#i’m just juggling everything unable to finish anything

[lechrts]

brother's best friend!oscar!!!!!!

Archetype. ✷ Oscar Piastri

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Norris!reader

Summary: When your brother’s best friend finds you stressing out and he comforts you.

Word Count: 2.1k

Disclaimer/s: norris sister reader , fluff ? ish .. idk

Vera’s Voice! BOOF….. I HOPE I DID THIS JUSTICE. i tried but Lmk. hope u enjoy this !!!!! thank u for the request ^_^

The hum of the Silverstone paddock filled the air, mixed with the sounds of rushing fans, tire changes, and radio calls. It was race weekend, and the energy was electric.

Lando was in his element, bouncing around the garage with the kind of confidence and ease that only came when it was home turf.

And of course, being his little sister and all, you were there in support no matter what. Perched on the edge of the chaos, offering quiet encouragement from the sidelines.

It was a proud moment for you as his little sister, but today, despite the cheers, your mind was elsewhere.

You had been in the paddock since early morning, trying to keep a brave face while your mind battled with the stress of university assignments piling up back home.

The constant juggling between being a supportive sister and keeping up with your academic commitments was starting to take its toll.

You had retreated to the sanctuary of Lando’s driver room for a moment of peace, hoping the quiet would give you a chance to center yourself.

With a laptop open in front of you, your notes scattered around, you furiously typed, unable to focus on anything other than the deadlines you were desperately trying to meet.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love the sport or being here for Lando, but the pressure was mounting. Your stomach churned, not from the excitement of the weekend, but from the looming weight of university demands.

The door creaked open, and you didn’t even look up. “Hey—” Your words faltered when you saw who had entered the room.

It wasn’t Lando.

Oscar stood there, his usual quiet demeanor tempered with concern.

You had always known there was something between the two of you.

Ever since Oscar became Lando’s teammate, the tension had been palpable. You had shared laughs, some late-night talks after races, and moments of shared understanding.

You were close, but never more than that. At least, you tried to convince yourself of that.

You both had a way of bantering and making each other laugh, but you’d never taken the leap into something deeper.

It was hard when you were his teammate’s little sister and when Oscar seemed so out of reach.

He, however, was not out of reach now. His eyes softened when they landed on you, hunched over your laptop in the driver’s room. He must have noticed the stress radiating from your posture.

He cleared his throat before taking a step inside.

“Oh, hey you alright?” His voice was warm, as if he knew exactly what was going on in your mind.

You straightened, trying to hide the frustration on your face, but you knew you didn’t fool him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, um, university stuff,” You muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “I just need to finish this. I’ll be fine.”

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, watching you closely. “Have you been here this entire time? It’s mid day..”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, the weight of the laptop heavy on your lap. “Yeah…” You answered. “It’s just that I’m so behind. I’ve got all these assignments due, and I’m freaking out.”

Oscar pushed off the doorframe and walked over to you. “Let me see.”

You hesitated, but Oscar, always the curious one, peered over your shoulder. His presence was calming, the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with the scent of fresh tires and the metallic tang of the track.

He stood close enough that you could feel his warmth, but not too close to make it awkward. You noticed how his eyes darted to your screen, scanning the notes you had scattered around.

“Need a hand?” He asked, his voice still soft but insistent.

You shook your head. “No, I can do it, it’s just… everything’s due at once, and it feels like I can’t catch up.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there in silence, thinking. Then, he reached out and gently closed the laptop. You blinked, surprised by the action. “Hey, no—dont,” you started, but Oscar shook his head.

“No,” He said, his tone a little firmer now. “Take a break. You’re not going to solve this by stressing yourself out here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Oscar wasn’t having it. He reached down and tugged at your wrist, coaxing you up from the chair. “Come on,” He said, guiding you toward the small sofa in the corner of the room.

“Relax for a minute.”

You followed him reluctantly, sinking into the cushions. Oscar sat down next to you, close but not too close. You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of distant chatter from the paddock filtering into the room.

But the stillness was only temporary. The air between you two seemed charged, something unspoken lingering.

You could feel his presence like it was pulling you in, his proximity making your heart beat just a little faster.

Oscar leaned back against the sofa, glancing over at you. “It’s important to take care of yourself,” He said, his voice low, yet full of meaning.

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat as you noticed the way his eyes met yours—steady, almost searching, as if there was something deeper there. A flicker of warmth spread across your chest.

“I know. I’ll be fine,” You muttered, but the words didn’t hold the same conviction as before. “Everything just feels like a lot right now, is all.”

Oscar’s lips twitched into a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the quiet amusement he often wore around you.

But this time, it felt different. More intimate.

He studied you for a second. “Want a hug?” He asked, his tone still gentle, but with that soft sincerity that made your heart stutter.

The offer was unexpected, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“I’m here if you need anything, you know...” He paused. “Me and Lando, yeah.” He quickly corrected himself.

You could feel his gaze lingering on you as he pulled away, heavy with something unspoken. His shoulder brushed yours, and despite the casual nature of the gesture, the touch felt electric.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled at his closeness. “I’m not used to asking for help,” You admitted quietly.

Oscar didn’t reply right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with that thoughtful expression that you’d grown familiar with over the past months.

Then, after a long pause, he let out a quiet sigh.

“It’s okay to lean on others when you need it.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the words hanging in the air, and for a moment, you were lost in the intensity of it all.

There was a weight to his gaze now, something tender, as if he were offering you more than just comfort.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same way you did.

Before you could respond, the door to the room swung open without warning, and in walked Lando. You froze, and Oscar quickly leaned back, putting more space between the two of you.

Lando stepped in, his usual smirk in place, but it faltered when he saw the situation.

“Oh,” He said, his voice rising in playful surprise. “Osc… was just looking for you?”

The aussie raised his brows. “You were?”

Lando’s gaze went back and forth between the both of you. “Yeah… They’re calling us for a quick briefing.. Uh—“ He cleared his throat. “Are you okay? What—what is all this…?” His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows furrowed after glancing at you. His had gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m fine.” You brushed it off.

And Oscar, ever so calmly replied as well. “I was actually looking for you, but I found her stressing a little, so I stayed to make sure she’s alright.”

Lando looked between the both of you again , an eyebrow arched in mild confusion.

The wheels in his head started turning, but before he could say anything further, he noticed the look in your eyes—distant, tired, and a little overwhelmed.

Lando’s expression softened. “Right,” He said, walking in fully now but not pressing the issue. “Well.. You sure you’re alright?” He asked you, his voice more gentle now, a shift in tone from his usual teasing one.

You sighed, rubbing your face with both hands. “Yeah, I’m okay now. Just… a lot going on. School work and all,” You explained quietly, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

Oscar, who had already stepped back to give you some space, gave you a knowing look. “Think she just needed to step back and take a break.” He said, his voice soft with concern as his hand rested ever so near your own.. almost as if he wanted to hold

it. “Think you’ve calmed down a little though.”

Lando’s eyes lingered on you, his instincts as a big brother wanting to make sure you were really okay, but he seemed to read the situation.

He let out a breath and nodded, though his concern didn’t quite fade.

“Alright,” He said, voice still lighter but with a hint of that older brother protectiveness. “Just, you know, let me know if you need anything.”

You gave him a weak smile, nodding. “Thanks, Lan.”

Oscar, sensing it was time for him to step back, gave you a final, reassuring glance. “You’ll be alright here?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, offering a smile that was more genuine this time. “Yeah. Thanks, Oscar. Really.”

Oscar gave a soft nod, then turned toward Lando. “Ready?” He asked, his voice shifting to the casual tone they both shared.

Lando shot you one last look before following Oscar out the door, muttering something about getting back to the paddock.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone again in the quiet room, feeling lighter—comforted not only by Oscar’s support but by the way they both made sure you were okay before leaving.

And as you sat there, the tension between you and Oscar lingered in the air, but now it felt a little less uncertain.

He had been there when you needed it most—and, somehow, you knew he always would be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and just lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[emmbrr]

artists/makers with adhd — how do you… do it. how do u get your shit done. bc some days i really cannot. like today

[solxamber]

Desperate Confessions with: Jamil Viper, Sebek Zigvolt

Others: Riddle and Leona

Jamil Viper

The kitchen was filled with the soothing clatter of utensils and the faint aroma of simmering spices. You were chopping vegetables with practiced ease, seamlessly slipping into the rhythm of Jamil's kitchen. He stole a glance at you—your focused expression, the casual way you moved as though this chaotic dance of preparation was second nature to you.

You didn't hesitate to reach for the salt he needed, passing it wordlessly, or to stir a pot he’d left unattended while juggling a dozen other tasks.

It wasn’t the first time you’d done this—helped him without making it a grand gesture, without expecting recognition. But today, something was different. Today, it felt like a dam broke inside him.

Jamil stopped chopping, the knife trembling slightly in his hand. His heart pounded against his ribs, a wild, relentless drumbeat that left him breathless. You were talking, something light and offhanded about how he always managed to make dinner look easy despite everything. But the words blurred in his mind, drowned by the overwhelming realization that he couldn’t keep holding this in.

He couldn’t keep swallowing his feelings, pretending that the way you effortlessly lightened his burdens didn’t mean the world to him.

The air felt charged as he set down the knife, turning to face you. His hands clenched at his sides, his breathing uneven.

“Jamil?” you asked, your voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “I—” He paused, his voice faltering as a wave of emotion surged through him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather himself, but it was no use. The words spilled out in a rush, raw and desperate.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he confessed, his voice low but trembling with intensity. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t drive me insane—how you’re always there, always helping, always making everything easier without even realizing it. You don’t expect anything, you don’t ask for anything, and it—it’s too much.”

Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to respond, but he continued, unable to stop now that he’d started.

“I don’t just want your help. I don’t just want your kindness. I want—” His voice broke, and he took another step closer, his heart hammering so fiercely it felt like it might break free of his chest. His hands reached for yours, hesitating for a moment before finally grasping them gently but firmly, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I want you,” he finished, his voice soft but unyielding. “I want to be the one who gets to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. I’ve been holding this back for so long, but I can’t anymore. I…” His voice dropped to a whisper, his dark eyes searching yours with a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I love you.”

You stared at him, speechless, as his words sank in. The air between you felt electric, heavy with unsaid things. His gaze flickered down to your lips, and he felt an almost unbearable urge to close the distance. His grip on your hands tightened slightly, his restraint wavering.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “But I can’t—”

“Then don’t,” you interrupted softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He froze, his breath catching as you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was equal parts tentative and desperate, like he’d been starving for this moment for years. His hands cupped your face gently, reverently, as though you were something fragile and precious.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. You smiled at him, your cheeks warm, and he couldn’t help but mirror it, his usual guarded expression melting into something softer, something unguarded.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the rapid fluttering of your heart. “And I’m not going anywhere, Jamil.”

His shoulders sagged, as though a weight he’d carried for far too long had finally been lifted. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, the smell of spices and warmth enveloping both of you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jamil allowed himself to want something—no, to want you. And as he held you, he knew he’d never let you go.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was, as usual, in the middle of a passionate lecture about Malleus, his voice booming with fervor. You had long since learned to tune out the dramatics and focus on the little things—the way his hands gestured wildly as if the fate of the world depended on it, the way his ears twitched when he got particularly worked up, and the faint pink dusting his cheeks whenever you gave him a little too much attention.

Today was no different. You sat beside him on the bench, letting his enthusiasm wash over you like white noise, a faint smile playing on your lips. Without thinking, you leaned against his shoulder, sighing contentedly as you rested your weight against him.

The effect was immediate. Sebek stiffened like someone had swapped his spine with a metal rod, his words faltering mid-sentence.

“And that’s why—why Lord Malleus is… what are you—what are you doing?!” he stammered, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You blinked up at him innocently. “Listening. You were saying something about Malleus and… moonlight?”

His ears turned a shade of pink that would’ve been comical if your heart wasn’t busy fluttering at how adorable he looked when flustered.

“Stop that,” he grumbled, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Stop what?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Smiling!” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

You tilted your head, puzzled. “Huh? Why?”

“Because…” He clenched his fists, as though physically restraining himself from blurting out something disastrous. But it was no use. The truth clawed its way out of him, raw and unpolished. “Because I… like it too much.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebek immediately averted his gaze, as if the sky might mercifully swallow him whole if he refused to acknowledge you.

You stared at him for a moment, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. A teasing smile spread across your face as you reached out, grabbing his face gently but firmly between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Sebek,” you said, your voice light and playful despite the warmth blooming in your chest. “Do you like me?”

His eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked as though he might faint on the spot. But then the dam burst, and all his pent-up frustration and longing came pouring out in a torrent of words.

“You’re unfair! Your smile is cruel! You haunt my every waking moment with your ridiculous kindness and your infernal warmth! How am I supposed to serve Lord Malleus with any semblance of dignity when you—when you—” His voice cracked again, and he looked down, his expression somewhere between mortified and miserable. “…when you’re so you.”

The confession hung in the air, and you couldn’t help it—you leaned in and kissed him, cutting off his rambling in the gentlest way possible. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and he froze for a moment, clearly too overwhelmed to compute what was happening.

When you pulled back, you were grinning, your face flushed. “There. Better?”

Sebek sat there, his face an unreadable mix of shock and flustered indignation. He touched his lips like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. And then, as if the words were yanked from him against his will, he blurted, “That’s not enough!”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not enough?”

He cleared his throat, his ears practically glowing. “I need to… confirm. One more time. For certainty!”

You chuckled, your chest aching with fondness, and leaned in again. “If you insist.”

This time, he kissed you back, hesitant but earnest, his hands hovering awkwardly before finally resting on your shoulders. When you finally pulled apart, Sebek looked like he’d just run a marathon, his face flushed and his eyes dazed.

“Happy now?” you teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

“…For now,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but the shy smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

Masterlist

[valscigarette]

Fire Slowly Dying

As soon as the lights drop, Fizzarolli leaps into the wings of the stage to thrust the flaming batons at a stagehand, He can’t let go of it fast enough. There are no nerve endings in the smooth ceramic of his hands, but he swears he can feel the fire’s tongue licking his fingers after he lets go.

He should’ve tried harder to explain this to Mammon. Not going on at all would’ve been better than dropping than dropping the baton in the middle of his routine because the smell of smoke in the stagnant green air returns him to memories he’d prefer to forget. Anything is better than freezing. He can barely force his heavy legs further backstage, sure Mammon is going to appear any second and make him regret fucking up such a simple trick.

Fizzarolli makes it to his dressing room, where he’s afforded a couple frantic gasps of air before Mammon appears in a putrid cloud, knocking memorabilia and photos to the floor carelessly as he looms over Fizz. He’s tall enough as is, but filling the room like this, he seems to go on forever until there’s no room for anything else, let alone a shitty clown who flubbed mid-performance.

