#but he is NOT the guy to willingly harm someone

[ruinationz]

tired: caine x pomni, in the sense that caine is trying to keep her there forever with his own malicious intentions (and pomni has given up entirely, probably on the verge of abstracting if caine will even LET her), or pomni is using the relation in order to escape . very bad. very ooc. what is wrong with you

wired: caine x pomni: in the sense that they both understand that they cannot be together forever and that's ok. they still love eachother so so SO much nothing can change that and are ACTIVELY working to help pomni escape in a way that she can bring caine with her.

sometimes they find themselves thinking "i want to be with you forever", then pausing and going "...when exactly is 'forever', really?". sometimes one panics over the idea of being abandoned and going back to square one all over again, or one of them abstracting, or some horrible event that will separate the two. but they understand that the shitty situation exists and is stopping them from anything further, and they're trying to fix it as best as they can. and even if they do part one day (in the case that caine is unable to, somehow, come to the physical world), who cares? they'll have one another in their hearts, holding their memory close for as long as they live

then again it's 8 in the morning, im half-asleep, and have no idea what im doing

[mssishipi]

devil in disguise — sjy

— anon asked: infidelity with jake would go crazy bro like he’d be saying “you’re so disgusting” and it’s true it disgusts him how his bestfriend’s pussy milks his cock

warning: cheating, jake is an asshole, explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, degradation. MDNI.

It was almost laughable—how you always clung to Jake's side, no matter what he did, no matter how much trouble he got himself into. It was as if loyalty blinded you, shielding you from the truth everyone else could see so clearly.

You were an angel, the one his parents adored, the soft-hearted girl who couldn't even bring herself to harm a fly.

Polite, gentle, the kind of person who would apologize even when someone else stepped on your foot.

It was hilarious how you always had an excuse for him, always a justification on the tip of your tongue every time he do something.

Like that time when he got into a fight because of some fraternity nonsense. His parents had been furious.

And yet, there you were, standing in front of them, your eyes wide, your voice trembling with conviction.

"Jake defended me!"

Except that was a lie.

Jake hadn't been defending you. He don't care. The guy had simply pissed him off. He always did. It had nothing to do with you, but you refused to see that. Maybe it was easier that way—to pretend Jake had some noble reason, that his fists weren't just another weapon he wielded whenever he felt like it.

It was almost amusing—the way you always listened to him, how you followed him around ever since the two of you were kids.

You were the kind of best friend who never strayed too far, always orbiting around him, always there. He wasn't sure if he should find it endearing or just plain irritating. Maybe a bit of both.

He could do the most questionable things, and without fail, you'd always have his back.

"Thank you, Jaeyun-ah! You know I don't like Jungwon—he's always ranked first. He deserves to be caught cheating."

You grinned at him, clutching your notebook to your chest as if he had done you some great favor. But Jake hadn't done it for you. He hadn't even thought of you when he slipped that answer key into Jungwon's bag. He was just bored, looking for something to break the monotony. Watching the teachers drag Jungwon to the disciplinary office had simply been an added bonus.

"It's okay, Jaeyun-ah! What you're feeling is valid. I'm sure Yuta deserved that punch—he's a creep."

You had been so quick to reassure him. But Yuta wasn't a creep. Jake had made that up on a whim, an excuse to put the guy in his place, to see him crumble. Because he was bored.

It was almost amusing—how you, of all people, always knew the difference between right and wrong. You were kind, the type to preach fairness, to stand up for what was just.

And yet, when it came to him, all of that fell apart. You always had an excuse, always a justification ready on your lips, as if his actions existed outside the rules that applied to everyone else.

Sim Jaeyun had you wrapped around his finger so effortlessly, it was pathetic.

And honestly, it was disgusting.

"Jaeyun-ah!" you squealed, your voice breaking into a moan as your fingers dug into his back, clinging to him. Your breath hitching as he hit that spot over and over again.

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. His phone buzzed relentlessly on the bedside table, the screen flashing with his girlfriend's name. Over and over, the call came, the shrill ring cutting through the muffled sound of skin slapping against skin. But neither of you moved. Neither of you cared.

It was disgusting—how easily you spread your legs for him, how willingly you became his escape whenever she couldn't satisfy him. You never hesitated, never even flinched when he came to you, already knowing what he wanted.

He still loved his girlfriend. With everything he had. But she could never give him the kind of mind-numbing, toe-curling release that you did.

"It's in a man's nature, Jaeyun-ah," you had whispered to him once, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over his bare chest, your body still warm from the aftermath of what you had just done. Your voice always had been soft and sweet. "Men have needs. It's only natural to seek satisfaction elsewhere when she can't give you what you want."

Jake remembered those words vividly, the way you had said them with such certainty, as if you truly believed them. As if your presence in his bed, tangled in his sheets, was anything but a betrayal.

"Maybe it's even her fault," you had added, tilting your head to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "She should know better. She should do better. If she really loved you, wouldn't she try harder to make you happy?"

Your justifications were always so effortless, so convincing. You never made him feel guilty, never accused him of being selfish or cruel. Instead, you framed it like you were the only one who truly understood him, the only one who could give him what he needed without judgment.

It was painfully obvious that you were in love with him.

And it disgusted him.

Every longing glance, every adoring smile, every saccharine word that spilled from your lips—it all made his skin crawl.

Yet, despite the repulsion twisting in his gut, he kept coming back. Again and again. Because at the end of the day, you were the only one who truly understood him. The only one who never judged, never asked for more than he was willing to give.

"I said don't give me marks!" Jake growled as he grabbed your wrists, prying your hands off his back where your nails had been sinking into his skin.

Without giving you a chance to react, he shoved you down, caging you beneath him. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, trapping your limbs against your sides as his weight pressed into you. His knees planted firmly on either side of your thighs, bracing himself as he drove deeper, making you take every inch of him.

The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your ragged breaths mixing with his.

And despite the way he loathed the way you looked at him, despite how much your affection disgusted him—he still couldn't stop.

"You love fucking like this?" Jake growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he drove into you with unrelenting force.

"Yes! Fuck, I love your cock inside me, Jaeyun-ah! Fuck me harder!" you sobbed, your voice breaking with each thrust. Your mind was drowning in the pleasure he ruthlessly forced upon you.

Jake exhaled sharply, his breath ragged as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

His arms tightened around you, locking you in place beneath him. He didn't give you a second to breathe, because your body was nothing more than a means to chase his own satisfaction.

Jake groaned as he felt you clench around him, your walls tightening, desperately trying to keep him buried deep. The way your body surrendered so easily, so pathetically. It was hilarious, how little self-control you had when it came to him.

"You fucking disgust me," he sneered. His thrusts never slowed as he tilted his head slightly, watching the way your face twisted in pleasure, eyes glazed over, lips parted as broken moans spilled from your throat.

"Getting off on your best friend’s cock? That’s just pathetic."

You shook your head wildly, fingers clawing at his back, legs trembling around his waist. "I don’t care!" you gasped, "just want you, Jaeyun-ah! Just want your cock—please!"

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, "Of course, you don’t," he muttered. His teeth grazed your shoulder before he bit down, hard, marking you. Your body jerked beneath him, a sharp whimper escaping your lips as he tightened his grip on your waist, pressing you impossibly closer, molding you against him like you were made to take him.

Your tongue traced the ridges of his collarbone, wet and hot, leaving a trail of saliva as if you wanted to claim him just as much. Jake hissed, his muscles tensing beneath your touch, his pace turning brutal. His name tore from your lips in screams, your body writhing, thrashing, but his arms locked around you, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

And then, without warning, your orgasm crashed over you—sudden, violent, leaving you gasping, eyes rolling back as your body went rigid beneath him. No slow build-up, no warning. Just raw, overwhelming pleasure that left you completely undone.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm pulsed through you, leaving your body trembling beneath him, Jake didn’t slow. If anything, he fucked you through it, dragging out every last bit of your high until you were left whimpering, overstimulated, body twitching against his pace.

"Look at you," he scoffed as he watched your fucked-out expression. "Completely ruined over your best friend’s cock. What would your parents think if they saw you like this?"

Your lips parted, but only breathless moans escaped.

Jake chuckled darkly, his pace faltering just long enough for him to grab your chin, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. "And what about my girlfriend?"  he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. "She has no idea you’re spreading your legs for me every time she turns her back. That you’re nothing but a cheap fuck whenever she can’t satisfy me."

For a split second, he saw that pathetic flicker of sadness in your gaze. But Jake didn’t care.

Because he knew you. Knew the way you worked. No matter how much he degraded you, no matter how cruel his words got, you would always come crawling back. Always.

Because that’s who you were.

Jake pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. His hands were rough, impatient, as he flipped you over, manhandling you into the position he wanted. You barely had a moment to react before he shoved your face down against the mattress, pressing hard against the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

"Stay still," he muttered, his other hand gripping your hip, lifting your ass high in the air.

You barely had time to process the shift before the sharp buzz of his phone filled the room again, the sound coming from the bedside table. His jaw ticked in irritation, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he lined himself up with your entrance, cursing under his breath.

Then, without warning, he thrust back inside.

Another scream tore from your lips, your fingers scrambling against the sheets, trying to ground yourself as the force of his movements sent shocks of pleasure and pain coursing through you. Your walls fluttered around him instinctively, struggling to adjust to the new angle, but he didn’t slow down.

"Tighten up," Jake growled. "Feels like I’m just fucking my fist."

You clenched around him immediately, an attempt to please him, but the effort only made your body tremble harder. Your vision blurred as fresh tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks, soaking into the sheets beneath you.

Jake noticed. His fingers tangled into your hair, yanking your head up, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were glassy, lips trembling, breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

"Aww," Jake cooed mockingly, tilting his head as his grip on your hair tightened. His fingers twisted cruelly in the strands, yanking your head back until your neck arched, forcing your tear-streaked face into view. "Is my sweet angel hurt?"

You sniffled, trying to steady your breath, but the way he kept thrusting into you made it impossible to think, let alone speak. Your fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles turning white as your body rocked in time with his brutal pace.

And then you smiled—soft, sweet, broken. The kind of expression you knew would make something dark flicker in his eyes.

"I don't care, Jaeyun-ah," you whispered, your gaze met his, unwavering despite the tears threatening to spill. "That's my purpose, right?"

His reaction was instant. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and without hesitation, he shoved you back down, pressing your face into the mattress. The force knocked the air from your lungs, but you still moaned.

Jake cursed under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts turned erratic. You could feel it—the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his breath grew uneven, muscles tensing. He was close.

"Fuck, I trained my angel so well," he grunted, punctuating his words with a harsh slap to your ass. The impact stung, a sharp burst of pain that made you whimper. His moans were growing louder, more desperate, the telltale signs of his impending climax.

"That's right, Jake!" you cried out, voice breaking. "Make yourself cum in me—your fucking boring girlfriend could never!"

The second those words left your lips, his hand shot forward, slapping over your mouth and muffling your moans.

"Shut the fuck up," Jake growled. His other hand dug into your hip, his grip so tight you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow. "You don’t get to talk about her. Don’t fucking ruin my orgasm by running that filthy mouth of yours."

A sharp, burning twist coiled in your chest at his words. But at the same time, the thick drag of his cock against your cervix make your walls clamped down around him, squeezing so tight it forced a strangled moan from his throat.

"Fuck—" Jake groaned, his head falling forward against your back, breath ragged, body tensed as his thrusts turned erratic. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you locked in place as he chased his release. "I'm gonna cum, angel."

A strangled sound tore from his throat, his grip bruising as he drove himself deep one last time. And then, with a low, guttural moan, he spilled inside you.

The heat of it, the way he pulsed and twitched against your walls, sent you spiraling instantly. Your orgasm hit violent, all-consuming, crashing through you with no mercy. Euphoria flooded every nerve, burning through your veins, leaving you boneless beneath him.

You gasped, lips parted in a silent cry, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure wracked through you. It felt endless, like falling through space with no ground to catch you, no way to stop.

Jake groaned again, feeling the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, milking every last drop from his spent cock. He twitched, giving a few more lazy thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into you, pushing past the oversensitivity that made your thighs shake and your breath stutter.

Slowly, his pace lost momentum, his thrusts turning shallow, sluggish, until finally, he stilled. His weight pressed against you as he exhaled heavily, letting the last remnants of pleasure fade into exhaustion.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the sweat cooling on your flushed skin, the lingering heat of what you’d just done.

And then, as the high began to ebb, as the last shocks of pleasure melted into nothingness, the emptiness settled in.

A hollow ache replaced the euphoria, leaving you nothing more than a trembling, used mess sprawled out beneath him.

Jake let out a slow, heavy breath as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, his body still humming with the remnants of release. The warmth of you still clung to his skin, but he didn’t spare you a glance as he pulled out, leaving a mess between your trembling thighs.

Grabbing his phone from your bedside table, he stared at the screen, scrolled through the flood of missed calls and unread messages. The screen illuminated his face, jaw tightening slightly before he sighed, thumbs moving quickly to type a response.

Your gaze followed him, watching as he moved around the room without hesitation. He didn’t look at you—not even once—as he grabbed his discarded clothes from the floor, slipping his jeans back on, adjusting his belt with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

The scent of sex still clung to his skin, and he knew it. Without pause, he reached for the bottle of cologne he always carried, spritzing it over himself, masking the evidence of what had just happened between you.

You were still sprawled out on the bed, your chest pressed against the damp sheets, your body aching, marked, used. 

