#because it's honestly easier for me to take care of than short hair

[shamera]

if anyone wants to write any Long Hair Problems(tm), here are some common complaints from me, someone who has had long hair most of my life.

have on more than one occasion risen from bed only to yank myself down because my elbow was on my hair

walked to the table for food while carrying something, leaned over to eat and started screaming because my hair was dropping into the soup

can and HAVE used my own hair as a scarf before.

it's not that long anymore but I have sat on my hair by accident before and leaning forward DOES yank it

I sleep with my hair loose and move it up over my pillow but bc it's so long and I don't want it to hang off the bed, I pull my hair back toward me on the pillow and sometimes I will turn around and startle myself because there is a mass of black right next to my face.

MUST tie up hair before doing anything. washing dishes? brushing teeth? cleaning toilet? lean forward a little bit and suddenly all your hair is falling right into the target direction you don't want it to go. and it will fall over your shoulders.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing — CM Punk ♥︎ f!Reader 🖤 Summary — Sequel to I Want It. Punk discovers Paul Heyman’s daughter used to be involved with Logan Paul. Punk reacts as expected. 🖤 Word Count — 6.2k 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Age gap (she is twenty-something, he’s forty-something), Daddy kink, dirty talk, name calling, oral (f receiving), somnophilia, unprotected p in v, toxic relationship, cum 18+ 🖤 Notes — Shoutout to @caramara3 for all the ideas and listening to me whine AND reading this before I posted. Thank you so much for putting up with me! 🖤 Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!  🖤 MASTERLIST

Wake me up when you get here. 

Oh, he planned to do just fucking that, he thought, grinning wildly, tooth-gap on full display as he strolled down the hotel hallway toward his room. Inserting the card key into its slot, he entered the dark room, allowing the door to click closed softly behind him. Her iPad, propped up on the nightstand, was playing an episode of her favorite television show, silhouetting her body as she slept soundly on her side, facing away from him. He dropped his bag in the closet before lifting his hoodie over his head, tossing the garment onto the bag. He toed off his sneakers in the same place, smelling her shampoo and her body wash and her lotion because they all had very different, very distinctive scents—she must have showered while he’d been gone—and he suddenly didn’t have time to remove anything else.

He crawled slowly onto the bed behind her, holding himself up on his hands and knees as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling all of her fragrances. She snored softly, and Punk breathed a laugh against her hair—when this girl slept, she slept hard. And he’d taken advantage of this fact on more than one occasion, just like he would take advantage tonight. He’d done it before with a couple other women with mixed results, but he honestly didn’t care whether they liked it or not. Because he loved it. A sleeping woman was beautiful, sexy, an air of innocence surrounding her as she breathed evenly, utterly ignorant to the predator stalking her, who had intentions less pure than that of the devil himself.

“Are you awake, kitten?” he asked, expecting and receiving only more tiny snores. He licked at her neck, chasing those sweet scents, his hand sliding down her side to her ass barely covered in a pair of soft shorts. She gave no indication she was conscious, and Punk kissed her shoulder, her arm, the tips of his hair grazing her skin as his mouth traveled down her body. “Daddy’s home,” he grinned wickedly, mischievous eyes lifting to search her face as he tenderly maneuvered her onto her back for easier access to everything. She may sleep hard, but that was no reason to be careless with her or rough, no reason to tempt fate, no reason to see just how much he could get away with before she woke up.

Punk shuffled the blankets toward the bottom of the bed where he sat back on his heels for a moment, head tilted, hands on his thighs, and simply watched her. She wore one of his white merch shirts with the sleeves deeply cut out, the outer curves of her breasts on full display, and sometimes he found that sexier than if he were seeing the whole set. The bottom of the shirt had ridden up, giving him a view of her belly button piercing, his cock twitching at the dangling diamond jewelry he’d bought for her recently, at the memory of removing the old one and inserting the new one and how fucking hard that simple act had made him. 

“Look how cute,” she’d gushed before sifting her fingers through Punk’s hair, and he’d kissed the diamonds before raising his eyes to hers. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Punk was on his hands and knees again, hands on either side of her hips. “You’re welcome, Peach,” he’d replied. The shy smile she’d given him had been so fucking precious, and Punk’s heart throbbed now at the memory just as it had in the moment. Nicknames, diamond jewelry, installing a tracking app on her phone so he knew where she was at all times, and suddenly it had become more than just fucking between them. Or had it been like this since the beginning?

Forcing himself out of the memory and back into the present, his wolfish eyes gazed at the diamonds by the light of the iPad as he lowered his head, swiping his tongue along the accessory. As his cock strained against his jeans, he sat up so he could pull her shorts and panties down her legs and off, careful not to remove the strangely sexy, huge fuzzy socks on her feet. And there she was, his very favorite peach, the sweetest, tightest, goddamn prettiest pussy he’d ever seen, and that included in real life and in porn, and he got to feast on it any time he damn well pleased. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his long body stretching out behind him, hips instantly rolling against the mattress, though it provided only a minimal amount of relief. 

He slid the tip of his nose from the bottom of her clit to the top, eyes closing as he inhaled, easily overdosing on her feminine aroma. His tongue snaked out of his mouth to replace his nose, flicking over the little nub, and then his lips wrapped around it and he sucked ever so carefully, reverently. And he didn’t regret molesting her while she slept, or tracking her whereabouts, or watching her from a dark corner to be sure she was safe and she wasn’t doing anything he deemed wrong because this cunt was worth every diabolical sin he ever had or would ever commit.

He had her dripping down his beard in no time, his dick promising to bust through his jeans at any moment as his tongue worked overtime, and she still slept, though she was becoming a bit restless. Her satiny legs moved and stretched around him, arms twisting under her pillow as her back arched, sending one of her breasts popping out the side of the sleeveless shirt. Punk smirked, nibbling her clit and reaching up to cup the bare breast, gently groping, scraping the pad of his thumb over the hardening nipple—that got him a teeny, tiny mewl, but then her body relaxed and she let out a breath and she was off to dreamland once more. Punk chuckled, hot air rushing over her soaked pussy, causing it to clench, and he was done with this fucking foreplay. He sat up on his knees, pulling the button of his jeans through its loop, lowering the zipper, and he pulled his weeping cock out, jaw clenching to keep from moaning as he gave it a few hard strokes. He could still taste her on his lips, smell her in his beard and mustache, as he reached up to expose her other breast in the same manner as its twin.

“Wore this just for Daddy, didn’t you?” Punk uttered, tweaking the nipple gingerly, and she produced a defiant whine this time, and even in her sleep, she was a goddamn brat. “Shut up,” he groused, massaging the unyielding head of his cock along her slippery slit before sliding slowly inside her tight hole, inside heaven itself.

Her spine bowed again, a complete groan escaping her lips as she tried to close her knees against the foreign intrusion, but Punk grabbed her thighs and held them apart, his dick jolting within her as he continued on. Her eyes fluttered, hands coming out from under the pillow to blindly shove at whomever was assaulting her, obviously disoriented, and Punk, always the clever predator, slammed the iPad down on its screen to extinguish the light, making it even more difficult for her to figure out what was going on. He snatched her wrists mid-air, her hands instantly making fists, and he slammed them above her head, at the same time fully immersing himself inside her. The groan he released was savage, vibrating the both of them, and he finally draped his long, hard body over hers, every muscle in his arms flexing as she fought him, his waist too close to hers for her legs to do any damage, and the more she fought, the tighter she became. He didn’t notice the vicious smile splitting his lips—and she couldn’t see anything at all in the pitch black of the hotel room—when he tucked his face into her neck, clamping his teeth onto her sleek skin. 

“Punk?” she panted, and he basked in the sensation of her nipples touching his chest every time she inhaled. “Daddy?” 

“It’s me, Peach,” he replied charmingly, as if moments ago he hadn’t been an unknown attacker, purposely darkening the room so it made it more difficult for her to figure out who was on top of her. Her legs were no longer trying to close, instead wrapping themselves around his trim waist, fuzzy socks locking at his lower back, but he refused to relinquish his vice-like grip on her wrists just yet. 

“What are you doing?” she quietly asked, finishing with a moan as Punk almost pulled his cock completely out of her cunt before thrusting back deep inside her.

“Just relax,” he coaxed. “Daddy’s using you right now.” He felt her cheek graze his as she nodded and let out a dainty breath that ghosted along his shoulder. She angled her hips, sucking Punk’s cock somehow further into her pussy, and they shared a moan. 

“I can smell my pussy on your beard,” she whispered, her lips rubbing along the salt and pepper stubble, and Punk lifted his head, their noses brushing. 

“I needed a late night snack,” Punk explained, rocking his hips into hers, her body moving in sync with his tempo. “And you know how I feel about peaches—”

His mouth covered hers, devouring her groan, and their kiss was feral, teeth-clacking, tongues wrestling, and it wasn’t about gaining dominance during something as simple as a kiss. No, it was about trying to taste her everywhere, lick her everywhere, feel every part of the inside of her mouth, memorize every tooth and taste bud. His thrusts came harder, faster, scratching that itch deep inside her as their lips moved together, perfectly in sync, her hips lifting to meet each pump. She was so fucking tight, so pretty, so trusting.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” she exhaled, breaking the kiss with a lewd, wet smack. 

Punk released one of her wrists so he could quickly lift the iPad back into its propped up position, coloring the room in ever shifting, dull shades of blues and whites. Her smooth lips were parted, cut up t-shirt gathered between her bouncing breasts, and maybe he shouldn’t have killed the light in the first place. He reclaimed her wrist, her skin still heated from his earlier grip, but she slipped through his grasp, and she intertwined their fingers instead, and he told himself the gesture meant nothing, that he was too lazy to rearrange his grip. 

Whatever the reason, he let her hold his hand.

“Look at me,” Punk commanded. She shook her head, brows arching, licking her lips, and then licking them again, except this time the tip of her tongue circled her lips, tasting the remnants of her pussy juices and his spit. He preferred when she obeyed, but her defiance turned him on, too, made his balls tighten and his lower back tingle. “Fucking look at me, you stupid slut.”

She cried out, squeezing his hand, and he thought for a moment he was going to have to tell her again, but then her glazed-over eyes popped open. Their gazes met, and another shout escaped her lips before her cunt pulsated around his cock. He’d wanted to last longer, to fuck her until she begged him to stop, until she couldn’t take it anymore, until she was either in too much pain or too overstimulated to the point of crying—fuck, he loved it when she cried, tears streaming pathetically down her beautiful face while she beseeched him to stop, to please let her live—but then her cunt was milking his cock, begging in its own way for a reward for being so good to him, for him. He unloaded suddenly deep inside her, hips stuttering, breath hitching, and he felt like maybe he died a little, but he never once broke the eye contact he’d demanded, and neither did she, despite their earth-shattering orgasms.

“Oh, my god,” she sighed, blatantly satisfied, and Punk released her wrist and hand one at a time so he could support his weight with one arm at all times—under his dead weight, she’d have surely been crushed. She instantly combed her fingers through his hair, Punk’s eyes closing as her manicured nails scratched along his scalp, and if she were a wrestler, this would be her finishing move. “Thanks for waking me up,” she giggled, pressing her lips to his for a kiss that lasted minutes. Minutes. Never once did he feel the urge to pull away or feed her some excuse as to why he needed to put space between them, and if the grip she had around his neck or the rolling of her hips against his were any indications, she wouldn’t have allowed him to separate them, anyway. 

“You’re welcome,” Punk replied, catching her contagious, after-sex smile. “I hope you’re ready to go back to sleep, though. We gotta get up early.”

The following day, the couple—oh, Jesus … are we a couple? Punk wondered—arrived at WWE Headquarters separately—Punk drove a rental, she always had a car service available to her—for a meeting organized by Triple H concerning the direction of the company. As CM Punk, and with a rock solid contract, he assumed the content wouldn’t have much to do with him, but his attendance was mandatory nonetheless. She was present as Paul Heyman’s protégé—the heir apparent—the future of what’s best for business. And before he made himself known to her, he watched her from afar, snapping photos as she chatted with talent, had a conversation with her father, and he even photographed her thumbs tapping away on her phone, seconds later receiving a text from her.

I know you’re here, the text said, and Punk’s eyes narrowed, glancing up at her. He was about to respond when another message came through. I can feel you watching me. 

Punk replied after a moment, sending one of the first pictures he’d taken of her so he could give her a rough idea just how long he’d been stalking her. His chartreuse eyes switched from his phone to her, standing in a corner across the room. 

She smiled upon receiving the message, chewing on her bottom lip as she quickly typed an answer. Now I’m wet, it said. 

“There’s my guy!” 

Punk glanced up at Paul Heyman as the shorter man approached him, joyful smile on his face, and then Punk’s eyes lowered to his phone once more when it vibrated.

You fucking creep, he read, hearing her taunt him in his head, her playful tone laced with lust and obscenity, and he almost reached down to adjust his tweaking dick, catching himself at the last second as Paul stood in front of him. Punk killed the screen on his phone and stuffed the device into his back pocket, crossing his sinewy, tattooed arms over his broad chest, preparing for either a famous Heyman lecture about this or that, or he was about to give Punk a sneak peek of what Triple H would shortly announce to everyone. The content didn’t matter—Punk couldn’t have cared less regardless—but he hated being interrupted, and the anger did well at suppressing his blooming arousal.

Once the actual meeting started, Punk parked his ass in the back row of chairs, sipping his coffee and scrolling his phone—it would be too risky to open that thread of messages while so many people were in such close proximity to him and could easily look over his shoulder. And then she was suddenly passing in front of him, a soft breeze of her perfume splashing across his face, and he inhaled until his lungs promised to explode, holding his breath as if the fragrance would have a mind-altering effect on him. She sat in the empty seat beside him, arching a brow as she glanced at him, a smile only for Daddy on her flawless lips.

As Triple H began speaking about whatever, Punk pretended to stretch in her direction, dropping an arm on the back of her chair. “You’re fucking killing me,” he breathed, glancing behind them as he spoke. 

She wasn’t as covert as he, simply leaning over closer to his ear as she whispered, “Sorry, Daddy.”

Punk looked at her as she pulled away, their eyes locked in yet another contest, and probably anyone who looked at them right now would be able to tell what was going on between them. There was a crackle in the ether surrounding them, tension so thick it was difficult to breathe, and although the eye contact succeeded only in further charging the air and condensing the passion between the old man and his pretty peach, neither of them broke it. Until— 

“So I want you all to give a warm welcome to Logan Paul!”

She blinked, the debauchery in her eyes from before replaced with unease and, what, fear? What had changed her mood so drastically and so quickly? He got his answer when she slowly turned her head to the podium, a snarl of disgust stealing her normally carefree smile and attitude. Punk followed her hardened gaze, watching as the doughebag “social media superstar” shook hands and hugged Triple H. Most of the people in attendance cheered or clapped, but the girl beside him looked as though she might throw up at any moment, and Punk wasn’t a fucking moron. 

“Tell me you didn’t date him,” he said, instantly wishing he could grab the spoken words and stuff them back down his throat. He hadn’t meant to say date—he didn’t care who she’d dated—he’d meant to say fuck. Because he did not care about her past boyfriends. He didn’t. She looked at him, once sparkling eyes having lost their light falling shamefully, and Punk needed to hurt someone. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating,” she quietly replied.

Punk’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths in a futile attempt to cool the raging fire within. He'd have to process her prior taste in men at a later time—the utter devastation written across the pretty girl’s normally lighthearted face had his stomach in knots and his hands clenching into fists, unclenching, and repeating. He’d never seen her this way before, not even when the two of them argued, and he placed a hand over his aching chest as a memory flashed through his brain. 

“Sorry I woke you,” she’d said, watching as he climbed on the bed so he could reach the ceiling and slay the evil eight-legged imposter that’d had her screaming for help at three in the morning.  

“What do I always tell you?” Punk had asked, balling up the paper towel with the spider carcass, hopping off the mattress.

She’d smiled, clasping her hands behind her back as she’d closed the space between them. “Daddy will always take care of me,” she’d sweetly replied.

Sweet. She was sweet. What the fuck had she even been doing with that idiot in the first place? What the fuck was she doing with him?

“I’ll take care of you,” Punk suddenly said, speaking without thinking.

Her eyes rose to his. “What?” 

“It,” Punk immediately corrected. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“… There’s nothing to take care of.” 

“I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

She rolled her eyes, Punk resisting the urge to smack her thigh as punishment for the offending gesture. “Just leave it alone. You don’t even …” She shook her head. “Just leave it alone. Leave it alone, leave him alone, leave …” She trailed off.

Punk’s jaw tightened. “Leave you alone?” 

“Did I fucking say that?”

Punk was silent—she hadn’t said that, but she might as well have—as he faced his body forward, again folding his arms over his chest. The two of them endured the remainder of Logan Paul’s insufferable speech, neither of them speaking again or even looking at the other. Punk didn’t really know what the heart of the argument he’d started was. Jealousy—Logan was younger, probably had more stamina, and could probably keep up with her better than Punk could. Humiliation—Was Logan really the kind of guy she was attracted to and she was just fucking Punk until she found someone better? Fear—What had the newest member of the Raw roster done to his girl in the past? Or had it been a special cocktail of all three?

When the garbled speech finally ended, Punk jumped from his chair, intent on escaping in his rented SUV, but Paul Heyman stopped him, as well as his daughter, imploring them both to meet the latest superstar. Owing a lot to Paul, Punk allowed himself to be tugged in that direction, and because she was his offspring, Punk’s little peach couldn’t find it in her heart to deny him, either. On the upside, Punk would be able to gauge the energy between her and Logan, keeping his eyes peeled for knowing smiles or blushes or lip biting.

None of which happened. Punk almost wished they had. 

“Holy shit!” Logan shouted once he laid his eyes on Miss Heyman. Punk watched her as she forced a smile but refused to make any sort of eye contact with the blonde moron. “I didn’t know you worked here!”

She blinked. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t know that,” she replied, looking everywhere but at Logan’s face.