“Hey, Fizzie,” Mammon growls, poking him in the chest with a greasy gloved finger, “tell me what the fuck happened out there?”

Unable to make his tongue cooperate with his brain, Fizzarolli defaults into a wide smile and presses himself against his dressing room door, held shut by one of Mammon’s hands. There’s no escape. A jittery laugh bubbles up from his throat.

“Isn’t juggling like, your specialty?” Mammon asks.

Fizzarolli manages a nod.

“Yeah, I thought so, ‘cause this is the first time I’ve seen you drop shit.” Mammon pats Fizzarolli roughly between the horns, making him bite his tongue with the force. He swallows a whimper as he stares up at his boss. “Are you losing your touch? I thought you were gonna be a legend, but if you’re fucking up basic routines…”

“No!” Fizzarolli shakes his head violently enough to feel nauseous. “It won’t happen again, sir, I promise. I just, uh, have this thing?” The look on Mammon’s face makes Fizzarolli feel like the gum on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m not so good with fire. Maybe I don’t have to include fire in my acts.”

A small part of him still expects Mammon to understand when things get to be too much. At the end of the day, he swears that Fizz is like a son to him, and he’s done everything to make Fizz a star, so there has to be a part of him that cares even the tiniest amount for Fizzarolli’s well being. Mammon’s a dickhead but he has to give a shit.

“They’re doing cool shit with lights in Lust these days. We could see if-”

Mammon slaps him. Fizz doesn’t process the sting of it until he’s already on the ground, spitting blood and cupping his face as he stares at the stained, ruined suede of Mammon’s jester boots. “Don’t be fucking dense. That’s just performance anxiety. You don’t want to let down your fans, do you?”

Silent, Fizzarolli shakes his head.

“Of course not!” Mammon cackles. “You have to do it, and remember to smile. Where’s my smile, Fizzie?”

He contorts himself to be face to face with Fizzarolli, close enough to smell his rotten breath, and squints, obviously waiting. Surrounded by green and choking on the air, Fizzarolli wonders if he could spontaneously combust under the weight of Mammon’s disappointment and finish what the fire at the circus started. He has no choice. He forces his strained smile into place and Mammon rears back with a laugh.

“There it is! Now clean yourself up, you’ve got a little…” Mammon gestures at Fizzarolli’s face, where his mascara is probably running under his watery eyes. “And I’ll help you practice until you get it right.”

After a final condescending squeeze of Fizzarolli’s cheeks, Mammon vanishes, leaving Fizz crumpled on the floor.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Find the Word Tag Game

tagged by: @sleepyowlwrites!! my words: look, lose, long, leave, linger, liable tagging: @sleepyowlwrites, @drippingmoon, @druidx, @ashen-crest, @drabbleitout, @zmwrites, anyone who wants to, and mermaids. from...space. your words: clear, close, call, crowd, check, cross

look (Aurora)—

Thrive stepped away from the capital house to join them as Sussa conversed with Varussa. "Just how many guests are we expecting?" he asked Warren.

"Too many," Warren chuckled.

Guetry chomped on his metal cigarette. "I even took the liberty of requesting that the 'Sort allow us access to the Ingress Gate. They said no. But then I reminded them that without you guys, the Emmuli would have a good time juggling our nuts until they snorted the universe on a whim, not to mention that [Thrive’s an Andromeda native] and it would look real bad if they refused. Then they said yes."

"How kind," Thrive said.

lose (Rebirth)—

Warren grabbed the sides of his face. "Don't ever fucking scare me like that again, okay? You don't have the right or the privilege."

"I know," Thrive repeated. "I'd like to blame the Emmuli, but I feel it may simply be my inability to process the stresses of this war."

"We're gonna finish this," Warren said, shaking him lightly. "We're gonna end it, everything, with the war and the shadow bastards, and then we're gonna take an extended vacation on Tournaltis. I promise you, it's gonna happen. Just don't lose it completely before then, please. You've been through worse. You can get through this."

Thrive nodded.

long (Meridian)—

Thrive slowed to a stop when they reached the shuttles.

Warren turned when he realized he was no longer beside him. "Yo. You good?"

He didn't respond. His brows drew together and he cast his attention upward, into the sky.

After a beat Warren looked up as well. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary save for the cloud of exploded star that hovered over them like a massive hand about to clamp down. "Do you hear something I'm not hearing?"

Scot stopped, too, closer to the shuttles. He turned to them, face seams solid purple, and looked directly at Thrive, who met his wide-eyed stare.

Then Warren felt it. A drastic drop in temperature that pierced his armor and form suit, plateaued through the sweltering heat, then dropped even more. His HUD blinked in alarm, unable to keep up with just how quickly the cold moved in on them.

"Oh, shit," Warren shouted. "Everybody out!"

leave (Aurora)—

"I'm proud of you, too, I hope you know."

"How's that?"

Thrive cast his gaze down to his tablet, and his profile seemed less austere, the lights easing the curves of his face. "You've come a long way since I've met you. I don't think your anxiety or depression is as bad as it once was."

"Maybe not now, but just you wait until this is all over and I'll show you a trauma response like you wouldn't believe."

"I know it's hard for you," Thrive said softly. "I can relate. I'd just like you to know that I look up to your courage and your sense of good."

The words slammed into Warren like a meteor and he gripped the arm of his chair, suddenly winded. "Don't tell me that."

"I don't care if you don't want me to say it; it's true. I wouldn't be able to leave you in peace if I didn't say it. But I've said it, now, and I won't say it again."

Warren had to count the stars he could easily see through the window in order to bring himself back to a sense of realism.

linger (Meridian)—

Warren, clad in armor with a rifle held tight in his hands, cocked his head at Scot. "What does it say?"

"…I can't read it." Scot ran his fingers over the carving, lingering on the writing. "I'm unable to translate. It doesn't match any dialect or lexicon I can—"

Warren laid into the control panel with the butt of the rifle, bashing it in until the glass shattered and sparks erupted from the rim in pops of angry, ancient electricity. The door shuddered and slid open a few feet, enough to allow a body to pass through.

Scot turned to him. "That works."

liable (Aurora)—

During the ensuing shocked silence, Thrive leaned forward in his seat. "How do you feel about this?"

"I'm not sure." Guetry closed his eyes. "I'm not exactly...equipped to ———. I have an extremely dangerous job, my survival relies on a bunch of codes in a chip in my head, and I am very liable to fall back on previous addictions. I'm not even sure why the law considers me a viable option."

"But how do you feel about it?"

Guetry looked at him again. "...Terrified.”

[raggaraddy]

Sugar Daddy turned sour

Request: Hi!!!! read all of ur works its all amazing cant believe ur new.. can i request for a yan sugar daddy taehyung x reader x yan sugar daddy jungkook. they found out that that y/n have 2 sugar daddies and they lost their sanity(as if they even have that)...Thank u and YOU GOOD,KEEP GOING💜💞💞💞💞😘😁

A/N: I don't know how to post a reply to a personal message yet because I am new and Tumblr deficient 😅 But I hope you like the scenario ^-^ thanks for the request 💜

Here for Part 2

Summary: Juggling two guys and getting everything you want from them has always been easy for you, and Taehyung and Jungkook are no exception. Or so you thought.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of non-con, assault, cheating, violence.

Yandere! Taehyung

Yandere! Jungkook

Sunday.  Taehyungs day.  

You open your webcam, checking your eyeliner quickly in the startup view as you wait for the Tae to pick up on the other side. He pops up quickly a beaming smile filling his face.  

“Y/n! Baby, I’ve missed you.” He’s radiant. As happy and as bubbly he always is. 

You go along listening to him excitedly run through his past few days, telling you everything in excruciating detail as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another. He may be an adult but he certainly has a young soul. The whole while you feign attention, your fingers continually fidgeting with the diamond necklace or the matching bracelet he had sent you a few weeks back.

“How was your weekend?”  He finally gets around to asking. 

“Not so good. I always have to work so much," You complain, batting your eyes at the camera.  

“You could always quit and come live with me.” He jokes-but not really. It’s a topic he has raised 3 times already.  And you have the same answer ready as always. 

“Daddy, you know I’m a strong and independent woman. I could never let someone else pay for me.” You pout, running your tongue over your lower lip while pushing your chest up a little to draw attention.  “It’s just my rent is so expensive. I feel like I work just to pay the bills.” 

In truth, your rent is already being covered by someone else.  But he doesn’t need to know that. 

While you continue to run through the fabricated details of your weekend, Taehyung is distracted, looking down at his phone.  You know what's happening. It’s like a game. And you’re winning. Your banking app sends a notification, letting you know that K. Taehyung has just sent you a payment. 

You open it up. Yep. That's rent for the month.  Or more, money for that new TV you wanted.  

“Oh! Daddy, noo.” You whine down the camera. “You can’t.  I am okay. Really. Please don’t spend your money on me.” You frown if only to stop the smile that is fighting to fill your face. 

“I want to baby. I have the money, and I just want you to be happy. Don’t stress about bills okay. I’m here.” 

Sometimes, it’s almost too easy.  

“Okay Daddy, if you insist.”

Tuesday.  Jungkooks day.  

With Jungkook it’s a much more straightforward transaction.  He has said he wants to pay for you and he hates the back and forth pretences.  He just wants you to say thank you, smile pretty, and give him all your attention.  

“Do you need anything more for the week?” He asks through the camera.

“No Daddy, you take such good care of me. Thank you.” You smile. 

“You still have the weekend of the 14th off?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.  Off-screen you quickly scan through your calendar.  

14th, 15th and 16th: Jk weekend.  

Hmm, that came up quicker than you expected. You try to keep your booty calls with them as far apart as possible. 

“Of course, I’m so excited! I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You say, it been less than 100% truthful.

“Months.” He corrects with a surreptitious undertone.  

“Where are we staying this time?” 

You always insist to stay in hotels. Because ‘your apartment feels too busy and mundane, and you want the time you spend with him to be magical and undistracted’. Honestly, you just don’t want him, either of them, in your personal space. You purposefully chose boys who live a few hours away.  It’s hard enough to keep them separated in your everyday life with them being far away. It could only get messy for them to know where you live and how to reach you in person.

You’ve certainly gotten smart at this. Arranging the two men into different days of the week, scheduling them into your calendar to keep them apart and unaware of the other. Both had specifically said very early on that they do not want to share you with anyone else.  And that you were all theirs. And while both of them seemed to trust you, you knew their reactions would be unpleasant, to say the least, if they found out about the other. 

Sugar Daddies can be so possessive. 

But while both these men are very handsome, money is better and more reliable than boys. And if they are stupid enough to spend it all on you, why should you care.

The week passes quickly and it’s the 14th.  Once more you find yourself in the lobby of a 5-star hotel. Jungkook arrived in town early and sent you a message with the room number. 

Time to actually work for your money. 

You knock on the door only to find it slightly open.  Entering there is a trail of rose petals lining the floor leading into the suite. All the lights are dimmed with a warmth of candlelight filling the room. This is so typically Jungkook. Pulling out all the stops to try to impress. 

Dropping your bag at the entrance, you close the door behind you and explore inwards.  

“Daddy?” You call out in a singsong voice. Your heels clack on the tiled floor as you round the corner into the living room. Jungkook is sitting on the lounge, one leg crossed over the other, arms rested up over the back. You smile at seeing him. You always seem to forget just how stunning he is in person. 

“Which one of us are you referring to?” A deep voice startles you from behind. You jolt, spinning to see Taehyung standing behind you leaning against the wall.  

Holy fuck. 

Your mind starts to jumble through what is happening. Thinking about what it was that might have given you away. Evaluating how much they may know. And planning your next move.  

Damn it.  You doubt you’ll be able to smooth talk your way out of this with Jungkook. He’s too direct and absolute. So you’ll just have to accept that that relationship is over. However, you might be able to salvage this situation with Taehyung if you play your cards right. Being defensive should do the trick.

“What is this?” You snap, keeping focused on Taehyung. “This is such a violation of my privacy! You keep smothering me Taehyung! See this is why I tried to find someone else to hang out with.” You stomp your foot. He would always wrap around your finger so quickly with the little girl act. 

“Ha!” He blurts out a short laugh in contradiction to how you expected him to react. “Wow. No, go on. I want to see where this is going.” 

“Do you think we only just found out about each other?” Jungkook pipes up, coming from the couch. 

You sigh. You had almost saved enough for a holiday to the Maldives too. But they seem to know too much. Fine. You can burn both relationships. They were starting to get too clingy anyway.  “Whatever.” You roll your eyes. You got all you could from them. Time to move on to the next.

As you shrug them off, Taehyung steps into the path of the front door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Both he and Jungkook start to close in tighter. There is a cold tone to his words. Something far too close to a threat for your comfort. Even in heels, both men naturally stand taller than you which usually wouldn’t bother you. But with an unsteadiness to your footing and a very short dress on, in a dark room with two men you have used and spurned, you are feeling even more vulnerable than you feel you should. 

“Move.” You order. 

A smirk on his lips, Taehyung lifts his hand up and backhands you, knocking you back a few stumbled steps. You gasp, your hand clinging to your cheek, eyes wide in shock. He starts forward, Jungkook intervening, standing between the two of you. 

You can not believe he just hit you! He has never done anything like that before.

“No, don’t do that.” He stops Taehyung as he starts to swing again.  Shaking all over, you’re relieved that one of them is seeing sense.  You take the outstretched hand of Jungkook, lip trembling from the burn on your cheek. He draws you closer and you wrap into him for protection. In the same motion, his free hand swings down punching you in the stomach, doubling you over, dropping you to the floor. “If you hit her head, she might get spaced out. I want her to feel this.”

His words send a chill down your spine. This can not be happening.

“Are you crazy!” You gape, trying to speak while gulping down air. Your head is dizzy, your lungs burning.  Kicking off your heels for better movement, you climb back up to your feet not wanting to engage either man. Eyes focused you look past Taehyung to the door, storming forward. “I’m leaving. We’ll forget all of this, okay.” You bargain through short, panicked breath. 

Taehyungs large hand slams you into the wall, pressing his palm against your shoulder. He follows Jungkooks lead, pounding his fist into your gut. And then again. And again.  His hold removes letting you free and you plummet to the ground, crying within broken huffs while cradling your battered torso. 

“You’re right. That is better.” He laughs at Jungkook. 

“Stop!” You beg, unable to raise your voice above a soft yelp. 

“What's wrong baby? You wanted two men. Now you have them.” Taehyungs bright smile returns to his face. This time with an entirely different meaning than it had ever had until it shifts into a straight, harsh look that you have never seen from him. “Didn't you always say you wished there was some way you could repay me?” 

