#just a lot of swears and insults painted on their wall

[symbioteburnout]

Pirate​:

         “ There are choices but have you ever defaced a superhero headquarters before? ”

“I’ve tagged some mob boss’ house, but other than that, no.”

[bittsandpieces]

Only one person asked but that's all I need, so: here's my little excerpt from one of my writing pet projects! Content warnings for: fictional depictions of incest between brothers, offscreen homophobia, and uhhhh silly names

Some info on the setting and characters! The Cobbler family, parents Lisa and Jeff Cobbler, and their nine kids, from age 7 to 26, all named after types of cobbler dessert (their mother is... an eccentric powerhouse). This excerpt centers on two of the older set of triplets, fraternal brothers Blackberry and Strawberry, who are 21 years old and in their junior year at the same local university. Rumors have been flying and things come to a head.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, breath rushing warm and humid across my cheek. I laughed, just a little bit.

“I’m okay, I promise. Are you?”

“Strawberry, I’m not the one who got in a fist fight ten minutes ago, I’m fine!”

I smiled at him, feeling my face protest loudly. “I did, didn’t I. I got into a fist fight, Bick!”

The anger in his eyes softened, and was replaced by a questioning look. “What they were saying, Berry, was it true?” Flashes of audio came through my mind. Queer, I think they had been saying. Like it was an insult. I might have said it the same way, once.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Though it seems like they might have figured it out before I did. Funny, how shit happens, huh bro?”

We were standing close to one another, still in the entry to Blueberry’s dorm room, dusk-blue light filtering through the curtains, just barely. I made a move to step back, to give him some space, but he grabbed my arm, searching my face for something.

I don’t know if he found it. I don’t even know what he was looking for. But I do know that the light coming into the room made him look like some kind of painting come to life, and that his eyes were shining, and I swear I’d never seen something so damn beautiful as he was in that moment.

“Yeah,” I repeated, dumbly, ”it’s true.”

And the moment that had stretched thin in the air snapped, just like that.

He pushed away from me, off of the entry wall, and began pacing across his room. He was mumbling, I realized, agitated in a way I had rarely seen him.

“Bick…” I started, but he didn’t let me finish.

“NO, Strawberry. No, no, no, no, don’t you even talk to me right now. I never should have- this is all my- UGH. If I had just kept my fucking mouth shut, none of this would have- fuck, who told you? Was it David? It has to have been David, there’s nobody- oh my god, I trusted him-”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me with something that I almost thought was, was fear, but that didn’t make any sense, why would he be afraid. Was he afraid of me?

And my brain caught up with his words, finally.

“Who told me what?”

I’d never seen my brother look so defeated.

“That I’m in love with you, Strawberry.” He laughed, a little, but it sounded a lot more like grief than joy. “I’m in love with you, and you’re going to hate me, and I’m going to be known as the guy who couldn’t maintain a goddamn relationship because he wanted to fuck his own brother. God. God, what have I done.”

Oh.

OH.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I saw him like I’d never seen him before, in that moment. Like I’d always seen him. Pacing again, pulling at his dark hair, a silhouette against the fading evening light through the windows.

My brother. My triplet. My favorite person. My life.

I stepped towards him, stopping his pacing with just one touch. He whirled towards me, tears in his panicked eyes, his mouth open just a bit, breathing heavily from his panic.

I took his face in my palms, feeling the beginnings of stubble catch on my skin. I stared into his eyes, seeing his hands hovering in my periphery, halting in mid-air, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t know if he could.

“Blackberry Mint Cobbler.” 

He flinched, just the tiniest bit, and I almost lost my nerve in the face of his fear of my reaction. I pushed on.

“I have never hated you, not one second of my life, not even in sixth grade when I said I did because you gave my lunch to Rebecca Simmons. I don’t hate you now, and nothing you could ever do would make me love you any less than I already do.”

His face screwed up on a shaky inhale, and I was helpless as I leaned my forehead in to meet his. 

“I’m not good at words, Bick, you know I’m not, but for you, I’m gonna try. I love you. I have a list in my head of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and three quarters of it are mental pictures of you.”

His knees began to buckle, and I pressed him to the wall with just my body, refusing to let go of his face or let him fall. He made some kind of sound when I did, some mewling exhale, eyes sliding closed, and I decided in that moment that I would do anything to hear it again, for the rest of my life.

“I know I’m slow on the uptake sometimes, and I think maybe I’ve made you wait for me to get it for far longer than you deserve, but if what you said is true, if you love me. If you want me. Then… then I’m here. I’m here Bick.”

I felt tears running down my cheeks, felt my brother’s tears on my fingertips.

We always did match each other in the ways that counted.

He exhaled, that sound that he made when we were nine and he fell off of his bike down the street from our house slipping out from his lips. When I had gone to him, limping over, restricted by my knee brace from when I had torn a ligament a few months earlier. “Hey Bick, don’t cry,” I had said, pointing to my knee, “we match now!” He had made that sound, like I was being ridiculous or maybe incredible. I never found out which.

He spoke, and I came back to myself.

“What are you doing, Shortcake?” he asked me sadly, like he had resigned himself to his fate without ever asking me, using my oldest nickname, like he was trying to remind me who I was talking to. He pulled back, making me meet his eyes again, though our bodies were still pressed tightly to one another against the wall. I didn’t think he could stand right now, and I wasn’t about to risk him falling.

I thought about his question, moving one hand to trace over his brow, pressing out the tension, though it returned immediately. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head, displacing my hands momentarily, tensing up again.

“No, no, Strawberry, you’ll hate me,” he said, tears in his voice.

I pressed against him just a bit more, an idea forming in my mind. He inhaled sharply.

“You already told me so much, Blackberry, what’s one more thing?” My tone was cajoling, almost demanding. “I’ll even help you.” He looked at me, like he had never seen me before. To be honest, I hadn’t ever seen this side of me either. It felt dangerous, almost, but right. Like right now, in this moment, this was who I needed to be. Who he needed me to be.

“It’s okay, brother. Just repeat after me.”

I saw a flush begin on his cheeks, different than the one he got from crying. One I hadn’t seen before. In that moment, I felt him twitch against me, and knew that what I saw was arousal.

“I,” I began.

“.....I-I,” he echoed me.

“Want you to.”

“W-want you to.”

I smiled, feeling a new edge to it. Predatory, I thought.

“It’s your turn, Bick. Tell me what you want.”

He closed his eyes, clearly fighting himself.

And I saw the exact moment he gave in.

He opened his eyes once more, meeting mine, scared and fierce, beautiful and messy. He spoke.

“Kiss me.”

----

I pressed against him, burning hot, pressing my lips to his, remembering everything he had ever told me he liked. I kissed him, and felt him shake, and knew that I would do anything for him, that I would take on the fucking universe for the man against me, kissing me like he thought I might disappear at any second.

I pulled away, panting, and got to watch his eyes flutter open, dark with want in the rapidly fading light.

“Tell me, big brother,” I said, rolling my hips into his, “does this feel like hate to you?”

His eyes rolled back, and then suddenly, he pushed me. I stumbled back a step, ready to catch him if he ran, ready to ask what the hell he was doing, but he was dropping.

To his knees.

I looked down, and I saw my brother press his mouth against my jeans. My hand went to his hair, his hands to my thighs, and when my hand tightened on accident, he fucking made  this sound- like a whine, and pulled harder against my fingers. 

And my vision blacked out.

When I came back, ears ringing, I had pushed his head against the wall, and my cock to his mouth, harder than I had ever been, painfully constricted in my jeans. I made to pull back, worried I had hurt him, but the moment I moved he reeled me back in by my thighs, trying to get a hand between us to open my jeans without moving his mouth.

I was helpless to stop him, to help him, to do anything but stand there, shaking, my triplet whining on his knees, struggling with my zipper before giving up and yanking my pants down, my underwear going with them.

He crowed a wordless victory, and cut himself off by shoving my cock in his mouth, down his throat, gagging and pushing through it, and my mind shut off, and I pushed further in, and he moaned on my cock, and I came.

My hand yanked him onto my cock by his hair, as heat tore me apart from the inside out, and as I began to come down, I realized what I had done, and I pulled back, out of his mouth, afraid I had hurt him.

I dropped, wincing as my knees hit the floor in front of him, cock out, still half hard, hands in his hair, and I met his teary eyes as I said his name.

“Blackberry…” I said, and my voice was deeper than it had ever been, and he keened wordlessly at me, jerked his hips forward, and came, without a single touch. He shuddered, his body tensing, shaking, never looking away from me. I could have cried with how beautiful, how fucking hot it was. Maybe I did.

He collapsed forward into me, and I twisted to get my back against the bed frame, and dragged my exhausted brother into my lap, curling us into each other in a strange mirror of how we had been in out mother’s womb, so long ago.

----

We didn’t talk, that night. Eventually, when we had both stopped shuddering, I pressed a kiss to his hair, and scooted him off of me, helping him up. We made our way to the bathrooms, co-opting the one private shower, uncaring if anyone were to see us entering or leaving.

The halls were empty, but still, we didn’t speak. We just got there, locked the door, and began peeling each other’s clothes off, slowly and carefully. I turned on the shower, and when I turned back, he was there.

I mean, obviously he was there, we went in together and there was no one else around, but. He was there. My brother was there and he was naked and his cock was beautiful and smeared with come, with his come, and I did that, I made him come, and before I even knew I was moving I had stepped to him and kissed him, reverently, softly, trying to say everything in one kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, I took his hand, and led him into the shower, which definitely wasn’t made for two people, much less two 6’4��� athletes. It was perfect.

[confuzzled-crow77]

Brian Kelly Headcanon Compilation

Hello, mostly dead fandom! Yes, tis I, someone who can't skateboard and who was decades yet to be born obsessing over a skateboard movie from 1989! This is a bunch of headcanons about Brian Kelly, the peak of gender envy from Gleaming the Cube; I'll probably either make another post of more because this dude does not get enough attention (J.D. can fck off-). If you get different vibes or disagree, please give reasoning because I love seeing that, and I really hope that I characterized him correctly because I love him so much. Gosh, okay, I'm done.

Hogwarts House: the one might be a bit of a given - Gryffindor! He continuously shows how brave (rushing into danger to save Tina), stubborn (ignoring a police officer’s dismissal and investigating more), adventurous (looking for dry pools to skate in; plus, breaking into a storage center has to be a result of adventurousness in some part), foolhardy (jumping out of a car, blowing up a propane tank, crashing through a glass wall), and trusting (knowing his friends will come) he is. He’s bold, he’s playful, and he doesn’t give a shit about any rules except justice. He’s reckless, he’s an upstart, and by God is he a Gryffindor. (Hufflepuff - yes, he’s loyal, but he’s not patient; Ravenclaw - yes, he notices things, but he’s not wise; Slytherin - yes, he’s resourceful, but he’s not ambitious) Note: this is not meant to insult anybody; these are generally very stereotypical traits, so if you are a Gryffindor or any of the other Houses and don’t act like Brian, that’s understandable. Also, if you have another opinion, please let me know! 

Swearing (Part-Canon): he never swears around his parents unless he’s extremely ticked off at them, which is usually in some kind of heated argument or when they’re scolding him. He mumbles curses under his breath when he’s losing at chess against Vinh, but other than that, doesn’t around him. He swears a lot more around his friends; not as much as some of them, and he’s not one to cuss somebody out derogatorily. Instead, he swears when he’s frustrated about not getting a trick right, or excited and whooping, or comforting a friend (“Forget those fuckers.”) 

Percy Jackson Cabin: for this one, I was torn between Ares (Cabin 5) - Brian rushes into a gun fight, knocks the villain’s gun out of his hand with a skateboard, refuses to give up his fight, and picks a fight with a police officer; plus, stereotypically, Gryffindors and Ares kids overlap a lot. But Hermes (Cabin 11) shows a lot of Brian as well, since he’s always going somewhere on his skateboard - Hermes is the god of travelers and roads - and he knew to evade the motion sensor and tricked the guards to go inside a trailer - Hermes is also the god of cunning. I’m going to say that Brian Kelly is a Child of Ares, since his brash and courageous nature dictates the story, and a Legacy of Hermes, since his traits from that god more moves it along. 

Doodler or Writer? I think that Brian is a visual person, and loves to doodle. His homework and notes in class are filled with more doodles than answers, and he likes to customize his clothes, skateboard, and shoes, either with pins or patches or dying/painting. 

How do they Hold up in Pillow Wars? Are you kidding me? He’s the instigator, and he’s the winner. The only time he loses against Vinh is when either accidentally crashes the chess table, scattering pieces everywhere and upsetting Vinh; Brian helps him clean it up and try to remember where the pieces all were (with minimal fake remembering by Brian), and he declares it a tie. Brian is the kind of person to steal two and try to use his weight to smother his mortal enemy with them, while Vinh would just panic and start whacking him in the face (ah, brothers). 

How he feels about people taller/shorter than him: alright, so I can’t exactly Google how tall Brian’s actor, Christian Slater, was in 1989, so let’s just say he hasn’t shrunk or grown in thirty-four years and is 5 '9. That’s average on the dot, but a good handful of his friends are taller than him (*looks at Tony Hawk*); that being said, he usually doesn’t mind it, since they’re there to skate. He does mind some, however, when people who are looking down on him are literally looking down on him (Officer Trac); when that’s the situation, he either subconsciously gets onto something like a wall or bench, leans back to show he’s unbothered, or gets in their face (all of these are nodded to). For people shorter than him, he’s not a jerk about it, unless they’re a close friend; then, only when they’re both comfortable, he’ll do the “searching around for who’s speaking” thing but stop when his friend rolls their eyes. 

Do they Like being in Pictures? It depends. Brian hates staged photos, like with family where his parents are fixing his posture he thinks is fine and messing around with his hair and making him sit closer to Vinh when they’re already knocking heads together. When he’s around his friends and one of them is going around with a video cam, he’ll put on his shades and pose; it just feels more natural to him, like he has something to smile about instead of forcing it onto his face. 

Not a headcanon; just a little personal tidbit. I associate the song, “18” by Anarbor with him because of an edit I saw that prompted me to watch the movie. With zero joking involved, I listened to the song at least forty times in two days because I was either eager to watch the movie when I got back from school, or obsessed the next day. I keep seeing it on J.D. (from Heathers) playlists, and I- it’s Brian Kelly’s song! (Just kidding, it can be both of their songs)

Spirit Animal: he gives me American Goshawk vibes. Supreme aerial agility, symbolism in courage, and they can be aggressive. Plus, with his frosted-tips hair, he has the feeling of a bird; I hope this makes sense. 

Love Language (Canon Headcanon): quality time. From skating with his friends, to playing chess with Vinh, to hanging in the man cave, to dropping by in the fair-thing to see Tina, to getting her Coke and talking (which didn’t go extremely well), quality time is his love language. He likes to kidnap- I mean, forcefully invite his friends all the time to go skating, and also secretly map his way into abandoned buildings that would make wicked skating rinks, taking his friends there a few days later. 

MBTI Type: ENTP-A

What Time of Day he is: mid-morning (9-12). He’s outgoing and carefree, and perhaps it’s my sickness of waking up at six in the morning, but he’s the blazing sun that's still rising on a day, but not in the early morning where you wish the sun would disappear so you didn’t have to get up. 

