#and have to whack that thought away with a newspaper

[hiirenvirna]

the reason you feel fine is that the meds are working you son of a

[dalgomii]

۪ ݁ 이마크 — the anatomy of 'home'.

• SYNOPSIS .. neither of you have all that much to your name. but, here, in the small sanctuary of your brand new—and still very vacanct—apartment, with a mattress for bed, a small kitchenette yet waiting to filled with the smell of home and living off of takeout to your heart's content, you just might have the most priceless thing in the world: happiness.

♡ WORD COUNT .. 2.5k

☆ NOTES .. established relationship. you and mark talking through the night over a pizza picnic, that's the story. got way too poetic and in my feels at the ending and then fumbled it lol. happy first tumblr post to me, yay! :)

Lately the pep in his steps have been noticeable. Even the mundane task of picking up delivery and climbing five flights of stairs because the elevator still hasn't been installed in the building couldn't dampen his mood. Mark walks in through the front door, practically skipping, two boxes of pizza in his hand.

Inside is like a sea of knicknacks yet to find their rightful place in the one bedroom apartment tucked into the heart of a bustling metropolis.

You smile up at him from where you are sitting, unboxing the things your mothers had insisted on buying in the name of home decor. "Done chatting up the delivery guy?"

Mark rolls his eyes, setting the food on the kitchen counter which was overflowing with utensils left to be stowed away. His gaze stops at your Harry Potter mug, one of the few things finally freed from your incessant overdone packing with the wrapping paper to make sure nothing broke during transit.

If the cogs of his brain cleared from the fog of bliss long enough, he would vividly recall the story of winning it at a fun fair — a mere consolation prize as opposed to the big pygmy puff plushie he'd originally promised you. Still, no matter your carefully hidden disappointment he'd assume, you had kept the mug, taking it out every morning for it to enable your insane caffeine consumption.

Perhaps it's the fact he'd seen it with you so many times, warming your hands on a cold morning or staining the corners of the Sunday newspaper acting as paperweight, Mark had forgotten it was his to begin with.

"For your information, I was getting the scoop on the local restaurants. So when you come home too tired to cook, I can swoop in to save the day."

"So heroic, my knight in shining... takeout boxes? You know all this could be avoided if you just learnt to cook?" Your sarcasm is met with bubbling laughter, making you beam up at him. "Come here for a sec. How does this look?"

Raising a brow, Mark goes to stand right behind you, narrowing his eyes at the wall of cat pictures and movie posters framed above a white table that held up a shimmering and ridiculously fragile glass vase.

He frowned at a couple things he thought had long since lost, in his childhood home or the studio apartment he used to shared with three others which looked like it was struck by a hurricane on a good day, hung up on the tiny bit of space by his bookshelf.

Specifically a Wham! vinyl.

The one you'd bought Mark on his first birthday that you spent together as a couple. The effect of the years passed is visible on the not-so-shiny black surface marred with misplaced dents and scratches. Yet the 'I know you've wanted this for a long time. Happy Birthday, rockstar' written in black sharpie onto the center label is still as fresh as his memory of receiving it.

"It's pretty," he states finally, genuinely, and hopes to God he played it cool enough. But who was he kidding? Five years of desperately trying to be nonchalant wouldn't have been comparable to a second spent being yours. Mark adds as an afterthought, "Let's hope it stays that way if we stumble into it."

You can't help a snort, "If? More like 'when'. Your foot eye coordination is whack in the morning."

Mark lets out a scandalized gasp, pointing at you, "Take that back right now".

And you, being the responsible, independent, tax-paying adult, stick your tongue out at him making him shake his head before looking back at the picturesque nook in your new residence.

"We need to get some flowers for the vase, huh?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah", you smile over a stifled yawn, pretty and serene, stretching your hand up to your boyfriend. He takes it as cue to pull you up from the ground. His hand remains twined with yours even after you're standing. "Peace lilies. And maybe chrysanthemums for a pop of color?"

Mark finds himself grinning at your hopeful gaze, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Anything you want. We can go first thing in the morning."

He feels his eyes widen when you cross the small distance between you, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, you're the best," you whisper, brushing a few strands of his fringe away from his forehead before you moved away, leaving Mark standing there frozen like a statue. A very red in the face statue.

He thinks you know exactly how to make him weak in the knees.

You stand in the middle of the clustered living room, every inch of space on the floor filled with cardboard boxes and your belongings packed with bubble wrap. "I don't think we can finish this today. Plus, it's getting late. Let's just eat and go to bed, yeah?"

But everything you say goes in one ear and out the other. It's baffling how many times Mark would get stuck in his head over the smallest thing about you.

It's more of a habit he'd developed – or so his friends insist – back when he first met you at orientation on campus.

No, you weren't a wide-eyed freshmen and he wasn't one either. Yet, somehow the friend-of-the-world music major had managed to stumble upon the live art workshop your department had set up.

From then on, it was only ever "Did you see how beautiful her eyes are? It's like the whole galaxy is mapped in them!" or "She's so recklessly kind, dude! Today she ran into traffic to save this one old lady's cat! How much more perfect can she be?"

Mark Lee isn't a stranger to waxing poetics– hell, he does that for a living, writing lyrics with the power to make people laugh out loud, be a metaphorical shoulder for people to cry on, to feel so intensely with just words alone.

But then every syllable fails him when it comes to you, a soul so beyond the realm of letters and alphabets that nothing he could ever scrap together feels enough.

It's like the universe had decided from the very first moment you both locked eyes that this was it for him.

Mark knew it when you waved at him with amusement threaded into your expression from behind the stand you were running and he reciprocated shyly after looking around to make sure at least twenty times that it was indeed him you were waving at.

When Mark asked for your number after finishing a basketball game as state level champions because the adrenaline high of the win and the elation in having spotted you cheering him on as he nailed the deciding shot from halfway across the court turned him into his most confident self — only to be reduced to a stuttering mess when you saved his contact on your phone, blowing him a flying kiss goodbye before walking off alongside your giggling friends.

When his idea of a perfect first date to a fancy rooftop restaurant got rained on, and just when Mark was considering to never show you his face ever again, you both ended up in the backseat of his car on a McDonald's parking lot, talking and laughing and he found out that you were just as much of a rambler as him.

When a houseparty his friend Jaemin was throwing in their new shared apartment landed you on his bed, your lips like a safe haven, searing affection and praises onto his skin. That night Mark had been afraid to so much as go to sleep, scared that he would wake up to an empty room, and perhaps a half-assed note saying if he was a good fuck.

So he had stayed up till the wisps of dawn graced the city, holding you close and kissing your forehead over and over again. When you woke up, you had caught him in his bluff immediately, coming over that afternoon just to make sure he actually slept for more than an hour.

Mark thought love was a frightening emotion, too large for fickle mortal lives, too complex to fully comprehend.

And maybe he wouldn't really ever understand love in it's entirety, but he did see a version of it in you — one that was tailored for him and him only.

Mark knew it especially when after an entire year of flirty back and forths, holding each other through your biggest wins and losses, learning to be so well-versed in each other that it surpassed rationale, he asked you out.

You hadn't been particularly ecstatic, claiming you were going to ask him first but just as quick, your arms coiled around him in a tight embrace under the stars painted across the vast expanse of the universe witnessing that one deserted beach at exactly midnight.

Mark Lee fell in love with your smile but he kept falling over and over again for your heart. A heart that is irrefutably made of gold.

And he knew that if given the chance, he would remind you just how precious you are and how precious whatever it is you share is, over and over again till the sky falls.

It took Mark a while to bring you down from the pedestal he'd put you on, to accept that your love for him is as real as the existence of the world. Perhaps a speck of cosmic dust in the grand scheme of things but, to you, it is life.

That when you said "I want you to try hard, but try hard to be the best self of you. Mark, you're the sweetest, most hard-working person I have ever gotten the chance to know. So, please, don't take him away from me", you had meant every word.

It takes you snapping your fingers in front of his face to bring him out of his thoughts. You stand before him in a baggy t-shirt — one of his that you'd stolen ("permanently borrowed", you'd correct him) saying his detergent smelled better than your own — and your hair an untamed mess. You're the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

"Mark?" You whine again, cradling his face in your palms. "Baby, don't zone out again. Food?"

Huffing a laugh, Mark pulls you towards the kitchen island with a hand around your waist, "I'm here, I promise. Where do you wanna eat?"

You survey the living room that had turned into your temporary storehouse in dismay. "Dinner in bed?"

"Minus the bedframe, you mean?" Mark muses making you wail.

"Oh my God, for the last time, I'm sorry I didn't check the delivery date was so far away. Please forgive me, good sir!"

Mark clicks his tongue in faux contemplation, biting back a smile at your dramatics. "I'll think about it."

Pouting, you help Mark set the pizza boxes down by the matress in the middle of the bedroom floor, dragging him down to sit beside you. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"

"Hmm... A few kisses and maybe something else?" He smirks, wriggling his eyebrows and causing you to smack his chest.

"You're such a man," you hiss and then with a coy look, push him down to lay on his back as your straddle his waist. "Though, that can be arranged," you whisper low and sweet, but right as Mark's hands grip your hips, you roll away towards the food, "After we eat. I'm starving!"

"A minx, that's what you are!" Groaning, Mark drags you back into him, tickling your sides till you are begging to be freed.

Dinner goes on without either of you bothering to put something on the background. The T.V. isn't installed yet and though you have your laptops, the comfortable silence and occasional sparks of conversation are more than welcome.

"You think we were meant to meet?" You ask out of the blue, when the moon is high in the sky. There are empty pizza boxes crushed into the trashcan and two half-empty beer bottles rest by your feet. Your fingers trace mindless patterns on Mark's chest, nuzzling into his side while he leans against the wall as though it's a makeshift headboard. “Like there’s a huge, incomprehensible divine plan that we’re just... following?”

"Yeah," Mark says simply. Though you would loath to admit it, you admire Mark’s easy belief in his own convictions. "I think that people have, like, agency and responsibility and stuff, like – okay, so we met, but me asking for your number after that game, or asking you to move in with me was on me. The big stuff, that’s fate, or the plan, or whatever you wanna call it. But we can still choose where we go from there."

"So me and you — that’s the big stuff?" You ask teasingly, and nudge Mark with your shoulder.

He sputters comically, well-practiced indignation clear on his face, "Shut up, I’m trying to have a philosophical debate here.” But his pink ears betray him, a pretty flush creeping towards his neck.

"I kinda like the idea that it’s all random, though," you say. "Like, if everything’s a coincidence. If everything leading to this moment was just a lucky series of accidents. Don’t you think that makes it special?"

