#just this frying pan of shattering

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

Movieverse Cinder, but he is just some highschool bully who spray painted a frying pan golden and is now hitting people with it.

[dovespovies]

Silence

Jason Todd x Female Reader

The first meeting of reader and Jason Mention Of blood and reader just taking care of Jason.

You opened your fridge to find there was no ice cream. Sighing you went out to buy some because you needed it.  The day was exhausting and all you wanted was to end it with a nice bath and a bowl of ice cream. But it was all pushed aside when you came home being welcomed by a large man groaning in pain and messing up your favorite blanket.

You dropped the bag of needed supplies and rushed inside to grab a frying pan, you held it up and slowly walked to him. You didn't know if you could trust him but somehow you got a feeling he wasn't in any harm. You can never be too careful.

He jumped in your presence and clenched his thighs harder. He was wearing a helmet and you could feel he was sweating under that. Your heart shattered at what he said. 

“Please,...can you help me?”

It was a stark contrast to what he appeared to be. All rough and tough but his voice expressed a desperate and painful tone. 

You dropped the pan and ran to get your first aid kit. You approached him cautiously. Still having your guard up if you had to make a run for it. The smell of blood covered the room and it made you feel dizzy. You dropped in front of him and waited for him to attack or something. He didn't, but instead moved his hands away from his thigh. He then helped you pull his pants down and you saw that he had another skin-tight pants underneath. How is he not hot under that?

He waited and you took the cue and gently inspected the wound. It was deep and bleeding badly. You hissed at the sight. Feeling down to your stomach. You worked shakingly, cleaned his wound with a wet cloth, and gently wiped it. He needed stitching. “This…needs stitching..” You whispered to him. He was sighing and shaking. “Go...ahead..”

That was all you needed. You tried to calm yourself down. College made you take some emergency aid practices and you never knew how it would come to help. Well, it did. You handed him a cloth. “Here, bite into this.” He was trembling as he took the cloth. You tried not to notice as he took his helmet off. He had another mask covering his face except for his mouth and eyes. He had a frown on him, and his lips trembled.  You didn't look as you focused on his thigh. He groaned but kept it very quiet. You saw how he was gripping the edge of the couch. You felt sick to my stomach. You finished stitching him up and cleaned everything remaining.

You sat there sighing and trying to steady your breathing. He took the cloth out of his mouth and tried to move his leg a bit but regretted it immediately as he dropped his head down and winched. “It’s okay, don’t panic. This’ll take a while to heal,” you said standing up and moving the aids away. He sat there, panting as he sweated. The smell of iron is still lingering, making you feel nauseous. “Thank you..” his voice breaking, You nodded as you took a chair and sat opposite of him.

“What happened?” Your voice cut the silence as he stiffened his shoulders. “Mission went wrong.” He rasped out, voice laced with soreness. It’s not every day you have a vigilante in your place asking for help. You could just call the police and get him out. But something in your heart broke when you saw his state. You couldn’t just kick him out. You felt somewhat good in a way. He didn’t feel like a threat anymore. 

“You..can stay if you want for the night?” you piped in, trying to reassure him that he was safe here. He exhaled and looked straight at you, “That okay with you?” His stare was born into you, your soul, and made you feel small and bare in front of him. You nodded, “Yes.” you managed to speak up, mesmerized by his eyes. He muttered ‘okay’ and leaned against the couch. 

You just sat there looking around awkwardly as he sat there with his eyes closed. You couldn't help taking in his appearance. Mr. Red Hood, on your couch, all weak and helpless, his huge body rising and falling with each breath. You shook your head to get rid of the unwantedthoughts. “I have some soup if you are hungry..” His head perked up, “Yes…” He gasped out, “Please.”