"I gotta get home before she starts getting suspicious," Jake muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

But before leaving, he paused at the door, casting a dark stare over his shoulder. His expression hardened, his voice colder.

"Shut your mouth. You already know that, don’t you?"

You swallowed thickly, throat tightening as you forced a small, obedient "Yes."

For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence stretching between the two of you, thick and suffocating. Then, as if flipping a switch, Jake’s entire demeanor shifted. A slow, sickeningly sweet smile spread across his lips as he turned back toward you.

Walking over, he crouched slightly to meet your tired gaze, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. The gesture was soft—mockingly so.

"See you next time, angel. Don’t do something stupid, hmm?" His voice was gentle, almost affectionate, like he actually cared.

And like the fool you were, you smiled at him, nodding eagerly despite the rawness in your throat, despite the soreness in your body.

Jake exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head as he watched you. "My good girl."

Leaning in once more, he pecked your lips, his touch featherlight, almost tender. But beneath it, there was nothing. No warmth, no real emotion. Just obligation.

It was a role he played, a meaningless act that kept you tethered to him. And seeing you smile so sweetly, so utterly oblivious—it made his stomach twist with something akin to revulsion.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Jake let out a slow, irritated breath, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off something unpleasant.

Without sparing a second thought, he pulled out his phone, thumbs scrolling through his girlfriend’s messages.

You had always stood by Sim Jaeyun’s side—through every mistake, every decision, every selfish impulse. You defended him when no one else would, gave him everything without hesitation. It didn’t matter what he did; you always understood, always forgave, always stayed.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging so deep into the fabric they nearly tore through it. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

You stared at the door he had just walked out of, the one he never even bothered to look back at.

You let a quiet breathy laugh—before it bubbled up into hysterical and unhinged. Tears streamed freely down your face.

"His angel, my ass."

The words dripped from your tongue. a wicked little smile curling on your lips.

You had always been there for him. Always the loyal one. Always the perfect, obedient little toy he could use and toss aside when it was convenient. You had let him take and take and take.

Your gaze flickered to the ceiling, to the tiny red light blinking faintly in the dark.

You were his angel, after all. His good girl. So predictable, so harmless.

How cute.

You tilted your head as your nails dragged lazily across your own thigh, smearing the mess he left behind.

You almost felt bad for him. 

Because, Sim Jaeyun did not, in fact, train his angel well.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

LADS! Idol Group AU — The Boys

(art by @/AngyFdez on X and the idea was partially inspired by this post)

Hey guys! So this idea suddenly came to me because I realized I've been using "OT4/5" for the male leads in my works, and I noticed that no one else does that. I, then, realized why because they're not a k-pop group (I'm not sure if OT– is a k-pop only thing, but I've always seen it when I read bts fics). So, I thought "why don't I make them an idol group and continue using OT5 on all of my fics!" It's honestly so much easier than writing out ____ X _____ X reader.

First and foremost, a bit of backstory before I get into their character sheets!

Their company is called UNICORNS INC and Miss Grey is their manager. Sylus joined first, then Zayne, Rafayel came next followed by Xavier, and lastly Caleb was added! Zayne was 22, Sylus was 23, Caleb was 20, Rafayel was 19, and Xavier was 18. The next drabbles, besides the prelude, will be based five years after they've been a group and grew in popularity.

Each of their Y/n's will have a different name along with the Poly Y/n (who is their manager).

Zayne's Y/n — Petal

Sylus's Y/n — Kitten

Caleb's Y/n — Pipsqueak

Rafayel's Y/n — Cutie

Xavier's Y/n — Starlight

Manager Y/n — Grey

(In their respective drabbles, I will use Y/n, however these placeholder names will be used outside of that or the non-love interests will use she/her.)

Now, onto the boys;

⛄️❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️⛄️

Zayne Li

Stage name — Zayne // He has no need for special names or anything. He'll just stick with his own.

Fan-given nicknames — Z, Zaynie, Snowy,

Age — 27

Hair / Eye colour —He has hazel eyes and black hair. He will sometimes wear clear contacts during performances, so his prescription glasses don't get broken or lost. 

Evol — Ice

Position in the Group — He is the Leader, Sub-Rapper, Sub-Vocalist, and he produces and writes a majority of their songs. He can't dance and doesn't bother trying. (He will attempt the simplest of dances on stage for the fans, but he does best with a partner.) 

Sub-units — Snow Crow ⛄️🐦‍⬛(aka the Two-left-feet unit); This duo, while the eldest of the group, is somehow the most clumsy. Separately, it's not that bad. But when they're together, it's absolute chaos. They have to be choreographed far from each other or else they'll trip over each other's feet. 

Emojis — 🐻‍❄⛄️❄️

Before Joining — Zayne graduated highschool at 16 and was the valedictorian. Before joining LADS, he was 22 and had been in medical school for 5 years, so he had a year left until he graduated. He thought being a doctor would be something he would enjoy, but all these years of school while watching his retired parents travel the world…It really tore him down. He realized he didn't want to be stuck inside a hospital for the rest of his life, working day in and day out. Yes, the thought of saving someone with his own hands did appeal to him, but it just didn't feel right anymore. The moment he was scouted, he jumped at the chance and dropped out without a second thought. He already had debt accumulated, so what harm would it do to add more to it? 

Fun facts — He has a pet flying squirrel named Clopidogrel. If he overuses his Evol, it hurts himself, but he tries to hide this from fans and his bandmates.

Personality — He is usually calm, cool, and collected. He always cares about others more than himself, and puts others first. He keeps a close eye on his bandmates and makes sure no one is over exhausting themselves. He only ever loses his cool whenever Caleb or Rafayel willingly throw a challenge (on a show they're on) when they're on his team – just so Zayne is forced to take a punishment as well. 

🖤❤️🐦‍⬛❤️🖤🐦‍⬛🖤❤️🐦‍⬛❤️🖤🐦‍⬛🖤❤️🐦‍⬛

Sylus Qin

Stage name — Sy // He would prefer Sylus, but it's honestly the fans’ choice

Fan-given nicknames — Sylie, Sy, 

Age — 28

Hair / Eye colour — His hair is dyed white and he occasionally has his natural black roots showing whenever he forgets to touch them up. He has cognac brown eyes (brown eyes that are warm in colour with varying shades of orange and red mixed in – or simply amber eyes), he'll sometimes wear red contacts on stage.

Evol — Energy manipulation 

Position in the Group —He is the Lead Rapper, Sub Vocalist, and The Center, He can't dance but will try regardless of if he gets laughed at or not.

Sub-units — Snow Crow ⛄️🐦‍⬛(aka the Two-left-feet unit)

Emojis — 🐦‍⬛❤️🖤

Before Joining — When Sylus was younger, he was rather sickly. He was born with a heart condition and so, to have a successor to his company if something were to happen to Sylus, his father adopted Luke and Kieran. Shortly after the twins were adopted, Sylus had open heart surgery and miraculously recovered. However, he didn't want to succeed his father, he'd rather the twins do so. In fact, Sylus has always wanted to be on stage – to see the world. After recovering from his injuries, he discovered an underground club, called The N109 Zone, and eventually became the leader of a rap group, Onychinus. With this experience under his belt, Sylus went to an agency and at 23, he pitched the idea of a band that used their Evols while performing. He originally wanted this group to be solely a rap group, but…plans changed. 

Fun facts — He has a pet crow named Mephisto. He has to wear prescription contacts on stage, but otherwise, he rarely has any lenses on. He can still see fairly well, but he does wear his glasses whenever he reads. He has a scar on his chest. 

Personality — He's another calm member. He tends to sleep more during the day and stay up late, so he's always a bit more quiet and sluggish on the days they have to record early. However, he also has a somewhat sassy and teasing side that always comes out whenever the younger members of the group try to pick on him. He's always down to do anything for the bit (for the joke), even if he ends up getting laughed at. He's an animal lover at heart and if he had his way, the LADS dorm would be filled with stray animals, so instead he makes constant donations to shelters.

🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶

Caleb Xia

Stage name — Tango // He wants to choose a name that's more sentimental to him, something he was called in the past.

Fan-given nicknames — Cal, puppy 

Age — 25

Hair / Eye colour — He has dark brown hair and has central heterochromia. His iris is lined with a darker blue ring, mostly a lighter shade of blue, with a thin yellow-green ring around his pupil. 

Evol — Gravity manipulation

Position in the Group — He is the Lead Vocalist, Main Dancer, and Sub-Rapper.

Sub-units — Apple Fish 🍎🐠(also known as the Party Unit); Rafayel and Caleb are the hyperactive duo of the group. They're always seen playing around, pranking the other members, but when they're together on stage…They both captivate and amuse their fans. 

Emojis — 🐶🍎🍏

Before Joining — He was a pilot at 20. He loved to take to the skies and feel so free in his plane. Since he reminded most of his co-workers of a dog, they would usually call him Tango – jokingly calling him to and fro like a dog, to which he'd happily go along with it. There was unfortunately an issue nine months prior to him being scouted. He had been flying for two years now, had more than enough experience, but he had his first critical malfunction. Doing some routine maintenance on one of the ships, something must've gone wrong and triggered an explosion. By the time Caleb woke up, he was already in the hospital and his right arm was gone. He got a hefty sum of worker's comp and more money on top of that to get himself a nice new arm. And while he was in his final stage of recovery, that’s when he was scouted. His childhood friend pulled a few strings, called in a few favours, and just asked the agency to try and scout Caleb out. That it would definitely be worth it in the end. And that’s how Caleb joined as the final member of LADS. 

Fun facts — He lost his right arm in an accidental explosion that happened at his previous job. He wears contacts on stage that are purple. Only his right eye's contact is prescription since the blast that blew off his arm, slightly affected his eyesight. He had a malinois named Twix when he was younger (and he hopes to get another dog soon). 

Personality — He's always been an easy-going, lovable person. He gives off “boy-next-door” vibes. He's hyperactive and teasing, and he's almost always seen smiling. Though, he does have his bad days…reminiscing on when he still had his right arm, annoyed by the phantom pains he feels. But, for the most part, he's a mischievous duo with Rafayel and especially so on stage. Never missing a chance to play with the confetti cannons or throw water into the crowd.

🌊🐱🐠🌊🐠🐱🌊🐱🐠🌊🐠🐱🌊🐱

Rafayel Qi

Stage name — Fay // Since he's one for dramatics, he wanted multiple stage names, but the company said no. So unfortunately, he can only have one. He really wanted to use Mango, thinking it would be comical to rhyme with Caleb's, but Mangos don't fit him…Then he thought of Durango, but again…it just didn't feel like him. Eventually he decides to just use his name, but only a part of his name. He settles on Fay, another variation of the word fae. As a Lemurian, any way to slot his culture (or anything similar to his culture, seeing as mermaids and fae are in the same realm) into his work is a win in his eyes. 

Fan-given nicknames — Raf, Raffie, Fishie

Age — 24

Hair / Eye colour — Rafayel has dyed purple hair (that oftentimes has his light brown roots peeking out) and he has sectoral heterochromia. His eyes are half blue, half green. 

Evol — Fire

Position in the Group —He is the Main Vocalist, and The Visual, The face of the group, He can't dance because of a previous leg injury, but still tries his best.

Sub-units — Apple Fish 🍎🐠 (also known as the Party Unit)

Before Joining — Rafayel was an avid painter, a well-known artist within the community. He went by the name, Tidus, and would often show up to his own exhibits in disguise to hear what people really thought of him. He was scouted by his agent Thomas and his main reason for joining was Zayne. He was curious as to why a budding doctor would leave five years of college behind to join an idol group and honestly – he also loved the attention. Sylus might've felt a little bit of panic whenever he saw pretty boy Rafayel waltz through the doors. Especially since he was a good singer. (Sylus was spiraling, at this point. “We're turning into an idol group, Zayne — why do they keep recruiting singers?”) 

Emojis — 🐱🐠🌊

Fun facts — He has a pet super red half-moon betta fish named Reddie. He wears contacts on stage that are pinkish blue, they aren't prescription – he just loves the attention he gets while wearing them. His aunt, Thalia, is an extremely popular soloist. He originally wanted his official emoji to be a fish, however once the fans learnt of his aversion to cats...His emoji was already decided by the majority. 🐱

Personality — He's always been eccentric. He's energetic but laid back, domineering yet pouty. His emotions are constantly all over the place, but that's just something you'll have to get used to since this is just how Rafayel is. He'll stop mid-practice to paint, if he is hit with a burst of inspiration. He'll run around, demanding piggyback rides from everyone. He won't hesitate to take a photo or sign an autograph while out and about. He's always buying or wearing luxury brands and doing modeling deals. 

🐥☁️🌟🌔🌓🌒🌑🌘🌗🌖🌕🌟☁️🐥

Xavier Shen

Stage name — XV (fifteen) // He honestly doesn't care for stage names. He wouldn't have chosen one if the agency didn't pester him until he finally did. XV means nothing to him, it just sounded better than any of the cheesy names the company tried to come up with. (Which was “starboy”)

Fan-given nicknames — Xav, Xavi, Starlight

Age — 23

Hair / Eye colour — Xavier has blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. 

Evol — Light

Position in the Group —He is the Sub Vocalist, Main Rapper, Lead Dancer, and The Maknae/Youngest.

