#intimidated and then immediately closes app

[drakey-wakey]

whyyyyyy do i gotta ghost ppl im interested in talking to why am i so intimidated by messaging people

MANNNNN i frustrate myself sometimes

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl x Reader blurb

Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting: “You’re always so flirty” | “Just with you”

Author’s note: just wanted to have some fun with an awkward Daryl Dixon. Spacing might be off cause I wrote this in my notes app

Fluff; season 2 at the farm, Daryl is annoyingly contradictory lol

The fire crackles softly, casting a warm glow over Daryl’s little camp. It’s a quiet retreat, tucked away from the noise of Hershel’s farm. Perfect for someone like Daryl Dixon—if it weren’t for you always finding your way over and making yourself comfortable.

You plop down on the edge of an overturned log, casually leaning back like you belong. Daryl hasn’t looked at you since you arrived, his focus locked on the flames like they hold the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. It’s cute how hard he’s trying to ignore you.

“You’re always out here, all broody and mysterious,” you start, grinning when his shoulders stiffen. “What, scared to be around the rest of us?”

“Don’t need to be around no one,” he grumbles, poking at the fire with a stick. “Got enough of ya hangin’ around as it is.”

“Aw, you wound me, Dixon.” You press a hand to your chest dramatically. “You’re saying you don’t like my company?”

He snorts, finally glancing up at you. “Ain’t what I said.”

“Oh, so you do like me hanging around?” You lean in, your smile widening when his jaw tenses. “I knew it.”

“I didn’t—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl, shoving the stick into the fire like it’s personally offended him. “Don’t twist my words.”

You bite back a laugh, watching him closely. He’s so awkward, fidgeting with his hands and refusing to meet your gaze for more than a second. It’s almost too easy.

“I don’t have to twist anything,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “You’re the one who lets me stay.”

He mutters something incoherent under his breath, but there’s no bite to his words. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, his lips pressing into a thin line when he catches you smirking.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered, you know that?”

That does it. His head snaps up, his face caught somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. “Ain’t flustered.”

“Sure, you’re not.” You scoot a little closer, just enough to make him shift uncomfortably. “But your ears are turning red, Dixon.”

He scowls, his hand going to the back of his neck like he can hide it. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me,” he grumbles, leaning away like the extra distance will help.

You grin, tilting your head as you watch him. “You know, if you don’t want me to flirt with you, you could just say so.”

That makes him freeze. He’s still for a long moment, shoulders rising with a deep breath before he turns just enough to glance at you. “Ain’t said that, neither,” he mutters, his voice low and almost too quiet to hear.

“Hmm.” You hum, eying his flustered face and furrowed brows. It wasn’t fair that he was handsome even when he was annoyed. “So you don’t mind it?”

His face scrunches up like you’ve backed him into a corner, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to snap at you. Instead, he stares down at the fire, muttering under his breath. “Don’t mean nothin’,” he says, but it’s so unconvincing you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Daryl Dixon,” you say, leaning forward with a teasing smile, “are you blushing?”

That makes him whip around, his eyes narrowing in a glare that might’ve been intimidating if his ears weren’t still pink. “Ain’t blushing,” he snaps, but the way he shifts under your gaze gives him away.

“Sure, you’re not.” You flash him your widest grin, delighting in how his scowl deepens. “But I gotta say, it’s a good look on you.”

For a moment, there’s only the crackle of the fire, the quiet filling the space between you. Then, looking away, Daryl grumbles, “You’re always so damn flirty.”

You brighten immediately, your grin turning playful. “Just with you.”

His hand busying itself with another stick as he shifts his weight, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for more. “Why?” he dares to ask, the question low and hesitant, like he’s regretting it even as it leaves his mouth.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Because you’re fun to mess with,” you say simply, your voice dripping with mischief.

Daryl grunts in response, but he doesn’t look up.

“And,” you continue, letting your tone soften just a little, “because I like you.”

He stills again and finally looks at you, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if you’re joking. “Nothin’ likable ‘bout me,” he mutters, quieter this time.

“Oh, you’re so wrong about that,” you reply, standing and stretching lazily. “There’s plenty worth liking about ya, Dixon. Just think I’m the only one who sees it.”

That catches him off guard. His head lifts slightly, his gaze flickering toward you before darting back to the fire. His ears are still pink, but now there’s something else—something softer in his expression.

“Whatever,” he mutters, but the words lack their usual bite.

You smile, letting the moment linger before pushing yourself up off the log. “I’ll leave you alone—for now,” you say, your voice laced with mischief. “But don’t think this is the last you’ve seen of me.”

As you walk away, you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, but when you glance back, he’s already turned away, poking at the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

And yeah, his ears are still red.

[suosgirl]

Keeping It Cute (& Dangerous) - Hayato Suo x Reader | Ch. 1

Word Count: 2644

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, Taiga Tsugeura, Mitsuki Kiryu

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, f!reader, manga spoilers (?), blood, broken bones, harassment, misunderstandings, violence, fighting, grief, loss of a loved one, swearing, ptsd – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Hi! Ah – my first work! Ever since watching and reading Wind Breaker, I can’t stop imagining the idea of them running to stop a fight – only to find out it’s a strong, tough girl who’s ready for all the smoke (incredibly self-indulgent, as you can see). I plan to create 4 parts to this, so this is currently in the works!

୨ৎ Keeping it Cute (& Dangerous) Masterlist

Were you … okay with getting beat up by this gang? You considered it — genuinely. Perhaps, to love is to feel pain? For every punch they get in, you could take that chance to stare into their eyes. Every throw could be interpreted as a passionate hug. Every kick an extreme game of footsie.

“Looks like even pretty girls like you need to be taught a lesson,” his gruff voice spits out. He does his best to look intimidating, but all it garners from you is a low chuckle and a roll of your eyes. You throw your hair in a bun – tight and secure, before gently removing your jewelry.

You can feel the worried eyes of onlookers staring straight at you as you drop your bag on the ground - the soft thud causing the tension in the air to thicken. Pushing the sleeves of your sweater up to your bicep, you assess his frame. He’s 5’5, which would be useful for him if he knew how to use that to his advantage – but you highly doubted that his mind was as calculating as yours.

Although he seemed to have a good idea of how to position himself for a fight, you could see the uneasiness behind his actions. He kept glancing down at his hands as if deciding whether or not they were placed correctly. His legs were subtly swaying as he tried to ground his weight. It was clear – he was an amateur.

“I’d really love to see you try,” you say, tilting your head to the side with a smile on your face – if this wasn’t an invitation, you don’t know what is. 

And you were hoping that he would take you up on that offer.

You’d been trailing him since you caught him trying to take an up-skirt photo of you a couple of stores down the street. Idiot, you thought bitterly, the safety shorts underneath proved to have been a smart choice when you dressed for the day. But… the fact that you had to even prepare for situations like this by dressing “appropriately” made the annoyance you felt bloom into anger. 

When you noticed his actions, you immediately grabbed his wrist in a tight hold – your manicured nails digging into the soft skin. 

Although the store wasn’t packed, you didn’t want to bring attention to the situation. This wasn’t your first time experiencing a degenerate like this, and you weren’t sure if it would even garner a response from anyone around you.

You were used to dealing with this on your own. This time would be no different.

“I was just in here to buy some pens -you perv,” you muttered as your eyes flashed dangerously into his. You could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Pathetic. Did he really think you wouldn’t notice his constant presence behind your back, or the fact that the brightness of his screen allowed for a clear view of the camera app he was on?

As a result of your grip, he had dropped his phone. You grabbed it before standing up, making sure to scan his camera roll for any other indecent pictures and permanently deleting them before shoving it back into his chest - a firm grip still holding him close to you. 

You pulled him even closer, forcing him to bend down a bit so that you could speak in his ear.

“Cut that shit out,” you said softly, but the warning was still there. The grip on his wrist was tightened even more - and you were sure that if you were to look down, you’d see small spots of red forming underneath your nails. 

Once released, he simply scoffed as if you had inconvenienced him, and stormed out of the store. 

You had thought that was the end of it and continued on with your shopping. But, as you made your way down the street, you saw him in another store doing the same thing to another unsuspecting victim. 

Sighing, you waited until he left the store to confront him - but he was fast and efficient as he weaved his way through the foot traffic on the street. 

Eventually, you were able to catch up to him - with a firm kick to the back of his knees.

That all leads to the present — you’re surprised by how quickly the once bustling street has cleared out. But, you notice warily that you’re not alone. The people of the town are watching you, and you’re not sure why.

You can faintly hear the whisper of someone on the phone, and you’re just able to make out “…come here now…” before the street falls silent. 

“I’d better get started before those Bofurin punks get over here,” the man sneers, and you cock your head to the side in confusion. 

You knew that moving to a new town would require some adjustment, but it was your first time hearing the name — Bofurin. Were they another gang? You’d heard about the rumors of the violence that occurred in the town of Makochi and their dislike for outsiders, so you were always careful to keep your head down and your responses to a minimum when you were outside of your apartment.

“Bo-who?” you try to ask, but the man has already started charging towards you, his right arm raised above his head and his hand in a tight fist.

You take in his fast approach and easily sidestep him. 

“Oh… you’ve never been in a fight, have you?” you taunt, faux concern on your face as he stumbles to a stop and whips back around to face you in confusion.

“Lucky break,” he huffs out, spitting on the ground next to him before raising his fists again.

You nod in agreement, though your eyes tell a different story. They’re narrowed and icy, observing every little move he makes. 

“You’re probably right… why don’t you try again?”

That gets a reaction out of him - he charges again, somehow even faster than before, but this time you race to meet him halfway. He goes to punch for your head, but you’re faster — immediately ducking under his arm and instead getting a good hold underneath his armpit and shoulder as you swing your body onto his back. You use the momentum of your run to raise your legs up and around his neck, crossing them at the ankles behind his head.

He stumbles under the sudden weight and desperately tries to grab at your back to get you off. 

Lucky break my ass, you think bitterly.

With your legs tight around his neck, you let go of the grip in your hands, bracing your core and swinging yourself around again before ultimately using that same momentum to flip him over and throw him to the ground on his back.

You’re not dumb — this definitely won’t be enough to render him unconscious. But, with so many witnesses, you’re afraid to do any serious damage. You didn’t want to get driven out of another town again because of your violent streak, and while it was simple to fight one-on-one with a weak opponent, you weren’t keen on pushing your luck with a whole gang. 

So, ultimately, you decide that this is a good enough scare for the poor guy — because you were capable of doing so much worse. You leisurely walk up to his gasping form, all the air in his lungs effectively pushed out when he landed flat on his back.

Looking down, you can see the fear in his eyes and the pain on his face. You note the way his body tenses and the way his fingers shake once you crouch down closer to him — as if he was willing for his body to move but simply didn’t have the strength to do so. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” you ask — but this time you drop the facade. No smiles, no taunting — your question is direct and your face is devoid of emotion. 

You were giving him an out — any fool could see that. But this guy just simply couldn’t take the blow to his ego, and you felt exasperated when he answered with, “What lesson, bitch?”

Figures.

You tutted your tongue as you stood up. Fine, to hell with the people and the town and the Bofurin gang. You could move towns — you’d done it once, you could do it again. But this guy — he needed a rude awakening and you were more than happy to serve it to him on a silver platter. It’s what your brother would’ve done anyway– that thought reassures you.

“I see,” you sneer, “In that case, I’d love to do a crash course with you, motherfuc-“

“Oi — what’s going on here?”

Damnit. You were really looking forward to beating this guy down — but now you have to admit defeat and retreat because no way are you taking on a whole gang by yourself. 

“Do you … need some help?” the voice presses on, and you feel your body heat up at the mere question.

No way – did this guy have backup? Perverts stick together, you suppose.

When you turn to face the unknown voice, you’re surprised it’s only a group of 5 guys. 

Right away, you note that this group couldn’t possibly be with the man currently gasping by your feet – if the way he’s trying to inch away is anything to go by.

Still … you warily take in their appearance and note the matching uniforms that they have on. Do gangs in Makochi wear uniforms? Is that, like — a thing? Also — why are they so … good looking?

For a split second, your brain fizzles out. You are, after all, just a girl.

Were you … okay with getting beat up by this gang? You considered it — genuinely. Perhaps, to love is to feel pain? For every punch they get in, you could take that chance to stare into their eyes. Every throw could be interpreted as a passionate hug. Every kick an extreme game of footsie.

You size them up again, this time not as threats but instead as potential love interests. 

They’re all fairly taller than you — perfect. 

Muscular and strong? Seemingly so.

Great personalities? Um.

You would have to put a pin on that one.

Your eyes are immediately drawn first to the one with pink hair and a brightly patterned shirt. The piercings on his face make you blush – they look so good on him that it quite literally takes your breath away. The way his hair is clipped back makes you wonder what other hairstyles he’s capable of doing – and, as an afterthought, you wonder if his hair smells as good as he looks.

The next one is tall, with his orange hair secured by a white fabric headband. You note his wrist wraps and the kneepad on his leg, as well as the slippers he has on. What kind of fighting does this guy do? His face, though, strikes you as good-natured – and now you’re confused because what is a guy like this doing in a gang? 

You breeze over this minor question and move on to the next. This guy — whoa. Black and white hair split down the middle, with heterochromia eyes. This guy is so cool. But his face is all — pink? Maybe it’s a skin condition? And he’s in a gang too? You begin to worry about his health – unaware of the exasperated looks he’s throwing at you.

