#even though that's all i do I'm exhausted all the time

[harmonysanreads]

I NEED MORE PUPPY PHAINON, imagine that his beloved was offended by him, and he literally walks on his knees after her, asking for forgiveness, lol

Can be read as a continuation to this piece.

Phainon has become more partial to hating silence in his recent years.

It wasn't always this way though and in certain conditions, he finds himself craving a particular flavor of silence. But in the other, majority of cases, that deafening vacancy of noise reminds him of memories he’d rather forget. To placate that discomfort, he embellishes the void with sound no matter how small, or with his own voice.

Still, the ache is manageable, not voracious enough to make him dramatically restless. Where this faint modicum of control fails as well is when you, in all your cruelty, cast that curse of silence upon him as a direct consequence of anger.

In the name of the Titans, he prays you’d scream at him, hit him couple of times, destroy his house and belongings — anything, anything besides this nonverbal torture he can withstand. But he's not one to dwell in unfair complaints. Especially when your downturn gaze, pressed lips and crossed arms affirm so loudly that he's messed up.

By now, he’s exhausted almost every tactic in his arsenal to get you to acknowledge him again — apologizing, pinching his ears, making funny faces, wrestling a titankin and two whole repeats of that cycle. But you didn't let this opportunity go to waste in showcasing how good you’ve gotten in keeping a blank face in truly tumultuous situations, much to his chagrin in this instance.

It's only when you, most likely fed up with his antics, started to walk away that he scrambled to try again.

“My sun, my moon, my star, my light — please, please please please, look at me? Just once?” you're halted by a tug at your sleeve. A twinge of something softens your resolve as you realize how Phainon remembered, wrestling with his desires to not touch you until he's earned it again.

You can feel the weight of his eyes on your back, you pray that he didn't notice you waver. You steel yourself and stubbornly keep the act steadfast, conflicted before dropping the charade in favor of melting into his arms and forgetting altogether. But you can't, you’ve already promised to wring the confession on the errors of his ways this time.

You glare at the splinters in the earth, “Haven’t I told you once? If you keep calling me things that will never be yours, I might just become the same.” it takes everything to keep your voice even.

You don't need to look to picture Phainon's sure dumbfounded blinks, the churning and turning of metaphorical cogs as they shift in his head, neurons firing and synapses piecing together the implication of your cold comment.

You make the mistake of expecting only a gust of wind and are hit instead with a fully powered storm, in the form of a dull thud that you recognize as the hero’s knees hitting the ground when you're forced to spin as his arms find refuge in clinging to your thighs.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — I am so SO sorry. I promise I won't do it again, I swear on the Flame-Chase — no, I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I will never do it again! If I do, may I face a fate worse than death itself. Just… just please, forgive me.”

There's an ache in your heart, sudden, quick and flighty. Kephale's light cradles you both, the corners of Phainon's eyes shine with something. By instinct, you try to escape the painful grasp of the hero, try to. Stumbling a few steps in what you intended would create space, resulting in Phainon getting dragged alongside your movements — sans a care in the Deliverer’s countenance.

“Phainon, I'm going to fall if you don't —” you try to bargain and fall, you do.

One ghost of a touch against the pavement is all you recall, so faint it can be disregarded completely. Your gasp gets muffled in something soft and firm, a mix of the perfume you recognize as yours and something else too convoluted to remember in the heat of the moment canopies your senses.

When the brief storm settles, a sigh slips past your lips. You don't even need to look up to know where you ended up landing.

But an insistent grasp angles your gaze against your wishes upward, you don't offer further resistance as pity grips your heart, “My dearest, beloved, my love, honeycakes with whipped cream on top, my life… won't you show me mercy?”

You calmly maintain Phainon's gaze, searching his face for any trace of dishonesty. The glossy blues of atonement prompts you to be petty one last time, “You don't care much about your life though.”

At this, Phainon completely deflates, collapsing in your arms. “Oh come on! Will you just say yes?”

At the faintest chime of the giggle you fail to quieten, he burrows further in the crook of your neck, arms coiling with a force you're no stranger to by now. Phainon shifts to adjust your position on his lap and changes tactics at the last moment, seizing your momentary lack of guard to launch an aimless attack of kisses.

You can only thank the barren side of Okhema city you two had chosen now, you do not want to think of what you’d have to do to get him off of you had this been a crowded place. The agony that came with the thirty something minutes of deprivation Phainon tolerated is much prominent, a burn lingers around your cheeks and neck. He refrains from completely leaning towards your lips though, still mindful that you haven't yet affirmed in words.

“Okay okay! You're forgiven, good heavens.” you heave, Phainon's exclamation of joy gets lodged in his throat prematurely, “But, you'll be sleeping on the couch today.”

You regret uttering that almost instantly, it's as if every particle of the hero’s life force has been drained mercilessly, appearing as though he might really cry this time.

You avert your eyes, forcing a sigh, “Ah, well, nevermind. You can sleep next to me — but I'll still be keeping a pillow barrier in the middle! Don't forget I'm still… still mad at you.”

As if on cue, Phainon springs back to life once more. Perhaps it's just your enervated eyes, but apparitions of what you can only assume to be puppy ears flick to and fro on top of his head. Caught in a trance, you reach out to ruffle those snow-white tresses and your lover melts.

You know your imposed punishment won’t last for more than ten minutes into the slumber and you’ll be coaxed with these antics again and again. But for this moment, you suppose it won't hurt to allow yourself to indulge and believe, that everything is okay.

[pricesprincess]

Oooh may I ask for a John and Wife!Reader roleplay?? I feel like it's something he would try out to spice up their sex life with the Missus! Like he'd be kind of reluctant about it until he sees how into it Reader is heheh 👀

-✨️(if this emoji isn't taken)

smut mdni | explicit smut | alcohol but no one is drunk or even tipsy | roleplay

yes, yes, yes you may! I kinda went off on this with 2.5k wc eta I kinda went off script, was typing and blacked out to this lmaooo

"We went to a hotel and pretended not to know each other. It was a lot of fun." The actress on the flickering screen in front of John spoke as she ran her manicured fingers through her husband's hair. 

John huffed slightly, the cigar being squished between his fingers as he listened to the rest of the interview of a few dark romance authors you read from. 

They were doing Q&A's for their fans, and this one was all about roleplay, something new for you both to try out. Lately, it's been nothing but missionary, and the sex has gone stale as much as he hated to admit it, his job and duties kept him exhausted. 

It wasn't something John was proud to admit, knowing you weren't happy; it left a bitter taste in his throat as he clicked through a few more videos, gathering ideas to help the flickering dying flame. 

Most of your orgasms were self-given at this point, late at night when John was gone during a mission, which seems to be happening more and more, leaving you alone to take care of the house and yourself. 

A few days later, with his plan set in stone, the dinner table had been set with candles and takeout from your favorite place because the burnt food was now outside in the garbage with a single rose surrounded by rose petals in the middle. He wondered if this was too much, trying too hard, but he wanted you to feel loved. 

Your key slid into the lock before you pushed open the door, thankful that John was home and, this time, hopefully for a long time, his presence made the house a home, and the warmth from the furnace made you shiver as you slipped your coat and shoes off. "I'm home!" 

John stepped into the entryway, his face flushed, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He opened his arms, letting you fall into them with a giggle while you peppered his face with soft, sweet honey kisses. 

"I missed you so much!" You squealed and wrapped your arms around him, seeing the candles flickering in the small kitchen casting shadows across the wall that piqued your interest. "John?" 

He smiled, staying silent as he gently guided you to the dining room table you two grabbed at an estate sale a year ago before buying your shared home. Now, it's held so many memories, grooved into the wood you'd forever cherish. "Did you do something wrong?" 

Even though your voice was teasing, John's stomach churned with guilt as he pulled your chair back. He held your hand and gently kissed you, helping you sink down as you looked up at him. 

"Not' taking care of my wife," John replied, the sentence enough to make you pause, your hand hovering about the wine glass. 