Sub-units — Star Fish Apple 🌟🐠🍎 (aka the troublesome trio); While Xavier is usually laid back and sleepy, whenever he gets around Caleb and Rafayel - and is in the mood for mischief - these three are an unstoppable trio who will stop at nothing to annoy their, usually calm and collected, eldest band mates. 

Emojis — 🐥🌟👾 (I know 🐰 is the obvious emoji for Xavier, but hear me out —)

Before Joining — He was the valedictorian of his class so many had high expectations of him. This would be a good thing since he passed all of his classes with flying colours and was on the track of being the val in college as well – but, his biggest problem was that classes were so boring. They were too easy for him, so he'd usually finish his work and nap until class was over. Or even nap during testing. It got so bad that he was eventually expelled and decided to just do part time jobs for money so he could rest more at home. He was scouted in a surprising way. The talent agents were off duty, just hanging out together, and they suddenly stopped at a café in confusion. The employee behind the counter had a long line, but it showed no signs of moving. They could hear the complaints from all the way outside, so whenever they entered the café, they had to do a double take. The negligent employee that was napping on the job looked ethereal. With the sun shining on his face, the talent agents bypassed the crowd, woke Xavier up, and gave him a business card so that he could call them later. Weeks passed with no answer, the agents go back to the café, learn Xavier was fired, and eventually find him selling flowers on the sidewalk for a nearby florist who was taking advantage of Xavier's good looks. That's when he finally gets scouted. Sylus is, again, distraught. Thinking “oh no…we were supposed to be a rap group”, but as fate would have it, Xavier was an excellent rapper. 

Fun facts — He originally wanted a pet cat but, since Rafayel is afraid of cats, he settled on a turtle named Fluffball. He doesn't need contacts, his eyes are perfect and he loves to rub this fact in. The fact that every other member needs contacts besides him — until Rafayel smacks him on the back of the head, reminding Xavier that his contacts are also non-prescription.

Personality — While you'd expect the youngest member to be expression and bouncy, Xavier is quite the opposite. Though he has his spikes of high energy, he's usually very calm and sleepy. He naps while getting his hair and makeup done, during concert breaks, and he'll even sometimes fall asleep mid-interview. However, he doesn't have any medical condition, he's just sleepy all the time and there's nothing he can do about it. But when he's hyper, there's no stopping him. Whether he's hopping around like a bunny, peeking over his bandmates shoulders during interviews, putting his hand in anyone's pockets – he's just LADS’ clingy, sleepy, youngest member. But also, whenever he's happy, he literally glows (and the fans adore this).

That's all I've got so far!

I'm still coming up with more as I go along so let me know if y'all have any more nicknames ideas and the like! Oh, and the name of their fans! I was contemplating on using "Lovers", but I'm still not 100% certain on what to name their fanbase.

I have Caleb and Rafayel's Y/ns pretty much conceptualized since they were the easiest to come up with, however I'm still struggling a bit for the other three, along with the Poly Y/n. (This is going to be a drabble type of series, so nothing too intense or detailed.)

Also! Nobody come at me for changing three of their eye colours. This is an au and I think it makes sense for them to wear their specifically in-game eye colours as contacts since a lot of idols wear contacts on stage! Since irl Sylus wouldn't have red eyes unless he had albinism while Caleb and Rafayel would have to have some form of heterochromia to have their original eye colours.

I'm going to add this here as well, but this is an AU. Evols are present, but there is no threat of Wanderers. Only criminals who misuse their Evols, similar to the world of My Hero Academia and the like.

<3 I'll be back whenever to post the prelude! And also, if you're here for ToF, Divisa, or Inertia — I'll try to post on ToF and Inertia soon!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi there! I had an idea for either series!ENA or BBQ!ENA interacting with a reader who's like a therapist or something. Like Ena says something kinda messed up and reader's like "no, that's not normal. Are you ok?" Both these girls need so much therapy, or at least a friend. I think reader becoming protective of Ena would be cute. Reader getting mad at the other entities for being mean to Ena without any real reason (that they know of). If you can't/don't want to do this for any reason, that's OK! Take your time and put yourself first!

I can do both!

..........

Series!ENA

Even though Ena (in Power of Potluck) talked to the Therapist, got rid of Mask, and tried to find joy in the little moments--he believes that someone should still keep an eye on her.

That's where you come in, befriending her just to see how she's been handling life in general ever since her session.

Mask hasn't returned, but right off the bat she looks troubled as you explain who sent you and why, although you reassure her it's normal for your boss to request that you checked up on his past patients.

During your talks, her happier side has no complaints really, always grateful to have a new friend. But she does admit to being bothered by her sad side--mainly the effects it had on people she knew.

She's constantly apologizing for her emotions getting "out of hand", even in front of you, and tries burying that sadness--but she gets a wakeup call after you explain how that can do more harm than good.

Eventually, you build enough trust with Ena that she'll willingly turn into her sadder form, and remain in that state long enough for you to make meaningful progress with her.

You notice her tendencies to jump to nonsensical negative conclusions/inaccurate perceptions of herself.....and of course, she has a lot of crying fits/glitches that you gotta help her cope with.

"I-I don't know, I just feel..stupid and worthless sometimes..a-and everyone around me agwees.."

"You believe everybody thinks of you that way? Can you give me an example?"

"W-Well..this one guy asked me for diwections yesterday, a-and...and I couldn't help him!"

"So...he called you those things as an insult?"

"No, h-he thanked me for twying and w-was polite. But I know that's what he weally wanted to say!! Because I'm too stupid and worthless to give anyone diwections!!"

"How do you know for sure he was thinking that?"

"......I....I-I don't know, actually.."

You've gotten better at redirecting her negative thinking, and making her realize that a lot of her assumptions are kinda silly...

Least to say, she feel better coming to you for advice.

Some days she wants to ramble about her day with Moony or what she saw in the sky. Other times, she just needs a hug and a shoulder to cry on. And you're more than willing to offer those at any time.

Outside of your work, you've tagged along in her many adventures, seeing for yourself how rude other entities act towards her---and knowing so many languages helps you easily back sass those who insult her.

They always assume you can't understand them...until you leave them (and Ena) shocked when you suddenly speak their same language.

Dream BBQ!ENA

"So the Genie of the Lonely Door basically told me I'm unforgivable and should be punished for being born.......but that's not even the worst part of that day-"

"P a u s e."

That pretty much sums up your sessions/hangouts with this Ena.

As soon as she was done dealing with the Boss, she finally took time off of work to get some much-needed counseling.

Fortunately, you were a friend she met during one of her assignments who happened to be pursuing psychology, travelling far and wide to study the minds of everyone you've met.

You suggested that she gave therapy with you a try and, holy hell...you were in for a surprise.

She was willing to pay you in chocolates, fatty catties, etc. for your services....which was perfect compensation considering you may need therapy for yourself.

Salesperson yaps about the most recent absurd/rude thing an entity did or said to her...while pretending like it's just another day in the workweek, looking confused when you point out how that's not normal at all.

Meanie, on the other hand, is a different beast. And is honestly the half you're more worried about.

Since she represents the typical fatigued worker who's trapped in their job and feels like they can't afford to have any fun or luxuries without suffering for it.....she vents a lot, and her opening up about it is like her chipping through a brick wall.

Her anxiety over even mentioning the things that bother her is enough to make vines creep onto her body.

And one time, her broken green form showed up at your doorstep, which was terrifying at first glance....but then you recognized that she desperately needed your help--and you let her in, consoling her until she was able to restabilize and explain what led to that state.

Luckily that's the only time you've ever seen that form, and the vines on her body have grown smaller and weaker to the point where they were barely visible.

It quickly becomes apparent to you that Ena is struggling with some form of PTSD, as though she was a soldier trying to find her place in regular society again--returning from a war that you had no idea even occurred.

You've been trying to uncover the mystery of what she's done in the past...and if that was connected to why so many people seemed to hate her.

Regardless of the reason, though, you hoped to remain her friend and that she'd keep visiting you as often as she needed.

[impishjesters]

Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

[vanilladove]

Hello, I am writing to you anonymously out of shame but you can call me Emy I was reading your blog and I was totally delighted with how you wrote and I wanted to make a request: could you write for Chuuya, Jouno, Dazai and Poe (you can add more if you like) with a reader like Mikan from danganronpa If you don't know her, her personality is a little (very) shy and she is surprised by the slightest show of affection (she is even surprised if you say good morning), often despising herself, asking others to forgive her existence and when people Annoyed with her, she tends to ask if she can take off her clothes or imitate a pig so that they can forgive her for all this because she suffered harassment in the past. I'm sorry if the request is very big 😭 but I would be grateful if you accept it (nothing happens if you don't either) I'm sorry if there are spelling errors but English is not my first language and I am using Google Translator. ♡

⋆˚࿔ ˚⋆ bsd men with a v shy + fragile reader

bow divider yeribbon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: various bsd men x gn!reader (dazai, atsushi, chuuya, akutagawa, jouno, poe)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: comforting fluff!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ content warnings: none! also i'm not v familiar with daganronpa, so apologies for any inaccuracies! i'm just going off what wiki fandom says (。-∀-)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ dazai osamu

doesn't mind your personality, although at first he teases you mercilessly until he realizes it isn't just an act.

as someone that has also gone through trauma, he would gradually soften up to your personality and reassure you of your worth.

dazai is a very impatient man though, so expect his method of choice to be exposure therapy...like extreme exposure therapy...like bro might slap some sense into you like atsushi & akutagawa ( ó × ò)

when you start over-apologizing, he'll put a finger to your lips and stroke your face and hair to calm you down (ღˇᴗˇ)｡o

expect lots of subtle displays of affection like hand kisses, kissing away tears, and general affectionate flirting.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ atsushi nakajima

your demeanor confuses atsushi at first, to the point where he cries after the first time he meets you :,(

you're going to get a sentimental, heartfelt speech about how you deserve to live, and how you aren't a burden to anyone.

poor atsu cries over you--you guys probably have daily cry + cuddle sessions.

will do random things to cheer you up and give you many words of affirmation.

buys you a tiger plushie sprayed with his cologne to cuddle with when he isn't with you for comfort ♡

i'd like to think that through helping you, atsushi also helps address his own self-esteem issues ^w^

⊹ ࣪ ˖ akutagawa ryunosuke

hates you at first and sees you as a cowardly weakling.

it isn't until one day he randomly compliments or helps you and catches your shy/flustered expression that he begins to feel some sympathy.

will gradually visit you more until you stop flinching whenever he approaches you. he can tell you're intimidated by him because of his personality and notorious reputation.

it's definitely hard for akutagawa to be soft with you, since he's a rough person, but he tries his best to be gentle with you.

shows his care through actions more than words (sharing food with you, doing constant check-ins, guiding your back when walking with you, etc.)

promises threatens to kill those who have harmed and harassed you in the past.

becomes overprotective over you, getting mad when anyone--even jokingly--teases you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ chuuya nakahara

tough love~!!!

expect a lot of "huh, what the hell are you talking about?" anytime you apologize for something small or suggest some self-sabotage

since you aren't used to affection and often try to reject gifts, thinking you aren't worth giving them to, chuuya will 'lovebomb' you with gifts until you get used to them as the norm and accept them willingly.

although he may seem short-tempered and easily irritated, he'll always make time to sit down with you and listen to your rants/past stories and engage in deep conversations.

holds your hands and reminds you of how strong and talented you are--will keep drilling it into your head until it sticks.

carries tissues in his suit for when you cry.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ edgar allen poe

this man may be your twin...honestly he's a bit of a mess himself, so he doesn't know how to help you.

i think poe would be relieved to find someone similar to him--also very shy and awkward/bad at socializing.

if you started apologizing when there was a pause in conversation, he would probably apologize back, and you two would go back and forth until karl bites him (꒪▿꒪)

since you both mainly only find confidence in your talents/skills, he would get to know your strengths as much as possible and encourage you to do your best!

will also share his book plots with you, taking you with him into the books and getting your feedback, never missing the chance to show you something beautiful he secretly wrote just for you

overall, poe would make you feel less alone and isolated, helping you gain confidence overtime!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jouno saigiku

since you're already so fragile and frantic, jouno wouldn't find any pleasure in torturing or messing with you

ends up helping you under the pretense of "calming down your raging heartbeat and nerves that are too loud"; in reality, he notices how you're always on edge and just wants you to experience some peace and quiet.

jouno's sensitive to others' emotions, so i think if you were having a panic attack or extreme anxiety, he'd immediately hug + hold you until you calmed down again (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

like the rest, he'd offer you words of affirmation and hold your hand in public/around other people.

will stick around you to ward off anyone who tries to bully you or exploit your personality; blushes uncontrollably if you thank him for his simple acts ♡

[littlefankingdom]

I have seen many posts and fanfics who are going "Oliver works with Jason to annoy Bruce!", "Oliver protecting Jason from Bruce!", "Oliver deciding to annoy Bruce by being like a father figure to Jason!", "Oliver being so happy for Roy and Jason being together!", and etc, but in canon, Oliver HATES his guts.

Here is a compilation of Oliver thinking or talking about Jason from Seeing Red, which is the first Red Hood's story after Under The Red Hood, and the one time Oliver and Jason interracted in canon (if I'm not mistaken, they never did since):

For the last one, he is talking to Bruce and Jason is one of the "every damned manner of sociopathic fruit fly".