He says something to you. Was this the guy who spoke up earlier? You’re way too deep in your thoughts to register anything he said. You do notice, however, that his eyes are still on yours. 

Is it — is it you? Is there something on your face? For a split second, you worry about your complexion — completely forgetting the fact that you have the body of a wheezing man laid out on the ground next to you.

Slightly behind him, you notice a guy with blonde hair and worried eyes. Like a golden retriever — cute. Weird though, this one seems more frantic than the others. Maybe he’s just joined their gang? You ponder on this as your eyes flit to the next person in line and — 

Oh. Oh.

Who is he? One eye is covered by an eye patch — the visible one, though, is warm brown in color and painted with curiosity. Your gaze follows down his long tassel earrings to his calm smile, and you’re pretty sure that your eyes have glazed over.

The lights are on but nobody’s home.

Him — I want to be pummeled by him. 

“What’s your problem? Hello? Helloooo?”

“Maybe she’s not talking … on purpose? Is it a strategy?”

“... I don’t think that’s it, Nire-kun.”

The cherry blossoms surrounding your vision and the romantic tune playing in the back of your mind come to a screeching stop. 

Monologue = stopped. 

Dreams = shattered. 

You flush at the realization that you’d probably been staring at them for a good minute or two — in complete silence. If the ground were to swallow you up at that moment, you’d gladly let it happen. No way in a thousand years did you ever think that you’d stop mid-fight to daydream about your opponents. 

You can almost feel the flick against your forehead that your brother undoubtedly would’ve done – along with his nagging about not being focused and present during a fight.

God, what is this town doing to you?

You blink your eyes back into focus and your lips part as you draw in a quick breath to quip back, ”I’m BUSY right now — I can’t FIGHT you until I educate this guy firs-“

“BEHIND YOU, HE-,“ the blonde one yells out frantically, finger-pointing at the shadow that just breached your peripheral vision.

Damn.

You’re immediately pulled into a chokehold, one of his arms wrapped tight around your neck, and the other holding your head in place. 

From the close proximity, the man is just barely able to hear you muttering under your breath.

“What was that darling? You askin' for forgiveness?” he laughs out, his hold tightening even more and his spit hitting the back of your ear.

You can see that the Bo-something guys are moving towards you, but that infuriates you. How dare they join forces with this pervert to attack one single girl? No way were you letting that happen — not on your life. 

You would rather die than let a man get the satisfaction of beating you. 

You reach your arms up, locking your fingers behind his neck. Just for shits and giggles, you dig your nails hard into the soft skin, leaving red-dotted crescent marks in your wake.

“I said I wasn’t done TALKING!” you yell, before swinging your legs up and bringing them down fast to plant your feet square on the ground. The momentum causes him to stumble and loosen his grip around your neck and head, and with the strength in your thighs and your arms and good ol’ gravity, you flip him again.

He lands flat on his back once more, and you take that chance to finish him off — by slamming your foot down onto his hand. The same hand that started this whole ordeal. The hand that, at that moment, you decided would serve as his lifetime reminder of the consequences of his actions. 

You hear his yowls of pain before you feel the give in his wrist. 27 bones are in the human hand — you had to have broken at least one. You release your foot, and he immediately curls into a fetal position — his hand limp and hanging from his wrist as he cradles it into his chest.

Correction — you definitely broke more than one.

You glance up and see that all 5 guys have stopped in their tracks, varying levels of shock displayed on their faces.

No more games and no more daydreaming – it was time to get serious.

You drop into a fighting stance, your arms raised and your hands in fists. You crack your neck and roll back your shoulders, a dangerous smile on your lips.

“Who’s next?”

-

୨ৎ Chapter 2

[hadesrise]

𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄.

part one — part two

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞. the wayne family witness how you handle jason’s trauma.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. jason todd x addams!male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. sfw content, foul language, trauma, nightmares, mentions of torture, typical addams behavior (dark, edgy, gothic, disturbing behavior), romantic, death threats, soft addams!reader, mentions of a very dark and gruesome fictional book, dealing with trauma, fluff, lots of fluff, everything’s just soft

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. can't help it, i really enjoy writing addams!reader content. honestly, it's kinda getting old but i guess this will be the last one??? or one more and then i'll end its endless cycle?? anyway, if y'all have any recommended translation apps it'll be nice to know. don't wanna trust google translate that much.

FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

“Why are you awake so early in the morning?”

Bruce’s slightly raspy morning voice interrupts the silent reading you had indulged yourself in, barely reacting at his sudden presence despite the fact you failed to notice him from how focused you were on your book.

You glanced at him only for a split second before your eyes went back to reading again, “I prefer the quietness of your manor in the morning for a quick read. Although, I must say the bright sun is such a terrible sight. It nearly burned me as soon as my consciousness awakened.” As you replied casually, Bruce took notice of how the curtains are closed completely shut to block the sunlight from entering, as if getting even a little bit of it would burn you like a vampire. Well, you did look like a vampire because of how pale and ghostly your skin is as well as the all black, gothic medieval or victorian outfit.

Bruce still wasn’t used to your unique culture, ancient speech and intimidating presence, but had learned not to be too bothered by it ever since you and Jason began visiting the Manor often. He didn’t want to waste energy by constantly reacting to any unusual traits you displayed, and he’s been successful so far. Even though he still doesn’t agree with your morals, he knew not to argue with you like before, since you’ve been nothing but respectful to him everytime you set foot in the manor.

Raising one of his eyebrows, Bruce tilts his head. “Do you always read?”

“Yes, indeed.” Came your immediate response. “Books are what defines me, Mr. Wayne. My soul is practically attached to it.”

“Is that why you always carry a book with you?” Stephanie suddenly chimes in out of nowhere with Tim behind her, curiosity plastered across her face. You nodded, glancing up to see Damian sit down on the other sofa while playing a brutal game that occasionally makes a blood splattering sound.

Bruce sighs, “And why are you all awake so early?”

Tim looks at him weirdly, “It’s already eleven o’clock. Almost lunch time, you know.” Deadpanning, he then leans in from behind to get a glimpse of what you were reading, only to cringe slightly after his eyes read a particular sentence; The flesh muscles of his legs were torn off, almost as if it had been ripped open by a lion, exposing bones with blood uncontrollably flooding out. It’s definitely one of those horror books who has unnecessary amount of gore. “What in the hell are you reading?”

“Bloodthirst by Clementine.” You sipped on a black coffee before continuing, “Wherein the main character becomes bloodthirsty for revenge after his lover had been abducted and mutilated by a group of serial killers. The sentence you’ve read is one of his acts of revenge which includes a pack of wolves.” The corner of your mouth twitched up a bit, looking up at him with that glint in your eyes. “It has a pleasantly satisfying plotline.”

Disturbed and quite freaked out, Tim exchanges eye contact with Bruce and pressed his lips together. “That is... uhm, interesting.” Amusement merely crosses your face before it instantly went back to your usual emotionless expression.

They still haven’t gotten used to the extremely calm demeanor you had because of how most of them grew up not having a quiet presence in the manor, even Cassandra wasn’t as silent as you before. You’re the only calm and fully collected person they’ve ever met, coming off as rather intimidating due to your piercing gaze, emotionless face, wiser-than-thou mind, and utmost patience. Especially the patience one, because most of them were either short-tempered or just born enraged. Sometimes, they get intimidated without you even speaking — once, you and Jason reluctantly joined them to a grand event and someone made an utterly horrible decision to insult Jason by comparing him to the “well-behaved” eldest son Dick, which resulted in you shooting them a piercing, dark, cold and harsh glare not even a second after that instantly made them freeze in spot. That look in your eyes alone made their blood run cold and face pale.

Needless to say, they regretted insulting Jason as quick as the wind blows, but that story’s for another time.

“Where’s Dick? Did he sleep at Barbara’s?” Stephanie wondered, realizing the lack of annoying presence.

“Nope!” An all too cheerful voice in the morning pipes up as Dick appeared with a big smile on his face. He quickly noticed you reading a book and approached, “Reading a dark book again? Where’s Jay?”

“There’s only an obvious answer to an already obvious question, Richard.” Retorting without sparing him a glance, you flipped the page and earned a snicker from Damian. “He will be walking down the stairs soon. Sois patient, frère.”

Dick replies an ‘okay’ before jumping on the couch Damian was sitting on, deciding to annoy his youngest brother instead. Shaking your head with the corner of your mouth twitching up only barely, you focused on reading your book again despite the peaceful silence being broken by their chattering, although it didn’t take long before you averted your gaze and stared at the ceiling, as if feeling something wrong.

Damian notices. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t speak right away. Just staring up like something was there, which also made the others look up in attempt to figure out what you were doing.

“Jason is not sleeping well,” You finally stated, not looking away from the ceiling. “Humans often radiate different energy depending on their mental state, which makes it easier to specifically identify what their current emotions or moods are. It can be felt if you concentrate enough. Jason’s energy has been much peaceful ever since I’ve tormented Joker. It is supposed to stay as that.”

“What do you feel now?” Cassandra asked worriedly, her body leaned back against the wall.

“He’s distressed.” You concluded, shutting the book close without bothering to slip a bookmark on the page, which she noticed quickly. She reads with you a lot and had never seen you close a book without bookmarking it; books are absolute treasures for you, but not as much as Jason now.

Confusion took over Tim’s face as you set your book down and drink your black coffee in one go, “How do you know?”

“There is not one thing I don’t know about Jason.” You remarked nonchalantly, like it’s how it should be. You just knew Jason well enough to understand him more than anyone else, even more than himself sometimes.

Before you could stand up from the couch, a footstep erupts from the top of the stairs and comes Jason slowly walking down, wrapped around in a blanket and thick arms hugging his body, making himself as small as possible despite his large frame. “(Y-Y/n)...?” His voice was thick and hoarse, as if he had been crying, as he stuttered and looked for you like a lost child.

You quickly got up from the couch and walked up to him when he stopped in the middle of the stairs. “Come here, darling.” Jason doesn’t hesitate to drop the blanket and wrap his arms around your neck, clinging onto you for dear life. Slipping your hands on the back of his thighs, you lifted him up with ease and returned to the couch, sitting down sideways so Jason could lay on top of you, just how he liked.

“Horrible...” Jason murmured, face buried in your chest. “Horrible, all of ‘em. It hurts. Everything hurts.”

You frown, although your face had the softest look anyone had ever seen as you gently stroke his back, still having him caged in your arms. “Terrifying dream, was it?” You asked, earning a nod.

“ ‘m scared...” Jason breathes shakily, “I’m still there... Still hurts. Too dark. Cold. He’s still laughing. Hurts, it hurts.” He blabbered, words repeating over and over again, and breath increasingly becoming rapid as panic begins to slowly build up inside him. His entire body was trembling, sobs wreck through his body.

Everyone except you was at lost for words.

Jason seemed... weak and fragile. A cracked glass that can easily break with just one touch. Had Jason been suffering like this all this time? It felt as if Bruce was bludgeoned by a brick in the form of realization, opening his eyes to how the events with Joker truly affected Jason. He was obviously and clearly traumatized (who the fuck wouldn’t be?), but this is the first time everyone had actually witnessed the trauma, considering Jason refused to be vulnerable in front of them.

“Shh... Open your eyes, chéri. Look into mine and breathe slowly,” You gently instructed, rubbing his back in a soothing manner and muttering encouragements. Jason does as he’s told and open his eyes, staring into your calm and comforting (e/c) eyes while attempting to slow down his breathing. “Doing so excellent, mon amour. Breathe in and out, slowly. Good boy. You do not have to rush yourself.” The soft tone of your voice bringing him a sense of safety.

Once he’s calmed down, you slowly hold his hand and squeeze to provide warmth, hugging him tighter with one arm. “Can you tell me where you are and who you’re with right now?”

Jason squeezed back, little tears still running down his cheeks. “T-the Wayne Manor... With—with you... A-and Bruce, and Dick... Tim... Damian... C-Cass and Steph...” His gaze focusing on your encouraging eyes, his mind slowly detached from the nightmare it was drowning itself in.

“Good boy, sweetheart.” You kissed his forehead, “Is it still dark?” Jason shakes his head. “What about coldness? Am I succeeding in warming you up?” He nods this time. You smile, running your hand through his hair. “Be not afraid, Jason. Darkness will not consume your mind forever, although it is a part of our lives. You might remain afraid of the excessive trauma for years, but being afraid of it does not mean you will be chained eternally, and neither does it mean you are weak nor easily destructible. You’ve bravely fought a war within yourself. I know you will be able to defeat the nightmare someday.”

Jason sniffles, “Do you think I’m healing?”

“Yes, very slowly, as how healing process should be.” You stroked his cheek, “Trauma comes with nightmares. It especially shows when you are doing well so it could test your strength, whether you’ll be able to overcome. But it can never defeat you; it only knows to cause pain, agony, and fear. You know love, joy, compassion, and empathy. It is what make us humans that defeats the monsters.”

He curled up against you, “Just want it to be over. I feel less like myself.”

“You are not bounded to your trauma for all eternal, chéri. It does not define who and what you are, and it certainly does not make you any less.” You softly replied. “Never doubt yourself, my love. Healing cannot be completed within a day, it takes more than few years and I will be with you every step of the way.”

Biting his lip, Jason rests his chin on your chest. “You’ll get fucking tired dealing with me. Your patience might not be able to handle it.”

