#its far but my brain is panicking bc my boss is going on a short vacation and everything is blowing up

[royaletiquette]

Hi, I'm gonna be gone the second half of the month and immediately after my dog is gonna be going through upsetting treatment for a couple of months. So ya know, slow replies, slow dm's, we'll see how shit goes.

[dragonsareourfuture]

Mello/GN! Reader — Shower Thoughts

I’m reading the death note manga for the first time and I recently got to that part where Mello’s just kinda. Waitin’ outside the shower for Halle bc they cant talk anywhere else without being heard by bugs. I think its really funny but I couldn’t help but imagine that same scene happening with someone with a completely different personality. So have a small thing I wrote about it. Basically the reader likes to be annoying and uses humor to deflect from serious situations. I’m not self-projecting what do you mean.

“So.” You haven’t shut up since Mello pointed the gun to your head. It’s like he’s forced you to spit out an essay of the dumbest shit he’s ever heard and you were giving him material for an ‘A+’. He has no idea if this is your way of panicking during a stressful situation or if you just like to irritate him. He just knows he’s annoyed as all hell and has the power to silence you…but he wouldn’t do that. He needs you to get to Near. Unfortunately. “How was your day?”

His eyes bore into the sink, as if willing the faucet to start up and fill the room with water so he can drown. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“You’re right, you’re right. I guess that wasn’t the best question, huh? Sorry.”

Mello hums. He’s staying as still as he can. It’s not like he thinks that any movement will prompt you to talk again, but that’s what the paranoid part of his brain is telling him. Silence. He just needs a few moments of silence—

“Ah, shit! Soap in my eye! I got—ahhh fuck – I got soap in my eye…”

“Great. Think you can suffer any more quietly?”

“Wow. No sympathy.” You pout, and the tone in your voice is genuinely upset. Most likely because he’s not playing along and not because you’re so offended that he’s being cruel to a poor, soap-blinded person. “Gevanni wouldn’t treat me this way.”

“If he could hear you I’m sure he’d want to blow your brains out, too.”

You bark with laughter. Mello hears a soap bottle fall.

“Aren’t you so cute! I certainly don’t mind if you stay here a little longer, yellow Mello! We could build you a nice lil’ pillow fort in the bathtub.”

Mello’s rubbing his temples, letting out a labored sigh. He is legitimately getting a headache from you. He thought that was just something people claimed happens when they’re being dramatic but he is actually getting a headache. But again, he needs you. And you’ve been an incredible help thus far. Despite your mannerisms and attitude, you’re actually a pretty serious and loyal person when it counts. These are all things Mello tells himself as he’s counting down from one hundred – and old anger management trick that he was forced to learn back at Wammy’s. He has found that it has little effect.

“Hey,” you call, as if bothered by the short bout of silence in the room. “I’m- shit…I’m sorry, okay? I don’t like this situation either. But I guess…I’m trying to make it a little better?”

For once, you let only the patter of water on porcelain fill the room. He can almost hear your breathing, and it sounds calculated. Mello’s headache wains.

“Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say. He knows you mean well, he always has. “I appreciate the effort.”

Your relieved chuckle bounces off the walls. It’s a sound Mello is happy to hear.

“M’glad.” And he can tell you are, as the smile you wear can be heard in your voice. “I’ll be done in a minute, I promise. I just gotta wash my hair so I’ll give you a play by play of what I’m doing so you know just how ‘almost done’ I am.”

“(Name), please don’t—“

“I’m grabbing the conditioner.”

“I swear if you—“

“I’m squeezing some onto my hand.”

Mello can feel his headache creep back into his skull. “I literally have a gun and you’re gonna make me wanna—“

“I’m putting it on my hea-AHH!” your riveting narration is interrupted by a screech when Mello punches the shower curtain right next to your face. “JESUS!”