And like, Oliver and the Arrowfam are 100% justified in their dislike or hate. He literally pulled the same shit Joker did on them: took a teenager away from her father figure, beat her up, torture her mentally about her place in her new family and her usefulness, make her and her guardian think he was going to kill her, explode the building she was in in front of her father figure to make him believe he was too late... And all of that to get to Batman. He doesn't give a shit about Oliver or Mia, it's about Batman, it's about Bruce. Just like when the Joker killed him, it wasn't about him, it was about Batman.

And it doesn't matter that Jason changed, because others aren't obligated to forgive someone because they redeemed themselves. I do not believe that Oliver is fine with Jason, he is probably not very happy he hangs around Roy, and does NOT want him near Mia ever again, and certainly not his granddaughter, Liam. That's the man that kidnapped his daughter because he was mad at his own father, nope. He knows how it is to be annoyed with the Bat, and it doesn't justify this.

I can hear y'all seeing disregarding canon is fine, and yes, sure. But also, folks, you are such hypocrites if you want to keep in that Bruce threw a batarang at Jason's neck, and erase how it was an accident ("Batman doesn't make mistakes!" Firstly, he does, canonically, make huge mistakes sometimes. Secondly, the man was an emotional wreck, his son had come back to life and had been killing people and his other son, Dick, was maybe dead because his city just exploded. He is human, not a machine! Thirdly, it is simply fucking stupid for a character who is against killing to willingly inflict such a mortal wound.), but Jason being a huge asshole to others is either erased or excusable (your feelings being valid don't excuse the harm you do, guys). Talk about favoritism.

[i-dont-wanna-be-me-anymore]

“I Win” | Cagefighter!Logan x Cagefighter!male!reader

Logan x Male!Reader

HC’s about Logan and a cage fighter mutant!male reader

Warnings: blood and violence, mutant!reader, mention of guns, sexual implications, Logan has a pain kink?

Request by: @keigohawks

A/n: so, this was kind of a request that i saw, so I figured why not since I was already like in love with Logan. Also, Im ngl. Watching DP&W, i left the theatre feeling both sad cus of the end credits, and a little turned on.

SET PRE- X-MEN (2000)

—

• When Logan first met him, he wasn’t entirely what he expected. He actually wasn’t even looking at him when he saw him.

• Logan had been facing away from the wall as he heard people booing and yelling strings of curses at the man who just entered the cage. He turned and saw who he was up against. The man was beautiful, so much so that Logan had to do a double take upon seeing him.

• When the match started, Logan waited for the man to swing or at least do something, but he didn’t he just walked along the sides of the cage, watching his every movement. So, Logan charged at him, the metal in his bones making a hard impact as he punched the side of his face, watching him hunch over and spit out blood before he looked up at him, grinning.

• One thing led to another, and after several minutes of the two throwing each other against the walls, kicking each other’s stomachs, socking one another in the face; Logan ended up pinned down to the floor with the fighter’s fists swinging at him, left and right.

• Logan suddenly grabbed his arm and looked up at him, blood seeping down into his teeth from his injuries as he looked up at the man, smiling.

• The man squinted and pinned Logan’s arms down as he put them across his body, choking him with his own arms. Logan tried to use his enhanced strength to get him off, but it was no use, his efforts seemed pointless as the man was left un-harmed by his touch. With that, his vision went black.

• When he woke up, he saw the man sitting across from him, playing solitaire. Logan looked over the man, seeing that any sign of injuries on his face had gone away, or healed up just as soon as he got them.

• “Who are you?”

• One simple question led to him and the unknown, well now known, man to travel together in his truck.

• Logan had never had someone willingly want to go with him, it was always people looking for rides, people stealing his truck (and learning that it wasn’t the best thing to do), but now he actually had someone to talk to.

• Someone that he could actually call a friend.

• Y/n, he learned to be the unknown man’s name, was quite possibly the one person that actually care about him.

• And it even showed when he stuck by his side when finding out about the “X-Men.”

—

A/n: Short and sweet, also guys, I am currently between projects right now. I’m working on two TUA projects. One is Five x reader, that’s on here, and the other is an entire fanfiction, like s1-4 fanfiction, but I’m still on season 1. Anyways, that’s kind of why I took so long posting this. Lmk how this is and if you guys liked it

[delulujuls]

navy fury | mv33

im a redbull stan and max's girlie till i die (but my heart is papaya shaped) so please enjoy this one as well!

summary: max is struggling with asking for help, reader is trying her best to let him know that she always got his back

warnings: negative emotions, angst, max struggling with his demons, jos verstappen (he is the biggest warning lol)

pairing: max verstappen x fem!mclarendriver

Max would often get angry.

More often than he would like it to be. More often than he would want a consuming wave of anger to wash over him, for fury to engulf him and inject its burning venom into his veins. He would get angry over trivial things, get angry over bigger issues either. Anger would truly eat him up every time something didn't go as planned.

However, he tried to fight with his anger and negative emotions at all costs. Instead of processing them, letting go and moving on, he would bottle them up, allowing them to fester and poison his entire being. He preferred to get angry in solitude, where he knew nothing wrong would happen and even if it did, he would be the only one harmed.

Unfortunately, Max found a kind of satisfaction and comfort in hurting others. Emotions dissipated much faster when he could engage in an argument with someone rather than sitting in silence with only his own screams shattering his head.

If Max could have any control over himself and his emotions, he would unplug the anger outburst responsible for explosions of anger like this one.

He didn't hear the insults that left his mouth, didn't hear Christian's shouts telling him to calm down. He didn't feel the strong arms of the mechanics holding him back and pulling him away from Lance Stroll, who sat on the ground with a bleeding nose. In moments like this, Max was guided by nothing but emotions, desperately trying to find any way out.

In moments like this Max knew that to feel relief he had to destroy something. It didn't matter if it was a glass, his shattered fists or the bleeding nose of that Aston Martin dickhead who ruined his entire race.

Many people in his immediate surroundings distinguished the Dutchman before the anger storm and after it. Before it was Max, after it, there was only Verstappen.

Just as Max was the friendly, smiling guy who joyfully congratulated his rivals, willingly gave interviews and joked with team members, Verstappen was a walking hailstorm from which lightning could strike at any moment.

"Fucking idiot."

He growled one last time and walked deeper into the garage, where everyone he encountered averted their gaze and moved out of his way. It was always best to simply get out of Max's way and let him cool down. But no one knew that the fire of anger was just beginning to burn and the epicenter was yet to come.

"What the hell was that, Max?"

Cold water. The hiss of an extinguished fire.

He felt a tightness in his chest upon hearing his father's voice. Jos Verstappen was the only person who could instantly turn his anger into pure, filtered fear.

Max unzipped his racing suit, unable to look his father in the face. He didn't even know what to say. What was there to say either, he had just let his father down. Not for the first time though.

"I asked you a question."

His father's cold, gruff tone cut Max to the core and once again, Max was six years old, stuttering as he explained to his dad why he crashed his go-kart into his friend's. Apologizing and making excuses, saying it wasn't his fault that another seven-year-old cut him off. In his eyes, Max wasn't a grown man with an amazing track record, he was just a brat who needed discipline because he made idiotic mistakes.

His father was about to thunder over him again when the whole stormy situation was suddenly illuminated by a ray of sunshine. Quite literally, as it was Y/N still dressed in her bright McLaren suit, who upon hearing about the commotion in the Aston Martin garage hastily went out to found her friend.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Verstappen, but Max is needed in the studio," she said quickly, grabbing Max's hand "Come on, Max, we need to go."

"We'll come back to this conversation."

His father mumbled under his breath, watching them go.

The girl squeezed her friend's hand tighter and started pulling him in the opposite direction, wanting to get him away from his father as quickly as possible.

"I'm not in the mood for interviews."

"There's no interview; I had to come up with something quickly to get you out of there."

Max stopped, causing Y/N to be pulled back as well. Surprised by his sudden decision, she turned to him with a questioning expression.

"I want to be alone right now, without anyone."

He let go of her hand but she still stubbornly held onto his fingers.

"We both know you don't want to be alone."

Max shook his head in denial. The last thing he wanted was to be in her company right now. He knew that when the commotion and the crowd disappeared, all the emotions would flood over him like a toxic wave.

"You don't understand."

"Yes, I don't understand because you don't give me the chance."

The girl approached him, their bodies only a few inches apart.

"Everything is fine between us only when you're in a good mood. We are really close, we spend time together and we are acting like actual friends. But as soon as something doesn't go your way and your behavior changes, you build a thick wall between us." Y/N looked into his eyes, shaking her head. "Friends don't do that, Max."

"That's what the best friends do," he replied, looking into her eyes. As they were always in the colour of the clear sky, in that moment they were having a storm inside. "The best friends won't drown you in the shit that's swirling through their lives, they won't drag you into their inner conflicts. The best friends won't be a burden to you, you know why? Because they'll just spare you that!"

Y/N embraced him without a word. She hugged him with such force that someone would need chains to pull her away. She had no intention of leaving Max's side, no matter what he was struggling with. She wanted to help him, to be his support and to be the light in his darkest nights. She had no intention of letting him continue to deceive himself with assurances that everything was always perfect. Because life never looks that way.

Adult Max didn't return her embrace, knowing that it was for the best. Adult Max closed his eyes and tilted his head, not wanting to let a single tear escape. He hoped that by remaining distant, by hurting the girl with his indifference, she would let go of him. But Little Max didn't want to make her sad; he wanted to hug his friend and not let her go until everything will be okay again.

"I won't leave you with this, Maxie. If you like it or not."

Maxie.

Lighter.

Explosion.

He exploded in tears without any warning. He sank to his knees and tightly embraced his friend, burying his face in her stomach. Y/N stroked his hair, holding him close. She didn't try to calm him, knowing full well that he just needed to cry. He needed to let out all the sadness, anger, and bitterness that had accumulated in his veins and poisoned him for years.

When the girl kissed his wet cheek, she could swear that it left a bitter taste on her lips.

And it was exactly the venom finally letting him go.

[katsfixationcorner]

Sleepless Nights

tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Summary: After a run-in with a new neighbor, Bucky becomes hellbent on figuring out who she is. When he's recovering from a much worse night than usual, another encounter with the woman across the hall ends up leaving him with new feelings he isn't sure how to process.

Warnings: Slice of Life, Canon-divergent, Slow-burn, Friends to Lovers, Neighbors Trope, Depictions of trauma, Mild Stalking, No use of Y/N; Chapter Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts, Self Harm

Word Count: 4.7k

Disclaimer: This chapter contains depictions of self destructive behaviors, suicidal thoughts, and self harm. If these are sensitive topics for you, I recommend you skip this one. Please take care of yourselves.

A/N: I’m not a mental health professional. All trauma/mental illness depictions are based on my personal knowledge/experience. If any depictions are incorrect or misrepresented, kindly educate me.

I do NOT consent to have my work copied, translated, or run through AI.

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Two weeks. 

That’s how long it takes Bucky to gather what he can about the woman across the hall. It wasn’t difficult, just tedious. 

First, he checked the mailboxes. Now, he wasn’t about to steal mail from her - not unless he had to. But he could look for a name. Since the mailboxes are plainly labeled by unit and last name, this would be easy. The next time Bucky got his mail, he took the chance to glance at her unit’s box. 

Name acquired. 

Next, he stopped by the library. He doesn’t have his own computer (he really should purchase one) but the public ones are usually enough for what he needs. Just a few quick searches of the last name and address should give him what he- shit. 

And this is when an easy step in the “getting information” process quickly turned into a much harder one. 

He got the wrong name. The one on her mailbox wasn’t hers. Bucky was fairly certain of this -unless she was married and receiving retirement benefits from the government. That was probably unlikely. Bucky concludes that the landlord hadn’t had the chance to switch out the name plates. 

Dammit. This was supposed to be simple. 

Bucky had to figure something else out. He could just wait for the nameplate to be fixed, but whenever he tried to sit still and wait, his brain went into overdrive. This led him to spend an entire Saturday pacing laps around his apartment, doing very little other than checking the locks on the door and windows twice every hour. 

Waiting wasn’t going to work. 

Thankfully, there are plenty of ways to gain information about someone. Most of them, however, are risky and highly illegal. Checking a name with (mostly) public records is questionable but the safest starting point. 

Bucky was willing to do a lot in order to eliminate his anxieties, but he still had a code. He wasn’t going to dig too deep or do anything like violate her safety just to get surface level intel. Breaking into her apartment would be the most effective route to gain information, but Bucky had no reason to nor did he wish to. Not yet at least. 

He could always just talk to her; get her to give him her name and details willingly. There was once a time he considered himself charming and irresistible. But people lie, and that time has passed. Besides, he already knows what she’ll think of him: he’s dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted. No one could ever look at him and think, “now that’s a guy I want to sit down with and spill all my secrets to”. 

So that idea was thrown out almost immediately.

Unfortunately, Bucky was running low on simple ways to get what he wanted. Which -also unfortunately- led him to turn his attention to a much more predictable target: the apartment building’s property manager. Bucky already had a habit of doing strange odd jobs when he could find them. Since he’s been known to help the manager on occasion, it wasn’t odd of him to show up at the office and offer his services. 

Luckily for him, being handy and readily available worked out in his favor. The property manager gratefully accepted his help, granting Bucky access to the office in order to fix several things over the course of a few days.While he was there, Bucky was able to gain access to the manager’s computer while they were out on an appointment. 

People really need to be more careful about typing in passwords with him around. 

The property manager’s files gave him everything he needed. Name, age, occupation, access to a background check. It was plenty to give Bucky some peace of mind. The discount in his rent that month for his work was nice too, he supposed. 