You got up as quickly as you could and heated the soup. You went inside your room to look for some clothes. You found some old sweatshirts and pants. Thanking yourself for not using it as a floor mop. You walk gently and place the clothes beside him, “You can use them for the night…” You softly told him as he stared at you, his heart squeezing at the warmth you were providing him. You didn’t even know him and yet you were kind enough to help him. His soul withered at that thought. He nodded your way and considered the clothes. But ended up not changing. The ache in his legs caught up to him but was bearable somehow. He watched you as you worked through the kitchen, preparing food for him. You could feel his eyes on you as you poured the soup and brought it to him. His eyes never left you. You sat with your bowl as you waited for him to pick it up. He leaned in and took a spoon full and gulped down the hot soup. He dropped the spoon as fast as he picked it up and gasped as he burnt his tongue. "Oh fuck..." He coughed. He tried to grab the spoon his stitched thigh moved leaving him a groaning and frustrated mess. You placed your soup down and went to him, “I can help. Sit back." He was shocked at your commanding tone but sat back down. You sat beside him and took the soup and blew on it, cooling it down, you brought it to his mouth. He looked at you with a frown but then opened his mouth. The depth of his eyes was much visible now, boring into you, making your heart drop. As time progressed, the bowl emptied and his frown faded. You sat there on the couch with him, none of you speaking, just basking in the late-night silence. You didn't realize when you fell asleep, but you felt his eyes on you the whole time. 

You woke up around 6, confused at why you were on your couch at first but then the memories of the night pooled in. You looked around, not seeing him, you frowned. The soup bowls were still here, the blood-stained couch, blanket, and untouched clothes were still there, but he wasn't. You looked around the rooms and returned to the couch disappointed. You didn't understand why you felt a bit sad at his departure. But he left even at that state. You were about to go away when you noticed a small piece of paper. You picked it up and saw a small note. 

Thank you for last night, sorry I stained your couch.

- R. Hood.

Thank You!

[quarterlifekitty]

Out of the frying pan, into the flames

cw: dark themes, kidnapping, conditioning, implied sex slavery

Lately I’ve been thinking about Price finding you during a covert op. Deep in the interior rooms of a compound once belonging to a man deemed an enemy by whoever is currently signing the 141’s paychecks.

Killing the hawk, only to find the chick in its nest. Something left behind that will die if abandoned.

You’ve been conditioned well, curtesy of the man who laid on the pavement outside with one of Price’s bullets between his eyes. Perfectly well behaved, hadn’t made a single sound even when he’d burst into the room.

There’s a collar on your neck. A loose fitting dress. A small, but cozy enough room, though it has no windows and locks from the outside.

In the records of the man’s office, evidence suggests that you’ve been in the game a long time. Enough to have disappeared as far as anyone who might’ve known you is concerned.

And Price was just thinking— there’s an elegant solution to all of this. He’s a quietly selfish man. He tries to suffocate that painful, roiling tempest inside that tells him he’s owed something. That he’s sacrificed too much for one lifetime and gotten too little in return.

Pawning you off onto some government officials, trying to find a place for you to be awkwardly shoved into society— that wouldn’t be good for you, John tells himself.

It would be better for everyone if he did what he always did. If he took care of things.

He lets you hold his hand while his other delicately rends the microchip from under the skin at the base of your skull with a knife. Removes the chafing nylon collar. He has something much nicer in mind for you.

John’s always thought that if he were home more, he’d have a damned good garden. That’s just how he is— nurturing. Bringing things to their best.

You know how to be good. You know how to be seen and not heard. You know how to suck cock so well it could bring a man to tears. And for lesser men, that might’ve been enough. But to Price, you’re still a block of unchiseled marble. There is a beautiful thing in you, and he will free it.

You haven’t heard a lick of praise in years. Why be praised for what you should be doing? For serving your purpose? You tense in a way that’s— quite frankly— adorable the first time he calls you a good girl. He’ll soften you to it in time.

He tells you how much it hurt to see you the way he found you…. Being wasted. Pearls before swine. No such thing as bad dogs, only bad owners. When you smile, the pit inside him grows. Deeper, hungrier.

He needs to be your sun, moon, and stars. To have a beautiful creature that would wither and die without his touch. A doll needs someone to dress it.

Your new collar is fine, beautiful leather. Embossed with a winding filigree, art noveau motifs. The little metal tag has his name. He likes the bell on it— so he can hear it grow louder so quickly whenever he comes through the door.

Your wide eyes when he comes home with a gift… they kill him every time. How you keen when he starts to fuss over you. How you’re hanging on his every word. How he hears the bell following him as he takes care of every little mundane task around the country home.

In a perverse irony, it calms him when he has to go away. Knowing that if he was killed, if he never came home— your life would end too. You’d be shattered beyond repair. He had fixed you once, and no one would ever be able to go over his work. The threads of your fate had become tangled to his in a way that couldn’t be undone. You shed no tears for the man before him. But there would be no man after him.