Punk’s emerald eyes switched to the influencer as he shrugged. “I just don’t think about you, you know,” he said. Punk licked his lips, chewing the bottom one, tasting copper. “I mean, I don’t think about you in WWE.” He wasn’t trying to correct himself, and suddenly Punk’s vision was stained crimson, hands forming fists again. Who the fuck did this kid think he was? He turned his attention to the Second City Saint, extending his hand, and it took several moments for Punk to force his hand to shake Logan’s. He squeezed, hard, forbidding Logan to let go, and just as the kid’s face began to morph into worry, the girl with the dangling diamond belly button ring cleared her throat, diverting Punk’s attention and reminding him with her eyes not only who he was, but where he was. He was about to release Logan’s hand when the younger man pulled him in for a hug and whispered in his ear, “I act like I don’t remember her, but I do, and if you get the chance, you should hop on that.” Punk’s eyes glazed over, his entire body stiffening. “She’s a freak, bro.” The words were enough to set Punk’s blood boiling, but the fact that this kid just told a stranger, a coworker, that Paul Heyman’s daughter was a freak added fuel to the fire. Was he trying to impress Punk? Make a new fucking friend? And who else would he tell before he even got out of the building? Who else had he told already? 

“Ah, fuck,” Punk sighed, his momentary shock allowing Logan to remove his hand from Punk’s grasp and put some distance between them before Punk made a decision. 

“Punk.” His sweet, precious, little peach. He looked down at her, a foot, if not more, shorter than him, who loved to brush her fingers through his hair and was the reason he’d started growing it out in the first place, and he needed to hurt someone. “Don’t,” she warned, with zero conviction in her voice. Maybe she knew he wouldn’t listen, maybe she wanted him to hurt someone but she had to pretend to try and stop him. 

“What’s going on?” her father asked, making his presence known.

Punk gazed down at her, hands on his hips, and he knew very well there would be consequences for his actions, but he was prepared to face them head on. There would be consequences for her, as well, possibly, and still it wasn’t enough to hold him back. He tilted his head, pursing his lips, caressing her cheek with his thumb, fingers tickling her neck, and he turned around, stomping after Logan. He grabbed the new hire’s shoulder and spun him, Logan caught off guard, and Punk reeled back and got off a clean, hard punch to the asshole’s face. Punk followed him as he fell, straddling Logan with a knee on the floor and the other leg stretched out as he held him down with one hand and punched him repeatedly with the other. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Punk yelled, pausing the battery just so he could point at the beaten man under him. “Not one more goddamn word about her.” The hand holding Logan down went to his throat, and his voice was somehow much calmer than before. “Do you understand me?” Gentler still. 

“What the fuck, bro?” Logan yelled, doing his best to fight back, but Punk had gained the upper hand early and never released it. 

“I’m not your bro. Son. Stay the hell away from her. And keep her name out of your dumb fucking mouth.”

Punk finally climbed off him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, masking any pain, but he knew Logan had gotten a few lucky punches in while defending himself, though any bruises or black eyes were the least of his concerns. As he searched the surrounding crowd for the entire reason for his outburst, his heart accelerated when he realized she was nowhere to be found. Had she really left? He thought maybe she’d want to watch him beat someone’s ass for real, but evidently he was wrong. And as his eyes passed over the various attendees, he came to Paul Heyman who was still standing nearby, eyeing him suspiciously, and oh, that’s probably why she hadn’t stuck around.

Punk sighed, carding his fingers through his hair in case it had been mussed during the fight, and he wished it were her hands fixing his hair. “Paul,” he said.

Paul watched Punk a moment, Punk massaging his throbbing hand. “Punk,” he  eventually said, passing his old client without another look. Punk wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but since it was his life, he figured it would be bad.

Only capable of handling one problem at a time, Punk chose the most important. As Triple H was headed his way, Punk slithered throughout the crowd, bobbing and weaving, successfully escaping WWE Headquarters without being stopped. Shaking his throbbing hand, Punk drove quickly and erratically back to the hotel, having no idea what he might find when he got there. Would she be in their room? Did she book another hotel? Was she on her way to the airport to board a fucking jet? 

“Goddamn it,” he exhaled. No answers, only more questions. What other influencers had she slept with? Celebrities? Younger men she could compare him to? 

Fuck, he clearly wasn’t built for a relationship, much less a relationship with a woman twenty years younger than him, but he still pulled the SUV into the parking lot of the hotel they’d stayed in. He still took the elevator to their floor and he still jogged down the hallway to the correct door. He remembered making this trip the night prior, how excited he’d been, how amazing it had turned out, neither of them having any idea what was in store for them the next day. He pulled the key card out of his pocket, paused briefly, and inserted it, dropping his forehead against the door when the light turned red. He tried again just for the hell of it with the same result, and he tossed the useless card over his shoulder. 

“Peach,” Punk said. “Sweetheart, you in there?”

Silence. 

“I, uh—” He chuckled, though nothing about this was even remotely funny. “Look, I’m not sorry for kicking that kid’s ass. He had it comin’.”

Silence. 

“What did you want me to do?” Punk asked, hands on the doorframe. “He was gonna tell—”

The door opened without warning. “You don’t know that, old man!” his sweet peach yelled. “And now we’ll never know!” 

“Okay,” Punk said, holding a hand up, smiling at the sheer audacity of the entire situation, at her thinking that loser wouldn’t tell more people what he’d told Punk, or something worse. A smile that dropped instantly when she shoved him backward, heels of her hands on his chest, sending him stumbling into the hallway. 

“But you just couldn’t help yourself,” she went on. “And now my dad’s gonna know about us!”

Punk looked at her a moment before stomping across the hall, bound to enter the room and force her to have a conversation instead of a screaming match, but once he was close enough, he felt the smack before he even saw her hand. His cheek exploded, a surprising amount of power inside this tiny girl, and he lost his balance but was able to turn in a circle instead of face-planting. As he came around to face her again, opposite hand cradling his stinging cheek, lopsided smirk tilting his beard and mustache, he started inside again. She was able to close the heavy door before he could cross the threshold, turning the deadbolt even though she didn’t have to. The lock clicking heavily into place seemed to echo throughout his brain, Punk laughing again, however inappropriately, and he pounded on the door more out of irritation than anything else. Here he was, an old fucking man, too tired and, well, old for this shit, but he was still making an effort, trying to talk through things when he otherwise would have just said fuck it and been on his way. He was going to have to accept sooner rather than later that his life would be very different from here on out.

Maybe, he thought. If she ever opens the goddamn door!

Punk sighed, his body rolling along the door as he put his back to it before sliding down until his ass met the hard, ugly carpet he swore was the same at every hotel he’d ever been to. He scratched at his beard, wincing from the slap a moment ago, and he wondered whether his skin would simply redden or if he’d wake tomorrow morning with a light bruise. Arching a brow, he glanced down the hallway upon hearing the elevator ding, the sound almost as loud as the deadbolt separating him from his peach. The one thing that could have made Punk’s day even worse rounded the corner, Paul Heyman strolling toward him, a savvy smile on his robust face. Punk bent his knees, resting his elbows on them, and he raised a hand to wave. 

“Paul,” he greeted.

Paul came to a stop a few feet away and leaned on the wall in front of his old client. “Punk,” he said. He nodded at the door Punk rested against. “What are you doing outside my daughter’s room?” 

Punk’s mouth clamped shut and he averted his gaze. He should have been man enough to own up to what he’d been doing to Paul’s daughter, what they’d been doing together, but he clammed up and said nothing. Fucking coward. You’re not good enough for her.

Paul breathed a soft laugh, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I remember when I heard you guys fighting at the Christmas party,” he casually confessed. Punk’s eyes widened as he gaped at the hideous carpet. “I think she … wanted to dance with you, right?” After a moment, Punk nodded. “But you didn’t want to because … What was your reason again?”

Punk scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb, and his cheeks weren’t red just from Miss Heyman’s slap. He cleared his throat, shaking his head, and he ultimately looked up at Paul. “Uh … at the time, Paul, I didn’t want anyone to find out about us.” 

“Right,” Paul shrugged, “but for some reason, today was okay for everyone to find out? With the added bonus of a fist fight.” 

“Look—” 

“Stop,” Paul interrupted. “Of course I don’t want you dating my daughter. My daughter is too good for you.” 

“I don’t disagree.” 

“I said shut up. But I looked the other way because I’ve never, in all her life, seen her as happy as she’s been with you.” Punk’s stomach sloshed. “So you—” The round man leaned over and pointed at Punk, his bulging eyes like two tiny pyro flames. “—need to fix this.” 

“What do you think I’m doin’ here, Paul?” Punk seethed, gesturing at his surroundings. 

“Looks like you’re sitting on your ass pouting,” Paul snapped. “Stand up. Be the man my daughter deserves.” Punk nodded, and was this what shame felt like? “What are you waiting for? Get up!”

Punk chuckled, climbing to his feet, brushing off his jeans self-consciously. “Thanks, Paul,” he said. Paul only glared at Punk before turning and heading back toward the elevator. Suddenly Punk heard the deadbolt release, and he spun around to face the door as it opened, though, at the last second, he took a step back. She stood there, eyes burning much like her father’s had. “You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” he asked. Her frown twitched, and he considered it a victory to still be able to charm her. 

“You liked it,” she said. Punk’s own smirk grew, green eyes brightening, and he nodded. “I heard you talking to my dad.” Punk nodded again, and who had really done the enchanting here? Her beauty, even while angry, was unmatched, her pretty scent infiltrating his senses, and he thought for sure this time he’d end up stoned. “So how do you plan on fixing it?”

Punk pretended to weigh his options, eyes looking about as he thought. “I thought maybe you could sit on my face for … at least an hour.”

Her jaw worked, but that adorable smile of hers was starting to bleed through even more. “How do you actually plan on fixing it?”

Punk gripped the doorframe and leaned inside the room, drawing her eyes to his biceps despite being covered by a white hoodie. Her scent became stronger, her pupils grew larger, and Punk decided he wanted to fight with this girl and only this girl for the rest of his life. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied, “but I thought we could start with a dance.”

Her blossoming smile melted as she swallowed. “What?”

Punk extended his hand, palm up, and she let only a brief moment pass before she placed her hand in his. He took a few steps backward, into the hallway, and she followed, eyes glassy while watching his face closely. Punk locked her gaze with his as he pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing down momentarily to find the correct app and locate a song they’d be able to dance to. He pressed play before tucking the device away once more, taking a deep breath when their eyes met, and he took her other hand, so tiny in comparison to his, so soft, lifting both of them to his shoulders. The tips of his fingers danced up her arms and down her sides, grinning at the tightening of her muscles where he knew her tickle spot to be, landing heavily on her hips.

He turned them in a slow circle, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, and he wished he’d done this at Christmas. Her in her sexy green dress and heels, the stockings with the seams up the back … fucking idiot, he berated himself. No one would have suspected them of having a connection that went beyond just dancing—he knew that now, he’d known it then—but why had it mattered? He was an adult and she was an adult, which made their ages irrelevant, and, oh, by the way, he’d never given a fuck what people thought about him or the things he did, so why did he care when it came to her? 

“I’m sorry for slapping you,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulders, one hand sneaking to the back of his neck. Punk tilted his head with a small shrug, and she finally, finally, smiled—a full smile, like he could see every single one of her teeth, and he determined at that moment to make it his life’s goal to keep this smile on her face for as long as he was able. “But …”

Punk’s brows rose, thin lips forming an O. “You liked it, too, didn’t you?”

Her eyes were downcast then, remaining long enough that Punk truly thought she was humiliated by the newly discovered kink, but then her gaze lifted to meet his, and they were fucking black and consumed by hunger and filth and him. Her ability to flip a switch with her moods might have irritated other men, but Punk welcomed it—he enjoyed the surprise of not knowing which princess he was going to get on any given day. 

“Maybe,” she whispered, rising to her tip toes. “Possibly.” Her silky lips brushed his as she breathed, “Perhaps.” The kiss she gave him couldn't even be described as a peck—so gentle, so goddamn elegant—because he wasn’t sure he’d felt it at all. His hands glided from her hips to her back, easily covering the expanse, pulling her closer to him. “But also definitely.”

Punk’s smile had enough energy to power an entire country until the end of time. “Wanna do it again?” he purred.

“Actually I do,” she replied. “But first thing's first … you need to go down to the front desk.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “We're locked out.”

TAGS: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @missbmc94 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @deansimpala @there-goes-thefighter @themarvelousmaks @xkittypunkerx @sarlaccussy @infamousvampcx @princesstiti14

[sombrashe]

content afab!reader, chubby!reader, josh and reader are in an established relationship, cunnilingus

note(s) until dawn is actually a game about a polycule falling out | sam is just kinda there but both josh and reader thinks shes fine af

Josh’s voice is soft as he calls up to Sam. You’re spread out on the sectional couch listening to their short conversation as Josh tends to the fireplace in front of you. The television above drones on quietly in the background. Stretching you blink slowly at him, Sam’s response coming back after a short pause.

“I’m going to take a quick shower before we head out.”

“Oh, well, do you need any help? Maybe with your hair?”

The last comment is a mumble and you scoff making your way over to the minx. When he finally notices your presence you lightly smack his chest with the back of your hand. He feigns hurt with a well-placed hand over his wounded heart.

“What, you want me to go up there and ask her to join us?”

His eyelids widen for a moment before relaxing.

“Really?”

“As if, like you’d be able to focus”

Honestly, Sam is gorgeous and you wouldn't mind her joining your personal soiree. Unfortunately for you, Josh gets distracted easily and your last threesome ended with you unsatisfied after he got overwhelmed. Dancing your fingers over his shoulder blade you take in the heat dancing in the air. Pulling yourself away you plop back down onto the couch and bounce a little as you settle in. Dragging a blanket over your lap you feel the fluffiness beneath your fingertips. The loft feels nice and cozy especially with the autumn chill settling over the city. Making his way over to your spot he crouches in front of you with a wolfish grin. Pulling the blanket slowly off your legs you watch him with thin lips. Keeping your protests to yourself as you assess exactly what his plan is. Finally, he leaves the blanket in a pile on the floor next to him. With gentle hands on your knees, he starts slowly pushing them apart so he can watch your dress slide up your thighs.

“Joshua Washington I didn't spend hours getting ready just for you to undo it all with this spiked libido.”

He gives you a simple chuckle and kisses the inside of your plush thigh. Huffing you shift to give him better access. He licks a stripe from his spot against your skin to your lace bottoms. A cute black thong he bought you for your anniversary months ago. Something you didn't have a chance to wear until now. And he absolutely loved it. He gives you a little growl as he creates a wet spot right against your clothed pussy. You want to argue with him, claim if he does this you’ll have to take a shower and you three will be late for dinner. A weekly occurrence, something Josh would rather die than miss. You know better. He won’t leave a mark that you don’t beg him to. Once his spit soaks through you're panting like a dog in heat. Something something he has you wrapped around his finger. Whatever quote Emily scoffs at you every time you have to hang up because he's grinding against your full ass. You couldn't care less, especially when he starts hitting that sweet spot deep in you. Hooking his thumbs into the legs of the lace you raise your hips to allow him easier removal of the infuriating fabric. Once he pulls them down around your ankles he claps his hands together excitement glowing in his brilliant irises.

“Here’s Joshy”

“Did you just quote Psycho at my vagina?”

He immediately looks at you genuinely appalled.

“You're not being serious.”

“You know I can never sit through those old movies, they have such long intros.”

“I really don’t know if we can continue. Psycho. God”

“Josh, I’m sorry I got Psycho and The Shining mixed up. If it’s any consolation I was thinking of the 1960 version and not that Bates Motel shit I know you hate.”

He takes a moment to think it over before responding. A long moment too and it has you shifting.

“You saved yourself with that.”

He taps his pointer finger against your knee during his response. Diving forward his tongue easily finds your clit. Surprise and pleasure flood your veins at the same time and it leaves you lightheaded. Gripping a fistful of dark hair at the back of his head you press him closer to your core. Forcing two fingers beneath his chin he slips them inside your soaked core. Wiggling them he’s limited in the amount of room he has to thrust. Focusing on using the tips of his fingers he slightly moves them in and out while pressing hard against that spongy part inside of you.

“Oh~ Josh, fuck.”

“I got you, babe.”

His voice is muffled but you hear him clear as a bell. Huffing you weakly grind yourself against his face feeling his prominent nose press against the fat of your lower stomach. Letting your head fall back against the back of the couch you relish in the moment. Pleasure floods your abdomen and you can feel it tighten as you get closer to release. He alternates between short licks and hard sucks. Something that works in his favor as the coil in your abdomen finally snaps and you flood his chin and fingers in your essence. Panting you leave your eyes closed for a few moments as you attempt to catch your breath. Pulling out of you with a slick pop you nearly jump out of your skin as something pops against your chest. Blinking, you see Sam handing Josh a towel for his soaked limbs. Looking down you take the fresh pair of underwear in your hands and slip it around your ankles. Grabbing the towel out of the air as Josh tosses it to you you take a moment to clean yourself up before pulling the dark blue thong up your legs and settling it snugly against you. Fixing your dress you give Sam an apologetic smile.

“Hope you two worked up an appetite.”