“You said that to me too.” Jungkook joins his side, both hovering above you, trapping you between them, the wall, and the floor. 

Leaning down Jungkooks hand follows you as you squirm away from him. His fingers wrapped around your throat and lift you up, keeping you against the wall. He takes advantage of you being stuck, leaning into you pressing his lips to yours as you resist as much as you can. 

“Baby, you’re going to pay us back for every dollar we spent on you.” He snarls. 

Taehyung turns your face to him, also forcing a kiss on you. “Don’t worry, Y/n, you’ll see that we know how to share.”  

Part 2

[ruvatia]

Sorry if this is a bit much with everything going on, but could I request a scenario where the Paladins + Matt & Lotor have a black s/o and they’re scared abt everything that’s happening in their country and are sad that racial injustice is happening? I’ve been rlly worried the past few days, but if this is smth too uncomfy I understand ;w; Thank you 💖💖💖

This got really long, I apologize but I turned it into half-headcanons with just the main paladins-- i apologize for not doing all the characters you’ve mentioned, but I don’t think they would fit all in a single post anyways www

On another note I hope you and every other reader take good care of their mental health; it’s important to be aware of what’s going on but it’s also important to be in the right mindspace to be able to tackle everything that’s being shared. It’s pain that’s been boiling for a very long time and there is absolutely no shame in taking some downtime to recover before heading back into current issues.

SHIRO:

If you were saddened, Shiro would suggest that maybe you switch to something else; if there was something that he knows will distract you and temporarily have you be a little more at ease, he’d do that!

But also maybe add a little twist-- extra soft blankets (fresh out of the oven! Screw the bills you’re worth it), extra cheese on your favorite dish, whatever it is that can make your smile a little wider, bigger or brighter just let him know!

Would give you hugs if you asked, but usually Shiro pets your head and brushes your cheek for comfort

He also does this when he wants to ask something of you, but thats another story

Why the TV was still on was a mystery to you, you’d stopped listening a long time ago. Your partner besides you noticed, and you felt the hand around your shoulder tighten his grip a little, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, maybe we should watch something else?” he asked softly, brushing your cheek with his hand. “I can’t really listen to this anymore.”

“Yeah… Sure.” you replied, though it felt like an automated response more than your actual opinion.

“Okay, I’ll switch to that weird show Pidge recorded the other day, we agreed to watch it, right?” he replied, quickly grabbing the remote to change the program.

The first episode started playing, but the moment that it did, you felt cold as Shiro left your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your interlaced fingers the only thing keeping him close.

“Ah, I thought I’d make us something. We both kinda skipped dinner….”

He’d thought about putting something together that you’d like, maybe order dessert to surprise you but seeing the look on your face, leaving your side was the hardest thing to do right now.

So he gave in, and your both fell asleep until the doorbell rang with your delivery.

KEITH:

I have this headcanon that Keith isn’t very good with physical touch but after the end of voltron and after enough time of humanitarian relief, he learns how important it is for someone that’s in a specific state of mind

So the best he has to offer when his words fail is physical touch

Over your time together he’s learned what you need depending on your mood, and it helped him out lots when you were more vocal about it-- if anything he liked it when you asked for things that he could easily deliver, he’d do anything to see you smile

A hand came over your phone screen, Keith’s fingers lacing into yours and making you drop the device onto the crevices of the sofa.

“Why did you--”

“You’ve been staring at that thing for the past hour, biting at your nails.” he said in a worried tone. “That’s enough. We’re going to bed.”

“But it’s just--”

“We’re going to bed.” he repeated in a harsher tone, lifting you off your seat.

Keith sat down onto the bed first, pulling you into him. You both fell onto the bed, Keith quickly pulling the covers over your shoulders before his arms came around you.

“My alarm is my phone.”

“That’s nice, but we both know we have nothing to do tomorrow.” he replied right away, making you chuckle.

“Keith…” you called, your hands sneaking up to his face.

You brushed away some of his hair from his face as he gave you a complicated expression, unable to reflect the small smile you wore. He knew things were shit outside, that being apart from your family and other loved ones was a toll on both you and that lately negative thoughts have plagued you more often than not but Keith, despite his good intention was still somewhat of an awkward man.

“Thank you.”

He kissed you in reply and you both left it at that, glad that he had someone like you to meet him halfway.

LANCE:

Lots of hugs the moment he feels something is off with you

Will be a brat™ for the sole purpose of distracting you, bET

I feel like post-series Lance tries his best to be as observant as Allura and tries to understand others better-- but it didn't take a genius or incredible empath to know why your eyes looked like they were about to overflow at the sight of the news.

I’d like to think that Lance, with a big connected family is one of the paladins that very easily gets what you’re going through, wouldn’t be surprised he’s been called one or two things in his past either

That being said it doesn’t mean that he completely understands your personalized struggles with racial injustices that you encounter everyday; as another minority himself + coming from a culture and upbringing that might be different than yours, its a very different experience.

Memories flooded as the news anchor spoke about “lootings” and as you scrolled down your feed to see feeble attempts at sympathy from local peacekeepers. You sigh and retweet another thread, only to find something equally as shocking right after. You stopped commenting in quote retweets a while ago, you felt like you were constantly repeating that none of this was okay and that a reform was desperately needed. Rather than typing out your thoughts you typed out your name, address and email over and over again, signing one petition after the other.

Hearing sigh after sigh, Lance eventually put an arm around your shoulder. He startled you, but his soft voice made both your shoulders and your guard lower.

“Hey, do you want to make a midnight snack with me? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“What about that new rule we were talking about? Not eating 4 hours before we went to bed?”

“Every diet has one or two cheat days, don’t they?” he replied, kissing one of your eyelids. “Come on, I’m sure your neck is sore from being like that for so long.”

In the end you both made some soul-food until a food-coma knocked you out until tomorrow. In the morning, you realized that Lance must’ve woken up in the middle of the night because you remember cuddling on the couch, and yet you’re waking up on the bed. Of course, still in his arms.

HUNK:

Having a sensible heart, I feel like both you and hunk would struggle a little about maintaining a healthy distance with current events.

Though overtime he would understand that keeping in touch with everything that’s going on is important, but not at the sake of burning out

His best bet, to him, to pull you out of a such a dark space is with comfort food

“Ok ppl feel like they want to eat a horse but they actually cant when they’re in that mind space Hunk, let’s make something sweet and small; something direct and straight to the point! Let’s add smiley faces on it!”

Your turned down the volume from the news, let your head fall backwards and brought up your forearm over your closed eyes. It felt warm and made it you realize that you had probably been staring very intensely at the screen as a wave of comfort hit your eyes the moment they were drowned in darkness. Letting out a deep breath, you stilled and let yourself bask in your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you back.

“Maybe a little bit more sugar? No, then it would be disbalanced. The base is already so sweet-- Ah, I have to take the cupcakes out or else they might get burned!”

You felt a smile grow on your lips, making you ignore the horrid news being broadcasted to turn to your partner that as usual, seemed to juggle ten thousand things to create a whole meal.

“What’s going on over here?” you asked, leaning over the counter to note that one of your favorite dishes was made and machines that were mostly used for baking had been brought out.

“Oh you know, just a little pick me up for my most favorite person ever.” he shrugged, but a smile soon came to his face. His hands were full but he leaned over, his lips meeting your cheek. “Things outside are a little dark, so I thought we could both use a little something nice.”

He turned on the machine after dropping a drop of dye to make it your favorite color and within a few minutes the icing was finished. Hunk scooped up a small amount on his finger and brought it to his lips and nod.

“Wanna taste?” he asked you, his finger dipping into the icing.

A mischievous grin spread on your features as you took his wrist and let his finger fall on your tongue, the sweetness quickly spreading through your mouth. The yellow paladin shivered as you let his digit hang in your mouth for longer than necessary, letting out a satisfied hum when you returned it to him.

“Tastes perfect.”

PIDGE:

She knew what could be fixed, she knew how to fix it but this meant she was also aware of how long such a transition would take

I think Pidge would be similar to Shiro: whatever she remembers that helps you be at ease, she would defect to that in hopes to maybe distract you for a while.

I don’t think Pidge is a very touchy person either, so if she reaches out to you _physically_ in worry, it’s a very clear sign she’s serious/anxious

I feel like she would reach out in other ways and then if she knew you were in a specific state of mind where touch was not useful, or if she just also wanted to try things out lol

As you watched the twisted information that was being shared on screen, another message caught your attention. Rather than a small red icon in the corner, a small window appeared in the middle of your computer screen.

<I found a way to modify notifications sent to another device.>

The video had stopped, every horrible gif about police brutality was paused and there was nothing else but the small window pidge had thrown onto your screen. You chuckled, and felt a pressure behind your working chair.

Another message popped up.

<You’ve been catching up with twitter for the past two hours. Surely you’re done now?>

A soft laugh came from you, making Pidge release a breath she didn’t know she was holding. You typed out an answer:

<Is it possible to be completely caught up with twitter? I follow like 500 accounts.>

<Okay, but half of them are just cat videos and the other half are just retweets of said videos.>

<Oh here I was thinking that this was an intervention to brighten my mood. We’re dragging each other’s follows now?>

<Oh please like you don’t want to be dragged, with that kind of follow list.>

<I can’t believe you’ve done this.>

You both laughed, before Pidge turned around and tapped your shoulder. She let her hand float in the air, yours coming to join it as a soon as your turned her way.

“Wanna take a nap?” she asked, letting her head fall onto your shoulder. “I had Chip make some hot chocolate, Hunk style.”

You squeezed her hand, putting your computer on sleep mode.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

[spacegirlapollo]

A very bad day [ Nanami Kento x Reader]

Title: A very bad Day 

Paring: Nanami Kento x Reader 

Genre : Fluff, Domestic 

Summary: Nanami comforts you, after a very long day.

This was the last straw. The high pitch tinkle of your keys hitting for the floor reverberated in your brain. It sounded almost as if they were laughing at you. Laughing that they had succeeded in wrapping a pretty bow over your shitty fucking day.In your hurry to finally get inside your warm house, you’d dropped your house-keys on the granite floors.

“FUCK!” You yelled sending a balled fist straight into the wooden door frame. You heard the sound of your fist making impact and then came the pain. You’d over reacted and punched a dent in the wall and in return you had splinters in your bloody knuckles. It was painful, but a dull ache compared to the chaos in your mind.

You couldn’t hold back the tears now. You’d held them at bay all day long. You held them when you’d woken up to an empty bed, your husband, Nanami, already gone in to fight some curse or the other. You’d held you’d tears when you were scolded for an error on a report that you hadn’t made at work. When that same man who’d made the mistake was celebrated at work on his promotion.You’d held your tears when his stupid celebration delayed your work so you had to stay overtime to get the days work done. You’d held your tears when a car rammed the back of your husbands fancy car. You’d been close but still no tears when you saw the driver, a bag of chips in one hand and his phone tucked underneath his chin.

Recalling it now made your tears fall heavy and thick down your face. The type of tears that would lead to a headache and stuffed nose. But your crying was interrupted by the sound of the door opening in front of you. There was your husband, out of his work clothes and showered, his normally slicked back hair falling freely with gravity over his face. He took one look at your disheveled appeared, the dent in your apartment door and the corresponding keys on the floor. Wordlessly he dipped down to pick up the keys and on his way to straightening up you saw his eyes land on your hand, which was now bleeding freely and onto the floor.

With an out stretched hand he led you into the apartment, the warmth of the place enveloping you like a blanket. The scent of pasta was in the air and you knew that Nanami had started dinner already. You felt the embarrassment creeping up your spine at your state which only served to make your tears fall faster. You heard the click of a lock and then your already blurred vision was darkened as you were pulled gently into a hug.

He smelled of vanilla, a warm and embracing scent. His large hand cupped the back of your head, gently massaging your scalp as you tear stained his casual clothing. He was rocking just the slightest and it was so soothing. The day seemed to be melting away under his calming and soothing presence. And you were a bit in awe of his ability to bring you down from hysterics without muttering a word.

When you’d gone quiet and no more tears were running he pulled back a bit looking down at your tears stained face.

“Our neighbors are definitely going to give you weird looks now.” He same softly tucking a hair behind your ear, a cheeky smile playing on his face. You laughed, in spite of yourself the shock of the laugh almost hurting your tightened throat.

“Was it really that loud?” You asked chastened. He shock his head reassuringly.

“No I’m sure only our entire floor heard it.” He winked, something he tended to only do around you. You almost whined at the loss of his arms around you, but held it in as he guided you to sit down on of of the tall kitchen chairs.

“Don’t move.” He said and disappointed around the corner of your hallway. He was back quicker than you’d thought, juggling gauze, scissors and various other medical supplies between his long but slender fingers.

“Let me see it.” He said calmly as he set the items down and set them up. You lifted your injured hand for him to see and felt a ping of pleasure as he sucked his teeth in concern. Though you hadn’t done it on purpose it was nice to feel genuine concern from someone all day.

As he began to clean the wound he said simply : “tell me what happened.” And so you told him, watching his face the entire time. He was concentrating on your hand. It was propped up against the table and he was moving so gently that you hardly felt the pain of his movements. His face was smooth with no traces of annoyance as you talked about your day. He was listening intently, not trying to interrupt or cut you off and say what you should have done instead.

His composure broke only once, his eyebrows knitting together when you’d gotten to the part about the car accident. You’d thought he was probably upset about the car.

 If you only passively knew Nanami, you wouldn’t think he would be as into cars as he was but it was a spot of pride for him , something you’d realized he’d gotten from his father. He’d always handled anything car related, and you gladly let him. But as you went on to tell him how the guy had hit on you while exchanging insurance information, his frown deepened and you could see the anger in the corner of his eye. It was hard to concentrate on being gentle and keeping any emotion from his face.

You felt a tinge of pleasure knowing that he cared. Plowing on you got to the end of your day just as he was confident he’s gotten all the wooden shrapnel from your hand, and was ready to stitch it up.

He was quiet for a while, getting the things he needed set up and cleaning your wound. So quiet that you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything. You watched as he prepared the needle to close you up dreading the pinches of pain that would come with it.

“ I’m sorry you had such a bad day.” He said, you felt his gaze on you now and you looked up from yourhand, swallowing hard at the intensity of his gaze. He was sorry, there was a mixture of emotions in his face. He was holding back on the advice and affirmations. He knew you better than that. He knew you were strong and knew your worth, he didn’t need to re-assure you that you were smarter than all the assholes at work. You just needed him to listen, needed him to care that you had a rough time, and not try to fix it for you.