You’re damned lucky he happens to be good at his job.

[honeylullaby]

“There’s just something about ya’.” PT.2

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 Despite his dislike of the upper class, Declan cannot help but fall for Rupert’s daughter.

18+ FANFIC / Romantic angst, smut mention. Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

It had been approximately four and a half days since you had last blessed The Priory with your glittering presence. Declan had found himself, half-asleep and puffing hungrily on a cigarette, stood by the kitchen window — surveying the fields and embarrassingly hopeful that he saw you march from Penscombe Court with your usual hamper of snacks. Today must have been his lucky day, as you were doing just that. With crimson red wellies clutching your feet, you trampled up the mossy bank, hauling a heavy wicker hamper in your right hand. Knocking politely, you waited by the front door, feeling your bottom lip trembling with trepidation.

The door swung open — revealing Declan dressed (in loose terms) in tight white boxers and a navy blue dressing gown. “Oh. It’s you.” He spat, but his heart was executing the most perfect somersaults inside his chest. “Yes. Daddy said he hasn’t seen you in a while… worried about you. So I’ve brought you some thick cut bacon and some pork and apple sausages, cook you up a breakfast.” You beamed. The bewitching twinkle in your eyes was enough to make Declan almost drool. He didn’t speak, but pushed the door open further to allow you entry into the unkempt country home. “Why haven’t you answered Daddy’s calls?” You pried, waltzing into the kitchen and beginning to retrieve a frying pan and spatula. Declan sat himself down at the table, brindle brown glasses on and his unnerving chocolate orbs trained on you. “Busy.” He grunted, scratching at the growing stubble on his chin.

Within minutes, the ambrosial aroma of frying bacon was occupying the kitchen. Your shapely figure was clothed in a vibrant yellow summer dress, the ruches clinging to the contours of your waist. The sight alone was enough to make the breath catch in Declan’s throat. “Nice dress.” He remarked, admiring the tresses of golden hair that cascaded down your back like a rich waterfall. “Why thank you!” You giggled, spinning around from the hob to curtesy gracefully. You daren’t tell him that you wore it just for him. The breakfast you had cooked for him was nothing short of majestic — a rounded plate laden with bacon, sausages, eggs, beans and toast. “Here you are, my love.” You presented the plate to him and instantaneously spun on your heel, facing the wall and chomping down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. My love?, you thought to yourself, why on Earth did I say that?

Declan rapaciously wolfed at his food, his moustache glistening with grease. What was so terribly wrong with you that you even found that attractive? “Drink?” You asked tentatively, not wanting to disturb the breakfast trance he’d worked himself into. He simply nodded his head in response. You flashed him that sweet, submissive smile that he’d grown so accustomed to. Fumbling through the cupboard, you began to retrieve a glass and noticed that the neighbouring glass was slipping. It promptly hurtled to the floor and shattered into tiny, crystallised shards with a delicious smash. “Shit!” You huffed, a concoction of embarrassment and angry, and bent down to the ground to ineptly pick up the jagged pieces. Declan followed suit — he’d rather cut himself a thousand times on the shattered glass than you cut yourself once. As he gathered the pieces, he swiftly glanced up at you. Feeling his unwavering glare, your eyes darted upwards, immediately stifling their panicked glow.

The tension entwined betwixt your locked eyes was palpable, the rise and fall of your chests increasing with every waking second. Before either of you could speak, Declan stood to his feet, pulling you up with him and picking you up. By instinct, your legs crossed behind his back and your hands raked desperately through his hair— your lips crashing together hungrily. Desperate moans were whimpered against each others lips. Declan placed you onto the table carefully, beginning to unbutton his shirt, his lustful eyes following your hands as you rushed to hike up your dress. “Fuck, I want you so bad.” He mumbled, pressing his lips against yours once more, unable to suppress the urge to taste you. You had never wanted anything more.