Does he cross his legs or ankles when they sit? He'd manspread for the most part, or stick his legs out far enough to trip people and then cross his ankles. (Or perhaps sit like a gremlin, with one leg up on the seat and hugged to his chest while doodling on his homework and absolutely, completely paying attention to his teacher)

Truth or Dare? Dare, all the way; especially, around his friends, since their idea of a dare is a fancy trick on a skateboard or eating something weird. 

[kimarisgundam]

I said "I know Judo b*tch" cos my friends were meta gaming and saying stuff like "Oh no she's going to die 😰" and "we have to reach her! She's defenceless 😰"...

My point was, my character isn't defenseless. Yeah, I have the lowest Body stat, but I'm not defenseless without my hacks >_>... it's insulting when you guys act like I can't save myself >_>...

But our DM thought this was really funny... so she canonised this as my Netrunner yelling "I know Judo b*tch" at a Militech agent before judo throwing him...

My Netrunner rarely swears (she was raised to behave like a "lady"), so now Rockerboy and Exec are side eyeing her >_>

I ended up saving myself btw. So I don't know why my friends think my character needs protecting 🙄

Like seriously. My friends' characters are all gonks. If I want something done, I got to do it myself 🙄

They should know by now that my Netrunner acts weak and defenceless just to get people to do the heavy lifting for her. I would have installed monowires if I wasn't capable of using them 🙄

^ I kinda want to say that everything is OK now... but my Netrunner got into a serious argument with our Rockerboy again

(and I guess me and my friend don't see eye to eye irl too)

The evidence of Militech's bribe and footage of NCPD torturing Rockerboy and his bandmate NPC is with my Netrunner and our Media

My Netrunner has a NPC friend that she's close with. They were friends since Arasaka Academy. This friend has a high rank in NCPD and was the one who created the distraction that let my Netrunner escape

He wants her to delete the evidence of the bribe and of what his colleagues did to Rockerboy cos:

This is a PR nightmare cos of Rockerboy's popularity... and he doesn't want to deal with this

The bribe was from Militech. He doesn't want to create tension between NCPD and Arasaka

It's not like NCPD as a whole took the bribe. I was just a few officers. He will deal with them internally for causing me trouble

He admits he takes bribes too, and he admits there's a lot of bad blood between him and Rockerboy... but he backed off every since he found out I'm friends with Rockerboy. So can't I return the favour?

Exposing NCPD is bad for Rockerboy too. A lot of the officers already hate him. If he creates more trouble for them, he's just painting a bigger target on his back

I covered up for Rockerboy everytime he messes with Militech. But Militech isn't dumb, they know it's Rockerboy. Exposing Militech publicly like this is just going to make them angrier

I... I guess I agree with all of my NPC friend's points. That's why I don't want to hand over the evidence to Rockerboy

Our part-time party member also agrees with my irl, and as his Media. Exposing this will do more harm than good

^ Plus Media is aware of my Netrunner's reputation. He views her as a valuable "resource" so he's more inclined to side with her

Now it's my Netrunner, Exec, and Media Vs Rockerboy, and both solos... Wraith wants to stay out of this argument cos he's just Exec's huscle

My friend is mad at me cos she ships our characters together and she feels my Netrunner never reciprocates anything he does for her

And I'm mad at my friend cos how many times do I have to say it's impossible between them. And wtf do you mean she doesn't reciprocate? Who do you think she left Arasaka and her dad for? She left Arasaka cos she chose his life over her duty >:U

I literally chose this friendship over my bio dad and brother >:T

This isn't about her friend. It's about not doing things to provoke Militech any further. There's already a target on his head. He made so many powerful enemies. Can he just stop and listen for once?? I feel like my Netrunner is arguing with a wall

[theteasetwrites]

Father's Day

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: during Season 9 time jump (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: references to child abuse, swearing, touch of angst with sweet happy fluffy ending ❧ Word Count: 4.4k

❧ Summary: It's Father's Day in Alexandria, but it brings bad memories to the forefront for Daryl, leading his daughter to wonder why Father's Day is so emotional for her dad.

❧ A/N: This oneshot takes place in The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning universe! So we got Robin and the gang (the gang being Daryl and his wife who he's a simp for). Fair warning, Daryl is a little grumpy in this oneshot, but there's a lot of angst and fluff and sweet/bittersweet moments. Also Aaron is Reader's brother, btw.

It was always the third Sunday of June, the day everyone decided would be dubbed the day to celebrate their fathers. Like Mother’s Day, it was one of the few holidays that had wormed its way into the small cultural microcosm of Alexandria. 

Daryl never liked the day, not even before he became a father. He hated the stinging reminder of how his father had treated him, how long he spent cowering in the shadow of a man who was supposed to protect him, but only hurt him. It was insulting, he thought, having to devote a whole day to celebrating someone who was more of a monster than a father to him. For a long time, he was resentful of anyone who’d had the luxury of having a good father. Why should they be so lucky, while a young boy’s back faced the wrath of his father’s cowhide belt for the third time that week? 

Father’s Day, he thought. What a load of bullshit. 

And then he saw that face.

“Daddy,” was her first word. 

Her colorful Crayon drawings and whimsical watercolor paintings were pinned proudly to the bulletin board in his garage. 

More than once she had requested her father to read her bedtime story instead of you, much to your ever so slight annoyance with how effortlessly Daryl won the child’s heart. 

He proudly wore his crudely painted toenails, coated in a thick layer of bubblegum pink nail polish. He even let her do his fingernails on occasion, though he would have to mentally prepare himself for the side-eyes and cheeky smirks he’d surely receive from Aaron.

Fatherhood wasn’t in the cards for most of his life. In fact, he was sure he wouldn’t be a father at all if he hadn’t met you, the only person he could even consider having a child with. As much as he loved his role, his duty of being a father and husband, there were days like today. Especially today, Father’s Day. 

Days like today, he couldn’t bring himself to smile, couldn’t say much of anything to anyone without losing his temper, couldn’t even bear to look you or his four-year-old daughter in the eye. It was the same every year, though he’d always been good at hiding it. This year, something just seemed off. He woke up earlier than usual, careful not to disturb you in your deep sleep. His mind was restless, like a spinning top without any signs of stopping in the foreseeable future. 

As always, he attempted to tinker with his bike in the garage until the sun came up, hoping it would help free up some of the congested space in his head, preparing him for the mentally taxing day ahead. When that didn’t work, he met the early morning sun outside, taking in the fresh air of the mid-June breeze contained within the high, sturdy walls of Alexandria. 

In an attempt to maintain your pink rose bushes lining the front porch, he pruned the dead heads and fetched a rationed pail of harvested rain water to drench their roots, but the thorns on those bastards were sharp, and Daryl never wore gardening gloves, despite how many times you told him to.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath, jerking his hand back as the garden shears thudded onto the wet soil below. He’d had so much worse than a little thorn from a rose bush poking a sliver into his skin, but man, did it hurt. 

That was only the beginning of his problems today, and with Daryl, one little thing could set the mood for the next twelve hours. 

Retreating back into the house, he kicked off his shoes with a grunt and nearly tripped over Dog’s chew toy. He growled and kicked the rubber bone with a squeak, then trudged into the living room to look upon the face of a little girl, eyes alight with excitement as she scrambled off the couch to leap towards her father.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!”

He didn’t feel like smiling, not at all, but he did. What kinda father am I? he asked himself, ashamed that it took so much energy just to lift the corners of his mouth enough to elicit a small smile for his pride and joy. 

“Thanks, little bird,” he rasped quietly, patting the child’s back as she hugged him. 

“Are we still going to have a picnic?” she asked. “Mommy made sandwiches.”

Of course she did. Despite his insistence that he didn’t need anyone to celebrate Father’s Day for him, you always somehow found a way to make the entire day about him. Still, Robin was eager to have a picnic with her father, and who was he to say no to the bearer of such a sweet face? 

“Sure,” he said. “Why don’t ya go get dressed and I’ll get the basket ready, yeah?”

She nodded eagerly, then tugged on Daryl’s hand to lean him down until she could bestow a kiss on his cheek. “Okie dokie artichokie!” she giggled, then nearly face planted on the first step of the stairs in her excitement. 

“Careful!” he called out, though in her quickness, she had already made it up several more steps. He shook his head, watching the excitable child’s legs flail with each step. “Crazy kid.”

Crossing into the kitchen, he met another familiar face—you, his wife, the woman with a master plan to make today Daryl’s day. Indeed, you had already packed the picnic basket, filled to the brim with sandwiches, casserole, salad, and assorted fruits: strawberries for you, peaches for Daryl, and blackberries for Robin. You even snuck a few treats for Dog, since he’d become a member of your family in his own right ever since Daryl brought the puppy home a year ago.

“You been busy,” he huffed, crossing the kitchen to tear a paper towel from the roll in an attempt to wipe the dried blood from his hand. “Plannin’ my day for me, as usual?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, wrapping the last sandwich in its tin foil. “If I didn’t, you’d just let Father’s Day pass without a second thought.”

Oh, he thought about it. He’d been thinking about it all week. He’d been dreading it. Part of Father’s Day was fine, joyous, even. He could spend all day basking in the merriment of being a father, having a doting wife, raising a sweet child, providing for a happy family… The whole image of an “American dream,” as they used to say, back when that kind of thing used to really matter. 

That was all well and good, and he spent most days of the year relishing his position, but then there was this… haunting feeling. 

He always tried not to think too much about fatherhood, lest he find himself reliving the chaos of his own childhood, inflicted by his own father. Tried as he might, he couldn’t shake it, and on days like this, when the whole point was to celebrate fathers, he struggled to forget. 

“Just another day,” he said, pulling the jug of fresh milk from the refrigerator. “Ain’t gotta do nothin’ special.”

You huffed and turned to face him, arms folded and eyebrows furrowed as you studied him. “You’re a father,” you said. “You deserve a special day. Besides, Robin’s been begging to go on a picnic…”

You trailed off, noticing something off that was different than usual. Father’s Day was never his favorite day, but it hadn’t been so bad that he couldn’t look at you. Every morning, he’d look at you, meeting your gaze and kissing you almost as soon as he saw you. Rarely did that routine change, and Daryl was a man of routine, through and through. 

Now, he simply had his back to you, shoulders slouched forward as he tried to make himself small, pouring his glass of milk all the while.

“…Daryl…” 

“Hm?”

“You feeling all right, hon?”

“Fine,” he said brusquely, replacing the milk with a thud and throwing the refrigerator door to a close. “Jus’ tired.”

It was unspoken knowledge that “tired” was Daryl’s term for “something’s wrong.” 

“Daryl,” you sighed. “Look at me.”

He let out a deep huff, and you knew then that you were poking the bear. “Told ya I’m fine.”

That sent you straight into your stern voice, the same one you used to scold Robin when she had one of her rare tantrums, though that was only about twice a year. 

“Daryl Dixon, turn around and look at me,” you said. 

It took him a few moments of huffing and puffing to do so, but he did turn around, and slowly raised his eyes until they met yours. Perhaps someone who didn’t know him as long as you did couldn’t see it, but you could. He was hurting. You could tell by how his pupils couldn’t focus in one place, how they flitted about in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact, but your eyes were hard to ignore. 

“Hey,” you said, “what’s wrong?”

Of course, you knew what was wrong. It wasn’t that hard to understand, even if he hadn’t been this bad the years before. Perhaps it finally started to catch up with him. Maybe he thought about his father more lately, as Robin was nearing the age when his mother died, around the time his father began to beat him. Whatever the reason, you knew what it was, so you saved him from having to say anything. His pride, or lack thereof, wouldn’t have it.

“Are you thinking about him?” you asked softly, trying to be as sensitive as possible, even though you couldn’t begin to understand how he felt. Your father was a great man. He didn’t leave any trauma for you to unpack, no scars to mar your skin, no cigarette burns on your memory. “Are you thinking about your father?”

He closed off—his favorite defense mechanism. After all, he felt small today, weak and vulnerable, so how else was he to act? He went on the offense, puffing up his chest and narrowing his eyes at you until you felt like you were being squeezed into a jelly. Oh no. You struck a nerve.

“The hell does it matter?” he asked, voice grittier than sandpaper and rising in volume, much higher than it needed to be for the quiet midmorning hour. “You a therapist now or somethin’?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m just… I know you, Daryl. And I know sometimes it’s hard for you to be reminded of him, so I—”

“Goddamnit, woman!” he barked suddenly, causing you to flinch and grip the kitchen counter behind you. “I didn’t ask ya to bring that up. Why you always gotta… gotta analyze me?” He gestured to his head accordingly. “It’s always about my dad, huh? Yeah, I had a shitty dad so now I got… I got daddy issues or somethin’, right?”

You shook your head, frowning at his reddened face. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinkin’ it,” he replied. “Christ, woman, ain’t my damn fault I’m like this… Ain’t—ain’t like everyone got a perfect life like you did. Didn’t have the best dad in the whole goddamn world, so sorry if I ain’t exactly peachy!”

That was just about as much of Daryl’s irrational anger that you could take. “Oh, that’s a bunch of bullshit, Daryl! And you know it! I know Father’s Day is hard for you, but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be an asshole!”

“Oh, I’m bein’ an asshole?” he asked, pointing to himself to clarify. “Well, shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Sorry I ain’t goddamn Mike Brady. Sorry I ain’t fuckin’ perfect!”

“Would you stop?!”

“Sorry I ain’t—”

“Why are you guys yelling?” 

Robin’s small but clear words cut through Daryl’s much more powerful voice, forcing him to step back and take a deep breath, realizing how much he had lost control over just the smallest mention of his father. 

“H-hey,” he rasped. “You ready to go?”

She looked wide-eyed between the two of you, as if asking for permission from you to answer. “Why don’t you two go without me,” you said, a small quiver in your voice. “I’m… I’m not hungry. You two go on. I labeled your sandwiches.”

“(Y/N),” he began to say, but you quickly cut him off, shoving the heavy picnic basket against his chest and forcing him to grab it before it fell. 

“Take the dog with you,” you said sternly, trying to hold back your tears. It was hard, though. You had always been sensitive to yelling, a bit of a crybaby, if you will, but Daryl yelling at you? That made you more breakable than eggshell, and as much as you wanted to spend the day with him and Robin, you now couldn’t bear to look at him. Even if you did, his face would’ve been clouded by your tears. 

“You’re not coming, Momma?” asked Robin. 

“No, sweet pea,” you said with a sniffle, hoping she didn’t notice your crying. “You go have a day with Daddy.”

“(Y/N)—”

“Just go.”

Walking towards the pond in the center of town, one hand holding Robin’s, the other carrying the picnic basket, Daryl eyed a spot in the shade of an oak tree. Robin insisted upon carrying the picnic blanket, and tried her hand at laying it out on the grass, though Daryl had to help her straighten it out, his worn out knees feeling like they were about to shatter underneath him. 