He goes to tell you off when his eyes flit to the bathroom mirror and his words are caught in his throat. The sight that greets him is different for two different reasons. The first reason makes the second reason even more curious. Firstly, Mello has learned to accept that his face will never look the same again. His eyes wander around his left side, trace the pattern of the scar melded into his flesh like a searing reminder of how he’ll always be stuck where he is, never progressing, never rising above. But the scar has more than mental drawbacks; it also limits the physical movements of his features. Its stiff, like stone has begun to creep over the expanse of his face. So why, then, was he just able to smile so effortlessly without even noticing?

As annoying as you are…you’re the most fun Mello’s had in a while.

“Alright, I’ll stop! I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, Yeah. Just hurry up.”

“Oh right, we’ve gotta deceive my boss in a few.”

Mello snorts at how nonchalantly you say it. “I doubt he isn’t aware of us already.”

“’Us’?”

“That we’ve been conspiring.”

“Oh, right,” you chirp happily, but a tense pause follows. “For a second you made it sound like…”

“Like what?”

“Pshh, I don’t know!” you do know. “Now I’m about to get out so look away or I’ll throw soap in your eyes.” Ah, changing the subject. A classic method of avoiding embarrassment and a tactic you’ve grown so used to using it’s practically an unconscious choice by now.

But luckily, Mello doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either. He instead focuses on your last sentence, responding by clicking his tongue against his teeth. “We’re both adults here.”

“I know that! I’m concerned that if you get a look at my godly self you won’t be able to control your adultly urges.”

“’Adultly’s not a word.”

You’re able stick your tongue out at him once you pop your head out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack.

“Taking the high road, I see.”

“Oh, shush. I never take the high road.” You flick water at Mello as you step out of the shower. “Alrighty. Time to go pretend to be a hostage while you threaten my boss. Oh, clothes first!”

“I’ll be here.”

After sending an affirming thumbs up, you exit the bathroom, a swirl of steam trailing behind you.

He’ll be here…It honestly is a shame he can’t stay here any longer. But it’d be suspicious. Near would find too many connections between the two of you. But…there are ways to avoid that happening.

Mello finds himself seriously considering the bathtub pillow fort idea.

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹embroidered hearts➹(ps4 peter parker x reader)

Requested by anon➝  hi! idk if you’re taking requests right now, but if you are, do you think you could write something for ps4 peter parker? maybe like a friends to lovers thing. thanks!

You just... really liked to disappear, huh? To vanish, slip from his fingers. Except that this time Peter found you, caught you before you left once again, which may have just been exactly what you needed.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: holy wowowow, this isn’t a false alarm, y’all-- i actually posted! i’m sososo happy i finally did, and i’m really sorry about how long it took me to do so. school drained all my motivation but exams just finished this friday so i decided to get this done once and for all. i’m shocked that i finally liked something i wrote this month, it’s progress (’: anyway, here’s something for 1 pretty boy whom i love very much, i hope the nonnie who requested it likes it! (: also i had a terrible allergy while editing this so if there are any mistakes pls know that it’s hard to write while sneezing every five seconds. hope this week is great for you bc u deserve it, ok, ily that’s it adios (last thing lol, expect some noir stuff next and that beter sequel eye emoji)

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes since you told him you were going to the bathroom with a wavering smile, and you were nowhere to be seen. Peter set his empty glass of water on the table for the third time— God, he experienced a déjà vu that left him stumped and everything, and as he watched the crystal liquid stream from the pitcher, he could also sense his bladder protesting against all the suffering he kept putting it through. Nonetheless, he simply thanked the waiter for the refill, or else he was sure that if he didn’t continue drowning himself, the disquiet abounding in his system as a result of your unknown whereabouts would strangle him with its unnerving claws. Perhaps the entrance dish bombarded your stomach (if so, then he hoped you were alright), or the toilet devoured you and swallowed you down the drain. Two-year-old him never trusted the porcelain seat, after all (it... was an actual fear of his, actually). However, past all those justifications and silly fears, he knew something wasn’t right, for there existed no chance you’d simply vanish just like that after the anxiety for tonight nearly eroding you alive, and you wouldn’t surrender an opportunity for a promotion... right?