[artificialstardust]

Best Friend Matt HCs

Matt Dierkes x f! Reader

I’m still planning on posting a best friend Matt fic, but I have no fucking clue what I’m doing for it so here’s this in the mean time💞

Warnings: contains smut, creampies, cockwarming, meanie Matt, pet names, oral (m and f receiving), face sitting

Best friend Matty that your friends and family love

And his friends love you, they tell him to bring you to the studio while working on things and

it usually ends with you sitting in his lap or him on the floor sitting between your legs and his head leaned back against your thighs as you play with his hair

They think your banter is so cute, seeing him give you shit and you give it right back to him

Sometimes he doesn’t have a comeback for what you quip back with

He’s so respectful with everyone

But he can be a meanie at times. He likes to hide your phone, your water bottle, your headphones and your panties

He likes to tease you for being shorter than him and he calls you a dummy sometimes. He thinks you’re so cute when you’re mad at him

He 100% pokes you and just annoys the fuck out of you for fun. Just being an asshole sometimes :(

Then he makes fun of you when you do get pouty and mocks you for it, but he does eventually break and babies you

He holds you and says sorry for making you mad and teasing you

He goes and gets you your favorite snacks and lets you cuddle up to him to make up for it while watching your favorite movie or show

He lets his hands wander down your side to rest on your hip or on your side boob

He L O V E S giving you little kisses on your head or when you give him kisses

But you both say everything is strictly platonic because hey, that’s your best friend

His heart melts a little when you call him Matty because you want his attention, he just tilts his head down to look at you

“What is it baby?” With the softest look in his eye

And you just kinda hint towards what you want and it immediately clicks for him

He’d just get a knowing smirk and tugs his pants down a bit and pulls his cock out

He will honestly just pull it out and let you decide what to do with it. He doesn’t care because he loves his sweet best friend so much. You’re his princess

Tonight you decided to suck him off a little

Matty loves hearing your little whines as you have him in your mouth sucking on him

He’d just put his hand on your head to rest it there

He’d praise you for how good you’re doing and telling you how much he loves your mouth

Will tease you again by saying “it’s so nice when you use that pretty mouth for something other than giving me shit”

That gets him a pinch on the inside of his thigh which makes him jolt a little bit

He’d pull you off him and tell you to be nice before letting you go back to sucking on him

Eventually when your jaw starts to get sore because his cock is just so thick and heavy :(

He thinks you look so cute when your lips are wet and swollen and you’ve got that cute little fucked out look already

You just rest your head on one of this thighs because they’re just so big and muscular

He’d swipe his thumb over your bottom lip which makes you take it into your mouth looking at him through your lashes

That makes that man groan so loud

He sits up and helps you tug your shorts and panties off that you won’t find the next morning

He has you move to sit on his face because he just wants a little taste

He wraps his arms around your thighs and has you flush against his face

His nose pressing against your clit while he licks at your pussy

This man is low key light headed but he is having so much fun

He moans into you because of how much he loves it and because of how you’re gripping his hair

He ends up fucking you with his tongue and nudging your clit more with his nose so he can hear your whines and moans

He knows exactly how you like it too

Which makes it so much easier to make you cum

He licks you into overstimulation even after you cum on his face

He moves you off him and when you look down at him he just has this shit eating grin on his face and the lower half of it is soaked

“You wanna ride or do you want me to give it to you how you like?”

His voice is just so sweet, so you let him fuck you

He spoons you so he can hold you close and so he can kiss on your neck

He knows you love it when he raises your leg up to fuck you like this

All it takes is a few deep, sharp thrusts as well as toying with your clit some more and you’re putty in his hands

He tells you how pretty you sound, how good you feel around his cock, how he can’t wait to fill you up with cum

He eventually holds your leg up by propping it on his, so he can use his now free hand to tweak at your nipples

He talks you through your orgasm and tells you he’s right there too

He’d bury his face into your neck and groans so nicely into your neck as he makes sure he’s as deep as possible

It’s become a ritual to warm him after sex and because he likes knowing his cum stays deep inside

He gives you little kisses and tells you how much he loves his best friend and just holds you close

He keeps going until he hears soft snores come from you which lets him know it’s okay for him to sleep

[moreausposts]

EXORCIST/FALLENWINGS LORE I PULLED OUT OF MY ASS

this is all my personal headcanons and just shit i made up, but viv if you wanna hire me i’m not complaining

first: i see the debate constantly on whether or not exorcists are heavenborn or human souls, and personally i think them being heavenborn is just objectively cooler. it puts a good contrast between the exorcists and the sinners, y’know, since if they were never on earth they never would have met any sinners to gain sympathy for and would be easier to brainwash. that being said, no i don’t think they were ever technically “born” as babies, but i don’t think they spawned as full grown adults either.

because all of the angels’ designs are based on birds, i like the idea of them hatching from eggs. it’s just so silly to me to imagine, i love it sm. so in my head they all hatched from a nest of eggs adam had sera poof into existence once they settled on the agreement that he was permitted to raise an army for the betterment of heaven (he was their mama bird <3) as probably around 3-4 biologically? going off of human years. because while kids would be easier for adam to train, thirty something screaming babies wouldn’t be of much use to him.

all of their names are stupid as fuck, vaggie just got the shortest end of the stick. lute’s full name is literally just lieutenant. half of them are just body parts (wings, legs… vaggie), some get random words that just barely suit them (tall one is tree, short one is pipsqueak), and some of his favorites get instruments (guitar, drumstick, trumpet, and lieutenant gets shortened to lute when she’s not annoying him)

adam chose his favorites before they even hatched btw. he picked all of the coolest eggs and put them into a little pile. (vaggie’s was slightly cracked and a weird shade of pink-ish purple compared to all of the other black and white eggs so he decided she would be vagina right then and there)

also just because of how bratty lute is in canon, she doesn’t give “spent years working to earn her position” to me (don’t get me wrong i love her that’s my bbg) and because her name is literally just lieutenant, i like to think that her egg was the one adam felt the most protective of which is why she was deemed lieutenant before she had even hatched. i also just don’t think he’d want to go through the headache of raising all of the girls equally for them to fight over the position of being his right hand when he could just have one pre-guaranteed and train her separately.

unfortunately, this backfired tremendously! because once the girls started growing up it was pretty clear that lute was the weakest and smallest of them all. yeah, i said it. she was a wimp. it took her like three years just to learn how to fly.

relating to the art above ^ this is how i think lute and vaggie became close!! because while she was pretty strong (honestly probably one of the highest ranking) she also didn’t have many friends. i love the fact that once she’s in hell she starts dressing more feminine and grows her hair out to break away from who she used to be, but while vaggie was younger, especially as a tween-teen she was super super tomboyish. she was seen as kind of aggressive, the troublemaker of the group. but one thing she never did was pick on lute for being weak. i see here protecting her a lot when they were kids.

because it really wasn’t fair to the other girls that adam favored lute so much from day one that her position was guaranteed, and that while they continued to grow and train they still had to take orders from someone so much weaker than them. there was a lot of animosity in their earlier years, especially before the exterminations really started (they were like 14 when the first one happened) and lute got pushed around a lot.

because adam and vaggie were the only two that were nice to her, she developed a super unhealthy attachment style to both of them. while vaggie genuinely cared about lute and wanted to protect her (this isn't me saying adam didn't care about her btw because she was probably the only person he ever actually loved), lute was definitely a moral dilemma for adam. because on one hand, here was this kid that looked up to him so much and he really did feel bad for her, but man was she fucking incompetent at times. still, he didn't boot her from her position as lieutenant, but he didn't do anything to help that unhealthy attachment either. he instead just used it to brainwash her even worse because it's adam and he doesn't know how to express love whatsoever. 😭 he was like a narcissistic parent, basically. if she did everything perfectly just the way he wanted it, she'd be praised and reminded why she was the favorite, but if she made one mistake... it was like a whole other person. and it was overwhelming, but lute did EVERYTHING she could to be what he wanted her to be because she craved validation so badly after being bullied so much. which is exactly why adam kept it up.

I picture her really starting to get it together at around, eh, 15-16?? something like that. old enough that she was beyond sick of being kicked around and desperate to do something about it. it was like an overnight switch. she stopped sleeping and started training on her own time, pushing herself to her limits, putting on a mask. and all of a sudden she was a mini adam without the humor and guitar solos. she was cold, she was viscous, and she was tired of letting other people take advantage of her when she was the one who was supposed to be in charge.

this definitely put a rift between her and vaggie, because the suddenly heartless leader was absolutely not the little kid vaggie took hit after hit to protect. lute didn't understand why vaggie hated the new her when she was so obviously better than she was before, right? but vaggie just wanted her friend back.

that being said, I told y'all these would be fallenwings hcs too. I don't see them being anything more than a situationship, at least pre-canon, but man was it rough. this was THE toxic homoerotic best friend situationship every repressed lesbian teen goes through, except with murder and betrayal!

like were they dating? not officially. but did they make out covered in blood and bruises after fist fighting in the middle of trying to have a conversation about what they were to each other? well well well... 😘

I feel like vaggie really wanted something more with lute, but lute was so in her own head with her own internalized homophobia and newfound fear of being seen as weak as she used to be that the second things started getting too far she got scared and ran. and what was the only way to get vaggie to stop trying to make her feel feelings™ again than to just... make her hate her altogether. it's easier that way, right? vaggie sparing the sinner was just the perfect excuse to justify herself.

though, who am I kidding? lute spent the next three years crying herself to sleep using her ex situationship's shirt as a pillowcase because her dumbass tried to kill her... and as soon as vaggie crashed back into her life alive and with a girlfriend... well, if at first you don't succeed!

thank you for reading this long ass ramble 😭 here's a baby lute as a bonus:

[borninwinter81]

DIY budget cyber/industrial outfit - first time in public!

I made a couple of previous posts about this dress here and here, as well as the matching collar, and I thought it would be fun to show how I styled it when I wore it for the first time on Friday. Honestly I was a little concerned it would just look dumb, but when I tried it with the full makeup and shoes I was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked it.

Apologies for the abysmal photo quality, especially in the first image. I don't have a good camera and I wanted to try and show the full outfit. That blurred mirror selfie is the only head to toe picture I got.

I didn't mention in my other posts but in addition to making patches for the dress I also nipped in the seams so it fit me better (it was my size but kinda shapeless, and I wanted to give myself a waist). This is very easy to do with almost any dress, skirt or top, you just put the garment on inside out, pinch in the side seams so they fit the contours of your body (try and do this equally on both sides) and pin them together. Safety pins are best so you don't accidentally hurt yourself.

Take the garment off and draw a smooth line with tailors chalk connecting all the pins, then sew along that line, either with a machine or by hand. Turn right side out and try it on again. Provided you're happy with the fit, trim away the excess fabric. You may need to be careful if it's a fabric that could fray - I usually go over the seams again with a zig-zag machine stitch to try and minimise this. There are also products you can buy like fray-check. If in doubt, or there isn't much excess fabric you could just leave the seams untrimmed.

The length is a little out of my comfort zone so I wore gym shorts underneath to help myself feel less exposed and reduce the risk of flashing - I tend to do this with any dress or skirt that's above the knee anyway.

Continuing the budget theme, rather than buying any new accessories (again, cyber stuff is mega expensive) I looked through my wardrobe for items I already had that might work.

These goggles are not the usual kind of cyber goggles, but they matched everything else I was wearing. I was given them by a friend who was getting rid of them ages ago so they cost me nothing!

I really didn't feel like making and wearing cyberlox, so instead I just got some yellow hair elastics and did a ponytail.

I made these arm warmers about 12 years ago. You can probably tell that they began life as a pair of skinny jeans. To cut down on the amount of sewing I needed to do I used the existing hem and seams. After cutting them to a length I liked I did the pinch and pin thing to make them fit to my arm, and put in zips along the outer seam to make them easier to put on. As it turned out this wasn't necessary because the fabric is stretchy enough that I can pull them on and off. The zips add a nice bit of visual interest though.

I ripped a hole in each one for my thumb, and I had a pack of extra large hook-and-eyes, so I sewed the "eye" parts down them and added some old bootlaces. I've never been 100% happy with this decoration, but I haven't had any inspiration on how to change them in the last 12 years.

I wanted a necklace in addition to the collar, and couldn't think of anything more appropriate than this. I originally got it for a cosplay, Vasquez from Aliens, and with the big yellow industrial loader from the end of that movie which Ripley uses to fight the Queen alien... it seemed there was kind of a connection there.

I once met Jeanette Goldstein whilst dressed as Vasquez and told her she was my childhood hero and she signed these tags, but unfortunately most of the signature has come off when I was cleaning them.

Lastly, the boots. As with any goth outfit the footwear tend to be the most expensive, particularly if you want ridiculous platform heels like these.

When it comes to footwear, I really would not recommend any alternative brand names like Killstar, Koi or similar. They're often terrible quality, the heels will snap, the soles will peel off, zips will break. In my opinion the only decent specifically alternative shoe brand are New Rock (even they're lower quality than they used to be in the 90s) and although New Rock do make heels I wouldn't wear them often enough to justify spending £200 on a pair. I prefer flats the majority of the time!

The brand of these is Funtasma, and I believe they are intended for use by pole-dancers, meaning they're decent quality and will be up to a night of dancing in a club. I took a change of shoes along with me to put on at the end of the evening but they are surprisingly comfortable for the first few hours.

I got them about 15 years ago on sale, and at that time they were around £40. Not cheap but not super expensive either, and I've definitely got my money's worth out of them. I had them re-soled once with special toughened soles that have extra grip so they're safer to walk in, but that's it. One time I even did the 3 mile walk home at 2am in 6 inches of snow wearing these because I didn't want to wait hours for a taxi (an occasion where I did not take a change of shoes!)

So, not your standard cyber outfit, but one that gives my own spin on this look (which should be the goal with any fashion style - a guideline to create something unique, not a rulebook that you have to follow 100%) and was put together super cheaply. The only new things I bought were the dress, fabric to make the patches, and a pack of multicoloured hair elastics.

[autisticcasforthewin]

hello! I saw your reblog about misogyny and Mary and Jody and the boys and I was wondering if I could ask about your opinions!!! I'm just genuinely curious what your opinion on all of it is in more detail because I find the whole thing very interesting xxx

@fatallyaddictedtofiction

Right buckle I’m because I’m so glad you asked and I have a lot to say.

Right so let’s talk about Mary first. Mary is the core of supernatural, people say it’s the brother show but no it’s all about Mary from the very start. She is an archetype of helpless murdered mother/wife right down to her white nightgown, and everything they do is about getting revenge on the thing that killed the helpless woman and therefore ruining their lives.

This creates a very complex relationship with Mary for the boys which again is John’s fault as the remaining parent and because Mary is dead she is perfect, she has absolutely no say in the martyr John paints her as. But as the story goes on and we at the same time as Sam and Dean learn she is complex and flawed and real and suddenly she’s not who we thought she was, and because this is from a younger her in the past we take it easier.

Fast forward to when Amara brings her back to life and that’s like skipping a lot of stuff but a lot of the core of the misogyny comes from after she comes back.

So this is like the flawed people show right, like I love them but they all make bad, terrible and selfish decisions all the time and that is what makes them good and interesting and complex characters.

Mary is not immune to this, she is a fascinating character, imagine dying at 26/27 coming back and seeing your children almost a decade older and than you and their father has turned them into the one thing you never wanted them to be. She is unfridged something very few women are allowed to do. We are allowed to see her as more than the burning mother on the ceiling, she’s messy, she makes mistakes, she cuts her hair she can’t cook and she makes mistakes because she is thrust 30 years into the future in a world she doesn’t know. And the only family she has are two grown men with more wrinkles than her calling her mom.

And like don’t get me wrong. Sam and Dean are allowed to have a complex relationship with her, it’s a fucked up situation and it would be poor writing for them to just be ok with it. I love the scene when Dean confronts Mary and she says “I’m not just a mom and you are not a child” and he replies “I never was” it’s a great scene. And I think it says a lot that Dean finds it easier to blame Mary who physically could not have been there than examine his complex relationship with his father.

But like we as the audience are removed from the situation and should know better. Like I have genuinely seen people call Mary a deadbeat mother and it’s like she was straight up dead and you can’t be a deadbeat to people in their late 30s/ early 40s who are fully capable of taking care of themselves and who you are in fact trying to foster a relationship with.

In short Mary takes the blame for a lot of John’s actions especially because she has the audacity to not be the Saint John turned her into.

Now onto how this compares with Jody. And honestly the only reason I compare them is because people call her a better mother to Sam and Dean than Mary. Which is ridiculous because she is not their mother, she is their friend plain and simple.

Like yes she is a mother and yes she takes people in but there’s a big difference between lost teenagers and straight up adults.

(If we go by actors ages) Jody is like 9 years older than Dean the only reason she is called their mother by fans is because she’s a woman that is older than them and because they couldn’t sexualise her she’s maternal.

Like I have friends with a similar age gap and there is no way I would ever consider one of them parental.

It’s almost a similar issue with Ellen. Just because they didn’t have a mother growing up doesn’t mean every woman they meet that’s older than them who shows them a little kindness has to be a maternal figure.

Mary is genuinely one of my all time favourite characters simply because she was allowed to be more than the narrative gave her back in 2005 and I just hate to see people put her back into that little box and condemn her for all the things that they love in Sam and Dean

[cottoncandy-cult]

Babification Diasomnia

I might conjoin Rook and Epel's, since after some research Epel doesn't have much experience with people his age or younger. So we'll see when I get there.

Lilia

Lilia hummed softly as he carried the little (Y/n) back to his room, it had been a few days since she had been turned into a child and Lilia was starting to enjoy it. He was gentle as he laid the sleeping baby on his bed and began to shift to his normal form. It made him feel nostalgic, caring for a child in such a form reminded him of when Silver and Malleus were young. Plus, he liked being so much larger than her, he felt like it was easier to handle her and carry her about in his older form as he could more easily balance her in one arm without worrying about dropping her. He sometimes wonders if it was that one time, he dropped Silver that made him so drowsy, if he didn't know any better, he'd believe it was the cost at least. "You know you really scared me baby bat, being so close to that accident. You spooked all your friends too, naughty girl." He spoke softly as he chuckled, moving to lift the little girl once more before he moved to sit in a chair by the window so he could read one of his many books. Once sat down and comfortable he cradled the little girl in one arm across his lap, opening up an old red bound book to read, his hand gently rubbing her back as he waited for her to wake from her nap so he could feed her some dinner and get her bathed before they played and got ready for bed. He was a bit nervous at first, humans were already so fragile compared to fae and his human was magicless on top of it. So, to be made into a baby made her quite fragile, he almost tried to convince Crewel to take her because he feared he may be too reckless with her. Of course, he came to his senses quickly, he was a general and a damn good one at that. He of all people understands restraint, and he's already raised a few babies so he could easily handle this.