“I cannot get tired of you. Not when you hate pastels too.” Jason chuckles at your joke, the mood surely lightening. “And do not speak as if you don’t know me, Jason. There is no such thing as might not be able to handle it in my vocabulary when it is you. I love you too much. If I cannot handle anything that involves you and matters about you, then my love for you will mean nothing but dishonorable. The two of us definitely have knowledge of how I would rather decapitate myself than offer you a half-hearted love.”

Jason’s heart swell as the back of his eyes sting again, tears threatening to come out. He knew how difficult it is to be with someone as much trauma as he has, which made him live in fear of you getting tired and leaving one day, even though you’ve assured him more than a hundred times. He knew he was difficult to be with even without the trauma, yet you willingly giftwrap your heart to offer to him while simultaneously providing him with the understanding he deserved. You accepted him along with his trauma. Nobody knows how special that feels.

Cassandra and Stephanie sat on the carpet near the couch where you two laid, so they could check up on Jason. The others had scooted closer as they watch you comfort him nearly expertly.

“Can still feel it, (Y/n).” Jason snuggles on your chest, “The crowbar. It’s still hitting me.”

You gently pull his hand to see his arm that was littered in autopsy scars, some little and some a bit big. Caressing them, you press a lingering kiss. “It was just a fragrance of your memory, beloved. You are safe now, I will keep you protected for as long as I am here. No crowbars.”

Jason nods and looks up at you, puckering his lips. You immediately kiss him, then pressed a kiss on his forehead. “I know he can’t touch me anymore. You already tortured him enough.” He smiled and wiped off his tears.

You pat his head and hug him closer, “Everything will be alright someday. Would you like a hot chocolate with marshmallows on top? I’ll cook you breakfast as well.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Jason whispers.

You slowly slip out from under him, making sure he’s laying down comfortably before fetching the blanket he dropped and wrapping it around him, muttering an i’ll be right back. Watching you disappear into the kitchen, Jason sighs in content and curls up on the couch, still feeling vulnerable but not worse. Stephanie smiles softly at him as Dick walks over to sit beside her, ruffling Jason’s hair.

“You’ll be fine soon, little bird.”

Jason only nodded. The first time he didn’t scoff nor bark, indicating he still can’t forget the nightmare he had.

Soon, his other brothers joined Dick while Bruce sits on the couch beside Jason, looking regretful and apologetic with a frown. Witnessing the amount of trauma Jason has to endure even after many years dropped an equal amount of realization within the family, even though they knew he was traumatized. They just didn’t know the extent to it, and seeing it unfold before them had made them realize they hadn’t been supportive or doing enough for Jason when they should’ve known how much trauma torture and murder would cause. He literally died and came back to life — it’s impossible to not carry a lifelong trauma that greatly affects his personality and attitude; the utmost rage and murderous desires he displayed before might have just been his coping mechanism until meeting you, who quickly became his comfort and calmness.

Nearly most of them had guilt written in their faces due to feeling as if they had been invalidating Jason’s trauma, especially Bruce who did not deal with the entire thing well and had failed to show Jason he cared even though he did more than the son could ever know.

Once again, you beat him to it.

“He cares about you so much, doesn’t he?” Bruce quietly and rhetorically questioned.

Jason nodded happily, “A little too much sometimes. (Y/n)’s always careful and calm, but he gets reckless when it’s about me. Like that Joker thing.” He chuckles, “He said fucker didn’t even have time to laugh.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched up only to disappear, the guilty look still staying. He breathes in and out slowly, causing Jason to look at him questioningly as Bruce avoided eye contact. “Jason, I... uh — I’m sorry. I’m sorry If you ever felt invalidated or unloved by me. I had been so focused on my morality that I failed to show you I cared for you. I really do, Jason. Just maybe not the way you were expecting me to show it.” He carefully says as to not trigger anything in his son.

Pulsing his lip, Jason shakes his head and reached out to play with Bruce’s hand. Bruce seem surprised, but let him nonetheless. “Mhm,” He hums, “It’s okay. I was just angry and hurt... You didn’t look for me enough, and there’s suddenly a new Robin, so... I thought you forgot about me. I couldn’t accept that you seemed to move on so easily.”

Bruce’s heart clenches. “That’s not true, son.”

“I can see that now. I was too bitter and angry, it made me blind.” The broken boy smiles a bit in an attempt to reassure him. “It’s not your fault I turned out like this and ruin everything, you know.” He sadly says, looking down.

The older Wayne shakes his head, “You don’t ruin everything, Jason. You were coping and still coping with what you went through. (Y/n) was right when he said healing takes time.”

Letting go of his hand, Jason instead fidgeted his own fingers now with a sad pout. A little child-like. “But you gave up on me. I know I’m difficult. It’s why you normally can’t deal with me and we always end up arguing. And I was a failure ‘cause I died easily as a Robin.” His voice was slightly high-pitched and trembling. It reminded Bruce again of a child.

Immediately shaking his head, he grasped Jason’s fidgeting hand and firmly looks at him. “You were never a failure, Jason. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. You did everything you could. What I can’t forgive is that I let you die as Robin and not as Jason Todd. I can’t forgive myself for being too late to save you. It wasn’t your fault. Nothing’s your fault, son.”

He pulls him into a hug, which caused Jason to breakdown as he clings onto Bruce and cries his heart out. Embracing him tightly, Bruce kept stroking his back for comfort. The others watched silently with a sad smile, knowing both of them wanted to reconcile for a long time but was too hesitant to do so. It made them happy yet emotional at the same time, Dick and Stephanie already having tearful eyes.

“It truly feels upsetting to ruin this wonderful moment, but I’ve got to feed Jason. May I?” Your calm voice erupted, just then everyone noticing your presence standing at the side of the couch. Bruce chuckles and pulled away, sitting down on the carpet instead so you could take his place. You nodded appreciatively before taking a seat.

Jason sits up, accepting the hot chocolate from you with both hands and sipping it. You ruffle his hair gently.

“His age mentality regresses when the nightmare’s been too severe,” You explained what Bruce was wondering. “It is one of his responses to trauma. I believe it’s the inner child coming out, attempting to relive again.”

“How long?” Dick asked.

“About an hour.” You take the mug from Jason and set it on the table as you begin to cut a bite sized piece from the pancakes to feed your lover. “He has the desire of being taken cared of and I intend to fulfill it. Mother and father takes care of him once in a while when it happens in our Addams home.”

“Mom and dad takes me shopping. It’s fun.” Jason remarked, grinning.

“Shall we buy you some dead flowers, chéri? And a new gun, perhaps. Would you like that?” You caressed his cheek while feeding him with the other, Jason leaning his face on your palm.

“Yeah, I’d love that. Love you, (Y/n).”

“I adore you too, my love.” You kissed the tip of his nose, which caused him to erupt into a fit of giggles as you feed him again.

After Jason had fallen asleep peacefully on the couch, you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh deeply in attempt to calm yourself down. Seeing Jason struggle with trauma is not easy, especially when he’s far too scarred mentally that it causes mental age regression. It also probably came from the fact he had never lived a peaceful life even before meeting Bruce, losing his childhood by witnessing the harsh reality at such a young age, and having to stop being a child after becoming Robin.

You had utmost patience, but when something affects Jason greatly like this, you often tend to lose calmness and be overwhelmed with rage and bloodthirst. If you could take all his pain away and those painful memories, you’ve already done it. You would give up anything for Jason to not struggle with the torment of his torture and murder — you will give up everything for him.

“You okay, (Y/n)?” Tim asked worriedly, feeling your atmosphere change.

“I wouldn’t call blood boiling with rage okay.” You muttered murderously as your dark eyes glared daggers at the carpeted floor. “Joker is already encaged and chained down within the cells of Arkham Asylum, but the aftermath of his vile actions still haunts and torments the victims who have gone through survival. Trauma is inescapable, including fear of the perpetrator. Their spirits won’t rest peacefully, alive or dead, while his existence still roam the Earth.”

The way you spat with utmost disgust and anger was now understandable, as well as your nearly inexcusable actions committed before. You witness this side of Jason more often than they do. It’s already unbearable even for them, what more for you who takes precious care of him?

Suddenly, Bruce comes to understand your morals. Why you do what you do, why you believe what you believe.

“May I ask you to take care of him while I’m out, Mr. Wayne?” You asked, voice thick, clearly grounding yourself to your humanity.

Bruce nods, for the first time. “Yes, now go do what you want to do.”

You smiled, immediately standing up and wearing your coat before rushing off the manor.

Cassandra shakes her head with a smile as Damian looked at his father with a smirk, “He might kill him, you know.”

Bruce just shrugged.

“Well,” Stephanie sighs, “Can’t stop (Y/n) from going on a rampage against the Joker. He deserves what’s coming for him anyway.”

Few hours later, Jason wakes up to the news of Arkham Asylum increasing its security due to an unknown attack against Joker that left him barely alive, and you casually reading a book with pleased and prideful look. It doesn’t take him long to figure things out and tackle you in a hug, leaving kisses all over your face.

Joker’s probably going to have nightmares about you, but he deserves what’s coming for him, doesn’t he?

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[numericalc4t]

DAY 2(lingerie)

Cw: nsfw, MDNI, sukuna, baddd

An:guys I’m still learning please bro learn with me

You say impatiently in your shared room with your husband, sukuna. He had left to hunt for food and few hours ago and in that time you got changed into the new lingerie that you got for him. It was a black top with red lace lining the edges with matching bottoms and it fitted your body perfectly. You knew that he would like it given that the color scheme matched him. Scrolling through your phone, occasionally liking something you clicked on and off of apps. You began to get bored when you heard heavy steps coming towards the room and anxiety and excitement began to pool in your stomach. How would he react? You barely had anytime to think before the door was swung open and there stood sukuna with his robes in all his glory. His muscles pressed against the fabric around his arms and he stood tall. His presence was brooding and intimidating as his crimson eyes held a harsh gaze. He had a bit of blood on the side of his tattooed face, his eyes scanned the room and when his gaze fell upon you it was immediately clouded over with lust. He drank up your looks as you laid on your side in nothing but that fabric that barely covered anything. He let out a low almost animalistic growl at the way the bottoms accentuated your ass.

The more he stared the more his gaze turned from lust to one of which a predator would look at his prey with. Before you could process what was happening he was climbing into if you and moving his lips skillfully against your own. He kissed you like a starved man that was far from gentle. He broke the kiss after moment and began leaving sloppy kisses down your jaw, slowing kissing and sucking his way your neck. He left marks that were sure to be a problem tomorrow as he moved down, he traveled from your neck to your collarbone finding a sweet spot on there and sucking it. He moved from there to you breasts and popped them out from your bra, immediately latching on to your nipple while groping the other one. You moaned softly from the sensation and he lightly nipped at it. After spending a few minutes on one he moved to the other to do the same. He then began kissing down you stomach and moving to be between you legs, slowly kissing and sucking his way up your inner thigh teasingly. Instinctively you tried to close your legs but he grabbed them with one set of arms and forced them open. He pressed a kiss to the front of your bottoms and sighed. He swiped a finger with one of his free hands over the wet patch of your underwear and groaned, “fuck baby your already this wet for me? I bet you’ve been waiting for this huh? Just hoping I would come to take care of this sweet cunt.” All you could do was whimper in response as he lowered his head back down to your heat and a mischievous grin spread across his features. He does this every time. Excitement began to rise in your stomach but also annoyance. “Sukuna no. Please I just bought these.” He acted as if you weren’t even speaking and ripped apart your underwear to see your cunny slick with juices. He placed a soft kiss to your clit and you tightly shut your eyes letting out a soft sigh. He flattened his tongue against your cunt and licked all the way up and began devouring you. Your head presses back into the pillow as you grip his hair tightly, tugging slightly. He slips a finger into your weeping hole and begins pumping in and out at a rapid pace. Between the mix of overwhelming pleasure caused your orgasm to begin to rapidly approach.

The sounds of him lapping up your juices and squelching filling the room. Your back arches off the bed as he speeds up his pace. Your cunt twitched letting him know you were close and just before your orgasm hit he added another finger causing your orgasm to violently tear through your body. You screamed out as pleasure overcame your senses and your legs began shaking as you tried to pull off you as he continued eating you through your orgasm. Overstimulation quickly set in and you felt him coaxing a second orgasm from you . “Sukuna please no more! I can’t take it!” You began to sob out only causing his smirk to grow against your cunt. He pulled away from your sobbing cunt just as you were about to cum and you whined out as he denied your orgasm. Your pussy clenched around air as it painfully twitched begging for release. Your juices were smeared across his face as he smiled proudly and smugly, your face grew slightly more flushed at the sight. “I thought you couldn’t handle anymore? I can’t take it” he mocked you in a high pitch whiny voice chuckling at himself. You shot him as much of a glare that you could muster but it looked more like a pout, “Don’t worry dear, I can give you more if that’s what you want.” You looked up at him with wide eyes at what he was implying. Your realized you were in for a long night and this was only the start of it.

[f1amboyant]

Thank you so much for the snippet!

I know I could start interacting again, it's just i feel intimidated and I don't know if it would be appreciated if I did, so ask is a safe bet in a way.

You're welcome for this snippet! I love sharing part of the single dad charles au 🤭

If asks are more comfortable for you, that's totally okay, anon. Don't hesitate to reach out 🥰

I can offer you another little snippet in the meantime (yes, I love this story way too much and I can't wait to share it with you all, so I'm gonna take any opportunity to do so 🫣). Let me introduce you to the football club group chat. I'll let you find out what's in there 🤭

.