He scanned the party room, through the many dresses and tuxedos either standing by still or swaying together, awkwardness raining over and staining his skin when he recalled he was the last remaining person in the table after everyone else retired to chat with other fancy people. He surely didn’t fit in that category, neither was he acquainted with anyone — he wasn’t even invited, for crying out loud, rather you were the reason for his attendance; still, you weren’t there. He considered possibly checking the bathroom to make sure you seriously hadn’t died, because you weren’t answering any of his calls and... oh, no.

Your boss walked on stage and tapped the microphone, a muffled thud reverberating through the speakers. “Good evening, everyone! I’m glad the night’s been such a lovely one, I hope you’re all having a great time.” The man — Peter couldn’t remember his name, honestly — spoke, a charismatic grin that paraded his astonishing dental care on his face. Though no alluring smile impeded Peter from panicking further or his limbs from driving him out of his chair and into the tight space in between a cluster of intimidating guests, looking identical to a little kid who couldn’t find his parents at the supermarket.

“Where are you, Y/N?” He muttered to himself, a question he’d reiterated in his head far too often for the past seven months. A haze of amazement and disbelief encompassed his brain when you called him to ask to come as his date— all he could do was blink, his throat clogged up and his heart so unbelieving as if you died and had risen from your tomb, but you might as well have and he wouldn’t have even known, because it’s what it seemed following such a tediously long time of dead silence, of not seeing that lopsided grin of yours, of nothing. It should’ve pushed him away, if anything, although how could it? How could his stunned little heart let you go after you’d embroidered yourself into it, sewn the threads, a perennial string that led back to you, the first day you met? And yet you still gripped it closely, unwilling to detach as he desperately dialed your number again, his stomach diving faster down to the Earth’s core whilst your boss’ speech went on and a high-pitched beep rang in his ear. ‘The person you have called is unavailable right now...’ Not a good sign. No, most definitely not.

“However, I’d like to invite on stage a person who we appreciate greatly in the company,” ‘The person you have called is un—’ Peter hung up, over that goddamn message that always appears to torment him, and grimaced as your boss studied the crowd with proud eyes. “Please, a big round of applause for Y/N Y/L/N!”

The room exploded with sophisticated cheering, but it declined gracelessly, the clapping stuttering, fully ceasing when the moments dragged on and no one entered the spotlight. The leader squinted, visibly distressed, brows perplexed as he leaned closer to the lady beside him. “Y/N... did make it tonight, correct?” He whispered too loudly, gossip escalating in the audience. Peter bit his lip, stepping back closer to the exit door until a rough hand clutched his sleeve. 

“Hey, you’re Y/L/N’s boyfriend, right?” An older man with fuming blue eyes and a bald spot questioned, spit flying but thankfully not anywhere near Peter who sputtered, chest warming up when his tongue failed him, became tangled in his mouth.

“Wha... n-no, we’re just friends—”

 “I don’t care. Listen, if that idiot is not here right now then I’m gonna be in deep shit.”

Peter’s brows furrowed with anger, “Hey, shut up, man— Y/N’s not an idiot.” He snapped, but the guy barely flinched and rolled his eyes as he let go of the taller young man. 

“Just do something!” He hissed, equally as bitter and prodding his chest before disappearing into the crowd.

Peter opened the double doors and sped down the hallway straight to the bathrooms with a sour mood; however, before he knocked, a figure outside the window captivated him and calmed his hammering heartbeat. It... couldn’t be you. Why would you be out there? He surveyed the area, and when he saw no sign of another person or any security cameras, he unfastened the window’s lock and slid it open.

Could he have gone outside like a normal human being? Yeah, sure, except that— first — where’s the fun in that, and second, he didn’t want to walk all the way to the other side of the building— it was an emergency, or at least that’s the excuse he’d use if anyone caught him as he landed softly on the grass. It was indeed you, he realized, sat on a bench, observing nothing in particular unless the building under construction across the street held any trace of beauty in your eyes. He stopped a few feet away from you, mouth twitching. “Is this seat taken?”