"Lilly?" The soft voice called sleepily up at the male, the 2-year-old girl gazing at him groggily from where her cheek rested on his chest. "Hey there baby bat, I didn't wake you, did I?" Lilia set the book aside without hesitation, he had only been reading it to waste time. "No…wanna bubble bath." She would sometimes speak in short sentences; he wondered if maybe she was still in there and just couldn't articulate or act the way she wanted given her child like mind. He made sure to listen to her though, in case she was aware he wanted to keep her situation stress free. He chuckled, moving to stand as he brought his arm under her bum for her to sit on as she leaned against his chest. "Alright cutie, do you want to play in the bubbles tonight or are you to tired? You did have a big day today playing with the boys at lunch." He chuckled as he thought back to how Ace and Deuce played with the little girl; the duo having sought him out to see how things were going. Malleus often liked holding her for Lilia whenever he needed to fly around a bit when he got restless, it was honestly cute how her friends would interact with her in this state. He was starting to enjoy her state of being, of course he wanted her back to normal but having her like this feels almost like a bonding experience. A true show of trust and love as he took care of her while she was in such a helpless state, he'd ensure that she always knew she was safe with him around no matter the situation. "Don't know." She pouted as she tried to stay awake, she liked playing with Lilia after she bathes. "Alright, we'll see how you feel once we're done washing your hair." He smiled as he sat her on the carpet by the tub, setting a small basket of rubber animals in front of her to play with while he ran the water and got her Pjs. He lived for domestic moments like these, he really did. Humming softly as he removed his button up, leaving him in a sleeveless muscle top as he tied his hair back in a bun so it wouldn't get in the way.

Malleus

The dragon male had missed a few days of classes since little (Y/n) came into his care, he had been worried when he heard of the accident but had calmed down some when Lillia brought the girl to him and explained in full. But it didn't take long for his protective side to come out, he's sweet child of man was at her most vulnerable, she couldn't even properly communicate. He rarely left his room and never strayed from the dorm, he refused to bring her around people he didn't trust. So, he treated her like a treasure, having made a nest of silk sheets to keep the little girl tucked away in. He had Lillia pick her up some toys so she wouldn't get bored, much of his day was spent doing classwork at his desk in his room and playing with the sweet little girl. He'd often talk to her even though she couldn't respond, holding her in his lap as he'd read from a picture book about gargoyles. When it was time for bed, he'd remove his top so he could free his wings, preferring to sleep curled around her little nest with one of his wings draped over it. Lilia had taken several pictures that he loved to show off, the male was absolutely delighted to see how Malleus' instincts affected him and how Malleus had absolutely devoted himself to this little girl. Silver was often the one that brought him food for (Y/n), being one of the only ones in the little group that actually can cook. Though sometimes, times like tonight, he would bring the little girl to the kitchen so he could make something for her himself. Of course, he knew her list of solid foods she could handle wasn't very long, mostly fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, chopped veggies, etc.

Tonight, Malleus was making something special for her, a reward for behaving while in Sebek's care as Lilia and Malleus had to attend a meeting for house wardens and their vice wardens earlier in the day that had been considered mandatory. Due to (Y/n)'s accident, the house wardens and their vice wardens would be notified when members of their dorm are caught doing something dangerous in class. Of course, he was grateful for this, especially since he knew just who's dorm those boys belonged to. She had been a little pouty when he got back, clearly not understanding why he had to leave. But when she made grabby hands at him with glossy eyes, the big dragon absolutely melted into a giant golden retriever. He had been quick to scoop her up, rubbing his cheek on hers to soothe the little girl as he thanked the male for watching her and swiftly went back to his room so he could snuggle her. Now he stood near the stove, baby (Y/n) sat in her highchair and nibbling on some blueberries to keep her distracted while he put to use his cooking classes. He was making her some mashed potatoes and sauteed veggies, he knew she may not really understand the difference, but he wanted to make her something new as a reward for not being fussy while he was gone. He couldn't fight the smile that formed on his face when he turned to her with a small plate of food and her face lit up, his child of man loved to eat, and he loved when she enjoyed something he made her even more. "Let's get you fed, shall we?" He chuckled as he sat the plate on the kitchen island and tied his hair back into a ponytail before grabbing a spoon. He had done some reading when she slept so he understood he had to be careful when feeding her, not wanting to burn or choke her. So, each small spoonful he'd blow on for a moment, making sure it wasn't too hot before feeding it to the little girl. Each bite she gave a little clap, a cute little habit she had when she was enjoying her food. He had been so focused on feeding her that Malleus had completely missed the 3 pairs of eyes watching him from the doorway, the small group of his friends and protectors whispering amongst themselves about the sight of Malleus being so gentle and about how happy he seemed to be. Of course, Lilia was recording, he'd need something to show at the wedding when he was giving his speech about how he knew from this moment they would be together for eternity.

Silver Lillia would be lying if he said he wasn't a little worried about letting Silver take care of baby (Y/n) on his own, babies were a lot of work and Silver was pretty low energy. Though to his relief the young man was doing just fine, despite still dozing off at seemingly random he's never once done so without the little girl being somewhere safe. There have been times he falls asleep while holding her when in the Diasomnia common room, usually laid back on one of the couches, but whenever Lillia or one of the others try to go pick her up they don't get within a 6-foot radius before he is waking up and staring them down. He would let Lillia or the others in his close group interact with her, but he never liked leaving her alone with anyone. He trusts them for sure, but he felt guilty whenever he'd try to walk away and hear just the softest whimper from her as she reached for him. He gave in every time, which was why she went with him to all his classes, he had the ability to leave her with someone at the dorm but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. That was what lead him to this, Silver sat at the table in the lunchroom with his family from Diasomnia. Malleus had even joined them that day, the group in general just seemed interested whenever the baby human was involved. He found her interesting as well of course, but at this point Silver was starting to think Lillia might make a baby book for (Y/n) with the number of pictures his father takes. "You're doing well despite her being the first baby you've taken care of, much better than when I first found you in the woods."

Silver smiled some at his father's praise, wiping a bit of food from the corner of the little girl's mouth. "I had to do a bit of reading, but it's not as hard as I was expecting. It revolves around remembering she is little, she is fragile, and she doesn't know anything about anything right now. There is no such thing as malice when it comes to babies, so you have to be patient." He nodded his head as he remembered the words that his professor spoke to him that first day he brought her to class, of course Crewel insisted on holding her while he took part in making potions. But that also meant that Crewel would linger around his cauldron, giving him tips and tricks when it came to child rearing. Of course, he knew she'd turn back eventually, but he was still enjoying this virtually uninterrupted time with her. She was a cute and sweet baby, always wanting to interact with him and nap with him. He loved fixing bubble baths for her, he'd sit on the toilet in a tank top and shorts as he'd let her play with some little toy animals Sebek found at Sam's shop before he washed her hair and cleaned her up. He never took his eyes off her, the minimum amount to drown an adult is more than enough to drown an infant so he always made sure she wasn't near the faucet or anything she could hit her head on and would use a cup to pour the warm water over her head when rinsing out the shampoo and conditioner. Silver was patting the girl on the head when his thoughts were interrupted by Malleus's chuckle. "Very right, humans are fragile creatures to begin with. As are babies, I don't think I'd want to set her down either. Especially not in a school of magic, where accidents happen regularly." Lillia nodded his head, hovering his way over to the little girl as he hung upside down and poked at her cheeks. "The prefect is so charming, isn't she? Such a cute baby. Takes me back to when you lot had pudgy cheeks and chubby fingers." He smiled widely as (Y/n) giggled and cooed at him, gently grabbing onto his finger. She didn't know it yet, but she'd never be able to get away from them now. Even once she was back to normal, she'd be the center of their little world.

Sebek It had been a surprisingly normal day, exactly 48 hours after little (Y/n) was brought to them. Lillia and Silver had been somewhat worried about how the girl would do in the care of their loudest member, and though Sebek did his best he still had a few loud moments. But to their surprise the loud sounds never seemed to bother to little girl, only making her giggle and tug on his shirt in an attempt to get his attention. Lillia had kept an eye from afar, he knew Sebek would never neglect her or put her in harm's way but if anything happened and the boy became flustered the older man wanted to be able to step in and lend a hand. So far things went well though, very rarely did the girl become fussy and Sebek manages to be at least somewhat calm when narrowing down what she wants. He still gets a bit antsy when it happens in class, wanting to tend to her but not enjoying the curious looks he gets as he cycles through drinks, snacks and toys. Currently the two were out in the garden, Sebek had the little girl sat in his lap as he read from a children's book that Lillia had brought back from Briar Valley. The half fae male was quite attentive to the little girl, he kept her baby bag close at all times and kept it full of healthy snacks and plenty of water. She was around 3, and though she could talk she didn't do it often. When she did the girl could be quite quiet, often near whispering and leaving Sebek to be her proud translator who is just happy she is saying SOMETHING. "Bek?" The little (H/c) head looked up at the taller male, tilting her head before he started reading once more as if to not interrupt him later midsentence. "Yes? You need something (Y/n)?" The male looked down at the little one, her head was tilted back against his chest as she looked up at his face. Blushing slightly, one tiny hand held onto his sleeve as the other pointed to the basket. "Can we have a snack?" The little girl glanced at the basket before looking back up at the male, both missing the short bat fae hovering closer in an attempt hear her better.

"Of course, you wanna try the ham and cheese sandwiches I made first? Or do you want something else?" Sebek had sat the book aside and moved the basket in front of them, opening it up to show her its contents so that she could choose their first snack of the day. "Wanna sammich." Her small head nodded, confirming with him that she wanted to try his sandwiches. Granted the way she said it had him laughing, hugging her close but gently as he nodded. "Alright princess, we'll have our sandwiches first. But what about to drink? Do you want water or juice?" His hands reached into the basket, pulling out a sippy cup of water and an orange juice box. Holding them up to the little girl, watching her giggle and reach towards the brightly colored juice. He sat the water to the side for himself before removing 2 neatly wrapped sandwiches, watching her eyes widen as he handed her one half of a sandwich to start with as he got one of his own out. He was too busy fawning over how the girl was and praising her for being willing to try something "new" that he didn't notice Lillia hovering above them, recording the pair as they enjoyed their little picnic adventure together. He almost wished the prefect would stay like this, but he knew the young man would be a father eventually so there was no need to rush. He treated Sebek as one of his own, finding it helped with training the boy since there was a time and place for the active militant training the bat fae knew too well. As the two ate, talking about the story in the book Lillia took the moment to head back to his room. He was content that everything was ok, and he also wanted to go ahead and post the video to magicam to keep their friend group updated on the prefect's status and daily life in their dorm.

[aparticularbandit]

What Makes You Different (Makes You Beautiful)

Summary: Kyoko has never thought school dances were an appropriate use of time.

It does not matter that Junko asked her to go to one. She will simply refuse to go.

...except that Junko is oddly persistent.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Two: Summer Outing/School Dance, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Rating: T.

AO3

Kyoko doesn’t do school events.

She’s never thought much of them, likely because she wasn’t raised in a school environment.  Her grandfather taught her everything she needed to know while carting her around the world on one case after another; festivals and school dances and talent shows are things she read about in books, saw on television shows, and – on occasion – investigated the after-effects for suspects in light of one (or more) murders.  They’re things that happen in the real world, but they don’t happen in her world.

Not until White Day and Valentine’s Day the first year she was in middle school, when her grandfather decided against all probability to send her to a Catholic school back in Japan; not until Christmas mass that she skipped with Yui to peer down on the lights and people from above, snow blanketing the world as the bright colors filtered through stained glass (right before being interrupted by one of the worst detectives she has ever met (in terms not of ability, but of something else that Yui, not her grandfather, instilled in her); not until taking time out to notice and buy exactly the cake that Yui wanted, until being gifted ribbons to hold her braids in place after—

When Kyoko ties the only ribbon she has left from that short time with Yui into her hair, she does so like a promise, like a shield, like a stronger reminder than her gloves could ever be.  (Those only remind her of her own mistakes; this reminds her of Yui’s sacrifice.  Both a failure of sorts.  Both at a cost.)

Kyoko doesn’t do school events because they are frivolous and useless and a waste of time and money that the school could funnel into a thousand and one other things that aren’t this.  It doesn’t matter that it’s assumed necessary to help her classmates relieve stress or to bolster friendships between them or what have you.  In a few years’ time, who will honestly care about any of this?

“You just hate them because no one ever invited you,” Junko says into Kyoko’s thoughts as though she can hear them (and sometimes, Kyoko’s certain that she can, more than Sayaka ever could).  She stands in front of Kyoko, who sits still at her desk long after the other students have left for the day with a mystery novel in her hand, but leans against the back of her own chair, arms crossed.  “You just hate them because you’ve never been.”

Kyoko flips a page in her book like she isn’t paying attention.  (She already has the mystery figured out; it’s easier with narratives than it is with real life.  Narratives have to make sense.  Real life doesn’t.)  “I’ve been to plenty of—”

“Don’t lie to me, Kyokyo!”  Junko makes a tsking noise, striking her tongue against her teeth.  She’s the only one bold enough to try and talk to Kyoko while she’s reading.  It should be infuriating.  (It isn’t.)  “You’ve never been to a dance a single solitary day in your life!  And you absolutely cannot know what it’s like until you’ve been to one!”

“They sound boring.”

Junko scoffs.  Rolls her eyes. “Everything’s boring if you look hard enough.  That’s no reason to be a party pooper.”

“I’m not a party pooper if I don’t go.”  Kyoko flips another page.  She’s skimming the book at this point.  It’s not even good.  If she put her own experiences to paper, it would be better than this trash.  Why would Toko recommend it to her in the first place?  Just because it’s a mystery novel?  And she’s a detective?

Sometimes she thinks no one will ever think of her as anything other than her ability.

(Which is fine.  Her whole identity is wrapped up in being a detective, just as it always has been.  The only one who ever thought that was bad was—)

“Sure you are.”  Junko pushes herself straight and walks over to the windows just next to them.  She stares out at nothing – at something, maybe, although Kyoko fights the instinct to turn and look – and then says, “Hey, why don’t you go to the dance with me?  I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

Kyoko sighs and sets the book on her desk.  “I don’t dance.”

Junko rolls her eyes.  “No one our age dances.  Except for Sayaka, but I don’t think that even really counts.”  She considers for a moment and then taps her chin with one long, skeletal finger.  “Or Saioniji-senpai, but that’s a different kind of dancing, and she’s not going to even be there because she’s got, like, a prior engagement or something like that.”  Then she gives a shake of her head, her characteristic twintails flapping back and forth so fast they might as well hit her in the face.  “Not that it matters!  Dances are about having fun, Kyoko, and half the time you act like you’ve got a stick up your ass, and you should have some fun once in a while!”

Finally, Kyoko glances up, only to catch Junko grinning down at her.  “If no one dances, then what’s the point of calling it a dance?  They could call it something else and be much more accurate.”

“And have no one show up.”  All of a sudden, Junko gets on one knee next to Kyoko’s seat, takes one of Kyoko’s gloved hands in her own, and stares at that hand as she says, “Kyoko Kirigiri, you would make me the happiest girl in the world, if you would—”

“Stop that.”  Kyoko flicks Junko’s forehead.

Junko flings her head back like Kyoko’s actually hurt her, like she’s some sort of super-powered ninja assassin from some secret village in the whatever, she hasn’t even seen this show, she’s just seen the image a billion times since Hifumi got distracted with it and Mukuro started binging it with him.  Junko flings her head back, and she covers her forehead with both hands as she settles again, and she pouts as she glances up at Kyoko with the biggest puppy dog eyes that might actually have a bigger effect if she weren’t half covering them by reaching up to cover her forehead.  “What did you do that for?”  She sniffles as though she might cry.  “I was just trying to be nice.  You didn’t have to hit me!”

“I didn’t hit you that—”  Kyoko cuts herself off and sighs.  “If I agree to go with you, will you stop this—”  She gestures with one hand at all of Junko.  “—whatever this is?”

“And one dance.”

Kyoko stares, blank-faced at Junko, who doesn’t quite meet her eyes.  “No.”

Junko’s pout deepens, and her hands drop from her forehead, where a very red mark appears bright against her pale skin.  She wraps her arms around herself.  “Bu-bu-but…if you’re my date and you don’t dance with me—”

“I didn’t say it was a date—”

“Kyoko Kirigiri, you think a girl like me would ask you to a dance and not give you the full experience?”  Junko’s feigned sadness disappears, replaced by shock, her mouth dropping open, eyes wide.

“I—”

“Honestly, you think so little of me.”  Junko sniffles again.  “It’s not like you’re ever going to go to another dance ever again, since you think they’re all boring and bad and a waste of time and whatever, so yes, this is a date, and yes, you are going to dance two dances with me—”

“You said one—”

“—price goes up the longer this goes, Kyokyo, you should know that, and besides, you can’t have the full experience if you don’t do a line dance and a slow dance and just a, you know, normal dance, so yes, you are going to dance at least three dances with me—”

Kyoko covers Junko’s mouth with one gloved hand.  “One dance,” she says, meeting Junko’s eyes and holding up a finger with her other hand.  “I will dance one dance with you.  And you will stop this ridiculous…bartering.  You understand?”  She presses her lips together and then states, “And it’s not a date.  Don’t call it that.  We’re not….  We’re not.”  Then she waits.

After a few minutes where Kyoko is absolutely certain that Junko is licking the palm of her glove, Junko finally scowls (or as much as she can with her mouth covered), crosses her arms, and gives a nod.  Then, when Kyoko removes her hand, Junko grabs her fingers.  “Two dances,” she says, “and you have to dress up.  Date or no date, you have to dress up.  That’s part of the experience.”

“One dance,” Kyoko insists.  Then she sighs, “And I let you dress me up.”

“Great!”  Junko gives Kyoko’s hand a shake and then leans forward.  “Only I can’t be the person who dresses you up.  I can’t see you until I come to get you.  Then I get to be wowed by how you look.”  She reaches out and gently tucks strands of Kyoko’s hair out of her face.  Then she stands, brushes her hands on her legs, and says, “I’ll send Sayaka to take care of you.”