His neighbor, it seems, is a completely ordinary person. She works a regular job with normal hours, lives alone, has a perfectly clean record, and -as far as Bucky can tell- could never be a threat to anyone, especially him. 

That was supposed to be enough to let him relax. 

Bucky has been having nightmares frequently during the entire two week process. He thought maybe, just maybe, once he knew he had nothing to worry about, he could rest. But by the time he wakes up tonight, he realizes all his research did nothing to rid him of his nightly terrors. 

He jolts up in a cold sweat and struggles to breathe, just as he has nearly every other night. His usual attempts to calm himself don’t work. Gasping for breath, Bucky grips the sofa and pulls himself to his feet, bracing himself on the wall as he stumbles to the bathroom. 

Everything he’s looked into since moving in should be enough to convince him that he’s somewhere safe. His apartment isn’t in the best part of the city, but there’s a neighborhood watch nearby and security guards patrol the parking garage around the corner. He has both his freedom and his mind back. He isn’t on the run anymore. No one’s out to hurt or control him. After such a long time fighting to survive, he finally has the chance to live. 

But how? How can he live after everything he’s done? Does he even deserve to?

Bucky’s grip tightens on the edges of the sink until his vibranium hand ends up cracking the granite. He takes an unsteady gulp of air then pushes himself away long enough to turn the shower on. This time the running water from the shower can’t chase his thoughts away. As they continue to cloud his mind, Bucky bends over the sink, turning on the faucet and repeatedly splashing his face with freezing water in an effort to focus on something else - as if the water could freeze his brain. 

How many more nights of this could he take? Nothing ever works. Why does he keep trying? 

Bucky splashes the water in his face with more force, this time slapping himself instead of cupping his hands back under the faucet. He presses his hands against his eyes, trying in vain to block the tidal wave of thoughts overtaking his senses.

Bucky’s mind is fractured into jagged pieces that never fit together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing. Some of the sharper sections -the ones that remind him of the horrors he’s committed and the pain he’s endured- continuously slice deep wounds in his brain that will never heal. On nights like tonight the pain is ever-present, something that overrides any remotely pleasant thought he has about himself and corrupts them. Those thoughts are left to fester, becoming poisoned by a despair that sinks its claws into him and drags him into a void of hopelessness. 

He can’t think straight. Everytime he tries to redirect his thoughts to something helpful, the tidal wave knocks him over and drags him deeper into the pit, raking him across the sharp edges of his past. He can’t stop it. He can barely breathe under the weight of his own mind. 

After all the lives he took, the families he ripped apart, why is he the one that gets a chance to live? 

Maybe he deserves this torment. The pain is his penance for all the people he’s hurt. He’ll take as much of it as he can -for them- until it destroys him and rids the world of an irredeemable monster. Then, and only then, will the victims of the Winter Soldier have peace. 

It’s no use. Everything he’s tried keeping at bay -everything he’s been trying to ignore- drags him deeper into the void, drowning him in a riptide of despair. There’s nothing he can do to bring himself back to the surface. 

This isn’t good enough. The mental anguish isn’t enough. Bucky needs to hurt; he needs to bleed. He deserves to suffer, to be punished for every death he caused.    

Somehow Bucky manages to get himself in the shower. His body moves without any input, depositing him under a cascade of frigid water. Still clad in the boxers he slept in, Bucky curls up in the tub, pulling his knees to his chest then pressing his forehead between them. 

A strangling sob pushes itself past Bucky’s lips. As soon as it breaks free from him, he bites his lip to keep any more from escaping. It isn’t long before he tastes iron. He deserves this, Bucky convinces himself. He deserves pain. 

Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s been in the shower. At some point his brain shut down, blocking him from the present in an effort to protect him from himself. All he feels is the freezing water that pierces his skin until his entire body aches from the cold. The torturous stinging it causes provides enough external stimulation to rouse him from the depths of his mind. He slowly regains control of his body, though he remains dazed and numb, devoid of any emotion and unable to recall anything but the first of many thoughts that pulled him under. 

When he feels able to, Bucky reaches for the shower knob and turns the water off, finally ending the torturous assault on his body. He stays where he is until he becomes aware of the shivers rippling across his body. Though he almost doesn’t want to, he forces himself to stand, throwing a towel around his shoulders once he can reach for one. 

It’s been a while since he had this bad of a night. Bucky isn’t sure how to recover. With his mind as blank as it is, his body goes into autopilot mode, guiding him through the motions it’s most familiar with. It takes him into the bedroom where he replaces his drenched boxers with a dry pair, jeans, and a worn t-shirt. Like many nights before this, Bucky retrieves his hamper then circles the room, grabbing whatever he touches and dropping it in the basket. He does the same routine in the living room, taking everything he usually does, then makes his way down into the building’s laundry room. 

The warm laundry room air is more suffocating than it usually is, but Bucky hardly notices. He heads straight for the last washer, continuing to go through the motions he’s used to. Once his hamper has been emptied into the machine and the machine has been started, Bucky leans back against a dryer then slides to the floor. Like he did in the shower, he pulls his knees to his chest then wraps his arms around them. He normally wouldn’t display himself like this in public, but he’s emotionally exhausted and doesn’t really care if anyone sees how despondent he is.

His therapist would want him to try and ground himself. With a shaky breath, Bucky closes his eyes, attempting to divert his attention from the whirlpool of bad thoughts swirling in his mind. When he reopens them, he makes an effort to take in his surroundings. The wall in front of him is lined with washing machines. The one containing his clothes is vibrating violently as it progresses through the washing cycle. Instructional signs for the machines litter the surface of the wall. Most of them are ripped and worn. The newer ones are laminated to protect from age. They even describe how to connect your phone to the machines if you’d prefer to. 

What does he hear? Well, it’s loud. His machine keeps knocking against the machine next to it causing a consistent banging noise. The door leading into the room squeaks when it opens and closes; its hinges desperately need to be lubricated. Bucky must have thrown a pair of jeans in the washer -he honestly doesn’t recall- because something metal intermittently hits the machine’s front facing lid. The door hinges squeak again when the door opens then it thuds against the doorframe as it shuts. 

Wait…

Bucky tilts his head towards the doorway. Soft footsteps approach from his right, stopping about a foot away from where he sits. When Bucky glances in the direction of the disturbance, he’s met with an outstretched hand. Two small bundles of wax paper are cradled in the palm. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. His gaze flickers from the odd gesture towards the face of the person standing before him. He stares for a moment before a sense of familiarity hits him. 

It’s her.

His neighbor, the woman across the hall, is bent forward slightly, holding her hand out in front of him. Her eyes search his face for something Bucky isn’t quite sure of. When Bucky’s gaze meets hers, her eyes flicker towards her palm then she tilts her hand forward, gesturing for Bucky to take what she’s holding. 

They stare at each other for a few long seconds. When Bucky doesn’t move, his neighbor gestures to him again. “It’s taffy,” she explains carefully. Her tone is gentle and light like she’s trying to soothe an upset child. “I bought a bag on my way home.” 

Her expectant gaze remains locked on Bucky’s face. He doesn’t understand; her explanation has nothing to do with him. No one ever gives him the time of day, let alone feels the need to give him something unprompted. Unless they wanted to poison him… She doesn’t seem the type but he’s been surprised before. He could refuse, but by the way her eyes bear into him, it’s unlikely she’ll leave him alone until he appeases her. Reluctantly, Bucky reaches forward to swipe one of the candies from her outstretched palm. The wax paper wrapping is smooth against his flesh hand as he rolls the candy between his fingers. He won’t eat it, just in case. The candy is going in the trash the first chance he gets. 

A soft smile pulls at his neighbor’s lips when Bucky accepts her offering. Seeming satisfied, she straightens back up, untwisting the ends on the extra candy then popping it into her mouth in one fluid motion. Bucky watches her carefully, now spotting the vibrating washer behind her. She must have been loading it when he walked in; he just wasn’t present enough to notice. 

Bucky knows he’s staring. He can’t help it. His eyes track each of her movements. She shifts the weight distribution on her feet, now standing in a way that has her leaning away from him. Her gaze isn’t on him anymore but instead on the washer Bucky presumes contains her load of laundry. The wax wrapping crinkles as she bunches it in her palm, using her other hand to comb through her hair. A grimace crosses her face when her fingers get caught on a knot.

Since she’s no longer interested in him, Bucky takes the time to really look at her. For some reason, she isn’t leaving immediately like she did the last time they were in the same room together. He isn’t sure why. Has he made her feel unsafe enough to refuse to leave her things? He doesn’t really blame her, though. She did happen across a complete stranger dealing with the aftermath of a mental breakdown. 

After a bout of silence, the woman shifts again, this time towards Bucky instead of further away from him. She sighs to herself then bites her bottom lip like she’s wrestling with her thoughts. Once she makes up her mind, she turns back towards him, glancing down at him when she addresses him. 

“You’re Barnes, right?” She asks hesitantly, now twisting the wax wrapper in her hands. 

Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest. How does she know who he is? Has she been looking into him like he has her? What else does she know? 

She answers one of his questions before he gets a chance to interrogate her. “Your mailbox is next to mine.” She explains in a rushed manner. “I should have- well… We’ve met before, technically. I didn’t say anything though. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything.” 

The woman stumbles over her words. A groan escapes her lips, her irritation with her failure to finish her thoughts apparent. She eventually introduces herself using the same name Bucky found on her resident file. 

At least she isn’t lying. Not yet, anyway.

She takes a step closer to Bucky, leans against the dryer behind her, then pulls herself up to sit on top of it. Her legs don’t quite touch the ground so she swings them out in front of her like she’s sitting on a swing set. The silence that fills the air between them doesn’t seem to bother her. She doesn’t try to fill it with empty words or annoying small talk; she just waits patiently for him to make the next move. 

The lack of words allows Bucky to think. There isn’t any harm in responding to her, is there? Even if she uses what he says to look into his life, anything she could find is practically public knowledge. 

His neighbor isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are fixated on a spot on the floor. Bucky finds himself staring at her again. This time his mind wanders. She isn’t unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually, though Bucky catches himself before he’s forced to explore thoughts he hasn’t had in a long time. He forces his gaze down to the wrapped candy in his hand. Having something else to focus on helps his mind reset. Instead of being in the forefront of his mind, the terrible thoughts he’s been struggling with have shifted to the side. Now all he can think about is her: why she’s still here and how she could stand being so close to him. 

One of those thoughts nag him until he can’t stop himself. He has to ask because he doesn’t understand. He can’t make sense of it by himself. Why is she still here?

“Why?” Bucky’s voice cracks roughly when he finally speaks. It’s rough and gravelly from not having used it all day. His question isn’t clear either, but he struggles to say much else. 

Her head lifts when she hears his voice, though her gaze doesn’t move from the floor. She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she focuses on her swaying feet before finally shrugging her shoulders. “You looked like you needed something sweet.” 

Her response only confuses Bucky further. He lifts his head so he can watch her. When he does, his eyes stop on the candy he’s still holding. Oh. She must have assumed he was asking about that. In an effort to clear up this miniscule misunderstanding, Bucky clears his throat then tries again. “Why are you sitting with me?” 

This time she tilts her head to the side then reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.  Even though she doesn’t answer immediately, Bucky doesn’t feel the need to rush her. She was patient with him, the least he can do is offer her the same. Once she’s decided what to say, she turns her head towards him, now holding his gaze with an expression that Bucky doesn’t have the words to describe. His first thought is pity, but the words that come out of her mouth contradict that: “No one deserves to be alone when they’re having a bad day.” 

Bucky isn’t quite sure what to do about that statement. Sure, he looks like shit, but he never expected anyone to comment on it, let alone try to help him. 

His lack of response doesn’t phase her. Instead, she brushes it aside, choosing instead to redirect their conversation. “Did you get into a fight?” She inquires, lifting a hand to point at her own mouth.  Confusion tugs Bucky’s lips into a frown. He shifts his gaze from her face down to the dryer she’s sitting on while he licks his bottom lip. When the tip of his tongue finds where his lip had split, understanding dawns on him. Instead of explaining he had caused it by purposefully biting himself, he settles on a simple “no”.  

“Hm,” is her hummed response. An easy silence grows between them before she breaks it with another question Bucky can focus on. “Do you work nights?”

“No.”

“Me either.” 

Bucky already knows that but he doesn’t tell her. She doesn’t need to know that he’s more of a stranger to her than she is to him. What he’s more curious about is why she’s up at such odd hours. He hasn’t figured that out yet, but he isn’t going to ask. 

The two of them settle into an amicable silence once more. Eventually, her washer finishes its cycle prompting her to slide off the dryer to switch machines. Once her clothes have been moved into the same dryer she was sitting on (one near Bucky, mind you), she decides to sit on the floor across from him, now leaning back against one of the washing machines. 

She seems comfortable with not speaking. Bucky appreciates that. His curt responses have no effect on her either. Usually he receives a look of indifference or offense when he refuses to play along with the back and forth of expected social interactions. So far, she hasn’t given him either of those. It’s…refreshing. Most of the time, interacting with people leaves Bucky anxious and uncomfortable. People always feel the need to fill silence with meaningless words, asking questions they don’t actually want the answer to and pretending to care. 

When people ask questions, there’s always an expected response, a right and a wrong answer. You aren’t expected to answer truthfully, only politely and vaguely. This usually works out in Bucky’s favor -he’s never expected to explain his feelings when he barely understands them- but he despises it. He’d much rather say nothing at all than have to go along with an empty, meaningless conversation. 