"I guess." Mark looks up at the clear doors leading to the balcony, one of the deciding factors in you settling for this building complex. The stars linger in the night like paint splattered on a dark canvas.

Back in his small shared rental, sitting out on his balcony at 3am smoking with his friends, he could count them on one hand.

The city is a graveyard of these stars, he has learned. Millions of wishes and dreams burdened onto the ones that make it past the blanket of smog just to be seen.

It takes him back to that small secluded beach in Busan, on a fleeting night amongst so many other insignificant ones. Two people, barely learning their place in the word, so utterly wrapped up in each other.

There, away from the glow of 10 million or so human lives, the stars were endless and shining in a way the city never lets them.

"It makes me feel like my life is really worth something," you continue, quieter, "If I’m here by accident, and I’m the product of so many billions of years of accidents. It makes me feel lucky. And it makes me grateful for the chance. To, you know, make something of that."

That night five years ago, maybe you both were different people, not at all the souls that remain in your body today. But if there's one secret of existence Mark had started to figure out, it would be that any version of him that came to be since you crossed paths, each one of them was utterly and irrevocably taken by the versions of you which followed.

And destiny may as well be a glorified lie crafted by people to make sense of this larger than life magnitude of adoration they can hold for another.

But Mark hopes, with everything he has, that destiny has led every variant of you and him across the universe into each others arms. Home.

©DALGOMII, 2024

[cece693]

Cece!!!! drop another fic and my life is yours!!!!!!

I love the joker fic you wrote. I love love love it. Please i humbly request that you maybe write a part 2. I really enjoyed it.

Please and thank you <3

Painted Devotion Pt. 2

pairing: the joker x male reader tags: harley quinn appearance, she's jay's wingwoman, never underestimate a girl's devotion to the crazy clown, kidnapping, forced to admit feelings

You thought you’d heard it all before. The Joker had been oddly insistent the last time you fought—proclaiming in that maddening cackle of his that he loved you. You brushed it off as another of his twisted jokes, something to keep you off-balance in the heat of battle. Heroes don’t fall for their arch-nemeses, right?

After that night, you did what any good, cape-wearing hero would do: you ignored it. Weeks passed. You put more thugs behind bars, broke up a few shady deals, and spent your evenings patrolling the city’s rooftops. Whenever the Joker’s name came up, you responded with the usual calm detachment. If the clown was serious, you reasoned, he’d show up again soon enough.

It turned out you weren’t wrong, but it wasn’t the Joker himself who paid you a visit first.

It all went down late on a Tuesday evening, when the city’s neon lights glowed under a cloudy sky. You jumped from building to building, scanning the streets below for trouble—typical hero business—when a sudden whack against your head turned everything to black.

You came to your senses strapped to a battered office chair in a musty old warehouse. Why were these villains always obsessed with warehouses? Blinking away the starbursts in your vision, you looked up to see the beaming face of Harley Quinn.

“Took ya long enough!” she chirped, tapping a bat against her shoulder. “I was thinkin’ you’d never wake up.”

You winced, testing the ropes around your wrists. “I don’t suppose you’d consider untying me, Harley?”

She only threw her head back in a bright, almost musical laugh. “Aw, you’re adorable—but no. Listen,” she leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I need you to see somethin’. And I know you’re all buddy-buddy with logic and morals and justice, so I figured I’d have to knock you out first to get ya here.”

Before you could protest, she hopped behind the chair and gave it a firm shove. You were forced to roll along the cracked concrete floor, deeper into the warehouse. Doors creaked. Muffled laughter (and maybe a scream or two) echoed down some corridor. Eventually, Harley kicked open a metal door and shoved you inside.

The room was…Well, let’s just say the décor put your most devoted fans’ ‘Wall of Weird’ scrapbooks to shame. You saw your face plastered on almost every surface—pictures from tabloids, newspaper clippings, freeze-frames from TV news. Some were ringed by messy hearts in red marker. A few were dotted with random notes, scrawled in that unmistakable loopy handwriting: “My favorite hero.” “Do-gooder with a spine.” “Ugh, I love to hate him.”

At the center of it all, like some twisted shrine, sat the Joker himself. Except…he looked different. His face was devoid of makeup, pale skin showing stubble along his jawline. The vibrant green hair was half faded, revealing scruffy brownish roots. His clothes were wrinkled and rumpled, like he’d been wearing the same outfit for days (and by the smell, he probably had). He stared blankly at the collage of your photos on the wall, barely acknowledging your entrance.

Your eyes flicked around the room. “What is this?”

Harley prodded the back of your chair again, rolling you closer. “This is our problem, handsome. Mistah J’s been moping around for weeks—weeks!—all ‘cuz you’re treatin’ him like the punchline to a bad joke. No pun intended.”

Still bleary-eyed, you caught the Joker’s gaze. He lifted his head only slightly, half-lidded eyes meeting yours. There was something—dare you say it—sad about him.

“You okay there, Joker?” you ventured, voice hesitant.

“Okay?!” The Joker’s voice cracked in a mockery of his usual mania. “Oh, yes, I’m marvelous, darling. Nothing like heartbreak to add a dash of * zest * to life.” His sarcasm dripped, but the spark in his eye was faded.

Harley sighed, pulling a collapsible chair (because apparently she was prepared) out from the corner and flopping down in front of you. “All right, kiddos, gather ‘round. Therapy time. I’ve been watchin’ Dr. Phil reruns, so I’m basically an expert.” She clapped her hands, then pointed the bat in your direction. “Now, let’s address the big, honkin’ elephant in the room: What’s the deal with you ignorin’ my puddin’ after he confessed his oh-so-genuine feelin’s, hmm?”

Caught off guard, you just stared. “What do you want me to say, Harley? He literally told me in the middle of a fight that he…that he loved me.”

At that, the Joker—still slumped in the makeshift shrine—rolled his eyes. “So that’s what’s got you all twisted, is it? You can’t possibly fathom that the Clown Prince of Crime might have genuine emotions?” He offered a weak, mocking laugh, but it turned into more of a pathetic cough. “Ridiculous.”

You shifted in your chair, still unable to free your wrists from the ropes. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just—didn’t want to engage with…this.” Your eyes flicked around the shrine. “I mean, look at this place.”

Harley tsked, crossing her legs. “Now, that ain’t so nice. Mistah J put a lotta care into it.”

Joker’s mouth twitched, as though a grin was trying to emerge but couldn’t quite make it. “I tried not to, you know. Tried not to let you worm your way into my chaotic heart.” He gave a theatrical sigh. “But there you are every time I close my eyes.”

You felt a flush threaten your cheeks. “Well, you’re not exactly easy to forget either.”

“Aha!” Harley pointed her bat at you triumphantly. “Progress!” She scribbled an imaginary note on her open palm. “You acknowledge you can’t forget Joker. Step one: acceptance of repressed feelings.”

“Harley, stop reading into every single—”

“Shh!” She pressed a finger to her lips, spinning her bat like a pen. “We’re in therapy. No interrupting.”

You groaned but stayed quiet.

“Now.” Harley turned to the Joker. “Mistah J, it seems like your love life’s gotten messy. You can’t keep starin’ at that collage. Gotta talk it out. Go on, say something sweet.”

The Joker gave another drab cough, then locked eyes with you, his voice quiet and oddly sincere. “I meant what I said,” he began. “For all the times we’ve danced our little dance, you’re the only one who’s ever made me second-guess my own madness. I hate it—and I love it, all the same.”

The room felt eerily still. You swallowed, faint warmth creeping into your chest. “You love that I chase you around the city, busting your plans?”

He shrugged. “I love that you bother to. No one else sees me the way you do. You try to understand my next step. You push back. You hold a mirror up to all my chaos.”

“It’s more than that, though,” Harley interjected, not-so-subtly. “Right, Mistah J?” She gave him a pointed look.

The Joker released a long, melodramatic sigh. “Yes, yes. I find you utterly fascinating beyond the usual cat-and-mouse business.” A half-smile tugged at his lips. “And you have those hero’s eyes; bright with idealism. It’s both nauseating and addictively sweet.”

A flicker of genuine sympathy welled up in you, despite your better judgment. “What do you want from me?”

He rose to his feet, standing unsteadily but with some of his old swagger returning. “Just…don’t pretend it never happened. This feeling—whatever it is. If you hate me for it, so be it. But ignoring me completely?” He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “That’s more torture than Arkham’s solitary confinement.”

You glanced at Harley, who was watching with rapt attention, bat propped under her chin like she was enthralled in a rom-com. Then you looked back at the Joker, disheveled and oddly vulnerable in his half-washed face and patchy green hair. With a deep breath, you admitted, “I…can’t ignore you. You’re in my head, too. Maybe not in the same way, but—”

“Oh, hush.” He cut you off with a wave of his hand, yet there was a trace of relief in his voice. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Harley squealed in delight, springing up from her chair. “Then that’s settled, right? You’re gonna stop mopin’, Mistah J, and you—” she pointed to you, “—quit actin’ like none of this is happening.”

She spun around the room, picking up a pair of scissors with a flourish. “Now, the therapy rules say if a hostage is no longer needed, I free ‘em.” She winked, then came over to snip the ropes at your wrists. “Ta-da! You two can figure out the rest yourselves.”

With your wrists free, you stood, rubbing the raw lines where the rope had been. Harley strolled off, humming some jaunty tune, leaving you and the Joker alone in the messy hideout. An awkward silence fell between you. Then the Joker nudged a stray newspaper clipping—one featuring a huge, front-page photo of you—underneath a loose pile to hide it.

You met his eyes. They still had that glint of madness, but a note of exhaustion, too. “Listen, Joker,” you started softly. “I’m not saying everything’s changed, just because—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, though his voice was calmer than usual. “Don’t try to define it. It’s not a fairy tale. It’s just…us.”

“…Right,” you said. “But maybe we could handle it better than, you know, kidnapping, murder, property damage, etc.”

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “We’ll see. Old habits die hard.”

Before you could formulate a witty retort, he leaned in, surprising you with a swift, almost gentle press of his lips against yours. The sensation was oddly quiet, lacking the usual theatrical flourish you associated with him. Just a moment, then gone.

His grin returned—small, but unmistakably the Joker. “Consider that my official invitation not to ignore me next time.”

Your cheeks flared hot, but you managed a smirk. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

And with that, he stepped aside, allowing you a path to the door. There might have been a million unresolved questions swirling in your head—where do we go from here? Is this a trick? Am I supposed to arrest him now?—but in that instant, you simply took a shaky breath and turned away.