Dog laid himself straight away on the corner of the blanket, dutifully watching as Daryl unpacked the hefty basket. Each item of food had been lovingly prepared, with your handwriting etched on an array of pastel colored sticky notes identifying each thing. He handed Robin her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then pulled everything else out until he reached the bottom of the basket, where a lone sheet of paper sat folded in half with Daryl’s name written in dainty cursive writing. 

Great, he thought, knowing whatever you had written was going to make his heart shatter even more than it already had when he saw the first tear trickle down your cheek as he and Robin went out the door. He knew you well enough to know you were probably sobbing into a throw pillow on the couch in the living room by now, and he felt terrible. 

Still, he swallowed his pride and opened the handmade card. You were never much of an artist, but inside were a myriad of hearts drawn to surround your words:

Happy Father’s Day to the best daddy in the whole world! Thank you for everything you do for us. Life is so much better when you’re around, and we love you so much. Always and forever.

Love, 

(Y/N), Robin, and Dog

“Daddy?” said Robin, reddish-purple jelly globbing in the corners of her mouth as she chewed. 

He must’ve read the simple note at least three times, each time with a pang in his heart when he remembered how quick to anger he had been earlier. He had always hoped becoming a father would significantly wilt his temper, and for the most part, it had, but today was an exception. Now, though, he was just regretful, and felt as though he didn’t deserve anything you had done for him today. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, the curious and thoughtful tone of her voice sounding a little too familiar. 

“Nothin’,” he said, tucking the folded paper back into the basket. He made a wide, close-mouthed smile to prove that he was fine, even though he wasn’t. Not even close. “How’s your PB & J?”

“Good,” she said, though Daryl’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were always better than yours, surprisingly enough. “Daddy?”

He peeled back the tin foil on his sandwich to take the first bite. “Mhm?” he mumbled with the food in his mouth. 

“Why were you and Mommy fighting?”

He should’ve known the curious child wasn’t going to let that go so easily. Ever since she’d learned how to talk three years ago, “why” had been her favorite word.

He took a sip from his canteen to wash down the food, and to buy more time before he had to speak. “I, uh… I wasn’t bein’ very nice.” He wasn’t sure how much he could say to such a young child, especially not a child who didn’t understand the first thing about the abuse he suffered, so she couldn’t understand the reason behind his irrational anger, either. 

“You should be nice to Mommy,” she said, peanut butter and jelly sandwich stuffed in her mouth as she chewed. 

“Yeah, I should,” he agreed. “Sometimes you just get mad, though. No good reason, just… lose it.”

“You gotta say sorry,” she said with a nod. 

“I will,” he said. “Sorry you had to hear that, peanut.”

She shrugged and smiled solemnly. “I just want you to have a good Father’s Day, s’all. Are you having a good Father’s Day? Mommy said she wants you to have a good one, too. That’s why she made the food.”

He nodded and flashed a genuine, albeit crooked, smile. “Yeah, I’m havin’ a good day, kiddo.” It wasn’t entirely true, but in that moment, with his baby sitting across from him, so innocent and unaware of the pain he had to suffer when he was just a little older than her age, he couldn’t complain too much. “I’m just happy to be your dad.”

She shrugged bashfully. “I’m glad you’re my dad,” she replied, then leaned forward to steal a homemade potato chip from the Tupperware bowl. “Hey, Daddy?” she asked, munching on a chip all the while. “What was your dad like?”

Shit, he thought. I can’t get a break. 

That was another question he should’ve seen coming, especially since you had told Robin so many stories about her maternal grandfather, all of which made him seem like a damn saint. And he was, but it got the girl thinking about her other grandfather, the one on her father’s side, the one he had never, ever talked about. 

As much as he wanted to shrug off the question, he couldn’t do it, not with Robin’s small smile and eager eyes flashing at him as she waited patiently for his answer. She was insatiably curious, and she was smart—she knew everyone had a father, so her father had a father, too. At least, she assumed as much. She was right, but he had no clue how to answer that question. 

“Well, uh…” He was surprised he could get any words out at all, so this was a good sign. “I dunno… I wasn’t real close to my daddy, tell ya the truth.”

He’d hoped she’d stop asking from there, but he knew his daughter, and although she was young and didn’t know too many words, she was talkative. “Why not?”

Damn kid. “He just wasn’t very nice.” Maybe someday he’d be more specific, but that was about as deep as he was willing to go. He promised himself the day she was born that he’d never hurt her, and from his perspective, telling her about the abuse he suffered certainly would’ve hurt her. “Some daddy’s just ain’t very nice.”

“Like how you weren’t nice to Mommy?”

She absorbed everything like a sponge. “Uh… no. No, he was worse. It’s somethin’ maybe I’ll tell you when you’re older, but… he wasn’t a good dad. S’why I’m tryin’ to be a good dad for you, ‘cause I know what it’s like to have a bad one.”

She quirked her lip as she tried to understand, but it was difficult to fathom any father being bad, not when she had such a wonderful one. “Did you love your dad?” she asked. “You have to love family.”

He huffed and shook his head, feeling his defenses crumbling with every question the little girl asked. Somehow, though, it felt good. It felt soothing to say these things to her, even if she couldn’t understand. 

“I dunno,” he said. “It’s complicated. Sometimes… Sometimes family ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. When I met your momma, though, I got a new family. We made you, and everythin’ started to… get better. So I guess I dunno if I loved my dad, but I know I love you and your mom, so’s I got all I need.”

Somehow, she seemed to understand, so she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders, nearly knocking his sandwich from his hands, which roused Dog as he tried to take a bite. “I love my daddy,” she said matter-of-factly. 

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair, his other hand combing through the light ashy brown waves. “I love my little bird,” he said. “I love you so much… Thank you.”

She giggled and shook her head as she pulled away, smiling wide with her small set of teeth, two of which were missing. “For what, silly?”

He scrunched up his nose in faux sass, then huffed as he brushed back her bangs to better see her face. She really did look a lot like him, but more feminine and delicate, like you. “For bein’ my daughter.”

Not a half an hour later, Aaron and Gracie emerged from their house across the street, frisbee in hand as they approached. As Robin, Gracie, and Dog tossed the disk under the watchful eye of his brother-in-law, Daryl’s guilt for how he had talked to you earlier reached a boiling point, and soon he was walking in through the front door, he crossed into the archway of the living room to see you curled up on the couch, dozing off as your head rested on the very same pillow you had bawled into just an hour ago.

“(Y/N)?” he said quietly, slowly sitting himself down on the other end of the couch, just below your feet. “Hon?”

You had been just moments away from falling asleep, but the feeling of his light hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. “Wh-what?”

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to wake ya, just…” His voice trailed off as he noticed the dried, crusted over tears in the corners of your eye, and the redness still staining your scleras. You quickly wiped your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t make a fuss out of it. He did. “Ah, angel…”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “Don’t ‘angel’ me. I’m pissed at you. I can’t believe the way you were acting.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I don’t blame ya. I was an asshole. I know it ain’t an excuse but… you were right. I was thinkin’ about my dad. Turns out I’m just like him, huh?”

You huffed and shook your head, already feeling your anger melt away. “Daryl, no. You’re not like him at all.” You sat up to better see him, and his eyes appeared glassy, signaling that he was close to crying, too. “Is that why you were so upset? You think you’re like your father?”

He shook his head, letting the dark waves of his hair curtain his face. “Nah, I don’t… I dunno. I just know I’m real sorry. Shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Shoulda just sucked it up like I always do.”

“No,” you said, taking his hand in yours. Despite your hurt, you couldn’t be mad at him for long, you never could. Besides, you knew his heart was in the right place. “It’s good to talk about it. I want you to talk about it, even if you’ve already told me a thousand times. You can always talk to me… Just maybe don’t make me cry next time.”

He nodded seriously, though you laughed. “I hate makin’ you cry,” he said, wrapping his hand tight around yours, and tugging you gently just to get you close enough for his forehead to lean against yours. “I’m so sorry… You’re everything to me.”

You pouted your lips as they curled into a smile. “Oh, sweetheart… You’re everything to me, too. And you’re a great dad. You need to remember that.”

“I will,” he nodded. “And ya know I didn’t mean anythin’ I said, right? That was bullshit.”

“I know,” you sighed. “You say a lot of stuff you don’t mean when you’re mad… Did you like your sandwich?”

He furrowed his brow and laughed, amused by how quickly you wondered if he had eaten his sandwich. “Loved it,” he said. “Loved everythin’ you made… And I loved the note, too. And I love you.”

“I love you too, you big jerk,” you said. “And I’m only going easy on you because it’s Father’s Day, otherwise you’d be sleeping on the couch.”

He nodded seriously. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight if ya want,” he said, misunderstanding your joke. “I deserve it.”

Your eyes widened as you broke out into a snort so loud it made him flinch. “Daryl! I’m kidding. I’m not that mad at you, Jesus.”

You caught him off guard once again when you threw your arms around him, kissing his cheek before nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck. He could only sigh in relief, and kiss your shoulder as he buried his face there. 

“Is there any more food?” you asked, voice muffled against his shirt. “I’m starving.”

“Plenty,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t ya join us at the pond? The girls are playin’ frisbee. Aaron won’t stop askin’ me to get your ass out there.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me out there?”

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “I want ya next to me every wakin’ minute, woman.”

You spent the rest of that afternoon watching the children toss the frisbee for Dog to catch, until the sun went down and Robin’s little legs couldn’t carry her anymore. 

Daryl didn’t go to bed that night the same way he did every Father’s Day before that—he didn’t try to understand the reasons why his father hurt him, he didn’t replay the memories in his head until he fell into a restless sleep. Instead, he smiled to himself, holding you close as he thought of the family he made himself, with you and everyone else around him. 

There was a time when fatherhood and family seemed so far out of reach for him, but now he was home, exactly where he needed to be. 

~

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[mlmxreader]

I Spoil It All By Saying Somethin' Stupid Like I Love You | Officer K x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Hehe prompt time

"After everything, I don't think I'm ready to be alone again"

Some with Officer K x male reader and Some with Six x male reader maybe through a kenobi x male reader in there if you feel like it. I need more bedtime stories please 🏎

summary: it's a long night, bad shit happens nearly constantly but at least there's always something to look forward to when K comes home.

tws: swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption

Relationships between Humans and Replicants weren’t exactly uncommon, but that still didn’t stop you from sighing and wishing things were different when you came home every day to find the door plastered and painted with some sort of insult; “skinjob fucker” seemed to be the most common of them all. You could have sworn, you spent more time scrubbing the damn door than you did doing anything else when you got home, but when he walked in, it suddenly all became worth it. Tall, blue eyes, quiet, hardly ever smiled, smoked too many cigarettes. KD9-3.7. Officer K. Your K. A blade runner. When he walked in, dishevelled and tired and with holes in his t-shirt, synthetic blood everywhere and cuts littering his skin, suddenly every fucking insult on the door didn’t mean shit, suddenly, you didn’t give a fuck.

Tonight was no different, you were waiting for him to come home, a quick shower and stripping down to just boxers and a shirt had saved you from getting covered in sweat at least, after hours spent scrubbing the front door you were actually surprised you had not ended up passing out; you perked up when you heard the door go, a small smile on your face as you waited eagerly. You couldn’t help but to grin when K came in, shrugging his coat off and hanging it up; he didn’t look too bad this evening, there wasn’t a lot of damage to him or to his shirt. But he looked hanging, he looked like he was absolutely shattered. At least you didn’t need to repair any synthetic flesh, though, and at least you weren’t stuck with spending all night sewing shirts.

He said nothing, coming to sit beside you and putting his feet up on the table, daring to look at you with a slight smile. “How was your night?”

“I had to scrub the door again,” you told him, shaking your head and biting at the inside of your lip. You tilted your head back, and put your hand out, daring to laugh softly when he slapped a packet of cigarettes against your palm. “We had skinner fucker tonight…”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to him. “At least it makes a difference from skinjob fucker, I s’pose… how was work? You retire anyone interesting?”

K shook his head, taking a long drag from the cigarette and sighing heavily. “Just some old models.”

“That all?” You hummed, raising a brow.

K nodded, getting up and fixing himself a glass of whisky, he knocked it back and poured himself another. “Put some music on.”

You nodded, going over to the little console and flicking through what music was available; the choice was between a multitude of genres and artists, but you chose Frank Sinatra, and you smiled when the sound of your favourite song by him echoed throughout the thin walls.

I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me and if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me, and afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you". I can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before and though it's just a line to you, for me it's true and never seemed so right before.

K smiled a little to himself as he stubbed out his and yours cigarettes, starting to relax as he settled down on the bed, tugging his shirt off and flinging it to the side; he was built to perfection, if you were honest. He had muscle, but he didn't look like the actors you saw in the street when you walked past shops; no six pack, his stomach hung over his belt a little bit; you couldn't help but to look him up and down as you licked your lips. Replicants weren't afforded a lot of memories, especially not in the blade runner profession, but he was allowed to remember when he had met you and he had heard that song playing quietly in the pub.

He was allowed to remember how handsome you had looked, and how he had been so cool and collected when he had asked you if he could buy you a drink; he had never seen a man so fucking handsome as you before, and even now, you were still the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on. He leaned back a little, spreading his legs and swallowing thickly when you straddled him and traced his stubbled jaw so gently.

“Be careful when you're out there tomorrow,” you whispered softly, the feeling of your breath on his lips making him swallow thickly as you put your hands on his bare shoulders. “After everything, I don't think I'm ready to be alone again.”

Slowly and gently, K wrapped his arms around your waist, nodding slowly as he let out a shaky breath. “I will.”

“You better,” you told him softly. “I didn't scrub that damn door all night just to lose the one goddamn good thing in my life.”

K smiled, closing his eyes when you gently raked your hand through his hair, leaning into the soft touch as he sighed; that's what he always looked forward to about coming home the most, not the Frank Sinatra songs, not the cheap whisky that hit hard and fast, not the comfort, it was the gentle touches of his boyfriend. The gentle touches that made him think, if only for a split second, he might have been more human than he had originally been built.

You smiled, your hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck as you dared to lean in, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss; he felt so real, his grip on your waist tightening as he kissed you back, soon enough reaching up to rest his hand at the base of your throat. You let him take control, let him bring his hand up a little more and let him slip his tongue between your lips. Fuck, he felt so goddamn real. He didn't feel like a synthetic being, he didn't feel like a replicant, he felt human. When he kissed you like that, all you could think of was how you never wanted it to end.

He didn't take long, pushing you onto your back without breaking the kiss, your breath tangling with his as he applied just a little bit of pressure to your throat, just enough to make you moan and shudder as you eagerly tried to pull him closer and closer and closer. It wasn't getting any rougher or quicker, K was a controlled man, and when he kissed you, he managed to keep that control, keeping the pace nice and slow and soft, letting you moan his name under your breath as the kiss became open mouthed and breathy.

He broke away, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and clearing his throat. “Next time, I'll scrub the door.”

“No, you won't,” you told him softly. “It's my job. You just have to come home.”

K grumbled, licking his lips and getting up, unbuckling his belt and tugging it from the loops before putting it in its rightful place; he undid his trousers, knowing that you were studying him. Checking out his back and the curve of his ass until he turned to you and cleared his throat.

“What next?”