You frowned, tilting your head up to look at your husband, taking his hand in yours, brushing your thumb across his coarse knuckles. "Why do you say that baby? You take real good care of me." You hummed. 

His lips twitched as he took the chair from across you, plating the food. "Haven't made you giggle or laugh in a while, haven't been home to be here like a man should, and I haven't made you cum." 

Oh. 

Your hand covered his as you looked at him, the candle flickering over your face as you cocked your head. "You've been super busy. I knew what I signed up for when I married you, honey. I don't hold it against you. Do I wish you were home more often? Yes, you're my man." 

"You're my man." Those words echoed through his head, and at that moment, it was decided that he was going to be where he belonged, but tonight wasn't about that. It was about making you feel good. 

Dinner happened with a soft hum of conversation as you ended up nestled on John's lap, your thighs draped over his as you fed each other in between slow kisses that made your toes curl. 

John's hands roamed your body, his rough palms bunching the sundress you wore to your hips. "Tomorrow night, we got plans. Come home after work." He hummed in your ear, kissing it. Once dinner was over, you and John fell into bed, naked and warm, curled together. 

Your husband's words played through your head all morning as you woke up to do your morning routine, your legs still wobbly from the way John had you bouncing on his dick like his personal toy. 

It only made you flustered, and the workday felt like forever, especially with John's teasing texts about what he had planned for the evening ahead. when the clock hit five, you zoomed from the building to your car as fast as possible. 

Excitement bubbled in your veins as you drove home. The streets were dim, and the moon brightened over the small town you and John had settled in. The porch light was dim as you pulled the car into the driveway. 

John was in the bedroom when you entered after slipping your shoes off; the grin on your face was infectious as John matched it, his hand sweeping to the bed where a dress lay, paired with your shoes. 

Your eyes drifted to the mattress to see it was the same dress you wore on your first date, a beautiful color that made your skin glow, but John did it. "What's this all for?" You asked curiously with a grin. 

"Our date, told you luv. Tonight, it's goin' to be different. We're not husband and wife, but a man in need of a pretty woman's cunt." 

His vulgar words made your jaw drop as your cunt ached, throbbing to be filled like last night, the memories making you shift in your spot as you looked at him, dressed in jeans and a button-up, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, making him look like a snack. 

Without realizing it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in a heated his; his hand rested on the globes of your ass, giving it a squeeze. "So, we're strangers?" You asked, leaning back with a sly smile as you giggled softly. 

John held you as you swayed back and forth, your fingers locked behind his neck. "Yes, ma'am. You'll be sittin' at the bar alone, where I come and save you from bein' stood up. Your safeword is the same." 

The way he looked at you made your stomach flutter. Even years after being married, John had this way of making you feel the same as he did on the first date, giddy like a schoolgirl with her first crush. 

"I'll need the sadness slurped from my pussy." You teased, making him shake his head and chuckle, the sound like music to your ears. 

Once ready, John guided you to his car, opened the door, and kissed your head. Inside, you held his hand, buzzing with excitement. 

“We’re pretendin’ we don’t know each other, somethin’ new and fun,” John murmured, his voice warm like whiskey simmering in your veins, making you flush as you giggled, squeezing his hand agreeing. 

Then it hit you: John skimmed your books, which made a lot of sense when you noticed that a few were out of place months before he was deployed. “You read my smut books, didn’t you?” You teased. 

Your husband looked at you with a wink that melted you like butter in a hot pan, screaming and burning as your eagerness filled the vehicle's cabin, putting John on edge. This was something new and way out of his realm, but seeing you happy about it eased the growing tension in his chest. 

The tire crunched over gravel as he pulled into the parking lot, breaking the silence. 

John was out of the car, opening your door before you could grab the handle, his hand warm and calloused in yours as he helped you out. His other palm rested on your hip. "I'll be inside in five, luv, be a good girl and wait for me." He hummed, leaning in to kiss you, soft, tender. 

You pulled away, resting your hand on his chest and looking at him with all the affection in the world swirling in your eyes. You pecked his lips and glided your hand over his pecs before walking inside. 

Thankfully, the bar wasn't too busy, seeing that it was a Thursday night, giving you most of the bar to yourself and John, who came in through the back door, his eyes scanning the small, cozy space. 

People left you be while you ordered a glass of wine, something sweet that exploded on your taste buds, trying not to watch John from the corner of your eyes even though you could feel him staring. 

It burned a hole in you, melting straight to between your legs, your clit throbbing already. You kept your posture sad and hunched, remembering that the reason you were here was being stood up. 

Two minutes later, John was perched on the barstool next to you. His drink was already ordered when his eyes shifted to you, filled with mock concern. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here all alone?”

You turned and looked at him. The instant your eyes locked, it was over. You gigglingly covered your mouth and shook your head. “Sorry. I don’t know if I can do this; you’re so…you.” You hummed.

John shook his head, his lips twitching with a smile. “Darlin’, what the hell am I supposed to do with you? And what’s that supposed to mean?” He teased, wrapping his arm around your waist when you nuzzled your forehead against his pecking his lips.

“You’re my soulmate, my man; I can’t pretend not to know you when I was riding you like a cowgirl just last night, and we’ve shared so much. It was a hot idea, but I want you as my husband.” You sighed, running your fingers through his brown roots, tugging gently. 

A deep groan rumbled through his chest, feeling your tongue glide into his mouth, tasting and licking the bourbon he ordered and sipped on.

The deep longing carved out a place in his soul, healing the cracks in him. John’s hand bunched the fabric of your dress around your waist, pulling you off the barstool and against him, leaving no room to mistake the feel the desire he felt, the hard poke against your thigh. 

Hand in hand again, John led you from the bar and outside into the cool summer breeze, your giggles breaking up the sounds of a few cars passing by while you opened the back door and guided him to the backseat slapping his ass and hearing him grunt.

John settled on the cool leather, spreading his legs as he helped you join him. He sat on his lap and leaned back while you shut the door, sealing both of you off from everyone. “You’re so handsome, so sexy.”

Your words were laced with affection and desire as your hands roamed his body, running over the soft pudge of his stomach softened by homecooked meals made with love and your spoiling. 

While you touched him, he returned the same favor, his fingers grazing under your dress, teasing, making your skin breakout in goosebumps while you humped him, grinding your cunt against him. 

The car was filled with heavy breathing and teeth-clacking kissing as your hips worked harder until John slid his hand into your panties, feeling how wet and slick you were, his fingers gliding against the lips of your cunt, making him groan again. “Fuck, sweetheart. Drippin’ for me.”

While leaning back, John sunk two thick fingers inside you with a squelch that was music to his ears; pumping them in and out at a slow pace had you feral, the teasing of his thumb against your clit ghosting.

He knew what he was doing, barely giving in until he was pressing against your g-spot, pressing his thumb down with circles, making you clench and hump his fingers this time, your hands resting on his shoulders, moaning, getting lost in the haze of it all but the flash of car lights pulling into the parking lot had you gripping his wrist.

“John!” You giggled and whined when he pulled his fingers out, his dark eyes watching as you sucked yourself off him before moving out of the backseat fixing your dress, and getting into the passenger. 

It didn’t take long for your husband to join you, his cock still hard and straining painfully against his zipper. He pressed on the gas, pulled out of the lot to drive home as quickly as possible, and John helped you out of the car, holding your hand while leading you inside. 

You both barely made it past the door before John had you pressed against the wall, his lips desperate and hungry while his hands tore at your dress until it pooled around your heeled feet. Your touch was hot, scorching against his skin as you undressed him not breaking the kiss. 

All tongue and hands, you and John ended up on the floor naked and warm, tangled together. His cock rutted against your hip as he helped you to a position of sixty-nine with you on top, still wearing your shoes. 

John didn’t give you any time to do anything before his hands were on your hips, bringing you down on his face, fully knowing he’d die a happy man if this were his last meal. Slowly, he licked a hot swipe up your cunt from your quivering hole to your swollen clit, flicking and sucking.

