#i know it's stupid but it gets me down. like maybe this is as good as it's ever gonna get lol

[aangelinakii]

SAYING SOMETHING STUPID.

— and then you go and spoil it all.

summary : you and jason have been dating for a year, and although both of you know it, neither of you have said the dreaded L word. what happens when, accidentally, the truth comes out?

note : technically zimtsterne are christmas cookies so pretend like this is a christmas time fic

despite the countless beatings he took each and every night, jason's forearm was already beginning to ache. you had him whisking egg whites until they looked like snowy mountains, but not too mountainous, you'd said.

"where did you find this recipe again?" he hummed, not wanting to take his eyes off the bowl he was attempting to whisk at a flash-speed. beside him at the counter, of which he'd stepped away from to allow you more space, you were mixing ground almonds, cinnamon and powdered sugar into a dough. "what even is a zim— zimt—"

"zimtsterne."

"yeah, that."

"i found it online," you responded, barely taking your eyes off your almost-mixture. once jason would whisk the egg whites into soft peaks, you'd add half to your dough and it would be ready to cut into star shapes.

"online?" jason snickered, bumping your hip lightly with his. "you heard it on that game you play, didn't you? what was it again... choices?"

before you could get a handle on yourself, your eyes rolled almost back into your head. at this, you whipped your head over your shoulder to cast a very meaningful look to your boyfriend. "i only play it to get diamonds. i don't even use them, i just want to reach ten thousand just in case."

"how many do you have now?" he asked in return, looking back down at his white foamy mixture.

with a soft munch on the gum of your cheek, you turned back to your own bowl sheepishly. "more than ten thousand."

from behind, jason's warm laugh hummed through the kitchen. soft footsteps approached from behind, and his broad figure ghosted against your back. at once, a muscular arm, as well as his bowl, came into your vision. "this good enough?"

in the bowl, much faster than you would've been able to, jason had whisked the three egg whites cracked in there into soft peaks, leaving a little fluffy curl when you pulled the metal whisk out of the mixture. "perfect!" you grinned in return, taking the bowl in your own hands and scooping half the egg whites into what you'd so far made from the ground almonds.

watching you scoop and mix, scoop and mix, jason leaned back against the counter, hands resting on the edge, the veins pronounced on the back of the hand he'd used to whisk. "you're not gonna ask me to do any more whisking, are you?"

a soft chuckle brushed past your lips as you placed the bowl of egg whites back on the counter, and resumed stirring the zimtsterne mixture. "not today, you lucky boy," which earned an uncertain smile from jason.

"i liked that," he hummed bashfully.

"what, being lucky boy?"

jason gave an uncharacteristic laugh, his body swaying slightly against the counter. "maybe."

when you'd started dating, jason todd had never been an outwardly affectionate type; it took a few months for him to finally be willing to hold your hand in public. he was so used to suppressing his feelings, his affections, that it was certainly a challenge to get him to unlearn certain behaviours. now, a good year in, jason was getting more and more comfortable being the person he truly was.

still, at times, you weren't used to that person, hidden under years of trauma and dirt and grit.

but here he was, presenting himself to you in his cupped hands.

with a laugh matching his own, you paused your stirring for a moment to look up at him. "no more whisking, but i need you to get a tray, put a piece of parchment paper on it, and sprinkle some powdered sugar on the counter."

obedient like a dog gone soft, you could hear the clashing of pots and pans and opening and closing of cupboards behind you, until the cooking tray was placed on the counter beside your bowl, where the batter was coming along nicely.

jason tore off a square bit of parchment paper, and lay it upon the tray, where the corners curled, but otherwise stayed on, then he peeled open the bag of powder sugar. "how much do i put?" he asked, glancing over at you, hand hovering above the flour.

"not too much just yet, but we'll probably have to add more later."

and so his hand disappeared into the bag, and when it reappeared, he sprinkled a good serving of sugar along the countertop.

"perfect," you hummed once again. "next what we're gonna do is take the batter and press it down, then use the star cut-outs."

"we have to put our hands in that?" jason groaned, although playfully, you knew.

with a casual shrug, you began digging your hand into the zimtsterne mixture and pulled out a chunk to roll into a ball in your palms. "i mean, i could always do it by myself — if baking is too difficult for you."

a massive shoulder came into view, and jason's hand dunked into the bowl. "hell no! i can bake."

eyes closely watching the movement of your hands, jason rolled the amount of dough into a ball between his palms. then, once you'd placed your dough on the powdered sugar, pressed it down with the heel of your palm, jason followed suit.

you reached across the counter for the small star cutter, and sunk it down into the dough. "and... there! it's a little cinnamony star."

despite the grit and sheer size of him, in your company, jason todd was small, all soft touches and blush along cheeks.

as you carefully placed your star atop the parchment paper, jason took the small metal cutter in his calloused fingers, skilled in pulling the trigger.

he was careful as he pushed the cutter into the dough, glancing over at you a couple times as though he were doing something wrong.

somehow reading his mind, you reached over, hands placing them atop of his, spreading them in the muck of the dough you'd made, though jason didn't seem to mind; he'd had worse on his hands. "you're doing great," you smiled softly. "to get a clean cut you need to shake it a bit now."

and, with a laugh, your grip on jason's hands tightened slightly, and you helped jiggle the star cutter, separating his little biscuit from the rest of the dough, which you could reuse for another zimtsterne star.

a breath brushing past your ear, jason gave that kind, boyish laugh, and when you glanced over your shoulder, his eyes had halved into crescents, little moon shining down on the kitchen. "this is the strangest thing i've ever done."

perpetual smile by his side, you pulled away and tore the remaining dough from around the cookie cutter, pressing it into a sugared mound to be used again. "put that one next to my star on the tray," you ordered, although kind. "i'm gonna put more sugar down."

with ginger movements, jason lay his dough zimtsterne star down upon the parchment paper, a few inches from the one you'd made. eyeing him for a moment, to make sure his biscuit was far enough away from yours, you dunked your hand into the pink bag of icing sugar.

with a soft smile you made a nice comment on jason's placement; he was just about to reply when everything went white.

it must've caught through the gaps in your fingers while you weren't looking, must've been more than you'd meant to grab, for the powdered sugar hit the sleek countertop, and jumped back up in a whisp.

jason donned a white tuft of hair in his raven normally, but when the sugary fog began to clear, you could barely tell where the original streak ended and where it began.

your powder-covered hand shot to your agape mouth. "holy— that was an accident, i swear!"

his emerald eyes blinked open, sending some more snow-white dust into the air as it bounced off his eyelashes.

in one swift swoop, jason reached up to his blizzard of hair, and stretched out his hand over your face. you didn't need a mirror to know you probably looked like a snowman slapped you — but this action only caused room for ammunition, your dropped jaw setting and clenching as you pulled your arm back and launched.

the remnants of icing sugar in your palm exploded through the air, and whatever didn't land on the floor or counter (and most of the parchment paper) certainly his jason.

you could see in the way he lurched forward, but halted himself, that he was purposely holding back; you'd seen the way he would react when dick or tim tried to one-up him at the dinner table at the wayne family dinners you'd been brought to, or when training. his instincts are primal.

but, beneath the avalanche of icing sugar, his lips thinned. letting out a small sigh, jason shook his head, sending powdered sugar down onto the counter, where you could make your next zimtsterne star.

he gave a joking scoff. "you should be grateful i love you, or else this whole kitchen would be white."

it was a one-off sentence, supposed to be casual as he took the mound of dough in his hand to press flat against the monstrosity of sugar on the countertop. but it caused you to freeze, right in your place, hand gripping the edge of the counter falling slack.

jason hadn't seemed to notice.

he continued palming the dough until it was flat, but thick enough to be carved into a star, and reached for the cutter, content smile etched into his white powdery face.

"what did you say?"

your voice, however, was small.

even after a year now, neither of you had said the words he just had; you knew he had issues with attachment and relationships, so you supposed it just had never crossed your mind that he would... love you.

jason glanced up casually, shaking the star-shaped cookie cutter and placing down the new biscuit on the tray with the others. "oh, i was just saying that you're lucky, because if you were timothy drake, it would be over."

"no, no, you didn't say that." two steps forward, small, uncertain, but curious, aching to hear it again, make sure you weren't dreaming.

you placed a hand on his elbow, urging him to turn and look at you, which left a snowy handprint along his flesh. once he had carefully pushed the dough onto the tray, he placed the metal cut-out back on the counter and turned. "maybe not verbatim, but that's what i meant."

seeing the urgent look in your eyes, his smile faltered, but the lines it had made remained in the sugar.

"you said... you said you love me."

as the words left your lips, jason's eyes widened, and his body shuddered as if to stagger away from you, but your grip on his elbow tightened and didn't allow him.

"jason, is that true?"

beneath the powdered sugar, his bottom lip gave a tremour. "i... i guess i did say that."

your thumb brushed carefully over the bone of his elbow. "it's okay if it's true, i just want to know." trying to convince him he was safe — that you were safe — your voice softened, and you forced your body out of its initial shock.

but he didn't respond, only lips thinning, stare remaining still, like he'd been caught out on a really bad lie.

"i think so," he mused quietly, almost... afraid?

instinctively, your grip tightened once more upon his elbow, and you leaned in, eyebrows raised, a smile widening by the moment. "you love me?" it was spoken more like a song, more like it were an accomplishment than a question.

jason's bottom lip quivered, and when he spoke he sounded rather shaky, but he put on a brave, sugar-covered face. "is there– is there a problem with that?"

not minding the powder on your hands — and you hoped he wouldn't either — you leapt forward, engulfing his tough frame with a hug so tight it was possible all the knots in his back unwound at your touch. jason stumbled back, one sugared arm finding the small of your back and the other taking hold of the counter's edge to stabilise him.

sugar dusted itself along his breastbone, where you pressed your face into him. "oh, i didn't want to scare you away, or say anything i shouldn't," you began, voice extraordinarily muffled, until you pulled away to finish, gazing into his eyes, the only colour besides white on his face. "but i love you, jason. i really, really love you."

feeling suddenly shy at your sudden confession, your fingers toyed absently with the fabric of jason's once-black shirt, and your teeth sank awkwardly into your bottom lip.

but jason didn't hide away; he didn't contort into fear or anger. instead, his body sunk into yours, a warmth comparible to that of the pre-heated oven behind you. any uncertainty in those brilliant eyes of his seeped out through the corners, creating a coccoon of watery sugar beneath his lashes.

one of your hands came away from his back, and lay itself upon his cheek. an equally as powdery thumb swiped carefully beneath his eye — jason didn't even flinch.

all he could think was how stupid he was to have ruined the moment, not even thinking as he spoke, but also that he had finally admitted it out loud, and that you had reciprocated without any semblance of hesitation.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p4

Masterpost late, tired, still emotional and physically fragile. please no editing <3

“—ir? Sir?”