You almost jumped into space and out of orbit, your neck whipping around, large frightened eyes gradually lightening when they took him in. There it was. That lopsided grin, unchanging from when you were a sophomore in college apart from the darker under eye circles. And there was his own shy smile, too, accompanied by the blush that stained his face, like red wine spilled over a tablecloth. “Yes, actually, by my imaginary friend Pedro.” You patted the area beside you, on the supposed Pedro’s knee, and he sneaked his hands inside his blazer’s pockets, feigning disapproval.

“You exchanged me for a Pedro?”

“He’s a nice guy.” You giggled as he sat down next to you, your stare fixed on your lap. “Let me guess: I messed up the night and that’s why you’re looking for me.” You said, playfulness faltering and insecurity peeking its head in, and he noticed how it sculpted your expression and body language with its discouragement. 

“Not exactly, no. I was still going to look for you, but a jerk who called you an idiot really needed me to do so.” He grumbled, irritation returning as a combo along with remembrance of the incident. You didn’t reach, though; you solely raised your eyebrows, unruffled, your friend more afflicted albeit he wasn’t the one who was called an idiot. 

“A short guy that kinda looks like an odd mix between John Stamos and Danny Devito?” You queried. Peter rebuilt the man’s appearance in his head, and you had to laugh at his raw shock when he recognized the accuracy of your comparison. He... really did look like that, seriously, it’s the most bizarre combination you could think of. “Yeah, that’s Jonathan. We’re not exactly best pals.”

“I kinda figured that out, Stavito didn’t look so happy.” A smile flourished on his countenance as quickly as a match is set alight after you cackled, your hand flying up to your mouth to mute your laughter.

“Stavito? Man, now he’s gonna hate me even more because I’m never gonna stop using that one.” You shook your head, rubbing your crinkled eyes. He hummed, loosening his tie, wearing a crooked grin that you fathomed meant incoming pain for you—

“He’s gonna stab-ito you!”

Jesus Christ. You let out a drawn-out breath and picked up your legs, expression similar to a parent seeing their kid’s report card. “I hate you. This friendship’s on hold until further notice.”

“It was a great pun!”

“Was not.” You objected, although both of your bodies shook with hilarity. He looked at you, the moon painting silver strokes on your tranquil frame, the delight in him for just being by your side too much that his stare lingered; though not for long, for your attention strayed up to him and his eyes immediately shifted down to his hands, his leg restless, bustling.

“Why are you out here? We could’ve left if that’s what you wanted.” He said, brows knitted. You changed to a cross-legged position, rolling your lips.

“I originally was just going to take a five-minute stroll, but once I sat down here, I just couldn’t go back inside.” You confessed, shrugging. Gloom reemerged, drooping the corners of your lips, striking a spike of ice in your gut— the frost trickled up and down your body, goosebumps of sorrow growing over your skin. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible friend. Jonathan’s right: I am an idiot.” You whispered.

He held in his breath, blank on what to say. “Why would you think that?”

You snorted, expression unamused. “They’re facts, Pete. Good friends don’t just… fall off the face of Earth without a warning.”

“I’m… sure you had your reasons.”

“They weren’t good reasons, though. I should’ve at least told you something. But I bet it was nice to get a break from me, huh?” You joked, hurt and self-doubt seeping through your voice.

He frowned, immediately denying with his head. “Why would I want to get a break from you? Y/N, we don’t even get to see each other that much. If anything, I…” He halted, gulping. “I-I want to see you more.” He admitted quietly.

Your bewilderment was dim but still present as you ran your hand up and down your arm. “You’re dumb. You could spend your time with people who are actually great but you want to spend it with me.”

“Yeah, well, if I am dumb so what? I still wouldn’t change my mind.” He argued, a line in between his brows. You sighed, sliding down the metal seat, your eyes shut as you tilted your head back. 

“Peter, stop, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, though. I mean, yeah, it… it hurt a bit,” Peter raised one shoulder, aware that it hurt more than just ‘a bit’. “I thought you decided to break contact, but it’s okay, really.”