You grinned. “Well, I was about to spoil it all and say somethin' stupid like I love you.”

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[hotdamnhunnam]

Can I request for Raymond Smith these please? :)

👩‍🍳🏖🔮

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Beach Balls

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, sex on the beach, public-ish (brief reference assuming there’s an audience) Word Count: ~1.3k Emoji Prompt: 👩‍🍳🏖🔮 (key words are in bold)

He’s giving you his bitch, please face.

You’re giving him your beach, please face, because Ray’s aversion to beaches is honestly such a disgrace. His OCD ass really needs to get over his hatred of salt in his slicked hair and fine grains of sand stuck all over the place.

You’ve stepped out of the kitchen with something hot clutched in your hands as you come to join him on the couch. He’s a grump and a grouch. Yet be that as it may, by the end of the day, your goal is to take him to the shore and you’re certain it’s not out of reach.

He repeats himself loud and clear, same shit you always hear. “I am not going to the beach.”

“I knew you would say no. I baked your favorite tart to tempt you though. It’s ginger peach.”

He can tell, by the comforting smell, blend of butter and sugar and spice absolutely divine. “You’re too kind. But do you really think baked goods will change my mind?”

“Baked goods and something else perhaps…” you purr as you settle in place straddling his lap. You know exactly how to get your man to fall into your trap. “Remember when we went to see that fortuneteller just for kicks, her crystal ball declared that I’m the only weakness in your fortress? That I’d always find the holes in your resolve and get your brick walls to collapse?”

He does remember as it had been pretty recent. Just the other weekend. And indeed once Raymond feels the heat of you that always hits him in his crotch and in his heart, hotter than this freshly baked tart… he worries his resistance is already weakened.

And you can sense it too, the way he melts for you, as you proceed to feed your man a big forkful of flaky crust and sweet syrupy peach. You whisper words into his ear sure to paint pictures in his head that fucking stick. You’ve always known what makes him tick. “I want to fuck you on the beach. Wet sand beneath and blazing sun above, as we make hot passionate love, waves crashing all around us while you pound this cunt with that big fucking dick.”

Of course it works—he groans around the peachy mouthful that you fed him and you flash a wicked smirk, as you pull out the sticky fork. Crumbs of the crust and traces of the fruity filling are still clinging to the tines and your tongue cleans them off with a sensuous lick.

You knew that shit would do the trick. Especially now as you level up your game by dealing his alpha male pride a playful little kick. “But I’m not sure you’ve got the balls to do the dirty out in public.”

Ray gulps down his bite of tart and then glares up at you appalled. He will not stand for such an insult, not at all. “You of all people should know better than to doubt my fucking balls.”

You shrug and roll your eyes, grinding down on the bulge between his thighs. “The closest that you’ve ever come to fucking me in public was a private bathroom stall. Or in my office with the door locked but that doesn’t count as public just because we could hear voices in the halls.”

“Bitch are you really testing me?”

At that you get up off his lap and casually head toward the door with tart in hand and grab your beach bag, which you had already packed. Wink back at him suggestively. “I guess we’ll see.”

***************

“Is this public enough for you?”

He says it in a huff—grating and gruff, the brush of his beard ever coarser now that salt and sand have stuck into the scruff. You’re both sharply aware that others may be watching and no doubt loving the view. It’s not as if you’re putting on a show on purpose for the world to watch you two, but there’s just such a thrill in knowing passing strangers could stroll by and see your man’s bare backside thrusting viciously while he’s on top of you.

It’s obvious that Ray still hates this place. Clear from the gritting of his teeth and from the grimace creasing up his sweat-streaked face. He hates the scrape of sand beneath you and the brutal beating of the sun above you. But you love when there’s a little bit of hatred in the way that he makes love to you.

Never towards you, of course—rather towards what you make him feel and make him do, which is a whole lot fucking worse. Your presence in his life is such a blessing yet your power over him is such a curse.

For someone so extremely self-possessed, so serious about control that he is honestly obsessed, it’s quite unsettling how readily he lets you take the reins and make him yours.

He steals back some of that control by owning all your holes with feral fucking force.

You haven’t yet answered his question as to whether this beach is public enough for you. Too breathless from just how epic the sex is but when Raymond cups your jaw your eyes flit open and you read answer me slut in his ferocious gaze of blue. You love the way he has no need for words to tell you what to do.

“Mmm, just enough,” you tell him blissfully as his thick cock plows into you savage and rough. He’s always much more than enough but you still want to act as if you won this game you came to play. “Just fuck me on this beach all day. I always knew you had the balls, Ray.”

He shoves deeper into your soaking wet core with a low grunt. Down to the hilt, making you gasp from being so perfectly filled. “You like the feeling of these big huge fucking balls slapping against your slutty cunt? Just like you want?”

“Fuck yes, sir…” you shout out loud enough for all the world to hear it as you hit the heights of pleasure. Fall to pieces as his shaft rails you to bits, and as his skillful fingers tease against your clit, applying just the perfect pressure.

“Take it all,” he growls as his sack tightens and stiff cock begins to powerfully convulse, racing the rhythm of your pulse, all set to paint your inner walls. His lip curls up against your ear in a demanding fucking snarl. “Take all the cum from these big fucking balls, you dirty little girl.”

Oh yes you fucking will, take everything he has to fill, and you will proudly let this man drill you in front of all the world.

He’s more than just a little proud too. Your shameless and openness and riskiness, when it comes to delicious frisky business, is just one of countless things he loves about you.

Raymond Smith is now a much kinkier bastard than he ever was without you.

By the time he’s thoroughly flooded your tight pussy, you’re both sprawled out on the sand loosely, savoring the sensation of his meat inside your heat all slick and juicy. When he at last slides out of you his cum drips out and paints a pearly path across the sand beneath the space between your legs. You’re both reduced to fucking wrecks.

Then as you cuddle through the sun-kissed afterglow, he glances over at the partly eaten peach dessert you’d brought and asks you something he just has to know. “What was even the point of the tart if your plan was to tempt me with sex?”

You smile and give him the innocent answer he probably expects. “Just to butter you up a bit. Knew you would love it.”

Don’t tell him just yet that this tart filled with peach also serves some less innocent subtext: now that your man has finally fucked your pussy on the beach… you’ll soon ask him if he wants to fuck your peach next.

..................................................

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[nagito-kissmaeda]

I don't know if I've Talked to you yet? But may i get Nagito with a Talentless! S/o who's a Degradee. So whenever He Gets angry and Talks about her because of her talent. She's attracted to it. But is able to hide it for a while. But one day she slips up ane admit she likes it to hajime and nagito happens to overhear it. (I'd love a Nsfw Fic) if your open.

ミ☆ Thanks for the request! This was very interesting for me to write because i dont usually make Komaeda so.......mean. It does get pretty filthy so i hope that’s okay ahah.  Word Count:  2882

Warnings: Fem reader, no pronouns, explicit sexual content, degradation, possessive behaviour

You’re not sure that Komaeda’s insults are having their desired effect.

Generally, the other students of class 77-B treat you perfectly well, even kindly. You’d braided Sonia’s hair for her once when it was windy and getting in her eyes, after that she seemed to take a liking to you and started inviting you to eat lunch with her in the main course building. At first you were very nervous, shaking as you lurked in the doorway, holding your bento box between your quivering hands. 

But then, “Good afternoon, everyone! I’d like you all to meet my new friend!” Sonia said brightly, and everything sort of fell into place.

Everything except Komaeda. 

Presently, he has you backed up against a wall, one hand pressed up beside your head. He’s quite a bit taller than you, and has to crane his head down when his lip curls up in disgust. You aren’t really sure what his problem is, but he finds a way to antagonise you almost every day. Like he’s trying to convince you to snap. It isn’t working, but it is doing something else.

“How much did your parents pay, huh?” He whispers, voice eerily delicate even as his eyes burn with vitriol, “How much did you sacrifice just so you could pretend to be worth something?”

Your mouth has gone dry. Your eyes flit around his face, trying too hard not to focus on the subtle movement of his lips. 

“Ah, are you too afraid to answer? Afraid of what I might think of you?” 

You are not afraid. 

Komaeda leans in closer, lips curling up in a snarl, “you mustn’t concern yourself with such things.“

You are something far worse than that.

“My opinion of you will remain less than dirt regardless of your answer.” 

You are aroused and a pathetic little moan breaks away from your mouth at the feeling of his breath on your face, at his closeness, and the way he leers down at you like you are nothing more than a nuisance to him. His tongue darts out of his mouth to wet his lower lip and you whine . 

He laughs, mistaking the sound for one of fear, “The only reason I don’t pull you from our classroom and lock the door behind you, is because Sonia seems to enjoy your company. I’m sure her little fancy will not last long.” He smiles, “so make the most of the honour while it lasts.”

Komaeda leans back from you, and it feels like you can finally catch your breath again. Trying your hardest to ignore the way your heart is racing and just how wet your panties are getting. He does not seem to notice, lips curling up in a smirk that makes your breath hitch as he turns on his heel.

He did not notice the effect he was having on you. Far too concerned with trying to get you away from the rest of his ultimate classmates before you have a chance to dirty them with your pathetic presence. After all, even he was above you and that was saying something. Komaeda leaves you quivering in the hallway and heads back through the open door of classroom 77-B, but the sound of running feet brings him pause. He closes the door most of the way, leaving it open enough that he can watch through the gap without you noticing. 

“Hey.” Hinata says breathlessly, coming to a stop where you are still leaning against the wall, “I saw Komaeda bothering you, are you alright?” 

Komaeda scoffs. Hinata is just as much a problem as you are, always hanging around Nanami-san like it’s his given right. 

“Huh?” You say, still noticeably shaking, “oh I’m fine.” 

Komaeda smirks. If asked, he would claim that he only harassed you for the good of his fellow classmates; he would not admit the exhiliarion he feels in the moments when he finally gets to be better than someone. When he has you up against a wall like that, when he talks down to you like that. He feels something in his gut. A twisting that feels almost euphoric. 

Hinata huffs and crosses his arms, “look, that guy's an asshole. I can see you shaking, did he threaten you or something?” 

“No! Not really? I’m just…..uh…..” Komaeda can see you twisting your hands with nerves, his brows draw together in confusion, “I think I…like it…” 

Hinata balks, “wait. What?” He hisses, and Komaeda is thinking something very similar.

“When he’s mean to me like that.” You breathe, chewing on your lower lip, “when he has me up against the wall I...feel...good…” 

“No. Stop. Please.” Hinata exclaims, waving his hands in front of his face, “look, we’ve got to get to class. I don’t want to hear anymore about this. Okay?” 

Komaeda’s breath is caught in his throat as he watches the both of you walking back down the hall. Horrified at the tightness in his crotch. He whirls around and leans back on the wall, cupping a hand over his mouth to hide his heavy breathing. 

Those little noises you were making, the way you were shaking beneath him. 

This had not been his intention. 

Though, he supposes he can entertain the idea. Just to see how you react. It might even be fun. 

*

A few days later, you are back in the mostly vacant classroom with Sonia and Ibuki, the latter is in the middle of painting the nails on your right hand. 

“I know you said you don't really like this colour, but it glows in the dark, so that makes up for it, rigggggght?” Ibuki says; her nailpolish skills are lacking so your fingers are a bit of a mess, but you’re having fun anyway. 

“I think i might scare myself tonight when i turn the lights off and my fingers start glowing.” you laugh, Sonia titters politely behind her hand, but her expression quickly changes. 

“Oh.” She says, looking over your shoulder, “Hello, Nagito.”

You freeze. Throat going dry. You are not prepared for another encounter with Komaeda. 

“Ah, Hello. It’s nice to see the both of you.” He says. It does not escape your notice that he purposefully didn't even acknowledge your presence. 

“Don’t get too close naggy-waggy.” Ibuki replies, tongue sticking out as she starts painting the nails on your other hand, “I must focus on my art!”

A shiver runs up your spine when you feel the warmth of another body behind you. Komaeda leans over your shoulder to look down at your nails as Ibuki paints them, you can feel his breath on the side of your neck, you can smell him. He smells really good, why does he have to smell so good?

“You’ve improved a lot since your last attempt, Mioda-san.” Komaeda says, you can practically feel the words on your skin.

Ibuki laughs, “Kaz was a very good sport when I spilled it all over his arms! Plus! He was glowing for three days straight and i actually think it looked pretty sick!!!” 

“You're very lucky to have someone as wonderful as Mioda-san do your nails.” Komaeda breathes, you turn your head just a little. His face is so close to yours, his lips quirked up in the corners just enough that you know he is mocking you. Then, as he finally begins to stand back up again, he whispers in your ear, “after all, you’re just a pathetic reserve course student, aren't you?”

You feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear, and you swear it can't be intentional, but a shudder runs through you so powerful that you accidentally bump the nailpolish out of Ibuki’s hand. 

You are too busy trying to help her and Sonia clean up the mess, to notice the way Komaeda looks back, hands in his pockets and smirking at how easy it was to rattle you.

Yes, he thinks. This will be fun. 

*

It continues like this for some time. Komaeda is always lingering close to you, whispering in your ear. He’s always loved watching you squirm, but now it feels like he is doing more often, more shamelessly. After weeks of what feels like almost endless torment, something finally snaps. 

You’re dashing down the hall at lunch, it’s a decent walk from the reserve course building to the main course, so you really have to put the leg work in if you want to spend any real time with Sonia before heading back over again. You round a corner and run headlong into Komaeda. The universe has a hilarious sense of humour.

“Ah.” He starts, cocking his hips to the side while staring down at you, “What rotten luck.”

You glare at him, “Rotten luck, indeed.” 

Komaeda laughs, “Is that so? I’m quite sure this is the highlight of your day.” You stiffen as he leans down by your ear, his long fingers coming to rest on your hip, “You do so enjoy it when I mock you, after all.” 

You feel his teeth on the side of your throat, not really biting, but pressing down just enough that you can feel them. You release a shaky moan, digging your nails into your palms.

“Just like a reserve course student to revel in my touch; in whatever form it comes.” His hand grips tighter, you can feel his nails pressing hard against your skin, “I could bite down so hard that you bleed, and you’d still moan, wouldn’t you?” 

You would. Oh god you would. Your legs are shaking, you can feel his warm breath in your ear and you’re becoming painfully aware that this is happening in the hallway. You swallow as your eyes dart open to the supply closet behind Komaeda. He grins saccharinely as he follows your eyes, grabbing you by the hand and tugging you down the hall. Before you have a chance to ask what is going on-

The door to the supply closet clicks shut, and you are suddenly very aware of your situation. It takes you eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, you can see the utter hunger in Komaeda’s eyes. You swallow.

“How...how long have you known?”

“Known what?” He asks, feigning innocence.

You huff, “don’t make me say it!” 

Komeda crosses his arms, “no, I seem to have forgotten. I’ll need you to remind me.” 

You avert your eyes, scowling down at the ground, “how long have you known, that your degradation turns me on?”

He grins, “Almost a month.”

Your head snaps back up in horror, “So you’ve been toying with me on purpose this whole time?” You scoff, “What am I saying, of course you have been.”

“You’re lucky that I pay attention to you at all.” He breathes, and your heart starts racing at the jangle of a belt buckle.