“Hello? Only me, old chap. I can’t find princess anywhere.” The all too familiar voice of Rupert, your father, called from the hallway, the gutting click of the front door behind him sending reverberant shock waves through you both.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #2 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: Your life takes a wild turn after discovering what you believe is Seokjin's risqué secret, only for the following nights to leave you doubting your own reality. Was it loneliness and a shattered heart that conjured this delusion? As you try to move on, leaving your assumptions behind, you and Seokjin grow closer—until a late-night slip-up unravels everything... literally. note: it took me almost a month to update i have been busy at work.; i've edited this but there still may be some grammatical errors so apologies in advanced. warnings: roommate!Seokjin being such a green flag, adult content live streaming (camwork), explicit solo masturbation (from jin and also reader POV), voyeurism, descriptive use of toys, dirty talk, reader's emotional turmoil, Seokjin being perceptive and teasing, confrontation, sexual frustration, sexual tension. mild language, some implied sexual fantasizing, jin POV in the last quarter of the chapter drop date: December 20th, 2024, 12:00pm pst word count: 9.6k chapter 1 | chapter 3 crossposted on ao3 here

–

That good sleep that you were anticipating?

Gone.

Were you able to get some sleep last night?

Absolutely not.

Every time you’d close your eyes, all you would see is THAT: Seokjin Kim, sitting in his chair, stroking his cock with slow, deliberate motions, his face caught somewhere between bliss and control while a virtual audience eagerly watched.

Oh god, what the fuck did you get yourself into? 

You can’t just continue living here like you didn’t see that.

Absolutely no way–

“Did you get a good sleep last night?”

The sound of Seokjin’s voice slices through the chaotic mind-fuck cluster of your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. You blink, startled, your mind scrambling for something—anything—to say.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was…nice,” you reply, though your tone is as flat as week-old opened grapefruit Spin Drift you’ve left out on the counter countless times in the past.

Seokjin chuckles, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, giving you a knowing look. “That doesn’t sound very convincing,” he remarks before turning back toward the kitchen. You watch him as he grabs a carton of eggs, a frying pan, and other utensils with easy confidence, as though nothing is out of the ordinary.

Meanwhile, your head is spinning.

Does he have any idea what you saw? No, of course not. How could he? You clutch your mug of coffee tighter, willing yourself to keep calm and act normal, even though “normal” feels like a foreign concept right now.

Seokjin cracks an egg against the side of the pan with one hand, a skill that feels unnecessarily showy, and tosses the shell in the trash without missing a beat. “So, what’s your plan for today?”

“My plan?” 

“Yeah, you know. Moving in, settling down. Unpacking those boxes.” He gestures with the spatula toward the pile of boxes you had left in the living room yesterday. “Or are you just going to live out of them for the next few months?”

You force out a weak laugh, trying to mask your unease. “I’ll get to them soon. Or well, eventually.”

Seokjin glances at you over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, you sure you’re okay? You seem… distracted.”

Distracted? That’s putting it lightly. You practically choked on your own thoughts all night, trying to process what you’d stumbled upon. Now here he is, looking every bit as composed and charming as ever, completely unaware of how he’s upended your mental state.

“Just a lot on my mind from the shit I’ve been going through,” you say vaguely, hoping he’ll just think about what you’ve previously told him and won’t press further.

“Fair enough,” he replies, flipping the eggs in the pan with a practiced flick of his wrist. “By the way, if you need anything for your room, feel free to let me know. I’ve got some spare furniture in storage if you need extra shelves or whatever.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, staring at your coffee as if it holds the answers to your predicament.

You spend the rest of breakfast in tense silence, with Seokjin humming softly to himself as he cooks. Every so often, you catch yourself stealing a glance at him—his broad shoulders, the black t-shirt that loosely fits his body, his easy movements, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead. And every time, your mind cruelly throws you back to that image from last night.

You barely touch your toast, and when Seokjin finally sets his plate in the sink and announces he’s heading out to work in the office since he has some meetings later this afternoon, you feel a wave of relief so strong it’s almost embarrassing.

As the front door clicks shut behind him, you slump against the counter, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

What are you going to do? How are you supposed to face him every day without your mind going there?

If there’s anything that helps clear your mind, it’s organizing. The chaos of your thoughts seems to calm when you’re sorting, categorizing, and arranging. And thank god you have a lot of that to do right now with all the boxes cluttering your room and spilling into the living room.

Determined to regain some sense of control, you dive into it. First, the essentials—clothing, toiletries, and the work necessities you hope to use again someday. You find a rhythm: open, sort, fold, stack, repeat. The act becomes a form of meditation, letting you focus on the task rather than… other things.