Your jaw went slack at the feeling as your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock before your mouth was wrapped around his leaky head, going further until you gagged, feeling the curly and hoarse hair tickling before you found a slow and teasing pace. 

It was a mess of spit and slick as you bobbed your head feeling his tongue swirl over your clit before kissing your pussy that drenched his face and beard leaving it glistening like his sack from your salvia. 

Moaning around him, the sound vibrating around his cock, making him grip your ass, forcing you to ride his face harder until your orgasm burst open, making you squeal and gag on his cock, jerking your hips. 

But that didn’t stop John; his tongue was relentless in making out with your cunt making it sticky and prolonging the cloud of pleasure. It spurred you to make him a mess, too; your tongue lavished each inch of him, spitting and jerking him off, moaning and grinding down. 

There was nothing but panting and sucking that filled the small entryway of your shared home when John felt himself tighten before spilling down your throat, making sure you swallowed all of it. 

After a long moment of sitting there with his cock still in your mouth, feeling it soften, you finally rolled off him stretching your legs with a whine. “I think we need to start stretching before sex.” You giggled. 

John chuckled, his face a mess of your cum glazing his lips. He rolled to his side, caressing your curves, lingering over your breasts, his face ruddy with the afterglow. “We’re not done yet, but you’re right, darlin’. We must stretch and move to the bed; my back is achin’.”

[jellyfishoreo1206]

This is very self-indulgent after I just watched Pezzy playing Poppy Playtime Chapter 4. MY BOY DOEY DESERVED BETTER 😭😭😭

Platonic fluff! Sorry if this seems so short y'all

WARNING ⚠️: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE NEW POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER

----

Every day that passed within the walls of this hell hole facility was filled with fear–everybody was on edge, with the smallest of sounds from the outer area of the Safe Haven sending terror throughout the toys, even you. You've seen what was out there, seen what awaits behind those gates–waiting...waiting for the chance that everybody's guard is down.

With a pained sigh, you push yourself up from the bedroll despite the ache that shoots throughout your chest–no use in sleeping when the growing hunger and dark memories are plaguing your thoughts. But what to do?

The Medic said you should rest, but no matter how many times you adjusted yourself or stayed still, sleep was nowhere to be found...and when you did sleep, the nightmares plagued every inch of your unconscious mind–fallen friends you could've saved, the Prototype finally getting into the Safe Haven, succumbing to the starvation...

Or worse, becoming so hungry you eat your friends.

...

No. That won't happen. Never will happen.

With a quick look outside the tent flaps, one thing you noticed was the dimmed lights–"nighttime" within the Safe Haven. Normally the other toys would be too anxious to go to sleep, but it seems like it was one of those rare days where everyone turned in for the night.

Though, one light seemed to have stayed on...the generator room's light, a stark contrast compared to the dim setting of the Safe Haven.

The only people who hanged out in the generator room were two people–Poppy, and Doey. With another quick scan of the Safe Haven, you spot Poppy and Kissy in their tent on the other side of the room, huddled close to one another. So that left one person left.

It's very usual for Doey to be in the generator room often anyway–anxiously checking if the generator had succumbed to anything bad. But never at this hour does he check.

...At least you hoped he didn't.

The amount of pressure Doey had been under for the last few days has left you more worried for him than ever. You tried to help shoulder the weight of all the responsibilities that weighed him down but he was stubborn–believing it being a burden that no one else should carry but him, the person who everyone looks up to.

Though the more responsibilities that pile up on his plate, the more he likely he'll drown in the stress and worrying of everyone's safety.

That's Doey for you, always worrying and caring for others before himself.

Well, might as well find out what he's up to.

Climbing out your tent, taking a quick moment to breath when the pain in your chest flared, you quietly made your way over to the lit room. At the doorway, you could hear the distinct mumbling of Doey and the sound of the generator door hinge softly closing shut. It seems he was checking on the generator, but why at this time?

"Doey?" He jumps at the sound of your voice, turning around in surprise to see who else was up at this time. He looks absolutely exhausted –you didn't even know the doughman could even have eyebags. Just how long has it been since he's last slept?

"Y/n! What are you doing up? You should be resting!" He frets in concern, fully turning away from the generator and towards you to check you over for any injuries. Always worrying for others, typical Doey. "Especially since that recent scouting mission of yours." He adds, doughy hands on his hips as he gave you a look of disappointment and anxiousness.

The mention of what you gained while scouting gave a dull pulse along the skin of your chest, but you ignored it in favor of what was happening now. You quirked an eyebrow at him, "You're worried about me? Doey, you of all people should be asleep right now." Hell, his eyes are barely open! They look like they are several seconds away from closing shut.

"I'm fine."

"We both know that's full of—"

"Language!"

"Sorry, sorry–it's just," You struggle to find the certain words to describe what you are trying to say, the both of you had this argument conversation several times before! And everytime he brushes it off as if his well-being doesn't matter, "-I just hate seeing you like this. I-I know you wanna make sure the others are okay and I understand that! But you're also ignoring your own needs!"

You gesture to his face, "Hell! When was the last time you got proper rest?" He opens his mouth to respond, but flatters, mulling over the question in his mind.

"I'm...not sure." He hesitantly responds, looking back towards the generator with slight confusion. How much time did he spend checking the generator?

"Then let's get you to bed, big guy." Placing a hand on his arm, you attempted to gently coax him out the room and into the direction of his unused tent, "Can't think if you're too tired to come up with a single coherent thought." You jest lightly.

Doey's face is unreadable–was he going to interject again? But he merely gave a heavy sigh, exhaustion clearly seen in his expression and body. "Maybe you're right.." Yes! Finally you got through to him and that thick doughy head of his!

"Let's get you to bed, big guy."

He merely mumbles, eyes slipping shut before rapidly blinking open, following your led as his foot steps fill the haven with the soft sound of thuds.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"..do you mind staying with me?"

"Don't mind at all, Doey."

"Thank you."

"Always happy to help, Doey."

[sanguineterrain]

the worst day of february | jason todd

Summary: Cold and defeated on the worst day of February, you stand on your apartment rooftop, contemplating giving up. Then the Red Hood drops in and makes you tea in your apartment.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings/tags: suicidal ideation, disordered eating and sleeping habits, depression, reader doesn't attempt suicide but thinks about it a lot. a sort of hopeful ending. jason being a really really good guy.

please take care of yourselves - don't read this if you think it'll upset you.

divider

One day in February—it doesn't matter which day; it might be someone else's day too, but it doesn't matter, and it doesn't matter which February either—you realize that you've forgotten how to be happy.

When you think of February, you don't think of much, except that on those big visual calendars of the months that they put up in kindergarten, February is always pink. Pink like an organ. Pink like guts. Pink like love.

But your February—all the Februarys you've had—is blue-gray. It's like someone's cast a moody shadow over your February. It's the director's choice, clearly, to light your February like you're at a wake. It's not your choice. It's never your choice.

Here is the problem. The problem is that you're too scared, but you want the attention of someone who's killed themselves. Shame digs its claws into you at such a perverse thought. But it's true. Even if it's one person who takes a moment to inspect your guts on the sidewalk, or your body in the bathtub, you want them to hold your rigor mortis and say, what a loss. Is there anything I can do?

And then you'd pop up from the bathwater and say, why yes, there is something you can do, would you mind changing the lighting? It's bringing me down.

You're on the roof of your apartment. You don't know why, because as stated, you're too scared. And it's nighttime, and you're a speck of dust, which is comforting at times and haunting at others. Dust on a roof. Easy to be carried off by the wind.

You don't want to die, exactly. You want to rest. No amount of sleep destroys the exhaustion. Instead of marrow in your bones, it's the desire for rest that only comes through death. Unfortunately, despite not wanting to die, death seems to be your only path.

His footsteps are quiet. You don't realize that you're not alone until he's there next to you, hunched over the ledge on his elbows.

