#another gift 4 ya

[galaxytittus]

4t3 aniraklova misfit bottoms for dudes

recolorable swatch

all morphs

~7k poly

credits to aniraklova, original sims 4: X

DOWNLOAD - X/X

[animatronicthing]

﹏ 🎙️ ;; # LIVINGDEADCAT ;;⠀『⠀ LIVING- DEAD- CAT⠀ 』 .

A gender related 2 zombies & cats & the living dead , being a zombie cat , being a zombie who likes cats & vice versa or anything that has 2 do with zombies & cats ,,!1!! .

🐈⠀REQUESTED BYꓹ,﹔@hisreturn !! . Coined by Freddy . ⋯

⠀ ⏕ tagging @accessmogai for image ID . @laylalita , @dollgirlsmind for the sillies ,, .

[ PT: Livingdeadcat. Living- dead- cat.

A gender related to zombies & cats & the living dead, being a zombie cat, being a zombie who likes cats & vice versa or anything that has to do with zombies & cats!

Requested by @/hisreturn! Coined by Freddy.

Tagging: @/accessmogai for image ID. @/laylalita, @/dollgirlsmind for the sillies. END PT. ]

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Kris's Birthday

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Close to the end of their journey, Kris has a small celebration with the beasts, and reflects some on both their past with their brother, and the light world ahead.

(Reminder that I draw these scenes out of chronological order!)

YAY managed to get another part done! This one won the poll, so had to go with it first! At least Kris finally gets a nice, happy moment with all the beasts they've recruited!

Alt text under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide opening shot. Kris sits facing Ralsei, with the rest of the Fun Gang surrounding them. The Gang now consists of Susie, Noelle, Lancer, Berdly, Catti and Jockington, and Monster Kid. The Fun Gang have set up camp in a hollow crater, the landscape around them rocky and barren. Everyone is lit solely by the glow of a campfire in the center of the crater. Ralsei addresses Kris: “Get plenty of rest, Kris.”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris and Ralsei, still across from each other with the fire between them. Ralsei continues, “Tomorrow we face the last bound god before the Dark Fountain…it’ll be our toughest fight yet!” Kris responds, “Yes. I understand.” They stare into the fire.

Panel 3 - Closeup on a happy Ralsei as he holds up one claw. “And since we’re so close to the end…”

Panel 4 - “...I thought I��d conjure up a special surprise for you!” Ralsei moves his claws, and magically congeals a plate, food and frosting all together in a swirling center.

Panel 5 - Ralsei holds up the finished object in front of the fire: a small frosted cake, topped with strawberries. “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kris!” he declares with a broad smile.

Page 2

Panel 1 - Ralsei holds the cake up in the foreground. Kris looks at it in surprise. Behind them, Susie and Noelle look on with interest. “Wow! Is today really your birthday, Kris?” Noelle asks.

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris. They scratch at their head in confusion, and respond, “I… Is it? I’ve lost track of the days since arriving here…”

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Ralsei happily hands the cake to Kris, who takes it. He says, “Well, I’m not sure if it’s exactly today. But by my estimates you should have had one by now! So now is as good a time as any!”

Panel 4 - A wider upshot as Kris takes the cake, and the beasts watch. Berdly leans in closer, curious, and asks, “What do you humans do on these ‘birth-days,’ as you call them?”

Kris replies, “Well, typically…you eat cake, or some other sweet treat, and you spend time with your friends and family.”

Panel 5 - Kris stares into the fire again, and continues, “And usually, they also give you gifts.” Behind them, as if in abstract shadow, is an image of a younger Kris surrounded by the other Dreemurrs, all smiling. It seems to be a memory of a past birthday.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Closeup of Kris still looking into the fire, their eyes hidden by their hair. A shadow seems to fall over them. The memories of happier times still hurt.

Panel 2 - Lancer pipes up: “Ya got the cake and friends part right here!” Kris turns to see Lancer and Susie smiling at them, and gives a small smile back.

Panel 3 - Noelle leans in over Kris as well, her head taking up most of the panel. She says, “Sorry, we don’t have any gifts for you…but two out of three isn’t bad, right?”

Kris’s smile broadens a little, and they reply, “No, it is not.”

Panel 4 - Kris pulls out a smaller knife…

Panel 5 - And in a shot focused on the cake, begins to slice the cake into equal pieces with the knife.

Panel 6 - Kris offers a piece to Catti, who happily licks it up. “Tasty.”

Panel 7 - Kris tosses a piece across the fire to Berdly, who catches it in his mouth. “Thanks, Kris!”

Panel 8 - Kris turns around and tosses another piece into Susie’s open jaws. “Hell yeah, cake!” she says, excited.

Page 4

Panel 1 - A wide shot as the whole Fun Gang sit around the fire, enjoying their cake slices, small as they are. Kris works on eating their own slice. Noelle says, “That was good! …Do you think there’ll be lots more cake in the light world?”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris, who turns to look up at Noelle. “Yes, there are. But I would have thought you’d be interested in the humans more,” they say around a mouthful of cake.

Panel 3 - Noelle looks off to the right, and responds, “Sure, I’ll have some, if they’re soft… I don’t like the hard bits, like armor and bones.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Noelle leans back against Susie, snuggling into her side. “I mostly want to get to the Light World and quiet this feeling in my mind…once I do that, I’ll be happy,” She says.

Susie grins, and says, “More for me, then! I can’t wait to get to the Light World and all that food…”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Susie rests her head on the ground, and continues, “I’m gonna eat up all those humans and finally feel full!” She smiles and licks her lips at the thought. Lancer sits just nearby.

Panel 2 - Wider shot of all the beasts around the fire. Across from Susie, sitting in a loaf, Catti says “Greedy.”

“Oh come on, like you aren’t excited for the food!” Susie responds with an annoyed look.

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Catti looks up towards the dark clouds above them, grinning broadly. Behind her, Jockington also looks Skyward, his body wiggly. Catti says, “Not just that. Open skies. Sun. Fresh smells. New magic.” Jockington adds, “It’s been, way too long since we, learned a new technique!”

Catti reiterates: “Lots of things. Looking forward to them.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris turns to Monster Kid, who’s been quiet this whole time. They’re mostly buried underground, but their tail is currently out of their mouth. Kris asks them, “You’re looking forward to leaving the Dark World, too?” They reply, “Y-yeah, Kris! I wanna eat some humans too, but…also wanna be someplace niver, y’know?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Monster Kid’s face as they continue: “Here it’s really hard to find food. And it’s so dark and cold, and e-everyone’s trying to fight each other… I hate it, yo.”

Page 6 

Panel 1 - Wide downshot of the whole Fun Gang huddled together in the empty crater. The barred landscape stretches out around them. Berdly looks to the skies, and says, “Yes, it’s true. The terrain here is so bleak and devoid of sidequests.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Berdly as he smiles, looking excited and proud. “But if the Light World has as many humans as you say, I’ll be able to max out my volume in no time!”

Panel 3 - Susie looks away and sticks out her tongue, clearly annoyed at the prospect. “Oh goody, we’re aaaall excited for that…”

Berdly, not picking up on her sarcasm, just continues to beam proudly. “And rightfully so!”

Panel 4 - Noelle nudges her enormous nose against Kris’s back, and says, “We’re all really excited to see the Light World with you, Kris.”

Kris turns back towards her slightly, and smiles. “Me too.”

Panel 5 - Kris reaches around the fire to hand the now empty plate back to Ralsei, who takes it.

Panel 6 - Ralsei makes the plate vanish into shards of nothing with a wave of his claws. “Then let’s get some rest!” he says, satisfied.

Panel 7 - The small campfire is now extinguished. Only a thin wisp of leftover smoke rises from the blackened wood and coals.

Page 7

Panel 1 - A wide shot of the crater, still at night. With the campfire out, all of the eldritch beasts are now asleep. Monster Kid is buried underground. Catti is sleeping as a loaf, with Jockington resting on her back. Berdly sleeps with his head tucked under one wing. Susie and Noelle sleep snuggled up together, with Susie’s long tail curled around them. Kris lays nestled between them, long hair and shaggy fur serving as a makeshift bed. Ralsei stands off to the side.

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris. They lay awake between the two beasts, staring up at the sky. They look pensive.

Panel 3 - Slightly closer, Kris looks down and to their right. Ralsei asks from offscreen: “Kris! Are you feeling all right?”

Panel 4 - Downshot of Ralsei as he looks up towards Kris. He spreads his arms out in a hopeful gesture. “I know perhaps this isn’t the sort of birthday you would have had back home, but I was hoping I did okay on such short notice…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they close their eyes. “I just…” They take a deep sigh.

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the makeshift bed, looking sad. “I can’t remember the first birthday I had with mom and dad and Azzy anymore.”

Page 8 

Panel 1 - Shot of the dark skies above. Thick clouds silently roll across a starless expanse. “The whole day feels like it’s completely gone.”

Panel 2 - Wider shot, with Ralsei in the foreground. He still watches Kris carefully. “Oh, I see. I suppose Seam has asked for quite a few payments from you during your time here…perhaps you sold the memory?”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block out budding tears.

Panel 4 - “Yes. Likely,” they say. Kris sadly holds up their left hand above their head. Their hand is missing the pinkie finger…another payment to Seam.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Ralsei as he looks downward. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

Panel 6 - Medium shot as Kris hugs themself, still nestled in the hair and fur. “Asriel would usually get me a book he thought I’d like, and I’d complain about it, but then read it cover to cover in one night. Once I learned how to read, anyway,” they say with a small smile.

Panel 7 - Low angle shot as Kris continues to reminisce, watching the dark clouds above. “Mom and dad also always got me a square of chocolate. I don’t know how they afforded it.”

Page 9

Panel 1 - In a flashback panel, Asriel and Kris sit across from each other outdoors, each leaning against trees. Simple woods surrounded them, and a lazy river rolls by just past them. Beyond the river are a few small homes and farms from the town. Kris holds an apple, while Asriel has a book and feather pen. Both are talking, looking happy. 

Kris speaks over the flashback: “Azzy and I would go and sit by the river in the summer, and he’d point out plants and animals and tell me to give them science names. Even when I said crass or foolish ones, he wrote them down and said he would petition to get the names changed.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris as they look away, the memory still feeling a bit sad to them.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Ralsei, interested and responding to the stories. “Your brother sounds like a generous soul.”

Panel 4 - Kris looks down, still sad and reminiscing. “He didn’t have to be so nice to me. Everyone said he’d leave town and go do great things.”

Panel 5 - Another flashback panel, this time in Azzy and Kris’s shared room. It looks similar to their room in canon, but much older and more bare-bones, with simple wood walls. Kris sits on the edge of their bed, listening. Asriel sits on the edge of the bed, looking pensive, his cheek resting against his hand. 

Kris continues over the flashback: “But he…he told me that he didn’t like that pressure. That I was more fun to hang around than whatever great thing the town expected him to do.”

Page 10

Panel 1 - Closeup on Ralsei. He looks on, his tattered scarf flowing behind him. A curious smile crosses his face. “The way you have spoken about him, all this time…I am so curious to meet him.”

Panel 2 - Kris nestles down into the bed of fur and hair, and shuts their eyes, drifting off to sleep at last. They mumble, “Maybe…maybe soon.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot of all the beasts, asleep in the crater. Kris finally sleeps as well, tucked between Susie and Noelle. It’s dark, and quiet. In the foreground, Ralsei remains awake and watching, his back to the camera. It’s unknown what he’s thinking.  

[yanderederee]

Orange Theory

Bofurin Edition

concept: The Orange Peel Theory is from a viral trend where you ask your partner to bring you an orange. If they bring it to you peeled and ready to eat, it indicates that they're thoughtful and caring. If they bring it to you with the rind still on, it could indicate a lack of consideration.

a/n:I tried sticking as closely to their character colors as I could٩( ᐛ )و I also tried including as many characters as I could, even lesser written characters like Tsubakino/Taiga/Kiryu/lowkey Kaji too lol… I hope you like and agree!♡

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Sakura Haruka

Poor boy would be so lost.

“I’m really craving an orange…” you mumbled to yourself.

“There’s some in the kitchen.” Sakura would reply casually, popping another grape in his mouth.

You’re silent for a while. Eventually he picks up on it and looks at you with a raised brow. “What’s up?” He’d ask.

“Can… you bring it to me please?” You’d ask. Sakura wouldn’t mind. He’d simply nod and hoist himself up, walk into the kitchen, and return with two unpeeled oranges. “I kinda want one too…”

He hands you one, distracted by the group chat on his phone as he began to peel the orange in his hand.

You were beginning to give up on the test, looking down at the unpeeled orange solemnly. “You haven’t touched your orange, you okay?” He’d ask, cluelessly.

“Im fine..” you’d reply, feeling silly for feeling so distant.

Sakura knows something’s up, so instead, he leans over, and takes the orange from your hand, replacing it with orange he had just peeled from his other hand. “If you wanted me to peel it for you, ya couldn’a said somethin’.”

Overall; 4/10. He sees you as a person who can do simple things for themselves, and may only feel the need to act more considerate if he notices you having a hard time.

Suou Hayato

The two of you decided on having a movie night at your place, and Suou thought it’d be courteous to bring a bag of oranges with him as a gift.

“You know what they say, oranges being good luck and prosperity.” (I was the one who wrote this and I still expected to proof-read ‘an orange a day keeps the doctor away.’)

Before you even had the chance to ask for one, he’s asking to use your kitchen to fix one up for you.

You agree, trying to watch him from the kitchen entrance. He smiles sweetly at you and politely asks you to wait for him in the movie viewing area.

It’s curious, but you do as he says.

He returns soon with a plate, neatly peeled and decorated.

Also asks if you would prefer a fork, if you didn’t want to risk getting your fingers sticky. It’s a little over the top, but he’s only trying to be considerate.

Overall: 11/10, He even saves the peels for Umemiya to use as compost. Encourages you to eat the entire plate, but will indulge in one if you insist.

Nirei Akihiko

Nirei asked if you’d like to binge your favorite show that night. As you both stopped by the store to pick up snacks for the binge, you remembered a couples trend, centered around the oranges in front of you.

You bought a couple, the excuse for them being one of your snacks for the night. Sweet Nirei praises you for making such a healthy snack choice, and even inspires him to put back some of his own snacks to live up to your example.

Just as you were about to begin the binge, you got very comfortable on the couch, and batted your eyelashes at your sweet boyfriend. “Can you bring me an orange please? I forgot them in the kitchen..”

Immediately agrees and hops up from beside you and to the kitchen.

He’s very happily humming to himself as he’s concentrating on the orange, walking back to the couch trying to get a good peel started.

Poor Nirei is so bad at it though, only able to peel off little bits of rind at a time. Half way through the first episode, the orange is crudely peeled, and he’s holding a slice out to you for you to eat.

Overall: 9/10, while its poor, he peels the orange with no indication you need him to, and feeds it to you one by one. ♡

Sugishita Kyotaro

Oh no.

Umemiya led you to Furin’s back yard area, eager to show you and Sugishita the fruits(haha) of his labor; a freshly grown baby orange tree.

Sugishita is immensely proud of his senior, and praises him for his hard work. Umemiya sends you two off with only one orange, since he needs to share the few he did receive from this harvest with the others.

At first, Sugishita doesn’t want to eat it. He wants to preserve it for as long as he can because it was something his previous Umemiya grew.

After a few comments like “It’ll go bad soon, you wouldn’t want Umemiya-san’s efforts to go to waste, would you?”

No way in hell would Sugishita allow that.

Sugishita hands you the orange, perhaps too nervous of accidentally crushing the fruit with his immense strength.

If you’re too slow on the take to peel it, he will accept the task. However, his worries are warranted, you discover, when he shares a slightly soft and dripping orange with you.

Overall: 5/10. He’ll initially wait for you to peel the orange, but he’s too impatient and will offer to do it instead. It’s slightly crushed, but that’s okay.

Hiragi Toma

You asked Hiragi to come over and help you with some yard work. Of course he’s happy to help.

During a break from the work, you lazily asked him to bring you an orange while sitting in front of the box fan.

He chuckles, kisses your sweaty cheek, and walks off to fulfill your request.

It takes him a minute, until he asks from the door way, “Can I go ahead and make some juice outta these?”

You blink wide at him, unexpectedly. “If… if you want to.” You mumble in response.

He nods, hustling back into the kitchen, before he begins peeling multiple oranges, and blending them up and straining them to make a fresh orange juice.

He returns with two full glasses and a half pitcher resting in your fridge. “You’ve worked hard today, hopefully this helps.”

Overall: 11/10, one of Hiragi’s love languages is acts of service, and of service he is to you all the time. Mr. “You want it? I got it.”

Kiryu Mitsuki

Sweeet sweet baby.

The two of you are just hanging out in his room, listening to whatever bedroom-pop song he put on while you both scrolled on your phones.

You come across the orange theory while on a social media app; and grin.

“Mitsuu~ I’d like an orange~.” You singsong to your boyfriend.

Kiryu looks up from his phone, and lazily hums. “Good idea~ can you bring me up one too?” He asks.