“Give yourself some love, it’s not okay that I hurt you like that.” You momentarily put your hand on his, repentance etched on your features. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“We’re talking again, though, that’s all that matters.” He brushed you off, raising up to his feet. The guilt still held you, played with you like a doll, but the reassuring quirk of the corner of his mouth somewhat relieved it. “We should go back inside, don’t want you catching a cold or Stavito getting fired.”

“He’s not gonna get fired, he’s just way too over dramatic.” You grunted, showing your clear distaste for the John Stamos and Danny Devito love child. Peter lent out his hand but you blinked at it, chuckling uncomfortably. “Don’t you rather stay out a bit more? The sky looks great tonight— I can see a few more stars than usual.” You pointed at the dark blanket of nebulae and astral bodies. He glanced up, close to dropping to the ground to inspect the night sky until he heard the stifled music from the party.

“We can stargaze once the event’s over.” He promised, gesturing with his head to the building. It was then when he distinguished the dread in your eyes.

“...Are you sure you don’t want to do it now? What if it gets too cloudy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is everything alright? Why don’t you want to go back in there?”

You tried to utter another excuse, but you couldn’t. The ire at yourself made your hands tremble, set your mouth in a hard line as you were incapable of looking right at him, the humiliation far too much.

“I hate my job.”

Peter sat back down, staring at you, his expression sad. “You know, I spent the entirety of high school and started college with this idea of what I wanted my future to be like. But now that I did it, now that I’m actually there, I’m so… bored with everything. I don’t know what to do. Like, what am I supposed to do now? Go to work and what else? Because if that’s all there is to my life, I don’t know why I should even bother with it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Peter what am I doing?” You scoffed, scowling. “Look at me: what the hell am I bringing to the world? You’ve got FEAST, and just got that job with Otto Octavius— you’re… so amazing and will do so many great things. The world needs you. I need you. We all do.” You mumbled, voice breaking.

His sight gravitated down to your lonely hand that rested so near to his, that had the string running from his heart encircled around its ring finger, beckoning him closer. His fingers reached out slowly, hesitantly, with great fear. But he wound up grazing your hand, and then he fully wrapped his own around it— around the artist that sewed a handiwork of untouchable adoration into him. “But what if I...” He began, struggling to come clean. “What if I...” He saw your anticipating gaze.

“I need you, too.” He whispered.

Your view averted down to your linked hands and then up at the boy unknowing that he, just like you had to him, had tailored a piece of himself in you long ago. You hugged him. Crumbled, snuggled deep into him, allowing yourself to accept that hand reaching out to you, to surrender to comfort. He hugged you back with as much gentleness and warmth, his chin on top of your head. “You should give yourself some love, too.” He murmured and you let out air through your nose, agreeing with him. “You’ll find your way because you’re incredible, alright? I just wish you could see that.”

Seven months weren’t eons, Peter acknowledged, but perhaps they could be; perhaps they were enough to view everything differently, past that veil that cloaked his eyes, past the doubt and uncertainty, because there was something distinctive in your familiar smile when you pulled away. Something unusual as you sat straight, your eyes drifting sideways to him. “I guess we can help each other with that self-love thing.” You suggested.

He got the hint in your voice, and all of a sudden, he figured out what that something was; but he didn’t want to accept the truth that crashed against him when he realized that it wasn’t new. No, it’d been there all along.

He could try to believe.

“Maybe we could, uh, we could go out for dinner some… some time. Get started with some good food, y’know…” His tone was quiet and he couldn’t have resembled better a nervous teenage boy asking his crush to dance on prom night as he wrinkled his nose in embarrassment.

You faked a cynical expression, despite already knowing the answer in your soul. “Some time?”

“Or never, if that’s what you prefer.” He laughed tensely, his eyes growing wide when he turned his head and cursed at himself internally. You smiled to yourself, moving a strand of hair out of your face.

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight? Like…” He checked his wristband, only to remember it wasn’t a watch. “...tonight? What about the event—”

“Forget the event,” You stood up, and now you were the one stretching out your hand to him. “C’mon, let’s look for some restaurants because why not, am I right?”

Peter clutched your hand, the contentment a welcomed compensation for all those months of not seeing you.

“Yeah, why not?”