You flinch.

"Sorry," Red Hood says, and there's no smoky breath that accompanies his words like they accompany everyone else's. You wonder where the air from his helmet's filter goes.

"It's fine," you say, even though your nervous system is still reeling. It's not fine, because you hate being scared, but it also doesn't matter, so it's fine in that way.

You have a great view from the city up here but appreciating the city is difficult when it's all blue-gray shadows. Your stomach hurts. You've never felt more unbearably yourself in your life.

"Everything okay?" Hood asks.

"Yeah," you say, not bothering to lie. Not bothering to tell the truth either.

"'S cold up here."

"I'm not gonna jump."

"Didn't say you would," Hood says mildly.

"That's why you're here. You think I'll jump, and it's your duty to make sure I don't. But I won't. Too scared. I just wallow instead."

"Wallowing ain't so good either."

"Yeah," you say, throat hurting like you've swallowed a splinter. "Probably not."

An audience would see your funeral-lit life and make the obvious prediction that something bad is about to happen. The director is telling a story, and he's giving hints. You, as the protagonist, are expecting bad things too. Perhaps this is where it starts.

"You live here?" Hood asks.

There should be a curl of fear that strikes you, because Red Hood—terrifying, gangster, born and bred Gotham Red Hood—shouldn't be landing on your rooftop and checking to make sure you aren't gonna spill your guts.

He doesn't seem so terrifying, though. He doesn't seem like a gangster either. And what's wrong with being born and bred Gotham? You like it. Hood is familiar even though you've never met him before. Something about his voice, his stance, the fact that he gives a shit enough to talk to you for a minute. It feels like maybe the universe doesn't want you to kill yourself right then.

"I live here," you say, taking too long to answer.

"Alright," he says. "Lead the way."

You look at him. He's turned around now, facing the roof access door.

"What?"

Hood points a thumb at the door. "Let's go to your place."

"Why?" Why, you ask, instead of the fuck?

"'M thirsty," he says.

Well, if he's here to assassinate you, it won't matter if you bring him to your apartment or not. And now that he's mentioned it, it is cold. Probably because you're up here without a coat. A coat hadn't seemed important when you were in your apartment choking on stale black air.

Maybe you should warn Hood about the stale black air. But you feel like he won't let you return to your apartment if you do.

Hood goes first, leading you back inside. He goes down the stairs slowly, letting you drag and set the pace. It's so stupid. You feel like crying. Why is he going down the stairs with you at your stupid slow pace?

You stop two floors down. This would be another hint to your audience, the fact that you're so close to the roof that you can just climb a couple flights.

You open your apartment. You'd left it unlocked.

"Do you often leave your place unlocked?" Hood asks.

You shrug. "I don't go out enough to get the chance."

Hood doesn't say anything else but he does do the deadbolt when you're inside, as well as the chain lock.

"Shoes off?" he asks. You nod. You both remove your shoes.

Then you stand like you're not in your own apartment. Hood herds you like a sheepdog to your tiny kitchen table. Then he starts opening cabinet doors.

"Got a kettle?" he asks.

You stare at the back of his helmet, your eyebrows knitting. "A kettle? How many Gothamites do you know own kettles?"

"It's the only dignified way to make tea," he says.

Maybe Hood isn't so born and bred Gotham. "Were you raised by British monarchs?"

"Kinda," he says. He evidently gives up on finding a kettle and instead puts water to boil on the stove, even though you have a microwave. Weirdo.

Suddenly, you realize you haven't thought about death for a whole five minutes.

"Got any decaffeinated tea?" Hood asks.

You have a barely opened box of Sleepytime. You point at the top shelf. He hums and retrieves the box, taking out three tea bags to drop into the boiling water.

Hood takes out two mugs. He's surprisingly apt at navigating an unfamiliar kitchen.

He gives you your mug and sits across from you at the table. He's huge at your table, but he gracefully crosses his legs despite the limited space.

"Didja eat?" he asks.

"I had some cereal a few hours ago," you say.

Hood nods. "Fine. But you gotta eat real dinner too."

You don't think it really matters what a corpse-in-training eats, but you nod anyway. Hood's tone invites no deliberation.

"What's your favorite food? Drink your tea."

You scrunch your face and take a hesitant sip. The hot liquid burns your tongue for a moment before you swallow.

"I like pizza," you say. "And burgers. And ramen. But lately, everything tastes like nothing."

You'd tried to find joy in food a few days ago because you couldn't find it anywhere else. You'd torn open a pack of Swedish Fish and shoved the box into your drawer after eating two pieces because it'd tasted like melted plastic to you.

Then you'd bought an expensive brand of chocolate bar, desperate to be happy, desperate to be flooded with dopamine. Nothing. You'd tossed the chocolate, feeling distinctly broken. What monster doesn't find joy in their favorite candy?

You only eat to cure the hunger pains, because you can't take anymore pain. You eat to survive. Not because you want to, but because dying by starvation takes too long.

"That's okay," Hood says. "'S good you're eating."

You scoff. "I don't need consolation."

Hood doesn't give you the satisfaction of an argument. He's going to make you feel alive in a gentler way, even though you don't deserve it. "Drink your tea."

You drink. His mug remains untouched. You feel like you're in a play. This isn't even real tea, it's just colored water. And Hood's stage direction is to not drink his colored water. It's just for show.

You look out the window, expecting to make eye contact with an audience member. You're waiting for the second act. You're waiting for the end.

"I don't want anymore," you say when your mug is half-finished. Trying to finish the tea feels like prolonging the inevitable. The audience wants to go home. They have lives to get back to. They can't live with you and the stage forever.

To your surprise, Hood nods. "Okay. C'mon."

He stands up from the table. You follow him to your bedroom. He pulls open your shirt drawer. You notice the two guns strapped to his hips, two strapped to his ankles, and one bigger gun on his back. You wait for the director's guidance on how you should feel. None comes, so you remain apathetic.

"Choose a shirt," he says. You pick a plain pink t-shirt. Hood closes that drawer and opens your pants drawer. "Choose."

You take a pair of worn pajama shorts because you overheat when you sleep, especially when you're depressed. You're sweaty from your lie-in till two that you took earlier today. Your face is greasy. You're sure your hair isn't nice either.

"Go change," Hood says, walking out of your room. "I'll be outside." He closes the door behind him.

You change, if only out of shock of the Red Hood giving you orders.

"Done," you say, probably too quiet for anyone to hear. But Hood comes in. He looks you over.

"Good." He points to the bed. "Lie down."

You do. Your sheets are gross. They haven't been changed in at least a few months. You're suddenly swollen with shame that anyone, even the Red Hood, is seeing you in this state. Your eyes fill with stinging tears. You should've died before it came to this.

"I'm sorry you had to stop to do this," you say.

Hood's silent for a moment. Then he walks to your side of the bed. He crouches down. His helmet eyes glow in the dark. You've never been less afraid.

This is a plot twist you did not foresee. A new character. A guardian angel. Red in your blue-gray.

"'S not always gonna feel like this," he says.

More tears, more splinters in your throat. "It's felt like this for so long."

"Yeah," he says gently. Gentler than you fucking deserve. "I know."

The writer has overridden the director's wants, and has introduced some new foreshadowing. Should your audience believe it? Or is this a fake-out?

You lie back and want to die a little less. One young woman in your audience chokes up. She believes that you believe you’ll live. She will stay here for as long as it takes for you to make it through act two.

"If you have to go, it's okay," you say.

Hood settles against the wall near your bed. He pulls one knee against his chest. It's almost like you have a friend.

"Nah," he says. "I don't have anywhere to be. I finished my patrol. I'll stay till you fall asleep."

He doesn't ask to stay, and that feels good, not having to make the choice, to face the shame of wanting another person to care about you.

You screw your eyes shut. "Thank you," you whisper.

"I'm gonna bring you a kettle," Hood says.