Danny mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be a response to that, or befuddlement about being called ‘sir’, or at least something better than ‘wadamehaaftz’. The bite of a tightening blood pressure cuff around his arm helped bring him a little be back to the world. He opened his eyes right into too bright light and winced back in reaction.

“Sir? Do you need us to call an ambulance?” the panicked looking barista asked. She was crouched down next to him where he lay on the floor.

Great, now he could never come back to this coffee shop. That was a damn shame, they had really good bagels.

“No,” Danny managed to make his mouth say. “Seizure. Newish thing for me. I’m fine—will be fine. Sorry.”

“Maybe you should stay laying down for a moment longer?” The barista suggested.

Danny hummed. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

“Dude,” someone said off to Danny’s right. He didn’t think it was worth the effort to turn his head and look, “you just had a seizure. You were screaming. Like, I think we’re all okay if you lay there. We can step around you.”

There were murmurers of agreement.

“Okay, yeah, you know what, great,” Danny said and summoned the willpower to lift his hand and give there room a thumbs up. He let it drop listlessly back down onto his chest.

At least the floor was cool against his back. And he did feel a bit better not trying to get up immediately. When he finally pulled himself back up into his chair, the nice barista brought him a glass of ice water with a straw. Danny drank every drop of the first glass and a refill until the paper of the stupid straw started to turn to mush between his lips.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be up for doing much especially that day, Danny got a bagel sandwich to go, left a generous tip, and fled the cafe with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Penny was was at the apartment. She shoved a still warm load of banana bread at Danny as she bitched about her latest failed relationship. Apparently her girlfriend had been hooking up with the bouncer at their favorite bar. Not that Penny would have minded if they had talked through it before hand and Penny was allowed to join every now and again.

Which, fair, the bouncer did have amazing arms.

When Penny’s phone rang, blaring a dated pop song, Danny was able to make his escape with the added load of his two liter water bottle and bag of little oranges. Or not oranges—clementines? Tangelos? Whatever, little oranges.

He set everything down on the end of his bed before flinging himself onto it.

Another seizure. A worse one.

But a clearer vision of the ghost than he’d ever had before.

Groaning, Danny dragged himself to hang over the edge of his bed so he could pull out one of the storage cubes from under it. After a bit of shuffling, he got the one he wanted out from the back: a long ignored stack of art supplies. Danny rummaged around in it for a pencil and eraser before he pulled the sketchbook out from the bottom. He flipped past old game ides and idle doodles to find a blank page and started to work.

There was so much of the ghost that he still couldn’t define, but the more he worked at the sketch of the ghost’s face, the more he started to narrow it down.

Danny stared down at the page.

Overworked eyes stared back.

Feeling frustrated at how close it was, Danny grabbed a blue marker from the page and filled in the eyes carefully. Then, with almost irritated strokes, Danny roughly messed in the strikingly orange hair.

Now his ghost started back.

“Hello there…"

[hyuniemyunie]

Jason todd x gn reader˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

doing his makeup!<3

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): hes sooooo wifey i love him sm

THIS IS FOR EVERYNYAN. MEN WITH MAKEUP. WOMEN WITH MAKEUP. NONBINARY PPL WITH MAKEUP.

men who do makeup..r..like. so hot. sorry..not sorry..

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Jason Todd was many things—an ex-Robin, a vigilante, a walking, talking trauma case—but a guy who let someone put makeup on him? That was where he drew the line.

At least, he had drawn the line. But you had this look in your eyes, that mischievous little sparkle that made it real hard to say no.

“Come on,” you pleaded, holding up a fluffy makeup brush like it was a weapon of mass persuasion. “Just let me do a little bit.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not gonna look like a clown, am I?”

you gasped, placing a hand over your heart in fake offense. “How dare you. I would never make you look bad.”

He squinted at you. “Uh-huh.”

You scooted closer, eyes shining. “Please?”

Jason sighed, already feeling himself caving. “Fine. But if I look ridiculous, I’m making you watch all my shitty old Westerns shows with me.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

And that was how Jason Todd, Gotham’s brooding menace, ended up sitting on the edge of the bed while you happily went to work on his face.

At first, he felt stupid. you started with some primer and foundation, muttering about “undertones” and “coverage” while he sat there like an idiot. Then came the contouring—something about sharpening his cheekbones, which he thought was unnecessary because his cheekbones were already sharp enough to cut glass.

Then you moved to his eyes.

“This is where the magic happens,” you declared, pulling out an eyeshadow palette.

Jason groaned. “I swear to God, if you give me rainbow clown eyes—”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, dusting warm brown and reddish shades onto his lids.

Jason stayed quiet after that, mostly because the feeling of the brush against his skin was oddly relaxing. You blended, added a bit of shimmer at the inner corners, then pulled out the eyeliner.

“Keep still,” you warned.

Jason tried to keep still, but the moment you got close to his eye with that little black pen, his survival instincts kicked in.

You huffed. “You stare down thugs with guns on a nightly basis, but this is where you flinch?”

“It’s a reflex,” Jason grumbled.

you rolled your eyes and cupped his jaw, gently tilting his face. “Look up.”

He did. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the way you were touching him, all soft and careful like he was something delicate.

Once you finished the eyeliner, you moved to mascara. Jason blinked too hard the first time, getting some on his eyelid. You scolded him, wiped it off, and tried again.

Then came the final touch—the lips.

Jason narrowed his eyes as you picked up a tube of lipstick. “No bright red,” he warned.

You rolled your eyes. “I know. Trust me.”

You picked a deep, natural shade and carefully applied it, your thumb tilting his chin to keep him still. When you pulled back, you studied him, eyes wide with satisfaction.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered.

Jason frowned. “What?”

“You look really good.”

Jason snorted. “You’re supposed to say that. You did the makeup.”

“No, but like—really good.” You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera so he could see.

Jason expected to look ridiculous.

Instead…

Oh.

The guy in the reflection wasn’t some overgrown crime alley stray. His skin looked flawless, his cheekbones more defined, his blue eyes sharp. The eyeliner made them pop, the mascara darkened his lashes just enough, and the lip color—damn.

He turned his head slightly, raising a brow. He looked—

“…I look hot,” Jason muttered, genuinely surprised.

You burst out laughing. “I told you!”

Jason kept staring at himself, tilting his head like he was studying a piece of art. “…I look like I could scam rich men out of their fortunes.”

You snorted. “You totally could.”

Jason leaned closer to the mirror. “This is bullshit. Why does this work?”

You smirked, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Because, babe, I’m the one who did it.”

Jason gave you a sideways glance. “…So you’re saying if I let you do this every time, I could be the prettiest crime-fighting menace in Gotham?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Jason hummed. “Huh.”

He turned back to the mirror, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“…So how do I take selfies?”

Jason stared at his reflection, turning his face slightly to the side, then back. His sharp jawline looked even sharper under the contour, the dark eyeliner made his blue eyes pop like something out of a painting, and the lip color—deep, natural, and just glossy enough—gave him a dangerous kind of charm.

You watched him with barely contained laughter, chin resting on his shoulder. Oh, he was eating this up.

“So,” you drawled, watching his expression shift between admiration and disbelief. “What do you think?”

Jason exhaled through his nose, tilting his head again like he was analyzing a priceless artifact.

“…I look like I scam rich men for a living,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And you’d be good at it.”

Jason let out a soft, amused scoff, still not looking away from the mirror. You could see the way his brain was working—turning over the fact that he, Jason Todd, could be pretty in a way he hadn’t really considered before.

His fingers brushed over his jaw. “This is bullshit.”

You snorted. “What’s bullshit? That I made you look hot?”

“That it works,” he grumbled, squinting at himself like the makeup had personally betrayed him. “I mean, I expected to look like some try-hard clown, not—” He gestured vaguely at his face. “—whatever this is.”

“A masterpiece?” you supplied helpfully.

Jason shot you a look, but there was no real bite to it. He was too busy admiring his reflection.

You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera, holding it up. “Wanna take some selfies?”

Jason hesitated. His instinct was probably to say no, but you could see the little flicker of consideration in his eyes.

“…If you send them to Dick, I’ll throw your phone off a building.”

“Duh,” you said, like that should’ve been obvious. “These are for us. For documentation. For history. For—”

Jason rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“…Fine.”

You gasped dramatically. “Did the Jason Todd just agree to take selfies?”

“Shut up and take the damn picture.”

You beamed and held the phone up, making sure the lighting was just right before snapping a couple of shots. Jason barely even tried to pose, but he didn’t need to—his natural sharpness, the way he glanced sideways at the camera with that slight, lazy smirk, made him look effortlessly cool.

After a few shots, you checked the photos, grinning. “Okay, but you actually look so good.”

Jason leaned over, eyes scanning the images. His expression softened for just a second before he covered it up with faux nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that ‘cause you did the makeup.”

“No,” you said seriously, nudging his arm. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous, Jay.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. He cleared his throat, looking away like you hadn’t just turned him into putty with one sentence. “…You’re so full of shit.”

You just grinned.

“Alright,” Jason sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “Time to wash this off before I start getting ideas.”

You gasped. “What kind of ideas?”

Jason smirked, standing up and flexing dramatically. “I dunno. Maybe I should start conning rich old ladies.”

“Oh my god.”

“I could be Gotham’s prettiest crime lord. Make Bruce’s life a living hell.”

You laughed, standing up with him. “I knew this would go to your head.”

Jason slung an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your fault, babe.”

And yeah—maybe it was your fault. But looking at Jason now, with his newfound appreciation for just how good he could look, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Jason wasn’t one to fuss over things like makeup. Sure, it had turned out better than expected—hell, he’d even admit (to you, and only you) that he looked good—but after a few selfies and some teasing, he was ready to wash it off and go back to his usual, rugged, Gotham-worn self.

At least, that was the plan.

You, however, had different ideas.

Jason stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rolling up his sleeves as he turned the sink on. His reflection stared back at him—still sharp-jawed, still intense-eyed, but softened just a bit by the expertly blended makeup you’d applied. He reached for a towel when, suddenly—

SMOOCH.