Although he opened his mouth again unable to hold back on one point in your story. “Do you want me to handle the insurance?” He asked, not taking his eyes from you. It was clear he wanted to do it, but he was asking because he knew you could handle it yourself. And he would back up and let you take care of it if you wanted.You nodded, relief filling your body. You could have handled it but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to think about the car or have to interact again with the sleezeball that had rear-ended you in the first place. And you knew that Nanami would gladly interact with the man, and you guiltily imagined the weasels face when he encounters your husband and his cold wrath instead of you. He’d broken his car and hit on his wife? You almost felt sorry for the man...almost.

“Please.” You answered softly with a sigh and the set in his jaw when he nodded let you know that it was done. You wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. That was just the kind of man that Nanami Kento was. “This is going to hurt” he said the anger drained from his eyes and concern flashing as he started to stitch your hand. It did hurt but Nanami was precise and quick so the pain faded quickly. You watched his face again as he concentrated. You felt warm and safe and happy, like the day hadn’t even happened. When he was finished and inspecting your hand and by twisting it around gently he looked up at you meeting your eyes.

“What?” He asked a bit concerned that he’d maybe missed something. You smiled then, using your injured hand to cup his face softly.“I love you.” It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, not even close, but your heart was racing as if this was your first time confessing it.It was strange, from the outside looking in, Nanami seemed like the type to be closed off and emotionally unavailable. When in reality he was sharp and well read in emotions. He was serious most of the time but that was because he understood the futile motions of life. He understood that working till you die was stupid but that there wasn’t a way around it. You were the break in his grey, the sunshine he protected.It was you that was closed off, proud and unwilling to have anyone but yourself share the burdens of the world you had placed on your shoulder. It had taken years, for you to reach the point where now you would want to bear your soul to him the way you had tonight. Letting him take on one of your problems. When had that changed ? Somehow he’d managed to chip away at that wall.

His small smile on his usual serious face steadied your heart again. He stood up coming closer and you almost had to lean back to look up at him. He cupped your face in both hands that smelled of pasta and kissed you. It was a sweet kiss. The kind you wished would go on forever and filled you up with light.

He pulled back leaning his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to carry everything yourself all the time. Give somethings to me, okay?”

You felt another tear drop down your cheek, surprised you still had any left in you. He whipped it away with his thumb and you matched his smile. “Okay.” —————— “Good, we’ll let’s go eat some pasta.”

[ot3]

i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey. 

anyway. here you have it. 

Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.

So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:

1. The Writing

Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith.  I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.

Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)

And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it. 

The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.

2. The Visuals + Fights

I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.

The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.

It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene. 

I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department  as well.

3. The Comedy

Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land. 

A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:

saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny

saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier

saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest

The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.

Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.

All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.

In comparison to Red vs. Blue

Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.

RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.

Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass. 

The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area.  In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.  

[girlibutnotagirl]

Part 2 ~

I have plenty of ideas of where I want this to go, but I also haven’t picked one yet! So I’m not super sure where this is going but I’m going to try to give it a happy(ish) ending! I guess this is part two (?) I went through and fixed some of the spelling errors and capitalization so I’m going to include the first part too, just scroll past it and look for ♥️🖤~ I’ll put it right before the new stuff!!

TW for SELF HARM, bullying, disordered eating, and insomnia

Enjoy and stay safe💕

“Marinette?”

Chat Noir whispered, unable to form words. He just sat there in shock, holding her hands, repeating her name quietly. This was not possible, he couldn’t wrap his head around this being real. Happy, kind, always positive Marinette. So this was why she always wore that jacket. It wasn’t just a style choice. It was to hide this.

The cuts on her arms looked like red marker, but as he ran his thumb over them, bits of the scabs peeled away and she winced, biting her lip and looking away. He finally brought himself to look at her face and was shocked to see tears running down her cheeks. How long had she been suffering alone?

Without a warning, he pulled her to his chest and hugged her tightly. She froze for a second and then hugged him back and started sobbing. Every sound of her pain broke his heart. He stroked her hair as she set loose all of the emotions she had fought so long and hard to hide. All of this bottled up agony, all of these secrets.

“How long? “

He murmured into the top of her head. He had to know. He should have noticed. They had known each other for 4 years now. He should have seen the change in her when she started doing this to herself.

She inhaled sharply

“3 years”

Chat Noir felt his chest tighten. He should have realized. He should have been there for her. Was he so blinded by Ladybug that he couldn’t see anyone else? He kissed the top of her head on impulse and felt her tense up, but the she relaxed and pulled away. She met his glowing clover green eyes with her own bluebell ones and took a deep breath.

“The stress of all the things I was juggling became too much, and adding my rejection and Lila’s taunts, it was overwhelming. “

🖤♥️🖤♥️

“I felt so alone, there was so much that I couldn’t tell anyone for so long. I was slipping away, drowning with limp limbs in a dark ocean and I couldn’t tell which way was up anymore. It started with not sleeping, and forgetting to eat, but the hunger pangs and the fuzziness in my head made me forget about the other stuff. Even with all that happening, I still sewed regularly, and my famished, sleep deprived brain and red eyes meant that I jabbed myself with a needle a lot more times than necessary. I was used to it, I am a seamstress after all, but one time it tore through the skin and left a gash on my finger. I was so worn out and fed up with everything that I just froze for a moment. Slowly, I held it out in front of me and watched it bleed. It hurt like hell, but I couldn’t think of anything else at that moment, all I could do was feel that electricity and watch the ruby liquid drip onto my knuckles. After what seemed like forever of feeling uninspired and dead, it made me feel alive again.”

“Regardless, I had to finish my project, so I cleaned it up and put a bandaid on. And you know what? I slept amazing that night.”

“Gradually I started sleeping and eating better. My mood and energy went up ~ almost to where it was before I got burnt out. I became social again, and my grades went back up. I was myself again ~ almost.”

“But underneath my long sleeves, my wrists were full of little holes and gashes from old needles. After a bit, I even started carrying one around with me when I went to school, just in case I needed to duck into the bathroom during a test or after an encounter with Lila to recharge. I had found the perfect solution ~ I felt invincible”

[jimlingss]

The Seven Year Itch

➜ Words: 5.2k

➜ Genres: 99% Fluff, 1% Angst

➜ Summary: The seven year itch is the curse of all marriages. Your own parents divorced after seven years. Your friends separated after that doomed number too. And now, you're trying to prevent the same downfall from reaching your marriage with Yoongi.

➜ Warnings: Implied smut and discussion of sexual topics.

You and Yoongi met at eighteen.   It was during a crazy New Year’s festival on the beach around a bonfire when you were introduced to one another from friends of friends. Much to your mortification, you were totally drunk that night and hit on him while insisting he should make you s’mores since his toasted marshmallows were the best.   The two of you started dating at twenty two after a few years of friendship and a tedious period of time wondering if he liked you like that. That New Year’s Eve was spent on a cute, romantic date holding hands while watching fireworks by the river.    And now at thirty two….   “Did you do anything over the New Years break, Y/N?” Kijung asks as she stirs sugar into her steaming mug of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter. She’s your colleague of several years now and part of the marketing team that attributed much to the profits and sales — or at least that was your opinion as part of the finance department. But your manager who has a stick up her ass and has a fixation for the research department would adamantly disagree.   “Nothing much,” you reply. “Did you?”   “Not really, but my boyfriend and I went on a road trip on New Year's Eve to the hot springs and we managed to catch the fireworks.” Kijung smiles and your eyes light up.   “Oh, I went there a long time ago with Yoongi. It was nice.”   “Yeah, I really enjoyed it.” Her cheeks are rosy and you muse how pleasant it is to be young and in love. Those old days of dating and shy flirtation seems so long ago. “Did you and Yoongi do anything special for the countdown?”    “I don’t remember…” you murmur gently while you try to recall. These days, everything blurred together. Waking up, eating, television, bed time. “I think we just slept through the countdown.”   “You make it sound like you’re fifty,” Seokjin laughs much to your chagrin, entering the kitchen and firing up the coffee machine.   “Easy for you to say,” you retort back to your coworker with a light scoff. “Weren’t you having back problems a month ago?”   “Nothing my chiropractor couldn’t fix up.” The human resource manager dramatically stretches out his muscles and rolls his broad shoulders as if to prove it. Much too early for his shenanigans, both you and Kijung exchange unimpressed expressions and choose to ignore him even when he begins to loudly protest.   “Oh yeah, isn’t your wedding anniversary with Yoongi coming up?” Kijung asks, remembering that a few years ago, you took a long vacation to celebrate right around this time.   “Yep.” You smile. “Seven years.”   “Wow, that’s a long time,” Jin notes as he sips on his coffee. “My cat hasn’t even been alive for that long.”   You’ve never really thought about it before. “It has been a long time, huh?” you hum.    Kijung grins. “Congratulations.”   “Thanks.”   Time was so gradual, one day after the next, one moment after another. It was only when you stopped to turn around did you realize how long and extensive the journey has been. That you discover that you’ve actually been married to Yoongi for seven years now.   Seven years….   Seven.   Suddenly, it hits you. There’s a sickly feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach. It makes you nauseous like you’ve dropped from a ninety degree roller coaster. It propels you forward, making your mouth and throat dry, your face drained of all colour. You can’t believe you could’ve forgotten—   The infamous seven year itch.

The seven year itch is a curse. It’s known to be the point where marriage satisfaction begins to decline. It’s the average length of a marriage. The point of no return.   To some, it may just be a myth or a simple statistic, but your own parents were together for only seven years before getting themselves into a nasty divorce. And you know friends who were only together for seven years — Hoseok and Jimin were separated six months after their seventh year anniversary. Jungkook and Eunbi left one another before their seventh year…   You can’t believe you’ve allowed yourself to forget about the cursed number seven.   And now that you’ve realized, you’re worried you’ve allowed your marriage to become stale.   “I’m home.”   The house is quiet and dark except for the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. You follow the dim light and cross your arms, leaning on the doorframe as Yoongi turns from the stove.   “The patties in the freezer were about to expire,” he says as if to explain what he’s doing and you nod.   “Burgers for dinner then?”   “Uh-huh.” Your husband is dressed in gray sweatpants and a black shirt oversized on his body, dark hair in a disarray as if he just rolled out of bed an hour ago. It might not be too off the mark considering he’s been working from home for a few months now, an arrangement he’s fallen in love with. Namjoon might never be able to drag him back to the office after this.   “I fixed the plumbing issue in the shower, by the way,” he calls out as you drag yourself down the hall.   You stick your head out the door. “You didn’t have to call Taehyung?”   “Nope.”   This was your life with Yoongi. He’s stable, a grounded and secure force, who lives in a consistent routine. It’s peaceful and you love it. It’s all you could have yearned for after your chaotic childhood and crazier teenage years. But now, you wonder if these habits you cherished will someday be your downfall.   This mundanity might breed boredom and then discontentment.   It’s only a matter of time now.   “—took me two hours at the hardware store. But then I managed to find—”   “Hey, Yoongi,” you interrupt him in the middle of his story in the midst of dinner, unable to shake the thought off your mind. There were more pressing matters to you than Yoongi trying to prove to Taehyung that he doesn’t need his help.   The man blinks at you. “What?”   “Do you want kids?”   Yoongi puts his burger down, visibly taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “I mean, if you want to. But I thought we were going to wait until we were finished paying off our mortgage and had more saved up.”   He’s right and having kids won’t make your mundane marriage any more exciting.    If anything, it might just make it worse.   “Where’s the diapers?” you would screech to the other while holding the howling baby in your arms, your phone sandwiched between your shoulder and ear in the meanwhile.   “I thought you bought them!” Yoongi would emerge from the bathroom, juggling the other two shrieking babies in his arms with his shirt unchanged from a week ago and still stained with milk puke.    Triplets, you can envision them as clear as day. A luck of the draw or a curse, you wouldn’t be sure of.   “What?!”   You dispel the horrible vision from your imagination, crashing back down to reality. “Never mind.”   Yoongi catches your long sigh, but doesn’t comment.    That night, you turn to him while you’re both in bed and the warm sheets are pooled around your laps. And more enthusiastically than you intended, you declare, “We should make our sex lives more exciting!”   He flinches from the sheer volume of your voice but it seems to catch his attention and his brows lift curiously. Yoongi puts his phone down. “What are you thinking?”   Your eyes are big and excited and you lean over as if to whisper a dirty secret in spite of being the only ones in the bedroom. “How about...anal?”   Yoongi’s blank expression remains unchanged. “We already tried that and we weren’t into it, remember?”   Oh. Right.   You quickly retract, stuttering and bumbling, “I-I meant you can be the one on the receiving end—”   “We already tried that in college,” Yoongi reminds.   “How about role-playing?” you offer, a last ditch attempt at trying to come up with something creative that the both of you haven’t attempted in your fourteen years of being together.    “We tried that on Valentine’s two years ago. It didn’t work out well,” Yoongi recollects.   “Never mind then.” You sigh, giving up. You’re going to need to put a lot more thought into how to keep your marriage from being so mundane.   But for now, you crawl out of the sheets to the bathroom and Yoongi takes off his rounded spectacles, placing them on the nightstand. He watches your backside with his lips pouted and his brows slightly furrowed, wondering what’s wrong.   //   For the following days, you begin to brainstorm ways to spice up your marriage with Yoongi and keep the seven year curse at bay.   You read a few articles here and there and ask some married folks around the office how they keep their marriages exciting — to which they give you too many details over their sex life that you never wanted. But your attempt at a candlelight dinner ends up with the candles blown out when the tablecloth nearly sets aflame. Yoongi also cooks again when you undercook the fish.    You try to surprise him by getting naked but you give up when he takes too long in the shower and you start violently shivering from the brisk air conditioning. You pull the whip out from the back drawer too to get freaky in bed, but one spank has you cussing him to stop. And when Yoongi denies you of your orgasm, you throw in the towel and call it quits, deciding to go at it the old-fashioned way for just some simple love-making.   The two of you aren’t as young and adventurous as you used to be — it was something you were quickly realizing.   But you weren’t going to give up so easily, not when you were so desperate to keep your marriage with Yoongi alive and keep boredom out of your partnership….   And it’s when you’re putting away the old leather whip to the back of your closet that another box comes tumbling out. It’s a memory box, full of high school yearbooks, knickknacks at amusement parks, and a bright pink book with pages and tabs sticking out of it.   “I forgot I had this,” you mutter to yourself, holding your worn diary that’s filled with memories and nostalgia.   Opening it up, the spine cracks and you’re met with your sixteen year old self encapsulated between the pages. There are scribbles and doodles, entries from random days, notes that you passed to your friends, pictures and movie tickets taped to the pages. There’s even a whole section dedicated to your old celebrity crush — Lee Hyun — and you cringe while reading the small blurbs around cut outs of him describing certain scenarios. First date. First time he held hands. First time he proposes and how the paparazzi go wild and you become famous too.   But as much as you cringe, it’s kind of wholesome.   You forgot what a hopeless romantic you were.   Flipping the page, you’re taken aback by the decoration, vivid colours and washi tape. It lines the paper, bright markers that bleed to the next paper. But what takes your attention is the bold letters at the top. It’s written: Couples Bucket List.    Your eyes skim the rest of the page.