You left the hideout feeling strangely lighter. You still had your duty, and he still had his mania, but at least the air between you wasn’t suffocating with unspoken truths. And behind you, in that dingy warehouse, you knew he was probably already painting his face with renewed gusto—maybe even re-dying his hair that trademark green.

[spooky-bunnys]

Title: The Fire Daredevil PART 1

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Pairing: Shinichiro x M.Reader

Warnings/Notes: The first part of this was written by my friend @caffine-goth-moth, and I'm writing this small series for his graduation present since I can't do anything else for him.

In the Sano household everyone is waking up to the sound of running, cleaning bottles being squirt on every surface, window wiping and brooms being swept on every floor.

Mikey being the one who loves to sleep, is annoyed and wakes up to see his older brother Shinichiro cleaning the entire house like a mad man, he’s covered in sweat, and desperation.

“Dude it’s 5 in the morning why are you up….and acting like a germaphobe?” Shinichiro who has a feather duster in his mouth, cleaning a window with one hand and scrubbing the floor with his foot stops and looks at Mikey and muffles something, “what?” Mikey is just staring at Shinichiro more confused than before.

Shinichiro who spits out the feather duster “my boyfriend is coming over I gotta make sure the house is spotless” he resumes to cleaning.

Everyone else is awake to the cleaning noise, Grandpa sano who was busy doing his crossword puzzle, rolls up the newspaper and whacks Shinichiro over the head “damn you Shinichiro your siblings and friends are trying to sleep, I’m trying to do my crossword puzzle."

Shinichiro covers his head to avoid getting hit, “okay okay I’m sorry it’s just I really want to make a good impression on my boyfriend he’s coming over and I can’t mess it up?”

“You have a boyfriend?!” Said Emma

Benkei (the only one with logic) who is looking soo confused “your boyfriend shouldn’t worry if the house is clean, you just have to make sure it isn’t messy….like your room."

Shinichiro then gasp realizing his room isn’t clean, he carries every cleaning supplies he has, and runs to his room.

Everyone just sighs and shakes his head, then they hear the doorbell ring.

Grandpa sano opens the door, (Name) who is dressed in his daredevil jacket uniform bows to grandpa sano in respect “good morning is Shinichiro sano here?”

Before grandpa sano can respond, everyone is greeted with Mikey, draken and baji screaming and yelling “IT’S (NAME) (LAST NAME) AKA THE FIRE DAREDEVIL!”

The screaming cause Shinichiro who was still cleaning to drop everything and running thinking Mikey and the others got here “I’M HERE WHOS HURT?”

(Name) immediately gasps and throws himself in Shinichiro's arms. "BABE! I'VE MISSES YOU!" The others could only watch frozen as Shinichiro soaked in the kisses given to him.

The first one to move was Mikey who almost completely jumped onto the couple if not for Draken who grabbed his gang leader just in time. Shinichiro smiled widely, loving the affection being given to him. "(Name)! I knew you'd be here early but I didn't think you'd be here until at least 6 or 7! Its not even 5:30 in the morning!"

(Name) smiled sheepishly and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "Well I remember you saying you wish you could come to my race one day. So I got my old man to invite you and your family to my race today!" Before Shinichiro could politely refuse, he was interrupted by his little brother and friends.

"Holy shit! Mikey you're brother is dating THE (NAME)! THE FIRE DAREDEVIL IS DATING YOUR BROTHER!" Baji roughly shook the once again frozen Mikey. Draken's jaw was on the floor again. "Y-You're inviting us to your race! Holy-" Draken joined in on shaking Mikey.

Benkei who had started to feel bad for the younger Sano male pulled him away. "Listen guys. He said Shin and his family. Not family and friends. So we wouldn't be able to join them anyways." The other two males sulk while Mikey breaking out of his thoughts cheered.

(Name) had turned towards the commotion and tilts his head. "You guys can come too. I don't have much family besides my dad and cousin. So my sponsor box is usually quite empty. But if you guys want to go to my race we'll need to head out now!"

Shinichiro couldn't get a say in anything because afyer that (Name) was ripped out of his arms by excited teenagers and even his own friends. As (Name) was dragged out by the teens and his overly excited grandfather. Benkei patted his back. "I just texted Wakasa and Takeomi. They'll be meeting us there." Shinichiro groaned loudly.

[bruciemilf]

wait I have got to hear your thoughts on bruce being lottie!!

Rewatching Princess and The Frog has got me in a chokehold! But basically, the AU as of now;

It's a well established, well know, well respected fact from the White House to the Bayou; If you ain't Wayne rich, you ain't rich at all.

But you won't catch Thomas Wayne bragging and boosting and yapping about hot cars, or big mansions, or pearly white yachts.

Thomas' pride and joy is one tiny, fawn eyed, overly energetic boy that made Gotham collectively swoon.

"And I want a princess when I grows up!" Bruce is just prancing around in his pink prince costume, adjusting a paper crown that Alfred made, " Or a prince! Can you get me a prince, papa?"

"You know the deal, Bruce; You wish it, daddy grands it; Ain't that right, Martha?"

Martha Kent chuckles in that warm, knowing way of hers. Her friend is infamous for the way he spoils his boy. But the Waynes are good people. And not just because they keep her farm afloat.

"Yeah, you're good on that front. But you know, sweetheart; It doesn't matter if you marry a prince or princess. As long as they make you smile, that's all that matters."

Lois, just a bit older than Bruce, makes a disgusted noise, " I don't want no prince or princess. I just want Princess money."

Bruce squeals, " But a PRINCE. I'd love to marry a Prince. We'd have a big big wedding and the sweetest cake in the world, and everyone would have fun, -- Clark! You gonna be at my wedding, right?"

Clark, dressed up in his blue overalls and paper sword, to fit the knight Bruce always calls him, nods, with a smile that doesn't match his words, " Course I will, Bruce. If you'll have me."

Now. Bruce is so very good at forging fantasies. But when a princess from a far away island rumoured to be populated entirely by women comes into town, it doesn't look like make believe at all.

"Women only? Lucky."

Lois doesn't have the time for dreams; She's a bonafide, concise, straight to the point realist. Taking truth by the throat and brings it to light.

And often enough, truth isn't pretty. And ugly truth, as Parry said, right before booting her right out of her job, doesn't sell.

Luckily, Clark's folks were nice enough to give her a delivery job cause Clark can't drive worth a damn. Still. If she's gonna watch him contain another dreamy sigh for Bruce, she'll blow chunks.

"Did you see her in them papers?! That's the prettiest woman I ever did see!"

Mr. Wayne growls behind his newspaper (that Lois could've written better than fucking JIMMY) and Bruce doubles down, " Um. After mama."

Mr Thomas smiles. "Hm. Guess you're finally getting that princess, huh, Brucie?"

Even in adulthood, Bruce squeals like a strangled kitten, " Where's Clark? Can't have the perfect wedding without the perfect best man!" Lois bites her lip and stacks up the peaches in Mrs. Wayne's Cafe.

After all these years, she just refuses to let that old place go. Lois has to respect that. Martha gives her a sympathetic look, warms her up with a mother's love. " How's work, Lo?"

"It's work, Mrs. Wayne. Thank you for that big order for the masquerade ball. At this point, you're the only ones keeping that farm alive..."

"Give those apples some credit," she winks, but squeezes Lois' hand, " If you ever need anything..."

"Thank you. But I don't take handouts."

"Pride won't buy you food, honey. But I guess I gotta wait for you to open your own newspaper. Then I'll make you rich. You'll see."

Bruce is just hugging and squeezing on Clark's arm, ranting a mile a minute about his wedding colors, his cake flavor, the honeymoon, all while nuzzling Clark's toned arm.

And Clark does what he does best; Hide behind a smile.

Alfred sighs, " If he wasn't mine, I'd whack that boy's head with a pan."

"You'll do no such thing, or so help me!"

"Save it for the after party, Tommy dear," Martha chuckles, " But I gotta understand, -- this Diana lady's making waves. I never even seen a woman talk to the mayor before. Let alone yell at 'Im."

"That's cause Tommy Elliot only wants women under his desk," A roll of the eye, a coil of disgust fanning resentment In her gut, Lois takes the box. "Sides, little miss princess probably ain't better than he is. "

The problem with always looking back is you're never ready for the forward.

When Lois bumps up in something tall, solid, and warm, she thinks its Clark. Except neither she or Clark smell like vanilla ice cream and clean air and blue oceans.

Clark certainly doesn't have long, majestic hair gracefully dancing in the winds. He doesn't have blood red lips, or strong blue eyes.

Clark's eyes were summer sky blue. Not a blue Medusa herself couldn't stone.

And he certainly doesn't make her heart stop with a smirk.

"Well," Diana Fucking Prince says, voice satin and velvet, "I don't know about being a better. But I could change your mind about that."

[bruh-changbin]

patience is a virtue (teaser)

part 3 of invasion of privacy series

pairing: lee heeseung x afab roommate!reader

genre: smut, angst (minors dni)

word count: 7k

synopsis: third and final installment of loser roommate heeseung series. read part 1 here. read part 2 here. 

posting: august 2-4

taglist is open

order confirmed. you will be updated when your food is en route for delivery.

as if on cue, heeseung’s stomach lets out a cavernous growl. he pats it comfortingly as if to say ‘it’s ok, soon you’ll be filled to the brim with an ice cold baja blast and 2 crunch wrap supremes. just hold on a little longer.’

nothing quite like eating away all of your sorrows.

it’s easy to forget how pivotal a kitchen is in one’s everyday life until it’s stripped away from you like a baby from its mother. ok, maybe not stripped away. more like consciously avoiding it to make sure that you don’t have an awkward run in with your roommate who performed oral sex on you several days ago and is now sending you mixed signals. the thought of having to hold an actual conversation with you makes heeseungs skin crawl. 

he’s been successfully avoiding you for 4 days now, ensuring that he only leaves his room when absolutely necessary - and only doing so when he’s positive that you’re in your room or out of the house. before exiting his bedroom he spends minutes with his ear pressed up to his flimsy bedroom door, making sure the coast is clear before making a break for it.

one may think he’s being extra. just talk to her for crying out loud! but heeseung has managed to convince himself that you think he’s bottom of the barrel scum; the last piece of bread that always gets tossed; the mosquito on your wall that you whack with a rolled up newspaper as soon as you see it.

trash! 

and so, he spends his days rotting away in his bedroom, his mattress now donning a permanent indent of the shape of his body; his trash can overflowing with wrappers from taco bell and mcdonalds; his laptop struggling to keep up with all of the mind-numbing streaming of shitty television he’s been doing. 

one time he gave into his hopeless romantic side and watched the notebook but it made him cry so hard he woke up with a migraine. now, he sticks to scrolling through tik tok and watching reruns of below deck sailing yacht and survivor. 

he can feel his eyes starting to get heavy when a vibration from his phone jolts him back to reality, scrambling to find the device that he so mindlessly tossed underneath his comforter. his fingers finally come in contact with it, and he peers at the lit-up screen.

your food has been delivered. receipt/tip available.

yes! it feels as if his stomach has been quite literally eating itself for the past half hour, so heeseung leaps up at the prospect of soon having food in his belly. in fact he’s so excited at the idea of his taco bell order waiting for him that the thought of doing his ritualistic check to make sure he won’t have a run-in with you completely slips his mind.

so, when he swings open his door and bolts down the hallway, head filled with nothing but thoughts of chowing down on a tortilla filled with meat, lettuce and cheese, his heart practically falls to his stomach when instead he almost literally runs into you. you, holding a glass of water with your eyes wide like a fawn, taking in heeseungs dishevelled appearance after not seeing him for over half a week. 

shit. 