Your mouth almost hits the floor at his casual tone, but it ends when you see him hoist himself up from the bed, laughing “Just kidding angel~ I’ll be right back.”

Holding one of his many plushies close to your side, you wait for your boyfriend.

Kiryu returns with an unpeeled orange and a knife. The knife takes you by surprise at first, but once he sits at his little table and begins working on the orange, you realize he’s cutting it into sections with the rind on.

He offers you a slice with a lazy smile. Once you take it, he quickly pops a slice into his own mouth, making a cute wide orange smile.

The unexpected action sends you into a fit of laughter, your adorable boyfriend only grinning wider and blushing at how cute you are.

Overall: 10/10 I guess? He loves seeing you smile and actively does things to make you do so.

Kaji Ren

Oop

The two of you will be chilling on the Furin rooftop, enjoying the cool breeze and quiet hours, now that everyone was finally gone.

The only sound coursing through the air was the music escaping from his headphones, which lay carefully by his side, instead of his neck, so you could both enjoy the tune.

A bag of snacks lay between the two of you. You felt a bit peckish, so you glanced over at the bag and spotted an orange. Quickly, you get the idea to test the orange theory.

“Re~n, could you give me the orange?” You ask, feigning your inability to get it yourself as he was closer to the bag than you were.

Kaji looked over and spotted the orange from the bag. He reached over with ease and made a gesture like he was preparing to underhand throw it at you.

You quickly crossed your arms to show you did Not want him to throw it. He considered his options for a second, before huffing, sitting up, and leaning over so the orange was just a few inches from your reach.

‘Damn.’ You frowned. ‘Maybe this wasn’t the right opportunity to ask?’

Kaji noticed the disappointment on your face, but even after staring at you and trying to figure out what was causing your sour mood, he couldn’t imagine why. He gave you the orange just like you asked, and didn’t throw it.

“What?” He asks bluntly, causing you to flinch. “Nothing.” You replied back, closing your eyes to enjoy the evening breeze once again.

However, your answer was unsatisfactory, and your orange was left untouched. He really had no idea what he did wrong.

Kaji walks over to you, and squats to glare at you. “Quit lyin’ ‘n just spit it out.” He’d press. If you kept being stubborn, he’d just tickle you ruthlessly until he got his answer.

“T-the orange..! Aha—it, ehe… it w-was a test!” You yelped. Once you came clean, Kaji would stop just for a second to let you explain further.

Once you explained it clearly for him, his expression only soured further, tickling you even more sternly. You screamed for him to stop but he refused.

“That’s so dumb, of course I care about you. If you want me to peel a damn orange just say so, ‘n I’ll do it.” He huffed, finally releasing you and sitting by your side.

Overall, 1/10. Kaji is extremely caring and indeed will do anything for you, as long as he knows what’s expected of him. He’s doesn’t much appreciate his affections being tested in such a lame way though.

Taiga Tsugeura

Sweet angel child

You agreed to come over to his house and spot him as he did his usual muscle training routine.

Once he’s finally tired himself out, he begins talking about wanting a healthy snack. He’s going through the options he has while raiding through his cabinets.

As he does this, you notice a load of fruit in his fruit bowl. “You should eat a banana Taiga. Would you mind getting me an orange while you’re there, please?” You’d ask him nicely.

He grins as bright as the sun at your suggestion. “Great thinkin’ Y/n!!” He’s quick to grab both the banana and orange from the bowl. Before he can hand you the orange, his grin becomes more mischievous.

“Check this out,” he says with pride, holding the fruit in both hands. Then, with a quick snap, he rips the orange in half.

You’re BAFFLED. mouth agape and simply, STUNNED. Your shocked expression is all he wanted. He laughs hard, and displays the two halves face up, his own face in the middle.

“Cool huh!” He asks, before doing the same thing with the banana. “Want me to break the rest up for ya?”

Honestly, you aren’t sure what to say.

Overall: 7/10. He… does? It? But it’s more because he wants to show off a cool skill of his than he’s doing it for your sake. He also always asks you if you want him to peel your oranges, so… the thought is there.

Tsubakino Tasuku

Aaaaahh! (Post edited to use he/him pronouns)

You were cuddled up with Tsubaki in his bed after a long day. After a well deserved nap, you woke up when Tsubaki gently slid out from under you, assumingely to use the bathroom or something necessary.

Groggily, you reached out your hand, and whined. “Dar~ling~ ‘so snacky… can.. you bring me back… an orange… pleeeeasssse…”

Tsubaki thought you were the absolute cutest. “Of course my dove~” he would kiss your forehead and pat your hair down sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”

You fell back asleep, but when you did wake up, you saw Tsubaki only a few feet away painting his nails. “Ah! You fell asleep before I got back, you know!” He pouted.

You giggled an apology, and looked around for the orange you’d asked for. “On the nightstand darling.” Tsubaki helped direct you.

You are not expecting to look over and see a dazzling fruit assortment waiting for you. Halved grapes, thinly sliced strawberries, heart shaped banana slices, and bite sized mandarin oranges, all neatly assorted in a bowl…. With a sprinkle of sugar making the entire display shine.

You’re stunned, gasping at the beautiful display. “It’s so cute!! All for me?” You asked, glazed eyes seeking your partner out. He giggled back. “Of course all for you~ enjoy!” And blew you a kiss.♡

Overall: ∞/10. Are you kidding me? Tsubaki ABSOLUTELY would go ABOVE and BEYOND for the ones he loves, ESPECIALLY his partner. PUT SOME RESPECT ON BABE’S NAME RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME!!!

Umemiya Hajime

As much as your boyfriend wishes he could grow a fruit tree of his own, he knows that they take time. So, he settles for easy to grow vine fruits like Strawberries and blueberries.

He loves making you an assortment of berries, and presenting them to you with love. It’s so so very sweet.

ALWAYS encourages you to eat vegetables and fruits, even if you’re not in the mood for them. “They’re super good for your health y/n!”

So you indulge him.

When it’s you who’s asking instead, “Can you bring me an orange please?” He’s elated.

“YES MA’AM!” He all but yells, rushing to get you just that.

Umemiya returns with two imperfectly peeled oranges. He’s a little clumsy with it, but he’s just excited.

Loves sharing food with you and will hand feed you them like a goddess.

Overall, 12/10. The assignment is to gauge one’s thoughtfulness, and Umemiya blows it out of the water. He wants nothing but the best for you and aims to give it to you tenfold.

[queenpiranhadon]

As a counter to you sending me a scrumptious request, I SHALT DO THE SAME.

So, there's like a lot of drama going on rn (kinda juicy lols)

How about, Bakugou Katsuki whose best friend, Reader, (who he's secretly in love with) gets confessed to by a handful of people within two weeks' time or something.

Pwetty please? ✋😔

A/N: AHHH SEO I'M SO SORRY I'VE BEEN SO CAUGHT UP WITH THE WARRIOR SERIES THAT I DIDN'T HAVE TIMEEEE 😭 Here's the masterlist lol

Warning(s): Cursing, kabedon kinda, Bakugou gets kinda possessive, short but sweet, confessions, reader is obliviously in love, just fluff

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

•────•°•❀•°•──── ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇʀꜱ ────•°•☁︎•°•─────•

“I swear to ever loving fuck yer gonna be the death of me.”

You swat Bakugou’s arm, half joking, half serious.

“Bakugou! Don’t swear you idiot. Plus I think it’s sweet.” You chide, returning your gaze to the mess of gifts that lay on your desk. It was your third year- you would all be graduating next week. And over the past week, you were bombarded with love notes wherever you went, finding three in your locker one morning, 4 on your desk, and even one slipped into your gym back when you returned from training.

Bakugou clicks his teeth, and rolls his eyes. “I seriously have no idea what those idiots see in ya. Must need glasses like Four Eyes or somethin’

You snort at that, ignoring the sting you felt in your heart as he said the words. You knew he didn’t mean it, it was just Bakugou being Bakugou, so why did it hurt so much?

Thankfully, Aizawa chose that moment to walk in, sparing you the obligation to respond to Bakugou’s confusion when you went silent. 

***

Class was a drag, per usual, and you were packing up your stuff, planning on heading to your locker, when you were ambushed by yet another secret admirer. 

This person however, was bolder, deciding to give you flowers and a box of chocolates in person. You recognize him, a boy from one of the business courses, in the year below you. 

“L-L/N-san!” he says brightly, thrusting the box and bouquet into your arms, catching you off guard. “I like you a lot, ever since my first year here…! Would you go out with me? Just for one date, I promise you won’t regret it!”

To be honest, you really hadn’t thought about dating much - you were so caught up with school work and work studies that you never really focused on romantic relations. However, Hawks, your work studies mentor, allowed you off for the summer before you’d return to his agency as a sidekick.

You weren’t sure what to say- sure the boy in front of you was sweet and caring, but he wasn’t what you thought of when you thought about an ideal partner. 

But damn did you hate rejecting people.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. 

Bakugou storms in behind you, slamming your locker for full effect, his own way of self restraint. 

“Fuck off.” he growls, and you can tell it’s taking everything in him to not throttle the boy into the ground. 

The latter swallows thickly and throws his hands up, attempting to talk himself out of the situation. 

“Bakugou-san I was just-”

“Fuck. off.”he seethes, and with that the boy bolts down the hall.

You both stand there, not saying anything before you hear Bakugou’s voice again. 

“You.”

“Bakugou…?” you ask warily, and he slams you against the lockers, caging you against it with his body. You can almost feel the rage emanating off of him. 

“Do ya know, how annoyin ya’ve been these past few weeks, huh? Fuckin runnin around gettin love letters left and right.” he grumbles and you feel yourself getting a little angry too. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. Plus, I thought ‘you didn’t know what everyone else saw in me’. You can’t call me fucking ugly and then expect me to come trailing after you like a damn puppy.” you snap, and Bakugou’s eyes widen. 

“Goddamnit.” he groans, pulling off of you and his face turns red. 

“I..” he starts, and he groans again. “I fuckin like ya okay?!”

Your eyes widen, and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He…

You smile, and step closer to him, pressing a small kiss on his cheek.

“C’mon, Blasty. Let’s go back to the dorms.”

[peachsukii]

Burn Out

『♡』  pro-hero fem!reader  x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-hero au | engaged | aged to 23 | bakugo POV! ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: Japan’s #4 Hero, Dynamight, is holding (forced by his agency) a meet and greet with fans - for the fifth time this year - by popular demand. The only difference? It’s three hours longer than the previous four. tags & warnings: fluff, soft bakugo, pro-hero bakugo, reader has a quirk & is also a pro hero, reader & bakugo are engaged! a/n: i thought the idea of reader waiting in line every time he has a meet and greet was such a cute gesture and relaxes him when he’s overwhelmed by fans :) ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,300 ꒱

“I really gotta do this shit for 4 hours?!”

“Sorry, Dynamight. It’s standard hours for meet and greets, plus you get the exposure to retain popularity amongst the public.”

God, what a fuckin�� joke.

How the hell does Deku do this all the time? I’m not a people person, end of story. I’ll sign shit and let them sell it, but actually meeting people? My goddamn nightmare. Especially the damn fan girls, they’re rabid fuckin’ animals. I hate when people only see me a piece of goddamn meat and not a top rated hero.

“Why are you still here?” This agency lady is really pissin’ me off. What the hell else does she want from me?

“Just going over the logistics. You’ll be hosting at a store in Shibuya Crossing from 1PM to 5PM tomorrow. You’ll be doing signatures on pre-approved official photos. We’ll meet at the agency at noon and you’ll get suited up.”

I hate these stupid publicity pricks.

“Can’t I just sign ‘em and you sell ‘em? I really gotta do it in person?”

“No can do, you know the process by now. The hours are just extended to allow as many fans access as we can.”

Why the fuck do fans need “access” to me? They don’t. I’ve got better shit to do.

“Whatever. See ya tomorrow.”

───

It’s almost 1PM and I’m already fuckin’ over being here. Nonstop “do this, not that,” “don’t take too long,” “don’t accept large gifts,” blah blah blah. It’s a damn signing, not a conference, I shouldn’t need to follow some stupid rule book.

“Before settling in for a grueling four goddamn hours, I gotta call my fiancé.”

“Make it fast, you’re set to start in 15.”

Was it an excuse to talk to her? Hell yeah it was. I didn’t need to call her for shit, I needed to get the hell away from that agency lady before I said shit I can’t take back.

Really wish she could sit here with me instead of with the agent with stick up her ass.

───

[y/n] Hey babe, what’s up? I thought your meet and greet was happening now? [Bakugo] Yeah, in 15 minutes. I needed to step out before I sit here for four fuckin’ hours. What are you up to? Sounds like you’re outside or somethin’. [y/n] Nothing really, grocery shopping and boring stuff. Are you nervous? [Bakugo] Me, nervous? Fuck no. I just don’t wanna be here for that long. It’s exhausting. [y/n] I don’t blame you, the last few were much shorter. Do you need me to bring you anything? [Bakugo] Even if you did, I don’t think they’d let me take it from ya. [y/n] That’s so annoying. It’s not like I’m a stranger. [Bakugo] Y’would think so. Fu-dammit, sorry baby, but I gotta cut ya short. This agency bitch has been breathin’ down my neck all week. [y/n] It’s alright. Make sure those fan girls don’t take all of you, I still want my share of the number 4 hero! [Bakugo] Hah, y’know you’re the only one who gets that. I’ll talk to you later baby, love you. [y/n] Love you too, good luck!

───

I. Am. So. Fucking. Tired.

If I hear another person screech over me just looking at them? I’m gonna lose my damn mind - and it’s only 2:30PM.

“Dynamight! You’re my favorite hero, thank you for signing this!”

At least most of the kids that showed up weren’t loud and annoyin’ brats.

“Thanks, appreciate th’ support.”

I’ve signed my name so many damn times that it’s starting to look like gibberish. They wouldn’t even let me use a stamp or some shit like that. Y’think that would appeal to their “access” plan if more people could come and go if it meant signing this shit faster.

───

3:45PM.

Fifteen. More. Minutes.

Exhausted is a goddamn understatement. I don’t wanna talk to anyone for the next 24 hours when this is over.

I’m grabbing the next poster from the agent, tunnel visioned on gettin’ the fuck outta here, when a familiar voice catches my attention.

“Hiya Dynamight!”

I can’t help but laugh. Did she really stand in line this whole time?

“The hell you doin’ here?”

She’s dressed head to toe in my merch - sweatshirt from the winter line, joggers from the athletic set, even her damn shoes are the limited release sneakers from the crossover line with Deku.

“Just supporting my favorite hero. I’d love if you could personalize my poster.”

God, I love this woman.

“Hah, y’got it.”

To my favorite hero, y/h/n, my shining star - love, dynamight

I slide it over the table to her and the look on her face is priceless. Her smile never fails to brighten my day, no matter how shitty it is. Really feels like no one else is here but her in the moment.

“This’ll be worth at least $50 online. Thanks!”

“Hey! That’s special, idiot.”

“I’m kidding, Ka-Dynamight.”

“Did ya wait in line this whole time?”

“I did! I wasn’t shopping earlier, I was in line for you. I wanted to support my soon-to-be husband.”

The high school girl behind her makes a face when she says “husband.” It’s not like our engagement is a damn secret. Can’t help but shoot her a dirty look, hoping she gets the “fuck off” memo.

“Dynamight, 5 minutes until we wrap.”

“Back off! It’s my damn fiancé. I’ll take as long as I want.”

All I wanna do is jump over this table, throw her over my shoulder and blast our way home. Dive onto the couch, crammed together against the cushions and pass the fuck out to the sound of TV static.

“It’s okay, I’ll let you go.”

She leans over the table to whisper, “I’ll see you at home, baby. Love you!”

I don’t really care who hears. I shouldn’t have to fuckin’ whisper to my soon-to-be wife in public.

“Love you too. Thanks, sweets. You’re the best.”

Fuck, her ass looks damn good in those joggers. I’ll never get tired of watching her walk away. The way she sways her hips when she walks is dangerous game for me.

“Alright, Dynamight. Last one.”

Thank fucking god.

“Hey, thanks for-”

“Was that your fiancé?”

These damn high school girls are such a pain in the ass.

“…yes. What of it?”

“Isn’t she, like, number 42 or something super low ranked?”

Not fallin’ for whatever shit she’s trying to pull. I sign the poster and slide it over to her, hoping she shuts the hell up and leaves.

“What, I can’t get a personalized photo like her?”

Well, she asked for it.

“Fine, give it back.”

number 42 and still better than you. fuck you - dynamight

I shove the poster back to her roughly on purpose, crinkling the edge against her stupid long claws-for-nails that were tapping impatiently on the table.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Learn some damn manners.”

I don't feel any remorse as the stupid agent starts scolding me for "mistreating fans." The brat had it comin', what can I say?

"I'm outta here. Later."

"Wait, Dynamight, you need to -"

"No, I don't. Not my problem. I'm done."

───

Finally, home sweet home. "Hey baby, I'm home."

"Hey Kats! Made you some early dinner on the stove and the blanket is nice and toasty for you."