If anyone asked him why he came to watch practices more and more often, Charles would obviously say that it was to see his son and it had absolutely nothing to do with the sexy as hell coach. Nothing at all.

(Except it had everything to do with the coach.)

Charles didn’t attend every practice session (he hadn’t lie, he was a busy man). But it wasn’t rare to see him sitting on a bench, sometimes with a tablet in hand so he could keep working, but more often than not, looking up from said tablet and drooling gazing longingly at the handsome coach.

Charles’ stomach swooped a little every time the other man passed in front of his bench. And he felt shamefully hot and bothered each time the coach wiped the sweat out of his forehead with the hem of his shirt and revealed deliciously looking abs. Or bent over to pick up a ball. Or poured an entire bottle of water on his head and looked all wet and sexy and oh that tablet was a life save to hide an erection.

Yeah. Charles had a problem.

“Hi, Charles!” Susie always waved at him with a gentle smile but on the third practice in a row that Charles spent on the sideline drooling working, she lingered and added: “It’s a pleasure to see you more and more often. We should add you to the parents’ group chat. If you want to get involved. You don’t have to of course.”

Coach Carlos took off his shirt to put another one and Charles immediately focused on his phone, fumbling with his own password.

“Sure, sure.”

“Great!”

Charles cautiously gave his phone number and accepted the immediate invitation to join the group chat, mostly to avoid looking back at a dangerously naked man. His eyes widened at the recent massages in the chat.

Susie: The coach changed his shirt again 😏 Marie: Aaaaaaaaaah Lily: Asmkqhdmqg Nico: Did you take a pic? Susie: Of course

Lily: I want to lick his pecs, his abs Susie: I want to lick something else 😏 Nico: SUSIE!! YOU ARE MARRIED!! Susie: What? A woman can dream 😇 Lily: He was at my house the other day for a personal training session. I couldn’t focus on anything Nico: Mood Susie: Mood Marie: Mood

Oh so, Charles wasn’t the only one. He closed the app promptly and focused on his tablet, pretending to work for the rest of practice. He hoped no one could see his red cheeks.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Babysitting for the Neighbor - 2

This is a story co-written by the amazing @baby-erica! Go check out her amazing blog!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Mads woke up the next morning just a little hung over. Not bad for a Saturday morning after a long night out, he thought to himself as he got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Once there, without regard for whether the door was open or closed, he whipped out his penis, closed his eyes, and sighed as he released a warm stream of piss into the waiting toilet. Before he could open his eyes, his morning meditation was broken by the distinct sound of feminine giggling.

Panicked, Mads hastily cut off his flow of urine, covered his penis, and turned to face the source of the noise. To his absolute horror, Sarah, Erica's best friend, stood staring at him and giggling in the open doorway to the bathroom.

Sarah's blonde hair, carefully quaffed last night, was in a messy tangle. Her well crafted make-up was now uneven and running in places, clearly worse for having been slept in. She appeared to be wearing nothing but one of his roommate Brad's extra-large t-shirts as a night shirt. Regardless of how disheveled his classmate looked, Sarah projected a level of sex and maturity that suddenly intimidated Mads, especially now that he was literally caught with his dick in his hand.

Rapidly, Mads tried to pull his penis into his boxers. Despite having just urinated, he still had some lingering morning wood that the thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide. Sarah looked at Mads' crotch with an appraising gaze.

"You're bigger than I thought. Good for you!" She said with a playful wink.

"Sarah! I'm so, so, so sorry! I thought it was just us guys here! If I knew… that… if… you were here, I wouldn't have… uh… shut the door!" Mads said as his cheeks turned tomato red.

"Don't worry big man! Brad invited me over for some play time last night, and I spent the night. Plus, you don't have anything to be embarrassed about showing," Sarah said, everything about her dripping with confidence. "Speaking of which, did you text Erica yet? She's desperate for a babysitter tonight, and I just know you'll be perfect."

I fresh wave of embarrassment overtook Mads at the mention of his crush.

"Uh, no, I just woke up, but, I should go text her now! I'll, uh, see you later," Mads said as he used the offered excuse to race out of the bathroom.

Sarah just smiled and shook her head as she watched her attractive classmate escape to his room. Once Mads was back in the room, he blushed again as he heard the toilet flush and he realized his last humiliation. He'd forgot to flush before leaving the bathroom for his crush's best friend.

Mads threw himself on his bed in distress. How could he make such a fool of himself in front of Erica's best friend, especially after fumbling so much in front of her the night before. He threw his hands over his face in frustration before reaching for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, he could recover from this.

Mads was a good babysitter, and he knew it. Most parents wouldn't even consider a male babysitter, mostly based on the age old stereotype that women were more nurturing and caring. However, despite his gender, Mads not only regularly got babysitting jobs, he was the go-to babysitter for his professors' kids. If he was ever going to be able to show his worth to Erica, showing off as a babysitter was going to be his way to do it.

Resolved, Mads opened his texting app, pulled up Erica's number, and typed:

Hey Erica! This is Mads. It was great seeing you last night! I hope it's okay to reach out, but Sarah gave me your number. She said you need a babysitter tonight. I'm free and can definitely help out if you want.

Mads read over his text 10 times before he finally sent it. He then immediately threw his phone to his side and covered his face. He hoped beyond hope that this would work. About two minutes letter he heard the familiar ding of his phone receiving a message. Mads quickly tore through his bed, desperate to find his phone and see Erica's response.

Hey Mads! I am SO happy you reached out. I'd love to have you come babysit for me tonight! What time could you be here? You'll really just need to feed the baby dinner and put her down to bed (and maybe change a diaper or two). Think you can handle that?

Mads put his phone on his chest and raised his hands above his head in celebration. He did it! He texted Erica without making a fool of himself. And now, he was going to be able to show off one of his best traits for her--how good of a caregiver he was.

Mads and Erica exchanged a few more text messages throughout the day, ironing out details for the night. Erica was weird and vague about some aspects of the job, but that didn't really strike Mads as odd. He knew Erica didn't have a kid of her own, so he had to be watching a relative's child. It made sense she wouldn't know as much about the kiddo as the parents he normally dealt with did about theirs. He did find it funny that the baby's name was also Erica. It must be a family name, he thought to himself.

As the day passed, Mads spent the time he wasn't texting Erica planning for how to make his best impression on the woman. He successfully hid in his room until he was certain Sarah had left, unable to face his friend and classmate again after the bathroom incident. He then went to work restocking his babysitting bag and picking out his best polo-shirt and khaki shorts combination to help attract his intelligent, mature, and beautiful crush.

The day seemed to pass both too fast and mind numbingly slow to Mads. His nerves had him excited and worried all wrapped into one. However, when the allotted time rolled around, he grabbed his babysitting bag, slid his feet into his favorite pair of flip flops, and made the quick journey two doors down to babysit for Erica.

When Mads arrived at Erica's door he politely knocked, making sure to act as professional as possible to impress the woman. However, after two series of knocks, no one answered. Concerned, Mads checked his phone. He had the right time (although now he was a little late) and right location. Why wasn't anyone answering the door?

After a brief examination of the door, Mads found the doorbell. Usually, he avoided ringing doorbells when he was babysitting for fear of accidentally waking one of his charges up early from a nap. But, in this case, he didn't want Erica to think he was irresponsible, so he pressed the button. An electronic chime sounded in the house. Mads waited, waited and waited. He rang the doorbell again. Still no one came to greet him.

Mads had now been standing at the door for five minutes, and he was starting to get worried. This was the time he was supposed to be here. This was where he was supposed to be. It was not like Erica to just flake like this.

Mads convinced himself that something else had to be going on. Maybe Erica or Baby Erica were sick or injured? Maybe someone needed help in the house? Mads wasn't going to let his first babysitting gig for his crush start and end without at least ensuring everyone was okay. So, tentatively, Mads jiggled the door handle, surprisingly finding it unlocked. Mads turned the door handle and pushed open the door. He stuck his head into the house.

"Hello? Erica? It's Mads from down the street! You texted me about babysitting. Is anyone home?" Mads yelled into the house, announcing his presence while scanning the room.

Unbeknownst to Mads, the whole time he had been knocking, ringing the doorbell, and obsessing about what tragedy may have befallen Erica, Erica was sitting less than 20 feet from the other side of the door. The woman's stomach was full of butterflies as she waited on her tall former student, hoping he would build up the courage to walk in the house, just like he was doing now.

Erica had been planning for this day for what felt like years. With every knock on the door, ring of the door bell, and sound of shuffling feet from her porch, Erica bounced in her seat in both overwhelming excitement and mind numbing fear. After what felt like years of orchestrating this scene and building up the courage to act on her plan, she was now questioning whether she actually wanted this. Only one person, Sarah, knew about her secret. Did she really want to risk another person discovering this side of her?

When Erica saw Mads poke his head into her living room, she knew it was too late to back out. She watched as the attractive undergrad stepped in, announced himself, and surveyed his surroundings. She watched as his gaze turned towards her, and he made eye contact with her. She wiggled nervously from her seated position, feeling a slight squish under her, as she felt a deep blush radiate up her whole body.

"H-hi Madth," Erica, the normally mature, overwhelming confident woman squeaked out nervously from behind the shield of the giant pastel pink pacifier tucked between her lips.

As Mads eyes fell on his crush, his jaw literally dropped. Erica, the grad student that had him tongue tied by her beauty and confidence less than 24 hours earlier, sat in front of him in nothing but a pink crop top with the word 'Princess' scrawled across her chest in a Disney font and a giant diaper that his years of experience babysitting told him was soaked to the verge of leaking.

As Mads brain tried to process the outfit, he took in the rest of the scene. For the most part, Erica's living room looked precisely how he'd pictured it in his head. Mature, clean, and tastefully decorated with modern details and house plants. The exception was the large playpen set up in the middle of the room that Erica, his crush, was sitting in like a toddler who couldn't be trusted with the freedom to roam the house on her own. The playpen was filled with stuffed animals as well as other toys and books meant for toddlers and infants.

As Mads examined the scene, Erica watched him nervously. Her big, surprisingly innocent looking eyes stared out at him from over the pacifier tucked between her lips. Her face, normally covered with tasteful make-up, was clearly free if it's normal accoutrements. Her undecorated face was framed by two messy pigtails that would look more appropriate on a two-year-old than the grad student sitting in front of him.

Despite all of this, Mads couldn't deny Erica still looked sexy as hell. This was not what he expected to see when he walked in the door, but, somehow this was better. He never imagined he would see his intimidating crush debase herself like this in front of him, but now that she was, he realized he loved it.

A smile started to cross his face at this realization that did not go unnoticed by Erica. She opened her legs as wide as she could, exposing just how well-used her diaper was.

"Madth, I had aksident in my d-diapies."

NEXT CHAPTER

[puffin-smoke]

hey, is the bug army taking new recruits? Because if so, I've got a harpoon wielding existential dread fueled hunter who'd love to join

Her name: Duarte "Lightning Bug" Cardoza

(Shitty drawings done by me in my notes app, and the harpoon picture taken from here)

Genderwise they're unlabeled and use any and all pronouns

LORE TIME :DD (tw traumatic violence, gore)

At seven years old, his parents, Emile and Marcy Cardoza, got a divorce after a few months of growing apart emotionally. Duarte was sent to live with her father who almost immediately chose to move from Portugal to America to escape the memories of his former marriage.

She was never particularly close with her father, and any attempts to reconnect with her mother were just really unsuccessful as they had nothing to connect over. So a lot of their early life was spent unsupervised. Most of their childhood was spent exploring the city she lived in, alone, and getting into various scrapes. Duarte had a very laissez-faire attitude towards his own health and became more and more arrogant as time went on.

He moved away from home at 19, and began travelling the country until they turned 20. At that point they fell in with the wrong crowd and started running errands for some unsavoury individuals. At first it was just small things: petty theft, vandalism, intimidating business rivals but then it turned violent. Deep down they knew it was probably wrong, but they didn't care. They got to show off and play the Han Solo type, so why would they?

Eventually she fell out with her current employer, and, because god forbid they get a normal job, chose to go into hunting half bloods. They found it exhilarating, and proving that they were just as good as the more experienced hunters wrong felt incredibly cathartic.

Shit had to hit the fan at some point.

During one of her earlier hunts, she tried to attack and kill a crocodile that she thought was the half blood she'd been looking for. Turns out it was just a regular, and now very angry, crocodile. She was overpowered almost immediately, and the beast began to drag her into the swamp. As she struggled to free herself, kicking and screaming in pain, something dawned on them.

They were going to die. And it was their own goddamn fault.

They scrambled to grab their harpoon, which had been knocked aside by the crocodile's tail. They grabbed it and thrust it forward blindly, hacking and slashing untill the beast's jaw clamped around their leg went slack. Blood oozed from the sides of the crocodile's mouth. Breaths shallow, Duarte pried the beast's mouth open, letting out another choked scream as the teeth ripped at their flesh, gore dying the grass beneath them brown. One or two teeth stayed jammed stubbornly in their skin, tearing more and more at their skin with every passing moment.

Shaking, they stumbled to their feet, their leg a lead weight chained to them. Using their weapon as walking stick, they made their way back to town, ashamed.