This can’t be happening.

“You should be worshipping me.” Komaeda purrs over the sound of a leather belt being tugged through its loops. Your legs are quivering.The snick of a button coming undone, the sound of a zipper, and the thump of your knees hitting the floor all happen within seconds of each other. 

Komaeda chokes on a laugh. “I thought I would have to ask you to kneel.” He pulls his cock out of his boxers, already half hard as a smirk crawls up the side of his face, “But it seems you already know your place.” 

His cock is very pretty. Pale and slim with a blush red tip that you can't help wanting to suck on. 

“Don’t worry.” Komaeda whispers, “I have very low expectations for someone as talentless as yourself. I’ll be impressed if you even manage to make me come.”

Arousal shudders through you at his words, leaning forward and giving the head of his cock a cursorly lick. His breath catches in his throat. Such a pretty sound, you want to hear it more. One of his hands curls into your hair as you open your mouth wide and take the whole head in, sucking gently before bobbing your mouth halfway down. 

“ Ah! ” Komaeda hisses, hips stuttering deeper into your throat, “What an honour for you... aha ...to have an ultimate’s cock in your mouth, what a privilege .” his words break off into a laugh, wheezy and breathless as you take him all the way down, tears prickling in your eyes as it becomes harder to breathe. His head thumps back against the wall of the closet, cock pumping harder and faster into your open mouth as his nails dig into your scalp. You can feel drool running down your chin and dripping down to the floor, keening and moaning around his cock as you lathe the underside of the head with your tongue. 

“Who...Who knew...that this would be your one use…” Komaeda stammers, hips twitching and rolling into your mouth over and over, “is this your talent? Aha! Is sucking cock your talent?”

You make a noise of affirmation, unable to form words as he keeps relentlessly fucking into you. One of your hands slips up under your skirt and into your panties. It isn't surprising how wet you are, moaning unabashedly as you circle your swollen clit with a finger. 

“Ah... Ah! Look at you!” Komaeda exclaims, voice high and breathy as he tries to hold back another moan, “Being used like this turns you on, doesn't it? I wonder if one of those reserve course boys could do this to you.” he laughs breathlessly, “I wonder if you would let one of those reserve course boys fuck your mouth in the supply closet.” he grins down at you, eyes wild and almost unhinged, “I dont think you would, would you? I think you only want me, isn't that right?”

“Yes…” you manage to slur around him, circling your clit faster and faster, “nghh...only...you”

Your assertion only spurs him on further, hiking on leg up over your shoulder and pressing the heel of shoe hard into the wall behind you, hips stuttering forward with no discernible rhythm. You moan deep in the back of your throat and curl your arm around his thigh, feeling the muscles flex below your fingers as fucks into your mouth with unbridled desparetion. For all his talk, he seems to find your blow job abilities pretty competent.

“Don’t... ahh! ...Don’t stop-“ he groans, teeth gritted together, sweat dripping down his brow, “I...I’m gonna…” 

You’re close too. Your fingers pressing hard on your clit, circling almost brutally as you take his cock further down your throat. You can’t help but peer up at him, lording over just how thoroughly ruined he looks. Usually so neat, so clean. He looks like a perfect mess and it makes you keen around him, hips grinding harder into your own hand as you get closer and closer.

“You’re mine...all mine” Komaeda rasps, twitching and moaning, “Your mouth is mine to fuck...no-no one else can— AHHH!” 

His head collides with the wooden wall so loudly that you’re almost worried it hurts, and then he comes hard down your throat. You aren’t far behind, knees shaking and shuddering under your weight as you come tumbling over the edge, absolutely soiling your panties. There’s a filthy mixture of cum and saliva dripping out from your mouth that you swallow as best you can with Komaeda’s softening cock still in your mouth. The foot he had up against the wall slowly drops, resting gently on your shoulder instead as he catches his breath. You can see his chest rising and falling, his eyes gently closed. He’s cute when he’s not being such an asshole. 

Finally, he pulls his hips back and his cock slips out of your mouth, there isn’t too much of a mess on that front, at least nothing you can’t wipe away with the back of your hand, but your panties are another story. You’re just going to pray that they dry off a little before you have to go back to class.

Komaeda slides his leg from your shoulder and leisurely starts tucking himself back into his pants. You aren’t really sure what you’re supposed to be doing, so you just sit on the floor and wait for him to finish.

He hums, reaching down and tilting your chin up with a finger, “maybe you aren’t entirely pathetic.” he surprises you when he leans down and slots his lips against yours, flicking his tongue into your mouth, “if I’m able to make time in my busy schedule, I could shove my cock somewhere else next time.” 

You moan audibly, nodding your head with probably a little too much gusto.

Komaeda grins, all teeth and gums, and says, “I look forward to it.”

So do you.

[khalixascorner]

Waiting for You Ch 4

Summary: Tony and Peter fall in love as teenagers. Howard disapproves and separates them, threatening Peter's life if Tony keeps seeing him. Tony swears to Peter that he'll be back, and to wait for him.

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Tags: Tags: Starker, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Howard, Mafia Boss Tony, Homophobia, Mafia typical Violence, Peter gets injured, Minor character death (Mary, Richard, Ben, & May), angst with a happy ending. Lovers Reunited Trope, no smut

The first people Tony brought for Peter to meet the day he was discharged were Happy Hogan and James “call me Bucky” Barnes. Happy apparently handled security for the SI buildings and Tony’s personal spaces while Bucky’s job was more nebulous.

“For right now, his job is just keeping you safe while you recover,” Tony had said as they had loaded Peter into a discreet car and started the drive back to New York.

The movement of the car coupled with the pain killers soon lulled him to sleep. He briefly woke up when he was jostled but Tony shushed him, and the feeling of soft clouds around him quickly sent him back to dreamland.

When he opened his eyes next, it was to a strange room and Bucky sitting in a chair near his bed watching the door. His leg hurt, and he couldn’t stop the whimper as he tried to shift. Bucky was up and moving almost immediately, efficiently piling up spare pillows that seemed to appear from nowhere until Peter could sit up comfortably without having to move his leg around much.

“Try not to move, and if you need to, make sure you ask for help,” Bucky said. Peter was surprised by how gentle and kind his voice was given the man’s solemn expressions and deadly look.

“Ok,” Peter whispered. “And thank you.”

Bucky just nodded and sat back down, pulling out his phone and typing away on it. Peter assumed the man just didn’t want to talk to him, so he inspected the room more closely. It was nice, bigger than anything Peter had ever stayed in before with the walls painted his favorite shade of blue. The bed he was on was huge and soft, this time with dark red and blue abstract patterning. There was a desk tucked in the corner near the bed, and the other half of the room was left empty.

“Tony wasn’t sure what you’d want in the rest of the space so he figured better to leave it blank for you to decide,” Bucky said suddenly, causing Peter to jump.

“Huh? Oh, um, that’s really nice of him,” Peter said, his eyes dropping to his hands again.

After Howard had caught them, anyone with ties to the Starks held them at arm’s length but that didn’t stop a lot of the men especially from giving him dirty looks or spitting insults when he walked by. Tony swore he wouldn’t leave again, but Peter wondered how long until people were saying things again. Would Tony give him up voluntarily if it meant keeping control of the family? The older capos weren’t going to just change their thinking because Tony wanted it.

They might turn a blind eye if Tony kept him only as a mistress and still took a proper wife, but Peter wouldn’t stand for that. It would be a slow death to be nothing but Tony’s call boy. He might be young, but Peter had heard plenty of cautionary tales after what happened.

The more he thought about it, the more Peter started to spiral. Tony loved the family. He had always talked about how he was going to make it bigger and better when they got older, until no one could challenge them and then he’d spend his days tinkering instead of dealing with idiots. There was no way he would pick Peter over that. Not without resenting him for it at the end of the day. What sort of future could they possibly have?

Peter didn’t even notice he was crying until suddenly Tony was there, wiping his face with a worried expression.

“Hey baby boy, you back with me?” Tony asked softly, which just made Peter start sobbing harder at his love’s caring voice.

He tried to explain, to open his mouth and just tell Tony so the man could- well, Peter didn’t know what he’d do but Tony had always been the one to make the decisions and lead the way. Peter desperately wanted him to do so now too, but the words refused to come, so he just cried helplessly in the man’s arms until he had no tears left to spend. It left him feeling empty and drained, without any relief.

***********************************

Tony tried desperately not to panic when Bucky called him because Peter was unresponsive. His relief from seeing his boy respond to him was short lived when his presence seemed to trigger an even worse attack, and Tony could only hold Peter tightly in his arms as the boy cried himself out. When his breathing finally steadied, Tony tried again.

"Hey sweetheart, what's got you so down?" Tony asked, hoping this time he would get an answer. He waited patiently, and finally was rewarded.

"What am I, Tony?" Peter asked, and Tony frowned. The flat tone was concerning but so was the question.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked. "You're a human."

"No, to you Tony. What am I to you?" Peter asked, suddenly finding courage it seemed. "Am I going to just be your- your mistress?"

"What?" Tony felt as if he'd been slapped. A mistress? How could Peter possibly think he would do all of that for just a mistress? His silence seemed to spurn the boy on and Peter continued, his words causing Tony to curse Howard more and more.

"After Howard found out about us, everyone glared at me and would make comments. It wasn't ok for two men to be together," Peter explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Running the family is your dream but you won't be able to do that if your capos revolt because you're with a man. I- I don't just want to be a kept boy while you go home to a wife."

**********************************

Tony was shaking now, fury burning him up from the inside out. Barely dead and Howard's ghost was already haunting them. At least this was an easy fix. He had intended to let Peter rest a few days before introducing him to everyone but clearly that would be the wrong move. Peter needed reassurances of his place. Well, Tony could do that.

Without saying a word, Tony scooped Peter up, mindful of his injury even in his anger, and started walking purposefully down the halls.

Peter squeaked as Tony picked him up but didn’t talk when he caught the dark look on the man’s face. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but all he could do was cling to Tony as they descended a set of stairs into an open concept living room and kitchen where a large group of people were already gathered.

They glanced at Tony and Peter, confused looks on their faces, though many of those faces smoothed into expressionlessness when they took stock of Tony’s face.

“Is everyone here? Ok, good, I have an announcement to make,” Tony said brusquely, and Peter froze in his arms. “This is Peter, he’s got wife status and once I find the right ring, he’ll be my husband properly. Anyone got any problems with that?”

The room was dead quiet, and Tony nodded.

“If anyone says anything to you about it, I expect you to make it clear that I don’t give a fuck what they think and if they don’t like it, they can leave,” Tony said. The others nodded, and a man Peter didn’t recognize stepped forward.

“Did someone say something, boss?” the tall blonde asked.

“Apparently, Howard had the old crew harassing my boy after his little temper tantrum that started this. I want to make sure we’re perfectly clear that those sentiments are no longer accepted,” Tony said, sounding much calmer now.

A red headed woman walked up to them both, casually patting the top of Peter’s head while giving Tony a serious look.

“Don’t you two worry,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

The sharp smile she gave made Peter shiver but Tony just laughed.

“That’s Nat, one of the best at, well, her job,” Tony said, kissing Peter’s forehead. “Now come meet the rest of my Capos and their lieutenants. I want everyone to know you, and you to know their faces. If anything happens, you go to one of them.”

*******************************************

Rhodey came over first, drawing Peter in and kissing each side of his face.

“Welcome back to the family, kid,” Rhodey said. “We missed you. Hopefully this schmuck will finally get his head on straight instead of charging into everything.”

“I missed you guys too,” Peter said quietly, blinking back tears. He would have said more but Rhodey stepped away and a tall redhead stepped forward.

“Hello Peter, I’m Pepper. I handle SI for Tony,” the woman said, placing a kiss on each of his cheeks. “Welcome back. Tony’s been waiting for you for so long.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Pepper,” Peter said as he tried to wipe his eyes discreetly. “Thanks for helping keep things running for him.”

She nodded and gently squeezed one of his shoulders before stepping away to let the tall blonde that had spoken up before stepped forward, flanked by a man with a metal arm and a clean cut black guy.

“I’m Steve, and I handle Brooklyn for Tony. Those are my guys, Bucky and Sam.  Welcome to the family.” Again Peter was kissed on each side of the face, causing him to squirm a bit. It had been 6 years since he had been around the family, and he wasn’t used to the familiarity anymore.

“Nice to meet you,” Peter replied.

More people came up, and names started to blur together after he met a guy named Bruce and someone else named Clint who worked with Nat, Kate, and Yelena and according to him, they were scary. Thor seemed interesting though Tony had made a rude comment about his brother. Despite feeling a bit overwhelmed, it was really nice. Everyone was kind and seemed genuinely pleased for him to be there with Tony.

*********************************

Peter cuddled up with Tony on the couch after everyone made their introductions. Some of them had left but many stayed to get to know him better and Peter found himself relaxing in Tony’s lap, half asleep after the stress of the day, while Tony chatted with his Capos.

He was pulled from that calm when Tony suddenly stopped talking and stiffened as he checked his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, pulling his head away to look at Tony.

“It’s your aunt, baby,” Tony said, and Peter could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Someone thinks they saw a woman going into her apartment. They’re checking it out now.”

Peter sat all the way up, his body practically vibrating as they waited for the update. It was only minutes later when Tony’s phone rang. Tony answered it, his face carefully blank as he listened.

“You’re serious?” Tony finally asked, his tone hard. “100% sure that this information is correct?”

There was a pause and then Tony sighed.

“Alright, get her a new phone asap and give her my number. Ask her to call when she can to talk to Peter. Actually, you know what, just hand your phone over now.”

Tony turned to him and handed the phone to Peter.

“Hello?” Peter asked, worried that it was the person who found May with terrible news or something.

“Peter?” May’s voice through the phone was like an angel’s song to Peter’s ears.

“May? Are you ok?” Peter choked out. “Are you really ok?”

“Peter? What’s wrong, baby?” May asked, confusion clear in her voice. “Of course I’m ok.”

“We couldn’t get a hold of you,” Peter whispered, clutching the phone tightly. “No one could find you either.”

“Oh, baby, I messaged you. Didn’t you get my email?” May asked. “I got a last minute spot for some work training in D.C. at this big conference because someone got sick at the last minute. I lost my cellphone on the plane though and couldn’t replace it while I was there. I just got back, baby.”

Peter started laughing and then crying. Tony gently pulled the phone from Peter’s hands and distantly, he heard Tony explaining the situation even as Tony held Peter close. It wasn’t long before Tony was setting the phone aside and pulling Peter in closer.

“I’m so glad she’s ok,” Peter said.

“Me too,” Tony murmured. “My men are bringing her here once she’s gotten a change of clothes and shower. Everything’s going to be ok now, love.”

This time, Peter realized he actually believed it.

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Impressions of Wilde (1997)

I really liked this movie and I'm sure you will too! It's a great introduction to Oscar Wilde (who he was, a glimpse into his personal life, and why he remains relevant and incredibly charming) and also a celebration of homosexuality.