A pair of lips landed on his cheek, warm and deliberate.

Jason froze. “What are you—”

SMOOCH. Another one, this time dangerously close to his jaw.

“Babe—”

SMOOCH. SMOOCH. SMOOCH.

He turned just in time for you to attack with another kiss, smacking your lips dramatically against his face. Jason stumbled back against the sink, hands bracing himself as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep him in place.

“Alright, alright!” he laughed, hands coming up to ward you off. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

You grinned up at him, smug as hell. “Just appreciating my work before it all goes to waste.”

Jason gave you a suspicious look, but when he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand—his eyes widened.

A bright red lipstick stain smeared across his knuckles.

He turned back to the mirror.

Oh, shit.

There were marks everywhere. Little red imprints covered his cheeks, his jawline, his nose, and—he rubbed his lips together, realizing you’d definitely gotten him there too. His mouth was slightly smudged, like he’d either been thoroughly kissed or had just finished robbing a bank with Harley Quinn.

Jason looked back at you, you looked way too pleased with yourself.

“Are you serious?” Jason groaned, rubbing at his face. The lipstick refused to budge.

“Very.” You crossed your arms, proud of your masterpiece. “I think it suits you.”

Jason ran a hand down his face. “I look like I got mauled by a very aggressive valentine.”

“You look loved,” you corrected sweetly, batting your lashes.

Jason exhaled through his nose, staring at you like he was this close to enacting revenge. Then, with zero warning, he grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up onto the bathroom counter.

“Jay—”

You barely had time to react before he pressed his face all over yours—cheeks, nose, forehead, even down to your neck—rubbing against you like a damn cat.

You squealed, trying to push him off. “Jason, no—!”

“What?” he murmured, voice smug and low against your ear. “You don’t wanna match?”

You huffed, knowing damn well he was transferring all those lipstick marks onto your face. When he finally pulled back, he took a second to admire his work.

You glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

Jason smirked, running his thumb over your now-stained cheek. “You love me.”

You tried to look annoyed, but the way he was looking at you—smug, sure, but with that soft glint in his blue eyes—made it impossible to stay mad.

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jason chuckled, leaning down to press a much gentler, slower kiss to your lips. This time, neither of you cared about the mess.

[kashverse]

happy birthday to the goat.....!!!! getoo suguruuu!!!

birthdays are a special occasion, but when it’s your fiancé suguru’s birthday, it’s a full-blown event. gifts? top-tier. dinner? already reserved at his favorite restaurant. romance? obviously. however, this year, suguru had one specific request that turned the night into a logistical nightmare.

he wanted to bring satoru.

your ridiculously white, obnoxiously spoiled retriever—who had bright blue eyes and a penchant for stealing your fiancé’s attention whenever possible. "he's a part of the family," suguru had reasoned earlier that day, scratching satoru behind the ears as the dog dramatically collapsed into his lap. "and he loves me."

"he loves inconveniencing me," you muttered, watching satoru flop over with a huff. suguru smirked. "sounds familiar."

and that’s how you ended up at dinner date night with suguru and your 75-pound, attention-seeking furry third wheel sitting at your feet, dressed in a stupid little bow tie suguru had personally picked out. the night started fine. candles, good wine, romantic atmosphere. suguru, as always, looked unfairly good in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back but with a few strands loose. it should’ve been the perfect evening. should’ve. but satoru had other plans.

phase 1: ultimate betrayal

as soon as your food arrived, you felt it—a large, furry weight leaning against suguru’s chair. you glared.

“satoru.”

the dog stared back. unbothered. unrepentant. 

"he just wants love," suguru defended, reaching down to scratch satoru’s chin. satoru had the audacity to wag his tail smugly, tongue lolling out in triumph. you raised a brow.

“he just wants to steal my fiancé.” suguru chuckled, not denying it. "maybe he knows something you don't."

"excuse me?"

"maybe i'm his boyfriend first."

before you could argue, satoru let out a pathetic, theatrical sigh and nudged his massive head onto suguru’s lap. your jaw dropped. 

"oh, you manipulative little—”

“he’s just a baby,” suguru cooed, betraying you on his own birthday. satoru barked in agreement.

phase 2: sabotage

you tried to reclaim suguru’s attention several times. each time, satoru outmaneuvered you.

• attempt #1: reaching for suguru’s hand? blocked by satoru forcing his giant head in between. • attempt #2: feeding suguru a bite of your dish? intercepted by satoru suddenly sitting up, bumping the table. • attempt #3: leaning in to whisper something romantic? interrupted by a loud huff as satoru flopped onto his side like he had been personally victimized.

"this is ridiculous," you huffed, crossing your arms. suguru, clearly amused, swirled his wine. “jealous?” you scoffed. 

"of my own dog?"

"you sound jealous."

you did. and you hated it. satoru, who absolutely understood everything, let out another smug sigh and laid his head directly on suguru’s lap. “okay,” you muttered, glaring at him. “this means war.”

phase 3: the truce (bribery edition)

your opportunity came with dessert. you had ordered carrot cake. satoru, as a man of sophisticated palate, also loved carrot cake. when the plate arrived, you seized the moment. “satoruuu,” you called sweetly, slicing off a tiny, dog-safe piece. his ears perked up immediately.

“oh, now you’re interested in me?” you snarked. satoru wagged his tail enthusiastically, shameless. you smirked, placing the piece on a napkin and holding it hostage. 

“listen, if you agree to chill for the rest of the night and let me have my moment with my fiancé, you get this. deal?”

satoru, brilliant strategist, expert negotiator, pawed your knee in acceptance. "good boy." you handed him the cake, watching as he inhaled it in one bite.

suguru chuckled. “you really just bribed our dog.”

“he started it.”

satoru, apparently satisfied with the transaction, curled up beside your chair instead of suguru’s for the first time that evening. suguru leaned over, pressing a lazy, amused kiss to your temple. "you’re unreal."

“i have to be,” you sighed. “otherwise i’d be single.”

he chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours under the table. satoru, content and full of cake, let out a deep sigh and settled in. peace, at last.

[cognitiveoverload]

Rejection (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Being Hotch’s favorite is hard, but when he suddenly asks you out, you don’t really know if you’d like to make things harder for yourself.

tags: fem!tech analyst!reader

note: There will be more parts, not necessarily in chronological order. What do you think, what situations will they find themselves in? Send an ask with your idea, and let’s see what will happen.

At first, it was just a casual and genuinely innocent observation from Spencer. “Have you noticed that Hotch calls only you if he needs something?” he asked one day as he sat between you and Penelope in your little den.

But then this comment spread through the BAU like wildfire, making everyone think back of all the times their boss needed information, and look at that, they all remembered the same detail–it’s not just the fact he was always calling you, it was the fact he always called you by your first name.

And that’s how the constant teasing began. Derek, Emily, JJ and Penelope tormented you, with Spencer occasionally joining to spit out some facts about the both of you, while Rossi targeted Hotch as far as you knew. It was mortifying, really, but you got used to it.

What you still can't get used to is the change in your boss’ behavior. Recently he’s been different, although you can’t quite put a finger on what it is that changed. Sure, maybe he shows up a little more often in your office, strictly when Penelope isn’t around, and he brings you coffee when you’re working late or arrive a little too early as he does.

“How are you holding up?”

You turn your swivel chair around to look at Hotch, who’s standing in the door with an almost worried expression on his face. He sent Penelope home a few hours ago when a case affected her too much, and now apparently it was time for another wellness check in your little office. It’s hard to miss the way he’s flexing his fingers, a clear sign that he’s nervous, although you’re not a profiler, so you remain silent before you say something stupid.

Thinking about his question, you realize one thing. “It didn’t really affect me. Does this mean something’s wrong with me?” you ask him.

His lips part as he takes a shallow breath and thinks about what you just said. For a moment you think he’ll not give you an answer, but then he sits on the edge of your desk and watches you with a small smile. “It only means you’re tough. Look, you said, ‘It didn’t really affect me,’ which tells me it did affect you, just not as intensely as it did Garcia for example,” he explains kindly.

Nodding, you look down at your hands in your lap, but your gaze rises when he bumps his leg into your thigh. You expect him to say something, but Hotch remains silent, and he even acts like he didn’t do anything at all. There is one little thing that’s different, though. That barely visible smirk, the one you’ve all seen before.

Times like this it’s hard to comprehend the extremes in his behavior. He can act like this, so kind and supportive, but he can play rough too, especially when he loses control. And times like that, like a few days ago when he yelled at an agent who tried to take a case from him, you can’t help but think about how he could yell at you any time with you even thanking him.

Because, as pathetic as it might sound, an angry Hotch is simply irresistible. You probably have some issues that should be analyzed, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“I often wonder how you all can do this every single day. Penelope told me to brace myself when I arrived, but… It’s hard sometimes,” you admit quietly. “Yet, there are cases that don’t really make me feel anything. I can’t really wrap my head around that.”

His brown eyes soften in sync with his expression, and then his lips curl into a smile. “You’re a good person, never forget that. Not feeling anything might be your brain’s way of protecting you. Either way, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me,” he tells you as he stands up.

You nod, then return to your computer once he’s heading to the door. But then the sound of footsteps suddenly dies, and when you turn around to see if he has just disappeared into thin air, you find him watching you with a thoughtful look. Your brows furrow in confusion, but you don’t say anything, you just wait for him to spit out whatever’s on his mind.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks casually.

It seems like an innocent, regular question between co-workers. The members of the BAU often team up in pairs or bigger groups to grab something, even Hotch joins them for a drink in a bar or dinner in some restaurant nearby. But he has never, ever gone out to eat with someone alone. Maybe with Rossi, but that doesn’t count.

So, it’s no wonder you have to think about the offer. You would be on thin ice, the team already has a little too much fun with the fact Hotch is playing favorites with you. If you have dinner with him alone, they might think you’ve been in some secret relationship all along.

In the end, the rational–or maybe rather paranoid–side of your brain makes the final decision. “Thanks, but I’d rather go home after I finish this,” you say, pointing at your computer.

He nods, and you begin to think he’s about to leave, but then he gulps and takes a deep breath, as if he’s gathering the strength or courage to say whatever’s on his mind. “I have paperwork that can’t wait, but I can give you a ride home after I’m done,” he offers, and there’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify.

“No need, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” you tell him with a forced smile.