After about two hours, just as you’re folding a stack of sweaters, your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call. Your dear best friend Yunjin’s photo flashes across the screen.

You swipe to answer, her bright, cheerful face filling the screen instantly.

“Hey girl!!” she chirps, holding her phone up at an angle that shows a bustling street lined with shops and people.

“Hey, Yunjin!” you say, unable to hide your grin. “Haven’t seen your beautiful face in awhile. What are you up to?”

“I’m out shopping in Japantown,” she says, spinning her phone around to give you a quick view of colorful storefronts and an adorable bakery. “And I saw this cute Moomin plush keychain. It reminded me of you, so I’m gonna gift it you!”

A Gift?! 

Your eyes widen. “N-No! It’s fine!”

Yunjin’s smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, stop it. I want to. Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to go visit you.” Yunjin lives a couple of hours away from you, so you don’t get to see her as often as you used to during college.

Despite her kindness, you feel a pang of guilt. Being unemployed has left you hyperaware of money, and the idea of your friend spending her hard-earned cash on you—without expecting anything in return—feels unbearable. But that’s just how she is. That’s just…Yunny.

“Really, you don’t have to,” you say, even as a part of you knows arguing with her is pointless.

“Too late!” she sing-songs, flipping the camera around to show the tiny Moomin plush with its sweet little face and scarf. “Tell me this isn’t so you.”

It is. It absolutely is.

You sigh, shaking your head but unable to keep from smiling. “Okay, fine. But at least let me treat you to a coffee.”

“Deal,” Yunjin says with a wink before turning the camera back to her. “So, how’s it going with your new place? Settling in okay?”

Your mind flashes to Seokjin, to the events of last night, and you swallow hard. “Uh, yeah. It’s… nice. Just getting things sorted.”

Yunjin squints at the screen, her expression turning suspicious. “You sound weird. What’s going on?”

Should you tell her? Absolutely not. She’d think the whole situation was bizarre—and worse, she’d probably call you weird for sticking around to watch him do that. You quickly decide to change the topic.

“Yunny, is there really no way I can stay with you for a bit of time?” you groan, leaning against the pile of clothes you’d been folding.

Yunjin’s brow furrows. “Oh, why? You don’t like your new place?”

“It’s… fine,” you hedge, glancing toward your door as if Jin might somehow overhear. “I just… I don’t know. It’d be nice to have you around again like old times.”

The truth is, you don’t want to leave this city. It’s the only place where the kind of opportunities you’re looking for exist. And besides, you love it here—the energy, the atmosphere, the food scene. Nothing else in or out of state even comes close.

But if moving meant getting away from the strange situation you’ve landed yourself in, maybe you’d consider it.

“Uh, well, sadly, no,” Yunjin says with a slight pout. “I thought one of my housemates was moving out to live with her boyfriend, but it looks like that was all talk. She’s staying put for now. They probably wouldn’t be okay with temporary couch surfing either.”

That makes sense.

“Oh,” you reply, deflated. “Okay.”

“Hmm.” Yunjin narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully, she doesn’t press further. “Well, I can’t wait to see your new place. We’ll do a housewarming soon, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you say, nodding along, though the thought of hosting a gathering here makes your stomach twist. How exactly would you explain Seokjin’s... side hustle to anyone if they happened to find out?

“Alright, I’ve gotta go,” Yunjin says, the bustling noise behind her growing louder. “I’m supposed to get lunch with Hanni and Stephen. Love you!”

“Love you too,” you reply, waving at the screen before the call ends.

You set your phone down, a mix of warmth and guilt settling over you. It’s comforting to know Yunjin has your back, but it also serves as a painful reminder of how far you’ve fallen. No job, no stability, and now living with a guy who… well.

You shake your head, refusing to let yourself spiral. There’s too much to do, too many boxes to unpack. For now, you focus on the small wins—folding clothes, sorting books, reclaiming a sense of order.

One step at a time.

You throw yourself into unpacking and organizing, letting the steady rhythm of your tasks distract you from your swirling thoughts. The hours slip by as you arrange books on shelves, hang up clothes, and shuffle boxes around to make the room feel less like a storage unit and more like a home.