Flowers delivered on doorstep :)

Receive a love letter!!!

Be confessed to***

Be serenaded outside a window!

Dance in the rain.

Go stargazing~

Take a long walk on the beach <3

The first on the list is to have flowers brought to your doorstep — which you muse has been completed many years ago. Yoongi did it once on Valentine’s….mostly because he had to go to work and you were busy running errands with your mom, so he had no other choice but to leave his gift for you at the doorstep. It still technically counts though.   The second goal you have written is to receive a love letter. That would be impossible. Yoongi doesn’t do declarations like that. He’s not one to talk about his feelings. But ironically, the third point on the list you wanted to achieve with your future significant other is being confessed to and he technically accomplished that one too….   In tiny text, there’s a description of your fantasy — how your crush would call you out to the back of the school and declare it underneath that giant tree that kids used to climb. It’s utterly ridiculous but you find yourself standing, grabbing a red pen from your vanity and putting a check mark next to it.   Yoongi might’ve never professed his love in the way you imagined it but you remember how he proposed to you. It was supposed to be in private, but the ring box fell out of his pocket and you noticed, picked it up, and he scrambled to get on his knee in the middle of the park.   You smile at the memory.   The fourth thing on the bucket list is to be serenaded outside your window. And you burst out laughing at the mere thought of it. Yoongi can’t sing for shit and he wouldn’t do it even if you paid him to.   The following point is to dance in the rain, but your husband would never. He hates the rain. Yet the sixth task on the list has been completed. The two of you had gone to a planetarium on one of your first dates and you’ve spent many late nights outside together during winter where you were able to see the stars past the light pollution.   You’ve taken a long walk on the beach too, holding hands and watching the sunset. It’s something you did on your honeymoon and you grin while recalling it.    You flip the rest of the pages in the diary, giving it a skim before you’re about to tuck it back where it belongs, but you hesitate. Your hand tightens on it. You can’t let it go.   There are still things that you have yet to complete.   //   “Hey, do you remember when we used to write notes for each other?”   Yoongi’s eyes are plastered on the television playing some random Netflix original series that was on his recommended section, one you had not bothered to pay any attention to.   He mumbles past his cheek full of food, “Kind of.”   Your eyes pin onto your husband’s profile and you rest your cheek in your hand, elbow propped up on your knee. “We should do that again….or maybe we could write a really long letter to one another.”   It’s still lingering on your mind — the couples bucket list and your unfinished task of receiving a love letter.   “Why?” Yoongi chews haphazardly and goes quiet for a moment to watch the action on screen before he speaks again. “We did that when we were living apart. If I need to tell you something, I’ll just tell you now.”   You hold your sigh in your nose. He’s not wrong, but it was still worth a shot.    You fail to notice the way Yoongi glances at you, obviously aware of your disappointment. But he doesn’t ask. It’s already been long established that you can come to each other for anything. Yoongi knows that you’re fully aware of that. So while he doesn’t pry, it doesn’t stop him from wondering what’s the matter with you.   //   It’s a Sunday afternoon when you’re quietly watching the rain pitter-pattering on the ground outside and against the window frame, spraying like an artist splattering paint on their canvas. It’s showering, enough to collect puddles and to wash the grime off the driveway.   The peaceful sound of the droplets hitting against the roof is interrupted by Yoongi coming up behind you with crossed arms and grunting, “Looks like we can’t pick up groceries today. We’re running out of toothpaste though. Do you want to pick that up tomorrow after work?”   You don’t answer. You merely turn around as an idea flickers into your mind. A mischievous smile spreads into your features and you grab hold of your husband's wrist.   “Let’s go outside.”   It swirls in the forefront of your brain — dancing in the rain.   But at once, Yoongi’s expression blanches and he looks as if he ate rotten eggs. “What?”   “C’mon! It’ll be fun!” You drag the grumpy, old man and he stumbles forward from the sheer force.   He whines childishly, already pouting at the thought of it. “We’ll get wet.”   “That’s the point!”   Yoongi’s not impressed with your antics whatsoever. When you open the door and try to haul him out, he protests and grips the doorframe like a child not wanting to leave a toy store. But he ultimately relents at your insistence and is yanked outdoors to the downpour of pelting rain.   You burst out laughing the moment you see him despite his glare. Yoongi’s black hair shags down in front of his forehead, nearly pricking into his eyes. His clothes are becoming drenched, heavy on his body and dragging down. The sleeves of his flannel pulls past his fingertips.    His tender features are wrinkled into distaste, lips pouted, his eyes unamused and full of hatred of the rain. Yoongi looks like an angry, wet dog.   Unable to resist, you cup his cheeks, lean in and kiss his lopsided mouth. It’s a short peck, one you can’t draw out when you’re grinning and he refuses to reciprocate.   “It’s cold!” Yoongi shouts as the rain becomes heavier.   You giggle and tug on his arm, dragging him further out onto your driveway where the neighbours might be able to see and conclude that the pair of you have absolutely lost your minds — something you’re sure isn’t too far off. But you don’t dwell enough to get self-conscious.   You clutch Yoongi’s hands tightly and slowly walk in circles as if you’re playing ring around the rosy.   “C’mon, husband, you can be more enthusiastic than that!” you laugh much to his dismay.   You step forward and back, dancing stiffly and Yoongi’s body is like jelly. He allows you to pull him along as you please even when you lift his arm, twirl around and land back in them.    “Why are we doing this? Why?” True to himself, he’s trying to act like he’s not at least enjoying this a little bit. You’ve known Yoongi for long enough to see the way he’s trying not to smile and opts for whining instead. “I already showered, you know!”   “You can always shower again!”   Yoongi lets you move his body like a marionette doll, dancing along with you, and your giggles finally lets a smile on his face slip. But at that moment, lighting flashes over the horizon and thunder booms loud enough to shake the ground. The pair of you jump and rush back inside.   You both enter in the midst of laughter and then Yoongi sighs lightly, looking at the mess on the tiled floor. “The floors are all wet.”   “You were going to mop them today anyway,” you cheekily retort and he playfully spanks you, ordering for you to get into the shower before you make an even bigger mess.   The two of you hop in together, but Yoongi finishes faster. He gets himself dressed while you enjoy the steaming water for longer. As he’s drying off his hair haphazardly with a towel in the bedroom, he picks up his phone. Yoongi notices the low battery percentage and searches for his charger. When he’s unable to find it in its usual spot, he assumes you stole it again and pulls out your vanity drawer.   Yoongi doesn’t find his charger, but he discovers something else inside.    A bright pink book with worn pages.   Curious, he picks it up and flips it open. It automatically falls to the doodled page that you’ve been studying most recently these days and he skims it.    After a moment, Yoongi scoffs. But a softened smile stretches into his face.   //   “You’re happy,” Seokjin comments passive aggressively as he observes your expression while stirring his mug of coffee on this cold Monday morning.   “Yeah.” Your grin widens and your dismayed colleague wonders if you know that the week has barely begun. “I am.”   These days, you’re having a lot of fun trying to find ways for Yoongi to secretly fulfill your wishes, even if it’s silly and childish. There were only two more things that needed to be done on your bucket list — receiving a love letter and being serenaded to, things you’re sure Yoongi would rather be killed than be seen doing. But your new fixation and ambition has kept you preoccupied from thinking about the seven year curse approaching in three weeks time.   It’s a win-win. The bucket list might, quite literally, be the solution to the seven year itch. Completing it might just be enough to deter the curse and keep discontentment at bay.    After a long day, you arrive home while brainstorming a strategy to get Yoongi to profess his love for you in a letter — perhaps something you might enlist Taehyung’s help in. But your thoughts are interrupted when after dinner, Yoongi suddenly grabs his coat.   “I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.”   “What?”    You’re utterly confused at why someone who was as an intense homebody like Yoongi would want to step outside the comfort of his warm home at such a ridiculous time of night.   “We still need toothpaste, remember?” he says nonchalantly. “You forgot to pick it up after work.”   “Oh. Well, I can always get it tomorrow.”   “It’s alright. I’m going to stop by Jimin’s too. That brat keeps telling me I should come over, so don’t wait for me.”   “Okay.” You nod, bidding him farewell. It’s a bit of a foreign sight, one where you can’t tear your eyes away from until the door shuts and he’s gone. You end up surfing the internet and playing on your phone for a good half hour in the serene silence before your boredom spurs on yawns.   You decide to head to bed early and brush your teeth, completing your whole nightly routine.   But before you crawl into the toasted sheets, an unfamiliar envelope on your vanity catches your attention. It's thin and rectangular without postal stamps or an address — only your name written on it in sloppy cursive. You approach the dim light of the lamp on your bedside table to get a better view and you rip it open.    Immediately, a gasp tears out of your mouth.   Your heart stutters in your chest. Your breath holds. It’s Yoongi’s chicken scratch writing.   To my beloved wife,   It’s me. Your lovely, amazing, best husband, Min Yoongi.   This is really embarrassing and I don’t know what to write either. But I was just thinking about how difficult it is for us to meet and be together. If you think about it, there’s almost eight billion people in the world but we still met each other. I don’t know if it was luck but I’m relieved to have met you. I also can’t believe we’ve been married for seven years now.   Thank you for making so many memories with me.   Love you, Yoongi.   P.S. please stop digging your ice cold feet into my feet at night. go to the doctor it’s not natural.   You choke on your own saliva, tears flooding your vision as your overwhelming emotions swell into a lump in your throat. It’s Yoongi’s love letter. Everything that’s so unabashedly him encapsulated in a few sentences — not cringey, a bit distant, but tender all at the same time.   You don’t know why he’s written this so out of the blue or how he knew you wanted this so badly, but you don’t care enough to question it. You hold the letter to your chest, head falling as your tears rise to squeeze out of you — but before you can melt on the carpet, you’re startled by a giant rock slamming against the window.   You jump, screaming, and your face drains of colour.   What’s left on the glass window is a jagged line split in different directions and you rush over in shock, opening up the latch to figure out who the perpetrator is.   What you find is your dumb-ass husband standing below your window. “What the hell are you doing?! You cracked the window, you idiot! We’re going to have to get it fixed,” you hiss into the dead of the night.   “Shut up, will you?” he sharply whispers back and your eyes adjust to the darkness.   From the glow of the street lights and the lamp on your table, you’re finally able to discern the acoustic guitar slung over his body.    Oh my god.   Before you can even burst out laughing and tell him to get inside, much to your mortification, Yoongi begins to sing in spite of his tone-deafness. “If I should stay, I would only be in your way….”   He strums one chord, the wrong chord, and it jumbles with the false notes streaming from his vocal cords. Yoongi stares down at his fingers, stretching them across the guitar neck and he strums every other sentence. His singing is awful and it’s noisy, especially when you begin to laugh.   You’re tempted to grab your phone and record him, but decide to savour the moment first-hand.   Your husband struggles and at some points, the pitch goes too high and his voice cracks so horrifically that he stops singing altogether.   Yoongi’s only put out of his misery when across the street the lights inside the house turn on and there’s a grumpy voice shouting— “Shut up! Some people are trying to sleep!”   You end up running downstairs at the same time he’s finally coming inside and you’re still giggling as he sets his guitar down, leaning it against the wall. “Where did you even get that?”   “I borrowed it from Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs. “He kept on asking so many questions. I had to tell him that I was bored at home and wanted to give it a try.”   You close the distance and encircle your arms around his neck. Yoongi’s hands immediately find purchase on your waist and you plant a fat kiss on his mouth before leaning away, confused curiosity not allowing you to prolong the affection.   “Why’d you write me the letter and why….this?”   Yoongi answers you by moving away to the entryway table past the foyer that’s there more for decoration than usage. He goes for the second shelf and holds up your worn diary.   That’s when you realize you’ve been caught and Yoongi’s brows lift with a tiny smile.   “I hope I got to fulfill the rest of your wishes, even if they were back to back.”   The pair of you gather together in your cozy bedroom, guitar tucked safely away and the letter still displayed on your vanity where you’ll be able to see it for the rest of your days. But those silly antics are far from being over and you know it with the way Yoongi’s been looking at you.   “You should’ve just told me if you wanted to do those things,” he says as he rips off his socks and changes into comfortable pajamas.   “Yeah, but you would’ve refused…” You twiddle with the hem of the duvet and Yoongi hums after a moment, crawling into bed with you. He realizes that you’re right. He probably would’ve scoffed at the idea of writing you a love letter or serenading you if you asked up front.   “I thought there was something wrong. You got me worried for a few days.”   “I’m sorry. I just…..I know I’ve been a bit off.” You sigh, locking your gaze with your husband as you finally confide your concerns to him. “You know how our seven year anniversary is coming up, right?”   “Yeah. What about it?”   “I know this is going to sound really, really stupid and dumb, but I was kind of, a little bit, worried about the seven year itch.”   Yoongi’s brows furrow and he squints. “The what?”   “You know, the seven year curse thing.” When his expression remains blank, you exhale and explain, “it’s when marriages are known to go downhill and divorces happen because people get bored. My parents got divorced after seven years, remember? So did a bunch of our friends and I don’t know, the thought kind of freaked me out.”   Yoongi softens and the corner of his mouth quirks. His arm reaches over and around your shoulder, and he pulls you closer to him in a loose hug. “I don’t know about you, but I have no plans of divorcing you any time soon.”   You mold yourself against Yoongi’s embrace, allowing yourself to melt into his comfort. It was soothing to hear his deep timbre next to your ear, to let him reassure you in such a way.   In one instant, all your doubts seem to vanish.    “I’m not bored of you, Y/N.” Yoongi smirks and you lean your head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”   “Are you sure?”   “As sure as I was when we made our vows,” he consoles without even needing a second to think about it and pulls away with a tender, thoughtful smile. “Plus, we’ve survived this ‘seven year’ curse anyways.”   You frown. “What?”   “Didn’t we start dating ten years ago? Yeah. It’s our ten year anniversary of being together. So we technically passed it three years ago already.”   You’re puzzled — you’ve sure the seven year itch only applies to marriages, but in a way Yoongi was right. It’s not like you want to disagree with him anyways. But the pair of you have been together for considerably longer than seven years. Your relationship had begun much farther back.   You lean in, planting another kiss on Yoongi and it’s one he happily obliges to deepen.   It’s a familiar kiss, but not one you’re discontent with. It’s practiced, skilled and full of technique. Not hesitant, lackluster or sloppy like the first time. Yoongi kisses you the way he knows you like it. After so many years and spending so much time with one another, it’s been perfected after all.   He pulls apart and you snuggle in him with a giant smile, digging your cold feet into his warm ones much to his dismay. But this time, he doesn’t complain and molds himself against you.   Yoongi plants one more kiss on top of your head, feeling sleepy and too tired to even turn off the lamp on the bedside table. “Is there something special you want to do for this year’s anniversary? We still haven’t talked about it yet.”   “I don’t want to stay in,” you hum. “How about a road trip up to the hot springs? Kijung was talking about it and it sounded nice. We haven’t been up there in a while.”   “Okay.” Yoongi is happy to oblige. “Sounds like a plan.”   You and Yoongi met at eighteen. After four years of being friends, the both of you broke the barrier and started dating. It took only three years for him to put a ring on your finger and for you to share his last name. It’s been seven mundane but wonderful years since. And while it seems so long ago, you’re certain there will be many, many more years to come.