1. Overview:

The movie doesn’t tell the whole story of Oscar Wilde's life. It covers the 1880s, his rise to fame and sudden fall, and ends shortly after his 1897 prison release. Some Oscar Wilde fans were disappointed because they wanted to see the early parts of his life (how he got his inspiration and crafted his aesthete persona).

The costumes and sets are absolutely gorgeous and transport you back to the late Victorian era; lots of deep red fabric curtains, detailed mahogany wood furnishings, intricate paintings, and lavish costumes.

The lead actors are amazing and they resemble the real people almost exactly.

2. Casting:

Stephen Fry as Oscar Wilde. One could say he IS Oscar Wilde reincarnated; he looks almost exactly like Wilde. Most importantly he perfectly combines Wilde's charm and intelligence. The film also tries to show Wilde as a father and married man in addition to the "gay fop" identity that he's usually placed in. As much as he mocks society, he's kind and loving (still cares about Bosie even though it's obvious at times that Bosie doesn't deserve his kindness).

Jude Law as Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas, Wilde's lover. I must say that Bosie definitely reminds me of Dorian Gray because he's blond, beautiful, and selfish. He throws lots of temper tantrums and reminds me of a teenage boy trying in vain to rebel against his father, the Marquess of Queensbury (Wilde's enemy who plays a big part in his downfall). He does seem to care for/love Wilde, but is still selfish in that his first concern is himself.

Jennifer Ehle as Constance Wilde. You may know her as Elizabeth Bennet from the 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Film Constance is quite intelligent and unconditionally supportive of Oscar Wilde.

3. Scene Recaps:

The film begins quite unusually in the Wild West (no greater contrast between the gritty Colorado mining town and the elegant parlors of London). Wilde makes his entrance in a fancy fur coat, dressed to kill. He successfully entertains the miners with a story about an artist.

Back to London; Wilde was in Colorado on his North American lecture tour. At a party he meets Constance and marries her "because all artists need an audience." Quite an interesting quote because there's this general conception that artists are isolated people who need to get away from society to produce their best works, when in actuality they need others to appreciate their works. Constance is a good match for Wilde because she's intelligent and constantly (coincides with the name) supports him even though he cheats on her with his gay buddies.

We are then treated to a lovely scene where he walks through a crowd of lawyers (marking him as a nonconformist).

Robbie Ross, one of Wilde's best friends, introduces him to gay sex.

“Dinner with lord and lady Asquith” = code language for a fling.

Then he meets John Gray, a handsome bohemian played by Ioan Gruffud, a pretty guy with long hair, and has another fling with him. Gray brings up the idea of art as a means of capturing the soul (inspiration for The Picture of Dorian Gray, which brings scandal to the Wilde family).

Oscar Wilde has 2 boys with Constance. He loves his family and cares about the wife but he’s always away in London working on his plays/stories or having flings with his gay buddies.

I really liked how the film used Oscar Wilde's children's story The Selfish Giant as a metaphor for his relationship with his family. His success isolates him from his family; he's often away and doesn't visit often, much like the giant hides behind a wall.

He meets Bosie at the premiere of the play Lady Windermere’s Fan (not historically accurate). Bosie says something smart to flatter Wilde, summing up what Wilde did in his work: using wit to mock and amuse people simultaneously.

Bosie is a beautiful, selfish rich boy and wants Wilde for his own entertainment. He has some affection for OW but loves himself first; Wilde's friends and Robbie Ross are concerned for him. Wilde and Bosie have a passionate, open relationship. At times Bosie has sex with other men while Wilde watches.

They dine together without a concern for others’ opinion (another of my favorite scenes from the movie).

Wilde genuinely loves Bosie and sees him as the victim of bad parenting (what a pity, since it's unclear at times whether Bosie loves Wilde).

Eventually because of his relationship with Bosie, Wilde makes a powerful enemy in Bosie's father, the Marquess of Queensbury. Queensbury attempts to insult Wilde several times before sending him a card accusing Wilde of being a sodomite. Wilde sues for libel and that precipitates his downfall, as all the details of his personal life are revealed.

In the trial, Wilde tries to explain "the love that has no name" and is convicted. Then follows a heartbreaking scene where he tries to maintain his composure while being haggled and booed at by spectators, while his friends can only watch in silence.

Bosie swears to Wilde that he loves him, but while Wilde languishes in jail, he complains that the imprisonment affects him most as he's suffering (what a selfish person).

I have ambivalent feelings about the “happy” ending where Oscar Wilde is reunited with Bosie. As much as I like happy endings in LGBTQ+ movies (because that doesn't often happen), Bosie clearly isn't a very good person and maybe would have been bored with Wilde and left him.

4. Some things not included in the movie:

The film doesn't include the fact that Oscar Wilde slept with teenage boys and male prostitutes. The flings seemed to be consensual but some of the sexual partners were underage.

Constance is advised to change her last name to save her social reputation, but the film doesn't show that she actually did (changed it to Holland).

The last part of the film (the trial to the ending) merely serves to remind us that Wilde was courageous for being a nonconformist in a stifling society. They don't really show what happens to Wilde after his imprisonment with the exception of the reunion with Bosie.

Conclusion:

Definitely watch this movie if you haven't already; it's an excellent introduction to Oscar Wilde, or if you're a Wilde fan, it will be great entertainment.

I was going to write some more intelligent things about this movie but I just started college and I didn't get around to finishing this little post until a few weeks after I watched the movie (so I've forgotten some stuff in it/my other thoughts about it).

[missmentelle]

How do I know if I'm being gaslit? What does that mean?

If you are experiencing “gaslighting”, it means that someone is intentionally trying to make you feel like you are irrational and insane. They will try to convince you that you can’t trust your own judgement, even about things that you experienced firsthand. The internet tends to use the term ‘gaslighting’ to describe any kind of lying or arguing, but it’s a lot more complicated than that - when you are being gaslit, it means someone is going out of their way to make you feel like you’re the crazy one who causes all the conflict in the relationship when in reality, it’s the other way around. A person who lies about liking your new haircut or starts an argument with you about whose turn it is to do the dishes is probably not gaslighting you - gaslighting is intentional, repeated, and specifically aimed at undermining your sanity and emotional stability. It is a pattern of abuse, and by definition, it can be very difficult to recognize and escape from. 

Examples of gaslighting include things like:

Insisting that things did not happen the way you remember them, even if you have proof. Maybe you and the abuser had an argument over WhatsApp yesterday, and they called you a slur. You definitely remember that this happened, because it was devastating for you, and you took screenshots in case they deleted the message. But when you confront the other person about what they said, they flat-out deny that it ever happened - in fact, they have no idea where this is coming from, and they feel insulted that you would accuse them of such a horrible thing. They didn’t do that. They’ve never done that. In fact, there was no argument. You made the whole thing up in your head. It doesn’t matter that you have screenshots - they don’t want to see them, because they know that you are totally misunderstanding what’s in them, just like you always do. When you’re being gaslit, the gaslighter doesn’t care about reality. They will flat-out deny what happened and create a new version of events that puts them in a better light, and they’ll insist that you are the one with the faulty memory for not remembering it that way. Even with evidence right in front of their faces, they’ll stick to their guns and say that you are completely inventing things. 

Constantly insisting that you overreact and blow things out of proportion. Maybe you saw a notification on your partner’s phone the other day, and you realize that they’ve been texting other people on a dating app. You are obviously very upset about the situation, and you aren’t sure if you even want to stay in the relationship. But instead of apologizing, your partner begins to get angry with you for how upset you are - they insist that you are blowing this completely out of proportion, that you’re being a huge drama queen, that you’re being manipulative and attention-seeking, and that it’s completely insane for you to be upset. Any time you are upset with the other person for genuinely hurting or harming you in some way, they flip everything around - all of a sudden, the conversation becomes focused on how unstable and dramatic you are, and the abuser’s wrongdoing is totally forgotten. The abuser paints a consistent picture of you as someone who freaks out over absolutely nothing and completely overreacts. 

Playing up your existing mental illness or insisting that you are mentally ill. Your abuser sees signs of mental illness in everything you do. If you have a history of mental illness, they’ll insist that it’s coming back - if you don’t have a history of mental illness, they’ll invent a new mental illness for you out of whole cloth. Did you get upset because your partner screamed at you? That’s not normal, you’re having huge mood swings and you’re definitely bipolar. Did you stick up for yourself when your partner was trying to control you? That’s definitely not normal, you’re acting just like this person they knew who had severe BPD. Whenever you are upset about the way you’re being treated or just refusing to be controlled, your abuser will play the mental illness card - suddenly, they are the hard-worn, loving caretaker and you are the very sick person who refuses to let them help you. Sometimes, when you are getting especially angry about your partner’s mistreatment, they may flip a switch and go from yelling at you to acting like your caretaker in an instant - they’ll start pleading with you to get help, offering to drive you to the hospital, and begging you to understand that you aren’t well and that they’re just so worried about you. The point, of course, is to completely undermine you as a person; they want you to believe that you are seriously mentally ill and incapable of understanding what’s real and what isn’t. 

Positioning themselves as the innocent “victim” in the relationship, even when they are the one mistreating you. To an outside observer, you are the one constantly being terrorized by someone who criticizes and controls you. But your gaslighter doesn’t want you to see it that way - according to them, they are the innocent victim who has to tiptoe around your constant unpredictable mood swings. They’ll claim that they try so hard to help you and avoid setting you off, but you’re just so unreasonable - they may even claim that you are the one abusing them. Any time you fight back, stand up for yourself or have a negative reaction to their abuse, they will find a way to frame things so that your response is the real issue, and not the abuse that provoked it. If they pinned you against a wall and you pushed them off you to get away, they will flip the narrative on you - they’ll swear up and down that they were just gently trying to keep you from hurting yourself when you violently attacked them. Somehow, every confrontation you have about your partner’s bad behaviour turns into you apologizing and feeling bad, even when you went into the conversation being pretty sure that you did nothing wrong. 

Intentionally turning friends and loved ones against you. A gaslighter will sometimes try to recruit your friends and family to “their” side, turning them against you. They will tell your loved ones all about your supposed mood swings, “mental health issues” and how difficult you are being, in an effort to win sympathy and destroy your credibility. The idea is that when you turn to your friends to say “my partner freaked out on me over something small last night”, they’ll respond with “mmmm, your partner already told us this story and they gave a very different version of what happened. It sounds like you’re leaving a lot out to make yourself sound better. Your partner says you’ve been acting weird lately, what’s going on with you?” It’s much easier to warp someone’s perception of reality if you can convince their friends and family to reinforce the fake reality that you’ve created. 

Dramatically misrepresenting your motives. A gaslighter will find ways to “prove” that you’re the kind of person they say you are, regardless of what you do. Even if you do something nice for them, they can find ways to twist things to suit their narrative. Did you buy them an expensive birthday present because you care about them? You’re clearly being manipulative and trying to bribe them somehow. Did you clean the whole house for them because you wanted them to be able to enjoy coming home to a clean living space? Nonsense, this was clearly you being passive-aggressive and trying to shame them for not being as clean as you. Your actions end up not mattering - no matter how hard you to try to prove that you aren’t the difficult, terrible person that your gaslighter says you are, they will always find ways to misrepresent your motives and lie about your intentions so they can turn your innocent behaviour into whatever they want it to be. 

Being gaslighted is an immensely stressful experience - it’s designed to make you feel crazy, and if you’re subjected to it for a long time, that’s exactly what will happen. It’s unbelievably stressful to be in a position where you feel like you cannot trust your own mind or make rational decisions. And when that stress inevitably starts to affect your mental health, that becomes further evidence that your abuser is correct and that you’re the crazy one. It can be extraordinarily difficult for a victim of long-term gaslighting to escape from their situation, because they genuinely start to believe that they are the problem in the relationship and that they’re lucky anyone will put up with them. 

If you suspect you are being gaslit, there are some things you can do to recognize the issue and break free from it:

Keep meticulous records. Write down the details of conversations and arguments as soon as they happen. Record fights with the audio recorder on your phone. Take and save screenshots of important conversations. Save voicemails. Keep a diary with dates and times of events. Nobody has perfect recall, but if your partner’s version of events consistently doesn’t match your hard evidence in a major way, that’s a pretty good sign that they are twisting the truth to suit their needs.

Talk to a neutral third party. Talk to someone outside the relationship that your partner doesn’t have access to - this could be a friend, a coworker, a neighbour, anyone that you feel you can trust. Turn to an internet group or forum if you have to. Show them the evidence you’ve collected or talk to them about what’s happening, and get a neutral perspective. People who have not been exposed to your gaslighter’s charms will be able to tell you pretty quickly that your situation is not normal. 

Think about your past relationships. Have any of your past relationships followed the same patterns as your current one? Has anyone in your past made similar complaints about you? If your last relationship didn’t have these kinds of issues, there’s a good chance that the new person in your life is the problem - not you.

Trust your gut. If you get the sense that something isn’t quite right, don’t ignore those feelings. Remember, you don’t actually have to be certain that you’re being gaslighted to justify leaving the relationship - if your relationship frequently causes you stress and anxiety or makes you feel like you can’t be yourself, something is seriously wrong and it may be time to go.

It’s also a good idea to talk to a mental health professional or a domestic abuse expert if you suspect you are being gaslighted - they are experts at helping your recognize it and come up with strategies to have healthier relationships in the future.

Hope this answers your question!

MM

[robininthelabyrinth]

I've never done this before? Is this even the right place for prompts?! I found your fic a week ago, and you're so good! It's totally cool if you don't write this (it's so hokey) but I'd love to see His Excellency LWJ having to celebrate his birthday publicly. It's awful, he gets lots of bad presents. Maybe he gets ugly headdresses and sect leaders trying to hook him up with their daughters. His gremlin husband runs interference and gives him The Best Present. (NHS gets him something tasteful.)

ao3

Untamed verse

On the morning of his birthday, the Chief Cultivator, Lan Wangji, wakes up on time, as always, and finds his normally-fast-asleep husband wide awake and wearing nothing but a ribbon. He does not leave his bed for another shichen, missing breakfast; he will need to make it up to his family later.

He does not care. He knows it will be the only good gift he receives today.

-

The first gifts begin arriving at lunch: the political ones, the ones aimed at honoring the Chief Cultivator rather than Lan Wangji himself. Mediocre artwork that he would never allow to deface his walls, local ‘specialties’ so vile that even Wei Wuxian chokes on them, invitations to come view various local attractions that are so obviously requests for assistance that they can barely be described as being badly-hidden.

At least four different sects gift him with empty scrolls that are just the right size for him to write the Lan sect rules into and which are obviously designed for expressly that purpose. It is not subtle. 

The more irritating Lan clan elders forgo even this obvious step and simply provide him with the sect rules themselves – again. There is a fairly obvious emphasis on the provisions that would suggest that his marriage to Wei Wuxian might not have been the wisest decision he’d ever made.

Lan Wangji accepts them all, and wants none.

-

In the afternoon, Lan Wangji opens letters. Some of them, blissfully, relate to actual work he has to complete in his role as Chief Cultivator. Most do not.

Several of them offer – in not especially subtle terms – their daughters or sisters or nieces to be his concubine, since obviously his current spouse will be incapable of bearing children for him.

