but i hope u still enjoy :(( about one spider-man kiss and a ton of domestic!peter

peter knows exactly what he needs right now after a long day. 

there’s only one thing in the world that could make up for having a shitty day and that’s you. 

but unfortunately for peter, when he patters into your shared apartment, you’re nowhere to be found.

“babe?” he calls out. 

he strips himself of his shoes and walks down the short hall to your bedroom, only to find the closet open and your work clothes missing. peter skrinks at your absence and pouts, “great.”

he ponders about taking a nap, but it’s a quarter to nine and he’d rather be awake when you arrive home. 

when his stomach growls, he realizes he’s gone almost an entire day without a proper meal, save for the granola bar you shoved in his hand before he kissed you goodbye. 

as he enters the kitchen, he finds a note left on the counter, scribbled in your handwriting,

“emergency shift at the hospital, back by 9 tonite. food in the fridge, love you!”

peter frowns at your note, sticks it onto the fridge, and pulls out the meal you prepared for him.

he heats up the food and chews the stale chicken slowly. he really misses you. even with your bland food and lack of seasoning, he still enjoys anything from you. you try your best for him. 

when he’s finished cleaning his dishes, peter debates on showering. he wants to wait for you, to take a nice hot shower with you, and clean each other’s stress away. but he’s really stinky from work, and he’d rather just go to bed with you. so he undresses and takes a long shower alone.

—

peter’s prayers are answered when he reenters the shared bedroom dressed in pajamas. 

“hi baby,” you chirp. you take off your glasses and set the book you were reading aside. 

peter’s heart swells at the sight. you’re laying on your side of the bed, hair in a bun, away from your face. you’re dressed in your boyfriend’s plaid boxers and a geeky t-shirt you stole from his dresser.

the tv is playing some rerun of your favorite tv show as he crawls himself across the bed and plops himself in between your open legs. 

peter nests his heavy head upon your pelvis and lets out a deep sigh. your palms run down his clad back, kneading the tense muscles.

“did you eat yet?” he tries to nod his head, “yea, chicken was good, super tasty, thanks, y/n/n” he replies.

he may or not be telling you the whole truth. you’re cooking wasn’t amazing, but he would never tell you that. 

peter flips himself over, staring at you adoringly upside down. your soft hands trace his buff arms, comfort spreading throughout his skin from your touch, “what happened today, petey?”

he exhales, furrowing his brows, and squeezes his eyes shut. he juts his bottom lip out while you weave your fingers and pull through his damps locks. 

“everything went wrong today. everything,” he takes a deep breath, “i was late for biochem, had a pop quiz for psych. not that it was hard but still. i forgot i had tutoring today too, so i'm out fifteen bucks. and we were understaffed for work, so that was a bust. so many mean customers in queens,” he takes a look at you, “we should move somewhere else.”

you snicker at his comment and slide your fingers over his funky left eyebrow, smoothing out the knit and massaging his temples, “yea, like where?” 

you love all versions of peter, but you think this is your favorite. relaxed at your touch, devoting himself wholeheartedly to you. he’s embraced and fully engulfed by you, like putty in your hands. 

“like,” your boyfriend seems distracted, voice deep, staring at you with nothing but affection, “sunnyside? maybe?” peter licks his lips and clears his throat, “just somewhere safer, nicer. for you.”

you’re beaming down at his face; your warm hands cup his cheeks while you land a long and overdue tender kiss upside down. you feel peter smile into the kiss, exhaling through his nose in contentment. 

you keep your hands on his face and gently caress the soft skin as you pull away.

“that sounds nice,” your heart squeezes at the thought as he continues, “we could settle down there, have a family, you know? white picket fence and all. ‘m picturing you in your hot scrubs, bringin’ home the bacon. and i’ll be at home, taking care of the kids.” 

you’re giggling at the scene as you chime in, “and we could have family dinners every saturday night, or- ooh! i could take yoga classes sunday mornings and-”

peter snickers at you, “what you need are some cooking classes.”

gasping, you flick his forehead, “you said you loved my cooking!”

[ironstrange1991]

The Goatee Problem

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 0,600k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: This is just a small blurb I came up with instead of finishing my Defender smut. Didn't want to end the month with nothing so I am posting this. Hope you guys like it and have a short but very nice reading.

"Believe me, you don't want to see this"

Stephen's voice sounded a bit shaky and nervous and his insistence that you do not go into the bathroom had you worried.

"Stephen, just tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"

You tried again to open the door and this time he didn't try to stop you from entering.

He was standing by the sink, but he turned his face so you couldn't see him in the mirror's reflection. You walked over hugging him from behind and he sighed "My hands... are shaking more than usual today... I shouldn't have tried..."

He turned to you, his face still smeared with shaving foam, but the goatee you were so used to was gone. "I had no alternative but..."

"Oh..." Was all you managed to say before bursting out laughing. Stephen frowned slightly offended.

"That's why I didn't want you to see me like this" He said pulling the towel from his shoulder and wiping his face.

He was gorgeous. Of course it was weird to see him without the goatee, but he was still handsome without it.

"I am not laughing at how you look, but at all the drama you are making."

You caressed his strangely smooth face, your index finger tracing around his lips and down to his chin. Stephen's skin was extremely soft.

"I've had my goatee for years, I don't even recognize myself without it."

You nodded, still distracted by how much the sight of Stephen in that different way was messing with you. "Well, I can't complain, you're still as hot as ever"

His face flushed with your compliment which made the whole situation even cuter. You pulled him to your lips and the feel of his smooth skin was different and interesting at the same time. He seemed taken aback by the intensity of your kiss and he was the one who broke the kiss to breathe.

"Don't get me wrong, Steph. I want the goatee back and you're going to have to put up with Wong and America's jokes for a month, but it's not all bad"

He didn't seem to understand where there could be a bright side to that tragedy and you made sure to make that clear when you kissed him again and continued to kiss the corner of his lips, running your lips up his cheeks  until you reached his ear and licked his earlobe with the tip of your tongue before whispering "I'm sure it will feel very interesting between my legs"

He glanced at you completely intrigued as you pulled away and walked towards the bedroom.

"Did you like it then?" He asked still unsure.

You chuckled "Yes I did. Besides I'm sure in another universe there must be a version of you without the goatee."

He took a good look in the mirror and shook his head as if trying to encourage himself. "You're right, it isn't so bad."

"Don't get too excited tiger, I want my goatee back as soon as possible or you'll be sleeping on the couch." You warned.

“How do I face Wong and America now?” He asked, his voice sounding completely mortified “Shit, can’t let Stark see me like this.”

“Good lucky with that.” You said laughing while leaving the room.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[sweettsubaki]

I don't want a spin off for MHA, unless it's a 4 komas type of comedy about Bakugou (and the rest of 1A) trying to hide the fact that they're funding Izuku's hero suit (I'm a bkdk shipper too so bonus if there's a domestic slice of life element to it but I'm good with Bkdk being queerplatonic).

Like

"sorry if we go out I won't be able to pay my part

- Why?

-..... I forgot to pay my rent and had to pay lateness fees."

Their excuses just get wilder over time and Izuku just becomes horrified at how bad his friends are with money and they have to try very hard to keep him from doing their books.

Like, his geeky ass is also terrible with money when it comes to buying merch but it's still not as bad as the others... How? Like... Katsuki's supposed to be good at everything!