[fox-bright]

Me: *One SINGLE sex scene away from finally posting the rest of that Mass Effect fic I've had chapter-one'd over at AO3 for literally three years*

That Imp, Inspiration: "What if Shepard got telepathy from the prothean artifact?"

Me: "Stop it."

Imp: "And what if like it came on slow, she just felt things during ME1, and Liara knew something was up but thought it was just prothean stuff, and meeting Sovereign made it worse, and then meeting Vigil, and then what if at the beginning of ME2 she could hear the Collectors coming?"

Me: *spraying vigorously with the No-bottle*

Imp, moist and uncaring: "And then when she comes to, she can start to like. Hear the people around her, but only a little? So she knows it's Garrus, she can tell and doesn't know how she can tell, and--

Me: *rolling up newspaper*

Imp: --and then she meets Thane, right, and she knows where he is in the ceiling because she can feel him, and he's really unnerved that she can look right at him through the vents, and she hires him but he's used to killing asari and when she sort of twings him, accidentally, unthinkingly, just trying to feel him out, what if his long-trained mental barriers just come up and THUMP her, and her brain just fills up with drell children's songs and poetry and rhythm prayers and math to drown out any sense she could get from his brain in just this total noise and--

Me: *swinging* Imp: *dodging* "--and then Thane is super apologetic, and she opens up to him, and they have to find Samara to try to help her navigate this ability she shouldn't have but it's not like asari telepathy, and then she has a nightmare and Thane can hear her and he goes running up to wake her and it's not a nightmare, it's that she can hear the Reapers coming, she can hear them singing to each other and what if they can tell that she's like them but somehow she can't be indoctrinated, and now that she knows what indoctrination tastes like she can teach it to Samara, and then the asari homeworld won't fall because they can teach it to ALL the asari of matriarch skill and what if maybe they can even fix it--"

Me: *WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK STOMP*

Imp: ...

Me: "ONE SINGLE SEX SCENE. That's all. I can write whatever you want after I finally get that ending chapter fucking posted."

Imp: "And then it turns out that--"

Me: *wailing*

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 18: Hunting

Day 18! And using a substitue prompt just because I thought that it would be easier at first and then it most definitely was not easier. This one is kinda wonky, but I didn't really know how to fix it so, meh. Here it is! Also movie-verse because yes even though there's a lot less of it in this batch than there was in the last one.

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @ghostwalloper @toastingpencils37 @lightning-chicken

Words: 2.4k

He didn’t know why he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, but he could already tell that it was going to be a bad day.

Jay didn’t realize how much he had been running his hands through his hair until he started to get dressed for school, and he flinched from the whiplash of feeling the softness of his hair to the grossest sweater known to mankind. Suppressing the inner urge to gag, Jay ran his hand along everything hanging in his closet, finally finding a shirt that didn’t make him want to jump into the ocean. Putting it on made him cringe, and he whipped around when he felt eyes staring at him from the open closet door.

But there was nothing there.

It was going to be one of those days.

Anxiety was something that he somehow coped with every day and yet could never quite overcome. He was tense as he ate his breakfast, waiting for his pa to whack him with his newspaper or his mom to take away his cereal or someone else to come breaking through the window or for Garmadon to attack—

“Kiddo?” Pa said, putting down his paper. Jay flinched when a hand landed on his back, and Pa pulled his hand away. “Is something wrong?”

“Bad day,” Jay said softly, shoving his cereal away and laying his head on his crossed arms. Guilt flooded his stomach and made him feel sick, and he wanted his pa’s hand back.

Ma looked up from where she was washing the dishes, a worried frown on her face. “Are you sure that you should go to school today, honey?”

Even if his anxiety made him feel like he was being hunted for sport, the thought of staying home and being alone made him feel even worse. “I’m sure. I’ll be okay, Ma.”

“Is touch okay?” Pa asked, and Jay picked his head up.

“Yeah, Pa. Can I have a hug, please?”

“Of course, kiddo,” and Jay finally relaxed when he felt his father’s strong arms surround him, warm and solid and smelling of the motor oil that never failed to make him feel safe. Pa squeezed, and Jay got out of his chair to give his dad a proper hug. He was almost as tall as Pa, the perfect height to rest his head on his dad’s shoulder, feeling the soft flannel under his cheek. “Is that better?”

“Better,” Jay confirmed, wishing that he could just stay like this for the rest of the day, but his dad did still have to go to work. “I think I missed the bus, though.”

“That’s alright,” Ma reassured, her voice washing over him like honey, “I’ll take you today, since Ed’s gotta get to work early. Are you all ready to go?”

Jay picked up his backpack after breaking off the hug, turning around to face his mom. “I’m ready!”

The drive to school put him more at ease, even though nobody texted him back when he dropped a message in the groupchat saying that he would be late. Normally Zane would be the first one to text back, scarily fast for someone who insisted that everyone put their phones away during class, but even he was silent. Jay chewed on his lip for a while, trying to let his mom’s reassurances help him feel better. Maybe they just got their phones taken away, or they were doing something super important in class. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Gently taking his hands from where they had been worrying at the hem of his shirt, Ma kissed his forehead. “Have a good day at school, dear. Remember to call me or your dad if you need to get picked up early.”

“I will, Ma,” he promised, even though he had no intention of burdening his parents like that. And just like that, watching their car pull away from the school and back down the road, all of the pent-up feelings inside of him burst like a balloon.

There was nothing to protect him out here, and he clutched his orange scarf as he walked down the hall to the secretary’s office. Normally the object would’ve brought him some sense of comfort, but now it only made him more nervous, feeling like someone was going to pop out and take it from him. He didn’t have his friends there to protect him; if he was jumped, then he was fucked.

Shadows seemed to stretch from the floor to the ceiling despite the morning sun, and he flinched every time he heard the squeak of a locker or footsteps in another hall. He kept his head down, feeling the tingle indicating that people were staring as he walked past. Focusing on the floor tiles didn’t help the impending nausea, and Jay focused on the rhythm of his footsteps to keep from vomiting all over the hallway. First period was just letting out, the cacophony of voices and shoes squeaking grating on his ears, and Jay hurried to make it to the office as fast as he could.

“I’m here,” he said as he entered the room, and the secretary looked at him with such a scathing look that Jay flinched back. “I-I know I’m late—”

“Mr. Walker,” she said harshly, and Jay felt the pit in his stomach grow even wider, “what is your excuse this time?”

“I missed the bus—”

She waved him off and handed him the late note, which he quickly took before scurrying away. Some of the other kids were snickering in his direction and he flushed, making a beeline for his locker down the next hall.

To his relief, everyone else was already standing there, chatting away like they didn’t even notice he was gone. Jay’s heart sank and he visibly wilted as he approached, not noticing the footsteps following along behind him change as a person hid in the other hallway: out of sight, out of mind.

Cole greeted him as he walked up, turning away from Kai and pulling his headphones down. The gesture made Jay feel a little better, and he thanked Cole quietly as the older boy went ahead and opened Jay’s locker for him. He leaned into Cole’s side as he rearranged his books, taking the stuff out of his bag and putting it in its proper place. It was calming, and his hands rejoiced at finally having something to do other than picking at the loose threads in his sleeves.

His lack of talking didn’t go unnoticed for very long. “Are you alright?” Cole asked, raising an eyebrow at Jay’s shrug. Jay didn’t really feel like talking, but he didn’t want to leave Cole waiting for an answer either.

“Did you see my text?” he asked, and Cole fished out his phone to check. So he hadn’t. Jay didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him had been hoping that Cole had read the text, had been mulling Jay’s absence over in the back of his mind and feeling sad that he wasn’t there.

Was Jay a terrible person for thinking that? Probably.

“Jay!” Nya exclaimed, rushing over to wrap him in a big hug. “We missed you! What happened?”

“H-Hey Nya,” he stammered, blushing as he returned her hug. “I just woke up late and missed the bus, that’s all.”

He must’ve not been doing a good job at hiding his anxiety, because Nya pulled back and looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re okay? I saw your text, and it’s not like you to be late.”

“I’m sure,” he lied, swallowing thickly and pushing his anxiety down as far as he could. She couldn’t know how antsy he was feeling, how deep the pit in his stomach was when he thought about how his absence hadn’t affected them in the slightest. “How was first period?”

And that was that. She walked with him to biology, bidding the others a quick goodbye that Jay quickly replicated before catching up to her. For someone who was a good five inches smaller than him, Nya had a very wide stride. He listened as she talked about her math class, describing the inverse functions and graphing equations they had to learn about, her tone as excited as it could get when it was describing her least favorite subject.

“I think I’m going to struggle with this unit,” she sighed, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Jay wanted to do it for her. “Which, you know, I know I struggle with all of them, but I think this one is going to give me a run for my money.”

“Do you want me to help?” Jay asked; he was already in an accelerated math class, so he was pretty sure he could handle whatever she threw at him.

Neither of them turned around to see the figures trailing behind them in the shadows, too caught up in paying attention to each other.

Until Jay felt the eyes on the back of his head again.

Hairs rose along the back of his neck as he whipped around, staring down the hall and taking in every available detail. It felt like someone had electrified his senses, and his eyes zeroed in on a leg disappearing around the corner. Someone was there, following them. And it wasn’t one of the guys.

Now that he was paying attention, this hallway was oddly desered for nine in the morning. Where was everybody?

“...and I’m sure that you would be a great tutor,” Nya was saying, stopping when she noticed that he had stopped walking. Turning to look at him, she raised an eyebrow at the way his face tightened with worry, pivoting on his heel and walking down the hall. 