When did she even have time to do that? It's only been 45 minutes.

"Damn, what are ya, superwoman?"

"Hah, I wish. Have you checked your phone yet?"

"...No, why?"

She laughs. "#dynamight is trending again. Somethin' about you signing 'fuck off' on a fan's poster?"

Oops.

"Yeah, well I -"

"Fuck her, she's lucky I didn't smack her upside the head."

And that's why I'm marrying her.

Just a cute little "Bakugo hates people" fluff lol

[whisper-in-the-night]

Undesirable

Plot: Thomas is omega who will never find his true mate. Or no?

Warnings: omegavers; deviation from the canon; omega!Thomas Hewitt, alpha!male!reader / Y/N

Part 2 | Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

•••

The sun was slowly rolling out from behind the horizon, turning the dark sky a dirty orange color. The night sounds gradually closed in, and at the same time the warm Texas wind was leaving, indicating another hot day coming.

You sighed softly, letting the smoke out of your mouth and filling your lungs with residual coolness, blissfully closing your eyes. Your head hurts a little after another sleepless night, but it was clearly worth it. Your little sister enjoyed the holiday and your presence to her heart's content. Although it was somewhat uncomfortable to be among all this huge mass of relatives for a whole week, you were able to heroically withstand this ordeal, although it was not without bad gossips of envious relatives behind your back. And yet all these inconveniences paled against the background of your sister's sincere smile without a few lower teeth. In addition, the girl was very pleased with the gift of a drawing set from you.

And so now you had an equally tedious and long journey home, your home. Although that place could hardly be called home already. Work got boring, familiar peopleс got bored, and constant entertainment with friends caused stress. You missed your childhood home for only one reason: the spacious landscapes here have always brought warmth to your heart and a feeling of freedom. But, alas, there were no people here who would understand you. Besides, having lived here for a long time, you have not found your mate. Perhaps the decision to leave was for the best.

You threw the cigarette butt on the ground and rubbed it on the asphalt with a hard movement of your boot.

•••

A long gray strip of road seemed to stretch endlessly ahead in front of the car. You rested your head boringly on your hand, leaning against the opened car window, your other hand resting on the steering wheel, which was slightly slippery from your sweaty skin. It wasn't even ten a.m. and the heat was already infernal. The sun was reflected in the car window with nasty sunbeams, which made you have to lower the visor.

After driving only about an hour and a half from the departure point, your gaze inadvertently slipped a little further from the road, noticing a group of people standing nearby.

They were three young people about twenty years old. One of them, a young guy, was tall and rather broad-shouldered, but still quite thin, with a sloppy short brown haircut and dimples on his cheeks. He was dressed as openly as possible: a white T-shirt, apparently so that the sun would not mercilessly burn his grayish skin, and loose red shorts; he had a large sports bag on his shoulder. There were two girls on either side of him. One, the short one, had the same color hair, and delicate blue eyes that looked at you just at the moment when you were slowing the car down, staring at the guys. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a careless bun that flashed at the back of her head whenever she turned. She was wearing some kind of inconspicuous yellow dress with flowers matching the color of her slightly worn ballet flats. The other girl, slightly taller, had black hair flowing freely over her fragile shoulders, a white shirt tucked into denim shorts and a bunch of bracelets on her arms. Both girls carried small backpacks with them.

As soon as the short girl saw you on the road, she happily said something to her friends, nodding in your direction. The company came up to you, you stopped the car.

"Hey! Could ya give us a ride?" Smiling, the guy asked, which caused small dimples to appear on his cheeks once again, "It's just that transport doesn't often go here. 'think we'll be stuck here for a long time without ya, y'know."

You looked the young man up and down, as far as the current review allowed you, and after throwing a short 'Get in', nodded towards the back doors. You took a small thermos from the glove compartment and a pack of suppressants, hastily stuffing a couple of pills into your mouth. Just in case. Without thinking twice, the young man putted his friends in the back seat with their bags, and he sat in the passenger seat in front, deciding to keep you company. The car drove on.

You drove in complete silence for a while.

Finally, the young man spoke.

"Well.. Thank ya for lettin' us down, man. My name is Mason," the guy began with a slight smile, shifting his gaze from the road to you. The young man was clearly not dejected by your bored expression.

"Y/N" you answered briefly, feeling a dull headache coming up to your temples from a sleepless night; it didn't help that the guy's voice was quite high and loud, which hurt your ears a lot.

"Cool, nice to meet ya. This, by the way, is my girlfriend Judith," he pointed at the short girl, "and my sister Lily," He nodded towards the tall girl. It's not clear if this was his strange attempt to start at least some kind of conversation or if there was some other reason behind it, but you didn't care at all about either the guy or any of the girls present, who at that moment began to giggle softly from the back seat. The only thing you wanted was to get home and rest as soon as possible. Your gaze inadvertently slid up, looking into the mirror. You could see how the girls were whispering enthusiastically about something with silly smiles, from time to time running their eyes in your direction.

The rest of the trip was quite calm. Over time, Mason's speech became less enthusiastic, but rather more friendly and carefree. He talked about his family and college studies, friends and hobbies. In the end, from his story, you knew out that these guys were students who took a sabbatical and just decided to visit different states. To some extent, you even caught yourself thinking that you envy these guys: you would also like to spit on all your responsibilities and goals and go somewhere far away, even if you stay here in Texas. But work is work, you wouldn't want to let your family down, much less your little sister.

•••

Driving up to the already familiar gas station store, you parked near the entrance and got out of the car. Perhaps, finally, it would be worth taking some gasoline with you. There would hardly be another gas station for the next mile ahead.

"I'll buy gas and come back," you said shortly, taking one last look at the young people.

Without waiting for an answer, you walked towards the store. Your ears were filled with the already familiar ringing of a small door bell, the door closed behind you with a slight creak. The sweet, tired old woman's face was immediately waiting for you at the checkout.

"Hello," you said with a slight smile, walking inside the room.

The woman looked at you sternly, but as soon as she recognized your face, her features softened. "Oh, hello son. I didn't think to see you here again."

"Oh, yeah.. I'm still after the same thing. I need to buy gas to go home," you said, awkwardly, as if embarrassed, rubbing the back of your head with your fingers.

The old lady looked at you with almost maternal understanding and nodded. Obviously, she was alone in the store today. After putting the meat on the shelf of the showcase and wiping her hands with a towel, she came out to you.

"Yes, sure. Except I don't have any cans left in the store, and as you can see, my son isn't here today either. Could you take me home? I'd give you the canister for free, son. I live here, nearby."

You looked at her in surprise, but immediately replied with a slight nod. Who could refuse such an offer?

"Sure. Come on."

You opened the door for the woman and as soon as you both left, she began to close the store with several locks. Obviously, the area was not the most prosperous. You looked back at your car and saw the guys on the street. Mason was standing under the awning of the store and reading some small ads from an old time, while the girls were practically hugging each other and chatting casually about something. As soon as you left the store, Mason's sister gave you a strange look and smiled slyly.

"I'm go na take my friend home now, stay here, okay? I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."

You opened the passenger seat in front for the woman and helped her get inside. She explained to you how to get to her house, and you started this slow relaxing ride. She introduced herself to you as Luda-May and was no less pleased to hear your own name. Her face was constantly decorated with small wrinkles on her cheeks or between her eyebrows when she asked you something with interest. Overall, she was a pleasant conversationalist and was happy to tell you about this town. Luda also told you about her family, which includes three people besides herself: her brother Monty, son Charlie and youngest son Thomas, whom you have already seen directly before. As you listened to the story, clutching the steering wheel leather with your free hand, you lit a cigarette, releasing gray smoke out the window. After knew out about the same habit of the woman, you kindly offered her one from your pack.

"You are such a sweet child, Y/N, not like my eldest son. Would you like to come over for tea?" Luda asked with a smile, blowing smoke out the open window, and looking at you. You couldn't refuse this lovely woman.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Summary: Eddie's past in Chicago is revealed after he reaches his breaking point, but he's not the only one facing a crisis.

Warnings: mentions of drug use/addiction, neonatal medical trauma, panic attack, mentions of learning disability, brief allusion to Kurt Cobain's death, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 7.2k

Chapter 7/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie was no stranger to bad report cards, failing grades, and dissatisfied teachers. You don’t fail twelfth grade twice without dealing with all three of those. He’d learned to shrug it off and move along with his day, mostly unfazed.

Those same things directed towards his son was a different story.

Ms. Marion’s words rattle around in his brain, wrapping around his lungs and choking him from the inside out.

Constantly interrupting 

His heartbeat pulses in his ears, drowning out the background noise of other parents chatting as they wait their turn to meet with the teachers.

Incapable of paying attention and following directions

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck to his spine, then another, until he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Despite the stifling heat building up in his body, his teeth chatter together noisily as a deep shiver rips through him.

Socially and academically behind his peers

He knew this day might come; he should’ve been prepared for it to happen. Has he only been fooling himself, pretending like everything was going to be fine?

At this rate, he won’t be ready for kindergarten

Eddie swears he’s walking to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other, keys clenched in his right hand until he feels their serrated edges digging into the calloused skin of his palm. Yet he finds himself at your classroom door jamb, leaning up against it with a soft thud.

You’re struggling to stay awake after the long day you’ve had. You roll your shoulders, wincing as you hear the small pop. You’ve just finished the last conference with Frankie’s mom, Carol, and she was a bitch and a half. She’d insisted that her son was gifted and demanded that you recommend he start kindergarten early.

A noise draws your attention to the door, and you’re suddenly wide awake when you see who’s there.

“What’re you doing–hey, what’s going on?” Your curiosity morphs into concern when you clock Eddie’s ragged breathing and tear-streaked face. He’s repeating something, but his voice is so low that the words resemble a hum, and you can’t catch them until you get closer to him. 

“Harris–falling behind–all my fault.” Eddie speaks as though he’s in a trance. His brown eyes are saucers, and more tears fall with each blink of his eyelids. “Falling behind–all my fault.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but you do know that you need to get him inside the classroom before anyone else sees him breaking down. You reach for his wrist, and he instinctively flinches and pulls away before seemingly snapping back to reality and resting his hand in yours. One calloused palm trembles in your smooth one as you lead him to the table where you’d just been speaking with Carol Perkins, only letting go to steady himself into the chair.

“Falling behind–all my fault.”

You take both of his hands this time, and he doesn’t draw back when you do. “Eyes on me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” It’s the same technique that you’d used with Harris on Halloween. In for three, out for three. Eddie watches you a few times before joining in, breath hitching slightly before evening out. “There ya go…here, let me get you something to eat.” You offer him a small, kind smile that he doesn’t reciprocate before rummaging through the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling out a little bag of mini pretzels and a half-pint of water. “These good?”

He manages a nod, eyes locked onto you even as he twists open the snack and absentmindedly pops one in his mouth. He’s still in a daze, but no longer at risk of hyperventilating. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” you cautiously ask, not wanting to trigger another panic attack.

A solid ten seconds passes before he answers. When he finally does, the hoarseness in his voice startles you. “Could you, um, close the door?” 

“Of course.” The wheels of your swivel chair skid against the tile floor, but Eddie’s too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. When you return to your seat, he doesn’t even register your presence until you say, “whenever you’re ready.”

“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I just had the parent-teacher conference thing with Ms. Marion. And, apparently, Harris is destined for failure, just like his old man.”

He relays everything the old woman told him; the racing thoughts all spill out like bees fleeing their hive. 

“She starts off by saying that he’s already behind the other kids, which may not seem like a big deal now, but, apparently, it means he’ll fall farther behind as he grows up.” He gnaws on his lower lip and continues. “And then she said that him interrupting and not paying attention is because he ‘lacks structure at home,’” he adds with a grimace. 

“But y’know what really fuckin’ got me?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees until his palms are tinged red. “She said to me, ‘Some kids aren’t cut out for school, and if Harris is struggling with preschool, it’ll be a long road ahead of him.” Eddie’s eyes are shiny with the prospect of a fresh batch of tears. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

You try to quell your temper for the sake of professionalism, but your boiling blood makes it almost impossible. “None of that is true. Harris having trouble doesn’t make him impossible to teach. And it doesn’t make you a bad parent.”

Eddie can’t manage eye contact when he says, “But what if I’m the reason why he’s having trouble?” His voice is so small that you can barely hear it.

“I’ve taught a lot of kids with a lot of different needs, and none of them–”

“You’re not listening!” Eddie slams his fist on the desk, rattling your jar of pencils, and you reach out to steady it. His eyes blaze with fury, but this time, it’s not towards you. “It is my fault, because I am a bad parent! I let this happen!”

You crease your brows. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” What, exactly, is his fault? What could he possibly have done?

Eddie shakes his head despondently. “I-I didn’t know…Harris’s mom, she…Christ, it’s a long story.” But you can practically see the words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for permission to be spoken.

So you give it to him.

“You can talk to me,” you murmur, resisting the urge to grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. Just to comfort him, you tell yourself. “You can trust me.”

Eddie lets out a slow, low breath and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a long silence; for a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong. Overstepped your bounds. Harris technically isn’t your student anymore, and God only knows where you and Eddie stand. 

Finally, Eddie begins to speak. “I met her out in Chicago when I was twenty-four? Twenty-five? She was a groupie, I guess. We never said we were seeing each other exclusively, but after a while, I realized that she was the only person I was sleeping with, so…” He shrugs. “A couple nights before my band and I left for tour, she told me she was pregnant. Too far along to, um, do anything about it. She apparently didn’t even think to test until she complained about gaining some weight and her friend brought it up.” His gaze shifts to the window over his right shoulder, and all you hear is the sound of his sneakered feet nervously tapping a fast rhythm against the tiled floor. “Look, I’m not proud of this, but I used to party. A lot. And at these parties, there were, um…”

“Drugs?” you supply before you can bite back the comment, clenching your fists at your side where he can’t see you chastising yourself.

Eddie just laughs, a throaty chuckle that escapes despite the seriousness of the conversation. “A shit-ton of ‘em. I was partial to coke; helped me stay awake when I wanted to crash. But I swear, I only used when I was partying. And when I found out I had a kid on the way, I stopped using completely. Cleanest tour of my life.” His lips turn up in a semblance of a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Figured she’d do the same…she said she would, but…”

Your heart sinks; you know exactly where this is going, but you don’t dare interrupt him this time.

“I was at some dive bar in Cincinnati when I got the call that she was in labor; ran right off the stage and caught the first flight back home. I got there in time to watch him be born; and it was the best goddamn moment of my stupid life, until…” His voice breaks on the last word, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. “He was six weeks early. Fuck, I shoulda known, but I was just so excited to be a dad. He was shaking so hard that his tiny little body was practically blurry, and, like a total moron, I’m going, ‘Is he cold? Does he need a blanket?’ No one would answer me; they just fuckin’ whisked him away before I could even hold him. And when they brought him back, they told me that he tested positive for cocaine and had something called Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome because of it. Said it can affect his learning, his attention span, everything. Kid wasn’t even two hours old and I’d already fucked him up.”

Your response seems meek; far too pathetic for the intensity of what he’s just admitted. “But it was his mom…”

He tucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them together until the outer edges turn white. 

“Yeah, she was the one using,” he relents, but his tone is so thick with self-loathing that you couldn’t claw through it if you tried. “But where the fuck was I? On the road, thinking I could be a rockstar and take care of a family. If I had stayed back, I could’ve stopped her. I would’ve seen that she wasn’t just doing it at parties or shows; she was an addict. I could’ve gotten her help; I could’ve saved my son from being born a goddamn coke addict!”

“You can’t make someone stop doing drugs,” you say feebly, though you’re certain he already knows this.

“But I could’ve done something! Fucking anything! And it would’ve been better than not being there.”

You have to choose your next words wisely, mulling them on your tongue before talking. “Is she still involved in Harris’s life?” 

He shakes his head forlornly. “I invited her to his first birthday party, and she came, surprisingly. All the way from Chicago. I thought maybe she was getting her life together. Then, right before we were gonna cut the cake, she came out of the bathroom with white residue under her nose. I told her to leave and not to come back until she got clean.” He barks out a gruff laugh, as though he still can’t believe it. “Haven’t heard from her since.”

You don’t know how to respond to this. It’s going to be okay seems too patronizing, because nothing about this is okay. I’m sorry? What are you sorry for? Harris’s mom is an atrocious excuse for a human being, and so is Ms. Marion? Kind of tips the balance towards the unprofessionalism you’re striving to avoid.

Eddie continues, not noticing your failure to respond. “The doctors would tell me that he was developing slower than he should be–walking and talking and stuff–but he always got there eventually. But hearing his teacher say that he wouldn’t…fuck, if that’s true, I’ll never forgive myself.” He puffs out his cheeks as he exhales; tendrils of hair flow upwards and flutter back down with the exaggerated breath, and you realize that he’s trying to ward off another crying spell.

You can’t remove the guilt that eats him alive, but maybe he’s not asking you to. “I’ve never met a more determined little kid than Harris Munson,” you say truthfully. “Name one time that boy gave up.”