By the time the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, you’ve made solid progress. Your room is starting to look presentable—cozy, even. The hum of activity keeps your mind occupied, though every now and then, stray thoughts about last night sneak in.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolts you out of your reverie. A moment later, Seokjin walks in, dressed in business attire, his tie slightly loosened and his hair tousled in that effortlessly charming way that makes it clear why his stream fans are obsessed with him.

“Hey,” he says, offering a small smile as he sets his bag on the counter. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you reply, wiping your dust-covered hands on your jeans. “Got most of my stuff sorted out.”

He glances toward your room and nods approvingly. “Nice. Looks like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d get it all done before it starts to feel like a chore.”

Seokjin chuckles as he loosens his tie completely and drapes it over a chair. “Smart move. I should probably take a page out of your book. My closet’s a disaster zone right now.”

“Really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the messy type.”

He shrugs, pulling open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “It’s organized chaos. I know where everything is… mostly.”

You laugh softly, some of the tension you’d been holding onto easing as the conversation flows naturally. For the first time since last night, you don’t feel quite so on edge around him.

“Anyway,” he says, taking a sip of water and leaning against the counter, “I’m gonna change out of this and make something for dinner. You hungry?”

“Starving,” you admit, realizing you hadn’t eaten much while caught up in organizing.

“Cool. Give me like ten minutes,” he says with a grin, already heading toward his room.

As he disappears down the hallway, you let out another breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s going to take some time to feel normal here, but for now, small moments like this help.

Back to one step at a time.

Yes… one step at a time.

Jin reappears in casual clothes—sweatpants and a loose tee that somehow still manages to look good on him—and heads straight to the kitchen. You sit on the couch, doomscrolling on social media to consume random content to keep you busy in the meantime.

The comforting sound of clattering pots and pans fills the apartment, accompanied by the savory aroma of something delicious in the making.

When he calls out, “Hope you like pasta carbonara,” you can’t help but feel grateful he’s even making you food. 

He doesn’t have to do this, but it’s nice that he is.

He sets the steaming pan on top of a hot pad on the table, followed by two plates, forks, and a sprinkle of grated cheese in a small dish. “Voilà. Gourmet dining at its finest.”

This actually looks like high quality italian restaurant quality presentation.

You take a seat, eyeing the dish appreciatively. “Woah? Fancy. Do you cook like this all the time?”

He grins as he spoons a generous serving onto your plate. “Not always. I have a rotation: this, ramen, steak, kimchi jjigae, and… takeout. Lots of takeout.”

You laugh, grabbing your fork. “Sounds somewhat balanced.”

“I try to keep it balanced but,” he agrees, twirling pasta onto his fork. “I also work out a bit too.”

“Nice,” 

In your mind, you’re thinking “yeah, you’ve seen him workout alright”

This is really going to eat at you at this rate.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the rich, creamy flavors of the pasta doing wonders for your mood. It feels surreal to be sitting here, sharing a meal with someone who, just days ago, you were convinced would be a terrible roommate.

The meal is delicious, better than you’d expected. For a while, you let yourself get lost in the comforting simplicity of eating—pasta twirling on your fork, the sauce aroma wafting up, the occasional clink of silverware against plates.

It feels… normal. Nice, even. But still, at the back of your mind, there’s a quiet storm brewing.

The night before keeps replaying in your head, uninvited and intrusive, like a broken record you can’t turn off. You glance at Seokjin as he eats, his features relaxed, his posture casual. How can he seem so normal when you know what he was doing less than 24 hours ago?

The mental tug-of-war begins: Should you just ignore it? Pretend it never happened? Or—

“So,” you blurt, interrupting your own thoughts, “what exactly do you do for work?”

Jin looks up, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “I work in marketing,” he says, reaching for his water.

You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Marketing for…?”

He grins, sensing your peaked interest. “Riot Games. You know, the League of Legends company?”

Your eyes widen. “No way! What! That’s so cool.”

That’s actually a pretty awesome career.

And so Seokjin of him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fun. A lot of campaigns and community engagement stuff. It keeps me busy, but I like it. Games have always been my thing.”

That part doesn’t surprise you. Growing up, Jin was always glued to his Game Boy, computer or chattering about his latest high scores. This career seems like a natural fit for him.

“Of course, I remember that well,” you say, smiling. “Also explains the gaming setup.”

“The gaming setup?” Jin freezes for a fraction of a second, his fork hovering mid-air. His expression shifts from casual to guarded so quickly you almost miss it.