“Keep walking,” he hissed, and she did so, even though Jay always made sure to keep his footsteps a beat behind hers.

Concentrating, Jay ignored the way she shot worried looks back at him, only focused on noticing anything behind them. Just as he thought, there were footsteps, multiple sets of them and hard and heavy against the tile. He should’ve noticed them before. Someone was hunting them.

Eyes widening, Nya finally saw the people behind them, while Jay doggedly kept his eyes looking straight ahead as he pulled out his phone. Quickly dialling Cole’s number, his anxiety started spiking, oscillating back and forth like an out-of-control metronome. The mental school map floated around in his head, and Jay traced around the routes until he found one that should lead them back closer to the crowds. Biology could wait until he was sure that Nya was safe.

Honestly, Nya was not the one that needed protecting here, but that was beside the point.

“Left,” he whispered, already making the turn and slowing so Nya could catch up. They both sped up, Nya having long given up on trying to ask him any questions, and Jay’s heart stopped beating when they walked straight into a dead end.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit—

“What do we have here?” said a voice behind them, and both of them whirled around to see Chen the Cheerleader standing in all of his pompish glory. Two lackeys flanked him on either side, devilish grins on thier faces as they snarled; they were wolves hungry for their next meal.

Jay instinctively threw his hand out in front of Nya, even though the limb was trembling. “What do you want, Chen?”

Said boy snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know, junkyard boy?”

“You better scram before I rearrange your face, Chen,” Nya growled, pushing against Jay’s arm to try and get past him. Jay locked his arm, determined to keep her back, but unfortunately that just left him wide open to an attack from the front.

A baseball bat collided straight with his head, making his vision go dark as he collapsed onto the ground. Nya tried to catch him before he hit the ground, but his sleeve slipped through her grasp and his head was crashing into the tile. Disoriented, he laid there on the ground and tried to get his bearings, but that was hard with a blossoming pain on the side of his head and the trickle of warm blood making its way down his temple.

The bullies were gone; they must’ve gotten spooked after seeing him go down like a sack of bricks. Nya was tilting his head up, and the anxiety that he had been bottling finally spilled over the edge as his eyes failed to focus on her face. Her touch was gentle as she helped him to sit up, looking over him and trying to find the spot where the bat had gotten him.

“I lied,” he gasped, clutching at her arm, “I lied, I’m not okay, I’m not okay and I’m sad and I can’t breathe and you guys didn’t miss me and I want to go home—”

“Jay,” she said quietly, closing his mouth with a soft click with a finger under his chin. Tears started to go down his cheeks as his chest constricted with emotion, and he hated the way his lip started wobbling, “you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m gonna call your parents to come and get you, but until they get here we’re just gonna stay right here on the floor.”

“B-But what about your class?”

“You’re more important than class,” she said, “besides, you already know that I would take hanging out with you over going to biology any day.”

“I’m sorry for lying,” and Jay was surprised to see Nya smiling at him, because normally she didn’t tolerate liars under any circumstances. Maybe he was a special one.

“Honey, I could already tell,” Nya said, and Jay felt his heart sink, “I just didn’t say anything because I figured if you wanted me to know, you would’ve told me. I know enough about you to tell when you’re upset.”

“So you’re not upset?”

Nya sighed, and Jay missed the warmth of her hand when she pulled it away. “I’m not upset. I wish you would’ve told me, but I’m not upset. Now, did you say you would be willing to tutor me in math, or do I need to ask Zane?”

He chuckled. “I can do that, I think, as long as you don’t mind stopping for milkshakes afterwards.”

It didn’t even occur to him until much later that he had just asked her on something similar to a date.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Sixteen

We talk for hours and hours as the light creeps across the floorboards and the sky takes on a lavender hue. Jude makes me laugh so much that my face hurts from it, and I’m hesitant to move, to get up to use the bathroom or to grab a glass of water in case I shift the vibe and he starts thinking about leaving, because I could sit here forever more and have him talk to me. 

My stomach ruins it in the end, by growling loud and long, and I clamp my hands over it as he raises his eyebrows. “Hungry?”

“We never had lunch.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we should get going.”

“Back to Dublin?”

“Unless you feel like eating the stale rice cakes in the kitchen cupboard.”

I would, if it meant I could stay, but saying things like that would make me seem far more desperate than I’d like to appear. 

“So what do you think, do you want to hit the road, or…” He trails off, leaving me with the impression that he has another option in mind. I raise my eyebrows. “Or?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” he says, drumming his fingers idly on his knee. “It’s just that it’s five now, and even when we leave we won’t be home until seven, and by then I’ll be much hungrier than I am now…”

“Yes and we can’t have that.”

“Right! You know how I get. I mean, we could always stop on the way and get a sad, miserable bag of chips from some dive by the side of the road.”

“Oh, miserable.” I echo.

“Or, you know, if you’re at all up for it I was thinking we could go and get something now, and then go back to Dublin after that.”

I rest my head on my fist and grin at him. “Had you a place in mind?”

“There’s this seafood restaurant that I used to go to with my parents every Friday night during our summers here, it’s not too far, maybe a half hour drive…”

“It’s nice?”

“Oh my God, Evie, like, so nice. You have to try it. Have you eaten lobster before?”

“Is that a joke?”

“No.”

I feel like I should bat him upside the head, but I restrain myself. “Of course I haven’t eaten lobster before. Are you cracked? I’m from a council estate.”

A smile splits across his face as he shrugs. “Well then it’s even more reason to try it, isn’t it.” I open my mouth, but he already knows what I’m going to say. “My treat.” He says. “All of it. I’m the reason we’re here anyway, and we’re celebrating… this house not being flattened by the storm.”  

“Yes, what a good reason.” 

“So what do you think?”

I squint at him. “Is this a date? Are you asking me to go on a date with you?”

He pretends to be surprised. “Well I never thought about it like that. Is that something you’d ever want to do?”

“Do you know how goofy you are? Just ask me.”

“How about a date, Evie? Let me take you to dinner. Whaddia say?” 

I roll my eyes and whack him in the bicep. “Obviously, you dope.”

We park the car by a trinket shop that overlooks a small spit of a beach, strewn with ribbons of slimy seaweed. In this little fishing village of whitewashed walls and thatched roofs, we are butted up right up against the south coast, overlooking the stretch of green, choppy water where the Irish Sea kisses the Atlantic. The wind is salty and crisp, and whips my hair away across my face and into my mouth and eyes so ferociously that I have to battle it out of my face. Jude takes me by the hand to guide me across the road, and I pretend that I’m too preoccupied with the hair in my mouth to notice, because if I think about the fact that we’re holding hands too hard I might start freaking out about it.

The seafood restaurant is a solid old building with the air of something that’s stood proud on this quay for decades. We duck inside its wooden panelled walls and I’m enveloped in the warm glow of a fire that blazes in the corner. The walls are stuffed with fishing paraphernalia, and faded buoys old nets drape from the ceiling. The final dregs of the evening sun passes through the lobster tank as our hostess leads us right past it and to our seat in a cosy corner beneath a display of old black and white photographs, newspaper clippings of this very restaurant, looking the very same as it does now over fifty years ago.

“Don’t look at the prices.” Jude warns me as we open our menus. “They’re irrelevant.”

“Well even if I wanted to, there’s no price on the lobster.” I comment, and he tells me it’s because they charge you based on the weight, but I think that even a ballpark estimate would have been useful. How are you supposed to know? But then again, maybe people who eat things like lobster just instinctively know what it’s worth. 

In the end I don’t risk it, it’d feel unfair to Jude’s wallet, so I order crab instead. He, however, decides on lobster, and when they bring one out on a silver tray to see if he wants it, and when I realise it’s still moving, I feel like I could jump out of my skin. 

“It’s fucked up that they’re going to go back to the kitchen and boil him alive.” I hiss across the table once they’ve taken it away, and Jude pulls a face. “Usually they stab it before throwing it in.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t think about it in those terms. They killed your crabs too. It’s just the nature of preparing meat.”

“I’m not taking a bite.” I declare, which is a lie, because forty minutes later when they bring out our food the first thing Jude does is hold a generous forkful of it to me and it looks and smells so delicious that I don’t even hesitate. He watches my expression carefully as though his ego depends on my enjoyment of this particular crustacean. 

“It’s very nice.” I concede. “But not as nice as it should be, considering the way things had to end for him.”

“If they sold me for food at 30 euros a pound I probably wouldn’t be that mad about it, honestly.” He says. 

“Thirty euros a pound?” I echo in shock. “That’s what it costs?”

“I can’t tell if you expected it to be more or less than that.”

“Well I don’t know.” I splutter. “Either way it’s becoming clear to me that eating lobster is completely egregious.”

“Yeah totally.” He says, and lazily feeds me another forkful while his ankles brush against mine with intention beneath the table in a way that’s outrageously flirtatious. “How is your crab?”

“Very nice.” I say guiltily. “But I’m sure the crab hasn’t suffered like the lobster.”

“You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel any better. Would you like wine?”

“Are you going to to drink some?”

“A little.”

“I’m trying not to drink that much.” I say. “I think I have a really bad relationship with alcohol.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, sometimes when I drink I think about my father, and the slippery slope that leads to the point that he’s at. I don’t want that to be me.”

“It doesn’t have to be you, you’re not the same as him.”

I shrug. “I suppose that’s true, I just don’t think I’ve ever had a normal relationship with drinking.”

“How so?”

“You know how in Spain and Italy and stuff, they buy these little dinky glasses of beer and sit out drinking them with dinner, sipping away and enjoying them for an hour or so, never with the intention of getting drunk, but just to enjoy the flavour?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well I can’t relate to that. In my head alcohol has one purpose, and it’s to make me stop thinking about the things in my life that are bad, the things I don’t want to think about anymore, just for a few hours. It’s never just one. It’s four. At least, and then probably more, and once I get to that point it’s like, if someone starts buying rounds, or shots I just can’t stop myself.”

“Hm.” He says, and pushes his food around with his fork. “I get what you mean. I think that’s common.”

“It’s common but it’s not normal.”

“Yeah, maybe it isn’t, but you’ve told me before about how you used to go drinking in fields with your friends as a young teenager. I wonder if those early experiences shape your relationship with alcohol, you know, if your introduction to it is in that environment, where you just want to get as drunk as possible because everyone says it’s fun, it can be hard to shake those patterns.”

“Yeah maybe.”

“That’s another thing you have to thank Kelly for, I suppose.”

I frown. “Kelly?”

“Yeah, I mean, isn’t she the one that pressured you into all of those things early on? You said she was always making you do things you didn’t want to, like, kissing those horrible boys at the discos or getting into pubs with fake IDs.”