“For better or for worse, I can’t think of any.” His eyes still don’t meet yours, but you see a flicker of happiness at the mention of Harris’s perseverance before his expression darkens again. “Call me stupid; that’s fine. But my son is gonna be better than I ever was.”

Your heart pangs with sympathy when he puts himself down. “You’re not stupid.” He bristles at your reassurance, puzzling you even more. “What?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s not what you said before.” The comment isn’t accusatory, just a simple fact, as though he’s talking about the weather. “On the first day of school, you told me to leave before I said anything else ‘ridiculously stupid.’”

“I just–”

“Look, I’m not saying the Cat-and-Mouse is the nicest thing to do,” he interrupts, cheeks aflame at the mere mention of it, “but I guess it really fucked with me for someone I…someone I just met…to call me stupid.” The phrasing is clunky and awkward, and he sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue in a paltry attempt to stop the word flow.

You take in his shameful expression, mulling over a response. Knowing what you know now–that his little game was a poorly-designed coping mechanism after being put through the wringer–your comment was harsher than he deserved. “I was hurt, and I…I should’ve just said so. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Just an asshole?” He tilts his head, finally looking at you. The corners of his mouth turn up to form his first smile of the evening.

“Just an asshole,” you confirm playfully. Another silence fills the room, only interrupted by Eddie crunching on the pretzels you gave him. He’s nibbling on them from the outside, as though savoring each bite. “Mr. Munson?”

“Eddie,” he says, crinkling the empty pretzel bag in his fist and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. “Please, just call me Eddie.” Mr. Munson awakens memories of his father; specifically, the way the cops addressed him each time he got arrested for various offenses.

“Eddie.” Though you’d called him that on the night that you two had fooled around, the name feels foreign in your mouth. Too casual for what you’re about to propose. “Eddie, um, back to the stuff with Harris…” You swallow your nerves and push through, knowing that you need to do what’s best for Harris, even if you have to face his dad’s wrath. “If I suggest something, promise you won’t get mad.”

Eddie flinches, but not for the reason you think. No, it’s because he hates that you’re fearful of his reaction. He hates that he’s made you afraid of him. “Fuck. I mean, yeah. I promise.”

“What…what if we talked to the school psychologist about getting him evaluated for a learning disability?” The words tumble out, and you worry that whatever semblance of acquaintanceship will shatter, leaving you unable to pick up all of the pieces. And even if you can, even the best adhesive can leave visible fractures.  

His jaw clenches; his shoulders draw up and biceps flex with a twitch, fight or flight instinct kicking in. This was a horrible idea; he’s already emotional from the conference with Ms. Marion, and now you’ve crossed a line. You’re so caught up in deciphering his body language that you don’t catch his softening eyes as he silently reminds himself that you’re on his side. On Harris’s side, at the very least.

“What does that involve?” he asks. It’s inquisitive, not judgmental, and you permit yourself a small sigh of relief at the narrowly-averted crisis.

You explain the process as Eddie intently listens, nodding to acknowledge that he’s following along. “Nothing invasive; just asking him questions and giving him some tests, and then if he does have a learning disability, we’d figure out what modifications we can make so he can learn alongside the other kids.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, considering your recommendation. “Will they know? The other kids, I mean. Will they know that he needs, like, extra help to learn?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I don’t know how Ms. Marion runs her classroom, but I always emphasize that everyone learns differently anyway.”

He nods, drumming his fingertips on the desk in a rhythm you can’t decipher. “Do you think…if we do the evaluation, would he go to kindergarten on time?”

“Well, as a teacher, I’m not supposed to say. But as a friend,” you shrug, “I think it’s worth a shot.”

As a friend. A friend. Friend. The word reverberates around Eddie’s brain, replaying like a melody he can’t pause. But he doesn’t want to stop it. He wants you to call him your friend over and over again, enveloping him in your kindness, never letting him go. He wants to wrap his arms around you in a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck, while he laughs or sobs or a combination of both.

Do friends do that? Or is that something more complex than he can allow himself to imagine?

Your voice brings his perseverations to a grinding halt. “And you can be there while they evaluate him. So he won’t have to be alone.”

Another nod, another pregnant pause. He twists his curls around his pointer finger, brushing them over his lips. “Could you come, too?” he murmurs, quickly clarifying, “for Harris?”

“Of course.” You agree without a second thought, watching as his body unstiffens when he leans back in the chair with a sigh. “And if you want, I could tutor him after school once a week. Catch him up and stuff.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You’d do that?”

“Mhm,” you beam. It’s like cracking a complex code after aimlessly spinning the dial, hoping to land on the right combination of numbers. “Just…it would have to be at my place, so I can stay home with Grandma. Medicare only pays for her aide to be there for a certain number of hours. I’m actually paying out of pocket so I could be here tonight.” While you’d initially been annoyed at having to spend your hard-earned money just to talk to ungrateful parents, this time with Eddie has made it worth every penny. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he easily agrees, starting to stand and brushing some rogue pretzel crumbs from his jeans. “Oh, um, how much do you charge? For the tutoring?”

At this, you giggle. “Eddie, you’re not paying me to work with my,” you lower your voice mid-protest, even though the door is closed and no one else is around, “favorite student.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna let you work for free, so name your price.”

“Fine,” you huff, feigning annoyance. “It’ll cost one…pizza.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Seriously,” you confirm, walking to the supply closet and grabbing your coat. The inside of the sleeves are chilly, having not been exposed to the heat churning through the classroom, and the temperature shift makes you shiver. “Saves me from having to worry about making dinner. And Grandma loves pizza, so it’s one less thing for her to argue about.” 

The arguments in question were still happening frequently, though her verbiage was decreasing with each subsequent spat. Last night, you’d told her that she had to turn her TV down so you could sleep. Grandma had repeatedly yelled “no” and “hate you” until you gave up and smushed one half of your pillow over your exposed ear in a pathetic attempt to muffle the sounds of the infomercials blasting from her room. 

“I can do that,” he agrees, following you towards the door and stepping out of the way so you can flick off the light, plunging the classroom into total darkness. “Any toppings?”

You think for a moment, tapping your forefinger to your chin as your other hand rotates the key in the door until you hear the soft click of the lock. You twist the knob just to make sure, only turning from the door once you’ve confirmed that it doesn’t open. “Ooh, we both love olives. Get those.”

Eddie scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’ll do half olives, half plain, so Harris and I won’t have to suffer.”

You stop in your tracks. Eddie’s chest bumps against your back. “Oh, I…” 

“Shit, that wasn’t an invitation, was it?” He’s blushing, cheeks turning a deep crimson at his gaffe. “Sorry, totally misread–”

“No, no, I’d like the company.” You’ve come to appreciate how much easier it is to navigate Grandma’s moods when there are other people around, but you can’t ask someone to endure that just for your comfort. “‘S just that my grandma…well, you saw her at the hospital that night. She says things that are mean, or inappropriate, or don’t make sense…I don’t want Harris to hear that.”

Eddie just laughs, waving off your concern of Harris. “He grew up around me and Wayne. He’ll probably be teaching her some bad words.” 

“Oh, God,” you shudder at the thought of Harris and Grandma swapping swear words. “Then, yeah, I’d love to have you over for dinner. Are Wednesdays at four okay? We can start tomorrow, if that works.”

“Perfect!” Eddie chirps, tossing his car keys upwards and dramatically snatching them mid-air. “I teach guitar lessons, so Wayne’ll drop him off. I’ll swing by around five with the olive pizza.” His pronunciation of the topping is obnoxiously whiny and snide, and you roll your eyes, pushing open the main doors to the school while he trails behind you. 

You’re normally not at work this late, and it feels almost unnatural to walk out to a night sky. Clouds obscure the stars, and the dim streetlights do little to pave a discernible path. Eddie seems to be walking in the same direction, and there’s a sense of comfort knowing that you don’t have to navigate the parking lot alone. 

The volume of Eddie’s voice lowers considerably as he says, “You’re…you’re kinda the best, y’know that?”

“About time you realized.” You smile as the two of you approach your car. You slide into the driver’s seat, tugging the seatbelt over your shoulder. “Where did you park?”

“Um…” Eddie squints, pointing to a spot clear across the lot. “Right there.”

Your jaw drops. “Eddie!”

“What?”

“Why’d you walk all this way, then?” Your keys sit in the ignition, waiting to be turned over.

“And leave you to trek across this vast terrain all by your lonesome?” He presses his hand to his heart, staggering backwards until he bumps into another parked car. “Ow, shit. So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” And as he closes your car door with a small wave, it occurs to you that you’re actually looking forward to seeing Eddie Munson.

Elise wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned you that Grandma was in a mood today. In addition to the usual song and dance to the tune of “those pills aren’t mine,” she’s insisted on changing her clothes no less than four times in the hour since you’ve been home, grumbling that every outfit doesn’t look right. As you wipe down the kitchen counter, sweeping crumbs from your after-work snack into the garbage bin, you hear banging against the living room wall. Never a good sign.

“Grandma?” you call out as you abandon your chore and start towards her. She’s struggling to hold onto the large painting of a sailboat that should be mounted on the wall. You get to her side just before she can topple over, grabbing the artwork from her grasp. “What are you doing? Why did you take this down?”

She looks at it–and you–with utter disgust. “S’ugly,” she mumbles.

There’s no sense in telling her that it was her favorite or that she picked it out herself years ago. Instead, you heave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, we’ll just leave it here,” you say, carefully leaning the cherry-lacquered frame against the wall.

“No!” She shakes her head, tousled gray hair brushing against the wrinkles etched into her cheeks. “No, no!” Anger creeps into her voice, and tears appear along her lash line. Truth be told, your tears are not too far behind.

“Look, I’ll just…turn it around. See?” You swivel the painting so it faces the wall; all that’s visible now is the sad beige frame backing. It’s hard to believe that she finds this view more appealing than the soft watercolor brushstrokes of blues and greens, but you leave it as is, until she inevitably demands to know why it’s no longer hanging up.

The harsh buzz of the intercom brings your quasi-argument to an abrupt end. You can hear some shuffling, and then an older man’s raspy voice instructs, “say who you are so she knows you’re here.”

“HARRIS!” The little boy exclaims loudly. “Oh, and my Grampa Wayne!”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to bring a smile to your face. You press the button that lets them into the building, quickly ushering Grandma into her room and putting on the Animal Planet. A rerun of Wildlife SOS blares through the TV, and you can only hope that Harris won’t be too distracted by the noise. It certainly beats being the recipient of one of her incoherent rants.

The frantic knock on the door ushers away your anxious thoughts. “Ms. Sweetheart, I’m here!”

“Relax, buddy,” the older man–Wayne–gently reminds him. 

You open the door, grinning as Harris barrels into the apartment. His little arms wrap around your waist as he envelops you in a tight hug. “Ms. Sweetheart! I’m at your house!”

“You are,” you agree with a laugh, patting his back with your palm before offering your hand to his grandfather. “And you must be Grampa Wayne.” 

The older man chuckles as he shakes your hand in his own calloused one. The whiskers above his lips and on his chin are white, flecks of gray stubble peppered along his jawline. “‘S nice to put a face to the name. All I hear about lately is how wonderful Ms. Sweetheart is.” He bashfully scratches at the wisps of hair that lay flat along the crown of his head.

Taking compliments is not your strongest suit, but you manage. “Trust me, I’ve heard some great things about Grampa Wayne, too. I’m just glad Harris loves being my student as much as I love teaching him.” 

“Huh?” Wayne’s forehead crinkles in confusion before he catches himself. “Oh, yeah, Harris. Right.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Ed’ll be here at five.”

“He’s bringing PIZZA!” Harris shouts, unable to contain his excitement as he pumps a tiny fist in the air.

Wayne shakes his head, as if to say, this kid. “C’mere, Har. Give me a hug goodbye.” Harris all but leaps into his grandpa’s arms, spider-monkeying his legs around his waist. Emotion wells within you as the gesture reminds you of the easy way love used to flow between you and Grandma. No questions or doubts about who you were or how she would perceive you in that moment. 

As soon as Wayne leaves, Harris tugs on the hem of your shirt, peering up at you with a gigantic grin. “Daddy telled me that you’re gonna teach me again! But not at school.”

“Mhm!” you say, guiding him over to the kitchen table. You’ve cleared a spot for the two of you to work. There’s a stack of flashcards in front of your chair, and Harris eyes them curiously. “Those are gonna help you learn letter names and sounds. You’ll be reading like a pro in no time.”

He eagerly nods, flinging one little leg onto the chair and climbing onto it haphazardly. He’s facing the back of the chair with his knees tucked underneath him, and he shifts until he’s sitting on his bottom, eye-level with the tabletop. “I can’t see anything!” he harrumphs grumpily.

“Here, you can face me,” you tell him, holding the chair steady as he swivels around again. “There ya go. This works out better anyway.” You tap the deck of cards on the table, watching as Harris kicks his feet in anticipation. “We’re gonna play a game with these,” you say, keeping your tone full of excitement. “I’ll hold up a letter, and you tell me what the letter’s name is and the sound it makes. And if it’s a little tricky, there’s a picture on the back that might help you out. Sounds good?”

Harris considers this, tongue poking out between his lips, and you can’t help but notice the way he mimics Eddie’s actions. “Can I see the picture even if it isn’t tricky?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” You shuffle the deck, making a dramatic show of closing your eyes and folding the cards into a bridge. “Let me give you an example.” You grab the card off of the top, the letter R printed in bold, black lettering. “This is the letter R. It makes the rrrr sound.” 

“What’s the picture?” Harris squeals, clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the cast on his wrist. When you flip the card around to reveal a cartoon robot, he cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “He has triangles for eyes! That is so silly!”

“That is silly,” you agree with a laugh, putting the card at the back of the deck and holding up the next one for him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Remember, just do your best. This is just so I can see what we need to work on.”

He nods, sitting up straight as he reads the letter F. 

“Nice job, Har! And what sound does F make?” This is more difficult for him, and he squints as though it will help him remember.

“Umm, eh?” He knows it’s not correct, and you watch as his shoulders begin to slump dejectedly. “I…I don’t know.” His lower lip juts out, quivering as he admits it.

You keep your tone light and breezy. “No worries! We can always look at the picture, and if it’s still tricky, we can figure it out together.” You show him the french fries on the back of the card.

“French fries!” Harris exclaims giddily.

“And what sound does french fries start with?” You enunciate the start of the words, but he still can’t seem to get the pronunciation. His breath hitches with frustration, chubby fingers digging into his tousled curls to pull at them. “You can ask me for help if you need to. That’s what I’m here for!”

His tiny “need help” is almost inaudible, head drooping towards his chest in defeat. “Everyone needs help sometimes,” you say kindly, pointing to the flashcard to draw his attention back to it. “F makes the ffff sound. Go ahead, try it.”

Harris emulates you, bits of spittle flying as he makes the noise over and over again. “This is fun!” he cheers, eyes widening when he comes to a realization. “Hey, fun starts with the fffff sound, too!”

“Sure does!” You raise your hand for a high-five, shaking it in mock-agony when he slaps it. “Wow, Har, you’re super strong! Okay, let’s try the next one.”

With a few breaks to release some energy, Harris continues stumbling through the rest of the alphabet unceremoniously. He’s definitely behind, you realize, but not so badly that he’s unable to catch up with some extra help.

“Only a couple more to go,” you assure him, presenting the card with the letter P.

“P!” he yells, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his sweet face. “An’ it makes the puh sound!” He reaches out and plucks the flashcard from between your fingers, turning it to see the picture on the back. “It’s a princess.” His eyes flit between you and the pink poofy dress-clad cartoon. “Me an’ Daddy think you’re pretty like a princess.”

There’s no time to ask for further clarification before a loud bang erupts from Grandma’s bedroom. You swear silently, somehow still aware of the four-year-old beside you as you dash to her door. Instinctually, you grab the knob and twist, only to be met with resistance. 

“Grandma!” you call out, pounding your fist as loudly as you can. “Grandma, open the door!” You hear the soft, slow pad of her footsteps, watching as the door knob turns slightly before it stops. 

“‘S broke,” Grandma says from her side, and relief temporarily floods your senses with the knowledge that she’s unscathed enough to get to the door. 

“No, it’s just locked. I need you to unlock it.” Another brief twitch, then nothing. “You…you have to turn the little dial on it. See how it’s horizontal—um, left to right? It needs to go up and down. Can you switch it?” Jiggle jiggle, silence. No attempt to toggle the dial. 

“Ms. Sweetheart? ‘S everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, honey,” you lie through your teeth. “Why don’t you go look at the pictures on the—”

BZZZT!

“Pizza delivery!” Eddie croons through the intercom. “One half plain, half gross—sorry, half olive—”

“Eddie!” you press your finger to the button, cutting him off more sharply than you mean to. “Eddie, my grandma locked herself in her room, and she can’t remember how to open it.” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow the lump in a determined attempt not to break down in front of your guests. 

There’s a pause before his voice floats through the box again. “Gimme a sec.” That’s all he says before he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and you turn to face the inquisitive little boy who remains glued to your side. 