During her time healing, she had alot of time to think. The incident changed the way they thought about life, and forced them to reconsider everything they'd done up to that point. How close they'd come to death and how it was nobody's fault save her own. And that terrified them.

After a month she returned to hunting, but she became a lot more cautious, planning out her hunts a lot more carefully instead of just jumping straight into the action. But this led to them getting up in their own head and getting overly nervous.

On one such hunt, she began to grow increasingly anxious that she hadn't prepared enough, especially considering all she'd heard about the monsters in these swamps. She started running through the plan in her head, getting so distracted that they didn't notice the trap right in front if them. They only noticed when they walked straight into it.

And they hurt the same. fucking. leg.

LORE OVER WOOOOO

Anyway that's their application. I can keep going. I can do this all dayyy

[ma11goth]

first meetings meme. a meme for first meetings and introduction threads, aka a what you will notice about my muse first cheat sheet. bold what applies. fill in details. blank meme:  ( x )

general appearance.

sex: masculine. feminine. non-binary. race: white. (swedish and italian) complexion: fair, pale with cool tones. he burns easily. his skin is dotted with many freckles, beauty marks, and moles. (these are most noticeably seen on his chin, neck, shoulders and back at first glance) height: six foot. (6'0" / 182.88 cm.) body type: endomorph. mesomorph. ectomorph. body build: small. medium. athletic. muscular. soft. curvy. voluptuous. other / more details: lanky, slightly underweight and his height makes him appear more so. long, dangly, spidery arms and legs. he grows into some more muscle as he gets older, but not much. body hair: none. shaves / waxes. trims / grooms. untamed. color: his arm, leg, and facial hair are all very light and reflect his natural hair color. underarms and nether regions are a few shades darker, while his eyelashes and eyebrows are naturally a dark brown. notes: given the light shades, what little there is of his arm and leg hair is for the most part barely visible unless someone is in close proximity and thoroughly examining his skin. even in older verses, ian keeps his facial hair clean shaven except for the occasional stubble. head hair: none. buzzed. short. medium. long. very long. color: naturally a light honey blond that would change color with the season until high school, now almost constantly dyed black with a blue stripe. he resorts to a deep dark brown in his late twenties and onward. but as he ages, the blond beneath begins to naturally darken over time and he doesn't worry about it as often. style: kept relatively short, and he prefers it that way. thick, full. his hair has a natural curl to it that even the gel he likes to style it with can't hide, there's almost always a few loose curls fallen over his forehead. eye color: deep blue.

fashion.

fashion style: vintage. traditional. casual. artsy. vibrant. geeky / nerdy. tomboy. sporty. trendy. preppy. girly. bohemian. elegant. formal. grunge. punk. rocker. gothic. other: a mix of typical 2000s older brother (baggy jeans, layered t-shirts with a long sleeve shirt underneath, skater shoes) and typical 2000s mall goth (baggy tripp pants / shorts, oversized band tees, layered mesh shirts, doc martens or dirty combat boots with the laces coming undone). he's a big fan of accessories and silver jewelry. pendent necklaces, rings, studs and spikes, those black jelly bracelets that can be stacked and looped and apparently mean that you've fucked. a full rundown can be found here. color palette: black is his primary color and almost completely takes over his wardrobe. the only items that will vary in color are his t-shirts and boxers - with dark shades of gray, red, and the occasional white or blue. everything else (from socks, shoes, etc.) are black. piercings: three in left ear (two helix, standard lobe), two in right ear (helix and standard lobe). standard labret under his lower lip, standard tongue. he's still currently on the fence about an eyebrow and prince albert. tattoos: not until his early/mid twenties, where he starts getting ink on both arms, chest and back. example. example.

expression.

general facial expression: resting bitch face. if he looks mean, it's partially because he wants to, and partially because he can't help it. it's like he was born with permanent furrowed brows and a scowl. but generally, he can't hide his emotions on his face, and you'll know how he's feeling. default body language:  lazy. he's often crossing his arms, leaning against things. it's almost awkward even when he's comfortable.

other.

presence: some find his aura to be very mean and intimidating at first, which is very intentional on his part. but depending on the person, some may immediately see through the act. there's a very warm heart underneath it. appearance: he is very sure of his sense of style and how he presents himself, and actually puts great thought into it. he knows what he likes when it comes to his appearance, even if it isn't what most people are into, and he really doesn't care. scent: menthol cigarettes, weed, whatever shampoo was in his line of sight at the store, axe body wash. occasionally the deodorant and/or body spray of whoever he spent the night with when he didn't have time to shower. he doesn't realize how "girly" it is until it's too late. voice description: somewhat deep when he isn't whining. it deepens more as he gets older, paired with smoking. kind of gruff, nasally, generally takes his time when he speaks. higher pitched when he's really upset or pissed off, which in turn makes him talk faster. example. speech mannerisms: lazy, sometimes his words slur together. he uses many contractions and slang. not very formal while speaking and he loves to swear like a sailor. commonly drops the 'g' from the ends of many words unless he's really trying to emphasize something.

[skyward-floored]

What inspiration do you have for Lost? What does he look like? What was he like before everything went down?

- hero-of-the-wolf

Now that I have figured out :)

Inspiration-wise, I’m drawing a bit off of botw Link, tp Link, sksw Link, most of the older Links. Kind of Link’s dad in the four sword adventures manga too. Lost has that knightly loyal vibe, he’s very devoted, and strives to do his job well.

He also doesn’t know when to take a heckin’ break, like he’ll show up feverish and shaking and having thrown up no more than five minutes ago and be like “yea of course I’m in fighting condition. Why?” Zelda kicks him out and tells him to go home and sleep. Then drags him there when he won’t go.

Lost is pretty quiet and stoic, but not to the extent botw Link is. He does smile, and does talk, but rarely. That along with his sword skills makes him seem pretty intimidating for not even being in his twenties yet though, and he doesn’t have many friends, even among the other knights. He and Zelda click though, and they’ve been close friends for a few years now.

He also love horses so much, he’s a horse girl at heart. Epona is his baby and when he’s not doing knight stuff, he’s probably hanging out down in the stables, sneaking her apples. She’s the only one who truly always gets a smile out of him.

Aaaaand Lost is on the taller side for a Link— he and Zelda are actually the same height. Except when she wears heels, which she likes to do on purpose just to bother him <3 He’s also got pretty pale blond hair, though it’s a bit darker after Everything happens, and his eyes are light blue, sort of seafoam colored.

I think that’s it... well I’m also pretty sure I’ve posted art of him before, but I couldn’t find it immediately and didn’t feel like fighting with my tumblr app to look further XD So yeah. I think that’s all :)

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Long Con (part 5/6)

Probably my favorite chapter of the fic. Hope you like it 🧡 Rated T | 5.4k words | ao3 link [previous] [next]

Two days later, Ace took the train to Coburg. 

It was a modest-sized town, so instead of a cab he opted to walk the thirty or so minutes to the Richter manor—in order to save money and be more incognito, of course.

It certainly was not because his skin was clammy with cold sweat and the urge to bolt was becoming more and more pressing with every step of directions his phone's navigation app gave him.

Ace really should have taken Meg's advice and simply mailed the keys. 

His plan had just felt too good to pass up on. He'd go to Felix's house while Felix was at work, use the key to get inside, help himself to a few more shinies he'd been denied of when their evening was cut short, and leave the keys and a mysterious note on Felix's kitchen table like a suave gentleman thief. It would be the perfect ending to their short-lived romance.

But as Ace arrived at his destination and stared at the intimidating exterior of the Richter manor, all thoughts of his plan flew out the window. The house wasn't that big—at least compared to the awful McMansions rich people across the pond seemed to swear by—but it was old, clearly having been passed down through generations of accumulated wealth. The photos Felix had shown really didn't do the house justice.

The manor was clearly lived in, though. A couple expensive-looking cars were parked by the garage and while all the hedges and flowers were carefully trimmed, there was a bike leaning against a lamp post and children's toys scattered across the front lawn. The garden had to be behind the house; it was a little weird that Ace already knew from the pictures what the koi pond looked like and where Felix had built a playhouse for Klara despite never setting foot on the property.

But the very worst thing about the manor was that it wasn't even guarded. The yard was surrounded by a fence that was low enough to easily jump over, but even that was unnecessary because the gates were wide open for anyone to waltz right through and break in with a stolen key.

Ace's gut churned unpleasantly and an overwhelming sense of wrongness washed over him. He might be a gambler, but this was playing with fire; if he got caught and arrested, he'd ruin not only his own but also Meg's life. 

What the hell was he thinking, coming all the way up here?

Ace spotted a mailbox attached to the fence and hurried over to it. Before he could second-guess himself, he flung the lid open and shoved the little plastic bag with the keys and keychain through the slit, until they fell in with a soft clang against the metal of the box.

His hands were shaking as he slowly closed the mailbox and stayed there leaning on it for a couple uneven breaths. His heartbeat pounded in his ears but this was it. It was done.

Ace winced as he realized he'd have to come up with some excuse to explain to Meg why he showed up empty-handed after promising to procure more of Felix's stuff. He'd just have to spin a tale about impenetrable gates and 24/7 surveillance, maybe throw in a couple feral guard dogs—

"Ace?"

Ace's head snapped up in alarm and he immediately locked eyes with Felix, who was standing next to the garage only a few meters away. He looked a lot different than before, wearing an ugly orange sports jacket and sweatpants instead of the festival outfit, staring wide-eyed at Ace like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Probably wondering how someone could be stupid enough to rob him and then come to the one place they knew where to find him.

For a moment, they both stood frozen in place. Ace's body was already tensing in a familiar reflex to bolt at a moment's notice.

Shit, shit, shit. Ace had even worn a disguise for the very unlikely possibility that they’d cross paths, but of course Felix miraculously managed to see right through the sunglasses and baseball cap. Why the hell was he even home at this hour!?

"Papa?" a soft voice asked from further away, breaking the awkward staredown as Felix immediately looked away.

Ace followed Felix's gaze to see a girl walk out of the garage and to Felix's side. She looked exactly like in the pictures and was wearing oversized rubber boots that Ace knew she used when feeding the koi.

"Ja?" Felix asked.

"Who is that?" Klara asked in German, staring at Ace curiously.

Ace, who should already be in full sprint and getting the hell out of here, but inexplicably still remained rooted to the spot. In all the time he'd spent putting his stupid plan together, he'd somehow completely managed to neglect the possibility that not only would Felix be home, but that he'd recognize and even talk to Ace.

Felix glanced back at Ace. "It's a friend," he said in English, then turned back to his daughter and continued in German, "Why don't you go wash up and then get the cookie I promised?"

Klara nodded enthusiastically and they both watched her clumsily run inside the house in her too-big boots.

As soon as the door closed behind Klara, Felix's sharp gaze was back on Ace and he started walking closer. "What are you doing here?" he asked, but it sounded about ten times less angry than Ace expected.

"What—what are you doing here?" Ace shot back dumbly. "I thought you were at work?"

"Klara felt ill this morning, so her mother dropped her off once I said I could stay home today." Felix stopped as he reached the fence and frowned down at the mailbox between them. "Did you just put something in my mail?"

"I…"

"Of course not!" Ace should say, or, "I'm just seeing the sights," or the classic, "Gotta go, bye!"

"Yes," Ace confessed instead. When Felix kept staring and waiting for him to elaborate, he sighed and took a step back. "Just open it."

Felix easily stepped over the waist-high fence with his long legs. He unlocked the mailbox while Ace stood guiltily beside him like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.

Felix grabbed the little plastic bag—in his panic, Ace had forgotten he was supposed to take the keys out with gloves to prevent fingerprints—and his eyes widened as he registered its contents.

"This is…" Felix's voice trailed off as he pulled out the keychain.

And that was when it hit Ace that Felix might not have had any idea before now just who was responsible for his missing personal belongings. He could have been too drunk to remember anything: maybe he thought he’d simply dropped the items during the festival or got targeted by some faceless pickpocket in the crowd.

And Ace, the idiot that he was, had just served him all the evidence on a silver platter.

"Please don't call the cops," rushed out of Ace.

Felix turned to him and frowned. "What?"

"I can't leave Meg," Ace continued, the panic rising in his chest. "She'll be all alone stuck in Germany, and—and I know I was an idiot for coming back, I just needed to…I don't even know—"

"Papa!" a shrill shriek interrupted. They both turned to look at the front door, where Klara's scrunched up face was peeking out. "The zipper is stuck!" she complained, her voice approaching tantrum levels.

"I'll be right there!" Felix called out. 

And then he turned to Ace and smiled, and Ace swore he nearly had a heart attack. "Won't you stay for coffee?" Felix asked.

"Uh." Ace blinked to feebly try to clear his head and make sense of the situation. "What?"

"You…this means a lot to me." Felix clutched the keys to his chest. "Please. Allow me to thank you."

What the hell? Was this some kind of trap?

"I know you're not stupid," Ace said warily. "You know what I did, and I think it's best for both of us if I just leave."

"If you want to, I won't stop you," Felix said. "But do you really think I would let you meet Klara if I didn't trust you? That I would call the police for a meaningless trinket I got from some business associate?"

Wow, okay; Felix really just referred to his thirty thousand euro watch as a trinket. A voice in Ace's head that sounded suspiciously like Meg was screaming at him to run away, but it wasn't like Ace had ever been particularly good at listening to any voice of reason.

"Coffee sounds nice," Ace said.