“Oh. Yeah she was, but the alcohol thing was me.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Yeah?”

“Sure I was the one with a house full of it. My dad had so much lying around that he wouldn’t even notice it going missing. I was the first one to try it, to bring it out and make everyone else have it too.”

“Oh. I didn’t think that.”

“It doesn’t seem that way, does it?”

“It really doesn’t.”

“I’m a complicated woman, Jude.” I wink. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Yet.” He says with emphasis. “I’ll crack that head open and get it all out of you eventually.”

I grin, and go back to my food, not really sure how much of myself, the insides of my head I’ll ever be ready to share with him or anybody else. 

We leave the restaurant with full bellies a couple of hours later, and it’s dark now, and so cold, but with Jude I feel as though I’m enveloped in a warm, orange glow. He takes my hand on the way back to the car, and he’s not nervous, so neither am I, and it feels normal and right and easy. I lean into his shoulder and hold my free hand over my stomach. 

“I think maybe dessert was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t.”

“For you maybe.”

“I’d probably never call cheesecake a mistake.”

“Oof.” I say, and I lean against the bonnet of the car as I wait for him to unlock it. “I’m really not looking forward to this journey home.”

“Yeah, well too bad. We have to go.” A pause. “We should go, right?”

I look over at him as he spins the keys indecisively around his finger and I can’t help but smile. “Yes, we probably should.”

“Unless…”

“I mean, we don’t have to if we don’t want to.”

He looks a bit relieved that I’ve said it. “No.” He admits. “Can I be honest about that? I don’t want to go home.”

“Then let’s not go.” 

“You don’t need to?”

“Actually not at all. It kind of feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist when I’m out here, and I wouldn’t mind keeping it that way for a while.”

“Yeah, exactly. I kind of want to stay away from things for a while. We can go in a few hours, don’t you think?” 

“Well I don’t mind, as long as you don’t mind driving when it’s late.”

“Luckily I don’t.”

“Let’s get back to the beach anyway, things are closing up around here.” I peer around us at shuttered gift shops, the owner of the fruit and vegetable stall on the corner bringing his crates inside. “Maybe it’s more lively there.”

“Lively is never a word I’d use to describe that village, but I think I might know somewhere we can go for a while.”

“Sounds good.”

“Let’s keep this party going.” He grins, and when I’m settled into the passenger seat behind him and he has the heat blasting over our cold skin, I tap out a message to Claire. 

Not coming home for a few hours. Don’t wait up xx

Omg Evie! Stay safe, girly. I mean it literally. This is why I keep telling you to go on the pill. 

It’s not like that! Don’t worry. 

Even though it potentially is like that. I’m not fully sure, honestly, but I try not to worry about it as we leave behind the street lamps of the tiny fishing village and coast onto pitch dark country roads. Jude feels me staring at him, and the way that the dashboard tosses a soft blue glow over his face. His mouth ticks up at the corner. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all. Zero.”

“Fair enough.” He switches on the radio, I rest my head against the glass, and watch hedges and trees, grass and ditches light up and disappear under the headlights all the way back to the beach. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[akwolfgrl]

Good luck, babe

Day 6 jealously/ flirting vivi x koza & ex Nami x vivi

@oprarepairweek

The worst day of Namis life, after the day her mother died, started out just the same as any other day on the Sunny.

Nami paid the news coo as she took the paper. It was rather thick this afternoon, she had been hoping for something inserting, maybe a bit of gossip or new bounty poster updates. Something to distract her from her worries, it had been two whole months since vivis last perfume soaked letter. She opened up the paper and there on the front cover was her Vivi, all done up in her regail fitting for the queen she was, she had a bright smile upon her face. Nami might have to cut it out to add to the plie of love letters. She hoped that Vivi would send her a new one soon. The other womens perfume had mostly faded away and how Nami ached to smell the women she loved once again. Right next to her was Koza, Nami might have liked Koza at one point but the way Vivi went on about him in her letters made Nami grow resentful and jealous of the man. He got to be next Vivi, he got to see her beautiful smile, her long blue hair, her big brown eyes, he got to be with the women Nami loved every single day.

“Queen Nefertari Vivi and her new Prince consort Koza, a royal wedding for the ages!” Nami read out loud in shock. “Pictures of the beautiful royal wedding inside,”

The newspaper edges crumpled in her hands. This could be happening! Nami flipped the paper hunting down the wedding photos, her heart shatting in her chest. They looked good together, he had even taken off his stupid glasses, that should be her next to Vivi! Her cheeks were wet as her tears flowed freely. Oh how could Vivi do this to her!? Nami wanted to turn the Sunny around and kill that man for stealing her Vivi away! She could electrocute him or sweep him away with a tornado.

“Nami-swan? Are you okay?” Sanji's voice distracted her from thoughts of murder.

“No, I'm not OK! Oh Sanji, how could she do this to me?” Nami sobbed, thrusting the paper in the blonde's face.

“Oh Nami, I'm so sorry. You hundred times prettier and smarter then Koza could ever hope to be,”

“Then why is she marrying him!” She screamed at him, it wasn't his fault but the one she was angry with wasn't here.

“It could be political, maybe the WG had a hand in it or maybe to strengthen Vivis power and stability, sadly not all marriages are for love,” Sanji would know, having almost married off himself.

“But she could have warned me! A letter or a call!” Nami shouted. “I shouldn't have to find out like this!”

“Let me make you some tea,”

“Fuck the tea, I need some alcohol,” Nami swore, she didn't want to calm down.

***

Nami threw back the cocktail Sanji made her barley tasting it, she slammed the glass down on the round table. She rummaged under the bar threw the Liquor cabinet, Sanji had left to gather the rest of the strawhats.

“puru puru puru”

“Shit!” Namis personal Den den went off, she whacked her head on the underside of the table. She sat back down on her seat and cracked open the bottle of triple sec, she wasn't Zoro so she poured it in the cocktail glass instead of chugging it straight from the bottle. “Hello?” She answered the den den before throwing back the drink.

“Nami,” Vivi's voice sounded from the small snail. “Did you see the paper?”

“You bet I fucking did! What the hell Vivi? Is this how I find out we're breaking up! What does he have that I don't!” Nami screamed. “I thought we were in love? What happened to all our plans for the future?” Nami poured another glass and drank it. She hoped the rest of the crew didn't join her right now, it was too private.

“You're right, I'm so sorry. I knew if I told you ahead of time you would talk me out of it. But this is what's best for my people, my country. I’m the queen now. I have a responsibility to them, Koza has been here the whole time. I love you Nami, I miss you so much. You are a pirate, you have a large bounty on your head. I worry every night that you'll be caught and end up like Luffy's brother. I'm sorry but as much as I love you I love my country and people more, I hope someday you can forgive me,” Nami couldn't believe she was jealous not just of a man but of an entire country.

“Stop with the excuses! You're right I would have tried to stop you, but don't come calling me begging me to take you back! I'll only tell you I told you so! How many damn times did I tell you that you were more than just a princess? That you deserve to chase your own happiness?”

“Nami I…”

“Your majesty your meeting with the degadison is about to start,”

“Oh thank you, Nami I have to go I'm so sorry,” With that she was gone. The love of her life just gone forever.

The crew piled in and surrounded her, Luffy placing his hat atop of her head. Zoro drank with her shot for shot, the only other one who could keep up with her. Sanji made all her favorite meals until everyone was stuffed. Chopper and Robin figured out what Vivis perfume was so she could keep something of the blue hair women's until she was ready. They spent the night in the aquarium bra, the blankets and pillows turned into a makeshift fort that they managed to squeeze everyone inside of. Nami wasn't okay, but with her Nakama she knew one day she would be.

[scarletk537]

After the events of all adventures going on in all three cities: Liberty City, Vice City and San Andreas, the trio gangsters: Claude Speed, Tommy Vercetti and Carl Johnson are reunited together, with Sereena Lane and the two children, Cleo Speed (Claude Speed's son) and Tamia Vercetti (Tommy Vercetti's daughter), while reminiscing their past mistakes and even recalling good times they had during their adventures. However, something bothering the scene, as Claude, like usual he rarely talks in public, only personal and to people he was close with, but Claude is pondering in contemplating about something…

"Claude? Claude!"

The voice of Sereena snaps out of Claude's thoughts, which he in return his eyes to her.

"Y-yes, Reena, what is it?"

"You've quiet for quite awhile right now," Sereena asked in concern.

"Uh, Reena. He *always* a quiet one. He's the tongueless snake type of guy," CJ remarks matter-of-factly, only to be whacked by Sereena with a rolled newspaper, much to Tommy Vercetti's chuckling. "He was just saying that's all. No need to be offensive."

Then, Tommy turns his attention to Claude. "I can see that you're contemplating about something. Was it about the kids' future? I can take care of it, don't worry."

"No no, it's not that, it's um… something else. A-and not Catalina either. It's… aside from that," Claude said in uncertainty and contemplation.

"Aside from that? Like… what?" CJ asked in curious, before Claude looks at Sereena. "C-can you give me my uh… my necklace there?"

"You mean, this snake necklace?" Sereena inquired while giving the silver snake necklace to Claude, to which he replied, "Yes, that's the one."

As Claude holds the necklace in his hand, his mind went elsewhere, pondering in deep silent, with his dark eyes stare down at the necklace on his palm in contemplation, while the rest watching in confusion as what he is pondering about the necklace.

"So… what are you staring at this necklace for, man?" CJ breaks the silent with the question. "I mean… it's just a goddamn necklace though. Nothing interesting about it, right?"

"It's… it's more than just an ordinary necklace, CJ," Claude stated without looking up. "Ever since I had this necklace with me… and ever since I asleep every nights… I had this dream."

"Dream? Dream about what, Claude?" Sereena asked in confusion.

"It's… it's complicated, really. Like a loop but… very vague…" Claude described in puzzling state.

"A loop dream? Can you recall what dream you had ever since?" CJ asked. "And… what does the necklace had to do with that dream of yours?"

"Carl, easy there. If Claude said his dream is vague then we can't force him, alright?" Tommy interjects with assurance, which CJ lets out a sigh. "Yeah, you're right man."

"Though I can recall details in the dream, just not that much," Claude replied. "Atleast I can remember a bit."