The last thing you need and want is Hotch taking you home. He means well, you know that, but you can’t risk being seen by someone who could easily start a rumor. The problem is, he’s almost as old as your dad, so people would talk about your nonexistent daddy issues, and he’s your boss, which would only make things worse.

So far the whole joke about being his favorite is something that stayed within the team, but if it gets out and reaches HR, you’re both done. You don’t want that, but not because of yourself. Hotch is ambitious, he’s insanely good at office politics, and if he wants to be promoted, he can’t be involved in such scandals.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sigh that leaves his lips. He looks almost disappointed, which is something you don’t really understand, because you can’t remember anything that could be even remotely rude. What is his problem? Or is there something he wants to talk about, something he wants to get off his chest?

Before you know it, he closes the door and walks back to you. “I’ve been making offers, and you turn down each and every one of them without hesitation. Why?” You can’t help but give him a confused look, because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Well, you know, but why does it bother him? “Is it because we would be alone?”

“It’s just… Wouldn’t it be weird?” you ask.

He inhales and exhales slowly before he suddenly crouches in front of you. “Look, there is a chance it will be weird, yes, but why don’t we give it a shot to see, huh? Come on, just you and me. If you’re afraid someone we both know will see us, we can go somewhere away from the usual crowd.”

You tilt your head to the side as you watch him, observing the look in his eyes, the small smile that makes your heart melt, and you simply can’t get yourself to say no to him. “Why?” you ask, although you know the answer, you just want to hear him say it.

“I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you,” he says with a boyish smile.

Gulping, you nod. A date. Aaron Hotchner wants to go on a date with you. But he’s your boss, if you started a relationship, there would be the danger of the aftermath of a breakup. Would you really like to risk it? You love this job, you love this team, you love Penelope, losing them wouldn’t be worth it.

You lick your lips as you push your chair back to build some distance. “I really have to get back to work now, and I’m sure Jack would be happy if you got home before bedtime,” you say, even though it hurts to turn down the invitation.

Hotch lets out a disappointed sigh as he stands up. “If you change your mind… you know. Good night.”

“Good night.”

[love-byers]

boyfriends who defend and reassure each other <3

"Wait, this is Will's fault?!" 1x01

"I'm the only one acting normal here! I'm the only one that cares about Will!" 1x01

"Will could've cast protection last night, but he didn't. He cast fireball. [...] My point is, he could've played it safe, but he didn't. He put himself in danger to help the party." 1x01

"She pointed at him, at his picture. She knew he was missing, I could tell." 1x02

"Maybe it's his ghost, maybe he's haunting us." "It's not his ghost." "And how do you know that?" "I just do." "Then what did they pull out of that water?" "I don't know! All I know is Will is alive. Will is alive!" 1x04

"Hey! Hey! Hey, Troy! Hey, Troy! You…you think this is funny? […] I saw you guys laughing over there. I think that's a real messed up thing to do." 1x04

"Now she's going to let him die in the Upside Down--" "Shut up!" 1x05

"I'm gonna get you home, okay? I'm gonna get you home." 2x02

"Maybe...maybe that's good." "Good?!" "Just think about it, Will. You're like a spy now. A super spy. Spying on the shadow monster. If you know what he's thinking and feeling, maybe that's how we stop him. Maybe all this is happening for a reason." "You really think so?" "Yeah, Yeah I really do." "What if he figures out we're spying on him? What if he spies back?" "He won't." "How do you know?" *grabs his hand* "We won't let him." 2x05

"Closing the gate will kill him." 2x09

"It's a cool campaign it's really cool!" 3x03

"What if you want to join another party?" "Not possible." 3x08

"I don't think Mike is gonna like that you're lying to him. And he doesn't deserve that, and when he finds out he's gonna be mad." 4x02

"Seems like you've made it super clear you're not interested in anything I have to say." "That's just not true." 4x02

"I was being a total jerk to El, I deserved it…" "No. No, you didn't deserve anything." 4x04

"Listen, the truth is, the last year has been weird, you know? I mean, Max, and Lucas, and Dustin, they're great, they're great, it's just...it's Hawkins, it's not the same without you. And I feel like maybe I was worrying too much about El...I don't know, maybe I feel like I lost you or something. Does that make sense?" *nods* "I have no idea what's gonna happen next. But whatever it is, I...I think we should work together. I think it'll be easier if we're—we're a team. Friends. Best friends." "Cool." "Cool." 4x04

"I should've explained myself, because then maybe Eleven would've taken me with her and things would be different, but…" "No-" "I—I didn't know what to say." 4x05

"Sometimes...I think it's just scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially to people you care about the most. Because...what if they don't like the truth?" *nods*4x05

"Sorry." "No--" "No, it's so stupid given everything that's going on." 4x08

"See how you're leading us here? You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That...that's what you do. And see your coat of arms here? It's a heart. I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this whole party together: heart. And without heart, we'd all fall apart. Even me. Especially me." 4x08

"He's not going to stop, ever. Not until he's taken everything, and everyone. We have to kill him." *grabs his shoulder* "And we will. We will." 4x09

[cod-indulgences]

How do you think Simon or Kyle would react to user having like a really puffy petticoat/ puff skirt?

They're extremely soft and it's amazing wearing them + you don't have to worry about like, accidentally showing anything since there are so many ruffles? (They're also adorable with movement?? Twirling makes them puff up kinda and it's all fluffy cloud and cloth, jumping too)

(I asked this to someone else but just decided to bite the bullet here-)

Simon Riley x female!reader, exhibitionism, dubcon, fucking in public, but they're the only ones who know- right?, slight humiliation/degradation

It's not a costume, it's cosplay, you insist, but Simon isn't really listening. Simon would be playing with the ruffles even as he insists he's not. Flipping the edges and running the lace edges between his fingers. No he's not messing with your skirt, he's just getting some dirt off. There was a bug. He's just checking it's sitting right, you put so much effort into your outfit love, just try'na help.

It's only when he lifts you up to get a kiss and realizes how deep the skirt goes that his brain turns over. Both hands on your ass and he's in ruffles up to his elbows, you can't see a goddamn thing through it, and it hits him that he could split you open on his cock and no one would know.

He hauls you into his lap, nuzzling your throat as you giggle and scold him about PDA, and sneaks a hand up to your pussy beneath the skirt. You can't get up off him easily, and he's got those strong fingers rubbing over your clit through your panties, fuck why did you decide to go all in with your outfit and pick the lacey lingerie?? Now it's dragging and scratching your clit, plumping you up, and Simon grins because he knows he's got you. Poor sweet thing, getting all stupid even before his cock is in you.

You try and balk when he pulls his dick out and rubs the wet head against your hole. Panties pulled to the side, your legs open over his lap, Simon, someone will see!

See you crying on my cock, he says in your ear, and tugs your face down into his shoulder to muffle your shout as he lifts you up and all the way down. Just a sweet thing on her man's lap, nothing happening here, and he hitches his hips up in little grinding thrusts that make you moan and whimper. He can feel you drooling on his balls, and whispers how cute you are dressed like this, how easy you made it for him to just get his cock in you, right here where all the people are milling around, taking photos, maybe looking over to see what's going on with that couple in the corner, the big man holding his girl in his lap. How sweet, how innocent.

Would they still call you innocent if they knew how hard you're coming just from warming my cock?

Simon holds you and rubs your back through the shuddering and clenching, letting your cunt squeeze and fuck down onto him, the thick pile of skirts around your hips and thighs rustling only a little. Amazing, and he reminds you to keep your voice down as he starts bouncing you up and down, sneaking a hand up to grope your tits though your top, tugging a nipple out so he can pinch it.

You're so blissed out you barely manage a protest, but he pins you under his arm like he's embracing you. Shush lovie, let me use this little pussy and I'll get you back on your feet. I'm so close already, you feel so good, hot and tight, and your pussy clamps down as Simon shoves his cock so deep it aches, biting on your shoulder to muffle himself.

When he pulls out you whimper at the slick mess over your thighs, sticking the inner layer of your skirts to your skin, panties twisted up and soaked through. Simon just laughs and tucks his cock away, setting you on your feet with a kiss. Next time you wear this, don't bother with the panties, he says, and tugs your top back into place as a camera shutter flashes.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 2

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky rushed home after work that day.  The presentation had gone well, securing his bonus, but had run over the time he’d originally planned.  He had texted Y/N, but never got a response.  He got home as fast as he could, walking into the kitchen to find it empty.  Fuck, missed dinner, he thought, chastising himself as he unloaded his things and cleaned them.  He walked toward the sound of the kids’ voices in the front room.  They were all spread out on the floor doing homework, spouting off endless questions to Y/N, who was trying her best to help them while also mediating between Winnie and Becca, which seemed like a constant these days.

“Mama she won’t stop brushing her eraser shavings on my paper!” Winnie whined, trying to shove the eraser bits back toward Becca.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Becca whined back.  “Not everything I do is to spite you.  Maybe if you wouldn’t sit so close to me they wouldn’t land on your stuff!”

“Guys, please,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Hello my loves,” Bucky called out, trying to distract them.

The kids all looked up at him with smiles on their faces, quickly getting up and giving him hugs and greetings before sitting back down.  Bucky moved over and around them to Y/N, kneeling down next to her.  She gave him a small smile in greeting.  “How did your presentation go?” she asked quietly.

“We got it,” he replied, smiling at her.  

“Congratulations,” Y/N’s smile widened.

It was one of the few real smiles he’d gotten from her in a while, and it made his heart soar.  Before he could say anything else the girls were bickering again, and James started firing off questions.

“Quit with the eraser!  Geez, do you just not get it so you keep having to restart?  How stupid can you be?”

“Mama, did you sign that form for the field trip yet?”

“I’m not the stupid one, you are!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“And I have that bake sale coming up, did you sign up for cupcakes?  Or muffins?  Your cookies last year were good.  Oh and my soccer uniform is all grassy, did you wash it yet?”

Y/N shut her eyes tight, trying to breath through the mounting noise.

“Guys,” Bucky said in a warning tone.

“Dad she’s being so annoying.  Why can’t you just leave me alone?  This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have plenty of friends.  You wouldn’t know anything about that because all the friends you have are just guys trying to date you.  How does it feel knowing that they don’t actually care about you, just what they can get from you?”

“At least I can get a date.”

“Mama, what does she mean what they can get from her?”