Bucky especially hates when people use questions to probe into his life. He can stomach the small talk and vague questions, but when they grow increasingly personal is when he draws the line. Knowing how his day is or what he thinks of the weather? Fine. But when they turn into what do you do for work or are you close to your family? Or worse: they notice his dog tags or arm and decide to ask about them.

Those are the types of things Bucky won’t talk about.

Bucky’s mind wanders towards the woman sitting across from him. She asked him three questions, and he hadn’t minded them (though one was left unanswered). They weren’t the usual type of question he’s used to getting. Sure, she asked about his job, but it was vague and she didn’t ask for any additional details. She just accepted his no’s like any response was good enough. Then she let it go, and nothing feels forced. The air between them isn’t thick with tension or unease. Bucky can just be and nothing is expected of him. 

The more Bucky dwells on the situation, the more he finds he doesn’t understand. There’s an uncertainty that’s building within him, something strange and confusing. He didn’t mind her questions, but his anticipation for more is winding him taut. This is one interaction, one isolated incident. She lives right across the hall. They’re bound to run into each other again if their laundry run-ins are anything to go off of. What happens then? How long will it be until she pries too deeply or asks something of him he can’t give?   

Bucky really needs to get his shit together. He’s known this woman for two weeks and has barely spoken to her. Tonight is just a…special circumstance. A one off event. It won’t happen again. There’s no reason for Bucky to think that a complete stranger would want anything to do with him. Besides, the more he gets to know her, the sooner she’ll turn into everyone else. So far she’s been polite and kind, but her patience for him will run thin. It always does. And yet one interaction is enough to catch his attention. She intrigues him. Him. 

God, he needs to get out more. 

The timer on Bucky’s washer pulls him out of his thoughts. With a groan, he pulls himself off the floor so he can move his laundry over. Though the taffy he’s still holding makes it difficult. He ends up slipping the candy into his pocket, promptly forgetting about it for the time being. 

Bucky can feel her eyes trailing him as he loads the dryer but she never says anything. Once the machine is on, he returns to his spot across from her, this time stretching his legs in front of him. Due to his height, his feet end up resting against the washer next to her. She doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes meet his briefly before she turns her attention from his face, choosing instead to lean her head back and close her eyes. 

They sit together in silence until her laundry is finished. When her timer goes off, she opens her eyes then stands back up. Bucky watches as she takes the time to fold her clothes before placing the piles neatly in her basket. After double checking her dryer for anything left behind, she takes her hamper then holds it sideways against her hip. Before she leaves, she hesitates -contemplating something- then tilts her head in Bucky’s direction and graces him with a small smile. 

“Good-night.” 

As soon as those two words leave her lips, she turns her back to him then walks out of the room. With his company gone, an uneasy feeling washes over Bucky. Now that he’s alone, there’s nothing to distract him from the flood of negative feedback his brain fires upon him. Though still present from earlier, this time, for some reason, it doesn’t overtake him. Bucky still feels heavy but no longer like he’s dragging himself through a tar pit. 

He remains in the laundry room until his dryer timer goes off. Unlike his neighbor, he pulls the clothes out of the machine and drops them unceremoniously into his hamper. Once he returns to his apartment, he drops the hamper on the floor by his bed then spends the next ten minutes folding everything. When the task is complete, Bucky pulls off the jeans he was wearing and starts to add them to a pile. As he folds the fabric, his fingers brush over the candy still in one of the pockets. Bucky retrieves it, lays his pants down, then retreats to the living room with the sweet in hand.

Though fully intent on throwing it into the garbage, something unusual comes over him. Something new. Bucky pauses on his way to the kitchen. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to toss the candy. Instead, he places it carefully on a kitchen counter, leaving it there until he decides what to do with it. 

Since he doesn’t have anything better to do or any chore to keep him distracted, Bucky reclines on the sofa with the intention of channel surfing until something catches his eye. He eventually stops on a news channel, letting it play in the background while he tries to relax. 

His mind is still foggy and every time he tries to remember what happened earlier his memory goes blank. It’s normally nearly impossible for him to regain himself so quickly after a terrible episode, but this time was different. 

She was there. 

She may not know what he was going through, but she insisted on keeping him company anyway. And it helped, even if just a little bit. Bucky is exhausted, his body feels like he got hit by a truck, but the bad thoughts have been pushed to the back of his mind. 

Even though he couldn’t control it this time, he was still able to recover. That means something. Bucky just isn’t certain on what it is. But as he lays back into the sofa cushions and closes his eyes, the time spent with her keeps being replayed in his mind. Exhaustion eventually overcomes him, and as the memory of her voice lulls him to sleep, Bucky becomes certain of one thing: it was nice not being alone.

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[drdemonprince]

I'm just now starting to process and come to grips with CNC fantasies that I'd previously denied having for a few reasons. One being that I'd always interpreted CNC fantasy as only coming from the perspective of wanting to be violated (or role play at it rather) and genuinely hadn't considered the possibility of having a fantasy of being the agressor (the fact that I'm a genderfluid AFAB person who presents publically as an, albeit not especially feminine, cis woman definitely also contributed to my idea that any rape or CNC fantasy i could have must be in the context of me as a victim) and part of that which I'm having a hard time processing (to the extent I'm willing to put this forward for insights) is how my fantasies manifest. One is the fact that they all involve deception or incapacitation of the victim in some manner be in drugging, taking advantage of them whilst they are already in a deep sleep or not fully conscious, or even claiming to have tattoos and encouraging a thorough exploration of my body by a self avowed tattoo fetishist knowing full well that I don't have any in order to "trick them" into sleeping with me. The second part has to do with who the victims are. The first category could be described as a revenge fantasy and as such I don't feel especially guilty for having it. More specifically the idea of raping or sexual abusing someone who has a history of being a perpetrator of that class of crimes against others (think of it like being the Dexter Morgan of sex crimes). The second type of victim in these scenarios are people who wouldn't willingly have sex with me irl due to stigmatized factors of my being such as my fatness, my bisexuality, my gender-fluidity/non confirming presentation, my autism/neurodivergency, my limited prior sexual experience relative to most people my age, and even my youthful appearance (the last happens less than it did a few years ago but it used to feel brutal and yes all of these are reasons people have explicitly refused to date or be intimate with me) basically by as I mentioned above deceiving or incapacitating them into a situation where they can't resist or more often are unaware of me having sex with them as it happens and only learn about it after waking up if at all. This is the part I feel shameful for desiring because if you asked me what I'd think if a cis male incel did that in real life I'd unequivocally say it was wrong and horrific no questions asked but then when I fantasize about doing it to someone as a means of pulling one over on them, tricking/convincing someone who wouldn't willingly sleep with me or desire me into doing so anyway, well quite frankly as conflicted as it makes me feel there is something that feels empowering about they and I don't know how to process it all

The Dexter Morgan of sex crimes! I feel you. When a certain video game writer & Youtuber previously possessed of a softboy reputation was outed several years ago as a repeated sexual harasser, I fantasized about sliding into his DMs and harassing him the same way that he had bothered others -- I'd always been very attracted to the guy and thought to myself, wow, he'd actually be really easy to bag right now. I get the fantasy, I find it very hot -- it's an opportunity to be sexually aggressive and feel desired without risking rejection or the possibility of harming someone, or so our minds tell us.

There would be nothing wrong with a young, sexually inexperienced man fantasizing about having sex with women through deception, intoxication, or coercion either, as I'm sure you realize. There's nothing ever wrong with a fantasy, and those of us who do dream of being sexually preyed upon from the other side of the Dominant/submissive slash are indebted to the genuinely decent people who long to be the aggressors that we dream about, lest we have to resort to someone who is just genuinely predatory. So let's just establish all that right out the gate. There is nothing wrong with you imagining taking advantage of people, and in fact a great many people who want to be "taken advantage" of in a negotiated kinky scenario, and the more open sadists/Doms/manipulators that we have out there in the world owning their kinks and looking for partners, the fewer people will get their needs met through far messier, riskier means.

It's certainly find to entertain these ideas in the privacy of your mind (or any other ideas at all ever), but what I'd like to ask you is whether you'd like to bring some of these ideas into reality a bit. You may find it to be a genuine power rush to put yourself out there as a Dominant/coercive-kink play figure and see just how many attractive men are absolutely slobbering to be with someone like you.

You are person generally interpreted as a woman who wants to take on the aggressor role in this case; that is much sought-after within kinky communities and you'd have your pick of any number of partners. A lot of them will suck, or simply be uninteresting or a bad match, but you can have your pick of the litter and find someone who is communicative, treats you decently, and is understanding that this is your first time at the rodeo.

Roleplaying a tattoo examination scene or similarly less-intense iteration of your fantasy seems a natural first step. Choose a scenario that you and an interested partner can figure out how to play-act without any complicated restraints or intoxicants involved, and plenty of off-ramps, should anybody need a break or feel squirrely. Get involved in the local kink scene if you aren't, and build community with some other Dominants/aggressors. Develop your skills and expand your kinky horizons. One day, with a decent amount of practice, you could find yourself actually drugging a consenting partner that you have a long track record with and assaulting them. (weed, melatonin, or maybe a small dose of a cold medicine are decent first substances for this kind of thing). I can't tell you how many people are out there longing to experience such a thing -- but I can tell you that I'm one of them! you can find many people who would say the same! have some fun!

[martinblackwoodhater]

I LISTENED TO 173 AND 174 AND OH MY FUCKING GOD I'M SO DONE WITH THIS GUY. HOLY SHIT (pulling out the transcripts for this one)

HE CAN'T FUCKING DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT YOU DICK!!! he has told you this multiple times and calling him monstrous and essentially saying he's a terrible/shit person for not being able to do anything is fucking terrible and I think you should go die.

WHAT THE FUCK??? WHAT THE FUCK??? "Thank you fir not hitting me this time." AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE AND BE COMPLACENT WITH THE LIE THAT THIS SHIP IS HEALTHY??? HOLY FUCKING SHIT

the bitterness in Jon's voice towards the end... oh my god. it's so fucking justified because your boyfriend is using you like a tool (which is what I have gathered from their relationship in s5, it's just martin using Jon - to be his personal little all-powerful murderer, to inform him of what's going on from time to time (when he isn't electing to instead ignore it like an idiot) - and then ignoring him and treating him awfully for the rest. god) but oh my god jon's voice at the end there fucking breaks me because he sounds so tired and done with Martin's bullshit (FOR ONCE) but he shouldn't have to be. I'm so sick of martin and his entire character I hate him so much.

also he's always so annoyed and exasperated with Jon but why? he seems to constantly be annoyed and sick of him and I don't understand- for the most part Jon's literally just either doing what Martin tells him to, does what he needs to do, or talking to martin in a way that is so fond and loving and martin DOES NOT deserve it at all.

^^ especially in MAG 174

what the fuck is wrong with you? maybe because he doesn't want to kill people? because (unlike you) his first and foremost wish isn't to cause harm and pain?

why does he want to be so controlling? one thing that really got me about this episode and this dialogue specifically is that martin sounds so much like those cliche toxic girlfriends in american media, the ones that are super controlling and insist you're cheating/go through your phone/cut you off from your friends because they don't trust you WHY DID THEY MAKE HIM SOUND LIKE THAT???? this is not a healthy relationship I'm so done how does the fandom see them in a positive light? how can they be so ignorant?

and finally:

man :( man I really thought we were gonna get an apology- or even just an acknowledgement of his behaviours!! (not that it'd matter; he wouldn't be able to compensate for all the shitty things he's managed to do in JUST 12 EPISODES) but I was kind of hopeful! but alas. no. he sees a chance to shift the blame onto someone else and he takes it as soon as he can with a "(small laugh)" (even though jon willingly taking it is obviously just cause of his incredibly poor self-worth (which martin is not helping btw))

I'm so pissed about this :( I'm so not happy with this :(( why would they do this?? genuinely what were they thinking when they wrote s5 martin? they made his entire character so... malicious. I hate it, and I hate him, thank you for coming to my ted talk. (I'm really scared/sad to continue because I really wanna finish the podcast but I don't like martin's character at all and listening to him makes me sick and it ruins the entire experience)

there's nothing more for me to add to this tbh but you're so right and i have no idea how the fandom has such a severe misunderstanding of jmart as a relationship at all

[timdrakemybeloved]

rant time:

people LOVE sirius black, and they don’t even know it. they want their faves to be sirius black so fucking bad, but their faves just aren’t, so what do they do? they give all of sirius’ complex, sometimes bad, sometimes good, extremely iconic and well known character traits to their faves, and make sirius one dimensional. meanwhile canon is right there proving them wrong, and their faves are a knock off sirius black, and canon sirius just does it better 🤷🏾‍♀️. they hate him so bad bc their faves could never.

like they make barty crouch jr and that evan rosier dude impulsive and sometimes cruel copy pastes of sirius in “slytherin skittle” fanon, even though we have like two seconds of canon from rosier and everything we know about barty is from insane circumstances. we know nothing about rosier, and we only know that barty is good at dada, kind of a competent teacher, insane and devoted to the dark lord. the entire time we know barty, he’s literally pretending to be someone else. and he’s succeeding, so much so that dumbledore, who knew moody for forever didn’t realize.