You laugh. It's small and brittle but it's real. "Okay." You'll have to make it through the night. Red Hood is bringing you a kettle.

You lay there for a long time, not sleeping. You keep your eyes closed. You focus on keeping your breathing even. Then you open your eyes to check.

Hood is still there, sitting against the wall. You wonder if he's fallen asleep too. His voice startles you.

"Still here," he says. "Said I wouldn't go till you sleep. Meant it. Don't worry."

Maybe tomorrow's sun won't be so blue or gray. You fall asleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Miss Sunshine 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Nick and Cloudy.

Summary: a bored man needs a new light in his life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Nick has a lot of habits. Some would call it a routine. His work is often unpredictable so his personal life needs to be tightly curated.

His new habit is her. He knows he shouldn't. That he's abusing his security clearance and his professional access. He knows that he is in dangerous territory but he's always thrived there.

Unusual territory for sure. He's a bit too old to be in the campus cafe but one might assume he's faculty, not pupil. He imagines that line of work might be boring. Safer, sure, but he's not sure he could bear the monotony.

She's at the corner table with her small tea. The cheapest thing on the menu. She counted out nickels just to purchase it then got a dirty look from the barista for having to pour hot water without a tip.

She pores over a textbook as she nurses the brew. She's oblivious to everything else going on. To him. It might be why she finds herself in such a downtrodden state much of the time.

Her phone lights up. She looks at it and frowns. She shakes her head and goes back to reading. She makes notes in her notebook, roll her hand to stretch her wrist as her fingers cramp. He can't say she doesn't try.

Her cell buzzes again and she blows through her lips and pops her head up. She swipes it up and reads the screen. Her face falls. He subtly slides his own phone from his pocket. He can see her messages on his screen. An old work trick.

'Call me. Now.'

It's from Jackie, her aunt. From his observation, he knows that's her aunt. She lives in her spare room so she can afford her classes. They don't have a very good relationship.

She closes up her books and slides them into her knapsack. She drapes it over her shoulder and her jacket over her forearm as she gets up. She knocks the table and sends the dregs of her tea all over the floor, spilling some down her jeans. She hangs her head and cleans it up. She wads up napkins as she only manages to spread it around. She gives up and apologises to the disproving employee behind the counter before fleeing.

He takes out an earbud and puts it in. She hurries out, a dot on his screen, and he flips through his apps. His Bluetooth picks up her call as her aunt picks up.

"I've been calling," the woman chides.

"I know. Sorry, I'm studying--"

"You have lots of time to study. And to find a new place."

"What?" She blurts out.

"Eh, well, your cousin needs to move back--"

"But-- but I've been paying you--"

"It barely covers the light bill," her aunt snips.

"But I buy my own food and--"

"It's too bad. What am I supposed to do, put my own child out on the street?" She huffs.

"When--"

"This week. You need to start packing."

"This week? How am I supposed to--"

"You're an adult," she derides. "You are just like your mother. I knew this was going to be a problem."

The line clicks. The call's over. Nick sneers and snags someone's gaze. They shy away as they mistake his spite as being aimed at them. He gets up and goes back to the map.

Her mother isn't any better. He's seen their messages. She's on pills even though she denies it. She burned bridges with the rest of the family. Her sister has every right to be upset. He went through months of messages. Still, the sins of the mother don't belong to the daughter. He's no stranger to cruelty, not in his line of work, but he doesn't see how anyone could be mean to her.

This is a problem. Not just for her. He can't just watch her be tossed out and yet, how can unveil himself without giving away the game? Watching is what he does.

He hears her crying before he sees her. She's at the bottom of some stairs, hiding as she mops her face. She doesn't hear him. He doesn't want her too. He needs to figure out how to finagle this. Maybe a fake ad? An email? Campus services always sends out housing stuff... He'll figure it out.

Her shoulders shake as she sobs. His chest pangs. She looks so frail down there. She leans into the wall and hugs her bag. Nothing else has gone right for her but maybe he can be the one thing that does.

Shit. Now his phone is going. He quickly retreats before the vibration can give him away. He pushes through a door and eases it shut behind him. He answers.

"Fowler?" The voice on the other end greets. He furrows his brows. Strange, he hasn't heard from Jensen in years. Not since they worked together.

"Jensen, long time."

"Sure has been," the other man agrees. "I... I have a favour to ask you."

"Really?" Nick taps his chin as his brain sparks. Jensen has a talent for tech and he's clever to boot. "Just so happens, I have one too."

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Weekend Ramblings

Thame·Po Episode 10

Yeah, I'm late but my brain was not working properly on friday, so, now works. Congrats on the sex! I love this friend group so much. This episode was a lot. First of all Baifern needs to go touch grass. I did appreciate that the show went there, all things considering, but she made me mad. And not that I needed more proof, but Po is a better person than me. Also I hate Pemika and this whole thing around idols and dating. It's insane, but obviously eventually the company will come around, cause glass houses and all that. The PepperGam noble idiocy thing was a bit whatever, although still heartbreaking, but I'm hoping this means that our mains won't follow in their footsteps. This show is as close to perfection as I have seen from gmmtv in a while, so let's not ruin it. The best part was definitely seeing the group supporting each other. The hand holding at the press conference had me all emotional. I'm giving up on screaming at Thame. I guess since they were technically already caught, he's not bothered. Not that he acted like he ever was. Thame and Po continue to be them. I just love how even through all this, they keep checking in on each other.

GelBoys Episode 2

Never has a show made me feel so ancient. Also this show is a massive reminder of how much I absolutely hated all that love drama in high school. I had zero patience for it. Obsessively rereading messages, overanalysing every word to find some hidden meaning, wondering, Does he actually like me? Honestly, I’m exhausted just thinking about it. And on top of that, I’m beyond grateful that I didn’t have to deal with any of it in the era of smartphones, social media, selfies, apps, and so on. So much angst. I guess playlists are the new mixtapes. It's certainly easier. I continue to really like the atmosphere, it feels very grounded. And although I like Fou4Mod, I adore Baabin, so I'm not a huge fan of the way Fou4Mod is using him to make Chian jealous. Like since he's his bestie, he could've at least been honest. I'm sure he'd be on board. And I know he's gotta learn this for himself but, Fou4Mod, sweetie, this is a terrible idea. You are going to be crying a lot on that train in the future. But, I mean, who hasn't done that before?

Perfect 10 Liners Episode 17

I got YothaGun and PondSand. What a joy! I really could watch Perth do anything but seeing him being the biggest love sick puppy is a special treat. Faifa seems to have a bit of a savior complex, which we kinda knew but it's pretty obvious now. I love characters that hide their pain behind a smile, and he's so kind on top of that, so of course I love him. I also liked that he noticed Wine's overall mood and checked in with him about boundaries. I'm hoping Wine can break some of his walls and perhaps teach him the word 'NO.' I'm thinking maybe we won't get a side couple this time because we have enough couples to check in with, in between FaifaWine stuff, but we'll see.

The Boy Next World Episode 7

First of all, it was great to see Thorn/Tong again, I keep forgetting this is part of the TharnType Universe. As I said last week, BossNouel can bring it in those scenes, but I still feel like I'm watching RainPhayu. Now Cir, you had to see this coming, no? I mean you only had like a million chances to come clean. I feel bad for Phu, but I gotta say, last week I thought he might have an inkling about this, but maybe not?Now…for that ending and the preview. So not multiple universes, but something else is going on. He's dissociating. I'm intrigued and worried if they will land this part of the story. It seems we'll be getting our beloved amnesia trope and I'm so excited about it. Honestly I was thinking maybe he doesn't really have amnesia and he's faking, but wouldn't that be a bit much, all things considered? I mean, they’re going to end up together, so I’d really love to not completely despise Cir by then. The second half of the episode was strange though, pace wise. It felt a bit disconnected, and rushed. Part of it might be intentional, given Phu's state of mind, but it still felt weird to me. The sides are kinda cute, although I must admit, Wim gets on my nerves a bit. That dude must end each day with a tension headache. Like seriously, he's so tense it makes me stressed. And also, why is he so annoyed by Jin?, cause like he listed a bunch of stuff but honestly I don't see it. Wim needs to forget about Cir for 5 seconds and focus on something else. This animosity feels a bit forced.