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” Y/N screamed, standing up fast and pushing away from them all, covering her ears.  “SHUT UP!  ALL OF YOU!  JESUS CHRIST!”  They all froze, staring at her in shock.  “No, James, I haven’t done any of that yet.  It will get done eventually.  As for you two,” she pointed at the girls.  “I know you’re both in a very weird stage of teen years right now, but if I hear one more mean thing said between the two of you I will ground you both for the rest of the school year, do you hear me?”  They both nodded quickly.  “I cannot stand this anymore.  This constant bickering, the noise, the incessant leaning on me for every little thing.  I’m so sick of the same thing day in and day out!  I’m done!”

Bucky stared at her in shock.  She had yelled at the kids before during rough moments, but this was different.  Y/N looked at them all with a deep look of disgust.  “I love you all very much.  But this is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not put up with it anymore.  I deserve better than this endless, repetitive, tedious bullshit!  Don’t I?”  Bucky stood up and walked over to her.  She had started crying as she spoke, and as he cupped her face in his hands she looked up at him, her eyes pleading and exhausted.  “Don’t I?” she cried.

“Yes, you do,” Bucky whispered, nodding as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her forehead.  “Just breathe, pretty mama.  Breathe.”

Y/N sputtered, her hands in fists at her sides as she closed her eyes.  She let herself relax against him for a moment, but just as suddenly as it started she shook her head again and pulled out of his grasp, sniffing hard.  “I…I’m fine, I just–” she glanced at them all, her face twisting into a look of horror.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, then turned and ran up the stairs.

Bucky watched her run, sighing when he heard their bedroom door shut loudly.  He turned to look at the kids, each of them with a look of shock and sadness on their faces.  “It’s gonna be okay, guys,” he said quietly, sitting down on the floor with them again.  “Mama just needs some time.  But she’s right,” he said, looking down at his hands then at Becca.  “Becca, if what Winnie’s saying is true, you need to find better friends.  Boys, especially at this age, aren’t worth it.”  She frowned and looked down.  “Winnie, you need to let Becca have her time away from you.  Just because you’re both close in age and go to the same school doesn’t mean you’re both the same.  She is her own person, and you are your own person.  Does that make sense?”  Winnie’s lips tightened, but she nodded.  “James, I know you mean well, but asking a lot of questions all at once is very overwhelming for Mama, and as much as she is willing to help you, she needs a breather just like everyone else.  Got it?”  James nodded sadly.  “As for all three of you, you’re old enough now, and your mom and I have taught you enough by now, to be able to handle yourselves more.  That means from now on you’re responsible for knowing your schedules, taking care of yourselves with your personal hygiene, cleaning up after yourselves, and as of now you’ll be responsible for getting your lunches for school ready, preparing your own breakfasts, and making sure you��re out the door on time for the bus.  Also, laundry,” he said, glancing at James for emphasis.  “Your clothes, your problem.  Do you all understand?”

They all nodded solemnly.  “Good.  We are going to have to work together to take the brunt of the work off of Mama.  She’s done too much for all of us for too long.  Which makes her an amazing mother and wife–” he stopped, nearly getting choked up on his words, before quickly clearing his throat.  “But it’s too much for just one person to handle.  We are a family, and family loves and supports each other, right?”  They all nodded again.  “Okay.  Are you all done with your homework enough for tomorrow?”  

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“Great.  Then go get ready for bed,” Bucky said.  “Good night, my spawn.”

They all giggled and gave him goodnight farewells and hugs, gathering their things and putting them away before trudging up the stairs to get ready for bed.  Bucky sighed as he stood up again, stretching before looking around the main floor of the house.  It was mostly pretty clean, so he got to work cleaning up the last few little messes and things he could see that needed to be done, then ate the leftovers from dinner.  

When he was finished the kids had all settled down in bed, and he tucked them each in before heading to his bedroom.  Bucky hesitated at the door, unsure of how to broach what had happened.  He knocked lightly, waiting to hear anything, but after a moment of silence he slowly opened the door.  He peered in and found Y/N already in bed, her soft snores the only sound in the room.  Bucky walked in and closed the door quietly, walking over to her side of the bed and kneeling down.  She was already in her pajamas, and judging from her makeup free face and the puffiness of her eyes, she had cried as she got ready for bed and up until she fell asleep.  Bucky’s heart broke for her.  He and the kids had been leaning on her for everything for so long.  They had taken advantage of her.  She had been suffering silently because she felt like she could only depend on herself to get things done.  He reached up and gently wiped away the last bits of tears that were still wet on her face, then leaned forward and kissed her nose.  “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  I love you.”  

Y/N squirmed a little in her sleep at his touch, but didn’t wake, letting out a short hum as she readjusted herself.  Bucky smiled at her, fixing the blanket around her and tucking her in before getting ready for bed.

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat

[bibookdemon]

Chat. Gay chicken(?) with Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan.

Warning for some nsfw aspects further down ;3

-Started out as SQH writing LBH as bi in PIDW, he was catering to the fans so suddenly LBH discovers he's also into men lmfao, so he writes a smut scene between LBH and another man and it is so much worse than any of the other smut. Bro did not do any of his fucking research. He has no fucking clue.

-Some of the fans eat it up but SY is like NUH UH THIS IS SHIT. And of course he writes that it's shit.

-For once, SQH writes back: 'Like YOU would know, you rich fucking asshole!' (He's gathered that SY has enough money he can sit around all day and leave bad reviews on his story.)

-SY is all 'Of course I know, idiot! Literally everyone knows how to write gay smut!!'

-And SQH is too deep in his rage to think about what he's saying so: 'Prove it then.'

-SY is also too deep. 'Come to XX on XX day.'

-They meet at a bustling coffeeshop that's super cute and geared towards couples. SY's first impression of SQH is 'wow he's short' and SQH's first impression of SY is 'yeah he looks fucking gay.' And he's pretty sure he's gonna eat his words.

-They go on a fucking coffee date. SY buys him coffee, they get a cute table in a semi-private corner, they actually get to talking and everything is kinda chill.

-SQH eventually remembers that hey, this guy is the jerk who leaves shitty comments on his story. So he tells him to man tf up and prove he knows about gay smut.

-SY is now scrambling to figure it out. He does not, in fact, know how to write gay smut. He does not, in fact, know how to prove it. So, now that he's panicking, he does the unexpected to divert SQH's attention: He slides a hand over SQH's, leans it, and kisses him right on the lips. 'How's this for gay?'

-SQH is absolutely surprised and flustered and also holy fuck that was like a really good kiss and low-key he wants to be kissed like that again but- 'still doesn't prove anything - unless you're unable to prove it'

-SY is in this too deep and has too much pride to give in. So he decides to go for another shock factor. He gets out his phone and he calls his favorite hotel. And he books a room. And SQH is just thinking to himself 'what the fuck have I gotten myself into' but of course he's not gonna back out! He has too much pride as well, and hey, a hotel room is better than his dingy little place, and maybe he also wants some more of those kisses.

-They go to the hotel in SY's car (SQH took the bus to get to the coffee shop) and then they're at the hotel and then SY is initiating a quick, sloppy kiss in the parking lot and SQH is feeling a little turned on and then- they have to go inside

-He figured SY was rich, but he didn't realize just HOW rich the bastard was. Bro got a fucking suite. It's huge, the bed is nice, the moment they're inside the room, SY's tongue is down his throat.

-After that, they both sorta stumble through the steps, SQH is too busy being turned on and wanting more kissing to recognize that SY is fumbling with everything and is sweating buckets and trembling cause he's so nervous. When it was time to put the condom on SY was so worried he was gonna rip it lmfao

-And they fuck, and it's awkward but also good, and SQH afterwards is just like 'you should prove you know how to write gay smut more often. To me.'

-SY is just like 'yeah, yeah,' he's tired and he wants to sleep and he just grabs SQH and snuggles him cause it feels right.

-Morning rolls around and they both realize what they just did + what they said they'd do in the future. And they're both looking at each other wide-eyed. And finally, SQH is all, 'Look Cucumber-bro, I don't know about you, but I had a fun time, and fuck all the stupid shit about writing gay smut, I want to BE the gay smut.'

-And SY is just like 'Ok,' because he has nothing better to say but he doesn't mind SQH's reasoning and he liked the sex.

-They'd be fucking hilarious. Poor SY doesn't know what he signed up for, SQH ends up having this endless stamina + an endless torrent of new ideas for them to try. 'I have to know how it works for the story!!! The fans are eating up my writing lately!!!!' - And SY has come to find SQH absolutely adorable and he can't say no to that cute face.

-They're just fuck-buddies at first, but they eventually develop a crush on each other, have a whole dramatic situation over that, and then start dating. (SY starts showering SQH in rich gifts lmao - some of them are useful some art, SQH loves all of them cause omg his boyfriend loves him and gift-giving is part of his love language.)

[sibyllinebooks]

OKOK BSF STILES WHEN ANOTHER GUY IS LIKE ACTIVELY HITTING ON U INFRONT OF HIM AND HES ALL JEALOUS.

okok so i feel like bsf!stiles and bf!stiles are different types of jealous hear me out. also this isn’t like being hit on directly in front of him but this is what came out when i sat down to write so i’m sorry if you wanted smth different :/

bsf! stiles who knows he has absolutely no claim to you romantically, but still abhors the thought of someone that isn’t him being with you in a romantic context.

bf! stiles who is insanely possessive over you and borderline more territorial than any of his literal werewolf friends ( i’ll elaborate in another post )

imagine if you’re at school, fiddling with your locker because the stupid thing just won’t budge and before you can open your mouth to cuss it out, a voice asks if you need help.

you spin, startled, but smile as you take in an unfamiliar face. a new kid, more than likely, and you accept with a grateful smile. after fiddling with it for a few seconds he yanks it free and you thank him, offering him a tour of the school in return as a thank you.

and he’s nice. he listens to your ramblings about certain teachers and which people to avoid and where to sit at lunch and the best places to hide if you want to skip class. he laughs at your jokes and offers you soft smiles that would make any other girl practically melt at the sight.

as you’re walking to class stiles rounds the corner and you beam, jumping at the opportunity to introduce the new kid to someone else so he isn’t entirely a fish out of water. and stiles can see the way he looks at you. the guy’s eyes are alight with a curious fascination as they flicker between you and he can see the moment he decides the two of you are just friends. when he decides stiles isn’t a threat to the plans he seems to be making.

his jaw sets in a firm line, greeting him casually but there’s something hard in the tone of his voice that you can’t exactly pinpoint. it makes you pout, because why is stiles being so decidedly unfriendly? it isn’t like your best friend to dismiss someone out of hand unless he has a damn good reason. and from what you know, he’s never met this guy before in his life. instead of questioning it the way you want to, you shrug it off and tell stiles you’ll see him later. maybe he’s just having a bad day. he mumbles a goodbye and you return it half-heartedly, turning back to your companion.

little do you know, stiles tracks you all day. he watches you as the guy openly flirts and you don’t seem to reject his advances. he watches as you direct him to sit with him and the pack at lunch. he watches, and that ugly green-eyed monster in the pit of his stomach grows. he’s practically livid but he hides it well to the untrained eye. and he watches at the end of the day as the guy asks you out. he doesn’t stay to hear your answer.

it’s all he thinks about at practice, the scenes replaying in his head at a torturous pace and his annoyance is on full display. it’s a distraction, one that gets him berated by coach more than once, even earns him questioning looks from his teammates and an interrogation from scott.

he’s not upset at you. god, how could he be? you’re perfect. smart and pretty and kind and loyal and utterly captivating. he knows that it’s inevitable for someone else to see you the way he does. he just wishes he’d have actually done something about it. but he doesn’t even know if you feel the same way. and he isn’t going to ruin the friendship you two have just because he was the idiot who fell in love.