Kyoko blinks again.  “Wait.  No.  You won’t send anyone to—”

Junko just waves behind her.  “Gotta go see the school nurse for this awful blemish.  See you in a few hours!”

The door clicks shut.  Kyoko stares at Junko’s form until she disappears from the classroom door.  Then she picks up her mystery novel, groans, and shoves it under her arm.

Fine.

Fine.

It’s not like she has any choice.

Apparently.

~

The dance starts at 7:00pm exactly, which means that Junko should arrive to Kyoko’s dorm to get her at no later than 6:45pm if they want to be on time, but Kyoko notes when the clock not only hits that but passes it, when it hits 7:00pm and passes that, when it continues even further.  She fiddles with her phone, debating whether she should text Junko or not and eventually deciding against it; it’s not like she really wanted to go to the stupid dance anyway, so if Junko never shows up, then so much the better.  Maybe this is what Junko meant by the full experience: not going but being stood up.  That’s part of the school dance experience for a lot of people – it’s certainly part of the dating experience (although she insists, even if it’s just to herself, that this is absolutely not a date) – so why shouldn’t this be part of what Junko has planned?  Why wouldn’t it be all of what Junko has planned?

Then the knock comes on her door at precisely 7:37pm.

Kyoko debates even answering.  By now, she’s already started removing the far too much jewelry Sayaka let her borrow and setting it on her desk to return to her later, and she’s just starting to unzip the outrageous dress she’s dressed in. It’s not a bad dress by any means; Sayaka certainly did her best in terms of trying to find something that not only fit Kyoko but went with her personality.  It’s not overly frivolous, it’s not covered in ruffles or bows, it’s not extremely low cut.  She just….

She doesn’t feel like her.

The knock comes again, and Kyoko sighs.  “You’re late,” she calls out as she walks over to the door.

“Duh.”  Junko is rolling her eyes.  That tone of voice means that she is rolling her eyes.  Kyoko can see it even before she opens the door.  “I’m the Ultimate Fashionista, Kyokyo.  I have to be fashionably late.  It’s, like, my whole thing.”  Of course, all of that is muffled, coming through the door as it is, only the last bit clear as Kyoko opens the door.  Then Junko pushes past her, one hand – gloved, Junko is wearing gloves – held aloft before she spins and settles on Kyoko’s mattress, hands pressed down on either side of her.  “Let me look at you!”

Kyoko blinks.

There are no words – but, for once when it comes to Junko, there are no words in a good, nearly appreciative way.

Mostly.

A long, expertly tailored dress hugs Junko’s form, the fabric a deep shade of midnight blue but threaded through with a purple so light it might as well be white, mimicking the color of Kyoko’s hair.  Thin strips like ribbon in that same purple linger off the shoulder, tight around her bicep (Junko has muscles; she didn’t know that Junko had muscles – which sounds idiotic; everyone has muscles – but Junko has defined muscles, which doesn’t make sense given how skeletal she is – not rippling like Sakura’s, but lean and…and Kyoko doesn’t care, why does she care); that same light purple ribbon carries in a straight line across the curve of her chest.  Along her torso, the midnight blue fabric is tied together like a corset with more ribbon, tight enough that Kyoko doesn’t understand how Junko can breathe, and there’s barely any fabric between that and the extremely long slit in the fabric through which most of, if not all, of Junko’s leg can be seen.  Embroidered flowers dance up the edge of the slit as though trying to draw attention to it (which is absolutely not fair, in Kyoko’s opinion, but honestly, what did she expect from Ultimate Fashionista Junko (the answer is she expected something flashy and loud and attention-seeking in an entirely different way, not this elegance)), and those same embroidered flowers dance up the length of her silk gloves.

Junko is, unexpectedly, beautiful.

…other than the twin buns her hair is tied into with midnight blue fabric, which gives her a childish look, like she’s cosplaying some anime character that Kyoko doesn’t know but, again, has seen pictures of here and there.

And in spite of everything else going on with Junko’s appearance, that is what Kyoko comments on: “Your hair looks stupid.”

Junko’s face falls.  “Really?  You really think so?”  She sucks her lower lip between her teeth, averting her gaze.  “I thought it was cute.”

“It doesn’t fit.”  Kyoko’s eyes roam along Junko again, examining her.  “Your entire look is one thing, but your hair is something entirely other.”  She doesn’t know how to put it into better words than that.  Fashion isn’t her thing.  So she just says it again, hopelessly, “It doesn’t fit.”

“You saying you know fashion better than the Ultimate Fashionista?”

“No, I—”

“Man, it’s a good thing I didn’t mean to leave these in, then, huh?”  Junko flashes her a grin.  Then she pats the mattress next to her.  “Wanna help me take them out?”

Kyoko doesn’t understand.  “We’re already late.  Don’t we need to—”

Junko waves a hand dismissively.  “It’s fine, it’s fine.  The dance will be going for hours, so it’s fine if we take a little longer.”  She gestures for Kyoko to sit with her.  “C’mon, c’mon.  You’re going to love how my hair looks when it’s out of these things!  It gets all wavy and, well, not curly, exactly, but it’s really, really pretty.”  As Kyoko sits next to her, she continues, “Almost as pretty as you, but not. quite.”

A flush spreads hot across Kyoko’s cheeks.  What does someone even say to that sort of thing?  Does she counter it?  Deny it?  What good would that do?  Does she redirect it and turn it into a compliment?  Junko gets enough of those; hearing a pat one from Kyoko just to avoid the one she’s been given doesn’t feel like it’s a great idea.  Should she just ignore it?  That seems rude.  Of course, Junko probably doesn’t even mean it.  She’s probably just—

“It’s not nice to joke about that sort of thing,” Kyoko replies.  “You might hurt someone’s feelings.”

“Yours?”

Kyoko shakes her head as she reaches up and gently unties the ribbon from the hair bun closest to her.  “No,” she murmurs, despite the flush still scarleting her cheeks.  “I don’t care about that.  Besides, I know you’re joking.”

At her words, Junko turns, eyes wide.  “But I wasn’t joking, Kyokyo.  I was being completely honest with you!”  She pouts, fluttering her eyelashes.  “It really hurts when you don’t believe me.”

“Then maybe quit joking around all of the time, and I’ll take you at your word.”

Junko considers that for a moment.  She runs her fingers gentle through her hair as she carefully unwinds it, unpins it, from the opposite bun.  “You do look good,” she murmurs, turned away from her.  “Especially in that outfit.  What do you think?  I had it specially made for you.”  Just as Kyoko opens her mouth to answer, she says, “And by specially made, I mean I made it, so if you’re going to tear that dress to shreds, you better consider my fragile sensibilities and try again, got it?”

Her voice is chipper.  That means that’s probably a joke.  Probably.

Kyoko considers her own outfit and on doing so realizes that it’s nearly the opposite of Junko’s.  They’re a matching set.  (How long did Junko plan this?  She couldn’t have known Kyoko would give in.  But these must have taken months to make.  So how—)  Unlike Junko’s midnight blue with lavender accents, Kyoko’s is lavender with midnight blue accents.  But it’s softer, not as form-fitting as Junko’s is: lavender ribbon straps instead of off the shoulder; a longer, thinner silhouette with a thin slit; the midnight blue accents only seen in the embroidered flowers just at her left hip bone, the lace just beneath the slit, and the edges of the ribbons used to construct her gloves.  Unlike Junko’s gloves, which are one long piece with embroidered flowers along them, Kyoko’s gloves have the outward appearance of medical bandages wrapped completely around her hands and up to her elbow, only the bandages are ribbons with that midnight blue thread along their edges; beneath that appearance, there’s only soft midnight blue velvet, with the exception of the compression aspects she needed for her burns—

Junko was paying so much more attention than Kyoko ever thought she would.

And yet.

“Sayaka gave me a lot of jewelry, but I took most of it off.”

“Yeah, she tends to over accessorize.  You were right to take it off.”  Junko turns just enough to meet her eyes.  “But the dress, Kyokyo.  The gloves!  What do you think?”

Kyoko swallows.  “I like the dress,” she says, and she pauses, gaze flicking to the not bandages wrapped around her hands.  This time, she doesn’t flinch.  Barely.

(Every time she sees them, she remembers waking in the hospital alone.  Every time she sees them, it hurts.  Every time she sees them, she thinks of Yui, which….)

“Why bandages?” Kyoko asks instead, letting her gaze flick to Junko’s face as much as she can, pretending she doesn’t.  “Do I seem that frail to you?’

“No, no!  Not at all!”  Junko takes Kyoko’s gloved hands in her own.  She rubs her thumb along one as though she could soothe her (and it does help, the slightest bit).  “I thought it made you look stronger.  Like how Sakura wraps her hands all the time!”  Her face flushes, and she turns away.  “I mean, I know she doesn’t wrap her hands at all, but you need that, right?  Because of your, um.”  She hesitates, but says it anyway, her voice softening, “Your injuries?”

Kyoko presses her lips together.

After a few seconds of silence, Junko places a hand on Kyoko’s.  “Will you let me fix them?  It won’t take long – not for me – and like you said, we’re already late.”  She smiles gentle.  “I’ll even close my eyes while you change them.  I know you don’t want anyone to see.”

It takes another moment before Kyoko nods.

~

“I’m sorry,” Kyoko murmurs as she strips the gloves off.

Junko’s head tilts to one side.  “What for?”

“For ruining the image you had in mind.”

Junko giggles.  “You didn’t ruin anything,” she says.  “I was worried something like this could happen.  I mean, you probably had to wear stuff like this for ages while your hands were healing, so it can’t have felt good to suddenly have bandages all over again.  I thought about it, but, like.”  She laughs again, darker, lower.  “Guess this is why Celeste is the Ultimate Gambler and not me.  Whenever I take a risk, I lose, you know?  Not that this is losing, or anything.  This is just….”  Her voice trails off.

Kyoko sets the gloves gently in Junko’s lap.  She hesitates before brushing strands of Junko’s hair back out of her face.  “Can I do something with your hair?” she asks.  “It isn’t bad like this, but I….”  She hesitates again.  “I’d like to braid it, if you don’t mind.”

“Like yours?”

Kyoko’s hair hasn’t been touched.

Well, it has, but she wouldn’t let Sayaka change her normal, standard way of wearing it.  The best she’d let her do was tuck all of it back into a low ponytail, that singular braid struck through on its side.  It’s different, but it’s not special.

“No,” Kyoko says, “not like mine.  Something befitting your elegance.”

Junko cracks an eye open.  “You think I look elegant?”

Kyoko very nearly smiles.  “I think you look beautiful.”

~

They turn heads when they finally arrive.

Kyoko is described as ethereal – it’s the pale of her skin and the pale of her hair and dress (sure, there’s the light sheen of purple to it, but not much) that makes the midnight blue stand out so starkly against everything else – the twin ribbons woven through the braids in her hair, one on either side, tucked back into a singular braid in the back; the gloves still that same velvet around her hands but stripped of the ribbons like bandages, now fading into lace from her wrists up, a corsage in mixed lavender and midnight blue around her left wrist.

Junko’s described as many things, but the one that makes her laugh the most is angelic.  Without the ribbons, her hair shouldn’t draw as many eyes to it as Kyoko’s does, but Junko’s entire appearance (even the boutonniere pinned to the ribbon at her chest) forces people to look up, to look at her, to look at the soft pink of her hair and the stormy blue-grey of her eyes.  That is where the sparkle is, the excitement and energy captivated in her grin, in her laugh.

Junko is angelic because she plays with the people; Kyoko is ethereal because she stands off to the side away from the rest of them.

In fact, Kyoko would spend most of the dance by the punch bowl if someone hadn’t spiked it (none of the upperclassmen are here, but she knows Mioda-senpai gave them the booze, knows Saioniji-senpai would laugh at the half of them who couldn’t hold their liquor).  Hiro drinks probably half the bowl before he vomits next to the stage, barely hiding himself behind the curtains, while Celeste laughs at him.  Makoto walks him off.

But before that, Junko leaves the dance floor breathing heavy.  She grabs Kyoko’s hands in hers with a grin as the music softens and says, “Okay.  First dance.  You have to dance with me now.”

“You want my first dance to be a slow dance?” Kyoko asks, one brow raising.

Junko tugs her forward, and Kyoko nearly stumbles against her.  “Slow dances are easier than the others,” she whispers.  “You just put your hands in the right place and sway and pretend that you’re not looking at each other.”  She chuckles.  “Or you look into each other’s eyes the whole time if you’re, like, hopelessly in love with each other.  Not that I’ve ever done that.”  She backs onto the dance floor, and Kyoko follows helplessly.  Then she nods to one of the couples near them.  “Like Togami and Celeste.  They’re probably going to run the world someday.  Won’t that suck?”

Kyoko barely glances over to them before turning back to Junko.  “You have to tell me what to do.  I’ve never done this before.”

“Okay, okay.”  Junko takes Kyoko’s hands and tucks them around her own neck.  “Keep your arms here,” she murmurs before placing her hands on Kyoko’s hips.  “Then just lean into my hands, and you’re fine.”

But Kyoko barely even hears the end of that sentence, too caught up in the sensation of Junko’s hands on her waist.  Her face blushes a bright red again, and she’s glad that it’s dark, that no one else can see it.  As Junko sways with her, she stumbles over her words.  “This is…this is it?”  She averts her eyes – pretend that you’re not looking at each other indeed – and continues, “You don’t…you don’t find this boring?”

Junko shrugs.  “It’s alright.  Sometimes I like how it ends.”

“How it....”  Kyoko clears her throat.  “How it ends?”

Junko just shrugs again.  “Yeah.  Sometimes it’s pretty cool, if things go well.”  Her face falls.  “Sometimes…sometimes it’s not so great.”  Then her face lights up.  “You should lean your head on my chest!”

“Wh-what?”

“It’s part of the whole experience!” Junko says animatedly with a grin.  “Here, c’mon—”

When Junko tugs Kyoko forward, Kyoko suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands, her face is an even brighter red (because actually Junko is really soft and she should not be thinking about this), and she doesn’t know what to do until Junko gently guides Kyoko’s hands to her waist and leaves them there.  Then she takes a deep breath in and forces herself to settle, rearranges herself, and then….

Then, well.  That’s okay, isn’t it?  To just…lean against Junko and…sway?  Like Junko told her to?  That makes it okay, right?

And then the song’s over, and Junko’s running a hand through her hair, and she’s saying, “See?  That wasn’t so bad, right?”  She steps back and gives Kyoko a bright grin.  “You did really good!  The next time there’s a slow song, you should do it again!  That’ll make it easier in the future.”

Kyoko doesn’t know what to say.  She doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable as she thought she would.  If anything, she feels…okay.  Uncertain, but okay.  And when she finds herself nodding, she’s surprised at herself.

(Back at the punch bowl, Kyoko rethinks this.  She shouldn’t have agreed to more slow dancing.  That’s really not fair, Junko.)

~

Nearer the end of the dance, after Hiro’s thrown up and Makoto’s carefully walked him outside for some water and maybe back to the dorm, after Makoto’s returned to his own date with Sayaka, a song starts that Kyoko knows full well, so when Junko comes running out to her, her arms are already crossed, her face already firm.  “No.”

“Kyokyo,” Junko whines.  “It’s my favorite song, and you’re my date, so you have to dance with me!”

Kyoko glares at her.  “No one else knows this song.  You put it on the playlist, and you waited on it to start so that you could drag me out for it.”  She frowns.  “You asked me to be your date.  You could have picked anyone else.  Anyone else would have loved to dance to this song with you.”

“But I didn’t ask anyone else,” Junko whispers.  “I asked you.”

For a breath, Kyoko glances out on the rest of the dancers, laughing, excited, waiting for the exact moment.  More than a few of them are staring at Junko, as though wondering what’s taking her so long.  Then she sighs.  “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“No,” Kyoko says as she starts out to the dance floor, tugging Junko with her, “I’m pretty sure I hate you.”

Junko kisses her cheek.  “If you hated me, you wouldn’t do the Time Warp.”

“Shut up.”

~

Afterward, when Junko walks Kyoko back to her dorm, there’s an air of tension between them.  Kyoko can feel it, but she doesn’t know what it is or why it’s there.  Then she remembers the conversation earlier, about how things end, and realizes that maybe Junko didn’t actually mean the dance itself but what comes after it.

Then, suddenly, Kyoko grows afraid.

Then, just as suddenly, Kyoko relaxes.

But when they make it back to her dorm, Junko just pats her on her shoulder.  “Alright, thanks for the good time!  I’ll see you tomorrow!”  Then she turns as though to walk off.

“W-wait!” Kyoko finds herself saying, panicking, face flushing as Junko turns back to her, head tilted to one side, curious expression on her face.  “You….”  Her gaze drops.  She shakes her head.  “Never mind.”

Junko’s eyes light up. “Oh.”

“I said never mind.”

“You want the full experience, huh.”

“No, I don’t.  I just thought—”

“Well, I figured I wouldn’t make you do something you didn’t want to do, and I didn’t want to make you super uncomfortable, so I figured you’d rather me leave so you can get out of all the fancy stuff, but.”  Junko comes back, reaches out, and then hesitates, searching Kyoko’s eyes.  “I wouldn’t say no.”  A soft, gentle smile crosses her lips.  “You really are beautiful, Kyoko.”

Kyoko doesn’t look up.  “I thought you said I was pretty.”

“Changed my mind.”

Kyoko doesn’t say anything more.  She’s confused.  Probably this is exactly what Junko wants.

After a few seconds, Junko’s fingers trace Kyoko’s jaw, and she slowly lifts her chin.  “Do you want me to kiss you?  It wouldn’t be taking advantage or anything.  I mean.”  She hesitates, tugs her lip between her teeth again, and then says, “I’d like to kiss you.  If you wouldn’t mind.  I just figured, you know, that you’d mind.”