“Har, why don’t you go sit at the table until Daddy comes.” Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you’re able to turn your attention back to the crisis. “Grandma, can you please turn the dial?” But when you’re met with another disheartening turn of the doorknob, you have to accept defeat.

BZZZT!

“It’s me; let me up,” Eddie’s words are straightforward but not brusque or curt, and you buzz him in without wasting any time. He’s at your door in a hurry, and you open it before he can knock twice. He’s got the pizza box balancing in his right hand and a small rectangular container tucked under his arm. “Is she hurt?” he asks, handing you the box as you lead him towards Grandma’s room.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. She’s been twisting the doorknob, but she doesn’t understand what I mean when I asked her to unlock it.”

He nods, examining the knob for a second before unfastening the box’s latch and pulling out a tool that resembles a miniature hook. Splitting his stance, he squints and pokes his tongue from his mouth, just as his son had done earlier. Within seconds, you hear the telltale click of the door unlocking, and you exhale audibly. Relief floods your body as your shoulders untense; you hadn’t even realized you’d pinched them together. Behind Grandma, the TV has toppled to the floor, screen now resting on top of the beige carpet, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Are you all right?” you ask her, checking for scrapes and scratches, but she luckily appears to have escaped unscathed. “How did this even fall?” You pick up the TV, wincing as you get a glimpse of the spider web of cracked glass right in the center.

“Dunno,” Grandma shrugs, moving past you to get to the piping hot pizza that you’ve placed on the kitchen table. She slides into the chair you’d just been sitting on, pushing the pile of flashcards away clumsily. “‘M hungry.”

You look at Eddie and Harris and muster up a smile. “Guess it’s dinner time! Oh, Grandma, wait for a plate.” You grab four of the plastic pale blue plates from the cabinet to set the table, giving one to Grandma first. You place one at the spot Harris had just occupied, and one in front of the third and final chair–

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath before addressing the boys again. “Um, we only have three chairs. ‘S normally just me and Grandma, and sometimes her aide–”

“No worries,” Eddie waves off your concern, scooping Harris up and resting him against his hip. “Harris can sit on my lap.”

“Or I can sit on Ms. Sweetheart’s lap!” Harris squeals, wriggling out of his dad’s grasp. “Or Ms. Sweetheart can sit on your lap!”

You cough as Eddie turns bright red, cheeks the same shade as the marinara sauce buried under a thick layer of cheese. He sweeps Harris on top of his thighs and snags a slice of pizza for each of them. “Uh, yeah, no,” he mumbles, taking a gigantic cheesy bite in an attempt to end the conversation.

Dinner goes as well as it possibly can. Harris asks to try an olive, promptly spitting it onto his plate as soon as the taste hits his tongue. Grandma tells Eddie no less than five times that she likes his shirt, thoroughly embarrassing you, but he just politely says “thank you,” each time as though it’s the first. At one point, Harris gives him a bewildered glance, but before he can say anything, Eddie whispers, “I’ll explain later, bud.”

The rest of the meal is filled with conversations about work and school. Eddie tells a story about how a customer came into the store completely frazzled after listening to a Nirvana album. “She thought it was about Buddhism, and was very distraught when she got Kurt Cobain instead. Guess she missed the whole…” He mimics holding a gun to his head, and you laugh at the crude gesture, slapping his hand out of the way before Harris can see. Luckily, the boy is too engrossed in dissecting his slice to notice.

Grandma retreats to her room as soon as she finishes her dinner, and Harris gets bored soon after, squirming to the floor and dashing to the living room TV set–now the only working one in the house. That leaves you and Eddie at the table alone.

“I can take your plate if you’re done,” you say as you lean over, scoffing when Eddie starts to get up and bring his empty dish to the sink. “Hey, let me clean up. You brought the pizza.”

“Yeah, because you tutored Harris,” he reminds you, swooping in to grab your plate as well. “So we’re even.”

“Even?” you ask incredulously. “After you rescued my grandma and kept us company during dinner? Do you know how long it’s been since I had an actual conversation during a meal?” 

Eddie chuckles at this. “I think ‘rescued’ is a bit dramatic. All I did was unlock a door; not exactly superhero stuff.” He shakes his hair back behind his shoulders.

“She could’ve been hurt,” you point out earnestly, following him to shoo him away from the pile of dirty dishes, “and without you, my only option was to take a battering ram to the door. I don’t even know where I would buy one of those.”

“Have you tried Melvald’s? They sell everything there. ‘S actually where I got Harris.” Eddie teases, hand inching towards the faucet.

“Eddie, sit down and relax. Don’t you dare turn on the water.” Your eyes widen as he locks his gaze with yours, flicking on the spout indignantly and grabbing the sponge without breaking eye contact. “Eddie, I mean it–”

He smacks the sponge against a plate and harshly brushes it up and down, still staring at you. “Oops,” he deadpans, rinsing it and haphazardly placing it in the dishrack before picking up another one. “Oops again.”

“Give me that!” you charge over to him, yanking it away before he realizes what you’re doing. You squeeze the bottle of soap over the already-saturated sponge just to emphasize your point. “Go watch TV with your son and let me clean up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, leaning back next to you. The hem of his shirt makes contact with some water that sprayed out of the sink, but he doesn’t notice; if he does, then he doesn’t care. “I don’t usually have anyone to talk to at night, either. And with Harris–I mean, I love him to fuckin’ death, but a guy can only hear so much about the latest episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” He clears his throat, but the words come out even softer somehow. “I like talking to you.”

The water runs uninterrupted by any movement as you look into his warm eyes. Flecks of gold punctuate the deep chocolate orbs that are drinking you in. They're the same eyes that you looked into on the night that he’d brought you back to his place. The eyes that shot daggers at you while he spewed venom at you in the music store. The eyes that could barely look at you when he’d somberly confessed his past, more motivated by anxiety than trust. The eyes that could flip your world upside down if you let them.

He lets his thumb graze yours as he grabs the newly clean plate from your hand, wiping it with a towel until it’s impossibly dry. You can’t look away from his lips, the way they practically scream kiss me. And you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.

But you’re not stupid. Possibly naive, hooking up with him nearly three months ago and thinking it would have no emotional impact on you, but not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

“Same time next week?” you blurt out, taking you both by surprise. It’s too abrupt to be natural, but you don’t care. You need to stop this before it starts. Again.

Eddie recovers quickly, though his nod is a bit delayed. “It’s a date. Uh, a tutoring date. For Harris.”

“For Harris.”

Harris is at your classroom door the next morning, knocking excitedly. “Ms. Sweetheart, I got something for you!” Digging into his backpack, he produces a plastic bag tied in a knot. Bradley’s Big Buy is stamped on the side, but the contents aren’t anything you’d find in the supermarket.

It’s a lockout kit; the same kind that he’d used last night to unlock Grandma’s door. There’s a note Scotch-taped to it, and you read it silently:

I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I wanted you to be prepared in case it does. 

-Eddie

P.S. Don’t try to pay me back. It was much cheaper than a battering ram.

--

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[batman-dc-imagines]

Hi!!!! May I please request the J squad (Gotham) separately with a reader who works at the police office and is kinda like their inside mole? Like they let them know plans to catch them and are also always willing to help them escape and stuff? THANK YOU ❤️

A/N: All jobs are associated with the GCPD. Slite nsfw on Jerome's end.

Gotham!Jerome Valeska

Job: Police Officer

Oh you little tattletale.

He’s not too surprised by your efforts in trying to keep him from getting caught.

Hell practically half if not most of his followers are or used to be coppers before joining him.

You’re no exception.

Expect to get anonymous calls from him talking and asking about anything other than any more information on Gordon being on his tail or big plans the precinct has been working toward.

For example, one day he called you while on shift to just say, “When are ya gettin’ off cop doody?”.

He has a printed and digital copy of your work schedule.

As we see in Season 4,he has complete control over Arkhams guards and prisoners, even saying that he wants to make a show of his escape, further displaying the extent of his 'showman complex'.

 For the sake of the prompt, if he had any minor inconveniences with his little escape he wouldn’t turn down you assisting him in his plans.

Though do keep in mind his showman complex and that unless you want to be discovered as a traitor, you’ll need to discuss with him a plan where you won’t be seen as an accomplice.

He’ll leave little gifts for you on your desk mostly to show his appreciation for all that you’ve done for him.

How he gets them there, you’re not too sure.

If you don't care for his gifts, he'll offer other ways to show his appreciation. (I'm winking under the eyepatch)

Gotham!Jervis Tetch

Job: Doctor

“Twinkle, twinkle, pretty doctor, how I long to unlock her. In this asylum, you shine with smite, but in my heart, you are my light.” (Yes, this is similar to him and Lee’s interaction.)

When he got sent to Arkham, there wasn’t much he was looking forward to.

Except getting back out on Gotham streets and getting revenge on James Gordon.

But when he meets you? Now there’s something to look forward to.

Once he realizes you’re on his side and help him escape the first time, expect to hear from him often.

Quite often in fact.

When he gets sent to Arkham a second time, doctor visits and check ups are a lot more fun now.

It’s like two kids in kindergarten, passing secret notes to one another while the teacher isn’t looking.

Some being about a plan for his escape while others are all laughs and giggles.

He is a gentleman when it comes to showing his gratitude for your assistance.

That is if he likes you of course.

Gotham!Jonathan Crane

Job: Forensic science technician

When you first met, Jonathan didn’t trust you.

In fact he hated you.

Anyone associated with the GCPD and Jim Gordon, he hated.

He blamed you all for the death of his father.

It took a bit of time and patience for him to fully trust you.

Even when you started becoming a full time mole for him, he still kept you at an arms length.

No matter how often you’d update him on the GCPD and their plans, or Jim Gordon’s whereabouts, he’d just give a vague form of acknowledgment or confirmation in your words.

The only reason he started to put his whole trust in you was when you started showing interest in his experiments.

Especially his toxin.

He starts enjoying your company more when you start helping him perfect his toxin.

You both find out it comes in handy that you’re able to get information on your former colleagues' fears without any suspicion.

He’s able to find weak points in practically every police officer in the precinct.

He starts showing his gratitude for your help later on.

Though he does tend to act vague about it.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

He Canceled Hot Girl Summer 🔥

18+mdni series master list

The night before Aries season…|

You paced back and forth in the hospital room, trying to walk through the discomfort of early labor. Your mom and dad had traveled to see you and be with you during the birth of your son. Your dad, being the man that he was, couldn't stand seeing his baby girl in pain and went to harass the nurses to do something about it (despite your mom saying it was all in God's hands).

You sit down on the bed and groan in frustration. You start crazy laughing. It was only five hours in, and Omari was taking his sweet time. “He's such a drama queen.” You huff, “Of course, his little ass is doing things on his terms, like I'm not sitting here hungry for more than ice.”

Your mom just laughs and shakes her head, “It's the only time he's ever gonna be able to tell you to wait, and you gotta.”

“But if I let him call the shots now, he'll expect to keep calling the shots.” You grumble and rub your back.

“Sweetie?”

“Yeah mom?” You look at her, and your breath hitches at another contraction.

“How are you feeling? I know the last few months you and Ricky haven't been the best.” She says.

She's not really asking how you are right now physically, she's got four kids, she knows. You roll your eyes and look up at the ceiling in thought, “Dad is just being Dad, I don't even care for real.”

“You know he just didn't want this for you, neither of us did.”

“Yeah, but my baby is almost here, and Dad, I suppose, is deciding to pay my rent for the year instead of apologizing to me for what he said.” Your voice wavers slightly at the memory of what was supposed to be the happiest moment of your pregnancy. Telling your parents they were going to be grandparents.

“He's here now, and he wants to make it up to you. Ya know he never stopped, during that six month stretch, never did he stopped asking about you and the baby.” She moves to sit next to you and holds your hand. “Pray on it and forgive him.”

Your eyes close, and you chuckle sadly, “Prayer doesn't fix other people's shitty actions.”

Your mom opens her mouth and closes it multiple times. She's trying to say something, anything profound to smooth over an already tense relationship. Rehabilitate, like most mothers do when their family has been smashed on the rocks.

You hope that Omari doesn't ever have to pray for the strength to forgive you. You'd rather eat hot nails than ever guilt trip him for your actions. You think briefly that having your father here instead of his father may be his villain origin story. So maybe it's already in motion. Who knows?

Another contraction takes hold of you, and you pray for a healthy baby that will never need to be told to pray.

Chapter 4: The thing about video calls…is that you can hang up. 📱

It's been two weeks of Johnny inserting himself into Omari's life and, by extension, your life, too. On days that you don't work from home, he's at your apartment and helping you by getting Omari ready. You can always hear him speaking that strange language to him, and when you asked Johnny what it was, he told you with a sly smile.

“Gaelic chuilein.” He then went back to softly speaking to Omari as if you're not even there.

And you thought Aaliyah spoiled Omari? (Despite her telling you to send him to glory in the beginning, she comes over, and when she does, her first greeting is “Where's Big Mari? Aunty has a gift for him.” And then she produces another pair of baby Jordans that he will grow out of.) Johnny goes absolutely wild with daddy duties. The man doesn't even like the idea of his mini me being even slightly uncomfortable or upset. He bought a towel warmer just so Omari wouldn't have to leave a warm bath and use a cold towel. He didn't like that Omari's nursery had street facing windows (and the only reason his nursery faced the street is because you and him would people watch on Sunday morning) and while he fussed and complained, he got privacy film so his baby and his woman could see out but people couldn't see in.

He applied that film to all of the windows.

And then he bought you a ring camera doorbell for his peace of mind.

You've heard him on the phone with his mom or one of his three sisters. All of them sounded cheerful about Omari, asking to see his chubby little face and cooing about his features and how he looks like some man named Johnathan (who you correctly assume is his father). His mother, a sweet woman with bright blue eyes and a warm smile, speaks to you each and every time she's on the phone. She'd asked about your diet, admonished you about not eating enough, and then promptly began scolding Johnny about the importance of making sure you ate enough. She explained that a breastfeeding mother needed to eat hearty and healthy and that she was sending him a list of foods for him to get and cook. The whole time, Johnny sat there nodding his head, cheeks flushed pink, and a little bit embarrassed.

You give him credit though, you thought he'd give you bland British Food, but he was making family recipes, and they were surprisingly good.

That's when he asked if he should know your parents. Which led to you calling them up on Skype one Saturday afternoon and your mom answering with a smile.

“Sweetie!” She smiles, “And how are you doing? Are you still having trouble with your depression?” She's asking before you can even shake your head no and switch the subject. “And did you speak with your therapist and psych about getting on new meds?”

Johnny is in the kitchen, Omari strapped to his chest (once again, that baby doesn't sit on his own ass…ever) and he's looking at you with concern. His blue eyes are unreadable, but you spy the clench in his jaw as he quietly listens along. He's warming up a bottle on the stove since Omari is more demanding for being fed more often, and your nipples are too sore to handle his little gummy gnawing. It's clear from the looks he keeps giving you that a conversation will be had.

“Nah, mom. I haven't seen them in the past three weeks since work picked up and stuff.” You lean back on the sofa and situate the laptop on the coffee table.

Your mom frowns and opens her mouth, but then she stops when she hears Omari start crying offscreen. “Where's the baby? Is Autumn with you? Tell that boy that he needs to call more.”

“No, Autumn isn't here…” You take a deep breath, “Omari's father John is here.”

She stares for a moment, “now don't you going pullin' my leg.”

“No really, he is. It's a long and interesting story, but we, and really I mean Aaliyah, found him by accident, and he wants in.” You try to sum it all up neatly, and the way you purse your lips, clearly say you won't be explaining much more.

“Ricky!” Your mom gets up and calls for your father, “Richard Knights!” She's walking offscreen, and you can hear the familiar squeak of the screen door and the distant sound of the lawnmower.

Johnny comes over and sits down. He's got Omari eating. He's a bit tense, and you understand him, meeting Davina over FaceTime was stressful. The woman wasn't the same as happy and go-lucky as Johnny or his other two sisters Fiona and Blair. You chalk it up to her being the eldest daughter as she acts similarly to Aaliyah.

“How does mah hair look?” His free hand messes with the front of his hair. The bottle is leaning against his chest.

“Johnny, you're holding your son, and you are about to meet my father and mother, and you wanna worry about hair?” You smack his hand away and fix it right for him. He leans into your touch and smiles at you. That smile makes your stomach flip, and he knows that it does because the smile becomes a bit devilish.

“Chuilein,” He whispers, his eyes are half lidded, “You smell nice.”

“I smell like milk.” You playfully push him away.

“You smell like a mother, and I'm trying to hold myself back from making Irish twins with you.”

“John really?” You shriek. At this time, both of your parent's are sitting down, and you're praying they didn't hear him. (The angry look on your father's face says otherwise.)

“What did you call me in here for Portia?” Your father says.

“She saying that this is Omari's father.” Portia smiles, “Hi darling, I'm Portia, and this is my husband Richard, but we call him Ricky.”

“You can call me Colonel.” Your father flat out denies Johnny of any familiarity. You can only groan and roll your eyes heavenward.

“Daddy, please don't be difficult.” The sigh you let out can be no less dramatic if you try.