Felix smiled again—a real smile, the same one he'd had at the festival while listening to Ace talk about Meg.

—

The inside of the manor was surprisingly cozy despite its intimidating exterior.

It didn't feel stuffy and stale like Ace expected from a building this old, nor was it tackily extravagant like so many upper-class homes Ace had broken into in his youth. At least the foyer Felix led him through and the living room Ace could see further ahead looked recently renovated, with light hardwood floors and timeless pieces of furniture that only highlighted the exposed beams and wood carvings that had to be original features of the house.

Ace should probably have guessed that an architect would have an eye for interior design.

The kitchen, however, was sleek and modern. Ace had half-expected to be served tea and fancy pastries in a formal dining room, so it was a relief when Felix gestured for him to take a seat at the small breakfast table by the window.

Klara was already waist-deep in one of the lower cabinets—probably rummaging around for the promised cookies—and Felix hummed softly to himself as he went to get the coffee started. 

Ace still felt very out of place as he carefully sat down and somewhat reluctantly removed his shades, hat and jacket, leaving him in an old damask shirt and absolutely nothing to hide his face behind. If he'd known this was how the day would go, he would have worn something nicer or at least washed his hair.

But then again, Felix was only in a tee and sweatpants and didn't seem at all embarrassed about being underdressed. And as Ace watched him scoop regular filter coffee into the machine and Klara emerge from the cupboard with two plastic packages of cheap cookies, he felt himself starting to relax.

Maybe their worlds weren't so different after all.

Klara started making her way across the kitchen, only to be stopped by Felix's pointed words of, "I said one cookie."

Klara turned to give her father a thoroughly unimpressed look. "They're not for me, they're for our guest." The "you dummy" was implied, Ace assumed.

"Really doubt I'll be able to eat all that, princess," Ace said.

Two pairs of startled blue eyes snapped to Ace's.

Klara grinned. "You speak German?"

"Of course I do," Ace said, smiling back at her before glancing up to see Felix's reaction.

Felix had his head bowed and was pinching the bridge of his nose, but his shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter.

"Of course he does," Felix muttered to himself, then looked up with a small smile. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ace smiled innocently. "Because I'm very talented at a great many things?"

Felix blushed—hopefully thinking back to Ace's incredible flirting and kissing prowess—while Klara smacked the cookies on the table and eagerly demanded, "Can you draw!?"

Ace's cocky smile faltered. "Oh, uh… Not that well." But looking at the kid practically bursting with excitement, he remembered, "But your dad told me you're a very talented artist."

Klara's cheeks pinked but she was still beaming up at Ace. "Can I show you?"

Ace knew exactly how this would end even before he replied, "Of course!"

—

Ace should really stop underestimating anyone named Richter.

Over the next hour, Ace saw what was probably Klara's entire drawing portfolio since the day she was born. She kept explaining her art so fast that Ace struggled to keep up with translating in his head, all the while Felix tried his best to stop her from spilling over either of their coffee cups in her enthusiasm.

Ace was starting to run out of synonyms for "cute" and "great" but Klara showed no signs of stopping, getting carried away just as easily as her dad had with his photos a few days prior.

"This is me and auntie Élodie!" Klara said, pointing at her latest masterpiece.

"Well, you both look very pretty," Ace said.

"She gave me a backpack from Egypt!" Klara said excitedly. "I can show you—"

"Klara." Felix abruptly stood up and reached for his keys on the countertop. "Did you see what Ace brought?"

Klara paused and looked up at her dad—she had to tilt her head comically far back—before noticing the keychain he was holding.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, then turned back to Ace. "You found it!"

"I—uh," Ace floundered, because he couldn't very well say, "Yeah, I stole it from your dad when he was drunk. How funny is that!"

"He did," Felix chimed in. "And he was nice enough to come here all the way from Münich to bring it back." 

"That far!?" Klara exclaimed, her mouth falling open in a surprised 'O'. "Is that why you look so tired?"

Ace huffed a surprised laugh. He even heard Felix snort, because apparently this family were all secretly little shits.

"Yes, it is," Ace lied, because, again, it was better than, "I was actually playing slots in a dingy bar until two a.m." "It's a long train ride."

Klara hummed. "Do you live in Münich?"

"I'm going to get more coffee," Felix announced before Ace had a chance to reply. "Klara, do you want another glass of juice?"

"Mm-mm!" Klara shook her head. "I'm going to watch TV."

Felix nodded and made his way to the coffee machine. As soon as his back was turned, Klara grabbed two more cookies before innocently walking out of the kitchen.

By Ace's count, she'd already had four in between showing her drawings, but that kind of stealth deserved to be rewarded.

Ace downed the last bit of his now-cold coffee and watched Felix wash a few dishes and fiddle with the coffee maker. It was a welcome beat of silence after the intensity of an excited six-year-old rambling about her hobby.

Ace should probably be on the edge of his seat from nerves now that the buffer of Klara was gone, but the atmosphere in the kitchen just felt…relaxed. Felix looked calm and ridiculously domestic in his home clothes, such a far cry from the stuck-up asshole or nervous wreck from the festival, and Ace—

Ace had really, really missed him.

Ace cleared his throat and stamped down on the fluttering feeling in his stomach. "If I'd known I was meeting the next Van Gogh, I would've taken German lessons in art critiquing,” he joked.

Felix chuckled and turned to look at him, leaning back against the kitchen counter in a way that made him look unfairly attractive. 

"Thank you for humoring her," Felix said. "Your German is quite good."

It was nice of him to not draw attention to the part where Ace had lied in his face about that fact.

Trying to return some of that kindness, Ace smiled and said, "Being nice to your kid is really the least I could do."

Felix hummed in a non-answer. "I didn't expect her to want to talk to you for so long. She's usually quite shy."

"Well, you did say she was sick," Ace joked.

"Oh, that." Felix rolled his eyes. "Klara told me she went to the movies with her mother yesterday, and I'm pretty sure her 'illness' this morning was just too much popcorn and candy last night."

"Or she just wanted to hang out with you for a day," Ace said before he thought better of it.

Felix looked at him in clear surprise, before he winced and ducked his head. "Maybe you're right."

Wow, great move: shaming his more than a gracious host for bad parenting was surely the way to go.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—" Ace tried.

Felix sighed. "No, you're right. I need to figure something out with the company. It's one thing that I miss Klara, but if she misses me this much, I have to do something about it."

Ace stayed quiet and tried to ignore his steadily growing attraction to Felix, because this was ridiculous. Yes, Ace had dealt with absent fathers both when it came to Meg's and his own upbringing, but surely at fifty he was way too old to still be having daddy issues.

After a moment, Felix cleared his throat. "Sorry, I was just thinking out loud." He brought the coffee pot to the table and poured himself another cup, then turned to Ace. "More coffee?"

Ace glanced at the clock on the wall. "I really shouldn't."

Felix ignored him and refilled his cup anyway, and Ace got the distinct feeling that the conversation was far from over.

But Felix also got a carton of milk out of the fridge and placed it next to the bowl of sugar in front of Ace. Because even though Felix took his own coffee black, he remembered Ace's offhand comment about bean water from the festival.

It was such a small thing, but Ace's traitorous heart still skipped a beat.

"So…" Ace said once Felix retook his seat.

"I love Klara more than I love anything else in this world," Felix stated. 

Ace instinctively straightened in his seat from the serious tone. It seemed they'd reached the portion of the visit where Felix would—rightfully so—chew Ace out for his lying and stealing.

"And there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Nothing." Felix stressed the word, staring dead straight into Ace's eyes.

Ace swallowed. "I've gathered as much, yeah."

Rather than yell at Ace, Felix just relaxed and leaned back in his chair. "So why should I judge someone else for what they have to do in order to keep their family safe?"

"…What?" Ace said.

"It's obvious how much you love Meg," Felix said. "So if my stupidly overpriced watch allowed you two to travel more together or helped you save up for her college fund, that's a much better use for it than anything I could have done."

Ace bit the inside of his cheek as his instincts yelled at him to not say too much. Even if he doubted that Felix was secretly recording their conversation for the police, he knew he shouldn't just volunteer information like that.

But at the same time, there was a part of Ace that desperately wanted to talk about this to someone. Felix seemed to value honesty above all else and after the kindness he'd shown Ace today, lying would just put them back to square one.

And, well, if worse came to worst Ace knew that the front door was unlocked and only a room away in case he needed to make a quick escape.

"She's…Meg's not actually mine," Ace said. "There's no college fund or father-daughter bonding or whatever you're picturing. We're not even related."

Felix frowned. "But you care about her."

"Of course, but I only met her three, four years ago; she actually tried to pickpocket me, if you can believe that." Ace laughed, though it was a hollow sound. "She was just a kid, orphaned after her mom died—that part's true—and she had nobody, and I just…helped her get back on her feet. And then she never left. I mean, I know I'm not her dad—"

"You are," Felix interrupted, his voice surprisingly firm. "In every way that matters."

It was a nice sentiment, and some days, Ace desperately wanted to believe it. But he knew better.

Ace huffed and looked down at his coffee cup. "I don't think good dads teach their kids to hotwire cars or make them live in shitty motels for four years."

Felix fell silent and Ace prepared himself for the inevitable look of pity he was bound to receive. He always made sure they never looked homeless and that at least Meg had access to all necessities, but empty sympathy was the last thing either of them needed.

Though if Felix were to offer another of his thousand-dollar accessories, Ace would have to swallow his pride and accept it. Maybe he and Meg could stay at an actual hotel next time, instead of a shitty hostel with bed bugs.

Instead, Felix sighed and clasped his hands on the table. "You know, I was raised in a cult."

"Excuse me?" Ace asked, his eyebrows steadily creeping up towards his hairline. He must have misheard that. 

Felix grimaced. "My parents were part of…they called it a secret society, but it was a cult. Both of my parents and a few others were murdered by its other members over twenty years ago."

Ace was openly gawking now. What on earth was this? Was Felix just messing with him?

"I was orphaned at seventeen and my best friend at even younger than that," Felix continued. "We spent years trying to leave that awful life behind: I had to suck up to my distant aunt until rightfully receiving this manor and the rest of my inheritance, and Élodie…" Felix paused. "Has been running errands for the black market since she was sixteen."

"Fuck," Ace commented eloquently.

"If we'd only had somebody…" Felix trailed off, then looked up at Ace with a smile. "You can understand why I look at what you did for Meg with nothing but admiration."

Felix might have been smiling, but the words "orphaned at seventeen" kept echoing in Ace's head. For a moment, he saw the same sadness in Felix's blue eyes that he'd seen in Meg's all those years ago.

It was difficult enough to think back to Meg barely surviving out on the streets as it was, nevermind imagine her having to deal with some crazy murder cult on top of that, or being forced to turn to the black market, or—Christ, what if she'd gotten trafficked? 

Ace clenched his jaw as he realized that he hadn't even considered that possibility before. Realistically, he knew how the underworld worked and could think up a great many grim fates that might have awaited Meg if he hadn't intervened, but…she was still just one girl. And god knows how many people before her Ace had willfully ignored or even outright sabotaged for his own benefit. 

He didn't deserve a medal for one singular instance of being a decent human being.

"I don't do this, you know,'' Ace finally spoke. "I never help people just out of the goodness of my heart or whatever. I don't know what made me decide to make an exception with Meg, but trust me when I say that was a once in a blue moon occurrence."

Felix tilted his head. "You've never thought about the reason?"

"I mean, I guess saw a lot of myself in her when I was that age." Ace said. 

And wasn't that an understatement. Ace didn't have a sad backstory of losing a parent, unless being disowned after gambling away his mom's house and life savings counted. He'd managed to burn bridges and drive himself into such a corner that there had really only been a few ways out.

"Except I sold a kidney to get out of the country and Meg just had to put up with my shitty jokes,” Ace said. “I guess that's better."

Felix didn’t say anything, so to lighten the mood, Ace jovially added, “But let’s face it, not that much better—at least according to my exes.”

Felix blinked, and then as the joke sank in, let out an ugly snorting laugh that echoed in the kitchen and twisted his handsome face into a goofy expression wholly unfit for a serious architect.

Felix quickly covered his nose with his hand to hide it, but he couldn’t seem to stop quietly snickering. It made Ace's chest feel warm and his face split into a grin of its own accord. Felix hadn't laughed like that—really laughed—the entirety of the festival.

If Ace allowed himself to, he could easily fall in love with that laugh.

"That was terrible," Felix said once he'd recovered.

"Then why did you laugh?" Ace teased.

Felix side-eyed him, eyes still sparkling with amusement. Like he knew Ace was trouble but didn't care.

"Anyway," Felix said. "Because of the cult…ehm." He paused, glancing at the doorway that led to the living room.

Ace suddenly remembered that they weren't alone. "I probably shouldn't have talked about selling kidneys."

"Yes, saying it again surely helps," Felix deadpanned, and Ace barely suppressed a way too loud laugh at the unexpected sass. 

He wheezed quietly into his sleeve instead, which was surely not much better.

When Ace managed to collect himself and looked up, Felix was smiling warmly. He wondered if Felix liked his ugly laugh too.

"It's alright,'' Felix said. "She's watching the Lion King. And based on the song…" He grit his teeth; the face of a father who had heard Hakuna Matata about two hundred times too many. "We have around half an hour before she even remembers that we're here."

Ace smiled. "I'll take your word for it."

There was a beat of silence as they both stared into their coffee cups.