"Alright, just tell us what dream do you have all this time," Tommy said as he's ready to listen, with Claude look at Tommy, then CJ, then Sereena, while the kids are still playing at the distance. After contemplating a bit, Claude lets out a sigh and response, "Alright, I'll tell you. It was… it was an old dream, like it never go away, it has to do with this necklace I've been holding for so long. And in that dream, there was a man. A man… wearing black suit and tie, glasses shine through the streets holding a gun in his hand, and those eyes… I cannot get it off my head, those glistening blue eyes lies the person, who knows that dangers are about to get him, but he never backs down without firing the shot… yet."

---------------------------------------------------

END OF PART 1

[lovetransaction]

"Who's this joker and why does he love me..." Dean held Sam's phone a little further away, squinting, "four ever?"

"First off, gimme that." Sam reached over and snatched his phone back, which fortunately was easy enough since he was the height of a youthful giraffe. "Second, don't you remember that year Dad left me in Conneticut? To go to high school?"

"Because you kept bitching about how you couldn't truly hone your forensic abilities if you kept transferring schools, yeah." Dean snickered. "Hone your abilities. I thought you meant you wanted time alone for, y'know." He made a whacking-off motion. "Jerking it to forensic lab photos. Sicko."

Sam stared at him. "Okay," he said, "I think it's time to change the newspaper lining your brain, but -- anyhow. He left me there and that was a guy I knew."

"A guy you knew in high school who promised to love me foreve-- sorry, four ever?"

"I wouldn't direct any sort of comment toward me if I were you," Sam said, and then laughed. And then laughed a little more at the look on Dean's face. "Sorry. That was something I said to him then. We didn't get along."

Dean's baffled frown didn't abate, and he shook his head. "Oh-kay," he said. "Still doesn't explain things. Makes them more confusing, in fact."

"When I lived in Stars Hollow I had to pick a new name, Dad said."

"Uh. So you--"

"His name was Jess."

Dean struggled for a moment and then said, "I'm gonna go have some private forensic time in the shower right now and try to forget I learned any of this."

"You do that," Sam murmured, looking at the photo again. He had a picture he needed to text back.

--

@deanwinchesterpregnant you swore IT COULDN'T BE DONE and well ... you were right lol but nevertheless here's this nonsense to enertain/enrage you on your birthiest of birthdays <3333

[bookworldofmeghan]

The Teacher by Freida McFadden

woah...

Spoilers Ahead!!!

I don't know if I have any words. I started my Freida McFadden journey with The Housemaid. I absolutely devoured it and loved it. I have heard so many great things about her books and since the first one I read was amazing, I had high hopes. I am a full time high school teacher so I was very intrigued to where this was going.

I am truly and utterly disappointed in this book. First off the POV that they switch between is Addie and Eve for part one, Addie and Nate for part two, and maybe all three of them for part three (I can't remember). Eve and Nate are married and teachers at the same high school. I hated Nate from page one, he refused to touch and even have a conversation with his own damn wife. The way that I thought this might potentially turn into a relationship where the husband alienates the wife from her family was crazy, even though I knew from the beginning that he would end up having an affair with a student (YUK!). You couldn't hear how hard I hit the keyboard for that yuk but trust me I SLAMMED! Nate is a thirty-eight-year-old English teacher who teaches poetry to the juniors. Eve teaches math at the same high school with the same grade. Addie is a sixteen-year-old junior who lost her dad and struggles in math, but guess what? Her favorite subject is English. Wait... you're never going to believe it. Her favorite topic is POETRY!

Addie ends up being in both teacher's class. She already has rumors flying around from her issues last year between another math teacher and herself. Well, well, well, Nate ends up falling for her. Addie joins the poetry newspaper that he runs and one day stays after school. Nate ends up kissing her and they rendezvous every week/day after poetry meeting. Meanwhile, Eve goes home to her lonely house and grades work and shops for her shoes. She ends up having an affair with a shoe salesman and dreams of running away with him, even though they both know it can't happen.

Addie eventually repeats old habits by stalking Nate and gets caught. Eve catches Addie and Nate kissing in his classroom and she takes a picture for proof. When she confronts Nate, after telling her lover (Jay), she asks for a divorce and for him to resign. Eve finds Addie inside their kitchen and they talk about Nate taking advantage of her, Addie gets defensive and hostile and whacks Eve over her head with a frying pan. Thinking she's dead, she calls Nate and he comes running. While Addie is busy and out of the kitchen, Eve wakes up and Nate strangles her. But doesn't tell Addie, leaving her to continue believing she killed her. Nate comes up with this idiotic and dumb plan to get rid of Eve's body, with Addie's help of course.

While they are digging a hole in this abandoned pumpkin farm, Nate abandons Eve to be left at three am in the middle of nowhere, stranded. She ends up finding her way home with Jay, her ex-best friend. Nate sets Addie up to take the blame for his wife's disappearance. Meanwhile, someone is leaving reminders of Eve in his house. Addie is investigated, but her nemesis, Kenzie, comes to talk to Addie about her involvement with Nate. Turns out, the girl that's been bullying her was jealous. Nate started having an affair with Kenzie when she was just fourteen years old. They team together and do the brave thing of going to the detective and admitting what has been going on.

Just you wait, Eve is alive and ends up planning her revenge with Jay (her mister). They get revenge for burying her alive, by killing and burying Nate (alive? can't remember, I think so) in the same exact spot. The investigation goes away and everything with Addie and her ex-best friend (Jay) returns to normal, and Addie ends up being really close to Kenzie.

I was grossed out every step of the way. And wait, I forgot, Nate got with Eve when she was fourteen. He's not attracted to her when she turns thirty, because he's only freaking attracted to fourteen and sixteen year old girls. This book never should've been written. This was horrendous and volatile subject matter that is just disgusting and deplorable. I am so glad I didn't waste money on buying this book. Let's ignore the subject matter, I found this book to be so predictable. I knew that everything was going to happen chapters before. Normally there is a huge plot twist with Freida McFadden's books, and there just wasn't one in this. No shocking moments. No mouth dropped moments like there usually is, and that was disappointing, that's what makes a Freida McFadden book.

Goodreads overall 4.01 star rating

My rating: 2.0 stars

[herleaf]

Why was she here? Why had her first solo mission in the TARDIS end up being one where she ends up in some spooky, teen comic looking town, having to explain to people how a diner appeared out of nowhere? Good lord, when she gets back to Me after this to catch her up, Me is going to have an absolute field day with this. Clara Oswald, the Doctor’s past companion, not able to keep her nose out of trouble for one minute.

Yes, she was still having to keep up the facade of being a waitress/owner of a seemingly timeless diner that constantly seemed to appear from nowhere, and she was damn glad that she had enough psychic paper to pretend to have permits to run things. To be fair, she did end up hearing a lot of what was what and weird around while serving coffee, but needing a place to rest or rent to pay wasn't an issue for her seeing as the diner was a facade and somehow her TARDIS had realized that in order to seem legit during undercover it would need to make food. The old girl is clever, making food that is good enough but not so good that people will want to keep coming back regularly because she was the only staff and she would not be changing that.

Clara wasn't the Doctor. She wasn't going to be bringing on companions. She didn't even mean to land here--wherever here is--but something was keeping her grounded here. So, she played the waitress role. Went into town at early and late hours to mention a diner that was catered to the early birds and night owls, that people were convinced that it had appeared from no where when in fact it was just a gem hidden in plain sight. Really, it's too easy to convince people what is real with a fake couple fake Google reviews and a TARDIS-generated website.

Tonight, though, she'd spent most of her late hours snooping around town, trying to see if anything was amiss. Well, amiss enough that it would halt the TARDIS from moving, because in all her time as the Doctor's companion, only a few things could keep a TARDIS landed.

Having been so lost in thought, Clara hadn't noticed she was in the direct walking path of another before it was too late. The items that were in her hands (psychic paper, a burner phone, and a couple of old newspapers) were strewn to the ground. Eyes widened as she took in the physique of the individual--had she touched Clara long enough to feel her lack of pulse? Surely not, but she couldn't be too sure. Nothing seemed to have raised alarm bells as the person seemed as frazzled as Clara herself.

"No, no -- it takes two to tumble, I wasn't watching where I was going and I'm not used to the town just yet." Falling into character, Clara began to pick up her fallen belongings before stuffing them into the messenger back that was slung over her shoulder. She needed to play the part of a small town waitress who... somehow inherited a diner? What is this, a Hallmark Movie? Clara, focus. This is your first interactions with someone interesting and who might be your in to beginning to figure out what the heck made this place so special. "I can't tell which I need more at night, a cuppa tea or coffee. I was rushing to get to my cycle to head into work, the diner just outside of town? Been here for ages, passed down by some estranged family member who married into the family. I'm lucky I got here when I did because it apparently had been forgotten by everyone. Can I -- do you want coffee on the house?" Realizing this was absolutely an outrageous thing to ask a stranger, she added in the words that every woman would want to hear after being requested to go to a second location with a stranger, "I promise, I'm not a murderer. Just a waitress and owner... and absolutely failing at this conversation. Can I blame the different social cues from the UK and here? Or do I just have to say that I have scared away a potential customer? I'm really bad at this communicating with new people thing, what with the diner hours being so whack that I barely get to get out. I'm Clarissa, but everyone just calls me Clara. I'm... very new, as you can tell."

@herleaf - Starter

All Jenny wants is a god damn cup of coffee.

Running the butcher shop meant that some days involved getting up at the ass crack of dawn each morning for a trip down to the market. On a morning like this a cup of coffee was desperately needed yet of course today is the day Jenny’s old coffee machine finally decides to kick the bucket and stop working. And she has no instant coffee either; the sun hasn’t even risen yet and her day is off to a bad start.

So instead of getting to enjoy a hot cup of coffee in the comfort of her own home, she’s out roaming the streets, searching for any café or coffee shop that is currently open no matter how overpriced they may be. The morning air is cold, the sun is yet to rise, the streetlamps still on. The only saving grace of the situation is that the streets are practically empty and thus Jenny’s search for a coffee shop is a solo journey. Or so she thought.

A brief moment of distraction is all it takes for Jenny to quite literally bump into another person, her shoulder hitting someone else’s.

"Shit," she curses under her breath as she looks over at the person she bumped into, a sheepish expression flashing across her face for a moment.

“Sorry about that.”

Of course that’s exactly what would happen, only one other person on the whole street and she had managed to bump into them. Now who the hell else was out here roaming the streets at this early hour?

[morallygreyyn]

I love your writing so much.

If it's not a bother, could I have a (maybe little bit ooc) scenario about Illumi realizing the people he hangs out with most (Hisoka and Reader, a truly chaotic duo) are dumbasses, but he loves enjoys having them around?