Sangmin Dinneaw Episode 8 [Finale]

I honestly don’t even know where to start. I’ve come to expect a certain level of whiplash from this show, but this was on an entirely different level. We went from child abuse and murder plot straight into that cucumber scene. I can’t even begin to imagine the thought process behind it. This was a roller-coaster, and not in a good way. That said, at least we finally got a storyline where a guy gets revenge on his abusive parents, so that wasn’t terrible. But the fact that the hotel dude didn't get run over is unfortunate. Now that it’s over, I genuinely don’t know what to say. The main couple was cute enough, and the sides were decent, but overall, this whole thing was a mess. Honestly, the ending was the only part that felt even remotely normal. And still I'm not sure about the amnesia. But who cares? Most of this makes no sense and I'm not gonna waste any more time trying to figure it out.

[honeysghost]

Right Here, With You

Happy Valentine's Day!!! 💗I'm participating in @ode2youu/@shadowofyouu's Valenswap and wrote this sappy Sweetheart/Milo fic for @annahxredaxted 🫶🏻 I hope you like it!

Pairing: Milo/Sweetheart

Word count: 2,377

The AO3 version if you prefer: Right Here, With You - honeysghost

With every second spent in traffic, Sweetheart wishes desperately they had just taken the day off. I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day—they should be with Milo, getting swept up in their love for one another and taking some time to just be. 

It feels like they’d barely seen each other at all this week, with Milo working three nights in a row and Sweetheart leaving too early in the morning to catch him awake. It felt silly to say they missed him when they literally lived together, but it was the truth. 

Plus, Jett would’ve had their ass on a silver platter if they called off today, no doubt already having a lecture stored for them about responsibility, despite the fact that they had been practically carrying the Department on their back since the day they joined.

When they turn into the driveway, they let out a long breath. Finally, they were home.

Milo greets them at the door, pulling them into his arms before they even have a chance to close it completely—but they don’t mind. They sink into his embrace, nosing at the space between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in. 

“You smell delicious,” they mumble, barely coherent with their mouth pressed against his skin. 

“You look exhausted,” he comments, placing his hands on their shoulders and holding them steady, getting a good look at them.

“Hey, that’s not nice. I gave you a compliment, and you tell me I look like shit,” Sweetheart pouts, fighting a smile when Milo boops their nose to soften the blow.

“I did not say that, Sweetheart. I said you look tired, which you do. Long day?” 

They nod, leaning back into him. “You have no idea.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He laughs when they shake their head, their hair tickling him when it brushes against his jaw. 

“I just want to forget about it. It’s over and done with, there’s no point in wasting energy rehashing everything, you know? Besides, there’s more important things to do. I missed you.” 

They kiss him softly, running a hand through his hair as they do, relishing in the contended sigh that leaves his lips as they do.

Aggro, who had been sitting quietly by the door, inserts himself between the two, rubbing against their legs—the vibrations of his purring making Milo laugh into the kiss. Sweetheart pulls away and crouches down to his level, kissing him all over his face and scratching behind his ears. 

“You’re kind of ruining the mood, sweet boy,” they chide, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. 

Warmth blooms in Milo’s chest as he watches his mate shower the cat in affection. It hadn’t taken very long at all for Aggro to decide he liked Sweetheart. It surprised Milo a little to see him follow them around the apartment whenever they were there, not wanting to be somewhere they weren’t. Even Asher had a hard time getting the cat to do anything but hide away under the bed. 

Sometimes Milo swore he liked them more than him, which was absurd. 

Imagine favoring someone who had broken into his apartment twice over his parent? It wasn’t held against him, though. I mean, who could blame him? His Sweetheart was everything. 

“Are we gonna spend the whole night in the hall petting Aggro, or can we make this a little more romantic?” Milo questions, a smile on his face when Sweetheart stands, offering him a peck on the lips in consolation. 

“You’re not jealous of your cat, are you, baby?” They tease.

“Me? Jealous? As if I have anything to be jealous of. I’m simply stating the facts: it’s Valentine’s Day, and all that love shouldn’t be wasted on the man that’s going to steal food off your plate later.” 

“That could be either one of you, honestly.” 

A light smack on the shoulder makes Sweetheart laugh as they take off their shoes and walk further into the house. 

Milo trails behind them, eyeing the stiffness in their shoulders as they stretch, trying to ease the tension out, to no avail. 

“Really, Sweetheart, you should relax.” 

They plop down onto the couch, leaving enough space for Milo to settle in beside them, pulling them closer as he does. They waste no time melting into him.

“This is relaxing.” 

He sighs, brushing a loose strand of hair out of their face. It was hopeless, trying to convince them to take a break—and it wasn’t for lack of wanting, believe me. It was just that they could never seem to shut their brain off long enough to take one, which was endlessly frustrating for the both of them.

“Little pauses here and there don't count as relaxing, and you know it.” 

It made his heart ache to see Sweetheart come home every day, looking more and more tense by the second. If it was up to him, they’d both take a week off once a month and give themselves ample time to unwind—but convincing them to take even a day off was an impossible task. 

With everything going on at the Department these days, the reopened investigation into CloseKnit took up all their time and energy, leaving none for themselves.

“You know what they say about glass houses,” Sweetheart sighs, leaning their head back against Milo’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He hums in response, running a hand absentmindedly through their hair. It’s not lost on him how quick they are to deflect. If there was one thing they hated more than anything, it was being lectured about needing to take a break. They knew it, Milo knew it, but talking about it wasn’t something they were interested in.

If it were up to Sweetheart, this was all they’d need. A few quiet moments cuddled up on the couch was worth more to them than any actual break. 

“If we keep sitting here, I’m gonna fall asleep.” They mumble, breaking the comfortable silence that lingered around them.

Milo lets out a little laugh, turning to kiss their temple. “Would that be so terrible?”

“No, definitely not—but I’m hungry, and I want to change out of my work clothes.” 

When Milo moves them over on the couch to stand up, they whine at the immediate loss, making him laugh again. 

“What? You just said you wanted to change and eat.”

“I didn’t mean right this second.” 

They continue to pout as Milo takes their hands and pulls them onto their feet.

“Well, too bad, Sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you feelin’ good.” 

When they raise their eyebrows at the statement, Milo pulls them in for a kiss before rolling his eyes. “Not like that, you goof.”

“What exactly are you suggesting then, Greer?”

“Nothing, perv. Is it a crime to offer my mate a completely innocent chance to get dressed down?”

The way they glance at him in response hints at similar offers given in the past that were anything but innocent. 

“I mean it,” he whispers against their lips, kissing them once more. “I just want you feeling a little more relaxed.”

Without protest, Sweetheart follows him down the hall to their bedroom, pausing in the door frame as Milo starts to dig through their closet, eventually settling on one of their favorite shirts—his shirt, might he add, that they had all but stolen from him not even a month into dating—and a pair of sweatpants.

“Come here, baby,” Milo coaxes.

They oblige, shuffling toward him. His hands rest on their shoulders, squeezing lightly to loosen them up a little.

“Hey there,” they whisper, eyes focused on the coy smile tugging at Milo’s lips. 

“Hey there,” he echoes as his hands slide down their sides until his fingers find the hem of their shirt and curl into it, lifting it ever so slightly.

With newly exposed skin to explore, he lets his hands linger, thumbs rubbing small circles into their hips.

“You’re getting a little handsy there, Greer.” 

His smile widens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I’m doing is helping my mate undress, completely innocent, as promised.”

“Mm, sure.” Sweetheart hums in response, unconvinced.

He hooks two fingers under their chin, tilting their head to meet his eyes. “Hey, have I ever lied to you?” 