( part 2?? maybe?? do we want it?? )

[revelboo]

The question has to be asked. For every human they suddenly find on the lost light. Does brainstorm get smacked for it? I think it'd be funny if a count was kept like that

(Juat smth stupid that I'm giggling over while goofy on sleep meds)

He really should be smacked for every “surprise, here’s a human”

My Way Pt 3

Brainstorm x Reader

• “See? I’m already better at this than half the crew,” he calls out to Perceptor as you just stare at him with wide eyes. Maybe you’re defective and can’t vocalize? “You know, these things are kind of cute in an ugly way.” Can feel the frantic beat of your heart against his servos and honestly, he doesn’t get the obsession. Why fuss over and dote on these weird, little organics? Oh. You’re making a noise now. Kind of a high pitched wheezing.

• Frozen as the giant monster talks about you to the other monster like you’re not even there, he glances at the other one and as soon as those yellow optics aren’t staring a hole in you, the terror paralyzing you shatters. Screaming like you’re being bloodily dismembered and he almost drops you, jarring you into biting your tongue as your heart feels like it stops for a moment. “Your skills are astonishing. I’m sure even you can keep one little human alive,” the other mutters before disappearing.

• “Just had to scream, didn’t you? Look, you appear to be an adult. Probably. So I’ll make sure you have access to food and water and you don’t embarrass me,” he growls, watching you wince and touch your mouth. “That was embarrassing me, by the way.” And you’ve still got a hand over your mouth. Did you hurt yourself? How? Those tiny teeth look blunt. Venting, he carries you back to his habsuite and pulls a slightly used cleaning cloth from his subspace, putting you down and dropping it on top of you. Watching you struggle free before your wide eyes dart around and land on the vent. Can he be held accountable if you get in there? Probably. “I wouldn’t. Unless puréed by a fan is how you want to go out.”

• Shivering as the giant walks past you and sits at a desk, apparently wholly unconcerned about you crawling into the vent to purée yourself anyway despite his warning. And it occurs to you that you really don’t want to be on the floor considering how big he is. Especially his peds. Feeling like a toddler, you edge closer to him, head tipped back to study him. If he meant to hurt you, he would have by now, right? You’re pretty sure he’d only almost dropped you because you’d screamed in his face. If there’s more giant monsters, you need to at least buddy up to one of them for safety. Right? “Can I not be on the floor? Please?”

• So you can talk. Leaning to look down at you, he reaches out a hand and you shy away. “You want up here?” Looking miserable, you come closer and climb into his hand and it’s so disconcerting how tiny and breakable you are. Making him feel almost bad about the one Whirl has. How has it survived this long? “There,” he murmurs, lifting you to his desk and tipping his hand to get you to slide out of his palm, because you’re unsettlingly soft and warm. “If you eliminate on my desk, I’ll put you in the vent myself,” he adds as you just stare up at him. Ugly cute. “I’m Brainstorm by the way. Just sit there and don’t touch anything while I work.” Pulling up a schematic he’d been working on, because designing weapons calms him and right now his processor is a mess. No getting back to recharge until he works off the nervous energy. Didn’t want or need a human. What good are you anyway except to get in the way? Servos stilling when you wander closer, staring up at him, little expression serious. “What? Blinded by how handsome I am?” And still frowning up at him, you wrinkle your nose and shake your head. Okay, that’s just hurtful.

Previous

I apologize in advance if anything else I post today is badly in need of editing. In my defense, the grocery store had my wine in stock for once

[theemissuniverse]

“CRAZY STUPID THING CALLED LOVE” HENRY HART X SUNSHINE FEM!READER PART 1

SUMMARY : Kid Danger saves you from a robbery and can’t help but flirt with you, a stranger. But…maybe you do know him? (Both are 18 and in senior year of high school. I think only once mention of y/n)

A/N : I actually am proud of this. I think I really captured Henry and Kid Danger his alter ego really well while making it entertaining. Part 2 will be soon.

MASTERLIST

You probably shouldn’t be walking by yourself, alone in the dark. Swellview wasn’t exactly the safest place in the world with all the crime happening in town. You didn’t have a choice though. Getting a job to help your mother pay for the bills was something you just had to do. You were a waitress at a small diner in town and only made eight dollars an hour. The tips were barley dimes but it was putting food on the table.

Working was actually really good for you. It made you get out the house and get a breath of fresh air. The only thing you didn’t appreciate were the gross and quite frankly bold men that were willing to hit on an eighteen year old.

Juggling school and work wasn’t hard for you either. You were incredibly smart and because of you taking all the required classes in your freshman year, your senior year was flying by in a freeze.

The night was a cold one. You were so exhausted that you had left your jacket back at your job. The goosebumps ran down your arm and the hair stood still. The full moon was bright, beaming on your skin. You would’ve appreciated its beauty if it wasn’t so damn cold.

While you were walking, you saw a man walking towards you. You couldn’t really make out his face with the hood and it being dark. He wore all black clothing too. All you could tell was that he was a tall man.

“Hey, baby let me take you out in a date.”

You cringed at the grown man cat calling you. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to it. It didn’t matter though. You had to power through. You still had a ten minute walk to go.

“No thank you.” You tried to sound cheerful and polite as you made your way past him but he wasn’t going for it.

“I said let me take you.” He grabbed your forearm, keeping you in place. You hissed at the grip and he only made it tighter. He was starting to freak you out.

“Let me go, please.”

The man didn’t say anything. He looked down to your purse, eyeing it intensely before deciding to make the decision to grab it.

Honestly, it may have been stupid to fight him on the purse. Most people would say it isn’t worth your life. Well, to you, it was. That was all you had and you had to get it to your mother.

“Hey! Give it back!” You grabbed your purse but he still had all his strength on the purse.

“Let go, bitch!”

He smacked you across the face, making you fall down. You hit the concrete hard. It was as through the blood was going to your head because you felt dizzy.

Right when he was about to get away, you started to hear choking. It made you focus your eyes on him and that’s when you saw him. Kid Danger.

Kid Danger was choking the man. You never saw him so angry before. The way he was showed on the news made him seem like the funny but cool sidekick. Nothing like this.

He threw in a couple good punches at the man. While choking him. Your eyes were wide at seeing the sight. Blood was coming out the man’s mouth and nose.

After he finished, he held the man in place. The man was too out of it to fight back. “Careful. Don’t fall.” Then Kid Danger forcefully shoved him to the ground. “Aw. You forgot to be careful.”

Amazed was an understatement.

He stepped over the man’s body. Then grabbed the purse that was sitting on the ground. He walked a little ways over to you. You were waiting for him to help you up but he didn’t help you, he picked you up himself.

You were shocked at how strong he was, considering you knew Kid Danger was about your age. He held you, bridal style, looking you in the eyes. “Are you okay?”

He was a superhero. Of course he would show concern but the way he showed you concern felt like he had known you forever. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You say, still star struck at what just happened.

Kid Danger gently placed you on your feet but didn’t let go of you. His hand went to the right side of your cheek, seeing the bruise that was starting to form.

You saw the look of concern quickly turn back to anger. Again, the way he was acting was as if he knew you personally.

“I’m cool. It’s just a scratch.”

Kid Danger nodded but it looked like he wasn’t convinced. He pulled away from you slightly and handed you your purse. When he did, you instantly felt cold again. You started to hug yourself to find warmth.

“You cold?”

The voice. You didn’t know how it was familiar but it was. “A little.”

Kid Danger walked back over to the man. Then forced his jacket off of him. “Hey man that’s mine…” The man said drowsy but Kid Danger wasn’t hearing it. He immediately kicked the man in the stomach, causing him to yell in pain.

You held in your giggle but couldn’t hide your smile when he did that. He wrapped the jacket around you before helping you put your arms in.

“Um, thank you. I could’ve handled it though.” You jokingly said.

Kid Danger chuckled. He lifted your head up to examine the bruise. “Oh, yeah. I can tell.” He said before pulling away. “I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you not to lose your life over a purse.”

Again, the way he scolded you made you think as though he knew you to at least some degree. “Yeah, I know. But I really need it.”

“Must be something important in that purse.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re not the type to lose your life over something so small.”

“She is.” The robber perched up to say. Kid Danger doesn’t even bother to look at him. He takes out his laser pointer and zaps him repeatedly, putting him to sleep.

“Right…” You got back on topic. Then what he said caught your attention. “Not the type?” You asked. “You don’t know me.”

You could see the realization hit his eyes and he let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, totally. Never seen you before in my entire life.” He said then quickly reiterated what he said. “I mean, you just don’t seem like it.”

You nodded, a little skeptical but brushed it off. “Well, it has all the money I made from my job.”

“You work?” Kid Danger asked in surprise.

“Yeah.” He seemed appalled at the idea of working and you placed your hands on your hips. “You know you’re a superhero right?”

Kid Danger put up his arms, flexing his biceps playfully. “I’m gooood though, right?”

His playfulness, the way he was sassy, and the tone all reminded you of one person; Henry Hart.

Henry Hart had been in your class since Kindergarten. The two of you weren’t friends, but really good classmates and the two of you had a good relationship with each other.