Thank you!!

those two idiots of mine (illumi x reader x bestfriend!hisoka) (scenario)

description: illumi has a semi crisis over his two self proclaimed best friends

authors note:  it’s not a bother at all and you’re so sweet anon! tbh this has to be my favourite request i’ve gotten so far. illumi dealing with his chaotic duo besties with begrudging love? sign me the fuck up <3

also this also had extrovert/introvert themes so i thought i’d include the mbtis of my boys

illumi: istj (according to a quick google search)

hisoka: entp (like yours truly) (i swear sharing an mbti with hisoka is my defining trait)

reader: whatever the fuck you are (insert your mbti here)

warnings: might be a smidge ooc, i really tried my best to make it have an authentic illumi feel but my guy is dealing with emotions so yk...

requests are open!

Of all the tiresome things Illumi had dealt with in his life, having you and Hisoka be his primary source of socialising might be top of the list. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you all started to meet up regularly for various things, nor could he remember when you had self proclaimed yourselves his best friends.

You and Hisoka were both utterly ridiculous, often matching each other's wild energy as if you were on the same brainwave.

Illumi began to question his ‘friendship’ with you when you and Hisoka started debating whether or not ketchup was a smoothie.

“It’s a blended fruit.”

“But you have it as a condiment with savoury foods.” You argued, whacking the magician’s head with a newspaper.

He swatted you away with an amused hum. “That doesn’t change its nature.”

“You don’t drink ketchup.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Illumi quietly listened to his two best friends argue as you all sat round a table.

As he watched the two of you bicker back and forth, he was unable to fathom your unique stupidity. The assassin understood that individually, his friends were incredibly intelligent and capable people. However once together, you two seemed to share the collective intellect of a prawn. 

“Illumi!” The assassin was brought out of his internal suffering by the very source itself. Both you and Hisoka had decided that for some reason they needed a third person’s opinions on your debate. 

“I’m not getting involved.”

“C’monn, please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll give Hisoka Killua’s number.”

“Ketchup is a savoury condiment, not a smoothie.”

You let out a whoop of victory, fist-pumping the air in your joy. “HA! Suck it Hisoka!”

“That’s no good, he’s biased.” Hisoka tutted, shaking his head and folding his arms. “You know Illumi always sides with you.”

“That’s because he loves me.”

“Unconfirmed by him.”

“Confirmed in his heart.”

“Does he even have one?’ Hisoka shot.

“Do you even have one?” You fired back.

“Touché.”

Illumi sat there locked in a daze, listening to his two best friends argue like children. Yeah, you two were both the biggest idiots he had ever met, but he wouldn’t change you for the world. Of course he would never say this, but it never stopped the two of you from trying. 

And so what if he loved enjoyed having the two of you around? Who would be able to tell anyway?

[enam3l]

rockstar!dad eddie is definitely not immune to the claims that dads baby the pets that they didn’t want in the first place .. the girls begged & begged the two of you for a dog and eddie was probably vehemently against it because all of you travel too much or he knew the two of you were gonna be stuck caring for it till the girls actually just showed up one day with one & now that’s his best friend for life

yes. just yes. so fun fact, i used to be a foster mum for dogs so i am definitely breed bias. idk if you know the actor joe manganiello but he's married to sofia vergara (gloria from modern family) and he is this huuuge man but has this tiny chihuahua he dresses up and insists on taking everywhere. i love that for him and eddie.

anyway i dedicate this one to my favourite foster child marnie who i got have for six months! it was her birthday the other day and she is finally living her best life 🫶

ps: if you want your parents to get you a dog, try what the daughters do. this is exactly how i got my dogs when i was younger lol.

there's something about marnie (rockstar eddie munson x reader) ficlet / fluff / smut

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

'Dad, I want a dog.' Eddie is certain that is the only thing his daughters have said to him in the last two years. All of them are teenagers, all of them are hormonal, all of them are getting on his nerves, all of them refuse to speak to him... unless it's to ask that one question. Sloane was now eighteen and in a constant panicked frenzy over finals. Iris was sixteen and was convinced she was an adult. Maeve was fourteen and at the peak of puberty and peak of being a pain in the ass. 

Personally, Eddie had felt his reasoning on refusing their pleas for a dog had been very fair. Although he was not used to being bad cop and he didn't like it. You were always the firm parent and he was a soft touch who was wrapped round the fingers of his girls - you included. On multiple occasions he had given his daughters his reasons. 

Now the girls were all teenagers, Eddie was finally beginning to start touring with Corroded Coffin again. Something he chose to stop doing once the kids had been born. 

Even though you mostly worked from home, sometimes you did have to go away for work. He didn't want you to be left with the responsibility of the dog all the time whilst the girls were at school. 

Within the next five years, all of the kids would be out the house and at college, leaving the dog behind with you and Eddie. He had planned on using a child free house to his advantage and taking you away all the time. 

Yet clearly, his reasons continued to go in one ear and out the other as tonight he was victim to a well coordinated attack. All three of the girls cornered him as Eddie sat watching a film. His protests ignored as Maeve snatched the remote and turned the TV over. Iris plugged in a laptop causing a PowerPoint presentation to appear on screen. Sloane stood next to the screen like a weather lady as she began her perfectly rehearsed argument. Those damn girls are trying to convert me, he thought. 

Often at his own expense, Eddie realised all three of his children inherited the best of both you and him. Taking his street smarts and tactical logic and your academic skills and charm - it was a ruthless combination that he's certain if wielded incorrectly could be used for world domination. Once they'd finished, Eddie sat there gobsmacked as they filed out the room to go about their Saturday evenings. Sloane leaving him a printed copy of the presentation for him to as she described it, 'peruse at his own leisure.' Eddie scoffed at her sass, knowing Wayne would've whacked him round the head with a newspaper had he used a line like that when he was a teenager and probably now. 

That night, Eddie lay on his bed flicking through the papers. It's not that he thought they were incapable of looking after a dog. They'd babysat Steve and Marissa's dogs plenty of times and were great. It was just that life would be changing constantly over the next few years and that made Eddie nervous. His fretting was interrupted by you bursting through the door and jumping on top of him. You ripped the papers from his hands, chucking them across the bedroom, before pinning his wrists above his head. 

'Hey, what's this all about sweetheart?' he questioned, still slightly startled. But his question was quickly answered by your lips attacking his neck and bare chest. 

'Empty house,' you grinned between nips and kisses, 'want you Eds.' 

And who was Eddie Munson to refuse his wife? 

All the questions that had been plaguing his tired brain all evening were long forgotten. The only thing on his mind was you. What else could he think about when the love of his life was between his legs, plump lips tight around his throbbing cock. You'd been together for twenty-five years now and still Eddie felt like a horny teenager around you. He was putty in your soft hands - literally in this case. Your hands cupped and played with his balls as his thick cock hit the back of your throat as he chased release. The way the bedside light caused your wide eyes that stared right into his soul to twinkle, made his pulse quicken. The light also caught the ring he'd slid onto your ring finger twenty years ago. Eddie couldn't believe this was really his life now. 

'U-uh fuck, sweetheart...' he groaned, 'Bout to cum baby.' 

You could feel his balls start to tighten in and cock begin to twitch - he was seconds away from cumming. So you pulled your mouth away and retracted your touch. 

'AGH! What the fuck,' he whelped. 

You looked your husband right in the eyes. Eddie's big chocolate eyes, wider than ever in shock at the loss of touch. Letting him know you meant business, your face fell deadpan and nails dug into his hairy thighs. 

'You're getting them a dog, Edward.'

He spluttered in disbelief, hands waving around aimlessly. 'WHAT! I cannot - you really doing this to me right now?'

'Yes,' you smirked, 'and you'll never cum again if you don't do it.' 

Eddie knew you weren't lying so that's why he finds himself two weeks later stood in the dog rescue shelter. He couldn't deny it made him happy seeing the joy on his girls faces when he told them the news. His only condition which you'd also agreed upon was that the dog needed to be a rescue. The charity had thoroughly vetted you all and checked the house. Eddie couldn't believe he was just allowed to pop out as many kids as he wanted without approval and yet he had to go through so much to be allowed a dog. 

Shuffling along behind the rest of you, he peered into each occupied space, reading the little biographies of each dog. Eddie had always seen himself as more of a cat person. Cats were weird and a little spooky, something he could relate to. Plus, he had happy memories feeding the strays at the trailer park growing up. Today, he'd expected to simply be the chauffeur and bank, letting the girls choose their new friend.

Then his feet ground to a halt as he caught sight of a little presence in a cage he'd thought was empty. There in the corner was a tiny pile of dark fuzz, brown eyes blinking back at him expectantly. The little creature looked as if someone had drew a scribble and stuck a pair of googly eyes on it. Eddie approached the cage and the dog followed his move, coming closer towards him. It was a little dog of a thing, little legs sticking out of scraggily fur in varying shades of black and grey. The dog could've been mistaken for the animalistic form of a wise oracle from a game of D&D. 

'This one,' Eddie called out, surprising you and your daughters. You all double backed, not having noticed how far behind Eddie even was. Your gaze followed to what his finger pointed at. Instantly your heart melted. 

'It's this one. We're getting this one,' he insisted again. Iris squinted at the paper attached to the cage as she read it aloud to you all. 

'My name is Marnie. I look older but I'm only two. Please take a chance on me, I'm a quirky girl but full of love.'  

You let out a little sniff, your hand finding Eddie's to squeeze it. Immediately you could recognise exactly why he'd find her, she was a tiny dog version of your husband. It was meant to be. 

'Okay, Dad's word is final. Marnie is the one!' You exclaimed. Eddie's face lit up with glee, heart full that without him explaining it, you just knew why she was special. 

'Thank you sweetheart,' he mouthed silently.  

'Are you sure Dad? Did you not want something a bit bigger?' Sloane questioned. 

'She kind of looks like an ancient wizard...' Maeve remarked, bending down with her hand out, her fingers immediately being licked thoroughly through the metal bars. 

'I'm sure. She's perfect,' Eddie grinned. 

Marnie Munson was inseparable from Eddie. All of his previous concerns went straight out the window the moment he saw her. She fit perfectly into your lives. Completely unbothered by travelling or loud music, Marnie became an honorary roadie for Corroded Coffin. Eddie had her perfectly accessorised, frequently returning home from the shops with a new purchase for her. Matching him perfectly, she wore a studded pink collar and a pink and black bandana. And you're still clueless as to where he found it but in the winter Marnie was kept warm by a knitted Metallica Christmas jumper. Utterly spoilt rotten like all the women in Eddie's life. Clearly, Eddie's title of girl dad was not limited to human daughters. 

ps: i don't know if these books were only in the uk and new zealand but anyway this is how i picture marnie

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