[uswntxfootball]

Working Overtime (USWNT x Reader)

request: @ko5-greyson​ ; You could do a uswnt x reader where they are overworking themselves with soccer and staying up to late with school work. they don’t notice cause she doesn’t have a roommate and stuff. Everything else is up too you if you want. (This post is way to long sorry)

word count: 1368 ish

the team was prepping hard for the upcoming olympics, including extra practices and trainings every week. for the other players, it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but for you, the 20 year old forward who is also currently attending stanford university, that means staying up until 4 am for classes. 

a/n: for anyone that’s confused, your classes are all online! (also i’m kinda a very big press stand if y’all haven’t noticed :D) also this is a pretty bad imagine so just bear with me here :/

----

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath as you check your watch. Your chemistry lecture had started twenty minutes ago, and you were just now getting out of training. You run out of the weight room as fast as you can, cursing under your breath when you forget your bag, coming back to pick it up, then sprinting out of the weight room and across the street to your hotel. Your teammates stared at you with heavy interest, no one daring to stop you. When you’ve made your way out of the room, it’s Pinoe who’s first to break the silence. “What’s with her?” Everyone shrugs and shakes their head in an “I don’t know” motion. ~~ Everything for the first two years had been smooth sailing, but with the additional practices and trainings for the upcoming Olympics, your life quickly began to spiral out of control. You take a glance over at your clock, sighing when you realize it’s already 3 am. You were thankful you didn’t have a roommate, as your late night study sessions would most likely be of annoyance. You had yet to figure out the last few chemistry problems assigned that day, but unfortunately for you, you had training the next morning at 8. Vlatko would kill you if you missed practice, and your professor would kill you if you didn’t finish the homework. You set an alarm for 4 am, promising yourself to work just one more hour, so then you can arrive to practice with...a healthy...3 hours of sleep..? When 4 am hits, you (thankfully) finish everything, and as soon as your back touches the mattress, you’re out. You arrive to practice the next morning with heavy bags under your eyes, religiously chugging coffee in an attempt to make up for the lack of sleep you’d gotten the night before. Practice was a mess, you were a clumsy mess around the ball, missing shots you’d normally never miss. The team could tell you were off your game, but they just assumed you were up partying and were hungover or something, and so no one commented anything on it. When you’re dismissed and practice ends, you feel like you’ve just run a marathon. You’re ready to pass out from exhaustion, and you want nothing more than to lay down and sleep. But as soon as you step into your room and lay on your bed, you suddenly remember that it’s finals week in two weeks, and you had a lot of catching up to do, after missing your bio labs and physics labs during the time of olympic qualifying matches. You let out a groan and shove your head under a pillow, cursing the gods for making your life so miserable. ~~ With finals week approaching, your life has just gone from busy, to I barely have time to breathe. You got 20 hours of sleep total in the next week, with you pulling all nighters here and there. And as a result, you started arriving to morning training later and later, with a cup of coffee in hand and heavy bags under your eyes. By this point, the team began to worry about you. You were always very adamant about being on time, as you always chided them (particularly Ash) for being late, saying, “Early is on time, and on time is late.” So Friday morning when it’s 8:35 and you still haven’t shown up to practice, the team began to panic. “Do you think she’s okay?” Kelley asked Mal, who gave a halfhearted shrug and whispered, “I hope so.” “She doesn’t have a roommate does she?” “No she doesn’t.” “Should we go check on her?” The duo brought up their request to the team, the team nodding and let them go as they were equally worried about you. And so here they were, Kelley and Mal making their way up to your room, keycard in hand. ~~ What greeted them was the sight of you passed out on your desk, textbooks open and pencil still in hand. The sound of the door closing is what wakes you from your sleep, your eyes widening when you see the two girls standing in your room. You glance at your watch and realize that practice is over. You weren’t just late, you had missed it. “Shit.” You muttered, trying to pack your bags to maybe talk to Vlatko and somehow make up your missed practice. “Y/N.” Kelley says, bringing you out of your desperate scrambling. You pause your efforts and look up. In your hurry you had completely forgotten about the two girls standing here before you. “I’m so sorry.” You stammer apologetically. “I stayed up late studying and I just lost track of time and I j-“ “Y/N.” Mal says sternly, cutting you off. “What’s keeping you up anyways?” Kelley inquires. “I’m studying chemical engineering at Stanford and finals week is coming soon and it’s kicking my ass.” You say with a sigh, missing the way Kelley’s jaw drops in amazement. “You’re studying chemical engineering.” “Yes.” “At Stanford.” “That would be correct.” “While training for the Olympics.” “Yup.” “You’re insane.” “Trust me I know. I just didn’t want Vlatko or my professor or you guys to treat me any different so I haven’t told you all anything...” You look off to the side awkwardly. “Oh Y/N...” Mal moves to give you a hug, with Kelley following suit. “We’ll figure something out okay? We don’t want you killing yourself over this.” You nodded into the hug, unable to keep a tear from falling out. You were so tired and so stressed, it was a miracle you hadn’t fallen apart (completely). You stayed there for a little bit longer, reveling in the warm embrace of your friends. ~~ “You’re studying WHAT?” Vlatko exclaims in surprise. “Chemical engineering” You say softly, worried about his reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?? I mean you’re in your junior year already.” “I just didn’t want to be benched or taken off as a starter because I was in school...” You trailed off. “Especially not for the Olympic roster.” You add. “I see..” Vlatko states, fingers gently drumming on his chin. “Well, I’ll figure something out.” “I’m sure you will. Come to me if you need anything.” “Will do, coach.” ~~ “You’re WHAT??” Your professor exclaims in shock. “I’m a forward for the USWNT and I’m training for the Olympics currently.” You say softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want any extensions or extra credit just because I was on a national soccer team..” A similar conversation with Vlatko happens with your professor, and you’re thankful that both your teacher and your coach were so understanding. ~~ “I’m rooming with you now.” Christen declares, bursting into your room at 4 pm. “What? Chris?” You ask, taking your earbuds out. You were in a lecture currently, and you certainly didn’t expect someone to bust into your room. “Oh and me too” Tobin waves from behind Christen. “As your appointed team moms it is our job to make sure that you’re sleeping well and eating well and are healthy so that is exactly what we are going to do.” Christen states, dragging her suitcase through the door. And do that she did, for the next week up until finals, Christen made sure you slept at 11, so you would have enough energy for practice. She made sure you drank plenty of water, and managed your time efficiently to get everything done. With Christen by your side, the next week was a breeze, and you felt less stress than you ever had in your life. Tobin of course, sat around doing Tobin things, playing ping pong against a wall whilst juggling a soccer ball non stop (though Chris would push her out of your room whenever you were in need to study). So when finals week hit, you were more than prepared, all the while tearing up the field during practice. And a week later when you saw the Olympic start up with your name on it, you squealed and hugged Christen and Tobin tight, muttering a million thank yous. You were glad that you had people that cared about you.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Promised Prize

Dwayne x Reader

Word Count: 1,768

Summary: After final exams are over, Dwayne makes good on the reward that you guys worked out. 

A siren blared as a police car zoomed by your building, waking you from your impromptu sleep. Where the sun had previously forced its way through the gaps in the blinds, nocturnal darkness had completely taken over and doused everything in shadow. You stretched leisurely on top of the sheets, giving your eyes time to adjust as shapes blurred into focus.

Propping yourself up on your forearms you reached for your alarm clock, the glowing red numbers flashing 10:14 pm.

Well then.

It appeared that you had literally slept half of the day away and then some. You blamed it on your body’s post-finals bid to finally catch up on the sleep that you had been depriving yourself of for the past two weeks.

You also hadn’t seen much of your boyfriend during that period, although that wasn’t by your choice. When he found out how busy you were with finals prep he basically disappeared which was his way of giving you space so you could be productive. He didn’t even talk with you about it, he just straight up stopped coming to your apartment. 

It was a good thing you knew him as well as you did otherwise you might’ve taken his ghosting to mean something else entirely and you told him as much when you finally saw him over the weekend.  

You went down the hall, switching on lights as you walked by on your way to the kitchen. A cool glass of water from the fridge always hit the spot after waking up. The water was extremely refreshing and several large gulps followed the first.

You took the water bottle with you so you could continue sipping from it while you went outside to get your mail. The small metal door creaked open and you juggled everything in your hands you flipped through the stack of envelops and inserts.

Junk. Pizza coupon. Bill. Bill—oh! Something from the college!

Unable to wait until you were inside, you tore open the envelope with shaky fingers. The paper unfolded and you scanned over the typed font with nervous determination.

You lowered the grade report in shock. Did you read that correctly?

You held it up again and, sure enough, the verdict was the same—you aced all of your final exams! And in doing that, your semester grade point average was high enough to make the Dean’s list.

The whole apartment complex was treated to your victorious banshee yell as it echoed off the concrete and glass of the apartment complex. Even some of the wildlife scattered.

High with endorphins, you scurried back to your apartment, laying the paper smack dab on the center of the kitchen table. There was another person who needed to see it as well.

The sun had been set for a few hours, plenty of time to find a first meal of the night, which meant that he would be dropping by at any time.

You found it impossible to sit since you were still feeling the excitement so rather than sit around and wait for him, you decided to channel the energy into something productive.

Cabinet doors were opened and closed as you took out different ingredients that were all thrown into a mixing bowl and kneaded together with your bare hands. Some of the mix stuck under your fingernails but you were more than happy to suck it off your fingers.

Separating the tan dough into small balls you carefully placed them on a cookie sheet and stuck it into the oven. Ten minutes later and they were out, cooling on the counter.

Dwayne still hadn’t arrived even after your cookie quest. You blew a couple of strands of hair away from your face. Time to do some dishes.

You slipped a Ratt cassette into your boombox, cranked it, and got to scrubbing. In the middle of cleaning the tines on a fork, you heard him enter.

He was bent over, taking off his shoes when you met him by the door.

He stood up and leaned in for a sweet kiss, but you stopped him to wipe some stray blood droplets off of his lips before you allowed it.

“Come on, there’s something I wanna show you,” you insisted, pulling him to the kitchen.

He sniffed the air.

“Peanut butter?” he asked hopefully.

“Yep. Sit down and I’ll bring you some.”

He sat down obediently and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist reading the only readable thing in front of him. While you took your time with the cookies, you watched him out of the corner of your eye and saw the exact moment he took the bait.

He slid the paper closer with his pointer finger and read it silently. Even when he faced you there was no discernable reaction that most people would’ve noticed, however, you weren’t most people. The warmth in his brown eyes and the slight softening of his mouth were very clear to you.

“I aced everything,” you boasted, setting the plate pile of cookies in front of him.

“And the Dean’s list,” he added.

You were touched that he remembered that bit and gently scratched his scalp which had him rolling his head in a feline manner. “That means I get my reward too.”

He reached out and stroked the outer rim of your ear. “A promise is a promise. Wanna do it now?”

Back when you were stressing out all the tests and essays, and before Dwayne ghosted, he promised to give you a gift to keep you motivated. Anything you wanted. You told him you wanted a piercing done midway up your ear after seeing some people at school with them and he promised to do it for you.

You swiftly nodded. You really wanted the piercing.

Without another word, he shoved two peanut butter cookies into his mouth for safekeeping and tugged his shoes on. For being as old as he was, his inner child was always near the surface and you loved that about him. Most of the time.

“Heathen,” you razzed as you playfully hip checked him out of the way so you could grab your silver boots.

Opting not to retaliate, he merely winked and ushered you out the door, cookies still in his mouth.

The drive to the cave was short and uneventful. A benefit to the apartment being closer to the bluffs than it was the pier or the boardwalk. Dwayne expertly guided you down the rickety, wooden stairs and to the mouth of the cave.

Earlier in the relationship he always offered to fly you down so you didn’t have to use the stairs, but he respected the decision to do it yourself unless you were too tired or tipsy, in which case he made the final decision.

He prowled around the cave, grabbing supplied from seemingly random spots. “Do you still want it on the cartilage?”

You told him yes and sat on the cool edge of the fountain, noting how quiet it was with just the two of you here.

“What’s the rest of the crew up to?”

“I left the boys on the beach and Star wanted some more stuff for her bed. It’s not even midnight so they’ll be gone for a while yet.”

“I need to hang out with her more now that classes are done for now,” you said resting your chin on the tops of your knees.

“She’d appreciate any company that isn’t us at this point.”

You remembered the blood he had on his lips earlier. And the crumbs he left on them after eating the cookies. “I can’t imagine why...”

He plopped down next to you on the fountain and spread everything out, handing you a box full of earrings so you could pick one out.

“Fingers crossed you guys didn’t rip these off of your meals.”

Dwayne chose not to say anything, preferring to watch your squirm at the thought.

You did have to admit that there was quite a nice selection to pick from, no matter the source. There were shiny studs, pieces with all manner of materials dangling from them, and delicate hoops both decorated and plain. But a small, snug silver hoop with a pearl-colored sphere attached caught your interest.

Dwayne noticed and started rubbing your ear with alcohol to disinfect the area. Then he held the piercing needle over a small candle flame to sterilize it. Star had taught them a lot about piercing procedure and etiquette; not wanting to jeopardize your mortal health, he put her words to use.

Needle ready, he swung around with one of his legs resting in your lap.

“For grabbing onto if it hurts,” he offered and you settled your hands onto his jean-clad thigh. The needle was poised against the cartilage midway up your ear and you couldn’t help it when your heartrate sped up. 

The last time you had your ears pierced you were a little kid and you couldn’t remember the pain. You hoped this new one wouldn’t be too unbearable.

He nudged you gently to see if you were good to continue.

“I’m good. And you’d better not hit a nerve and paralyze me cause then I’ll have to beat you up.”