“No,” they sigh, biting back a smile of their own. “No, you haven’t.” 

“Exactly.” He emphasizes the word with a kiss, “So let's get you into something comfy.”

“I just didn’t realize this was a group project, is all,” they note, but let him continue his achingly slow efforts to undress them himself, savoring the way his hands roam over their body, already knowing every inch of them. 

When their work clothes are finally replaced with the outfit Milo chose, he takes a step back–admiring his handy work.

“Proud of yourself?” Sweetheart asks, and he nods.

“Much better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they laugh, pressing a kiss to his nose before taking his hand in theirs and leading him back down the hall, toward the kitchen. 

“Onto the next task: food. What’s on the menu?” Sweetheart asks, opening the fridge to study its contents. Milo settles in behind them, arms wrapped around their waist, his chin resting on their shoulder. 

“Pasta? We could make it ourselves.” His breath tickles against their ear. “It tastes better that way.” 

“Pasta it is.” 

➽──────────────❥

The kitchen smells like garlic and onions. Aggro has taken on the role of supervisor, sitting on the counter and watching dutifully over the kitchen as Milo and Sweetheart take on the task of making dinner.

“Can you hand me the butter, please?” Sweetheart asks, standing over a pan on the stove. It had only taken a few minutes to make the pasta dough–the only thing left to do was wait for it to rise.

Milo hands them a stick of it, catching their wrist before they can pull away, and presses a kiss to their knuckles before letting them go. 

“You’re a dork,” Sweetheart laughs, more so at the dumb grin on Milo’s face as he leans into the full romantic aspect of the night than the gesture itself. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this day not all about being cheesy and romantic? Excuse me for wanting to schmooze my mate.” He mumbles, mock exasperation in his tone.

“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry, how dare I chastise you for being a softie.” They lean in to give him a proper kiss, laughing more when Milo leans in the opposite direction, making a show of avoiding them. 

“No, no. You had your chance, Sweetheart. Romance privileges revoked.”

Warily eyeing the exchange, Aggro finds himself to be the next victim of Sweetheart’s antics as he’s promptly scooped off the counter and smothered in kisses, much to his chagrin. 

“It’s alright if you won’t kiss me,” they sigh dramatically, “I have Aggro to give me all the love I ne-” 

Milo is quick to pluck the cat out of Sweetheart’s hold, setting him down on the floor before finally kissing them properly. 

“You are such a brat.” 

“You love me,” they counter, arms wrapped around Milo’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s deep, heady—he tastes like the wine they’d been sipping since their cooking endeavor had begun. 

“I do,” he mumbles against their mouth. “More than anything, baby.” 

By the time dinner is cooked, and the table is set, the house is bathed in golden light provided by the setting sun. It heightens the mood, Sweetheart thinks, and Milo lights candles to further add to the atmosphere.

“Now this is romance.” They exclaim, sitting down. 

Milo sits beside them, both of them relieved to be off their feet for the evening.

“Worth all the effort?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“Absolutely.” 

For a while, they eat in silence, enjoying the meal they worked so hard on and soaking up each other’s company. If this was all their night entailed, it would be more than enough.

There wasn’t enough time in the world spent with Milo, Sweetheart thinks. From their first meeting, the connection they shared was clear—even if it was a little complicated at first. 

“Do you ever think about the past?” Sweetheart asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

Milo shoots them a look, curious. “How do you mean?”

“Like when we first met. I think about it a lot, and then I think about where we are now and how funny it seems to have started with breaking and entering and ended up… here—in a house we own together. I never would’ve believed you if you told me eight years ago that this was our life. Surrounded by people we love, thrilled with the life we’ve created… it’s just crazy to think about that kind of stuff.”

He reaches under the table, hand finding their thigh and squeezing lightly. “Well, when you put it like that, yeah, it sounds crazy.” 

There’s a smile on his face as he says it that makes Sweetheart’s heart ache at the sight. He was beautiful. 

“You made me so nervous at first,” they admit, feeling heat rise to their cheeks. They avoid eye contact, choosing to push food around their plate instead. 

They trusted him with every part of themselves, but it was still hard to say it out loud.

“I love you,” Milo says, threading his fingers between theirs. 

He knows all of it, even before they’ve said it. He’s always been good at taking the pressure off when Sweetheart starts to get overwhelmed with emotion. He can see it before it happens, reads them like a book and offers them comfort and a sense of understanding without them having to ask.

He made it so easy to love him. 

“There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than right here, with you, Sweetheart. You’re my forever—I mean that.”

When they look up from their plate, lock eyes with Milo, every worry they had about their day or their feelings melts away.

“I love you, Mi. Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart. Now let’s eat, before it gets cold. It’d be a shame to let all our hard work go to waste, huh?”

[rose24207]

Can I request prompt 14 and 15 for George Weasley and fem reader?

Not until you

Summary: At Hogwarts, George makes you realize that home isn’t a place—it’s being with him.

Genre: fluff

George Weasley x fem!reader

14. "I don't care what we do, as long as I'm with you." 15. "You make everything feel like home."

TW: None!

A/N: Helloooo! Sorry you had to wait :( but anyways it’s here!

Masterlist pt.2

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual for a Friday evening. Most students had ventured off to the Great Hall for an impromptu music night the Hufflepuffs had organized. You, however, had decided to stay back, too exhausted from the week’s classes to be social.

George Weasley had other plans.

He lounged beside you on the plush couch near the fire, his lanky frame stretched out as though he owned the place. His legs rested across the coffee table, and every so often, his knee would bump into yours. Not that you minded.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t want to go,” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “Fred’s probably making a fool of himself right now, and you’re missing it.”

George shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “If Fred’s making a fool of himself, someone’s bound to tell me all about it later. Besides,” he said, turning his head to meet your gaze, “I’d rather be here with you.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “You’re not even going to pretend it’s because you’re tired or because the music was going to be bad?”

“Nah,” he said, his grin widening. “Why would I lie? I don’t care what we do, as long as I’m with you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust the hem of your sweater. George always had this infuriating ability to make you flustered with just a few words.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed how much you liked hearing him say things like that.

“Ridiculously charming?” George offered, leaning slightly closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Keep dreaming, Weasley.”

“Dreaming about you? Always,” he quipped, his voice teasing but his eyes soft.

You shoved his shoulder lightly, but he caught your hand, holding it in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and the playful atmosphere between you shifted slightly.

“You know I’m serious, right?” he said, his tone quieter now.

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. George wasn’t usually like this—he was the jokester, the one who made everyone laugh and kept things light. But right now, there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your heart ache.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

George’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Good. Just making sure.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the crackling of the fire filling the space between you. You could hear faint laughter and chatter drifting in from the corridors, but it felt like the rest of the castle was a world away.

“You know,” you said after a while, “I always thought Hogwarts would feel like home eventually. But it never really did. Not until—”

You hesitated, your words catching in your throat.

“Not until what?” George prompted, his hand still holding yours.

You glanced at him, your heart pounding. “Not until you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, George just stared at you, his brown eyes wide with surprise. Then, a slow, crooked smile spread across his face.

“You make everything feel like home too,” he said softly, his voice so earnest it made your breath catch.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting yourself bask in the warmth of his presence.

“Blimey,” George said after a moment, breaking the silence. “If I’d known you felt this way, I would’ve skipped all those prefect meetings ages ago to spend more time with you.”

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment, George.”

“Never,” he said, a mock-serious expression on his face. Then, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “This is one moment I’ll never forget.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[softxsuki]

Hi hi hi

I'm here to submit my ask for your Valentine Event if I'll make it to the 10 lucky people 🥹

I'd love to get a letter from Caleb (Love and Deepspace) with him writing to us from the Skyhaven/military with us not seeing him for months due to his work, and him promising to come back soon. I'd love for him to call me Pipsqueak (his nickname for in-game mc) or/and Princess if the first one won't fit the letter vibe.