Wei Wuxian finds those letters, and spends at least a shichen cackling, pretending to be pregnant. There is a brief interlude. Later, Wei Wuxian even suggests that Lan Wangji consider accepting the offers just long enough to go judge the quality of “the goods” that he is being offered before rejecting it as insulting and degrading to all those involved.

He stops only after Lan Wangji notes that the niece referenced in the letter he was holding is younger than Lan Sizhui. They both agree never to discuss it again.

-

Sect Leader Yao invites him to come around to a family dinner sometime. 

This is, somehow, even more insulting than the concubines.

-

Shortly before dinner, Lan Wangji receives the gifts which have been categorized as personal.

His uncle gives him practical things, as he has always done – a new sheath for Bichen and replacement strings for Wangji, in this instance – and Lan Wangji supposes that he should appreciate them more than he does. It is only that his uncle often gives him practical things, and it does not feel as though any particular effort has been made regarding his birthday.

His brother sends him a painting. It is lovely. Lan Wangji would rather have seen his brother, who remains in seclusion.

Lan Sizhui has thoughtfully composed a small song for him, as he has done every year since Lan Wangji adopted him, and he and Lan Jingyi perform it together. Lan Wangji has not yet found a way to tell his beloved adopted son that his top-notch skills at musical cultivation do not translate into a talent for composing, and long ago resigned himself to taking the secret to his grave. The song does not cause his qi to deviate on the spot; that is already something.

Lan Jingyi gifts him with a rabbit. It might have been a good gift if it wasn’t one of his own.

-

When night falls, Lan Wangji receives the gifts which have been deemed ‘important’ – in other words, the ones from the sect leaders of the other Great Sects. Lan Wangji is not sure why these gifts are always presented at night, as it means he will not be able to write appropriate thank-you notes until the morning.

It occurs to him, not for the first time, that perhaps that is the reason.

Jin Ling sends him something from the Lanling treasury – a dagger, gilt gold. Lan Wangji would never use such a gaudy object. Wei Wuxian suggests pawning it on their next night-hunt, and Lan Wangji suspects that that may in fact be its intended use, beyond Jin Ling simply wanting to get rid of the thing.

Jiang Chen sends him a horrifically ugly statue.

“Did – did he go blind?” Wei Wuxian asked, staring at it with an expression of awe, and possibly fear. Lan Wangji does not blame him.

It is truly beyond the pale. Mere words cannot encompass its hideousness.

“No,” Lan Wangji said grimly. “He will insist on seeing it on his next visit. Politics therefore require me to place it in a public location.”

“…has he done this before?”

“There are sixteen in the closet.”

Wei Wuxian covers his mouth, but the motion is inadequate to conceal his laughter. Lan Wangji studies the statue – Jiang Cheng truly outdid himself this year, as Lan Wangji is unable to even determine what was the original subject matter the (potentially deranged) artist was attempting to depict – and mentally vows to himself that the hairpiece he invariably presents to Jiang Cheng in return will be even more grotesque than usual this year.

Possibly something that will make his hair stick up like a cockatiel.

“At least Nie Huaisang got you something tasteful,” Wei Wuxian comments, unrolling the artwork and holding it up against the wall. Lan Wangji hopes he is not planning on putting it there permanently. “This is a perfectly lovely cityscape! Nothing like those terrible ones from earlier.”

“It is pornography,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian chokes.

“Are you sure?” his husband wheezes. “I don’t – it’s a cityscape.”

Lan Wangji is sure. He does not need to check to confirm it. It has always been pornography.

However, because he loves his husband, he walks over to the table and examines it briefly.

“The second window in the inn,” he finally says.

Wei Wuxian squints at the painting. “Which one is the inn..? The second – oh. Oh. Wait! That’s you and me!”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “It usually is.”

“Usually – no, you know what, I’m not going to ask you which ones they are. I’m going to examine each painting you own until I find the rest of them.” He paused. “Can I hang this one up?”

“Not in the main room,” Lan Wangji compromises. Mentally, he swears revenge against Nie Huaisang. 

He does not expect anything to come of that oath. Unlike Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang has proven irritatingly difficult to annoy, even when one is making a sincere effort.

On second thought, perhaps that is for the best. 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian said, after he’s finished hanging up the offending item. “After seeing all those presents, I feel like I’ve fallen down on the job. All I have to offer you is more of the same thing I gave you this morning.”

It is nice, Lan Wangji contemplates, to be proven wrong in his assumption that he would receive only one nice gift all day.

[boytouya]

Can l please request Tomura shiggy with a himbo reader? Where the huge man gets cutesy sh*t like colorful stickers, plushies, rock necklaces from the nearby stream lake with dry bad painted. Or mismatched shirts and pants because it looked comfortable with them and he likes collecting them. Himbo reader doesn’t quite understand his bfs goal but he supports him even though he doesn’t get it. Once in a while, he puts glitter in Tomuras clothes on accident whenever he draws stick figures or wobbly lines on a drawing pad with markers and crayons. Found a shell? Give that to shiggy of course! Himbo reader would cook once in a while for the league and clean his room once in a while ;)

𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭

a/n: whoever you are….you are my favorite anon. this is the cutest idea. your mind…wow...

Warnings: None!

“You’re plotting for…. What again?” Your head cocks to the side like a puppy, Tomura finds his fingers twitching as you look up at him. You’re annoyingly cute. But also frustrating. He had explained his plans to take down hero society at least three times already. But somehow you managed to connect the dots between the timeline of his favorite video game. “No, no! It’s okay. I get it! Well, not really, but if you’re happy I’m happy.”

Tomura watches the charms of miniature items on your bracelets dangle as you give him a thumbs up, a small laugh slipping from your lips when he grunts in response. He’s supposed to be getting ready for the league’s biggest heist yet, a prison break. But instead he’s standing in front of a….bedazzled red trench coat with a scowl on his face. Not the whole thing, of course. Just a long, jagged stripe going through the middle.

“Did you….do this?” He grits out, whipping his head to the side to make eye contact with you. Your smile never wavers, an enthusiastic nod makes it hard for him to stay angry. If anyone sees this there’ll be rumors for weeks. The best part of being the leader of a feared organization is the fact that no one will say anything insulting to your face. It can be a blessing and a curse, because although it has its perks it’s annoying to hear that an ally made a joke about Tomura’s decorated shoe laces.

Your smile quickly falls into a frown when you see the gems. You get up to explain yourself, walking over to the trenchcoat and pulling a piece of paper out of its left pocket. Tomura’s eye twitches when you unfold it to reveal a poorly drawn image of you and Tomura holding hands in crayon, glitter, and whatever was on his jacket. Below the drawing read a little note that told him to ‘have a “dazzling” day!’ with a heart around it. You signed it at the bottom with a smiley face. Funnily enough, it matched the one you had earlier.

“I didn’t mean to, really Tomu! I swear! but it does look a lot prettier that way,” Your hands brush the sparkling gems as you pout. “Anything you wear looks pretty though. Oh! um,I drew it so you’d think of me on your lunch break.”

“Don’t touch my stuff. And we don’t get a ‘lunch break’,” Shigaraki snatches the drawing and balls it up, shoving it into his pocket. You both knew the second he gets back home he’d pin it on his wall next to your other drawings, though. You discovered the collage a few weeks ago, when you decided to clean up the hideout (Not that you were actually cleaning, it was more like leaving rocks, shells, and plushies you found around while putting away old stuff). “Speaking of stuff….What the fuck are you wearing?”

Your eyes trail down to your outfit. Why, it’s not bad at all! Your shirt is comfortable, and your pants may be a sickening color with a horrendous (homemade) Sanrio pattern on them, but they still get the job done! Plus who doesn’t like Sanrio? Okay, maybe they’re a little stretched…But that’s just because there’s so much of you to love! Perhaps the bracelets are a bit much. Or maybe it’s the miniature cake slice earrings? “...I don’t get it.”

“All that body and no brain,” Tomura gestures to the muscles on your body before he lightly taps his clenched fist against your forehead. “Sounds hollow. You look like Kingdom Hearts chewed you up and spat you out.”

“Oh, I look like a prince?” You reach up to knock your own hand against your forehead and your smile is back like it never left. Tomura wants to kiss you stupid (not that it’d be hard), make you finally shut up for once so you can stop rambling, make that deadly smile evaporate.In some ways you really do remind him of a prince. “You really are too sweet to me, Tomu. What’d a boy like me do to deserve a guy like you?”

He can practically see the hearts in your eyes as you squeeze him into your chest, rambling about how he reminds you of your favorite plushy. Tomura fights the overwhelming urge to hug you back, instead pulling away from your strong grasp with a feigned grimace. He misses your scent of warm vanilla and strawberries the second he pulls away. Internally, he deflates.

“Did I squeeze too hard?!” Your bottom lip trembles. How do you run on so many emotions at the same time?

“No,” Shigaraki says simply, pinching your cheek between his thumb and pointer finger. “I have to go. Take care of the house while I’m gone. No more than an hour.” He doesn’t like to say goodbye, you learned that when he first confessed his attraction to you. He made the mistake of bringing you along, and he thought the two of you would be separated forever. From then on, when the league left for their next mission Shigaraki took a liking to pinching your cheek instead.

“Oh! Let me help you with your coat!”

[queenmuzz]

So, anyways, I saw something @liulyam had posted for Spardaverse a while back I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THEIR WONDERFUL ART FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I saw specifically THIS piece of art, and it sent the brain juices into overdrive....

So, the same thing plays out everyday. Nero gets off the school bus and runs in, backpack flying, and tells his uncle excitedly about his day at school, before racing up the stairs to tell his dad the same thing, in the same adorably animated manner. Unfortunately, Vergil doesn’t respond the same way as Dante, sitting still, not even acknowledging that the boy is talking to him. Initially, Nero doesn’t mind, understanding his recently rescued father has been through a lot, and needs time and patience to recover. But as the months pass by, Dante notices that his nephew doesn’t run up the front steps as eagerly, his descriptions of school become shorter, paler. And most worryingly of all, Nero spends less and less time with Vergil, preferring to peek his head in the man’s room, sigh, and slowly make his way to his own room, closing the door sullenly.

“What’s going on Nero?” Dante takes the plunge and asks him one day, before the boy trudges up the stairs. “You haven’t been that rambunctious ball of energy lately.”

Nero kicks the worn hardwood floor. “It’s dad… I know you told me I need to be patient,” his face scrunches up at the word, it’s a thing he’s never been able to truly do. He’s definitely a Sparda boy. “But he just keeps ignoring me. He won’t talk, won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist! Maybe...maybe he doesn’t want me to exist-”

“Hey now!” Dante needs to nip this train of thought in the bud. He knows first hand where it can lead to. Had he not found Nero nearly nine years ago, while wandering the world, drinking up every bar’s entire inventory in a vain attempt to fill a void in his chest, who knows where he would have ended up? “Your dad...well, even without the stuff he’s been through, he was never much of a talker. Always preferred to have his actions speak for him.” “But that’s the thing, Uncle Dante!” Nero blurts out, close to tears. “He DOESN’T DO ANYTHING!!! He doesn’t care!” And with that, Nero bolts up the stairs, past Vergil’s room, not even checking up on him, and slams his bedroom door with such force, Eva’s portrait wobbles on the desk and tips over. Dante sighs, sets his mom back up, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Not to Nero’s room; Dante knows better than to provoke that tiger cub when he’s in an ornery mood. It’s time to talk to his dad.

Vergil, or what’s left of him, is sitting in an oversized chair, the only one that fits his giant frame, facing the window, the only one in the place with a view. If he’s heard the ruckus (and Dante knows he has), he makes no indication that it affects him.

“Verg,” he calls out, “I know it's been rough, I know I piled on a lot of shit on you, the whole thing about having a kid and everything these past nine years. I’m not expecting you to just snap back to normal, and start insulting me like in the good old days, but…” Dante’s not good at this sort of thing. He’d rather Royal Guard his emotional turmoil. It used to be with alcohol, but now it’s with a cheery smile. “The kid needs a sign that you’re still there, you’re still fighting. I know you are, hell, you’re the one that helped me take down that bastard Mundus on Mallet Island. But that’s the thing, Nero’s only heard things that you’ve done, not seen them. You need to show him yourself, otherwise…” Vergil makes no motion, and even Dante, stubborn as he is, knows it’s fruitless to continue much more, “you’re gonna lose him too.” And then Dante heads back downstairs, to see if he can whip up a snack to bribe his nephew to come out of his lair. Strange, he swears he hears the rustle of fabric from Vergil’s room, as if his brother had just moved.

--

Nero sits at Dante’s desk, working on his math homework. It’s his least favourite thing, fractions. Uncle Dante is a whiz at them, and usually would be able to help him, but he’s gone out on an ‘Really quick, won’t be more than a half hour’ errand run. It’s been nearly two hours, and the only other adult here is his dad… so Nero is practically by himself.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Nero’s neck prick up, and he hears scrabbling at the front door. He’s still not allowed to go out with Uncle Dante or Auntie Lady on their hunts, but he knows what a demon feels like, especially when there are a lot of them. ESPECIALLY when they’re really powerful Instinctively, he grabs a chair, and wedges it underneath the door knob, and looks around in a panic. He’s never had to deal with a demon attack by himself before. He remembers his uncle has a case of weapons that he was told to NEVER touch beside the jukebox, but Nero figures that he can say sorry to his uncle later. He smashes the lock with a billiard ball, and yanks open the lid. He’s disappointed. He thought there would be a treasure trove of swords and guns, but all there are two swords, one red and one blue. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and the whine of protesting wood ends with a thunderous CRASH, and demons pour through. “FIND THE HERETIC GOD SLAYER!” One says, before turning in Nero’s direction. Without much warning, it shrieks as it launches at him with razor sharp obsidian claws.

Nero might be little, but his uncle has trained him well. Whipping the two blades around, they connect the monster’s waist in a pincer move, and like a pair of scissors, bisect it in a shower of blood and ash. Nero swears he hears a voice (or is it two voices?) approvingly say, “Impressive!” but doesn’t have a chance to savour his very first demon kill as another demon comes at him, knocking him over. The reddish gold blade clatters away on the floor, way out of reach, not that it matters. Nero’s pinned to the ground by a skeletal foot, as the demon lifts a blade to impale him. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the end.

The final blow never comes. Instead, he hears shriek, and the pressure on his chest instantly subsides. He opens his eyes, to see it stagger back, its decapitated head clattering to the floor. Its brethren likewise are either dead or dying, their high pitched screams shattering the glass in the jukebox.

Nero’s first thought is that his Uncle has finally come home, Dante’s come to save me! But what’s odd is that there’s no sound of Dante’s beloved Ebony and Ivory. And last he checked, his uncle never was able to shoot out blue ghostly blades that now impale most of the horde. But it doesn’t matter, because his uncle is here to save the day! That is, until he yelps as he’s quickly, but not roughly picked up and held as whoever holds him spirits him out of the building, the blue blade still clutched in his hand. Nero begins to panic, but hears a voice, almost like a croak, as if the vocal cords had been in disuse for years…

Nero

And even though the voice is harsh sounding, it's one of the most comforting things Nero’s ever heard.