Were there any nerves to hit in that part of your ear? You weren’t sure but it came out of your mouth last minute.

“Good luck punching if you’re paralyzed,” he smirked punching the needle through the flesh as he spoke. He had a bottle cork pressed on the back of your ear so that the needle didn’t stab into your neck when it came out on the other side.

Your lids slammed shut and your finger nails dug into his leg. It wasn’t the worst you could imagine but it was still a sharp, noticeable pain.

Dwayne was quick with it removing the needle and dropping the cork in order to work the earring through the freshly made hole. He clicked the earring closed and gave the area one last wipe down with a water soaked q-tip.

“Well? How do I look?” You were impatient and he wasn’t moving fast enough for you. 

He held up a mirror so you could see it. You weren’t sure how he conjured it since none of the vamps in the cave used them, but you were more interested in seeing at your ear at the moment.

You gasped as you turned this way and that to admire it.

“I love it, Dwayne!” You peppered him with kisses.

Dwayne looked at you with evident pride. Pride in your smartness, pride in how you handled the pain, pride in the way the piercing turned out.

Beautiful, he thought.

_______________

Congrats to everyone that’s finished with finals and good luck to those who are still working through exams. Thanks so much for reading! 

[seanfalco]

My Girl | Nathan Young x Reader

Fandom: Misfits Pairing: Nathan x Reader Word Count: 1629 Rating: T Prompt: I called you at 2am because I need you Requested by: @gurlimtired​ a/n: I noticed that some of my drabbles that I posted as asks weren’t showing up in the tag, so I figured I’d try this.  Thank you for the request!  I really ended up enjoying this one :3

——

Feet dangling  over the side of the balcony, Nathan rested his chin on his arm as he leaned forward against the railing, looking over the dark Community Center.  With a heavy sigh he reached for his phone once again, checking the time as his screen lit up.  It was nearly 2:00 and he was nowhere near tired.  Oh, he’d tried to sleep, but after an hour of rolling about his mattress restlessly, he gave up.

This was the third time in twenty minutes he’d nearly dialed your number, backing out at the last minute.  She’s probably hanging out with her bandmates, or sleepin’, or --

He sighed again, jumping when his phone lit up in his hand, your name filling the screen and the obnoxious ringtone echoing loudly in the empty room.  “Ahh!” he cried, juggling the vibrating phone, almost dropping it over the ledge.

“[Y/N], what’s up?” he answered as suavely as possible, not wanting you to know how glad he was that you’d called.

“Nathan? Oh, thank God,” you answered and he didn’t fail to notice the way your voice trembled slightly on the other end of the line.

“[Y/N], are you… okay?  It’s almost two and --”

“Uhm, not… not really?” you answered, huffing a nervous laugh.  “There’s this guy who’s been harassing me at work, like he keeps tryin’ to get my number and shit, and uh… he’s outside right now.  He’s been waitin’ for me to get off.  I thought he’d given up and gone away, but he’s still out there and I’m - I don’t really wanna walk home alone.”

Before he knew it Nathan was on his feet, rooting around for his discarded clothes.  “Where are you right now?” he asked, barely concealed alarm in his voice, though he was past caring if you noticed or not -- the only thing he could think of was getting to you before that creeper tried anything sketchy.

“I’m still at work.  I told my manager I was gunna wait around til someone could walk with me.”

“Alright.  Stay there, okay?  I’m comin’ to get you.”

As soon as he hung up he finished dressing and shoved his feet into his shoes before slipping out of the Community Center and hurrying to the tiny convenience store you worked at, not far away.  When he got to the store he saw you through the window, waiting by the counter, chatting with your coworker.  Tossing his spent cigarette to the curb he crushed it under his sneaker, glancing around nonchalantly, lookin’ for the bloke that was giving you a hard time.  

Catching sight of a shady lookin’ fellow waitin’ round the corner, he figured that was the guy, quickly ducking his curly head before the bloke noticed him staring and pushed through the door into the bright fluorescent flooded interior.

——

As soon as Nathan entered, relief flooded you at the sight of him and you waved, letting your friend know you were leaving and hurried over to him.  “Nathan!  Thank you!  Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you exclaimed, grateful that he’d come right away.  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah, I was still up,” he assured you with a shrug.  “So, that guy round the corner,” he continued, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb, “that the guy that’s been harassin’ ya?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” you replied, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

“How long’s this been goin’ oh, huh?”

“A couple of weeks,” you answered reluctantly, not quite meeting his eye.

“Why didn’t yeh say anythin’ sooner?” he asked, his voice surprisingly somber and you shrugged.

“Didn’t think it was a big deal.  I thought he’d get tired of it and leave me alone, but…” you trailed off with a sigh.  “He’s never waited around for me like this before.”

Nathan frowned, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulder as he ushered you toward the door.  “Well, I’m gunna have a little talkin’ to with the git,” he announced, and you raised an eyebrow at him.  “I’ll be polite, yeah?” he exclaimed, a touch defensively, though you didn’t believe it for a second.

As soon as you walked out the door, the guy pushed off the wall where he’d been waiting, his expression darkening when he saw Nathan’s arm around you.

“Hey you!” Nathan called, drawing himself up straighter, smirking at the fact that he was nearly a whole foot taller than the other guy.

“Who me?” he asked.

“Yeah, you, y’prick,” Nathan scoffed.  “I hear you’ve been messin’ with my girl.”

At his words your brows rose in surprise and you ducked your head, trying to fight back the grin that was threatening to steal across your face.

“Your girl?” the guy spat, incredulity painting his face.  “She ain’t never mentioned--”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nathan cut in, “my girl, and I don’t appreciate you harassin’ her.  She don’t appreciate it, nobody appreciates it.  So why don’t you take the hint and scamper off like a good boy, eh?  And don’t show your ugly mug round here again!  You probably have a tiny dick too,” he threw in there for good measure.

Once he’d finished his little tirade, which you had to admit was rather sweet, in his own way, he stared the bloke down, raising his thick eyebrows as if just daring him to try anything.

“Yeah?  And whatcha gunna do bout it, huh?” the guy shot back, not stepping down.  “You don’t look so tough, y’gangly git.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed, his grip around your shoulder tightening before he was pushing you behind him and stepping in front of you defensively.

“Oh, I’m tough.  I’m real tough.  Come at me, bro!” he exclaimed raising his fists as if he were actually gunna fight the fellow.

“Nathan!” you hissed in alarm -- this wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you’d asked him to walk you home.

Glancing over his shoulder at you, he flashed what he probably assumed to be a reassuring grin.  “Don’t worry [Y/N], m’love, I can take ‘im!”

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest.  “If you end up dyin’, I’m gunna kick your fuckin’ arse!”

If anything, that didn’t seem to deter him, his grin only growing as he waggled his eyebrows at you.  The guy across from him looked taken aback for a moment, no doubt confused by your exclamation, but soon he had his fists raised as well, advancing on Nathan before throwing a right hook, catching him right on the jaw.

Nathan gasped, touching his cheek gingerly.  “That was just a lucky shot, mate.  C’mon!”  Again the other guy’s fist made contact and you winced, not sure how much longer you could stand watching Nathan get beat up for you.

Spitting blood, Nathan wiped the rest of it from his chin with the back of his hand, this time managing to get a shot in himself, mouthing ‘ow’ as he shook his hand.  While the bloke was dazed, Nathan managed to tackle him, crashing to the pavement atop him before scrambling to hold him down, throwing punches til the guy surrendered.

“Alright, alright, I give up, jeeze!” he cried, holding up his hands.  “You can have ‘er, she ain’t worth it.”

Nathan frowned, grabbing his lapels and lifting him so their faces were inches apart, no trace of amusement in his expression.  “To you, maybe,” he hissed under his breath, dropping the guy as he got to his feet, a trifle unsteadily and you rushed to his side, catching him before he tripped, letting him lean on you.

“Did you call me your girl?” you asked, glancing over at him as you walked, a small smile playing at your lips despite everything.

“Uhh… did I?” Nathan asked, feigning ignorance.  “I was in the zone, I can’t rightly remember.”

“You called me your girl,” you insisted, your grin growing at the conflicted look on Nathan’s face.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I did,” he admitted, “but it was in the heat of the moment, it was part of the charade,” he exclaimed.

“Uh huh,” you said with a smirk, stopping and turning to him, reaching up to jerk his face toward you for a better look.  “You’re gunna have one helluva shiner tomorrow,” you murmured, turning his face this way and that. 

“Yeah, well, it was worth it,” he murmured, his eyes darting away from yours.  “Besides, it’ll make me look tough.  The ladies love that kind of thing, right?” he asked, his usual bravado returning.

“D’you mean, do I like that kinda thing?” you asked, taking him off guard, watching his adam’s apple bob slowly as he swallowed. 

“Well… do ya?”

“Maybe, a little,” you murmured, and his eyebrows rose as he sucked in a breath, his eyes flicking to your lips.

“That’s… good t’know,” he said finally, and you smiled, unable to hold it back any longer.

“Did you do all this,” you gestured to his face and blood flecked shirt,” just to impress me?”

Glancing away he cleared his throat.  “Maybe.”

Gently turning his face back to you, you looked up at him.  “Next time, you don’t have to go to such lengths.  I already like you, Nathan, you don’t hafta… prove yourself in order t’get some sort of affection from me.”

He blinked, his mouth falling open, at a loss. 

Trailing your fingers from his jaw down to the zipper of his jacket, you balled the fabric in your fist, pulling him down to you.  “I was gunna kiss you either way, y’know,” you murmured before pulling him against you, your lips colliding and Nathan wasted no time pressing you back against the alley wall, his hand slipping round to cradle the back of your head as he kissed you back.

[collapsingintojupiter]

At Least I’ve Got You

The prompt for this one was drunk prinxiety, with the lines “I’m too sober for this.” ; “No. Regrets.” ; “How drunk was I?” ; and “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.”

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan

Relationships: The four are best friends and Virgil/Roman are dating. So this is for all you Prinxiety fans.

Warnings: Alcohol mention, injury, and cursing. Let me know if I need to add anything else.

...

"I'm just trying to help you look out for yourself! I wasn't trying to--"

"Well stop helping me! I'm sick of being babied like this, I'm not a fucking child!" Virgil snapped. "Just leave me alone!"

"But...kiddo--"

"I am NOT your 'kiddo!' Don't call me that!"

"Virgil…" He stiffened as Patton's hand touched his shoulder.

"Get away from me!" Virgil snarled and lashed out with one hand, forcefully shoving Patton away and storming towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going? Virgil please--"

He slammed the door behind him and ran into the street, Patton's wounded voice echoing in his ears as he desperately tried to get away from the house and its occupant. Then he suddenly stopped, the realization of what he'd just done smacking him in the face as if a car had hit him. Oh my God...I just hit Patton...I just hit my best friend...he swayed on his feet, turning back to his friend's house, then froze.

I can't go back there.

I can't face Patton. Not after I just did that...

Virgil stumbled forward across the street and tripped over the curb, collapsing into a heap on the sidewalk. He growled and pounded a fist into it, then scrambled to his feet once again. WheredoIgowheredoIgo...Gotta get out of here. Now.

"What's this? My dark and stormy night is...out during the day?"

Oh no. Not right now. Virgil groaned and turned around.

"What do you want?"

"Whoah, you look like someone just ran over your puppy. Are you alright?" Roman's expression quickly twisted into a look of concern when he saw his boyfriend's uncharacteristically stricken face.

"It's nothing," Virgil growled. He started walking again, but Roman would not be deterred. He raced after him, matching the storm cloud's pace once he caught up.

"Right, and I'm the king of France. C'mon, you can tell me anything Virge! You know I'm here for you!" Virgil leveled a glare at Roman, who stared back at him with that stupidly cute face of his, then sighed in defeat. His boyfriend raised an eyebrow, unsure as to whether or not his victory was certain yet.

"I got in a fight with Pat," he stated bluntly.

"With Pat?" Virgil winced when he saw the expression of bafflement flutter across Roman's face. "But...but how? You two are like...best friends...since like forever!" he spluttered.

"He worries about me too much." Well, there's probably a better way to say it than that...

"You do realize that he's not the only one who's worried about you..." Roman said slowly. He seemed more hesitant than normal, and Virgil looked back at him in confusion. "Pat's just...the most open about his concern for you."

"Oh, don't you get all sappy on me too," Virgil grumbled.

"You know I'm right, Surly Temple." Virgil hissed and shoved Roman, who easily recovered and flashed him a smile, dropping the serious expression in an instant. He was good at that; a good actor. Not to mention cute.

"I'm too sober for this," Virgil growled.

"Too sober for what?" Roman glanced at his boyfriend, one eyebrow raised.

"Talking to you." Roman grinned.

"I can fix that."

"Please."

---

Roman hummed to himself as his old red pickup truck bumped up one of the area's many mountain roads, one hand on the steering wheel while the other was wrapped around a can of booze. Virgil was curled up in the passenger seat, quietly staring out at the scenery as he sipped from an identical can.

"I don't feel like I deserve to be friends with Patton sometimes," he said suddenly, shaking his head. His tone had completely changed from the anger of earlier, and Roman glanced back at him as he spoke. Virgil sounded almost...sad. "He's always so nice to me, you know? And he's always concerned about me and checking up, asking if I've been eating..."

"That's what friends do, Virgil," Roman answered gently. "They care for each other. And you--" he set his can down in the cupholder and gently bumped Virgil's shoulder with his fist "--certainly are lucky to have someone that's so concerned about your well-being."

"I keep messing it up."

"You're human. Humans aren't perfect, you know. Not even me." Roman grinned.

"Mmmm." Virgil sighed and leaned back, neither answering his boyfriend nor acknowledging his awful joke. Instead he looked like he was thinking, that or perhaps he was about to fall asleep.

"Don't crash on me yet, we're almost there," Roman warned him.

"Mmmph."

"You're coming star-watching with me if I have to drag you up that mountain. Don't test me." Virgil rolled his eyes and finished his can of beer, reaching for another.

"Why are we going to look at a bunch of dumb stars anyways?" He asked grumpily.

"Because they're pretty and I know you like them even if you spend all your time pretending that you don't."

"Falsehood!" Virgil shouted, borrowing from their friend Logan's vocabulary for a moment. Maybe he really was out of it, he never did that. "I just think they're boring is all."

"Liar."

"Hssssss."

Roman only grinned, shook his head, and tipped the last of what remained in his beer can into his mouth. "Can you hand me another one?" He asked.

"We're out."

"Check under the seat." Virgil checked and let out a whistle.

"Fuck yeah," he hissed, grabbing two more cans; one for Roman and one for himself. Before he could right himself, however, Roman spun the steering wheel and the truck swerved, Virgil letting out a strangled yelp as the truck bounced off the road and into a tiny little parking area overlooking a cliff.