“Nice to meet you, sir, Sergeant John MacTavish.” Johnny sits up straighter, and you are reminded that he is indeed an army soldier. He fell into the roll so easily.

“Hn.” Ricky grunts and nods his head once, “a sergeant? Can't say I'm displeased. Better than what I initially thought only by a margin.” His arms are folded across his chest. He watches from beneath his heavy brows, and his eyes squint just slightly. “Can you say what branch, or are there a bunch of NDAs involved?”

“Daddy would you-”

“A bunch of NDAs, but I do serve in S.A.S. sir.” He answers coolly. Omari starts to whine and cry slightly, and Johnny is immediately tuning into what he wants. He whispers softly to him and asks if he's tired of eating and wants to burp. Your mom is smiling and looks moved. Your father not so much.

“Hm.” Ricky nods his head again, “At least my daughter got pregnant by a decent man. Can't wait to see and learn if you're respectable and responsible.”

“Ricky, be nice.” Portia frowns, “He's here now, and it's a prayer answered that she won't be on her own and Omari will have his father.”

“He's black ops. I know their kind.” He doesn't budge, and he looks down at your mom with a knowing look.

“Anyway-” Portia rolls her eyes, “John, are you planning to come to the States for Omari's baptism?” She smiles at him, “Unless you and my daughter have decided to not get him baptized.”

“ah'm actually a Catholic ma'am.” He sits Omari up after burping him so he can see the screen.

“There's Mimi's little fat man!” Portia squealed, “and you're Catholic? I'm not all that familiar with the Catholic faith, but I suppose a baptism is a baptism for you all, too? Does it matter the denomination?”

“Mom, I still haven't decided if I want to get Omari baptized.” You try gently reminding her. You've all had this conversation multiple times, and you really don't wanna go all the way back home for a baptism.

“You know your GiGi already started picking out fabric for his suit.” Portia sighs.

“She's sewing it? Good lord.” Ricky huffs, “That sewing machine is gonna catch on fire. It's so old.”

“Point is, Sweetie, that we gotta schedule the baptism soon. Don't want that baby coming up on six months without it.” She says.

“We aren' doin’ a baptism.” Johnny says before you even open your mouth, he's still smiling down at Omari and tickling his little toes.

“Huh?” You and your mother speak at the same time.

“Yea, me an’ mah chuilein are more focused on get'n tha family thing right.” He looks up. His eyes are bright, but his smile is more like a tight grimace. Then, without prompting, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek. “‘Sides” He continues, “wouldnae be right to baptize him if his his mum an’ da are livin’ in sin aye?”

“Wait, he's living with you?” Your Dad growls.

You quickly go right into damage control, “No he ain't. It's an expression.”

“Aaww” your mother is crying now, “he's a God-fearing man, I was so worried she'd end up with a heathen.”

“Portia please…” Ricky sighs, “not every man who has religion is God-fearing…” he's trying to console her cries and praises of ‘Won't he do it.”

Johnny is watching the two of them with a raised brow and a crooked grin. He looks at you and nudges your side. “The're quite tha characters.” He whispers to you. He's leaning close to you, the warmth of his breath on the shell of your ear. “An’ donnae think we aren' gonna talk ‘bout yur depression an’ mental health.”

You meet his serious gaze, and those blue eyes aren't as playful and sweet. Instead, they are worried and his lips in a firm line. The moment is tense, and you feel sorta like you're in trouble, but that can't be right. It can't be right because you're a grown woman and who the fuck is he? So before you can even stop yourself the words come out of your mouth.

“John,” you say, the corner of your lip raised a bit, “last time I checked, I'm grown.”

He doesn't say anything, and his grimace only tightens. He won't be backing down on this one. His best mates all have abysmal mental health, and while he's semi adjusted, he too suffers, and he knows it's no joke. Your mom breaks the tension with a wail, and you just now realize the woman has started speaking in tongues.

“Mom, what?” You say watching the woman cry and sob. Some of the words are ‘Thank you Jesus.’

Your father is rubbing her back, “we will talk later, Baby girl…seems your mom has decided to work herself into a frenzy.” He looks at Johnny and hums. “Give him my number, I'd like to chat with him one on one.” And before you can rebuff anything, the screen goes blank.

“Does she do that often?” Johnny asks, clearly confused.

“She's probably in the middle of a spiritual psychosis episode.” You say with a sigh, “also please don't call my father Colonel. He's retired. And on a second note, when you inevitably meet my eldest brother Junior, don't call him anything but Junior.”

“Yur family sounds fun.” He laughed.

“They are…but we all love each other. Also, did you mean what you said about the baptism thing?” You ask.

“Aye, ah did.” He looks back at Omari, who at this point has decided to chew on his shirt and doze. “Alla tha stuff can be handle’ later. Mah own mum an’ sisters ‘ave been hintin’ at a catholic baptism an’ already itchin’ about first communion.”

You watch as he rocks and soothes the baby to sleep. He's really different from what you remembered. He didn't seem like the party boy that drank shots off of you and had dipped his tongue into your navel while you laid on the bar top. He didn't seem like the good fuck that spit in your mouth and made you call him daddy (and boy was that a self fulfilling prophecy). Johnny didn't even seem like some army dude, though he was somewhat paranoid about the windows and the front door and balcony door, even though your place was on the second floor. Right now, he painted the pretty picture as a guy who just wanted to take care of his son, affectionately whispering to him in his mother tongue the tune of some lullaby.

Your phone is out, and you've already snapped a photo.

“Don't post it to your insta.” He says just as you opened the app.

“Why not?” You ask.

“Because…” there is hesitation in him as he looks at you, “yur da mentioned he knows mah type.”

You scoff, “He knows the military, I guess.”

“He specifically ask'd ‘f ah was an NDA soldier or a regular one.”

“Okay and? So you can't talk about your work? How's that a big deal?”

“Chuilein…we gotta talk ‘bout mah job, an’ safety, ‘an we gotta talk ‘bout how I wan’ tae keep ya both safe an’ move ya both somewhere safe.” He is tense now and watching your face for every bit of reaction. Slowly, you understand what he's referring to. Your own father was that type of secretive, never spoke about work unless it was just your mom. It only became worse after he made Colonel. It really didn't relax until he retired, and everyone changed their last names to Knights.

You groan and place your head into your hands. Not only did you fuck a army boy, you fucked a spec ops army boy.

“You have gots to be fucking with me.” You whine.

Because, of course, your baby daddy is a shady war criminal, NDA soldier.

A/N: Plot in this story? Say it ain't so. Lol, IDK how the plot showed up, but it's still comedy and a hint of drama. There won't be any kidnappings or his job coming back to physically harm the reader and Omari. Thank you all for following.

Tag list: @evergreenlake @royalty-cashinout @leahnicole1219 @gxuxhdjdu @daft-queen

[megamindsecretlair]

The King and I, Part 1

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. This is more background than anything, so mentions of violence, violence against women, brief mentions of rape, torture, murder, slave trade, and suicidal ideation. Hopefully this will be 3 parts, will lead to smut! Ya heathens, I know what you here for LOL. And you all deserve forehead kisses.

Summary: Raised to be perfect, your father has had it with your disobedience. He marches you to the palace and throws you at the King's feet. You'd rather die than be another person's property. But the King surprises you in many ways.

Word Count: 3,533k

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my brain and it definitely doesn't follow the canon in the movie. AH well, LOL. I love it and that's all that matters. Hopefully, my brain continues to cooperate. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion

Before you had a chance to be a little girl, you were coveted for your looks. How pretty you were. How nice your hair was. Paraded out in front of many odd, adult people who looked at you with strange things in their eyes. Things you were too young to understand.

As you got older, it only got worse. You were expected to sit there like a doll and let people talk over you or around you, as if you were no more than grass beneath their feet. Wind in their hair. Something always there and easily ignored.

So you made the decision to be seen. You gave opinions when they weren’t wanted. You stayed in other people’s business. You resisted and rebelled. It was nice while it lasted.

Your father made sure to curb you of such habits. But somehow, the punishments never took like they were supposed to. You continued to speak. To use the gifts the gods gave you. If they did not want you to speak, they should have taken your tongue.

At his end, your father gave up his pursuit of a wealthy match for you. “If you will not listen to me, I will give you to someone you have no choice but to obey!” Spittle flew from your father’s mouth.

As you were marched to the palace, that was the one thing you focused on. Your father was a proud man. Perhaps you had gone a step too far if he was letting spit fly from his mouth with abandon. This was the least of your concern, true, but being cast off on the newly appointed King Ghezo was too big to face head on.

People in the village watched as you were marched there, your father’s grip on your arm near bruising. His thick fingers were wrapped around your upper arm. He set a brutal pace and walked forward whether you were able to keep up or not. You stared at the people. You made them look at you.

You didn’t expect them to do anything to help you. No one ever lifted a finger to help little girls. You were many years an adult by now, but to everyone, you were still so young. Young in the ways of the world. But growing up, weren’t you taught the ways of the world? 

The powerful were in charge with no one to challenge them otherwise. While everyone else was sheep, forced to do their bidding. 

Your feet tripped over rocks in the dirt road. Your father continued marching. The palace gates were not far now. Dread started to inch its way to your heart. You had never seen the King, but you heard how your parents whispered about him. How he was both similar and different from his father and brother.

His father had been a cruel man, living in ways that your people hadn’t lived before. Surely, his son would be no different. When you learned that you were going to be given to the new king, you pictured how ugly he must be. How cruel. 

Your father was handing you over like a piece of meat. Handing his daughter over as if he had no hand in birthing you, raising you, guiding, and protecting you. Now you were nothing to him. You looked at him as he jostled you down the street. His eyes were set forward, a frown on his face.

Did he not feel anything at all? All these years you had been in his care and there wasn’t an ounce of feeling in him.

“Did you ever love me?” You asked. You were out of breath and it was said softly. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. You hoped. You didn’t really want to hear his answer. Hear that despite everything else, he did not share that love for you as you did for him all these years.

“You are an insolent child. I will make more of you. I will instill in them obedience where you had none,” he spat. 

You refused to cry. You had an idea that he didn’t truly love you. Sometimes he’d look at you with such…hate. As if you were a stubborn stain he could not remove. You thought it was because of your looks. Because it was all anyone could talk about. But even when it was just you and your mother, he would still look at you as if he could cast you out with a single look.

At the palace gates, the guards halted your father. The red doors were large, stretching high above you. Anyone who went in, never came back out. You heard whispered words about why the King would need so many women. There was talk of him eating flesh. If he sold it, was there a big stretch to eating it? 

You’d die before you got eaten. As your father argued with the guards, telling how he had a disobedient child that the King could do whatever he wanted with, you made the second biggest decision of your life. You will die before harm befell you. In whatever form that was. 

If the King forced himself on you, you’d kill him and take yourself with him. If he tried to put you in a stew, you’d make him watch as you bled all over his fancy robes. The guards finally opened the gates enough for you to peek through.

Women were engaged in combat. Your mouth dropped open at how fierce they looked. You were not allowed to look upon the Agojie when they returned from their battles beyond the walls of the kingdom. But now you dared not to look away. 

Your father pushed you forward. One of the guards caught you and you turned your head to your father. This was the most satisfied you had ever seen him. He hoped that the King did something awful to you. He was counting on it.

You straightened up behind the walls of the palace. You looked your father in the eyes and you smiled. You spat on the ground at his feet, that smile still on your face. His smile faltered, rage contorting his features. You turned your back on him and walked into the lion’s lair.

The guards handed you off one by one until a young guard escorted you to the front of the palace. In the training yard, men and women walked around with heads held high. It had never been your intention to become Agojie, but perhaps the mad King will let you once he found out how unsuitable for a wife you were. 

The thought of killing anyone made you ill, but it would be better than to be bound to someone who could have you killed with one word. 

The guard took you to the door that led to the inner palace. An Agojie met you there, a tall woman with beautiful features and sharp nails. She looked you up and down and conversed with the guard. You didn’t pay attention. You were marching to your death, what did the particulars matter? 

The woman took possession of you, leading you into the inner palace where it was women only. Everywhere you looked, there were Dahomey women walking freely. They laughed! They trained, they ran, and hugged each other without abandon. There were a few women from other tribes there, but…this sight robbed you of clear thought.

“You will catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that,” the Agojie said. 

The Agojie stalked forward, a hand on the hilt of her weapon. You briefly wondered how you could steal one unnoticed. You searched around you. There were weapons everywhere but there were so many Agojie, you doubted you’d be able to capture one. 

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Nanisca,” the warrior said. “You’d do well to listen to whatever the King wants.” 

You didn’t need to be reminded of the King’s cruelty. It was all your father taunted you with for days as he made his decision to hand you over. You followed Nanisca to the palace proper. There, a man dressed in bright purple robes greeted you. He was bald with lots of jewelry hanging from his nose, ears, and around his neck. He looked you up and down and then rolled his eyes towards Nanisca.

“I suppose we will have this to look forward to from now on,” he said.

“As long as our King breathes air,” Nanisca said. She left you there with the man. 

“Come,” he said. You followed him, though dread made your steps wooden and your limbs frozen. You were too deep to escape now. But escape to where? Outside the kingdom, you ran the risk of slavers. Rapists. Murderous thugs who would know where you came from and kill you just for being born in the wrong tribe.

The palace was nice, almost peaceful. There was the clank of weapons outside. Grunts and sounds from the Agojie as they practiced. The palace was big but also felt empty. As if there weren’t a lot of people there.

The King must be fat then. Perhaps he ate all the servants and would-be brides. The bald man led you through to a chamber with many chairs. On a raised dais, there was a large throne and a smaller one beside. 

“Wait here,” the man said. He twirled and disappeared down the hall. You took a step forward, looking at the displayed riches and art work. If a king was cruel, did he know anything about art? Or beauty? 

“Is this necessary?” You heard mumbling and turned towards the door, ready to face the King head on. To see what kind of monster your parents have subjected you to. 

A young man walked in, with thick curled hair and light facial hair. He wore robes of gold, his robe split open revealing a well defined chest. He stood in the doorway and gazed at you as you did him.

He certainly didn’t look monstrous. You knew that evil things often came in the prettiest packages, but he was beautiful. Strong. Solid. 

He was still your new jailor, you mustn’t forget. So you stood there and looked him in the eye. You were not a victim and you will not be treated as such. 

“What is your name?” He asked. He pressed into the room further, looking you up and down with desire in his eyes. Your parents taught you well. How to spot it in others. 

You told him your name and he repeated it. As if to savor it around his tongue. He walked closer until he was within reach. Up close, he was even more handsome. You had to fight yourself from getting distracted by his looks. He was still cruel. You remembered all the horrible stories about his brother. He couldn’t be any different.

“So your father has given you away to me.” 

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “He has, my King,” you said.

“Do you wish to be given away?” He asked.

You gasped and looked at him. You looked to the bald man for help but he was turned away from the two of you. You looked back towards King Ghezo. It was the first time anyone had asked what you wished. For it to come from a king who should not care what you wanted…you weren’t sure what to do with the information.

“N-No,” you said.

King Ghezo nodded. “I wish I could make it easier for you. But you are too beautiful to be Agojie and if I turn you from this palace, you will have nowhere to go.” He reached for your hand and you snatched it from him. He smiled patiently as he held out his hand to you.

He was only pretending to be nice. A stupid, hopeful part of you had thought he wasn’t like the stories. He was worse. Still, he was correct. If he turned you away, you had nowhere to go. Once you had been here, everyone would assume the King used you and not deemed you worthy. Cast you out like a whore. You would be forced to sell your body. 

You took his hand. He gripped it lightly and smiled. He kissed the back of your hand. “Welcome, my Queen,” he said.

The next few days were a blur. King Ghezo’s first wife saw to your preparation for the wedding. The eunuch from earlier saw to your lessons, what was expected of you. No different than what your father had wanted from you. To be on your best behavior and only speak when spoken to. 

You hadn’t seen the King since then, but you caught glimpses every now and then. You were given your own quarters and servant, someone to tend to your needs. It was odd to have someone help bathe you, but the King preferred cleanliness to all else. He was vain on top of a liar.

The feast arrived in no time and you were painted up like a doll. At the wedding, you stood there as expected. If you had smiled any harder, it would have split your face in two. You had stood there like a goat on the pasture, ready to be bought and chopped up. King Ghezo studied you, encircled you, and found you acceptable. You had been tense, near trembling. You hated every second of it.

But now you are married. You sat beside King Ghezo at the high table, while he joked and laughed with his advisors. His other wife sat on your side, quiet and dull. You pitied her. The fight had left her long ago. You were still young. There was still time for you. While everyone smiled and laughed and enjoyed the feast, you hid a knife up your sleeve. It wasn’t that sharp, but it’d do the trick when the King tried to climb in your bed tonight.

You smiled in his face and feigned an innocent routine. You waited for the casual cruelty. When he would hiss for you to shut up, eat more, eat less, sit up straight. It never came. He only gave you brief glances, each always polite. A smile on those plump lips. You couldn’t shake your resolve though. Tonight, you’d be free. Whether free in death or free in life was entirely up to him. 