Kyoko’s breath catches.  She hesitates, looks everywhere else, and then finally meets Junko’s eyes.  Her heart beats once, hard, in her chest.  “I wouldn’t.”  A pause, then, “You can.  If you…if that’s what you want.  I…I’d like that.”

Junko grins.  “And you said this wasn’t a date.”

Immediately, Kyoko’s brow furrows.  “That’s because it’s not a—”

Before she can finish the sentence, Junko kisses her.  The grin is still there – Kyoko can feel it against her lips – until it isn’t, until she’s not really thinking about that.  All she’s thinking is that Junko is gentle.  She leans into the kiss, shivers as Junko’s hands find her hips the way they did during the slow dance, and panics, stops, steps back.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”  Kyoko reaches up to brush her hair back.

Junko stops her, does so herself.  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”  She smiles kindly.

It isn’t fair – it isn’t right for Junko to be so kind with her.

“Will you….”  Kyoko hesitates.  “Do you want to come inside?”

Junko’s eyes widen.  “Kyoko, I love you, but I’m not here for that sort of—”

“No, no, no, not that.”  Kyoko’s face flushes a bright red.  “I don’t know all of the stuff Sayaka did to get this dress to stay on, and I don’t think I can get it off without help.”  She glances up and then away again.  “That’s all I want.  Help.”

“Oh.”  Junko’s smile returns, then.  “Of course.  That’s all I ever want to do for you, Kyoko.  Help.”

Kyoko nods.  “Okay then.”  She opens the door and gestures with one hand.  “Please.”

~

The thing is that Junko also needs help getting out of her dress.  Kyoko would’ve thought the Ultimate Fashionista would have better designs than this, ones that let you get in and out of a dress on your own, but no.  Fashion, as always, requires an extra hand.  Then Junko doesn’t want to walk back to her dorm with her clothes as they are – that’s asking for a scandal, Kyokyo!

So Junko borrows clothes, and Kyoko pulls out a mystery novel and reads it aloud until Junko dozes off resting against her.

This is normal.

Kyoko’s certain that this is normal.

Maybe not for anyone else, but….

But….

[ladybellissima]

Finding Love Katakuri x Reader Part 31

Wide awake the young beautiful marine cadet watched the morning sun raise. Finally the day started and finally she was able to work on her plan. Normally the Admiral was already waiting outside her door, but not today. No. Today it would be easier. With Captain Coby by her side, (Y/N) was sure to have more freedom. On top he was better to speak with. A really kindhearted captain. A silent knock at her door let her jump to her feets. Slowly she looked through the gap of the open door and felt relieved to see a smiling pink haired man than a cigar puffing Admiral.

"(Y/N)! Good morning. Are you ready for the day?", he asked happily, while she stepped out of her room to make the professional salut. Chuckling he gave her a stunned look of her appearance.

"Wow look at you. Dressed in our clothes… You look great!", he spoke amazed, but then blushed madly of the way it sounded.

With a short thank you, (Y/N) started to walk along the corridors with him.

"I was looking forward to see you again. After the Admiral got you under his wing I was worried, but you seem okay. That's a relief.", he started, while (Y/N) rolled her eyes annoyed.

Nothing was okay in the slightest.

"It's very early, nevertheless we start right away! Today i show you our training grounds. I hope you are motivated, because I will check your fitness level. I noticed that it's still missing in your papers.", he spoke and remembered how hard it was to run the rounds back then.

(Y/N) balled her fists motivated and was ready to deal with whatever would come. Walking in silence she glanced up to his carefree expression. Now was a good opportunity. Should she ask? Would it be suspicious? Her mind was racing of scenarios. Mostly bad ones.

"Something wrong? Tell me if something bothers you, (Y/N)", he spoke in a caring tone. Nodding quickly she thought wisely about her words.

" Say Captain Coby, what happened with my ship? I am just curious. ", she asked nervously. Thinking for a moment his look wandered straight again. (Y/N)'s heartbeat was increasing. Did she go too far?

"Oh yeah. Now I remember where they took it. You mean the giant bonbon. What an extravagant way to sail the seas. It's at the underground entrance by the other submerge ships. They were struggeling where to put it, because of its size. So it stays there.", he looked down to her uneasy expression. By his happy attitude he seemed completely clueless, which let her calm down a bit.

"Underground entrance.. I don't have a clue where that is. This place is really huge.. Honestly I would be completely lost, if i wouldn't follow you right now..", (Y/N) tried to guide their talk to the right direction. It was really hard to have a conversation with the main goal to get information. Stunned Coby stopped in his tracks and started to search through his pockets.

" Didn't the Admiral show you around?", he asked and already knew the answer, but also got a short no from the innocent girl beside him.

"I can't believe that you didn't have a tour around this place. Normally it's the first thing you get..but what can I say..the Admiral has his own way..", he mumbled, while searching frustrated. Confused (Y/N) watched his doings and it didn't help either after he suddenly fished out a folded paper with sparkling eyes.

" Here! This is the most important paper of every new marine here.", he announced and placed it into her hands. Opening it she gasped surprised of the detailed map in her hands. Every room and corridor was neatly named and give her an perfect overview of her location. Feeling her trembling hands of the starting excitement, she had to take a deep breath to calm down.

"Great isn't it? I still had it in my coat but I don't need it anymore. Now nothing could go wrong.", he spoke happily and (Y/N) felt a tear roll down her cheek. Shocked he asked why she was crying and if he had said something wrong, but he quickly fell silent after getting a bright smile from her and a surprising big hug.

" You are right. Nothing could go wrong now… Thank you Coby…", she spoke relieved, while feeling him hugging her back. Both had a smile on their face, but about complete different thoughts.

Stepping back (Y/N) folded the paper again and put it into her trousers. Her goal was getting closer. What a beautiful day it was. Walking again they reached the training grounds where hell became reality for every new recruit, but she was more than motivated now to face this challenge. If (Y/N) wanted to stay here any longer then she had to show that she was worth it.

"Okay let's start this..Surprise me and we are finished sooner.", he joked. If he would have known that she would take his words literally.

Coby was unsure if this wouldn't be too hard for a lovely girl like her. Becoming a marine wasn't easy and if you would ask him, he saw her more as a person, which was protected by him than letting her out there to fight.

God he was wrong in every way.

He didn't know where (Y/N) was hiding this power inside that fragile beautiful body of hers and this training session was starting to make him quite nervous. It was a hot day and (Y/N) changed into short training shorts, sport bra and an oversized tank top, which she got from the dress room. What could he say. It was underlining her curves in a perfect way and standing before him, motivated, with this special glint in her eyes, he knew that she would achieve everything she longed for. The wall climbing, crawling through fields or running rounds like crazy. Her will to fight was unbelievable. Growling like a monster (Y/N) pushed herself beyond her limits, while she climbed high up in the air on a rope. Not only once Coby had to avoid her sexy moves, because of his dirty thoughts. Her whole body hurted like hell and it felt like she was going to faint. Luckily they made some breaks in between to let her rest a bit, till the next test was calling. She never trained that hard her entire life. To be honest, she never trained at all, but she still kept going for him. For the life of Katakuri, who was also fighting with all he got.

"(Y/N) it's enough."

Finally the words of salvation. Breathing heavily, she carelessly took her shirt off and wiped her face. A sudden cough got her attention and she was met with a blushing Coby, who offered her a new one and water.

"I have to say you mastered every test very well. If you go on like that I am sure you will pass the entry test in one month. It's important to train everyday to get better. if you want to make it, then that will be your daily challenge.", he explained nervously, while (Y/N) lay on the ground half naked.

" Everyday? This? ", she breathed exhausted. God she has to get away from here quick. Chuckling he sat down and gave her time to recover.

" Yeah everyday. You need strength to fight. But for now you are free to go..", he spoke happily and fall back of her sudden jump to her feets.

"You mean I have time for me now? I can sleep or eat or mostly sleep? ", she asked excited and got a heartwarming laugh of Coby as an answer.

"You always remind me of myself. Yeah I give you the rest of the day off. Today it's really hot and nothing ordinary is going on. You need time to recover till the Admiral is back. I will finish the papers. So I wish you a great afternoon. ", Coby spoke and was deeply hugged by (Y/N).

" I can't thank you enough! ", she spoke and got up. Quickly running out like she never was exhausted minutes before, he looked after her with mixed feelings. In a way he found that there was more behind her words than it sounded.

Getting a quick shower to look neatly like it was ordered for every marine and gathering her things together, (Y/N) got ready to step out of her room. It was already late in the afternoon and she knew there wasn't much time left. It was risky to go, because maybe the Admiral was already on his way back. Who knows what this man was planning.

But the moment was so damn perfect.

No one was around. Everyone was doing his own thing, because the high ranked marines were out of sight. Locking her door (Y/N) walked along the corridor, while once in awhile taking a glimpse of the map. Coby was really a lifesaver. It would have been very complicated to find the way on her own.

Step after step she finally reached the doors of the prison district. Taking a deep breath she slowly opened it to not cause any noise.

"No one in sight…"

Quickly getting inside she got deeper and deeper into the darkness. The familiar disgusting smell, which lingered in the thick air made her feel sick. Her hands started to shake of her nervousness. She wanted to see him so badly that she was about to miss the guard. Frozen in the spot she hid behind a wall and thought desperately of what to do.

There was a noise. A growling noise.

Did he notice her? Was this her end now?

But nothing happened. Irritated (Y/N) leaned forward to take a glimpse of what was going on.

To call it sleeping would be an understatement. This man was fighting with his inner self right now.

There wasn't another explanation of the sound he was making. Her look fell onto his belt where the cell keys were carelessly hanging and she realized that she totally forgot that part of meeting her husband. Sighing of her stupidity she was happy that the man was caught in such a deep sleep.

Annoyed about herself and the situation, she walked closer and with shaken hands she grabbed his belt to get the keys off. Her look wandered from his sleeping face to the belt and back. Her body was trembling of fear. One wrong move and everything was over. Her mind was racing about the question, if she should really go this far to see him, but checking his condition was also important for their escape. She had to be prepared for everything. The smell of alcohol reached her nose and by his red face she realized that he had a good time with a bottle of sake. Sighing in relief she got the keys of and walked pass the man who still was mentally on the battlefields and sure wouldn't come back so soon.

Passing the cells she was able to see Katakuri's prison. Finally. Rushing towards it of fear to losing this chance again she looked inside and couldn't see anything. Silently (Y/N) opened the cell doors and took a candle from the wall to light it up with one of the matches, which were laying at a small table by the metal bars. Her look wandered from the candle to the wall.

Her breath stopped.

"Are you sure he would life that long?"

Akainu's words rang in her mind and (Y/N) wasn't sure anymore.

In a way she was afraid to step closer. To maybe make things worse. Her hands were shaking and let the candle light move rapidly.

Blood.

So much blood.

Cuts, deep wounds, bruises.

" Burn wounds…", she whispered shocked, while coming closer. His head was hanging down carelessly, exposed without his scarf. Trembling she reached out to him, but hesitated midway.

"Katakuri…", her soft voice called out to him desperately. She thought he was unconscious. He sure had to be with these wounds, but she was wrong. Katakuri heard her angelic voice in the darkness and moved slowly. Gasping she watched him lifting his head. His emotionless pained look met her shocked one.

"Am I dreaming?"

Gasping of finally hearing his raspy, but soft voice she fell to her knees and cried silently, while he couldn't believe it that she was there. In front of him. His beautiful wife.

"(Y/N)…."

Taking a deep breath (Y/N) had to collect herself. But it was so damn hard. She couldn't stand to see him like that. The man she loved, close to his death.

"Please (Y/N)…. You have to focus on your plan.. There is hope..", she thought desperately and shook her head quickly. She could cry the whole night at her room but not stay by his side forever. Taking her bag with shaken hands, she slowly got up again to face her husband. A shiver ran down her spine after meeting his exhausted look again.

"I know what you will say now…", she sobbed bitterly.

"(Y/N)", he whispered and breathed heavily of the pain.

"I know I risk my life. Go too far. Maybe it's useless and we will end together on the scaffold..", she bite her lip in frustration.

"(Y/N)..", he called out again, but this time in a demanding voice, which let her stop abruptly and look to his soft smile. Hugging herself she tried to control her trembling body, while he whispered his long needed wish.

"Just kiss me.."

[sdvbraindump]

Shane & Harvey HCs in "A Meteorite Among The Stars"

Below are the current headcanons I have going on for my Shane x OC x Harvey fanfic, A Meteorite Among The Stars. FYI these two will be rivals. There will be other characters but these are the main ones that will get the most attention other than my OC 😊

Will update this as the writing progresses-seriously this FF is taking on a life on its own that made me stop writing my other FF with just Shane, which will have separate headcanons.

Also, there are longer versions but cut them out here as they contain spoilers 😝

Name: Shane McHale

Age: 33 going on 34 (birthdate 4/20-yes we're using the 12 months in a year time frame)

Ethnicity: Irish/Welsh

Physical looks (at 33): short black hair (undercut) with dark-green eyes; weight 230 pounds; height 5’9 (I know most people headcanon Shane to be 5’6-5’7 but I’ll give him a break here. He still has the dad bod/love handles with body hair tho lol); for the first 1.5 months of AMATS he has a black beard but shaves it off mid-Spring with a few gray hairs throughout his face

Body Modifications: a Celtic band on his right bicep he got randomly during his sophomore college (seriously, he got it on a whim because he was with some friends at a tattoo shop during a night out because peer pressure is real. Think one of those super popular tribal tattoos from the 90s but with Celtic knots and that’s it haha); a Celtic Shield knot tattoo in the middle of his upper back (he got before his senior year in college because again peer pressure is real)

Current Jobs: Full-time Stock boy at Jojamart; Part-time ranch hand at Whitehouse Ranch for Marnie

Hobbies: When he gets off work he’s mentally drained and doesn’t have the energy to do much. He’ll play video games, listen to old rock/punk/metal music, and occasionally read but can never keep up with a book and gives up. Also believe that in his twenties he played electric guitar/bass (leaned more towards bass because he thought it would be easier) but stopped because he lost interest as he turned 30 sadly. Honestly, he would rather zone out in front of the television or phone so he can be distracted from his current reality (my guy needs a hobby BAD) 

Name: Harvey Theodore Danger Jr, (Yes like the band. His dad named him because he loved the band growing up haha)

Age: 34 going on 35 (birthdate 1/14)

Ethnicity: German/Scandinavian

Physical looks (at 34): wavy light brown hair (also undercut but more full) with hazel eyes; wears tortoise glasses; weight 225 pounds; height 6’1 (he’s not skinny but he’s not chubby either. Definitely has love handles and body hair); has a light brown Chevon handlebar mustache that he takes TREMENDOUS care of (he trims it regularly & uses mustache wax to keep it in place)

Body Modifications: He wanted to get a tattoo in college but couldn’t decide. He ALMOST got one in medical school but lost his nerve. He DID get a piercing in his left ear back in college but removed it when he was in medical school

Current Job: Full-time General Practitioner at Pelican Town Clinic

Hobbies: Reading, building model plane kits, cooking (when he makes time to do it but he admits he’s lazy), also plays the trumpet (he was in high school band and was part of a couple of ensembles in college/med school for fun but now just does it when he’s feeling nostalgic) which led to his love of classical jazz (also listens to classic rock & new age when he thinks no one’s around-has a complex that people will think he’s ‘an old guy trying to relive his youth’ instead of a respectable doctor)

[lightofthemoonglow]

running up that hill: part four

summary: finally reunited, but it's still not easy

series masterlist

contains: smut

note: it feels obvious, but i'm going to say it. they're speaking spanish for the most part during the Peru segments unless otherwise noted.

cowritten with @deviantdrkate

i. good god, let me give you my life (June 2000)

It’s nearly summer, the time of year when modest cardigans and thick pantyhose are discarded in favor of short sleeves and bare legs. Elena had been feeling bold that morning, so she had chosen to wear short sleeves and a skirt that showed off a bit more leg than usual, though her legs are still clad in thigh-highs, which she knows Herbert will appreciate. Less fumbling, they could get down to business quicker.

Though it seems like there isn’t going to be any ‘business’ today.

“Vee, what’s going on? I get to the chapel and apparently West has been reassigned?”

“The new doctor requested him specifically.” Vanessa offers Elena a mint, which she declines. “He’s kind of cute. Fresh out of med school, apparently. I guess he was highly recommended, so they’re giving him whatever he wants.”

Elena sighs and her hand goes to run through her hair, but her fingers meet the cloth of her veil instead. “I don’t care how cute he is. He can’t just poach my assistant and expect me to be fine with it. And not that it matters, but if he’s just out of med school, he’s a bit too young for my tastes. If I had any.”

The way Vanessa’s eyes twinkle make it clear what she’s thinking, because Vanessa has hinted that she knows something more is going on. She’s not a threat and maybe she’d be a safe person to tell. But Elena knows she needs to be careful and that means not telling a soul, not even her friend. By now, she’s become an expert liar. At least in one area. It just rolls off her tongue and the bitter aftertaste that used to follow isn’t even there anymore.

“Let’s set aside the subject of eye candy. Tell me about school,” Elena says as they near the part of the infirmary where Herbert is.

“It’s going great. Honestly, it’s a lot easier than I thought it would be. By this time next year, I’ll be…somewhere else.” Once she was an RN, rather than the LPN she was now, so many more doors would be open. Classes and work at the prison made for a full plate, but Vanessa had proved she could handle it. And with an actual doctor installed at the prison, things should only be easier. Assistant poaching aside, it’s a cause for celebration.

“That’s great!”

“Are you still going to throw a party to celebrate when you take your final vows?”

“That’s a few months away.” There’s a pause and Elena quickly fills the silence. “But probably, yes.”

Whenever she thinks about that day, it feels like the countdown to some unspecified disaster. Taking her final vows is supposed to be a good thing, she’s been working towards this for a long time. But deep down, it feels wrong. She knows why and she knows that she needs to back out.