But you also had a secret, you had a crush on him.

You always admired him from afar. He was funny and handsome. A guy you thought had it all but every girl in the entire school swooned over him so you never stood a chance.

Kid Danger caught you laughing and smiling which made him smile back at you. “What?”

“You just remind me of someone.”

“Insanely good looking and awesome?”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. “Yeah, kinda.” You fixed the strap of your purse before extending your hand for him to shake. “I’m, (Y/N).”

Kid Danger took your hand but didn’t shake it. Instead he brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles, giving you a little wink. “Nice to meet you.”

You had heard Kid Danger being flirtatious but you weren’t expecting him to be flirty with you. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and you pulled your hand away from him. “Oh. Cool. Um. I should be heading home.”

You started to walk away from him but Kid Danger was right on your side, walking with you. “Cool. Lead the way.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You shook your head.

“Um, yeah I do.” He pointed to the bruise on your cheek. “I gotta save you from yourself.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Haha. So funny.” Before he could say something, you ended up tripping on a high crack in the concrete but Kid Danger was fast. He caught you.

“Yeah, definitely gotta save you from yourself.”

You looked at him like, curiously. “How can you do that again?”

Kid Danger helped you back up and the two of you started walking again. “Hyper mobility. I got fast reflexes.”

You nodded at the explanation before sighing. “I couldn’t imagine being a hero and saving lives.”

“It’s cool. Stressful but I like helping people.”

“What made you do it anyway?”

“Well, I was looking for a job and Captain Man asked me helicopters or kangaroos, and I said helicopter.”

You gave him an unconvincing look. “You’re serious?”

The look of unbelievable made him laugh. “I know it sounds crazy but basically yeah. Being a superhero has its advantages too.”

You nodded knowingly. “I bet.”

The way you said it made him look at you. “What’s that mean?”

“Oh come on, I bet you have all the girls in town drooling over you.”

The statement made Kid Danger agree. “A lot of girls do drool over me.” Then he had realized what you said. “You saying you’re not one of them?”

“You’re not my type.” You said all with a smile.

He gave you a look like you had offended him. He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m not your type?!”

It made you laugh. “Believe it or not, Kid Danger but you’re not everyone’s type.”

“Hmm.” The two of you walked while he was in deep thought until he eventually gasped like he was a school girl. Then he jokingly hit your shoulder. “You have a crush on someone.”

Your face started to become red. Kid Danger calling you out on your crush had to be the most embarrassing thing that could happen to you. Even though you were pretty much over it. “Um…”

“You totally do. Who is it?”

“You wouldn’t even know.”

“Which is exactly why you should tell me. Where’s the harm in it?”

He was right. He wouldn’t know who it was and it’s not like he was going to go blab to the guy. You bit your lip, fighting the embarrassment that was running through you. “Just some guy at my school.”

Kid Danger seemed even more excited to know who it was. “Who is…?”

He wasn’t going to give it up. That was obvious so you gave in and told him. “Henry Hart.”

He froze. Stopped dead in his tracks. The sudden movement made you stop to. You couldn’t read any other expression besides shock. It was starting to make your heart sink. “Do you know him?”

After the question, Kid Danger quickly coughed like he was choking and shook his head. “What? No. Henry Hart? Such a dumb name.”

He started to walk again and grabbed your hand to make you start back walking. “What do you like about him?”

“Why? Do you want to date him?” You questioned sarcastically.

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

You shook your head then sighed. “I don’t know. He’s funny and nice. It’s kinda hard to explain. We’ve known each other since Kindergarten. I mean the crush isn’t really a big deal. It’s starting to go away honestly.”

Kid Danger scoffed like he was offended. “Go away? What did I-i mean-what did he do to start making it go away?”

“I mean, you can’t keep liking the same guy you’ve liked since third grade. Especially the guy that doesn’t really see you.”

“He sees you.”

“How would you know?”

As the two of you walked along the street, a flower vendor was there. Kid Danger stopped in his tracks and pulled out a money clip out his pocket. Then handed the guy some money. He placed the clip back before taking a rose from the stand. He handed you the rose. “Look at you. What guy wouldn’t see you.”

‘Kid Danger? Giving me a rose? Is this really happening?’ You tried to hide your smile but couldn’t. He noticed and smiled back.

The two of you went back to walking. “If that’s the case then why hasn’t he came up to me.”

“Well…maybe it’s because he doesn’t think he has a chance.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right. He has every girl at school wrapped around his finger.”

Kid Danger laughed at your comment, wiping his mouth. “I don’t think he has every girl wrapped.”

“He absolutely does.”

“Regardless…maybe it’s because you’re different. I mean, all those other girls are the same but…you’re you. And maybe he doesn’t want to mess that up.”

You listened intently on his advice trying to buy it. It could be true but you honestly didn’t think so. Henry Hart didn’t have feelings for you and that was okay. You were practically over it. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The two of you finally reached to your house. He walked you up your porch steps. “Thanks for walking me home. You didn’t have to do that.” You said while taking the jacket off and handing it to him.

Remembering it was the robber’s coat, he just threw it over his shoulder, hitting the trash can on the curb loudly. It made you shake your head. “Why do you work? Shouldn’t you be focused on school?”

“I need to help pay the bills. My mom can’t do it alone.” You saw the look of pity in his face and you sighed. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. The only bad thing about it is all the grown ass men hitting on me.”

Kid Danger’s jaw clenched. His knuckles were tight and he looked pissed. “What days you work?”

“Just Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.”

“What time?”

“3 to 12. Why?”

Kid Danger grabbed a red marker out his pocket. Then grabbed your arm. He wrote out what appeared to be a phone number on it. “Call me and I’ll walk you.”

You gave him a look as he wrote. “Um. My arm?”

When he was finished, he placed the marker back in his pocket. “Um. It washes off?” He playfully said while copying the tone of your voice.

You looked at the number and then looked back up at him. “Do you give out your number to every girl you save?”

With that question, Kid Danger just winked at you. “Only the pretty ones.”

‘Why did he have to be so flirty with me?’ You didn’t know how many times your face went red tonight with him but it had to of been the one hundredth. “Well. I better get going.”

You tried to rush in your home but he grabbed your arm to stop you. “Make sure you talk to that guy.”

“I already told you. I’m over him. Just an old crush.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

Kid Danger nodded. He took his hand from your arm. “You want to go on a date then?”

The question caught you so off guard that you almost started to choke on your own spit. “Like a coffee date or like-“

“Like the kind I give you flowers, take you to dinner, you tell me everything about yourself and then I get to kiss you at the end.”

You felt your heart beating out of your chest. You both liked how straightforward he was and hated it. There was no way Kid Danger was asking you out.

You started to laugh out nervousness. “What? Well…I mean how is that gonna work? With the whole anonymous superhero thing?”

“You let me take you out on three dates and I’ll take my mask off.”

What you weren’t understanding is why he was so eager to take you? Why did he like you so much? “I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure you got a whole line of women at your feet so I won’t be a bother. I let you go out with them.”

You turned the doorknob to your house, trying to escape the conversation but Kid Danger would not let you. He shut the door and backed up until your back hit the door. It made you drop the rose out of your hand. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

Kid Danger picked the rose up and handed it to you. “You in or not?”

With his assertiveness, you really didn’t even think you had a choice to back out. “Um…when?”

“Tomorrow. 8. Wear red. You look good in it.”

Before you could say anything, he was already walking about from you. Then you thought of something. You weren’t wearing any red. “How does he know I look good in red?”

[kisssukuna33]

𝙅𝙅𝙆 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔 𝘾𝙀𝙇𝙀𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙑𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙀!!

Satoru Gojo

-Gives the most expensive gifts-

Satoru is the type to go all out for special occasions. So obviously he's no less in his game when it comes to valentine either. He's the type to give everyone he knows well valentine gifts including his partner, colleagues and even the students but he knows better to prioritize his partner above everyone else. He would be the type to keep track on your wishlist so he won't end up giving you useless gifts you won't be using. If your wishlist looks too poor for his taste he's generous enough to sneak in more extra gifts until it feels satisfying enough.

Nanami Kento

- loves to take care of you during the day-

Nanami is more of an action guy than a gift giver when it comes to Valentine. He would be the type to wake up at 3 am without you knowing so he can surprise you with a freshly baked cake and a delicious breakfast. Nanami always loves spending quality time with you on special occasions so the valentine day would be no different. You two will partake in activities Nanami has planned for both of you and he would end the day with a delicious homemade dinner worth a 5 star rating.

Choso kamo

-The chocolate disaster-

What's a valentine day without chocolate? That's Choso's motto during valentine. He's the type to buy a lot of ingredients he won't even be using and get started on the chocolate making atleast a week prior. No amount of preparing can prevent the complete disaster incoming though. You see Choso wanted to give you the BEST so he tried his best but maybe overdoing it too much can leads to you fucking up the whole thing, that's how Choso ended up with chocolate that barely tasted like chocolate and a kitchen covered in chocolate syrup and bits. But that doesn't demotivate your boyfriend at all because he wants his girl smiling on valentine, so he starts again and finally made them somewhat edible. No matter the taste the dedication your boyfriend put to the chocolates warms your heart anyway.

Atleast It is until you come over to his apartment and sees the complete disaster waiting for u in the kitchen.

Toji Fushiguro

- last minute gift buyer-

Toji is a man with a lot of responsibilities. Working through missions daily and still coming over to his house like a normal family man while keeping his job as an Assassin a secret from his wife indeed requires a lot of work. So you really can't blame Toji if he misses one thing or two. Maybe that's why he's confused as to why his wife is suddenly giving him the silent treatment. He follows around you like a lost puppy that evening trying to figure out what's wrong with you. And when you two finally settle into bed that's when it clicks to him as he remembers way too much pink shit being everywhere in the town today. He mentally curses as he excused himself from the bed to "go on a walk". Toji uses that opportunity to finally go into the town and find a gift that you would actually enjoy. Your anger washes over the moment you see your husband approach you with a small gift box in hands. He doesn't forget to apologize again and again for fucking up the day for you.

Ryomen Sukuna

- the mean tease-

Sukuna would be the type to buy you a gift even before you mention to him about Valentine. He would play it safe by saying "Useless stuff" "Good day for money grabbing corporate overlords". He enjoys teasing you throughout the day while you are waiting impatiently for his gift. But his teasing drops the moment he sees the pout and the gloomy expression taking over your face as you accept defeat. Sukuna's ass is so down bad for you that he absolutely HATES seeing you in that expression. Not even a minute after he tosses a gift box to your lap.