That night, you lay in your bed. There was a door there that led to a small balcony overlooking the rest of the kingdom. It was mostly the trees in the forest, but they were tall and mighty and more than the view you got back home. You did not spare your father a thought, but you thought of your mother. It had not been her choice to marry such a cruel man. 

It had not been your choice to marry a cruel man either. However, you felt as if you had a child, you would have moved the heavens and the earth to protect it. To not let what happened to you, happen to your own daughter. You supposed that dream was gone now. You’d either die tonight and never have a kid, or face the wrath of the kingdom and bear one without your permission. Somehow death seemed kinder. 

You did not want to die. But how could you live within these walls? With that monster? Admittedly, you did not hear any screams late in the night. His first wife seemed unbothered. Untouched. She had borne him his first son, so perhaps he left her alone. And perhaps goats flew over the moon. 

Men were only interested in one thing from a woman. And it was not her brain. 

A soft knock tore you from your musings. You tensed up, sliding your hand beneath your pillow to wrap around the handle of the knife. Maybe if you pretended to be sleep, he’d come back another night.

The door pushed open, soft feet padded inside, and the door closed again. You lay on your side, turned towards the open balcony. If you screamed, would no one come to your aid? 

“Are you awake?” King Ghezo’s soft voice reached you. You didn’t answer. Your breaths were stalled in your chest. Your hand cramped from holding the knife too hard. 

The King poked at your shoulder before making you roll over. “I know you are not…”

You sat up and had the knife at his throat in one fell swoop. The King’s eyes widened, but he looked at you, not the knife.

“Will you kill me, my Queen?” He asked. 

You pressed the knife into his skin, hard enough to know you meant business but careful not to break the skin. You were already committing treason, but somehow, it was important not to mar the king. 

He stared at you. Those deep brown eyes set in such a handsome face. You looked for the cruel man you heard about. Where was he? You could harm a cruel man. They deserved it tenfold. Why wasn’t he making this easy on you?

“I don’t want to,” you finally admitted. “I have to.”

“Why?” 

What did he mean, why? “Aren’t you angry?” 

“Angry at a scared woman who has no one on her side? No,” he said. He was so calm, so patient. This was at odds with everything you built up about him in your head.

“Don’t pity me,” you said. You pushed the knife in deeper. 

He leaned away and held his hands up. “I do not pity you. I will not pretend to know your life. But I can promise that you’re safe here,” he said.

You scoffed. “I’m not safe anywhere,” you said. You pressed your lips together. That hadn’t been what you meant to say. You meant to throw it back on him, that he could not promise safety when he dealt in the slave trade. When he looked at his people and only saw money from white devils. 

His eyes softened and he slowly smiled. “No man intact can enter this palace. Beyond that, we are protected by the fiercest warriors in the world. Beyond them, there is a first legion still to defend this palace from enemies. Here in the heart of it, you are the safest you’ve ever been.” 

“But who will keep me safe from you?” 

King Ghezo leaned forward, making you choose between cutting him or retreating. You eased up on the pressure. “You can do a finer job protecting yourself than most women can,” he said.

You stared at him. Your arm began to shake from holding the knife for so long. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him. You were weak and would never be accepted as an Agojie. You would never fare well beyond these walls. 

You dropped the knife on the bed and held out your wrists. “I’m ready for my punishment, my King,” you said.

King Ghezo let out a long breath. You noticed now that he wore a deep, royal purple that highlighted his rich, dark skin. He wore minimal jewelry. He was just that magnificent on his own. Especially when the candle light flickered across his features.

“Punishment?” 

“I’ve threatened the King. I am ready for whatever punishment you hand out,” you said.

The King ignored the knife on the bed between you. It was within his right to take it and kill you. Or take it as evidence of your deceit. He could brand it for all to see as he threw you out of the palace. 

He did none of those things. He reached out his hand slowly and enclosed yours in his. You stared at your hands in comparison to his. He watched you as he brought your hands to his lips and placed a small kiss there.

“Plot how next you’ll kill me. If I have not convinced you of my intentions, of my character by then, you may carry through,” he said.

“What? No, no!” You said. You pulled your hands back but he held on. He pulled you closer until your hands were pressed against his warm, smooth chest. 

“Keep the knife, my Queen. This will be interesting between us,” he said.

This was surely a trap. A way for him to play and toy with you while he tightened the noose about your neck. Or gathered wood to burn you alive. Or for the Agojie to sharpen their swords to take your head with it.

“My King…”

“One day, I wish for you to call me your love,” he said. “But I will earn it or die trying.” A cocky grin spread across his face. It transformed him from a king to a man. A man who you were married to, sitting on your bed, with intentions involving you. 

He placed one more kiss on your hands and then retreated from the room. He never gave you his back, but he did smile and bow. Then he was gone from your room. A chill from outside caressed your bare skin and you shivered.

Was the king truly mad? Or were you? And why did he make you want to find out which?

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[cinamun]

Another Thursday, another non-update day. A posting schedule is a gift and a curse lol while my scene is set up and I'm ready to snap a billion pictures, my inner battery ran out at like 9pm last night so ya girl crawled her over-worked ass into bed. It doesn't help that its dark by 4:30 now. Anyway, I did manage to see what my bestie was up to. All that to say, TFA will likely update tomorrow instead. Thanks for sticking around with me y'all.

[bbunnyyy]

All The Stars~ PT.3

BAKUGOU X SECRET ADMIRER PT.3

A/N: I love this part n I love writing for y'all, you guys are so sweet. I know I said this part would come out a few weeks ago, but my kitten contacted parvo virus. I hope you guys understand :<

P.S: I'd like to add that one of the next parts will have slightly suggestive themes, nothing too descriptive.

ALL THE STARS PT.1 | ALL THE STARS PT.4

You groaned, jolting awake from what you thought was a short nap. The sun was blazing, hot on your skin now. Your head and throat throbbed- you were dehydrated and miserable. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you took in your surroundings.

Bakugou shut the door to his dorm so hard the walls shook. His muscular back rested against the wooden door. He closed his eyes, panting. The book in his hands felt like concrete, heavy and cold. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. Opening the book, he took in the pages- pages and pages of sketches of himself sitting idly in class. He had to admit, you had some real talent there. He looked so calm, taking notes while resting his chin on his palm.

Meanwhile, you pulled your knees towards yourself, taking a minute to recall the past few hours. Eyes widening, you frantically searched around as you remembered you had set your sketchbook down- it would be no short of a disaster if anyone opened that book. Maybe it wasn't THAT great of an idea to carry said book out of your dorm room. Shit. Bakugou pulled Kirishima into his dorm room, his heart beating in his temples now. "Woah, I didn't think L/N would be the one who was putting those gifts in your locker! I can't say I'm surprised though, you guys are so thoughtful with each other." Kirishima nodded. "Thoughtful with wHO, I can't fuckin stand her. She's so annoying and dumb and stupid, almost stupider than Deku." Bakugou shouted, hands on his cheeks.

"Yeah, totes bro." Kirishima deadpanned, patting Bakugou's back. "So, when're ya asking her out? There are a couple good movies in the theatre or that new cafe down the street... We should ask Denki, he looks like the kinda dude to have this kinda experience", Kirishima rambled on and on, which all went over the blond's head, too busy calming the thumping in his chest, his head steaming.

Shaking his head, Bakugou took a deep breath in. "Fuck that, We have training at Ground Beta in half an hour. We'd better start heading over and warming up." Bakugou said, ushering Kirishima out of his room. Closing the door shut, He put his forehead to the cool wood at the thought of facing you at the Ground- knowing you, you must be having a panic attack at the mere thought of your sketchbook being missing- fuck- now that he thought of it, that was fucking selfish of him to do. He wondered if he could slip it into your dorm room while you were on the ground- he could fake an injury or a fever or something, he'd just have to convince Aizawa Sensei. A tough task in itself.

☾

You stood next to Uraraka at Ground Beta. You shifted your weight from one foot to another as your fingers fiddled with your hair, still anxious over how you couldn't find your sketchbook this morning. Bakugou was stretching with the boys in some distance, taking note of how you couldn't hide how anxious you were. Almost in tears, you thought about the possible scenarios. What if someone had taken your book? What if they'd shown Bakugou? What if they'd leaked it all around UA? Your hero career was as good as over.

Aizawa Sensei walked onto the ground, patting your back as he took notice of how down you were. Aizawa Sensei started reading off the pairings for training. You shook your head, taking in deep breaths while steadying yourself to get your head in the game. UA wasn't for the weak and you weren't going to let something as small as this drag you down- they were just sketches and you could always claim the book wasn't yours, un-named as the book was.

"YN/LN and Bakugou Katsuki, please make your way to the centre of Ground Beta."

You physically flinched as you grimaced at the pairing. Uraraka gave you a small push, urging you to step forward. Aizawa Sensei gave you the side eye, wondering what kind of argument you and Bakugou had again, prompting this kind of reaction from you. Little did he know, huh?

TAGLIST: @lovra974 Thanks so much for keeping up with the series~

[anon-e-miss]

White Lies - 4

Prowl waddled down the long hallway. He did not know why he had been called to the Ark’s entrance. The humans had been talking about something called a baby shower. It was customary to give gifts to the human mother before her baby emerged. In Praxus, bitlets were not even given designations until they had survived a vorn. Yet, Prowl was already thinking of the bitlets by designations, though he told himself they were just nicknames. Praxus was gone, even if they were still on Cybertron, there was nothing left of his home state but a crater. Embracing human traditions, to a degree, was not a terrible idea but he could not convince himself that celebrating the bitlets before they emerged was wise. Something could yet go horribly wrong.

He cradled his swollen forge as he turned and saw sunlight. There was a crowd at the entrance and Prowl considered turning around and going back inside. His spark was racing. He was not sure why his spark was racing. The bitlets were jostling for space in his swollen forge. Ratchet had no idea how long this carrying would be. With the complications of the Earth’s sun’s effect on his systems and the fact he was carrying multiples, there was really no knowing. What Ratchet was certain of was that it was not yet safe for them to come. If they did come early, Ratchet did not have the equipment to do much for them. The Ark had no NICU. Prowl could only hope they gave him less trouble then their progenitor. With the way they were twisting and turning, they were as active as him.

“Prowl!” Prime turned, smiling widely at him. Prowl stopped mid step. He narrowed his optics. “Come. Primus has another miracle for you.”

“A miracle?” Prowl asked. Ironhide stepped aside. Prowl’s optics went wide. The face he had drawn stared back at him, smiling sweetly. He knew the field. It did not matter what face Meister wore, Prowl knew him.

“Hey Sweetspark.”

For a time, there was nothing. Prowl heard Ratchet muttering about him being overclocked. Offended, Prowl lifted his helm. He clenched his dented when he realized he was in Meister’s arms. What did he do? Tell them Jazz was an intention to disguise the fact he had let a Decepticon get him with spark? Did he tell them, before he had been relegated to the Ark, he had gone on those long patrols in the hopes of rendezvous with his criminal paramour? It had been an unprofessional and unacceptable arrangement when he had been an enforcer. It had become treason when Prowl had enlisted in the Autobots while Meister had enlisted with the Decepticons. No, Prowl could say nothing and the smirking aft knew it.

“I am fine!” Prowl hissed, perhaps too sharply. Meister, the damnable lecher crooned to him.

“Y’re tired, Sweetspark. When was the last time ya recharged? Don’t tell me yer still livin’ on that rocket fuel?”

Oh damn him.

“Take the time you need, Prowl,” Prime told him and then he left Prowl alone, with the lupinoid in sheepacron’s plating, to parse the human proverb.

“What are you doing here?” Prowl snarled as he wriggled out of Meister’s grasp.

“News o’ yer conditions got to the Nemisis,” Meister told him. “Ya got Megatron in quite a tizzy.”

“Boo hoo,” Prowl retorted and Meister chortled.

“Considerin’ how big ya are, he’s figurin’ Prime’s been servicin’ ya ‘n he is one jealous bucket o’ bolts”

“How is this my problem?” Prowl asked. “I have had the largest bounty on my helm of any Autobot since the beginning.”

“He wants ya alive,” Meister told him, with no trace of his irreverent humour. “Got the orders here. He wants to punish ya for yer audacity. Starscream figures he can make ya a broodcarrier like the Ancients did.”

“And what do you figure?” Prowl asked. “That I would just go along with whatever scheme you have created? I am not going anywhere with you.”

“I don’t share,” Meister said. “Y’re mine. So I can’t have Megatron or that shriekin’ pidgenoid gettin’ their servos on ya.”

“So you think I would runaway with you?” Prowl asked.

“No,” Meister replied. “I figured this was as good a time as any to defect.”

“You... you cannot be serious, you think I would recommend you?” Prowl asked.

“I think ya made yerself a pretty lil cover,” Meister replied. “‘N yer friends bought it. Just call me Jazz.”

“You are mad. Absolutely mad,” Prowl grumbled. “They will figure it out.”

“Nah,” Meister replied. “They ain’t that bright, that’s why they have ya. ‘N I got it all sorted out. Always got a plan when I gotta drop one face for the next. Changed my designation so many times, I don’t even remember which one I onlined wit.”

“That is depressing, not wholesome,” Prowl retorted and Meister chortled again.

“We did come from different sides o’ the track, Sweetspark. I emerged in the mines ‘n ya onlined in a factory. We were both created to be slaves. We both found different ways out.”

“Do you honestly think I am going to just allow you to make yourself at home on the Ark?” Prowl asked.

“Don’t like this is the first time I’ve been on yer base,” Meister chastised him.

“This is different and you know it!” Prowl snapped.

“O’ course its different, y’re carryin’ my bitty,” Meister replied. “‘N I take care o’ what’s mine.”

“Bitties,” Prowl sighed.

“Bitties?” Meister asked.

“You ensparked me with triplets!” Prowl hissed and with the strange radiation from the Earth’s sun, I have no idea how long this carrying will be.”

“Triplets...” Meister stared at him.

“Triplets,” Prowl confirmed. “I would have had to have kindled the last time on Cybertron. I do not know how they survived stasis lock.”

“They’re rooted to a strong spark,” Meister replied.

“Aft,” Prowl grumbled.

“No Con can get ya when ‘m around, Copbot,” Meister told him, stroking his lower lipplate with his thumb. “No one can get to yer bitties.”

“What about you?” Prowl asked.

“If I’d wanted to drag ya back to the Nemesis, ya gave me plenty o’ chances,” Meister reminded him and Prowl flushed. “‘M thinkin’ Prime ‘n Ratchet got the right idea. Y’re best kept right here.”

Right here. Prowl moaned as Meister seized him, kissing him hard. A moment later, and Prowl was on his berth, legs dangled over the side. Meister stood between them and Prowl could not pretend not to want him there. With deft digits, the saboteur stripped him, discarding the maternity armour on the floor. It had been a long time since the Decepticon had seen him nude, and his frame had changed a great deal. Prowl watched Meister rove his frame with his optics before almost reverently touching Prowl’s swollen middle. He startled when they kicked and then he grinned. Prowl’s lingering temper softened a little. Just a little. Meister thumbed his nozzles and Prowl shivered; they had become so sensitive.

“Ah!” Prowl gasped as Meister rubbed his anterior node and down his thick folds. Their colour was a darker gold now. There was no hiding how wet he was. The berth beneath his aft was soaked. “Oh... M...”

“Jazz,” Meister reminded him. “That’s what ya called me.”

“Mmm!” Prowl arched his back as Meister crooked two digits in side of him and rubbed his gamma cluster.

“Gotta yell my designation when ya cum,” Meister told him. “Never know if someone’s listening.”

“Ack!” Prowl bucked and writhed.

“Ya picked the designation, Sweetspark,” Meister teased him. “Say it. Say.”

“Jazz!” Prowl gasped.

“That’s it,” Meister purred. He held Prowl’s legs wide apart. Prowl knew what was coming, though he could not see through his forge. Still, he felt the pressure and the weight of Meister’s spike against his wet and engorged folds. “Tell’m who’s fraggin’ ya.”

“Unh,” Prowl moaned as Meister sheathed his spike in a single, slow thrust.

“If I’d known how sexy ya’d be heavy I’d o’ sparked ya up long ago,” Meister told him. He fragged Prowl in long, firm strokes of his spike. Prowl’s wells shook each time he thrust home. “Y’re hotter than the smelter!”

“Mm...!” Prowl exclaimed.

“Jazz,” Meister reminded him. “Gonna cum screamin’ that designation, Sweetspark.”

“Damn... yooooouuuuu,” Prowl cried as Meister fragged him slowly and surely, in perfect control. “Frag me!”

“Pretty sure I am,” Meister laughed.

“Properly!” Prowl growled.

He was on his knees, laying over a pillowed. His servos were tied together and them tied to the berth. Meister had declared he would keep Prowl tied to the berth until he could do nothing but scream the designation he had assigned Meister. No one would be bothered if Prowl hid away in his berth for a while. Ratchet would even be pleased. They would not guess Meister was keeping him their, keeping him full of spike and making up for the contributions he had not provided. Prowl moaned into the pillow as Jazz squeezed his wells and nipped at his doorwings as he fragged him from behind. Meister sucked on his wells as Prowl rode him. As he overloaded, before falling limp on Meister’s chassis, Prowl screamed:

“Jazz!”