But for what? A cruel voice in the back of her mind asks, taunting her with the truth. They don’t have a future, not for a long time. Such a long time away that it might as well not exist. What’s she supposed to do? Just wait for the next decade and a half, at the very least. For all she knew, the warden would find some reason to keep Herbert locked up for longer, and then their best years would be behind them. Or maybe he’d never get out and she would have wasted her entire life on waiting.

The sounds of chaos from down the hall jolts Elena out of her thoughts. There’s yelling, the guards are being whipped into a frenzy even before they open the door just as Elena and Vanessa arrive.

Moses isn’t himself. He’s practically snarling, trying to attack anyone who gets near him. Elena steps in front of Vanessa as the chaos gets too close to them, willing to shield her friend with her body if she had to.

It’s a whirlwind of madness and in the middle of it, her eyes meet Herbert’s and she just knows why this is happening.

--

Instead of going back to his cell, Herbert goes to the chapel, where he knows she will be waiting.

Elena just stares at him for a moment or two, the silence almost smothering them. She speaks first, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What did you do?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Moses died. Dr. Phillips had some of my reagent.”

“How-?”

Herbert explains the why and how, Elena’s expression going from curiosity to horror to understanding during his tale. It’s mostly things she’s heard before but something about having someone else who was actually there back then makes it feel so much more real.

“So you’re going to get back to your work, aren’t you?”

Though she’s not even sure why she’s asking, because she knows the answer. The work is a part of him, she knows that too. He’s a scientist, no matter what, above everything else. Even a man. And she will be at his side, even if only metaphorically, every step of the way. It’s what she had promised when she had told him that they would part and never be parted, that they would live lifetimes.

“Of course.” Herbert’s tone makes it clear what he thinks of her question. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this?”

“I know, I know. And I want you to but it’s just-“

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course.”

They’re nearly nose to nose, getting defensive over what would seem like nothing to an outsider. But there’s so much running under the surface, tension and fear coming forth to meet the very real possibility that all of this could change.

“I just…don’t want anything bad to happen.” Elena’s voice is tinged with the raw emotion that’s threatening take over.

“What could happen?”

“A lot of things! Like being thrown into super max for the rest of your life. And then I’d never see you again and that would be-“

Herbert doesn’t want to think about that. Or anything but the best possible outcome. So he kisses her instead, sealing his mouth over Elena’s, his tongue shoving its way into her mouth. Now is not the time to think of how it could all go wrong. His hands reach under her skirt, delighting in the feeling of her bare upper thighs, his fingers slipping into her underwear, unable to stop once he started.

“You have no idea what this means, but that’s alright,” he murmurs in her ear as he slips two fingers inside of her, slowly moving them, teasing her as his other hand undoes the first few buttons of her blouse. “This is an extraordinary thing, mein Liebling.” His teeth sink into her neck, breaking skin that would thankfully be hidden by her clothing once it was properly back on.

Seeing the reagent again, after so many years, makes him feel that fire that had burned so brightly when he had been at Miskatonic. That ideal future is closer than it had been this morning. But what matters most is having his work back, the prospect of being back in a lab after so many years making him go into a frenzy. His hands are working quickly, sloppily as the euphoria over finally getting the missing piece of himself back is channeled into the current activity.

It's lucky that Elena brought a bag in today because in Herbert’s frenzy to get her underwear off, he rips them to the point of ruin, tossing the fabric aside as if it were nothing. She’s never seen him like this before. He almost seems possessed, his movements frantic as he maneuvers her onto the floor, nearly tearing her skirt in his eagerness to be inside of her.

“It shouldn’t take long for me to produce a new batch. Once that happens, I’ll begin to integrate it with the new ideas I’ve come up with during my time here and after that…” The shifting of her hips cuts off what he’s about to say next, though Herbert doesn’t stop his movements, which are rough enough that there is going to be carpet burn all over her rear and the back of her thighs, which will pair nicely with the soreness she’ll be feeling later and the bruises in the shape of his fingers all over her thighs and hips.

“Are you sure?” Elena asks, lust nearly slurring her words.

“Yes. And when my work is complete, I want you to be the first.” The thrusts are slowing down, though his grip doesn’t loosen. “You deserve it.” He wants her to be the first recipient of what he sees as a gift. It’s the only way he can tell her just how much she means to him without actually saying those three words.

After all, you would only make someone you love immortal.

“What if I wind up like Moses?” Seeing what could happen makes the bottom of her stomach drop out and she looks at him, eyes wide with concern.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The rutting begins again, one of his hands moving up her body, stopping at the spot between her collarbones. “Nothing like that will ever happen to you. You will remain perfect.” The merciless rhythm is robbing her of words, but the way she’s looking at him says more than enough.

Those strong, rough fingers wrap around her throat, though there is no pressure. Not yet. Her hands are free, she can push him away. But instead, she reaches up and puts her hand on his, pressing down ever so slightly.

She trusts him more than he thought, and he nods, lightly applying pressure as he continues fucking her into the floor, nearly slamming her head into the pew they had somehow wound up near. “We’ll live lifetimes, you and I. It may take some time, but we will.”

The determination to live up to his promise makes him somehow go even faster, the hand not on her neck going to her clitoris, so she could find her pleasure before he does. Herbert is thinking of the future as his end nears, of more promises he can make. He pictures them outside of these walls, somewhere lush and vibrant, a place for them and no one else. As always, he must pull out and finish himself on her, rather than inside.

As his hands works his cock furiously, he thinks about being able to finish in her, of what could result from that. He knows what could happen, he’s seen the results in nearly every context possible. And yet, the mere idea of doing that to her, of giving her a piece of himself in a way, brings him over the edge, his spend splashing onto her skin as he thinks of her carrying his child.

It's an impulsive thought, brought on by the excitement over new possibilities in life.

But it manages to stick.

ii. can’t say i'm not alive (September 2003)

The sound of her fists slamming against the front door startles Herbert out of the daze he had been in ever since he had looked into the eyes that have haunted him awake and asleep for over three years. It hits him that he’d had her for a fraction of the time he’s been mourning her, but he’s quickly brought back to reality when she yells, demanding he hand over the child.

Herbert can’t deny it’s her. He memorized her face so long ago, spent so long dedicating himself to the act, that it’s engrained in his mind. He knows her face as well as his own, maybe even better. Her voice has been slipping away recently, but he still remembers enough to recognize it anywhere. It’s not logical, but it must be her.

“Open the door!” Elena is louder now, the rage building in her voice. So he opens the door.

This is not the reunion he had imagined, when he had indulged in fantasies of seeing her again. Herbert would never admit to how much he had wanted the previously impossible. He had thought about opening a door and her being on the other side. She would smile and say that she was home now. He wouldn’t ask where she had been, or why she had been gone, because there would be lifetimes left for questions.

But instead of a gentle embrace, Elena charges through the door the moment it opens, slamming her body into his. There’s barely any time for him to think about how he’d never thought of her being capable of such fury before she stills, staring down at the space between their bodies. In all the chaos, Herbert had forgotten about the needle in his pocket. It was a mild steroid, part of his work. He had been about to inject it into one of the iguanas in the basement, having found a moment to work while Johanna napped upstairs. The baby monitor on his workstation would have alerted him to her waking, but he’s not thinking about the child right now.

“What was in the needle?” Elena asks, her voice rather steady, considering the situation. It’s then that he realizes that she had been injected. The fact that it had been in the shoulder is of little comfort

“Just a mild steroid. It’s nothing dangerous.” Herbert forces himself to be composed as he steps back, inspecting her in a more clinical sense than he had ever had before. Her t-shirt’s thin fabric had allowed the needle to penetrate her skin, but the contents had been so mild that she has nothing to worry about in the long run.

“Why do you have that?” Elena asks, her hand going to her shoulder. It may be sore, he realizes and then she wobbles, suddenly unsteady on her feet. “And where is my daughter?”

“Johanna is upstairs. She was taking a nap, but the racket likely woke her up. I can go get her right now, if that is what you would like.” Herbert speaks carefully, every word measured, despite being on the verge of screaming one of his many questions into her face. “Mrs. Vidal, I insist that you have a seat. You may start to experience side effects of the injection soon.” It’s an intentional error on his part, he needs to find certain things out without asking directly.

“Miss. Not Mrs. I’m not married,” Elena says as she follows him into the kitchen, not taking the assistance he offers, even after she practically lurches across the floor to get into one of the chairs. “It’s just the two of us.”

A part of Herbert feels pleased at her statement. That is until the full implications of everything hit him all at once. The familiar elements in the toddler’s face had not been a product of his imagination. He had not been projecting his own musings about the daughter he had been trying to not think about for so long. There was no psychological issue. The girl is his offspring.

“I feel nauseous. Is this normal?” Elena asks, bringing Herbert out of his thoughts.

“That depends. Have you eaten recently?” The quick shake of her head gets a nod from him in return. “That is to be expected. And what medications are you on?” It’s a logical question, he would ask any other patient this. Though the next one is not, but he needs to truly know if he’s been replaced. “Are you on birth control?”

“Yes, to all of those. I take a birth control pill, it’s a generic monophasic one. As for my other meds, I take Zoloft daily and Xanax as needed. I don’t remember the exact dosages off the top of my head but if you really need to know, I can go get them.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Herbert says. “May I ask why you’re on the Zoloft and Xanax?”

“There was some…trouble a few months after my daughter was born. And honestly before. It’s a long story, and there are a lot of gaps in my memory, but to sum it all up, I came all the way from Massachusetts for a reason.” She tried to laugh, but the brief sound was hollow. It wasn’t funny, not to any of them. “And that is probably why I got so upset.”

Herbert was putting it together, his mind racing as it always did when he was finding an answer to a question that had been plaguing him. “It’s alright,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm. “You have every right to your feelings,” he adds, borrowing a phrase he’s heard Dan use several times. Before Elena can respond, she bends over, arms wrapped around her stomach. Herbert moves quickly, grabbing a bowl from under the sink. Nothing should come up, but he’s learned the value of keeping a bowl nearby for things like this. “Thank you,” Elena mumbles, setting the bowl on her lap.

Moving quickly, Herbert gets one of Dan’s granola bars out of the cabinet and hands it to her. “Eat this. Slowly. You need it.” Elena nods and unwraps it, which brings some sort of sensation to the pit of Herbert’s stomach. Even right now, with her slowly eating the granola bar and her expression one of her nervousness tinged with nausea, Herbert is entranced by her. He wants to push her hair behind her ears and rest his hand on her shoulder. The memories of the small intimacies they had shared start seeping back and he’s grateful for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Dan asks, yawning as he walks into the kitchen. Herbert has no time to react before Dan sees Elena, stopping halfway into the room. “Herbert….who is this?”

“This is Elena Vidal, Johanna’s mother.” Herbert does his best to use his face to tell Dan to remain calm. This is a fragile moment, even he realizes this. It’s her, he knows this. And she’s right here, looking at the two of them questioningly. “Miss. Vidal, this is my colleague, Daniel Cain.”

There is not a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she stands to greet Dan, who thankfully looks more tired than anything else. Herbert knows that Dan will be bombarding him with questions once they’re alone, so he takes his time packing up Johanna’s things, though he leaves the stuffed bear that the girl loves so much. Dr. Mac will have to be separated from its owner for a while. He needs a reason to see them again. It’s the first step in his still forming plan.

Johanna eagerly runs to her mother when Herbert brings her downstairs. Elena refuses any help to carry her things back, and Herbert has to watch them go, staring at them from the window until they vanish from sight.

iii. maybe someday, I’ll be lucky (April 2000)

“I don’t see the point in engaging in this discussion.”

Elena just giggles at Herbert’s statement, wrinkling her nose a little. “That’s the idea. There is no point. It’s just for fun.” She lovingly runs a finger along his jaw, teasing him. Her legs are slung across his lap, it’s as close as they dare. The guard on duty is the one that often sleeps on the job, and it is lunchtime for most of the other inmates. They can be a little reckless, they can sit this closely. Her veil is on the floor, her hair is loose. For a moment, they feel almost…normal.

“I still fail to the see point in picking names for a child yet to be born.”

“It’s not set in stone. Come on, you never thought about it?”

“I never even considered having one until-.” He stops, realizing what he’s about to say. They try not to talk about the thing that hangs between them. Their lack of a real future. The look on her face makes him change course, hopefully distracting her. “I would not name a child after my parents. Their lack of any sort of impact on my life disqualifies them.”

Elena smiles sadly for a moment, cupping his jaw in her hand. “Then we’ll name none of our children after our parents. My parents already have enough children named after them.” She’s gained several new nieces and nephews since they had met and two had been named after her parents in some way. They would be fine if these hypothetical children didn’t bear their names.

A part of her needs to believe that there’s another world somewhere, a universe where this discussion isn’t so painful. There must be a place where they’re talking about this in their own home, the yellow house from her dreams, and they’re agreeing to wait several years before they start planning, but it would happen one day. There would be time.

The idea that they’re doomed no matter what is something she can’t take, not right now.

“The only person that I would bestow that honor on is Dr. Gruber.”

Upon hearing that, the smile on her face isn’t quite so sad anymore.

iv. come up to meet you (September 2003)

“Herbert, no. Let me do it.”

Of course, Dan’s protests are ignored, and Herbert continues his journey up the walkway. The bear is in hand, and he’s approaching the little house at the edge of town where his wife and child are residing. The fact that he had been able to wait several hours before going to return the stolen toy was a sign of his improved impulse control. Though stealing the bear in the first place basically negated that.

“I have to talk to her, Dan. You don’t-“

“If you say that I don’t understand…. dammit Herbert.” Dan drags his hand down his face, letting out a deep sigh. It would be hypocritical of him to stop his friend, not after what he had done to get Meg back. But there must be a better way to go about this than what Herbert is planning. He’s planning on the long game, it seems. Becoming a part of her life, waiting for her to remember. And if she doesn’t…. Dan doesn’t want to think about that. It feels wrong for Herbert to play this half-false role.

But all Herbert cares about is getting what he’s been wanting for years. He knows it would work, because it worked before. They had worked before, and they would work again. They had made vows and neither of them were the sort to take that sort of thing lightly. For once, answers could wait.

Maybe, as long as he has her back, Herbert would be content without answers. That’s the best Dan can hope for, and even that feels impossible.

Herbert knocks on the door, Dan hanging back a few feet, as if to stay out of a blast zone. Every worst-case scenario runs through his head in 90 or so seconds that it takes for Elena to come to the door. “Hey, I was just about to call you. I think my daughter left her…”

“Her bear.” Herbert holds up the stuffed animal, forcing his face to stay neutral as he takes in the sight of her. She’s changed her clothes, swapping the jeans and a t-shirt for a pair of shorts and a cutoff shirt that is high enough to reveal the scar on her abdomen. It’s raised, a tad crooked. The work of a butcher and in his anger, it takes Herbert a moment to realize that it’s a cesarean scar and that the same incompetents had delivered her daughter. His daughter.

Their daughter

“Thank you,” Elena says, taking the toy from him, their fingers brushing together. It brings him back to before, having to make do with brief touches because there were often eyes on them. “Do you have time to have some coffee? I just put on a pot.”

“We should-.” Dan starts to speak, but Herbert cuts him off, not even bothering to shoot him a glare.

“We have plenty of time.”

Nothing else matters, not right now. As he walks through the front door of her home, not even the work is relevant. Herbert’s eyes are fixed on Elena, taking in everything. He walks a little too close to her, watching the way her body moves from behind, silently marveling over the sight of her bare legs. It’s one of the small things that had been denied to them, among many other things. The sunlight catches in her hair and it’s another thing that’s new to him.

“Again, I have to apologize for my cousin. I think she just…panicked and did what she thought was best.” Elena glances at them over her shoulder, and Herbert shakes his head in response.

“Our goal here does include community outreach. And it was for the greater good. We thought that it would be best to allow your grandparents time to rest and recover without having to worry about taking care of a child. At their age, the flu is far more dangerous for them than it is for us.” Behind Herbert, Dan makes a face, as if he’s disagreeing with it. In his mind, there had been no ‘we’, this had been one of Herbert’s ideas and his idea alone. What was he supposed to do? Throw a toddler out on the streets?

But Elena doesn’t notice the look on Dan’s face, she’s only looking at Herbert. Dan wonders if they would even notice if he left.

“So where are you two from?” Elena asks as she pours out the coffee, Herbert noting that she takes it with cream and sugar, while he takes it black.

“Dan is from Washington, DC and I’m from Canada. But both of us attended medical school in Massachusetts-“ Herbert is cut off by the sound of Elena suddenly setting her mug on the table, her hands trembling in excitement.

“Really? Because that’s where I’m from! Born and raised!” Elena’s face lights up and she switches to English, her accent stronger as she speaks in her native tongue. “Did you go to Miskatonic?”

“No. Harvard.” Dan kicks Herbert under the table, knowing that he needed to lie. It makes him part of the whole…thing that is surely going to come from this, but he can’t let Herbert blow up their lives here. It’s been fine over the last few years, he’s content. But he can’t let Herbert take control of the situation, not when there’s a child involved.

“Still a great school. I’m biased, because I grew up in Arkham. But it’s not far, so we were probably practically neighbors.” Elena’s eyes are on Herbert and he feels that warmth that came with being in her orbit for the first time in a long time.