Shit.

You scramble to backtrack. “Uh, I just mean… you seem like the type to have a cool gaming setup, you know? Dual monitors, fancy keyboard, maybe some LED lights?”

His shoulders relax slightly, though his eyes remain sharp, watching you closely. “Haven’t shown you my room yet. How’d you know?”

“I didn’t,” you reply quickly, forcing a laugh. “It’s just a guess. I mean, come on, you work at Riot Games. Wouldn’t you have the gear to match?”

Jin tilts his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips before he leans back in his chair. “Actually,” he says, his tone shifting slightly, “I’ve been a bit shy to mention this, but… I’m also a Twitch streamer.”

You already knew this from prior snooping, so you gotta act surprised.

Your fork pauses mid-air. “Woah? You are?”

He nods, a little sheepish now, which is a rare look for him. “Yeah. My old roommate actually got me into it awhile back. It started as a way to unwind after work, but then it kinda… took off. Nothing crazy, but it’s been fun.”

You don’t think that 200,000 followers is something to not be impressed about. That is a decently big audience for someone who hasn’t been doing it for too long.

That sparks your curiosity. “Really? What do you stream?”

“Well, gaming mainly as you saw,” he says, shrugging. “Some League, Valorant… a bit of variety stuff when I feel like it. My audience isn’t huge, but it’s a solid little community to talk with.”

Audience, right.

Your mind flashes back to last night—the setup, the webcam, the comments streaming on the screen—and your stomach tightens. He wanted to hide this from you but still has more to uncover, but he’s so good at hiding it. Well, at least until you caught him yesterday.

You try to keep your expression neutral as you ask, “Isn’t it hard to balance with your job?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Not really. Most of my streams are at night, after work. I mean, I’m already up, so I might as well do something productive, right?”

Productive, you think, the word ricocheting in your head. If only he knew…

“That’s… really cool,” you manage, keeping your tone even. “Do you think you’ll ever go full-time with it?”

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Nah. I like streaming, but I don’t think I’d give up my day job for it. It’s more of a side hustle, you know? Keeps me busy and entertained.”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “That makes sense.”

“I’ll have to show it to you some time. Maybe even let you try the setup if you’re into games.”

Oh?

“Sure,” you say, nodding too eagerly. “That sounds fun. Though I’ve always been a Nintendo girl,”

“I do recall, and that’s fine by me. We could play Mario Kart!”

“That sounds like a lot of fun, Jin—”

The word slips out naturally, before you even realize it. You freeze mid-sentence, your lips parting as the familiar nickname hangs awkwardly in the air. You haven’t called him “Jin” since elementary school. It used to roll off your tongue back when you were kids, when he was just a goofy classmate you exchanged Pokémon cards with and competed against in dodgeball. But ever since reconnecting as adults, you’ve made a conscious effort to just refer to him by his full name, Seokjin. It felt more appropriate. More… grown-up.

And it created a boundary, which now feels undone by you calling him more casually. Curse you getting more comfortable with this man! His eyes widen slightly at the sound of it, his smile faltering for only a split second before softening into something warmer. “Jin, huh?” he muses, raising an eyebrow. “Haven’t heard you call me that in years.”

You swallow, cheeks warming as you try to play it off casually. “Oh. Uh, sorry— I just—”

“You just what?” he teases gently, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You groan, covering your face for a brief moment. “It just slipped out, okay? Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His voice hums with amusement, and when you peek at him through your fingers, he’s looking at you with a fond expression that makes your stomach flip. “I don’t mind it, you know. Kinda like it, actually.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, shrugging. “It’s nostalgic.”

There’s a pause as the two of you exchange a quiet glance, something unspoken settling in the air between you. For a moment, you swear his gaze lingers on you just a little too long.

“Well,” you mutter, trying to brush off the sudden tension. “If you don’t mind it, I guess I’ll start calling you Jin again.”

His smile widens into something bright and genuine, then chuckles. “Good! Doesn’t feel too weird anyways since my Twitch chat calls me Jin as well.”

And you were flustered over this for nothing.

The conversation moves on, but every time you say “Jin”, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something you can’t quite place. You ignore it though, as his dirty secret continues to gnaw at your mind more than whatever he must be thinking.

Glancing at him as he finishes his pasta, a soft hum escaping him as he collects the plates.