"So, you were saying?" Ace asked. "Before the singing meerkat and ugly laughing happened?"

"Well." Felix cleared his throat. "I was simply going to mention that it took quite many years of therapy to understand that ritualistic animal slaughter and branding children with hot irons might not have made for the most balanced childhood."

Ace was very glad he didn't have coffee in his mouth because he definitely would have spit it all over the table.

"Holy shit," Ace said, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

Felix gave a small smile. "Hotwiring cars suddenly doesn't seem so bad, does it?"

Ace huffed. "Guess not."

"Don't worry, most of the people responsible are behind bars now—courtesy of Élodie and an investigative journalist," Felix said. "But I only recently finished painting over the summoning circle in the basement."

Ace was still reeling. Felix had seemed so normal and he never would have guessed that there was something this dark hiding underneath. No wonder he was so reluctant to let people close.

And Ace had trampled all over that hesitant trust.

He gave a shaky smile. "And here I thought living in the slums and picking pockets from age five was a shitty way to grow up."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—to make it a competition." Felix grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't told many people, because…well, they always treat me differently, and…"

"And you don't want pity," Ace said.

Felix nodded. "The fact that you haven't said 'I'm sorry' yet amazes me."

Ace sighed and ran his thumb over the rim of his cup. "I think I've used up my quota of lies with you."

He wasn't sorry for stealing some of Felix's considerable wealth to provide for himself and Meg. He also didn't pity Felix for having a rough life: that was for the cult to apologize for, not Ace.

"I am sorry about the keychain, though," Ace remembered. "I didn't mean to take it."

"I know," Felix said. "You came to return it even when you didn't have to. And actions always speak louder than words."

Ace snorted. "Yeah? What does stealing valuables from someone drunk off their ass say?"

"That you'll do anything to make sure Meg has a good life," Felix said earnestly. "I also know that you're kind—and respectful. You were nice to Lauren and polite to me even when I was an asshole, and you waited six whole hours for me to make a move." Felix's cheeks pinked and he cleared his throat. 

Ace chuckled. "I was wondering why my charm wasn't working."

"Some of us need…a considerable amount of liquid courage." Felix winced. "But even then, you could have simply left me back there after you got what you wanted. But you helped me into a taxi to make sure I got home safely."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually defending me for tricking you and your friends and stealing from you?"

"No, I just—my point is," Felix said, "that I will never be upset at someone based on their past or the things they have to do in order to survive. I know it's not always black and white."

That was a surprisingly good point, and definitely not something Ace had expected of anyone with Felix's status to consider. 

"I guess so," Ace said.

"And what about you?" Felix asked. "Now that you know all this about my past…do you see me differently? Do you think there's something wrong with me?" 

Felix looked at him, and for a second, he seemed genuinely scared of Ace's reaction. He was wringing his hands nervously—a man who was so used to rejection, but still held out a sliver of hope.

"Well…kind of?" Ace said. 

Felix's face fell and he hunched in on himself, so Ace quickly reached over the table to grab his hand before he could retract it. 

"But trust me when I say that that is in no way a turn-off," Ace explained. "Who isn't at least a little fucked up in the head? That's just life; we all work with what we’ve got."

"I wish it was that easy," Felix murmured, almost as if to himself. "My first therapist kicked me out because he found my childhood too disturbing."

"His loss," Ace scoffed. "If someone thinks less of you because of any of that, that's their problem. The way I see it…" 

Ace paused and frowned in thought. He'd meant to say he didn't care, but that wasn't exactly right either. If anything, knowing that Felix had a dark past just made him seem more approachable—more human.

"Actually, is it weird to say that I like you more because of the cult shit?" Ace asked.

Felix stared at him for a second and Ace almost regretted the words. But then Felix burst into laughter again, an absolutely hideous snorting laugh that made Ace want to keep him.

"It is." Felix said, still smiling. "It's absolutely horrible. And it's probably just as horrible that I laughed at it."

Felix gently loosened Ace's hold on his hand only to intertwine their fingers. His hands were more callused than Ace remembered but his eyes were soft, crinkling at the corners as he smiled and making Ace's heart pitter-patter happily.

Ace could almost physically feel the walls crumbling inside his head. The decades of lies, masks and self-preservation instincts weren't needed in this moment. Felix knew the ugly truth and he was still here, coaxing out what Ace thought were long-buried feelings of trust and affection and…

Hope.

And hope was a dangerous thing. Ace knew firsthand how hope always preceded disappointment, and betting his heart was the riskiest gamble of them all. 

But without risk, there was also no reward.

Ace smiled, his mind successfully made up. Breaking the silence, he said, "I’ve gotta say, I didn't expect hand-holding to be on the menu today."

"Yes, I, ähm.” Felix’s face flushed but he didn’t let go of Ace's hand. "Me neither. But I'm glad. That…that you're here."

"Yeah," Ace agreed. 

A beat of silence followed, though it wasn't necessarily awkward. They both no doubt had a lot on their minds with just how much had happened in the last couple of days.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ace asked playfully. "Though now that I think about it, I probably need that penny more than you."

It was another joke in poor taste, but Felix still chuckled at it.

Ace was definitely keeping him.

"I was just wondering…" Felix trailed off, then cleared his throat. "I know this is very sudden, and I don't mean to be presumptuous, but…how much does Meg like Germany?"

Ace smiled brighter than he had in years. "I think she can be convinced to stay a little while."

[unrooms]

You eye the doors. Even if it’s the only way to go, you’re not sure how you feel about going deeper into this weird place. Instead, for now, you sit on the edge of the pool (the gate?) and look at your phone. You flip it over and even crack off the case to check inside. You’re feeling kind of paranoid. Nothing’s there, though, except a bit of dust and dirt that slipped in there over time. Then you scroll through your apps; the usual- google, spotify, system stuff. A few games. Tumblr. The app your college uses to track homework and stuff. You spent a while looking for a period tracker that wasn’t offensively flowery, and thankfully you did find one. Also thankfully, you’re not currently on your period. It seems like you got a text from one of your best friends while you were asleep, presumably before you got here; it’s just a picture of her cat. Cute, but not helpful.

You sigh. You feel stressed and confused.

Intrigued by the weird liquid in the pool, you turn around and try scooping some up in your hands. You manage to get some, but it’s difficult to hold on to and you need to use both hands to get more than a few drops. Thinking maybe the symbols on the doors are some sort of clue, you go to the door whose symbol looks like a splash, and splash a handful of pool liquid onto it. It rolls off the stone in the same way it does off your skin.

After a beat of nothing happening, you say “Oh come on!” out loud, and then immediately feel silly. Then, the silly feeling shifts into anger. “If anyone’s listening-- really, come on! What even is this, some kind of cruel prank? An unethical social experiment? I did not agree to this!” You kick the door. It hurts a lot, especially since you’re barefoot. You curse and sit back down on the pool edge, feeling extremely silly now but still angry.

...Okay. Okay. Obviously this is all really crazy, but... I guess I gotta work with what I have.

After taking a minute to cool down, you let out a sigh and check your pockets. You’re just wearing what you went to sleep in, but you do find a hairtie, a couple hard candies, and a sharpie. You didn’t know the sharpie was in there. You guess you could use it to mark walls or something. And you can always take notes and pictures with your phone if you need to. In fact, you think it might be good to keep track of all this stuff, so you start working on that. You write down the message on the pool and your observations about the liquid, and take a picture of the pool for good measure.

You’re still intimidated by the idea of going through any of the doors, but you can’t think of anything else to do. Stalling, you look more closely at the doors. They seem to be made of the same stone as the walls, just in a solid slab instead of bricks. Tracing the carved symbols reveals nothing interesting. All the doors have some amount of cracks, but they seem to just be superficial; nothing seriously compromising their structure. You knock on the splash door. It feels thick and heavy. Nothing responds, although you kind of wish it would. Finally, you pull it open with effort.

The first thing that hits you is a lot of light. You take in the room; it’s totally different in aesthetic to the other one. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all glass with solid walls of lights behind them. The back of the door is also glass and lights- actually- you notice there’s a symbol on that side, too, different than the one on the front of it.

In the middle of the room, there’s a glass pillar going from the floor to the ceiling. Instead of having lights in it, it has a column of what looks like regular water. From the doorway, that’s all you can see. Tentatively, you step out onto the floor; you’re kind of concerned it’ll shatter under your feet, but it seems fine. Closer to the pillar, you can see that there are words carved into it. They’re hard to read, since there’s no paint or anything, just carvings in glass, but you manage to make it out:

“WATER; FOR THE FLUIDITY TO BE UNSTUCK IN SPACE.

IT CAN BE SLIPPERY, BUT IT IS NOT WILLFUL

ALL YOU MUST DO FOR IT TO TAKE THE FORM YOU WANT

IS TO PUT IT IN A PROPER VESSEL.”

Behind the pillar, you find another door. This one doesn’t have a symbol, but it does have a keyhole in it- and, weirdly, the keyhole seems to have a glass... key... mold? sticking out from it. The glass shape of a key is too big to fit in the keyhole, but the empty space inside is the right size. Supporting this idea, there’s a glass tube in the wall leading to the key. Tracing it back, you find a network of these tubes in the walls and floor, connected to the pillar, with a switch at each intersection of tubes. They were hard to see earlier, on account of everything being glass, but you manage to get a good idea of how they all go.

...You sit down in one corner. It’s more comfortable than sitting at the pool. You’re, honestly, freaking out kind of a lot. You guess it caught up with you. You should probably be trying to figure out this puzzle, or like, anything else, but instead you pull out your phone and play a few rounds of 2048. It does actually calm you down a little. Glancing at the time, you realize it’s ticked over to 3 o'clock already.

What now?

--HOUR TWO--

[vancilocs]

25-35 for your favourite knight and outer rim rascal?

so the short tormented grey-haired one and the tall tormented vampire, got it

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

Kuzey enjoys hearing music around, like from buskers and whatnot, but doesn't have any deeper interest

Oh you know Raven as a child was playing Phantom of the opera on his lil piano when alone at home. He enjoys music, listens intently

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Remarkably patient and doesn't yell even when angered, usually just grabs a knife to show that he's very mad. He's snapped before and tried to stab his mom but now he doesn't get immediately violent anymore

Pretty patient, when he gets mad he straightens his back to be more intimidating, has a knife for when he's angry but avoids using it. When angry his accent gets deeper and he curses more

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

Barely ever insults anyone, even in fights he doesn't want to be mean like that, yeah he just killed you but let's not be rude. Has insulted both his parents though

Tries to not insult people, might mutter something under his breath, but when he loses his cool he will call someone a boiling cunt etc

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

It's alright, doesn't remember much from his youth, but he knows Istanbul like his own pockets and recognizes crooks and assassins easily if they've clashed before

He mainly remembers music facts and trivia, many bars and other haunts, faces kind of blur except certain ones, he uses apps to help him keep track of everything else

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Goes to bed pretty late, oftentimes after midnight after going around the city and keeping an eye out for bad people, wakes up fairly late too. Doesn't snore. Has a nice big bed

Usually goes to bed at dawn and wakes up around dusk, it depends on if he's got work or a gig. Doesn't snore, has a bed for one that's thankfully long enough for him at least.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

He's not that funny, not big on telling jokes but he doesn't mind funny anecdotes and whatnot.

He's got a very dry, sarcastic, self-deprecating kind of sense of humor. The kind of jokes that make people chuckle nervously.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

He gets smiley and visibly more relaxed

He smiles and stares into the distance (or ceiling if laying down), might hum something if he's doing stuff like cooking.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

Life makes him sad and he cries about it sometimes, mainly alone but Alev is allowed to know. He's just quieter and more withdrawn when sad.

He doesn't cry much but he does get sad, then he just lays around at home and doesn't do anything but scroll on his phone.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Afraid of something happening to his family mainly, defends them like a fierce lioness

He has porphyria-induced anxiety, and abandonment issues, he's scared of getting sicker and also losing those close to him

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

Doesn't breathe a word about it, if it's his close friends or family he gets protective

Promises to not tell anyone and won't, avoids triggering.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

He gets a lot of walking and parkour in every day, he's so used to it it's nothing. Doesn't mind a bit of running around.

He mainly stretches but also does some crunches and pushups, it's a nice routine.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Doesn't drink. Would be a sad drunk.

Only has like a beer every once in a while, no more. Would start singing if drunk and that'd be embarrassing.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

The knights have their own tailors for their robes so they're fitted and go with the armor underneath. He likes wearing black so he doesn't mind the official robes, kinda annoyed about the red sash because it shows so clearly that he's the commander. Keeps his hair long and tied back, no makeup, sleeps in shirts n pants

Wears black, skinny jeans and t-shirts, flannels on top, maybe a leather jacket or a hoodie, layers a lot. He dresses comfortably and is happy like that. He keeps his hair medium-length, sweeps it back usually, wears eye makeup on gigs (eyeliner, eyeshadow applied with fingers)

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?