"Aw Kuna you bought a valentine gift for me?"

"No I just bought you a "gift" like I always do"

"No but you gave it to me during Valentine so of course it's a valentine gift!"

"Don't be stupid brat"

He says in his usual annoyed tone but you weren't able to miss the slight blush appearing in his face after you thank him with a kiss to his cheek.

Ugh I just love Sukuna so much, Hope y'all enjoy this Valentine drabble!<33

[clonerightsagenda]

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.  

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

#

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

#

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

#

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.  

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

#

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

#

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”  

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

#

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

#

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

#

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

#

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.  

#

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

#

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

#

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

#

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

[pricegouge]

Also for the apocalypse if you’re still in the mood … Nik and his dochka who didn’t have a particularly healthy normal relationship to begin with, and toss in either a contagious infection or mutation-causing radiation, maybe some sex pollen type vibes. Nikolai locking his sweet girl up in her room after he’s exposed— needs to protect you from him— and he’s getting all of these sick urges… but he’s a strong man with an iron will, so he’ll be fine. You can stay in here until… until this wears off. Until there’s a cure.

His will may be iron when it comes to denying himself his own desires, but when it comes to you? It’s paper thin. He can only stand to hear your crying and pawing at the door for so long. You’re used to so much affection from him, he’s all you have left in a world that’s ending, you’re used to being able to crawl into his bed to sleep if you need to. You just can’t handle feeling so lonely, even if it’s what papochka says needs to happen to keep you safe. It hurts too much to be without him, you tell him as much, chipping away at his resolve. Not to mention the sweet scent coming from your door, like a siren call…

-🦷

I've said it before and I'll say it again. whatever the hell the opposite of dacryphilia is will always get me

cw: incest, obviously. grooming implied. dubcon due to consent being pretty meaningless but aside from that everyone is very happy to be here. i ended up adding a dash of religious guilt just cause i thought it added to reader's innocence. unedited and idek if it's hot to anyone else but like. gotta jump back on that smut writing horse sometime.

the worst part is, you want to be strong for him but you just can't seem to manage it. you know he's in pain, that he's scared for your safety. you want to be good, like he asked. because you're always good for him. but everything's been so hard ever since...

well, ever since.

(you don't like thinking about it, the incident. that first encounter, on the train, when papa had had to bloody his fist on a man's jaw because he'd gotten to close to you.)

they said it affected one's inhibition. made angry men violent, and lustful men like that one on the train... physical. in the streets, people had been reduced to animal instinct, but papa was not a sinful man so you didn't understand when he'd locked you away in your room, offering no real explanation beyond a general need to keep you safe.

yet there was no safer place than by his side, especially not when you spend every waking minute scared, jumping at shadows as the ghost of the man on the train haunts you late into the night. you'd tried to keep your cries muffled, but it was hard to do so in your sleep. twice now you've woken up to the sound of your father just outside the door, thumping his head against it as he tries to keep himself in check. keep himself away from you.

it only brings you more tears, fear and loneliness mixing until you can't even pry yourself away from the door, scratching at it like an abandoned puppy as you cry for the man who has always made things better, who's never once denied you anything until now.

he gives when you ask if it's the virus making him this way, if he's always wished to keep you locked away from him. "you're like that man, aren't you?" you sniffle, heaped next to the door one evening with your cheek pressed up against it, listening to him pacing on the other side. "acting on impulse. only, you don't want me." your voice creaks, fresh sobs building, but it's drowned out by the squeal of the hinges, the door falling away from you as it's ripped back, spilling you out into the hall where's papa's crouched to catch you, free hand heavy as he stokes it over your brow, down your cheek. with his forehead pressed to yours, he murmurs something about how stupid you are and then kisses you soundly before you can even get yourself worked up about the insult.

apologies follow, murmured against your skin in between the kisses he peppers across your face. he's sorry for locking you away, for ignoring your cries. he's sorry he left you all alone when he knows how scared you are. he's even sorry for calling you stupid, a notion that would make you giggle if not for the way his stubble scratches your skin, makes you arch into him, seeking more. he's overgrown, hasn't shaved properly in days. you wonder if that's due to a general lack of care brought about by the virus, or because supplies are going limited.

but it's hard to care about such things he's pressed against you so insistently, blocking out all other thoughts with a physicality you're unused to from him. papa has never been distant by any means (in fact the two of you have always had the close sort of relationship that's made your friends jealous. snide little comments and meant to drive a wedge between you. papa had never let you listen, assured you that your friends were simply misguided because their own fathers were no good.) but this feels different. his kisses have never lingered like this before, never been pressed into the crook of your neck, humid breath lingering on your skin as he breathes deep your scent. neither have you ever felt -. he's never been -.

"i'm sorry, milaya," he says again, aimless, like he doesn't even know what he's apologizing for anymore. generally, maybe.

there's no need for it, regardless. you hold his face between your palms and tell him it's okay and he caves, again, sinking against you with his lips sealed to yours until your knees buckle and he guides you to the bed. he keeps apologizing but you don't want to hear it, not when he's making you feel so good, so you distract him with more kisses, keep his lips busy another way. distantly, you know it's wrong, but what can it matter when the word's burning outside your window? when he's burning here and now, between your thighs, desperate for a relief only you can give him?

he promises to at least make it good, makes a sound like you've gut punched him when you say you know he will. he gets your skirt up first, lets you bunch it between your teeth when he draws embarrassing sounds from your lips, his own moving against your pussy with the same kind of ardor he'd shown your neck - desperate huffs and gentle, lingering kisses. it's… a lot, but not enough. makes you whine and squirm but doesn't make you mindless the way you'd thought it would, not until he groans in pleasure and digs himself deeper, panting against you with his nose pressed to your clit as he works you open on his tongue. he lets you get used to it, lets your pleasure build as much as it will, like this, dissatisfied and empty. he only moves when you're begging, fingers sunk into his hair as you try to pull him closer, deeper, anywhere -

of course he knows what you need. resurfaces with a deep, shuddering breath which he filters through the hair on your mound. his finger finds your hole as he mouths at you absently, too busy watching your reaction with heavy-lidded eyes. you take the first finger easily enough, cunt soaked with all his efforts. he gives you time to adjust anyway, digit gently probing against your front wall as he fucks it in and out of you minutely. it's better, but still not what you need, and he chuckles against your skin when you pout at him, trying to work your hips up despite the oppressive weight he's got leaned onto you.

"patience, dochka," he warns, no real heat. but it seems he's done denying you anything because his second finger lines up with the first even before he's finished speaking, blunt tip rubbing against your fluttering lips until they give, slight burn soothed by the way his first finger keeps rubbing against you. still, your father is a big man and it's a big stretch, forces a tiny gasp from you even as you try to breathe around it. and papa's at his limit for how much pain he can cause you.

his lips find your clit before you can even process the sting, long hot stripes that have you melting, legs falling away from him like a flower in bloom. he muscles impossibly closer in their absence, broad shoulders carving space for himself in the cradle of you. his free hand snakes over your hips, keeps you pressed against the mattress with enough force you couldn't squirm away even if you wanted. it's oppressive, being surrounded by him like this - even if you're not, not really, left lonely and open and embarrassed on your top half. it's good though, at least it is when you hide your face away and focus on papa's steady tongue, let him work you up until you don't feel the pain anymore, two fingers pumping into you with ease. you drift where he takes you, at his mercy as he reels you in and out of pleasure, distracted enough that you barely even register when he repeats the process with a third finger until his knuckles are bullying past your gate, earning another whine.

"i know, malýshka," he growls against your clit. "just a little more, hm? are you gonna be good for papochka?"

you're always good for him, nodding along before you can even fully register what he's asking. but that's okay because he makes it easy, sitting back enough that he can spit on your cunt, voice a low rumble of his native tongue as he watches you flinch at the sudden insult, hole clenching tight around his fingers before letting them ease oh so gently in, freshly lubed with his spit.

it gets easier after that, stretched so wide around his digits he can't miss any inch of you, scissoring you open with fingers that drag against all your most sensitive points. he doesn't go back to licking you yet, is too entranced by the way your mouth gapes, open and honest as he forces little whines from you, a heady overture to bass rumble of his voice, low enough you barely register when he switches back to english, a steady stream of praises which have you arching under him, always eager for his affection. khoroshaya devochka. that's it. there we go. give it to me. his thumb finds your clit and start to shake, falling apart at the seams.

"said i was like that man, dochka," he growls, a sudden vicious edge to his voice as he works you with singular focus. it sounds important so you try to listen, but he makes it hard with the rough pad of his thumb working you over. "durak. that man would have used you up. spat you out. not like him, milaya," he promises, kneeling back and dragging you with him, your legs pushed up and back until he could slot his hard cock up against your ass, lean his whole weight into you as he continued pumping his fingers into your abused pussy. your pleasure crests, pools in the basin he's made of your pelvis, brimming. spills when his free hand brushes your hair back from your face, that soft care you've always needed from him. "papa just wants to make you make you happy."

[smashorpassgilf]

For "ugly" anon: Ive been there so hard with feeling so I'm attractive I am completely unable to see when someone else thinks I'm hot, even when they tell me outright. Most of my life.

The reality is that it's mostly in your head. Guaranteed. Artists say they are their own worst critics and the same thing applies to most things in life, including physical appearance. Maybe you aren't that hot physically, but that doesn't make you ugly or undesirable. No one gets a full pass on a smashorpass there are ALWAYS people who think the person who got an 80% pass is a genuine smash and that goes for real life too.

The best way to feel good about yourself (at least from my experience) is to a) stop thinking negatively about yourself. Force it if you have to at first. I've straight up slapped myself in the middle of a mean thought before and the sheer fun and absurdity of that alone had me smiling the next hour. Then b) what DO you like about the way you look? It can be something so small: A freckle, your eyelashes, your hips, your lips etc. Focus on those things instead. Tell yourself "wow my freckles are so cute today" it sounds so stupid but it works. And then C) wear something that makes you feel good, even if it's as simple as jewellery or getting a new hair style.

Anyway I know this maybe isn't the blog for this but I get carried away when I see people getting down on themselves because YOU ARE SO WORTHY OF A CRUSH EVEN IF YOU DONT FEEL LIKE YOU ARE.

Idk I think this is the blog for it.