[twstfanblog]

*~Murder Movie Madness~* PT 1

A/N: YO! Super excited to finally share this fic with you guys!!!! You get two parts in quick succession and another two tomorrow before the final part on Halloween! Enjoy the fic! Word Count: 2K Pairings: First-year poly minus Ortho and Yuu Warnings: Swearing, Me typing out a country accent

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A dear server friend, @transguydeuce was able to draw art for this! It'll be at the ending of this part and I'm so excited for everyone to see how amazing their art is!!!

Yuu hadn't realized they didn't know of any of the horror movies of Twisted Wonderland, not until their second Halloween was coming up.  A choice of movie for reviewing that week during the Film Research club was vetoed. Every other member saying the movie was ‘too scary’.

While the easiest and most obvious answer would be to ask Vil or even Idia for recommendations. They instead went the fun route and invited their Firstie group to a movie madness marathon. Each freshman was tasked with bringing a copy of their favorite horror movie for judgment. By the end of the marathon, they'd all vote on who's movie was scariest. A contest that Yuu wasn't shy on already claiming victory over. Something that had Epel already seething and stating he was going to find a movie so scary that Yuu was going to actually cry during it.

Soon their movie night approached, Ramshackle's lounge area was decked out with spooky and kooky Halloween decoractions. The large square-shaped coffee table filled to the brim with snacks and drinks for the coming marathon. Grim was pacified from wrecking the area in a tantrum, allowed to eat a bit of each snack before making his way to Ignihyde to play whatever games he could whine Idia into letting him try. Yuu always found it funny that the dire beast loved hearing stories and playing video games, but he couldn't stand to sit still for a movie.

Epel, Deuce, and Ace had been first to arrive, bringing more snacks and carrying disks of movies. They all sat around the lounge, waiting for the other three of their group to arrive. Deuce had sat at the disk player, Ace leaned over his back and nitpicking at every little adjustment the other card soldier made to the screen display. Epel placed himself on a floor cushion, already dipping into the bowl of melted marshmallows and chocolate with a graham cracker cookie the Heartslabyul duo had brought as a gift from Trey.

The Pomefiore student threw a smug little smirk over his shoulder at Yuu taking up an entire couch for herself, “The movie ah brought is gonna scare yur pants off. Picked from a list of recommendations from Vil and everythin’. He even gave me money to spring for the best versions an' cuts.”

Yuu smiled from their place, raising an eyebrow and reaching over his head to grab a handful of colorful caramel popcorn, “Says the fucker who made me turn off Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory-”

“That tunnel scene was fucked and ya know it…”

“Still don't know what you're talking about.” Yuu smiled, rolling their eyes and turning away from a fuming Epel laughing under their breath, “I don't know what you're talking about, there wasn't a tunnel in that movie.”

“Stop gaslighting me-” Epel took a breath, calming himself and eating his cookie before it dripped any more of the sticky mixture down his hand. Chewing thoughtfully, Epel pointed at Yuu and spoke when his mouth was clear, “Shut ya whore mouth. Ah asked Vil specifically what were the scariest movies he knew of to make ya eat ya words.”

He shoved the disk container into Yuu's face, explaining the movie plot while she looked at the cover. It was, painfully basic in Yuu's opinion, though they could find little details that made it interesting. The title of ‘Haunting Grounds’ was across the top in a stylized font, a group of stereotypical teens or college kids were all squished onto a couch with various expressions of fear and terror holding bright red party cups. A weird scene but the more Yuu looked at the cover the more they found had been snuck in to show it was a horror film. Blood leaking from under the couch, the slash marks along the back walls, How roughed up the people looked, the ominous figure silhouetted in the center behind the group seen from the illuminated bay window.

Epel tapped at the case, black painted nails tapping at an out-of-place red dot in the corner of the cover, “With the extra funds Vil gave me, Ah was even able to get the immersive copy. We gotta watch it first and really get the scene set for the rest of them.”

“Gotta set dress for a shit show, huh?”

Sebek, Jack, and Ortho arrived to the scene of Epel and Yuu rolling around on the floor fighting, the two smaller freshmen spitting insults at each other. Soon, everyone was seated and picking at the spread of snacks while Deuce gave the disk player a final check as he prepared each movie to play back to back so that no one would have to get up.

Ortho held out his hand, smiling with his eyes toward Epel, “Epel Felimer, may I see the disk case you brought? I wish to look at the reviews for the movies tonight!”

With the case in hand, Ortho had only just loaded the movie overview before his eyes caught the red dot at the corner of the case. His eyes widen, stuttering slightly, “O-oh! Epel Felimer, I don't have an issue with it but have the others agreed to engage in such an experience?”

“Huh?” Seeing Ortho hold up the case and point to the dot he smirked once again. “Oh yeah. Don't worry. Ah got the green light from Vil on how good this movie is. The immersion feature is just to scare us a bit more.”

“...” Ortho's brows furrowed down, an air of seriousness so deadly it made everyone around the couch pause, “Epel Feilmer, a pink dot is immersive, a red dot means interactive.”

“...Fuck.” Epel whipped back around, a knee braced against the coffee table as he tried to pull Deuce back, “DEUCE, WAIT-”

“Huh-”  Deuce had turned around, his questioning tone cut short as his finger pressed the play button and the room went dark.

As their eyes suddenly snapped open, Yuu was painfully aware that the sun fucking hurt to look at, “Oh God, the fuck? It's like 8pm, why is the sun out-where am I? Hello!?”

They looked around in disbelief, Sage Island was just dipping into Fall, leaves turning crunchy and temperatures dropping by the day. Instead, they found themselves in lush summer grasses, tall and leafy trees in almost nauseatingly hot air. They look down, seeing their comfortable fall loungewear replaced by a simple V-neck tucked into denim capri pants and sneakers. Feeling something against their skin, they pulled a necklace tucked under their shirt out to find a heart-shaped locket with a photo of a completely different woman with an older man.

“What the fuck…?”

“YUU!? CAN YOU HEAR ME!?”

“Ace!?”

The woods weren't as big as they had seemed. Only a few steps and they found Ace and Sebek standing in a clearing, the other freshmen looking just as confused and in different clothes as well.

Ace was dressed sensibly, minus the open-toed sandals and layered top of a plain t-shirt and a comedically printed unbuttoned shirt. A baseball cap with several pins on it was a few feet away, no doubt supposed to be Ace’s.

Sebek…was in a sweater vest. The argyle top seemed to be too small yet fit him perfectly, he even had a little bowtie. Paired with pressed khaki shorts, matching knee socks and hiking boots, Yuu had to physically stop themselves from giving the half-fae a wedgie and demanding whatever money he had on his person.

The half-fae was awkward, standing as though he knew if he moved too fast the clothing would rip apart at its seams, “...This feels tight. I can tell it's not but it feels tight.”

Yuu placed a hand over their mouth but removed it to speak, “I wanna beat you up so bad right now.”

“I think I'd let you…”

Ace was looking around the treeline, hoping to spot another one of their group, “Juice!? Epel!? Jack!? You guys ok!?”

A familiar hulking figure comes from the bush. Jack was in a striped tank top, cargo shorts, hiking boots, and a varsity jacket tied around his waist. The closer he got, Yuu was able to see he had leather bracelets on each wrist and big gaudy ring on his right hand.

Ace looked at his boyfriend confused, pointing to something in his hands, “Where the fuck did you get a football?”

Jack looked down, only now seeming to realize he had a football in hand, “I…I don't…know…” He turned and threw the ball away, opening his mouth to speak only for everyone to jolt at the sound of Epel yelling in pain.

Sebek was already halfway through the trees, Jack hot on his heels with Yuu and Ace close behind, “Epel! Remain where you are! We are coming to you!”

The country boy was on the ground, the football beside him as he groaned and held his hands over his face. Sebek reached him first but stood back, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Jack stopped short too, looking at Epel's outfit with confused eyes, “O-oh…”

Epel glared at his boyfriends, standing up of his own accord as Ace and Yuu arrived to the other clearing, “Yeah, no, Ah'm fine. Ah'll get my own damn self up. Just got hit in the damn eyes with a ball and-...”

Yuu covered their mouth again, trying to fight the laughter struggling to escape them. Epel was basically in a bikini of an outfit. A small, brightly colored halter top that showed off his midriff, stark white booty shorts that had a rhinestone decal of a butterfly, and slightly heeled strappy sandals. Yuu also couldn't help but notice he even had a few thick metal bangles on.

“...” Epel gestured to himself, his voice coming out so loudly and angry that it was almost impossible to tell what he had just screamed, “WHO CHANGED ME INTO THIS!?”

Ace shrugged, looking Epel up and down with a slight smile, “I mean, it’s not bad.” “My damn ass is hanging out!” Epel tried to pull the shorts down, growing more frustrated as the shorts either showed more of the top bands of a thong he was wearing or pulling them up to have the bottom of his asschecks exposed

Jack tilted his head a bit, his ears pivoting around before he turned his head away, “I mean- Wait, I hear Deuce.”

“Where is he?”

“Guys!?” A rustle from bushes pulls their attention, the spade soldier walking out of the brush and into the clearing while pulling leaves out of his hair.

Deuce was in loose jean shorts, the edges frayed and a nearly see-through white button-up that was opened enough to show off his collarbones and top of his pecs. As he walked closer, Yuu noted that his skin was glistening and he had on a shark tooth necklace.

He was wiping at his exposed forearms and legs, a look of disgust on his face at the feeling on his skin, “I’m…I’m like oiled up. Is anyone else covered in oil? Why am I covered in oil?”

Sebek huffed lightly, gesturing to everyone else’s clothing before pointing at his own, “Why am I dressed this way but you all have decent wear for the environment?”

Epel scowled toward the taller boy, “Decent?”

Jack’s ears folded back, turning back to the group with a look of worry on his face, “I can’t hear Ortho.”

… The group descended back into a momentary panic, each of them breaking off into the woods screaming out for their last lost member.

They were on an island. At the very least it was in the middle of a lake and not an ocean like Ace had feared before Jack and Sebek were able to point out faint buildings in the distance. Epel had pointed out a boat speeding away from the island at a different shore. Running over (Epel annoyingly managing to nearly trip over every exposed root) they all shouted and tried to wave down an old man scowling at them to turn back around. He yelled back at them, shaking his hook hand at them, “I WARNED YA! I WARNED YA! I HOPE YUR CURSED JUST LIKE HE WAS!”

“COME BACK !?” Yuu sighed, holding their hands up to the sky as if to question the heavens, “Why the fuck are we here if this place is cursed!? Epel, your movie sucks!”

“Don't ya fucking blame this shit on me, ya COW-”

Jack’s ears were pressed to his head, dread starting to fill the other firsties while Epel and Yuu fought in the sand beside them, “Oh Seven, we’re in the movie…”

LOOK AT THIS! I love how they draw so much and Im so happy I got them to draw the firstie's outfits. Just imagine them in these the whole time honestly.

[hanafubukki]

Concerning the Idia & proposing by pomegranate thing- what if he gives you the seeds slowly as he becomes more and more sure he wants to marry you? The first one he gives you is while he's at NRC. Just a single seed doesn't say anything, what's the harm in feeding you one just as a symbol of appreciation for what you are to him? Cue to a year or two later- he's no longer in school while you're still there (free housing, ya know?), but you're facetiming and doing everything you can to stay in contact/have a long distance relationship. He sends Ortho to visit you along with a gift basket, making sure Ortho has video proof that you ate the single pomegranate seed nestled among the fruit. Another year or two pass and you now live relatively close to each other. He's at your place, snuggled up to you on the couch as you're nodding off. He gets caught up in his feelings for you, of how much he loves you and would never want to live without you. His gaze never leaves you as he presses a seed into your mouth and you sleepily eat it. The fourth one is somewhat forced onto you- he had gotten jealous. You corner him into talking about his feelings, which leads to an emotional outburst. He corners you up against a wall, grimly speaking down to you. A pomegranate seed appears between his fingers and presses it into your lips, but you don't open your mouth. The rage he was displaying started to radiate away as you held strong until all his face showed was sadness. You know what he was feeling- what he was thinking. You were waiting for him to cool off. You take his hand in both of yours. He flinches. You can tell he wants to back up- to not be near you now- but he doesn't move away. Your lips part and mouth opens as you take the seed from him, looking into his eyes as you eat it (you don't know what's up with him and these occasional pomegranate seeds, but you know they mean something special to him). He hands are trembling now as his face starts shifting- he's gonna cry. You let go of his hands to cup his face instead and kiss his tears away as they start rolling down.

He's done for the night and laying in bed, ready to actually get some sleep. And what better way to fall asleep than to daydream of you. What naturally comes to mind first is embarrassing- your wedding. Nobody's watching so he let's himself indulge in his simping pleasures. Until he remembers (more like realizes). The seeds. He- He never thought your relationship would amount to anything- to continue this long. He figured you'd realize he was a loser, that you could do better, and one day leave him forever. That's why he never thought much about giving them to you- they were just symbols of his feelings for you that would never reach a critical number because you'd have left by then. He shivers. He's at 4. Not much more than half, but only 2 to go. What if he hadn't realized it in time? What if he'd given you the last two in another willy-nilly moment and unintentionally bound you to him for life? He knows what his options are. He knows, if he really wants to, he could leave you. Ghost you and never have you enter his life again. Never have another opportunity to feed you another seed. But he also knows- deep down he doesn't want to. Even disregarding the hope his heart cannot help but have, he wants to spend every single moment he can with you- up until the very last second. He's selfish like that. So he decides- he'll just ignore it. There's 2 left- that means he has 1 as a buffer before things get dangerous. It'll be fine. He won't feed you one again.

It happened again. He's at home, sitting on his bed as he reflects on his actions. He'd spent another day with you, as usual, and as the day was winding down... he was so in love with you. The idea popped into his head, "Feed her one. Give her a seed. You have to, you love her so much you can't bear it, so just press one more into her mouth- let it alleviate this positive pressure on your heart. Who cares if this will be the fith? It's the buffer seed. It'll be fine as long as you never give her another. It's fine, just do it!" And he had. And he was happy.

He hated his feelings ever since he'd fed you the fith seed. Day by day his desire to give you the fate-bounding sixth seed grew stronger and stronger. Again and again, he felt the compulsion to feed you another. But he had more willpower this time around, knowing what the consequences of his actions would be. It was difficult, but he'd held fast despite his tug-of-war of feelings- of loving you so much but having to not act on it. His suffering would be eased soon, however. You'd come to visit him but you were acting slightly off. Nervous maybe? No...flustered. You sat on his couch and gestured him to sit next to you, your knees angled so you'd also be facing each other. You were nervous, heat rising to your face, but you wanted to do this. Now you just had to start talking. "You know...Ortho told me." "??? T-Told you...what?" "What the pomegranate seeds mean." His heart dropped to his stomach as you continued talking, "He also let me know how many I've eaten so far. I feel like it's been way more than 5, but maybe that's because it's been over so many years." This is it, he thinks. It's gonna be over. "Have you... do you... would you want...? To... give me the last one?" He can't answer. The moment he does, you'll be gone (his appearance doesn't match his inner turmoil- with his blazing pink hair, blushing face, and dilated eyes). You can do this. You have to take the plunge. You take a breath to steel your nerves and raise your open palm. A single pomegranate seed sits in it. "I-I would like it. If you'd.... give it to me." He hasn't moved a single muscle. Is this rejection? "I-Idia?" You have unconsciously leaned closer to him, gravitating your face closer to his. The room is silent. You can't take anymore. You're about to pull back when you feel something tickle your hand. It's his slim, pale fingers, just barely grazing your palm. Now he's leaning closer as well, and he picks up the seed. He's yet to say anything- he's only staring at you. He lifts the seed. His pointer finger places it on the seam of your lips before his thumb gently holds it there, waiting for your permission to push it in.

(Extra: you move his hand away and pull him in for a kiss- your tongues pushing the seed around. You make sure it's in your mouth when you pull away, and you make sure to exaggerated your swallow so he knows it went down)

[in reference to this ask]

Hello Fake Date Sebek Anonke 🌸🌺💙

*grips you by the shoulders* Anonie, Anonie, the way I just gaped at this?? Wow??

It’s so cute?!! I adored reading it. 💞💞💙💙

@werewolfnamedraven, Raven you need to read this!!

Idia slowly coming into his feelings as time goes on is just -chef kiss-

The symbolism of courting you secretly but in his own way, you don’t know what it means, but you do it for him. 🥹💙

And then!! The sixth seed!! He could end his misery and make you his, but he doesn’t! Doesn’t allow that one last selfishness move his hand. Instead, you find out and make your choice. You ask him to give it to you.

It was your choice.

You chose to be with him ahhhhh 💞💞

And that kiss!!! That kiss!!

The kiss sealed the deal.

You are together now, not even death can seperate you two.

Fake Date Sebek Anonie, you’ve done beautifully!! I thank you in not leaving me in angst this time 💙🥰🌺