they makes regulus a heroic champion for disenfranchised groups even though he literally does not give a fuck. he didn’t care until his house elf was harmed. and they make sirius a bad guy for not rescuing regulus like hello?? sirius rescued himself. it was not his responsibility to rescue regulus. if regulus wanted to be rescued so damn bad, maybe he should have done it himself. they make regulus a scapegoat in the black family as if he wasn’t the perfect son who believed in their bigoted beliefs and swore as a death eater willingly… like if you want a rebel, someone who was disowned for their beliefs SIRIUS IS RIGHT THERE. and andromeda now that i think about it.

they make sirius short and dramatic and twinky and one dimensional and dumb so remus can be a tall genius who pulls people left and right. meanwhile, sirius got all o’s while putting in zero effort his entire time at school, he’s tall and charming and he’s an extremely complex character. oh and REMUS IS SHOWN READING A BOOK ONE TIME. how does that make him a genius. sirius is in fact one of the least one dimensional characters in the entire series, one of the few people with a nuanced view on dark and light, good and bad, death eater and non death eater, slytherin and non slytherin. and he teaches harry that, he tells him how the world isn’t divided into good people and death eaters, he tells him how everyone has good and bad in them and the only thing that matters is your actions. i firmly believe that if sirius found out about harry almost sorting slytherin, he would not have been phased.

they make sirius conflate harry with james, when that’s literally not true. he lashed out when harry wouldn’t agree to meet in gof, because harry cared more about sirius’ safety than sirius did, because sirius needed to help harry. and the “nice one, james” isn’t even canon to me, or canon in the books. but his priority, always, is harry’s safety and happiness. just because molly weasley wants to hide information from harry, that he’ll later find out anyway in horrible ways from people who use it against him, doesn’t mean sirius is a bad parent. just because molly thinks hiding information from harry will signal to voldemort that harry is a child and shouldn’t be attacked, doesn’t mean sirius is a bad parent.

sirius is actually the best parent for harry, because he understands that whatever harry wants, harry will be a target. harry needs information to keep him safe. i mean, see what happens when people don’t tell harry that the dark lord wants something in the department of mysteries and would try and trick him there! sirius is VERY vocal about harry not being reckless, and harry listens to him! when he send a note not to be reckless, harry thinks snidely about sirius’ hypocrisy and then does exactly what sirius asks, like a normal teenager. this is the balance needed to be an effective parent to a child like harry potter. and you know who DOES conflate harry and james, even though they’re two very different people with very different pasts? SNAPE.

and what is it with people giving harry a third parent, and it’s like…. regulus, who they erase lily for. they erase james too bc in what world would james go for a death eater? he has SUCH rigid beliefs, to the point of harming people for being death eaters in school. or it’s remus, who doesn’t give a fuck about harry, and doesn’t even remotely have a relationship with him. he gives up chances to be in harry’s life constantly, and he’s not at all reliable or a constant figure in harry’s life. or it’s fucking snape, who verbally abused harry for the entire series… like do y’all really think the dark lord was monitering snape and crucio-ing him if he sees signs of snape being a neutral teacher? snape’s actions towards harry (and neville actually) are reprehensible and entirely his responsibility, not some act to satisfy voldemort.

and sirius is right there!! harry trusts him, harry loves him, harry VIEWS HIM AS A PARENT, and those factors literally aren’t there for any other adult in the series. sirius was there for harry the second he could be, and he reached out over and over to make sure harry knew he could come to him, and you know what? harry did come to him. when harry had a dream of voldemort and his scar was hurting, when harry was entered into the triwizard tournament, sirius did so much for harry and never complained because he loved him and he was devoted to harry.

and sirius has a fuck ton of flaws too! he has ptsd and anger issues, he lashes out at harry when he wants harry to meet (because he values harry’s safety far over his own, while harry doesn’t), he hurts people intentionally, he hates kreacher (not because he’s a house elf, but because of his actions, and sirius’s trauma), he can be reckless, he doesn’t give a shit about legality, like he’s a flawed dude. but some things he’s not are an unmitigated asshole to children, a bigot, or an irresponsible parent.

[hai7ani]

WHAT'S A HEART WORTH? haitani rindou

nsfw (smut) mdni, nothing happens

home collection | playlist

part i / my baby here on earth, showed me what my heart was worth.

Rindou does not understand why people would not want to go home after work.

Like the accountant who stays at the office long after clock out hour. He's finishing up someone else's paperwork willingly while actively ignoring the constant buzz of his phone that lights up a photo of a woman showing up peace signs paired with a beautiful smile which only says 'girl[space]friend' but not her name. He shuts off his phone and continues his paperwork instead of heading home (and also earning free OT cash that he'll probably just spend on some Asahi during payday) . . .

Or the newlywed who slips off the silver band on his ring finger and greets the receptionist with a bright smile -- Ishikawa-san, or Riko-chan, as he likes to call her -- the moment he steps into the front doors of the office. He enjoys leaning on the counter and telling her about the plans he and his friends have made for her that night on a random morning while stuffing the promise with his wife deep into the pocket of his perfectly ironed suit.

"Work's been rough lately, ya wanna grab a drink? Release some steam? Oh, it's just a few of us guys who are my friends, and you. Bring some of your friends as well, yeah? Please come, treat's on us. We're going to Shangri-La after work, 'kay?"

It's especially the father with a polaroid of his 6 year old son and 11 year old daughter that both are not smiling in tucked away in his wallet who rushes off to an izakaya or some club somewhere in the middle of Kabukichō straight after work with a bunch of his lame and nasty ol' colleagues who are somehow also married men. Just drinking and smoking the night away with dirty minds that think of nothing but sticking their dicks into the pussies of younger, sweeter women working by the bar.

While Haitani Rindou is on his way to clock in to work, he passes by the reception table. Ishikawa-san sees him and gives a small bow with a professional smile, before swiftly returning to the conversation with the newlywed. She bends over the desk and starts fiddling with the bright orange tie hanging off the newlywed's collar. There's a name-tag pinned to his tie that reads Ito Haruki.

Ito-kun, or as Ishikawa-san likes to call him -- Haruki-senpai -- is leaning his head on his left arm, cheek squashed a little as he's shamelessly ogling at the loose button that's about to burst open on Ishikawa-san's blouse.

There's a few people in line ahead of Rindou who are clocking in as well. He supposes it is no harm to listen in on their conversation. They weren't even trying to be discreet about it, anyway.

"It's a nice tie, senpai. Where'd you get it from?"

Rindou catches the sudden change in Ito Haruki's demeanour. "Oh. Just . . . Went out shopping last weekend and got it for myself. Looks real nice, ain't it?"

Liar.

Rindou and you were out shopping two weeks ago when he spots the same man holding the hand of his new bride as they went searching for neckties together in the Aeon department store. "I think this'll look great on you, Haruki, no?" His wife brings the displayed tie up to his neck and smile.

"Looks bomb, honey."

When admiring himself in the mirror, he sees the B&M department's Haitani Rindou looking at him from behind. The two men catches eye in the reflection. Ito-kun was sweating buckets, afraid of getting his cover blown off, but you suddenly tugged on Rindou's sleeve, breaking his attention and asking for his opinion on the dress that you were looking to buy for work.

He turns around and leaves with you, not looking at Ito-kun nor his wife as he pretends like he doesn't know the married couple in the same store shopping for neckties, nor the scandalous, nasty things the husband has been doing at work.

And right now, while he's waiting in line to clock in for work, he's still pretending like he knows nothing. There's no point in saying he knows Ito's lying, anyway. It doesn't benefit him one bit.

But to Ito Haruki, Rindou running his mouth to people and letting everyone find out he's been married this whole time to a woman he does not love . . .

And letting his wife find out he has been openly bringing women and girls to hotel rooms and screwing them with his mates behind her back.

It's a risk he cannot take.

Ito-kun who is now standing tall and straight calls out to Rindou, seemingly trying to butter his colleague up to keep his mouth shut. If he starts getting close with me, there's no way he'll snitch. He'll understand.

"Yo, Haitani. Ya free tonight? We're going up to Shangri-La with a few of my friends in Chiyoda. We're having a few ladies over as well, if yer' interested." Ito-kun wiggles his eyebrows and Ishikawa-san stifles a laugh with the back of her hand.

Rindou does not spare both of them a glance.

"I'm married."

He says it like it's meant to be. He's a married man who's actually a decent human being with bills to pay, love to give and a wife to go home to. You just wouldn't understand. And he moves forward with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Tch, fuckin' snob. He's married? So am-" Haruki stops himself from running his mouth any further with a cough. "Who does he think he is? Just 'cause he's on the line for some promotion? I can do better than him, can't I, Riko-chan? I'm in HR, after all."

"Of course you can, Haruki-senpai. You're the best, after all . . . At all things."

With their lewd whispering and hushed laughters echoing in the space behind him, he slots his employee card into the machine and thinks of all the married men with a wife and children waiting for them to come home and watch Why Did You Come to Japan? on the TV together.

Haitani Rindou could never understand them.

And perhaps it's just him . . .

Guess it really is just him.

Him who thinks there's nothing more relieving than going straight home to his wife, his family, instead of wasting another second at work talking to idiots he don't share the same interests and can never communicate with.

They disgust him.

Working a 9-5 itself is already tiring, so why choose to cause himself more suffering by willingly spending time with literal failed fucking nutjobs who don't respect their family, or anyone, in that matter. He thinks its rather pointless to be with them when he can be at home with you.

At home.

With you.

At home is kicking off his expensive Jimmy Choo's that you bought for him with your last paycheck by the entrance and throwing his goddamned briefcase on the counter, followed by his car keys (a Mazda) and the resident's keycard.

At home is saying ただいま and seeing your figure still clad in your work clothes and an apron, standing in the kitchen stirring up a boiling pot of his favourite miso soup with curry cooking on the stove beside you. It's nothing misogynistic or anything -- Rindou can cook fairly well himself. There's just an unspoken rule between the two of you where whoever comes home first makes dinner. Both of you are working adults in damned Tokyo with a workplace culture of utter hell and bullshit, so it's not everyday you get to go out for dinner at some fancy restaurant downtown. Plus, there's something about cooking and eating dinner together with him that makes you so happy.

Rindou eyes the mat you're standing on and sighs a breath of relief.

"Baby," you call from the kitchen and he makes his way over to you sluggishly. "Taste." you feed him a spoon of the flavourful soup and he smacks his lips. Once, twice.

". . . Needs a little more salt." He reaches for the sodium and you take one sip yourself, "yeah, 's kinda dull."

You see him shake the salt container a bit before pushing you back behind him and grabbing the spoon in your hand to stir the soup. He makes sure you're still standing on the mat.

"Can you help me add more wakame? Been cravin' it a lot lately." He simply hums and tears open another packaging of the wakame on the countertop and throws it in.

And you simply let him take control, opting to step back and take this moment to watch -- or more like ogle, -- at your husband with the sleeves of his stripped Uniqlo dress-shirt rolled up to his elbows, the back of it messily tucked in his pants, and the gelled hairstyle you combed for him this morning nowhere in sight. You also smell the remains of tobacco on him -- he's been smoking again.

You furrow your brows at your latest observation, though you can't deny it's pretty endearing to see him like this.

Completely, utterly at home. And absolutely yours.

You're also sure now -- that watching him like this definitely makes you happy. Domestic and comfortable.

"Yeah, this tastes better." He turns to cup a palm under your chin and feeds you a spoon of miso. A drop falls onto his palm and he simply wipes it off on a washcloth. You hum, it does taste better. "Thanks, Chef Rin." He finishes off the soup you didn't manage to and throws the spoon in the sink to wash later.

He pinches your nose, pulls you by your neck to get you closer, and places a kiss on the crown of your head before pulling open the fridge. It's also one of his ways of saying he's home other than the usual greeting of ただいま.

You giddily lean against the kitchen island, untying the apron and laying it beside you. A pout suddenly forms at your lips and you blow raspberries while slowly unbuttoning the top of your dress, finally able to catch a break and get rid of the uncomfortable clothing.

Rindou looks back at you from your reaction and you tell without him asking.

"My clothes' gettin' tight. Hate it so much."

"We'll go shopping this weekend."

You nod, and he turns back to the fridge, though from the corner of your eye you see that he's been bowing down and staring at the shelves a little too long.

"Wha-"

"Where'd my KitKat go?"

Your fingers pause in their actions.

It's kinda funny how a simple question of your husband suspecting the whereabouts of his chocolate snack bar can make your mind travel to two nights back. It was on Monday at 2:41am when you'd snuck out of bed (out of his arms), and stole his last remaining KitKat in the fridge.

Rindou looks at you and you look back at him.

"Dunno."

Thief.

" . . . I wonder where's the Buenos I bought-"

Not the Buenos.

And suddenly you find yourself clinging for dear life onto your husband, with the best puppy eyes you can muster glossily looking up at him as if you're secretly trying to convey a message, to which he only scoffs at and starts peeling your arms off him.

"Baby, baby. Anythin' but the Buenos. They're mine."

"So was my KitKat."

"You can't blame me! It just looked so delicious I had to absolutely devour it-"

"-the damn Buenos are mine now."

"No."

.

.

.

You spend the next 20 minutes bickering with him about who holds final custody over the bag of mini Buenos sitting in the fridge. He reasons that because you ate his kitkat, and he was also the one who bought the Buenos for you, that he gets to keep it now. You argue that the fucking KitKat was hypnotising you into eating it, resulting in him losing his last KitKat bar because of the KitKat itself, and not because of you, that you get to keep your Buenos that he bought for you all to yourself and he gets nothing in compensation.

You both end up fucking in the bathtub afterwards.