[enihk-writes]

i read your comment reply to the "x reader needs to be completely ambiguous" post and i have to say, i agree with your whole statement.

i am a poc fanfic writer myself and i think it is weirdly entitled when someone demands inclusion in that way? the majority of fanfic nowadays gives correct tags (i.e. f!reader or specific title!reader) and is inclusive enough (not using light/dark when talking of colours of skin/eyes/hair, not specificying on body type just saying that are shorter/taller than certain characters)

so I don't really understand OP's whole... rant. and about the whole personality and bg story? most long fics require some adequate backstory for their protagonist a.k.a the reader, so they need a backstory to be somewhat interesting right?

and did you read their PS 2? I have to say that writing ambiguous readers are easier (not easy, just less difficult) on short stories like drabbles or headcanons or one shots. but long fics? it is borderline impossible unless you want to have a boring 2-dimensional protagonist with the personality of a potato.

not to mention writers who write the untagged oc! reader stories are probably young. like 14 15 young. writers at that age are just writing for themselves and probably are new to the whole "writing for fandom" sphere.

idk anymore, I just wanna say I agree with your statement even if I'm afraid to reveal myself bc I'm scared of getting cancelled lmfaooo

i just saw their ps 2 and i personally think they're doubling down on a point just because someone else might not agree with them... ive been writing fanfiction since i was 13,,, im like 22 now, and i feel like what people in fandom nowadays (fuck i sound like a boomer urggghhh) forget that x readers were created as a form of self-insert. you as a reader just happen to have the "privilege" to also read this piece of fanfiction that someone else created to satisfy their own fantasies and thought that "hey i think someone like me out there might enjoy this too!!!"

i wouldn't say their rant is entitled, i guess they're not wrong but also,,, it's icky,, just that something in that rant is icky to me,,, ive seen this same argument over and over again in the past few years and many people have pointed out really good points (i.e. lack of poc rep) which is why i think it's great to highlight and boost poc!reader fanfics so that other poc writers know that they are appreciated in that fandom space!!! which brings me to the part in their rant where they talk about writing about ambiguous readers.

is it easy? to an extent, yes.

in my mind when i write fanfics, they are all faceless, shapeless entities,, but there is only so much i can do with this character that i cannot imagine. what happens when i want to explore certain topics that i might relate to? i can't expect my readers to understand what it's like being a first-generation immigrant in a first-world city, whose home country is now going through a civil war? but does that mean i'm going to not post what i write as an x reader? no! i'm going to post it so that you as a reader can see what goes on in my head, how i see the world and hopefully, that reader can appreciate the work i have put out that i wrote with my heart.

that's my side of the story. and honestly someone not liking a fic because it doesn't relate to them is the most self-centred take i have seen and it used to be a valid argument but now,,,, it's morphing into plain old "what about me?" and they end the conversation at that,,, like why should writers care about you? if you're not the target audience for these fics,, move on!!!

if you are, great! good for you!

if you want to see something specific, open that fucking word document and write!!!! im so tired of seeing people complain and complain without doing anything to change things themselves like okay boss babes let's stop with the lip service and do something with the abilities you have!!! it's going to be the shittest writing ever the first few times but by your 10th or 20th fanfic you are getting somewhere, you are writing the literature you want to see in fandom spaces and who knows,,, you could find your own audience that loves your niche!!!

maybe it's just the way ive been raised but the amount of self-centred individualistic sentiment that has been going on in recent years is so!!!!!! it makes me want to fucking scream!!!! write it yourself!!! do it yourself!!!! im not obliged to write anybody's preferences other than my own!!!!

[ofarrowlegacy]

Continued.

@Imnotuptight

Compliments; Mia ever rarely dished out. Because giving out a sentiment; a compliment indicated you liked someone or thought highly of them. Mia kept her heart close to herself; she kept people at arms distance for a reason. She’s been burned for far too many years in the making. Her own dad died when she was only a baby; barely could count in her head how long his presence lasted. And her mother; Felicity as the blonde liked to call her. Mother meant endearing love and right now I was angry, I didn’t want Felicity to find me. I was my father’s daughter. Holding grudges, being angry at the lies, the betrayal I felt. 

She lied to me, she betrayed the bond I thought she had; about who Oliver Queen was. He wasn’t just a loyal man, he wasn’t just a loving father for the time he had. He was a hero; the Green Arrow. The news of his absence, the void his loss held followed me everywhere. Except I only recently found out that man behind the mask was the man who I lost as a baby. I felt the grief all over again. The arrows I touched felt like him, it made me feel connected to him. Our time was cut short; I wished I was raised by him; the guy I idolized. And Parker I didn’t know him personally but he seemed to be decent; someone who was willing to let a complete stranger inside. 

He was a doctor so I suppose it was built inside of him; but I could’ve been a stalker for all he knew; a girl who was banging on the bar door just for his attention. Not that the female would ever; please she don’t beg. She was a strong independent women; she was capable of fending for herself. But still she got the idea that Parker was surprised by her; her comment I mean; hiding the slight simper that dared to appear over bare lips. Blonde locks strayed over her shoulder; one piece of hair covering her eye; as her hues were glued to the bandaged hand she now was nursing at his request. 

“ Don’t take the time with your parents your family for granted okay.” A slight remark, one that held accountability with herself. The blonde had tried to brush it off; turning her attention to the empty glass now in front of her; her good hand wrapped around it, as she attempted to brush off her own dealings. Perhaps it was easier to give advice rather than follow through with your own. 

How long was I sticking around? Honestly I had no idea. Because I was a mover; a runner; if Felicity cared about me the way she claimed than I wouldn’t be surprised if she was hot on my trail which meant if I wanted to stay hidden I’d give myself a day max on staying put; but given the coloring of my palm, the swelling that was yet to go down; I had the feeling my luck would stay put in the presence of Parker; a doctor in training, I felt safer with my injured hand here assuming the boy with a good head on his shoulders allowed it. Jumping down from the stool; shoes hit the floorboards as I forced a real smile to occupy my face. “ Seeing as you’re doctoring me and all I guess I could stay a day or two until this bad boy is healed up.” A sheepish glance as I held up my hand wrapped up with white cloth; but I was earning my keep.  Mia rounded the counter until managed to step behind the bar. “ But you have to let me help, I’m no good of a patient, as you’ll learn.”

[moscowfic]

When I look into your eyes 2

" I don't know what happened. He said he would go for a walk, I told him it was dangerous to do it at night because we are here, you know, there are bears around and a man can't against such an animal." 

Dmitry smiled, looking at the closed eyes of the president sleeping peacefully on the sofa. That face, too pale for his taste certainly, with no stress to disturb the emotions, gave the face a youthful essence he could never witness. He stroked the cheekbone with his thumb, moving up the nose to reach the center of the forehead, pressing lightly to leave a small pink marking, not too visible to an unobservant eye. 

He rose from his spot, humming a song from his time when he touched the carved wooden furniture, holding the handle to pull back, reaching his hand in to hold a box of shotgun shells, letting out a small chuckle to shift them, standing on his tiptoes to drop the box into a larger one on top of the refrigerator. Dmitry rolled over, hearing the President groan in wakefulness, rolling his eyes to quickly step out of the doorway, meeting the disoriented gaze.  

Vladimir was easier than he thought he would be, with the background he knew he could assume the man would be more closed off but a single caress had him at his feet, at his fingertips ready for any command he wanted, just like a dog in need of affection. No attentive parents, a childhood life absent of the security required, an over-emphasis on grades, lack of approval; a single compliment, a minimal caress, was enough to make the president go like butter under her scrutiny. 

He moved closer, sitting across from him at the coffee table, smiling flirtatiously as the short blonde locks stood up thanks to static or frizz. he stroked the cheek, this time having the receiver awake and he could feel the skin under his fingers warm up, watching the pale skin turn a vivid red.

" Don't be embarrassed, remember I've already seen your body, you forget?" The snort made him drop his cheek, crossing his legs to raise an eyebrow as elegantly as he could.

" That's no justification for you to take such daring, who do you take me for? A woman? I am no replacement for your wife." Vladimir's words are coarse, the vast majority to appear with the stereotypical tough and angry Russian.

" Then I see no need to be here." He stood up, crossing his arms while holding back the smirk as Vladimir's eyes became like those of an abandoned puppy." Why stay here? If you're going to treat me like this, I'd rather leave honestly." 

He walked to the doorway, counting in his mind to five. He turned around in pleasure as the man stood up, hugging him from behind as Vladimir's hands clutched at his waist. How to say no to such a wounded puppy? It wasn't impossible, but he was certainly feeling more and more guilty about what he would do, but who cares? Things were going to go to shit anyway. 

" Don't go, please. I don't like being alone." He stroked the blond hair, kissing the president's forehead as his thumbs ran over his cheek, looking directly into those icy eyes." Okay, I'm sorry I said that, it won't happen again. Are you going to stay?" 

" If you ask me like this, why would I say no?" he kissed the lips, whatever resistance there was at one point gone. She pulled him closer to the wall, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to pull him to him." I wouldn't leave you alone, I was kidding." 

" You said it so seriously it doesn't sound like a joke, what were you doing in the kitchen anyway? I heard you in my sleep." Those eyes were too sly for his own good, Vladimir grimaced as his arms crossed.

He grimaced a little, kissing the lips to sigh. The man was as stupid as a donkey but cunning as a normal person, worthy of a KGB anyway. Dmitry rolled his eyes, walking to the kitchen as he stretched, ignoring the questions in the distance. Yes, he's going to commit assassination but it's not like that's never happened in history, is it? 

The Prime Minister touched his legs as he sat back in the chair, throwing his head back. The vision of the white ceiling is interrupted by curious eyes, like those of a child who wants to know everything that happens around him, even if it is the smallest detail.

"What's wrong with you now? Do you want to eat something?" Taking care of the President is like taking care of a puppy, just keep it active with something and it was enough for the whole day.

"I don't know, is there anything ready? You said you didn't want cooks but I can't cook and I doubt you'll prepare anything decent." Vladimir folded his arms, walking to the refrigerator to open it. He began to rummage through it, glancing sideways at his companion.

He shrugged, his fingers gently tapping the table to stand up. He raised his gaze, looking at the box on top; if only those curious hands somehow went there he'd be toast unless he could come up with a credible enough excuse. 

" You doubt me enough." He touched the shoulders, massaging the tense shoulders to kiss the nape of her neck." You go sleep or take in the scenery, I'll cook something for the two of us and then we could go for a walk." 

" Sounds good to me." Doubt crosses the president's mind, his trembling fingers touch the soft cheek, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. Why does everything have to be so difficult? Why must he like a man? That went against nature in every possible way." I'll see you later, I'm going to finish some papers so you can meet me on the second floor." 

He nodded, the footsteps too fast and he can hear the small chuckle reaching his ears. Dmitry rolled his eyes, starting to pull out the pans. Oh yes, it was going to be a splendid dinner, where Vladimir wouldn't know what hit him. 

****

The Prime Minister left the dishes on the table, stretching his body to start up the stairs. His prey was resting, most confidently of all, in the room he had ordered himself when they had arrived. He closed his eyes as he reached the door, a twinge of regret assailing his senses again. A full day had passed and his plan could no longer wait.

Was there another option? Of course there was, but did he want to take that option? Dmitry dropped his thoughts into an imaginary trash can, spitting on the floor to open the door. He was a sheep, too tender that no one could doubt him, not even the President who trusted him blindly. 

As a KGB, you would expect the man to be completely distrustful of even his shadow. But his advances made all the difference, those disinterested gestures and indiscreet glances, confessions of love that only made the pale cheeks redden. The President was doomed to him, somehow he hoped things wouldn't be like this, perhaps having ended differently. 

"Volodya, let's eat. The food is ready." But his head didn't lift, he was still immersed in the documents. He threw a groan in the air, the man was too hardworking and, although he respects that, it is quite annoying to his plans." I want to talk to you, something important." 

" Can't it wait? I'm very few papers short and we'll have all these days off." Those eyes became like those of a husky puppy, longing for his wishes to be granted." If it's very important then I'll go." 

He reached over, sitting down on the desk to smile. He caressed the cheek, moving closer to the face to plant a tender kiss on the lips. The kiss of death, Italian mobsters used to do that sort of thing, as a rather strange form of threat no doubt. 

"It's very important, you have to come down. It will be life or death if you don't come down." He kissed the lips again, tousling the blond hair to let out a laugh at the older man's complaints." I'll wait for you downstairs."

" Alright, I won't be long." The president snorted, rising to caress his face." When you get divorced, you'll live with me. No complaints, don't say anything because I already thought of it, I want you to stay with me until it's the new change of government." 

He nodded, smiling reassuringly to get up. Dmitry raised his hands, biting his lip as their bodies collided and he could feel his crotch against his. The Prime Minister walked down the stairs, listening to the footsteps following him.

I'm sorry, Volodya. But this is the way things should be. 

****

He sat down, listening to the sound of the wood against his weight. Hell, he should lose weight from now on. He raised his glass as the President went all the way down, his left hand tightly holding the shotgun that rested in his lap. 

" You know, I've always wanted to be something big." He smiled as Vladimir began to eat, looking out the window at the rain and darkness." Like...President and it's my dream as a kid. To rule everything, boss everyone around and have money to buy whatever I want, even if it's too ridiculous." 

" It's not a bad dream, I never dreamed of that no doubt." The president pulled back, taking a sip of his wine as he looked into those beautiful eyes are small devotion hidden behind the walls he built around his mind so as not to show too much emotion.

" The problem is-" He set the shotgun down on the table, staring at the man." You get in my way with my dream." 

[jacktorjoseph]

(OOC- My years of writing and performing I guess really paid off here then if I got ya brainstorming with your s/o in a positive way! Lol, but it’s all good! Work is work so it’d be crazy if I got upset over that! I’m grateful that you’re pulling out those peak role play years though just for this! It definitely makes me feel less anxious about how I did since it’s been awhile!)

*A brows quirks up as an amused smirk creeps onto my face.*

Oh! Was that Spanish? I’ve always admired people who were able to speak more than language. I’ve studied other languages before, but it’s definitely not at conversational levels! Having to learn words through classical music helps a bit. I don’t know what you said, but I’ll take your word for it!

*I wink, enjoying the almost melodic nature emanating from your voice as you spoke.*

And Hell? So I WASN’T dying in this heat from running around so much?

*I chuckle, transferring weight from one leg to the other. The frilly nature of my dress takes a life of its own as I accidentally line up with the fan. The white fabric billows softly.*

Well, that explains the labyrinth of hallways and the odd amount of standoffish people I tried to get help from! I thought I was in purgatory for a moment there!

*A corner of my lips tighten at your words.*

It’s a shame you had to experience that too though, thankfully those two restored some of your hope in humanity. You seem nice enough! Maybe they got black coffee with two sugars instead of three or something.

*I glance down at your glistening palm and remove the chokehold I have on my weathered black binder to grasp it gingerly. Under the studio lighting, my stone blue eyes seem to sparkle. My gaze meets yours and I give you a dazzling smile. It’s nice to finally meet a normal person in such a stressful situation! I don’t even notice your punk rocker look because of how relieved I feel and how hyper focused I am to find that damn audition. I do however note how your hand almost seems to engulf my own easily.*

I’m sure they just did it to cut costs. Gotta save funds to hire the best actors around after all, but it’s nice to meet you Joesph, I’m Victoria.

*A lopsided grin appears on my face and I shrug, tilting my head to the side playfully. My eyes instinctively dart to the side as I try to find any indication that the audition could be nearby I refocus on you.*

Or you could call me Tori it’s easier to remember. Honestly, as long as it’s not Vicky, you could call me Pee-wee Herman for all I care!

*I let out a small laugh.*

I was informed that I would be auditioning as a vocalist for the role of the sun and the moon. How that works, I’ll never know, but it’s supposed to be a small part and JESUS is it hot!!

*I finally take a moment to look you over to assess if you’re suffering as much as I am and the weather suddenly became the least hottest thing in this room. Holy HELL! HOW in the WORLD did I not notice such a perfect specimen in front of me!? The tattoos, the hair, the muscles, the piercings, THE MUSCLES!? Hopefully I’m only internally drooling at this man. It’s type of guy your mama warns you about, but it says a lot when they wind up being the kindest person you talked to all day. What really grabs my attention is the pair of black jeans laying on your chair. Instinctively, I glance down to see some VERY TIGHT fitted shorts and- Wait. Lead role? My eyes widen in panic and I let my hand slide out of yours, waving it defensively.*

Oh my god, I am SO sorry! I didn’t realize- shoot, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your script reading! Dammit Tori, you screwed up big time. Listen, I’ve been so worried about having to sing pop instead of musical theatre that I didn’t even-

*In an effort to readjust my disheveled appearance amidst my flurry of distress, I hadn’t felt the binder start to slip out of my arm until it falls to the floor with a loud SLAP! Unsecured pieces of sheet music spread across the floor in a heap as my face twists in anguish.*

SHOOT!

*I quickly kneel down in an unlady-like manner and start shuffling papers together. I shake my head and grit my teeth, trying to fight back the urge to scream in frustration. Tears sting my eyes as I ramble to myself.*

Goddammit! First it’s trying to change my outfit because it’s not “trendy” enough and looks like it belongs in 1882 and not 1982, then it’s throwing a random audition OUTSIDE of my field in a city I’ve never heard of an 8 hour flight away, THEN it’s getting completely lost with the majority not acknowledging your existence, and now THIS! Why am I even doing this? I never even wanted to do a tv show in the first place…

*I place both hands on the floor in a huff and give you an apologetic smile.*

Sorry, it’s been rough since the moment I flew down here. I shouldn’t really be venting with someone I just met, especially with someone in your position, but I think the stress got to me a bit.

*I laugh weakly before returning to the papers strewn about.*

-🧜🏻‍♀️

Oh well, I'm used to locals, sorry 'bout that doll, I basically just said they belong on the adult channels instead of a kids show.

He chuckles softly.

and yea, you ain't dying, just the lack of AC in this place

He looks at you, laughing a bit.

Honestly? Me being the nicest one here so far is strange, normally most new folks stay away from me because of how I look

He nods slightly.

Nice to meet ya 'Tori.

He watches as you become more disheveled at realizing he's the lead role, he squats down to help you pick up the sheets of music paper.

Calm down sugar, it's not like I'm the director, 'sides, Im more worried about the heat. We're supposed to be in makeup, wigs, costumes, someone's bound to have a heat stroke while filming

He soon nods and chuckles.

I get it, a lot of you non-locals seem to have a hard time around here, thankfully I am a local and don't gotta worry about it.

He gently hands you the papers he grabbed.

I'll put in a good word for ya with the locals, but, I can't say it'll do much, I ain't got the best reputation either, I mainly just made friends with the market workers and some local abuelas, tias, and some Madres (translation: grandmas, aunts, and mothers)

Though, the mamas will treat you nice and make sure their kids do, that's for sure

He smiles at you.