We would have a long established relationship (with a lot of crushing on the other as teens hehe) let's say that I'm 23 and him 25 (his current age) living together, I'd love fluffy letter with him talking about how much he misses me (and our kid aka the cat) and teasing me about my cooking skills promising to take care of me soon ~ and for reader please do female :3

If I'm missing any information please dm me :^ (and sorry-)

If I won't get to the event still thank you for reading this, have a nice day 💜

Caleb's Love Letter to His Girlfriend

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

| Pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader | Genre: Fluff? Idk | Post-Type: Letter | Word Count: 510|

Warnings: missing a loved one?

Note: My first ever Love and Deepspace request! Was super excited for this! Though…I haven’t had a chance to read any of the new Caleb chapters (I’m very much behind) but I love the guy. Hopefully I did his character justice! LND is my hyper-fixation at the moment. Happy Valentine’s Day! <3

You push open the door to your apartment, mail in hand–it had been an exhausting day of chasing and fighting wanderers. With a sigh, you kick the door closed with your foot, making sure it was locked, Caleb’s voice running through your mind with reminders of making sure you always locked it behind you.

Oh Caleb–how much you missed him, just thinking about him makes your heart ache. He had been away for a few months, back at the Skyhaven for business. Sure, you spoke over the phone and texted each other when time allowed it, but nothing could compare to actually having him with you.

You throw yourself on the couch, your apartment faintly lit by the floor lamp in the corner of the living room. Your kitty makes herself comfortable on your lap, clearly missing you after you’d been out all day. She lets out a quiet purr, snuggling up to you as you mindlessly pet her. 

Your attention moves to the stack of mail in your hands. Flicking through each envelope until a familiar name makes your eyes widen. You quickly sit up, abandoning the rest of your mail on the couch before quickly opening his letter;

To My Pipsqueak,

Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess. Bet you didn’t expect to get this, huh? I’m hoping it arrived on time…if my math was right and there weren’t any delays with the mail, then you should be getting this on that lovely day of the year where couples celebrate their love together. Sadly, I’m many miles away from you, but I could at least send you a piece of my heart, which already belongs to you.

How are my girls doing? You and our little kitten; I miss you both very much…it’s too quiet and cold without you. I complain when I’ve only gone a few hours without you, so imagine how horrible it’s been being away from you for months? I’m at my limit, Princess. 

I’m sure you’ve been busy kicking wanderer butt, but I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Staying well rested and eating all your meals for the day…hopefully you haven’t burned the place down yet. I’m kidding…mostly. Me and my cooking will be back very soon to take care of my girl. Just a little longer and I’ll be back by your side. Until then, stay safe, and stay out of trouble. I’m not around to drag you out of it, so be good. I love you, always.

Yours,

Caleb.xx

You don’t even realize the small smile splayed across your lips as you finish reading and re-reading his letter. Such an old-fashioned form of communication, hardly anyone sends handwritten letters anymore, that form of communication was long buried with the past, way before wanderer’s appeared on earth.

Soon.

You only had to hang in there a little longer before he’d be back. You could do that.

“Your daddy will be back with us soon, honey,” you whisper to the kitten in your lap who lets out a little meow almost in acknowledgement. Only a little longer…

Posted: 2/14/2025

[annoyingann]

[...And the supreme god himself appeared first.]

"Pride is a damsel in distress"

(song "Thunder Bringer" – epic the musical)

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 (you are here), part 6

TW: mention of death, cruelty and bullying

continuation of posting in chronological order ↓

"Look me in the eyes and tell me, Captain, That you did not just sacrifice six men!" (Song "mutiny" – epic the musical)

13 years, 10 years of war and 3 years at sea. And after so much time of faithful service to the King of Ithaca, the warriors begin to doubt that their captain will not neglect their lives for the sake of returning home. 37 warriors no longer believe in their path, they just want to stay alive, and the captain is somehow too strongly attached to the idea of "home at any cost"

"Then you have forced my hand..."

"How are we supposed to trust you now?" (from "Mutiny")

Eurylochus mutinies on the ship and challenges Odysseus to battle. The captain tries to appeal to his friend for mercy and to accept: "in my place you would have done the same." However, Eurylochus refuses this statement, because every action has consequences and the captain must take responsibility for the decisions he has made.

Odysseus loses consciousness and then finds himself on a completely unfamiliar island, tied to the stone figure of Helios. In front of him sat an exhausted Eurylochus, who looked with hunger at the cows passing by. Eurylochus admits that he can no longer fight his desire. Odysseus tries to reason with his comrade, but he is no longer ready to give up the plan..

"Tell me, Odysseus, If I were to make you choose The lives of your men and crew or your own Why do I think they'd lose?" (Song "Thunder bringer" – epic the musical)

As soon as the warrior touches one of the cows with his sword, the sun suddenly fades and the sky is covered with clouds. The crew, along with the wounded captain, rushes to the ship and sails away from the island, but it is too late. By wounding Helios' cow, they brought upon themselves the curse of the gods.

...And the supreme god himself appeared first.

"... I know"

7 years later, in the palace of the King of Ithaca.

"Cause I'm stuck with your stories, But no clue who you are! And no idea if you're dead or just too far.." (song "Legendary" – epic the musical)

Another 7 years have passed. The potential prince of Ithaca walks around the castle and talks about the fate of the lost king. This year, his mentor and dear friend, the first warrior of the kingdom, will have to conduct trials for all the "worthy candidates".

Warning: from this moment begins ± the original storyline, which is similar to the musical sagas (it was written based on them), but in it the main events are changed because it is difficult for me to adjust the characters to the universe!

"Is your plan to stand around? Cause I suggest you fight back." (Song "Little Wolf" – epic the musical)

The young prince of Ithaca finds himself a victim of oppression from the "worthy". Although he has good knowledge of how to fight and battle, he has trained in this, but still the young man cannot cope with his fear and embarrassment. And the goddess of war and wisdom comes to the aid of the prince

To your attention, Isla Gale as Athena!!

I helped him fight through the war, but

"He had his demons too" (song "we'll be fine" – epic the musical)

Athena tells the young prince about her previous student, whom she abandoned 10 years ago. And even though much time has passed, she still can't let go of the thought that she left him in the middle of the sea without help... Maybe if she helps his loved ones and guides them, she can ease the burden of her conscience

[grimandghoulish]

.

[moeblob]

Honestly? Good anime imo! I really enjoyed Aileen. I enjoyed Claude. I enjoyed Isaac and Keith and Rachel and Almond and Ribbon. I enjoyed Belzebuth and the flock of ducks (Walt/Kyle/Auguste) and Jasper.

[tomwambsgans]

the temptation to write a christmas romcom-esque tomgreg fic is calling me......

[funkervogt]

(Realizes that the most common transman experiences perfectly align with my life and feelings about myself and fascinations and who I want to be with) Ohhhh Okay i am fucked

[silverselfshippingchaos]

sorry for not doing anything for valentine's day this year, but happy valentine's day! hope everyone had a good one!

[shikai-the-storyteller]

It's taking me ages to write this chapter because every time I look through old VODs / notes to check something, I come across moments like this that make me want to lie down face-first on the floor:

[Context: Pac commits to the idea of taking the Happy Pills so he can create a cure. He's about to write a note to Cellbit to explain his plan.]

Pac: If Cellbit puts himself in this position, it's worse for everyone, because Cellbit is smarter when it comes to coming up with strategic plans, so he is the thinking mind of the Favela Five group, so if he no longer has the mind, he’s not capable of solving this whole problem, you know? But if I put myself in this position to help Cellbit so he can get the cure... You understand? It's better if I'm the bait. Right? I can't- I can't carry things alone guys, I've already lost Mike [...] if I lose Cellbit and I alone had to carry things, I won't be able to. But I think Cellbit can manage better. He is more independent, and he has Roier. He has a husband. I'm trying to– to be lucid here, understand? That's all.

Date: September 11, 2023 || Timestamp: 03:10:10