"We're here!" Roman announced.

"Bitch, gimmie a warning next time!" Virgil's angry voice sounded muffled.

"Maybe if you'd wear a seatbelt this wouldn't be a problem."

Virgil glared up at his boyfriend from where he was now crammed onto the floor beneath the truck's dashboard, his shoulders wedged into the small area between the seat and dash where the door was. Somehow, the two beer cans were still safe in his hands. Roman smiled sweetly and took both, before sliding out of the truck and coming around to open the door. Immediately Virgil tumbled out of the tight space, landing in a heap on the gravel lot.

"I hate you," he snapped.

A can was pressed into his hands.

"Nevermind." Virgil allowed Roman to help him to his feet, a little surprised when he pulled him in for a hug but allowing it nonetheless. Yeah, he was really out of it.

"Everything hurts," he muttered.

"I'll carry you."

"You wha--" Virgil's question was cut off by another yelp when Roman suddenly swept him off his feet in one swift motion, carrying him bridal style to the back of the truck. Somehow he managed to open it, though Virgil wasn't sure how given that he was already juggling a beer can and a human being. He didn't ask, though.

"This right here..." Roman grunted as he set his much smaller boyfriend down, then climbed up onto the truck beside him, "...is what I meant. Not wearing a seatbelt could get you killed, Virgil. You can't keep doing stuff like this to yourself."

"Mmmph," Virgil hadn't moved from where Roman had set him down, not wanting to upset any of his bruises.

"You're cold aren't you?"

"Definitely not." Roman sighed, moving forward and opening the window to the back of the truck. He reached in and pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Virgil. His boyfriend didn't try to catch it but Roman saw his face light up when it landed on him--though he'd deny it off course--before he grabbed it and pulled it over his body.

"Thanks."

Roman came back and sat down cross-legged next to Virgil, unable to hide his smile when the other boy shifted so that his head was in his lap. He absentmindedly ran a hand through Virgil's hair as they watched the stars come out one by one, sipping at their beer and enjoying each other's company in silence.

After a while, however, they started to chat. They talked about a lot of things; the past, the present, the future, their friends and family; hopes and dreams. Virgil seemed to forget about being cold and ended up perched on the roof of the truck, laughing at one of Roman's stories from middle school while he dramatically reenacted it on the truck bed. Once he'd finished Roman suddenly seemed to get very serious, and then a crazy smile slowly spread across his face.

"Virgil, have you ever flown before?" He asked. His speech sounded funny and slurred even to Virgil's fuzzy brain, and he shook his head.

"We don't have wings, you idiot."

"Oh you won't need wings for this."

"Need wings for wh-AT THE FUCK, ROMAN!" Virgil's unholy shriek pierced the air as Roman clumsily charged forward and crashed into him, sending the pair flying over the edge and down the steep embankment that waited beyond the truck bed. They rolled and tumbled and twisted and screamed until they finally came to a stop; Roman when he collided with a tree and Virgil when he got tangled in an impossibly huge bush.

"I DID IT! I FLEW! VIRGIL DID YOU SEE THAT?"And that was the last thing Virgil remembered before everything faded into darkness.

---

He was the first to awaken some time the next morning. Virgil only knew it was morning because the birds were singing and his back felt warm; his hood which had somehow ended up yanked over his face made it impossible to see anything at all. Everything ached and Virgil's fuzzy mind couldn't decipher why that was at all until he tried to move. A streak of pain shot up his leg when he tried to pull it towards his body and he hissed, confused by the crackling sound that followed the movement.

Are those...leaves? Am I sitting in a bush?

He tried to move his arm and discovered that, while it ached too, no shooting pain accompanied it when he pulled it towards his face. Something--or rather, multiple somethings poked and snagged at his sleeves, but he finally got his arm where he needed it to be and managed to pry his hood away from his face.

Something he instantly regretted.

"FUCK, MY EYES!" Virgil shrieked, throwing his hands up to protect them as sunlight exploded in his vision, bright and hot and painful. A headache quickly throbbed into existence behind his forehead.

"Virgil? You're alive!" Roman's happy but pained yelp from somewhere--he wasn't sure where--only made the headache worse, and Virgil groaned.

"Welcome back. Now fucking help me," he growled with all the strength he could muster. He heard thrashing nearby and then something touched his shoulder.

"How drunk was I? What the hell happened?"

"You pushed me off a fucking cliff, you idiot!"

"I did?" Roman sounded appalled. "I don't remember that at all!"

"Does it look like I pushed myself? My fucking ankle's dead and it's your fault!"

"Okay okay, shut up and hold still. I'm gonna try and untangle you, save the complaining for later."

"Cause I was gonna do what? Go for a stroll?"

"Remember the shut up part." Virgil hissed but didn't say anything more as something grabbed his arms and gently helped pry him loose from the bush, hauling him up so that he and Roman were standing side-by-side. Virgil kept all his weight on his good leg and his gaze on the ground away from the awful sunlight, slowly shaking his head. Everything was throbbing. His eyes were throbbing.

"I think that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do," he muttered. Roman laughed.

"No regrets!" he shouted, pumping a fist into the air and wincing at the pain that brought him. "Wish I remembered it though."

"How about I give you some regrets?" Virgil snapped. "How the fuck are we gonna get up this now? By levitating?"

"I'll help you. Lean on me and I'll help support your weight."

"Fantastic. We're gonna die."

"Oh shut up, we're not gonna die." Roman helped support his boyfriend and together the pair struggled up the muddy slope, Virgil cursing his bad luck every two seconds and Roman holding back laughter wherever he spotted flattened patches of foliage that either he or Virgil must have crashed through. Virgil's ankle could hardly support any weight and as they tackled the climb Roman grew increasingly worried that they might not reach the top, and end up having to call someone instead. If they had service. Roman didn't say anything about his worries out loud though, not wanting to scare Virgil any more than he already had.

When they got back to the truck Roman let out a shout of excitement that startled Virgil so badly he nearly fell down the cliff again, but his boyfriend caught him before that could happen.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly, ducking his head to avoid the death glare that was now resting on him.

"One of these days I'm going to kill you."

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could he realized that his truck wasn't the only one parked in the lot anymore. A small silver car was now sitting next to it, two familiar faces seated in the driver's and passenger's seats. The one in the driver's seat nudged the other one, who looked to have fallen asleep, when he saw the pair approaching. The other one jolted upright, shouted something unintelligible when he saw Roman and Virgil, and flung the door open.

"Thank God you two are okay!"

Patton. Roman felt Virgil tense as their friend exited the car, holding an arm protectively over him just in case, but he needn't have worried. Patton didn't look angry at all; only relieved; rushing over to them and looking all over the pair for injuries.

"What are you guys doing here?" Roman asked.

"You guys weren't answering my calls and we got worried--oh Virgil, your ankle! That looks like it hurts!" Virgil's gaze flicked over to Roman, who nodded to him and then looked at Patton.

"Uh yeah...there was an unfortunate accident..." He offered unhelpfully.

"Let's get you two to my house, Logan and I can patch you up. Ki--ah, Virgil, is it okay if I help Roman get you to the car?" Virgil hesitated, then nodded slowly. Of course he could trust Patton, his fuzzy mind knew, even if he'd fucked up again. You could always trust Patton to be there for you.

"Patton I…I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier...I-I was just really--"

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it once we're back and your ankle's feeling better, okay?"

"O-Okay."

The three hobbled slowly back to the car and Roman and Patton helped Virgil into the backseat, before Roman climbed in next to him and Patton got back in his seat.

"I'm glad to see that neither of you were badly injured," Logan said as he started the car. Virgil and Roman exchanged glances, and Roman nodded.

"Yeah," was all he said.

The rest of the drive was in silence. Logan drove the group all the way back to Patton's house, the only conversation that occurred being him offering to take Roman back to get his truck when he wasn't hungover. He accepted, of course.

The teacher was out of the car first once they got back; calmly helping Virgil out with a firm and steady grip. Virgil frantically looked around for Roman once he was standing and of course he was there, and when he saw the look on his boyfriend's face he winked and swept him off his feet just like the night before, carrying him inside. Virgil didn't even protest, he was too tired to.

He felt surprisingly safe and secure there in Roman's arms, and he allowed himself a small smile.

"Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I love you. Even if you're an idiot." Roman just grinned at him.

"I love you too, Virgil."

[theconjugationofyeet]

Iron Dad AU Fic Recs

this is gonna be kinda long

Stark Industries: An American Workplace by fourdaysofrain

“No, I don’t--” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches down and he looks at something behind the camera. “Mr. Stark doesn’t treat me any differently than the other employees. I don’t know why everyone says he does.” He tugs his sleeve down his wrist and looks to the side. “I’m the receptionist, so he has to talk to me more to like, plan his calendar and stuff.” --- The Office!AU (For the "AU: TV/Movie" square in Irondad Bingo

We’re Alright by writing-in-my-spare-time

When billionaire Tony Stark comes into the cafe late one night to get his caffeine hit, he finds barista Peter busy doing homework. The homework is quite advanced and right up Tony's alley, and the two hit it of immediately over their shared love of science. But when a masked gunman interrupts their bonding session, Tony knows he'll do anything to make sure Peter is alright.

Prompt: Modern Day/No Powers AU

Apartment 43B by @ironfamjam (my most favourite author ever)

After Peter gets stabbed clean through, he knows he can't let May see. His genius plan? Sneak into his best friend's apartment and clean himself up.

The problem?

It's the wrong apartment.

Enter Tony Stark, the ex-CEO that disappeared off the face of the earth three years ago, armed with his handy little first aid kit, custom made coffee machine, and witty anecdotes.

Somehow, the breaking in becomes a habit.

Irondad Bingo Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Walking The Grey Line by ALittleBattyLady

When Ben Parker dies in his arms, a little piece of Peter dies too. At age 14 he's spiraling down into a hole of emptiness and just can't seem to move forward. Then he accidentally texts the wrong number. Tony thought he could handle whatever the world threw at him, but Steve's betrayal was something he hadn't expected. Months later he's still struggling to pick up the pieces. Then after a wicked bender, he wakes up with a text from a stranger.

They've built themselves a world that exists within nonsensical messages, where Peter finds a father figure he never expected and Tony finds himself worrying for a kid who shouldn't have to suffer so much. Still, the world still exists outside of their bubble of texts. The Avengers have been broken apart, the Accords are nowhere near perfect. Peter's uncle is dead and he's about to be thrown into a world of heroes.

What started as a chance meeting through a strayed text is about to turn into so much more.

AKA The Wrong Number Irondad Au no one asked for, but received

If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by @baloobird

In a world with no superheroes or powers, Tony Stark turns over a new leaf after his plight with Afghanistan. He goes to therapy and it changes his life, so much so that he decides to open up his own practice and help people that are like him.

His newest client: Eight-year-old Peter Parker

Little did he know that he would actually become attached to one of his patients

What Occurred In Raychester Castle? by @fictionart

Lord Anthony Stark is the Earl of Raychester castle. He inherited it from his father when he died, and soon he'll be married to the lovely Lady Virginia Potts. His life the perfect example of Victorian values, everything was going the way it should have.

Until one day, one of his lower servants worms his way into Tony's heart, and introduces him to a world Tony knew was there, but had never seen, and challenges the very way he viewed the world.

Yet, it doesn't feel like such a mistake.

---

Or a historical AU of Tony Stark and Peter Parker set in 1890s fictional Britain, where Tony is an Earl and Peter is a lowly servant.

Our Pages Flipped In Reverse by @ciaconnaa

Fifteen year old Peter Parker makes headlines when he's captured in a terrorist attack during a Sokovian science convention. Three months later, he's a household name when there's reports he busted out of a cave in some ridiculous iron suit.

With a miniaturized version of Tony Stark's infamous arc reactor in his chest.

Naturally, this means the two have to meet.

Intern Spider by @justme--emily

Penny Parker applied to the pilot Stark Industries internship program before she got her powers. But when Mr. Stark becomes her personal and superhero mentor, she'll have to get creative to keep the two identities separate...and secret.

ever in your favour by @iron-spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

A Tale As Old As Time by @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars and @femalemarvelfanatic

A selfish man gets cursed into a metal suit, and only a little boy with a dark past and a heart of gold can break the curse. It’s a tale as old as time.

peter’s stars by @parkrstark and IronPengu

Steve and Peter lose their apartment and are kicked out on the streets. Steve has to juggle between jobs to earn whatever money he can, take care of his son while refusing to let him realize how much they're trouble in, and keep them warm and safe on the city streets in winter.

So, he really doesn't have time to date the billionaire that flirts with him everyday as he buys his cup of coffee. Even if he did, he can't let himself fall for the man. Because if he knew that he lived from a backpack and showered in a public bathroom there's no way he'd still want him...right?

Make Way For Tomorrow by @tonystarkstan

Before Ben died, Peter won a booth to present his project at the Stark Expo. But even on the run from the foster care system, he can't pass up the opportunity to attend and show the world his project. It all goes so well, until it doesn't. Trying to avoid being caught, Peter runs out on Tony just as the man is about to make him the offer of a lifetime.

Bold of him to assume Tony won't try to find him.

It All Comes Back To This by @tonystarkstan

After a car accident leaves him hanging somewhere between life and death, Peter must decide whether to stay or die. The answer isn't as easy as he thought it'd be. Luckily, he has his friends and the Avengers there to help him figure it out.

Have Patience, Quick Wit and a Gentle Heart by @ironfamjam

“I’m your fairy-” he scowled, looking pained, “you know what, no. I’m not going to say that. It’s ridiculous and not even accurate. I don’t know who invented those fairy tales you humans love so much, but they’re beyond terrible."

"Wait..." Peter tried to hide his grin, "Are you my fairy godmother?" he laughed, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried.

The man glowered. "Watch it kid. I could turn you into a frog instead."

Or

The Irondad Cinderella AU one person asked for

 More Ancient Than Magic  by ironfamjam

Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

The Case Of The Sinister Spider

In New York City, Peter Parker finds his entire life up-ended when he gets a phone call informing him of May Parker's tragic accident. But when new evidence comes to light proving foul play, no one in the NYPD will give Peter the time of day.

No one that is, except genius consulting detective on probation, Tony Stark. But Tony has his own demons to fight. Struggling to maintain his sobriety after a tragedy in London forced him overseas, Tony learns that what mends hearts might not be at the bottom of a bottle, but something like a string of unsolved murders and perhaps even love.

Or, the Elementary AU no one asked for

Only For A Little While by eccentric_artist_221b

Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago…. an Irondad AU 

a galaxy far, far away by @madasthesea

a star wars au if tony and peter were master and padawan

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add to this list if you know any more awesome fics with an au!