--

Of course that half hour errand run would turn out to be three hours. But when he was promised a free pizza for clearing out that demon nest on the West side, Dante couldn’t say no. Besides, he’d pick up some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the way home as a way of apologising to Nero. The kid might be cross with him, but he’d forgive him the moment he smelled those chewy biscuits. Dante might even let him have more than half of the package.

So when he gets home to find his front door smashed open, his office trashed, and worst of all his jukebox shattered-wait no, worst of all, his nephew missing, all thoughts of pizza and cookies vanish from his mind as he rushes in, guns drawn. There’s no sign of life, but the black splatters of demonic ichor painting the walls shows that some real bad mojo went down here. The strangest thing though, is Agni, a weapon Dante was definitely sure he had under lock and key, laying there on the ground, alone.

“Alright, time to spill your guts” he yanks the blade up so that he’s at eye level with the pommel, “What the hell happened here?” Agni makes the same response as Vergil. Which means silence.

“I swear to…” he pulls out ivory, and presses the muzzle into the (more troubled than usual looking face), “You’re gonna tell me what went down, or we’re gonna see how many bullets I can jam into your ugly mug.” “You told us to remain silent.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, consider that rule temporarily relaxed.” “There was an attack.” Agni starts, its distorted voice unusually agitated, “The little one fought with great valour, but eventually even he was overwhelmed.” Dante’s blood goes cold. “But then a great bulk of a demon came out and slaughtered the attacking filth, and spirited the boy away, alongwith my brother.”

“Rudra’s still with Nero?” That’s odd, if they were trying to capture the kid, they’d disarm him first.

“Yes, they are not far, I think they’ve stopped moving.”

“Alright,” Dante makes his way out of the disfigured wood, “let’s go find the kid and your bro...and if he’s alright, maybe I’ll reconsider giving back your talking privileges.” “Oh, that would be wonderful, will you allow us to leave the dark box? It’s been so long since we’ve fought, we crave batt- ”

“I said IF, and I won’t guarantee anything if you keep jabbering on and on.”

--

Angi directs the demon hunter to a dark secluded alleyway, a few blocks from Devil May Cry. One hand on its hilt ready for attack, the other fingering the trigger of Ivory, he cautiously makes his way past the recently overturned garbage cans, to a shadow alcove, where a shadow crouches. Beside it is Rudra, glowing faintly, it’s turquoise blue light providing enough illumination for Dante to make out what has happened. There’s Nero, peacefully slumbering away, apparently unharmed, not even his shirt is torn. And holding him gently, stroking his downy white hair with a giant hand...is Vergil… And for once, even though he is still staring straight ahead, there’s a different look on his face, a sense of contentment.

Huh Dante thinks to himself as he holsters the weapons, I was right, actions DO speak louder than words.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Can I request the hostage prompt with whirl,cygate and megatron with a human so

Ohoho I've been waiting to do this one... Hope everyone enjoys some silliness mixed with sweetness!

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Whirl

·You've always had a kind of strength Whirl recognized and admired, it's one of the reasons he fell for you in the first place, but even you aren't sure what exactly gives you the fuel to snap with enough force that it freezes your captor at their active communication station. Maybe you're just tired of being chained up, but their arrogant demeanor is more than likely what pushed you over the edge, specifically with that last taunt at Whirl that used "Cyclops" as the punchline for the millionth time. Swears are beautifully melded into an avalanche of fury that starts with you demanding this lazy idiot think of a better insult for your partner than something involving his looks, because "You think YOU'RE hot shit?! There's corpses in here with more charisma than you!"

·Fear doesn't even register as you keep on tearing apart your captor in every way you can. Nothing is off limits with all the taunting Whirl has been forced to endure on the other end of the communication line, and thus you bring out every below the belt insult you can think of. The bad bot's jaw is slack as you continue, looking to their dazed face and declaring "Not to mention you're dumb enough to go after MY mech, you think a loser like you is gonna stand a chance against WHIRL?! Just last week he tossed a combiner off a bridge because he called me "fleshy", what do you think he's gonna do to YOU?!"

· The communicator is still running when your kidnapper leaves it to try and intimidate you into silence, a move that makes you laugh in exasperated dismissal. "Oh, now you're gonna THREATEN me, really? Did I not make myself clear? You've pissed off the deadliest mech in the universe, and he's got the entirety of the Lost Light helping him search, your next few hours would be a lot better spent deciding how you want what's gonna be left of you interred!" Though you're not even knee height compared to your captor, he actually seems to flinch at your words, especially with you raging so close to his gobsmacked face. The rush of finally shutting him up spurs you to continue your roasting with increasingly petty and crude comments on your partner's significantly superior looks.

·In a stroke of fantastic fortune or misfortune depending on your perspective, a tactical explosion tears into the underground base just as you start to elaborate on Whirl's many other impressive skills. Bots rain in to overwhelm your kidnapper and his automated defenses in a coordinated ambush, one quickly ruined when your absolutely giddy paramour rushes forth without a care to take out the captor in a flying jump kick with a howling battle cry. Rather than eviscerate his now vulnerable enemy, Whirl leaves the crumpled kidnapper where he lies, heedless to the battle still raging all around as his optic sparkles as he beholds you. Like a damsel being swept off their feet you're plucked from your chains and pulled into his careful claws.

·All but gushing with euphoria, he explains that your brilliant distraction tactic gave them the ability to trace your location, and that he heard every word of your spark warming defense on his behalf. You can hear the unhindered adoration in his voice, but you also get a chance to see it as he practically dances through the combat with you held in one arm. By the time your kidnapper is the only one left, he looks lovingly into your eyes and primes his gun with a tender whisper. "Want me to kill this glitch just for you, babe?" The other bots quickly interfere to insist on taking him in for a proper trial, something you're quite alright with as you explain all you really want is to get some rest. Whirl insists on carrying you all the way to bed, whispering sweet nothing's and more or less being the most affectionate anyone has ever seen him.

·Afterwards you're told what it was like on the other end of the communication line. He'd been inconsolable at your kidnapping, and it had taken multiple bots to prevent him from tearing apart the ship as the messages came in. But the moment you'd started shouting? He'd been initially frozen like the rest of them, but had eventually leaned in beside the communicator to listen, his optic getting mistier at every passing curse word yelled on his behalf. Some described his demeanor as that of a lovestruck teen listening to their crush sing a love ballad, though they emphasize his emotional reaction to hearing you was undoubtedly genuine, as it was probably the first time he'd ever been defended so passionately by anyone. The endless doting on you he engages in afterwards leaves you little doubt this is true.

Cygate

·Having two loving partners has always been a blessing, which is probably why you're so easily driven to a blind rage in the face of your captor's endless attempts to mock both of them through the brief communications he sends to the crew, which are also made more unbearable by his ever increasing list of demands for your return. At his latest taunting of their "freakish" romance, you hit your boiling point. The communicator is still running when you lay into the callous bot for having the audacity to insult anyone's choices when he's set himself up in a literal evil lair. "There's body parts just thrown around like confetti in here, and you LIVE like this?! Do you think you get to decide who's weird in this scenario?! At least those two were decent enough to have each other as roommates, you couldn't convince anything living to shack up with your creepy ass!"

·At the total silence you somehow find the fury to keep going, but harder and faster this time, your self restraint little more than a memory as you dangle from the chains keeping you still. "Is it a jealousy thing?! Are you just that peeved off you're single? That you had to steal me to cut them down from three to two? Bad news dumbass; they're STILL beating you on the dating front!" It's not helping your situation, but tearing in to the jerk who's dragged you into a cave and spent so long bullying your partners feels too good for you to stop, especially with the stupid look of indignation and confusion twisting his expression. Not to mention he gives you plenty to rip into even as he tries in vain to make you shut up.

·"You think you scare me?! Do you even know who I'm dating?! Do you think they'll let you get away with this stunt?! One of them can destroy your stupid face with one punch, the other is Cyclonus, and you've gone and pissed them both off!" While it may be a little underwhelming to threaten the guy with what others will do to him, you're hardly in a mood to complain when his expression briefly gives way to one of horrified realization. Yet that hardly calms you down in any significant way. Did he drag you to some nowhere planet and chain you to a wall without even bothering to consider the consequences?! Your back is killing you and the bots have been enduring his incoherent demands for hours, and perhaps you could forgive that if not for all his haughty taunting, which drives you to once again begin raging.

·"Did you even have a plan?! Do you actually have any idea what you're up against, or did you just think you'd swipe a human and earn an easy paycheck? Because if you had even an inkling of what my mechs are capable of, you'd be headed for the nearest space bridge and warping as FAR away from here as physics allow!" While it's a new level of ridiculous, even for your crazy life, the absurdities of the nonexistent plan simply make you see red. It's one thing to be kidnapped by someone who at least has goals, but to be chained up in a cave by some idiot who doesn't have any plans beyond profit and bragging? That'd be enough to tick you off in itself, but the additional insults he's levied at your partners bring your tirade into molten levels of anger that seem absolutely bottomless.

·You're practically red in the eyes when the whole place quakes, and by the time you realize your captor is booking it he's already made it to the door, though his escape ends there when it opens to reveal the bots you've been wanting to see more than anything. A single strike from Cyclonus sends the kidnapper clear across the room, and he's followed by a battle ready Tailgate roaring out his fury as the security systems come on. The chaos of automatic turrets does nothing to distract you from the little blue bot pummeling your captor, and it only makes the arrival of a familiar purple mech that much more heroic as he snaps your chains and pulls you into his arms. The battle is little more than a formality before the barely conscious villain is cuffed and prepared for transport to trial, something your two partners are only willing to allow under the threat of personally hunting him down if he tries to escape justice. Before even leaving the cave you're smushed in the middle of a passionate hug.

·Tailgate alternates between ecstatic buzzing and relieved weeping at your rescue, while Cyclonus never loses a soft smile but keeps finding opportunities to hold and touch you as if he needs to be reassured you're here. It's heartwarming, but according to the rest of the crew it all started at your unplanned radio takeover. No bot had been prepared to hear their favorite human erupt in such unbridled rage, but those two had been shocked in the most wonderful meaning of the word, their expressions reflecting awe like no other until the ship had actually arrived at your location. Cyclonus had actually gone slack jawed while Tailgate had threatened to faint in his arms, but joy had painted their reactions more and more as time had gone on. The tiny powerhouse and the colossal mech out of time were still effusive in their praise every time you three were together, neither having ever known someone could truly love the two of them so completely.

Megatron

·Knowing that Megatron has a sizable target on his back and a lot to be criticized for doesn't make enduring your captor any easier, which is probably why you end up reaching a boiling point after a few hours of listening to the bot who's tied you up try to claim some kind of moral high ground. A tiny human being protective of a titanic gladiator may be illogical, but you can't seem to care when you finally hit your limit, the chains keeping you in place rattling from your sheer force of rage. Because seriously, so long as we're criticizing people for immoral actions, can you cut in about the time some raging jerk tied you up just to taunt another bot and get some cash on the side? Your simple but glaring barb immediately gets the attention of the much larger alien as they stare at you in shock.

·At his bafflement you become entirely unhinged. "Really? What, do you need me to spell out the irony of all this?! You're calling MY MECH a monster, but I don't see him running many evil lairs at the moment, do you?! Kind of rich, you claiming the high ground while I'm literally CHAINED TO THE WALL and our only present company is CORPSES, don't you think?!" The various and still unexplained dead bodies dotting the cave remain as the only audience you know of while the communicator is abandoned, your captor leaving it behind so he can approach and try to growl out some kind of intimidation. It has no effect beyond making you more furious than ever before. Had the chains not been holding you down, you'd have certainly tried to swing at his stupid face while you snapped.

·"Are you trying to scare me? You, a two bit kidnapper who holed himself up in a cave, and I'm supposed to be impressed?! I'm DATING Megatron! One look at a bot that terrifies the galaxy and I decided I wanted a piece of him!" You're almost proud as you declare your undying love for your gigantic partner, something that has earned you a lot of grief from others but has made you happier than you've ever been in your entire life. While you ordinarily don't attempt to argue on his behalf, per his request, it's impossible not to just grill a jerk who thinks he has the high ground to criticize literally anyone. Plus your open and passionate fondness for the former warlord seems to be scaring your captor more than the mech himself ever could, something that brings a devilish twinkle to your eye as you continue to threateningly gush over the bot you adore, if only to pay this jerk back for all the gloating he made said mech endure.

·You're absolutely effusive as you passionately and quite aggressively go on about what a gentlemech you're dating, with ample divertions to the many ways his incredible strength and size are used for much more protective and noble purposes, like holding you close or crushing bad guys. It isn't long before you're spinning a terrifying yarn about the time you were caught in a firefight and he tore a hunk of the wall clean off to shield you from the danger before proceeding to beat the attacking forces with the corpse of their leader. The kidnapper is actually backing away slowly, which turns to backing away quickly as you begin to describe Megatron's romantic poetry skills and how some of his greatest talents lie not on the battlefield but in the bedroom, by which point he's preparing his security systems to cover his escape.

·Perfect timing, from your perspective, makes the sudden explosion of every door a beautiful and inspiring sight. In what has to be the most well coordinated ambush of all time, your friends of the Lost Light storm the cave and annihilate the resistance so fast you only have to blink before a very restrained Megatron is cuffing your petrified kidnapper and tossing him to Magnus so he can be taken into custody. When he turns to you he's actually smiling, and there's a lot behind the expression. Relief, gratitude, exhaustion, and a million other emotions swarm in his optics as the chains keeping you bound crumble like dust in his grip, and you're lifted in his cupped hands like a priceless treasure. Though he's mostly quiet for some time after, you can hear how absolutely smitten he is with you every time he speaks, and the lovestruck look of pure affection never seems to leave his face, which you see often as he appears terrified to lose you.

·A couple of other bots feel compelled to tell you; he was on the warpath when he found you missing, and many had been taking bets on how little would be left of your kidnapper once the former Decepticon got his hands on him. Yet, as soon as he'd overheard you, something about his whole demeanor had changed in an instant. He hadn't just softened, he'd been visibly moved by the passion of your defense and the fire of your love for him. The very idea that he could be defended had been unthinkable in his mind. Yet you'd faced a much larger foe without fear because you'd been so angry on his behalf, what could he possibly have done to deserve such a thing? His gratitude is apparent every moment the two of you spend together, from his rather out of character cuddling to his impressive increase in poems written to describe his adoration of you. Though it isn't at all necessary, you do enjoy having been able to let him know how deeply you cherish him.

[yuzukult]

—saccharine

pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 2,319 prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time? warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack. a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.

His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.

This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday. 

To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.

It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true. 

He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.

Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone. 

By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.

But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.

The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.

There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.

Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts. 

And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.

He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.

Or is it?

Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?

Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.

When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.

Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.’ Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.

Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once? 

The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.

Luck must be on his side because you’re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.

You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”

Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee

He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”

Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets. 

You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”

—

Seokjin is a regular now. 

Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.

He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.

The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?

“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”

His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.

Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with? 

And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him. 

After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him. 

If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle? 

Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight. 

—

What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl. 

You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face. 

And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.

“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”

Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.

Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”

“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”

You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.

“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”

The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”

“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”

Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”

He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you.