Renaissance European panties I guess

Boxers, comfy

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

He's a smidgen over 160cm and bitter about it. Stocky, wide shoulders and hips, thick limbs, you can tell he's very strong. Alev compliments his body all the time so he feels nicer about it, otherwise he'd be very neutral

A bit over 190cm, long limbs, narrow frame, somewhat muscular but too skinny. Thinks his body is good enough for what it needs to do.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Guilty pleasure is not going to work and just sitting in a tower or something, avoiding everyone. Unguilty pleasure is spending that time with the wife and kids

Guilty pleasure is hooking up with Vikas but it's turning into an unguilty one, lean into it my man. Doesn't feel guilty about taking sick days, it says on paper he's chronically ill, he needs his time off

[lavender-long-stories]

Spoilers for Testing Success | Chapter 2 | Rated T

Hinata’s coffee was already emptied on the long commute. She woke up at four in the morning just to hope to be on time. She introduced herself to the front desk, only for the attendant to be dismissive of her. They changed their attitude once they saw what she was hired for. Hanabi got up to style her hair, but it seemed her clothes still made her look lowly. 

With ID and keys, she was directed to an elevator that would take her to the executive floor with her pass card. She made a prayer in the elevator that the day would either end swiftly or go smoothly. She stepped out into the top floor and looked toward the executive office. 

“Hyuga Hinata.” The man who interviewed her greeted her. Hinata bowed. He tosses her a thick binder. “You will want to memorize this.” Hinata scrabbled to hold on to it. “Here’s your phone.” Hinata tucked the binder in one arm and took the phone before he could throw it, too. “The director’s schedule is in it. It needs to be updated in real-time. If anyone asks him about meetings, you wait until he prompts you to tell him his options. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to schedule, and you say nothing. He rides the elevator with you, his sons, and no one else. Everyone knows this, but if someone does not, you ask them to get off. Under no circumstances does he not know about everything that is happening. If he doesn’t, it is on you.” 

Hinata stood, bewildered, as he listed off other basics. When the director took his lunch, what he ate, who to have it delivered to, how he took his coffee, and when it should be refilled. 

“And you don’t leave until he leaves. He will call you at any hour of the day, and you answer if he tells you to need to be somewhere. You need to be there in under an hour. It doesn’t matter if it’s three in the morning.” Hinata opened her mouth, but closed it immediately. “What?” 

Hinata feared the worst. “I live over an hour away.” 

“You will need to fix that.” He informed her. “Find an apartment nearby. He practically lives here.” Hinata pierced her lips together. “I will be with you today, but you are on your own tomorrow. Good luck.”

Hinata let out a breath as he turned from her, heading for the director’s office. She quickly followed his heels.

He knocked and stepped in. “She’s here, sir.”

Hinata looked at the stern-faced man behind his desk and bowed fully. “Hinata Hyuga, sir.”

“I know.” The director stated. Hinata forced eye contact. Lowering her head the slightest to tell him she understood. Fugaku snapped his fingers. “Status.”

Hinata looked at the man beside her. He pulled his phone out, and she quickly did the same, opening the same app he did. “You have…”

“Not you, her.” Fugaku snapped.

Hinata flinched, skimming the structure. “You have a meeting in fifteen minutes with the development team, then another after with the head of Uzumaki Inc., lunch with… Itachi.” She wasn’t sure why it was only a first name. “Then you are to be in here until four, when you have a report from the finance department.”

“Stocks,” Fugaku commanded.

The interviewer closed the app she was in and opened another. She rattled off the numbers.

Fugaku eyed her silently. His eyes flicked away. As intimidated as Hinata was, he seemed impressed. She was used to her father’s cold eyes. This was nothing in comparison. “Hmm.” Fugaku looked at his computer screen. 

Hinata looked to her right for guidance. The interviewer showed her to a different door left of the office. Once he closed the door behind him, he started instructing again. “This is the desk you will spend most of your time at. When you are not accompanying him to meetings or where he tells you to be, you don’t leave here.”

Hinata noticed a box of personal items that weren’t removed. “That’s mine.” 

Hinata pierced her lips together. “I am replacing you… ?”

“I’m moving to a different department. Better than being fired.” He told her with a softness he hadn’t used before. “I won’t lie to you. This job is hard. It’s the hardest thing I have ever done. I thought the pay was worth it, but…” If Hinata wasn’t scared before, she was now. This man was much older than her, likely with ten years under his belt and better schooling. He looked at her up and down. “I have no clue why he hired you, and honestly, I don’t think you will last a week.”

Neither did she.

“I’ll give you the best piece of advice you’ll get. He is always right. It doesn’t matter if he says the sky is purple. You say yes, sir.” From the look on his face, it may have been advised that he didn’t follow.

Testing Success

Pairing: Sasuke x Hinata Rating: T

Description: Hinata accidentally applies for the director's assistant position at Uchiha Industries. Though surprised when she gets the job, it seems like the director has it out for her. His sons seem to be on her side, though.

Tags: Romance  |  Fluff and Angst  |  Happy Ending  |  Alternate Universe - Office  |  Alternate Universe - Modern Setting 

Image by shauncat

[undressmewithyoureyes]

KING - (FIVE)

**KONIG**

I get back to base and head straight for my office. The guys on the yard are training, but they don’t need my help. My focus right now is solely on her. My little devil - even if she doesn’t know it. She will soon, and she will learn to love it. The only way out will be death. 

I reach my office and tap my keyboard, making the computer come to life. I type in my password and immediately click on one of the programs I have pinned to my taskbar. Its the tracking app. I sit back and kick my feet up onto my desk - crossing them to get more comfortable. She’s currently in Washington D.C. Probably talking with the old fucker who wants to fuck her. Its no secret. I’ve heard how he looks at her, but she also wouldn’t give him the time or day…ever. 

Shepherd likes to play in the big dog world, but big dogs don’t hide and cower behind desks. No, they’re the ones who risk it all to lose it all. And God have mercy on whoever stands in their way. Im one of the big dogs and if I'm being biased, one of the biggest.

She stays in Washington D.C. for about an hour. I pull up the traffic cams - trying to get any visual I can on her. She’s like heroin running through my veins and I cant get enough. I watch her walk out the Capital building, but something catches my eyes - causing me to sit straight up and go stiff. 

My blood boils as I see 141 walking behind her. No, she wouldn’t. She only works alone, but my brows furrow together when I see them all enter the helo she left in. My teeth grind together so hard my jaw hurts. This just threw a fucking loop into what I had planned. I ball my fist up - the fabric in my gloves begging for a release. 

I try to gather all my composure, but everything in me is wanting to flip this desk the fuck over and wreak havoc to anything or anyone thats within my reach. “GENE!” I call out. My throat hurting just a bit from yelling. 

I hear footsteps running in my direction and it better be the fucker I called. My door swings open and almost hits the wall behind it, “Y-yes sir,” he says sounding out of breath. Gene is the I.T. guy here. Some call it cheating, I call it staying ahead and being in the know. 

“The tracker you gave me to put on her phone,” I say with my teeth clenched. He is looking at me with his wide eyes, “Is that all it can do?” 

He knows im asking for more, but I want to see how well this pipsqueak knows me, “Yes sir,” he says and almost bows. I stare at him with daggers and he immediately changes his answer, “I mean, no sir.”

Sweat begins to form across his forehead. “What else does it do?” My voice low. 

Gene swallows before he answers, “I also made it to where you can hear any conversation while the phone is in use, text messages as well. Also,” he says trying to gather himself the best he can. He stands below my shoulders, so im sure my height is intimidating as is, “It can listen in at any given point and time.” 

“Even if the person isn’t on the phone?” I ask. Im impressed. 

“Y-yes sir,” he says bowing his head. 

I stare at him for a few seconds to see if he’s bluffing, “Show me.” 

He walks over to the computer and I'm glad I didn’t decide to make this room into a war zone. He clicks a red button that was on the left side of the program and a black voice line pops up. The line moves with waves and he adjusts the volume on my computer. 

My ears perk, but the only thing you can hear is the roar of the helicopter. “Will the other person know?”

“No. Its my newest addition,” he tells me proudly.

My hand comes up and rests on his shoulder. I feel him jump and I let out a small laugh - my mood doing a complete one eighty, “Keep that up Gene and you’ll go places.” 

Oh, this is a game changer and a dangerous one for my little devil. I sit back down in my chair and lean back, “Thats all Gene.” I don’t thank him. He should be thankful I gave him this job and this position. 

He nods and walks out, grabbing the door and closing it. My eyes divert back to the screen as a devilish smile creeps across my face.

******

I tune in and out of the program - doing exactly what Gene did. All I could hear was the engine roaring. So, I just tracked her until she came to a stop in Tennessee. I type in the address on my computer and a private property shows up. Funny thing is, theres no information on the property except that it isn’t for sale. No pictures, no listings or anything. The best I can get is a satellite view. The road view is useless since the house sits so far back into the woods. 

I click back over to my tracker and watch the blue dot move into the house and then stop. Putting this tracker on her has been the best idea and the worst at the same time. It makes tracking her easier, but she’s become my new obsession. Before, she was a want - now she’s a need. 

I sit there for another few minutes, but the dot doesn’t move. I grab my phone that sits on my desk and send Three a text telling him to come here. I would ask, but that would give my men an option. The only option is kill or be killed. So I know he’ll come. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later he’s walking into my office. He doesn’t knock and I don’t expect him too. He’s the closest guy I can count on and a part of me would consider him my friend. 

“Yeah,” he says as he walks to me. If it were anyone else, their jaw would already be dislocated and needing surgery to put it back in place with screws and wires. 

“Put this address in and pull it up on the satellite.” I tell him. We made a deal with the Russians about a year ago. They were on my shit list and one of the leaders offered for me to spare his life in exchange of their live satellites. I agreed, but I kept my word. I spared his life - Three didn’t. Three’s response to doing it was “He made the deal with you, not me.”

I give him the address and he types away at his phone. I like for my stuff to be spread out. It gives people a harder time trying to find out information if multiple people have pieces of the puzzle. But I too can access it if need be - it just gives my guys something extra to do. 

A few moments later he hands me his phone and I see the top of the house. It looks to be two story house in the middle of fucking no where. I tape the left side of the screen and rewind back to a few minutes ago. I watch the helicopter land. Then six people exit the helo and walk into the house with bags. 

“Your girl?” Three asks me. I hand the phone back and smirk under my mask.

Your girl. I like that. 

“Yeah and I think she just showed us where she stays,” I say in a lighter tone than before. I sit back down and put my feet back on my desk. 

“You want me to get a helo ready?” He asks me as he starts to walk towards the door.

“No,” I reply back immediately. “I want to know where she’s going and catch her by surprise. To be sure, she didn’t join 141 for the hell of it. I want to know their plan so we can be a step ahead.”

Three nods and heads out of my office. I take in a deep breath and interlock my fingers - placing them behind my head. My little devil has been through a lot in these last several years, but what I'm going to do to her doesn’t even compare. 

[zodiacvisionbyrisha]

Unlocking the Mysteries: Exploring Tarot Reading Online

In the digital age, tarot reading online has become an increasingly popular way to seek guidance, gain insight, and explore the mysteries of life. This ancient practice, once confined to physical decks and face-to-face interactions, has seamlessly transitioned into the virtual realm, making it accessible to anyone with an internet connection. Whether you're a skeptic or a believer, understanding how online tarot reading works can offer a unique perspective on its appeal and effectiveness.

The Evolution of Tarot Reading

Tarot reading, with roots tracing back to the 15th century, has long been used as a tool for divination and self-reflection. Traditionally, it involves a tarot reader interpreting a spread of cards drawn by the querent (the person seeking answers) to provide insights into various aspects of their life. Each card, rich with symbolism and imagery, offers a piece of the puzzle that, when combined, forms a narrative.

The advent of the internet has transformed how tarot readings are conducted. No longer limited by geography, individuals can now connect with skilled tarot readers from around the world. This accessibility has opened up new opportunities for people to explore tarot readings in the comfort of their homes, at any time they choose.

How Online Tarot Reading Works

Online tarot readings can be conducted through various platforms, including video calls, chat sessions, and even automated readings where software randomly selects cards and provides interpretations. Here's a brief overview of the different methods:

Live Video Readings: This method replicates the traditional experience most closely. During a video call, the tarot reader draws cards on behalf of the querent and interprets them in real-time. This interactive format allows for a personal connection and immediate feedback.

Chat Readings: For those who prefer text-based communication, chat readings offer a convenient alternative. The querent and the reader communicate through messaging platforms, discussing the cards and their meanings. This can be less intimidating for those new to tarot reading.

Automated Readings: Numerous websites and apps offer automated tarot readings, where an algorithm selects cards and provides pre-written interpretations. While lacking the personalized touch of a human reader, these can still offer valuable insights and are often free or low-cost.

Benefits of Online Tarot Reading

There are several advantages to seeking tarot readings online. Firstly, the convenience factor is significant. Without the need to travel, individuals can access readings from anywhere in the world, fitting it easily into their schedules. This accessibility is particularly beneficial for those living in areas without local tarot readers.

Moreover, online platforms often provide a diverse selection of readers, each with their unique style and specialization. This variety allows querents to find a reader who resonates with them personally, enhancing the overall experience. Many websites also feature reviews and ratings, helping users make informed choices.

Another advantage is the level of privacy and anonymity offered by online readings. Some individuals may feel more comfortable discussing personal issues from the privacy of their own home rather than in a face-to-face setting. This can lead to more open and honest interactions, resulting in more meaningful readings.

Finding Credible Online Tarot Readers

While the internet offers a wealth of options, it's important to approach Personal Tarot Reading in Canada with discernment. Research is key to finding credible and experienced readers. Look for platforms with positive reviews, clear information about the readers' qualifications, and transparent pricing. Many reputable sites offer introductory discounts or free initial readings, allowing users to gauge the quality before committing financially.