"You're too noisy."

Gasp. Moan. Whimper.

"So are you."

Scratch. Squeeze. Bite.

Rindou is gentle when he holds you as you slowly regain your senses and shift to a more comfortable position. His dick is soft against your thigh and you help him wash off the sticky fluid.

You feel him growing hard again in your hand as he presses a kiss to your cheek and you curl the other arm around his neck.

He helps you align yourself with him and there's a soft blush on your cheeks when he bottoms out, "doc' said it's good, right?" "Yeah."

Yup, Doctor Fujita’s words is absolutely the reason why you’re spending the next hour making love with your husband in the bathtub.

(You just love him so much.)

It's later that night, after you've both finished your little session in the shower and dinner when Rindou brings up a topic neither of you have ever discussed about in the whole three years of your marriage.

He slaps your thigh, telling you to scoot over on the couch and immediately drops down next to you (or more like on top of you) when all you've made was just about a centimetre of space for him. A literal half of his body is on top of your legs, crushing down your thighs and you bite his bulky bicep in retaliation with a quiet asshole coming out of your mouth, trying your hardest to crawl your way out under his heavy, muscular body (that was an overstatement -- he just got back up and waited for you to move over so he could sit down properly). He hisses while rubbing the area you bit and simply stares at you in amusement.

Though annoying, he's careful with your body. He's made sure not to be rough with you and his orbs scans over your form to make sure you're not actually in pain.

You lift your legs up to rest in his lap and he moves his hands to massage your feet. You've been complaining about having feet pain lately, and it's probably one of the many side effects. He makes it a mental note to do research on it and how to help you feel better.

When he sees that you're sitting comfortably and back to focusing on the show playing on the TV screen again, he decides to fire the shot.

"I'm gonna quit my job." Rindou bluntly states.

All that shit in his mundane ass voice too: the one he uses when he's still an immature, younger and grouchier version of himself, fighting with opponents that don't impress him.

You hurriedly press pause on the remote to the show you're currently watching,

How to Get Away with Murder.

and you stare at him blankly.

You might start taking actual notes from Annalise Keating-san, you think.

"What?" You try retracting your legs away from him but his grip is tight as he continues massaging your ankle. You're not in the mood anymore, but it feels comfortable, so you leave them there.

"I'ma quit my job." Rindou closes his eyes and rests his head back on the soft beneath.

"Why?"

"One, 'm sick of it. Two, 's not what I like. Three, my boss' an asshole . . . So I'm quitting."

"And what will you do afterwards?"

"Gonna stay home."

"And?"

"Tsk. What? I've made 'nuff to support us for at least, what, like 20 years. Les' jus' stay home, smoke weed, I'll maybe start to DJ again. Or if you don't wanna, fine. We'll jus' book a one way to Switzerland or like, I don't know, fucking Canada or something and never come back. Heard from a few of the guys in my department 's cheap living there. And there's Singapore too, which is family friendly, I might look into it. What do you think?"

A beat.

And another.

The both of you break into a fit of laughter and you don't stop after . . . three minutes, to be exact.

It's unrealistic for an average salaryman in this economy to be earning an income enough to support his family for 20 years after without a job. Even 10 years is over-exaggerating. It's even more unrealistic that it's happening in Tokyo. In Rindou's case, an average Japanese salaryman who works in a position in his company which handles business and marketing. What made you laugh even harder is the fact Rindou had just brought up three major, rich and expensive countries in the world as cheap places to live in as a family.

The guy you married deserves a beating right now. Maybe another bite, too. This time at the shoulder. Who knows?

You crawl into his lap and squint your eyes, "you sound like you're asking to be single right now. Weed? With me right now? You're definitely asking for it."

"Was jus' jokin', baby. Never doin' that again. Don't divorce me."

"Thought your stupid ass could fool me? Thought you were still 18? You're not funny. You're quitting an office job in this economy, and you're- you're tellin' me, to stay home with you 'n," you pause to laugh, "'n to smoke weed 'n DJ with your ass."

He lands his palms on your hips and rubs up and down affectionately, "’Think I'm funny? At least I think I am," His thumbs subconsciously move to your stomach and traces soft circles on the skin.

"You are. Kinda." You comb through his soft hair with your fingers and push them back. He's smirking now. "Was not lyin' when I said I hate my fuckin' job. Guess I could turn to stand-up comedy if smoking weed and being an at-home DJ doesn't work out."

"I'll kill you."

Rindou brings out another fit of giggles in you and when it slowly dies down, you gaze into his purple orbs with a soft smile.

You cup both hands on his cheeks, "don't smoke so much, baby." You peck his lips twice before moving to smooch his cheeks. "'S bad for me."

"Yeah, sorry. Couldn't help it." Rindou blinks tiredly at your form and wraps you in his arms, his head moving down lower to rest on your chest, placing soft kisses at the tender, soft mounds. He suddenly remembers you've also been complaining about having some breast changes too. He's gotta bring that up to Fujita-san in the next visit, along with your feet issue.

“When’s your next appointment with Fujita again?”

“This Friday at 3. I’m taking the half day off to go, are you coming?”

Rindou is silent as he goes over his schedule for Friday in his head and- Fuck. He’s got an important meeting at 2 that doesn’t end till 4.

“I don’t think I can make it.” You hum softly, “it’s okay. I’ll call you.” Your fingers move to tangle themselves in his purple locks.

“I’ll try to come after I finish my meeting, so remember to tell her about your feet. That could be serious. Your breasts too.” “Okay.”

Rindou stares at your growing stomach, and relishes in how you've been getting more and more pretty each day with the love of you two combined and forming within you. (You've always been pretty. Just extra pretty when you're pregnant with his baby.)

You're aware of how he's been getting stressed out lately. Workload's been piling up, and with the current ongoing promotion offer that he's been nominated for, you know Rindou's just had to work extra harder, put in a little more effort. After all, a promotion in his company is no joke, whether it's a shit company or not. A huge incentive in his salary that can cover a lot more things like saving up for your baby's future education, some personal savings, emergency funds, and being able to invest in safer furnitures in the house to protect you -- his pregnant wife, and soon, the baby. He'll also get more authority in his company, which can lead to having more connections that will ultimately help him create more opportunities in life.

Your husband is a hard-worker. Not so much in his teenage years, perhaps, but he definitely is one now in the present, and you know he can never pass up an opportunity for a raise. After all, things are getting expensive, and raising a child with you in this city isn't anywhere near cheap.

He's past that life, he once swore to you. All the fighting and the drinking and the clubbing; behind alleyways and high up in the skyscrapers where he and Ran would be busy blowing his fathers' money off back in his city, the 2000s Roppongi with many people that he never contacts anymore. Not even Shion, but you know Rindou misses him a lot. They were best friends after all. You've watched them both grow up together from boys to men since you were kids.

"Rindou?" He hums. You press your thumb into a sore spot on his shoulder that he never told you about and you feel him relaxing under your touch.

"Les' go somewhere together, when you're done with your promotion. I'll jus' get some time off sayin' I'm too pregnant, or somethin'. They'll understand. Unlike you, the people at work actually likes me." You suggest, and he pinches your thigh. "You gettin' smug?" "Kinda."

Rindou laughs into your neck. "Yeah, 'kay. Where you wanna go?"

"'Was thinkin' of Hokkaido. I've never been there before," your pointer finger traces random twirly shapes onto his bare back. "Oh, maybe you could take me to Taiwan. One of the girls at work went with her hubby once 'n she said 's real nice there. Please, baby."

"But international flights are expensive right now. You sure you wanna go overseas?"

Crystals start to form at the corners of your eyes and your nose is getting red. "Really wanna go."

This pregnancy is gonna turn him into a saint. "'Kay, babe. Taiwan it is. We'll go to Taiwan, yeah? Don't cry." He kisses your lips. And he does it again and again until you stop sniffling. He wipes away your tears, too. And he pulls back to look at you. All pouty and gorgeous in his arms.

Haitani Rindou sits in the living room with his pregnant wife on his lap rambling his ear off about the cool things one of the girls at work saw in Taipei and he's left dumbfounded because . . .

The men at work? They're never going to experience this kind of life. The domesticity with you. The soft kisses shared before you fall asleep together in bed. The kisses placed on your belly when the baby's kicking a little too hard and you can't sleep. And soon he's going to feel a new type of warmth blossoming in his chest where he comes home after getting asked to go to fucking Shangri-La again, and sees you feeding your baby milk on the couch, waiting for him. Excited to share a new story about what happened with you and your baby earlier.

"She just said her first word, Rin." "What?" "C'mon, say it for your papa, now." The baby wiggles around in her mother's arms and looks at her father, who is now hovering over her and has a warm hand placed on the back of her head. She blinks, and smiles. "Ba-ba."

And suddenly he feels like the happiest man alive.

"Thank you."

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading ≽ܫ≼

[mira-miraaa]

✧ content: 18+, sfw, relationship break, jealousy, miguel creeps on readers online profile, some angst, unedited

Ex!Miguel never thought of opening an online profile. Much less, willingly share photos of his life with others. The idea seemed too overwhelming for someone who loved to keep his life inside a steel bubble.

However, desperate times lead to desperate measures. Now, ex!Miguel, wasn’t creating a profile to share pictures. In fact, it was a guarantee he would never post anything or share his profile with others. He would remain anonymous under an cryptic username with too many numbers attached to it.

After much deliberation, ex!Miguel decided there was no harm in checking up on you. He wouldn’t direct message you or like your posts, he’d just take a quick glance at your profile. It was innocent. Harmless. He just wanted to see how you were doing.

Ex!Miguel felt his heart skip a beat when he saw your name and profile picture. My pretty girl, he thought.

Ex!Miguel carefully scrolled through your feed. You didn’t post often, but in the most recent picture you looked healthy and happy. You seemed to be out with friends, taking pictures of one another with your vibrant happy hour drink in hand. Seeing you made him smile. He wanted nothing more than to see you in person, to hug and kiss you the way he should’ve done when he had you by his side.

Ex!Miguel stopped scrolling upon laying eyes on one picture. His eyebrows furrowed at how comfortably close the guy next to you was. He didn’t enjoy seeing how the strangers hand hooked around your waist. Pulling you closer to him as your hand laid on his chest. It made Miguel sick. It was the only picture of the guy, but that was enough to sour his night.

Ex!Miguel closed the app, immediately typing your name on his contact list. With just one tap, he could’ve called you, but his courage didn’t get him that far. It was your wish to have time to think about where the relationship stood. After months of trying long distance, he couldn’t deny it put a strain on it. With you working and him traveling constantly, time zones really had the power to limit the communication. It had taken a toll on the both of you, but he didn’t want to give up. Not then, now or ever. You were everything to him, and if it meant he had to find a job that settled him down he was ready to do so. He just wished he’d done so sooner.

Instead of dialing your number, ex!Miguel scrolled through his photo album. He never deleted any of the pictures he shared with you. You looked beautiful in every single one. His all time favorite was the one when he took you out on a surprise picnic date. That day went picturesque. He could still feel the warm summer breeze and hear the distant chirping of birds. Miguel felt an overwhelming joy seeing you smiling as a bold squirrel took some of the berries. You looked happy; he certainly was.

Ex!Miguel sighed as he settled onto the bed. It felt cold and empty. He turned off his phone, it wouldn’t be a great idea to call you. It was late anyway. Maybe tomorrow he would gather the courage to press that call button.

[queeries-book]

Did Mark kill Gemma's innies?

[Connecting two thoughts I had recently.]

warning: long

I was struck by the Cold Harbor room Gemma, following Mark to possibly never wake up again

oMark won her trust, took her hand, and led her willingly to her (possible) death. Mauer says over the intercom that this man is "here to hurt you." I thought, yes, Mark is, in a way, here to kill you. She hesitates on the threshold before stepping out. Does she know she might never wake up again? Is a moment of affection from Mark worth it to her? Basically, all innies and outies have a right to life (at least I think the show is positing that). But the practical problem is unsolvable, as far as we know, and someone's right to life WILL be violated. Innie Irv's already has been.

And it occurred to that this is why

Mark Scout fairly consistently thinks of innies and outies as the same person unless circumstances force him not to. S1 E1 Ricken's friend: I mean, I wish I could do it. I'd just always be thinking about, you know, the other one. Mark: Well, there is no 'other one.' It's me. I do the job … S1 E1 Mark to Petey: So we're friends? S2E2 Mark to Devon and Ricken: Guys, obviously I was referencing the baby [when saying 'She's alive']. S2E10 oMark to iMark: Oh hey, Ms Cobel said you like someone down there? Helena Eagan, right? I think her innie-name is Heleny? I think this is interesting, and maybe a part of why he barely considers iMark's needs at all. Often, we feel obligated to other people in a way we don't feel toward ourselves. Mark may be comfortable harming 'himself' through alcohol and neglect in a way he wouldn't another person. Devon also frequently refers to iMark and oMark as if they are the same person. In my opinion, the show intentionally doesn't give us a clear answer of whether they are or aren't. In some circumstances, it makes sense to treat them as two people with their own rights, interests, and obligations to each other. In other circumstances, it makes more sense to think of them as sides of the same person. The show carefully tips back and forth, resisting settling on one 'true' relationship between innies and outies. (So good.)

So when Mark says to Gemma's innie "We had a life together and if you come with me right now, we can get it back," he means it. This is his Gemma getting her memories back, not an innie dying.

But whether we or the innies would agree is up for debate.