You retreat to your room, bidding Jin a casual goodnight as he mentions his plans for the evening. “Gonna play some Elden Ring with my friends, and then stream a Pokémon randomized Nuzlocke at nine,” he says, grinning. “If you hear me yelling at any ungodly hour, just know it’s the RNG gods being cruel.”

“Good to know,” you reply with a small laugh before closing your door behind you.

Settling onto your bed, you decide to distract yourself with something immersive—Bakemonogatari. It’s been on your list for a long time, and felt like now would be a good time to watch it. The anime’s intricate dialogue and surreal visuals immediately pull you in, though it’s hard to focus completely with lingering thoughts of Jin playing games only a few walls away.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus on the screen. As the narrative deepens and the subtitles demand your full attention, your eyelids grow heavier. Soon, the soft glow of the laptop screen and the soothing cadence of the voice acting lull you into a deep sleep.

A good sleep.

The kind of sleep you’ve been craving after a long day of cleaning, unpacking, and organizing—a chance to reset and settle fully into this new chapter of your life.

Until a familiar sensation stirs you awake.

You blink blearily at the clock on your nightstand.

2:35 a.m.

Déjà vu hits you like a freight train. The thirst pulls you out of bed, an undeniable urge. With a groggy sigh, you shuffle out of your room and make your way to the kitchen.

The dim light from the hallway guides you as you grab a water bottle from under the sink. The cool plastic feels grounding in your hand as you twist the cap open and take a long, satisfying sip.

Refreshed, you glance around. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the soft whir of your thoughts.

And then your gaze instinctively drifts toward Jin’s room again.

Not for the wrong reasons! you tell yourself defensively. It’s just… you’re checking on him. Making sure he’s okay!

Right?

Your bare feet make the softest pats against the floor as you tiptoe a little closer to the hallway leading to Jin’s room. Sure enough, a familiar sliver of light leaks from the partially ajar door.

But something’s different this time.

You squint, leaning just enough to peek in.

There he is.

Seokjin sits cross-legged at his desk, headphones on, illuminated by the glow of his monitors. But instead of his usual casual attire or the polished look he had earlier, he’s wearing a pajama set. A blue pajama set covered in cartoon characters. The sight of him in something so unexpectedly cute throws you for a loop.

On the screen, the familiar pixelated world of Pokémon sprawls before him.

“Okay guys, I should end the live here,” he says cheerfully, his voice carrying through the quiet apartment. “But I’m almost at the Elite Four! This team I have right now is pretty solid, even if we lost Moon the Lunatone. I’ll get through the rival battle and stop there.”

Your jaw slackens.

Wait, what?

Where’s the camwork? The NSFW content? The explicit… everything you’d stumbled upon last night?

Confusion swirls in your chest as you scurry back to your room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. You lean against it, clutching the water bottle in both hands as your mind races.

What is going on here?

Had you… imagined it? No, that couldn’t be right. The vivid image of last night flashes through your mind unbidden, heat creeping up your neck as you recall every mortifying detail.

But now? He’s just streaming a Pokémon Nuzlocke like a completely normal, wholesome gamer.

Maybe you dreamed it…?

You sit on the edge of your bed, clutching the water bottle as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Maybe you were just seeing things last night.

The thought plants itself firmly in your mind, and as much as you try to swat it away, it lingers. You were exhausted yesterday. Between moving, unpacking, and the emotional whirlwind of losing your job and your relationship, maybe your mind just… played tricks on you.

Yeah, that must be it.

There’s no way you actually saw Jin doing that.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god, I’m losing it,” you mutter under your breath.

Still, the memory feels so vivid. The faint glow of his screen, his movements, the soft noises—ugh, stop it! You shake your head, desperate to push the images out of your mind.

But the scene you just witnessed tonight couldn’t be more different. Jin was just… Jin. Cute pajama set, gaming setup, and an audience of what you assume were adoring fans cheering him on as he streamed his Pokémon playthrough.

Totally innocent.

Totally normal.

You flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Your chest tightens as you try to rationalize it all. Maybe the stress and lack of sleep made your brain concoct some wild scenario. After all, you’re in a new place with a guy you haven’t seen since childhood. Maybe it’s just your subconscious working overtime as you’re lacking physical touch.

That has to be it, you convince yourself, pulling the blanket over your face.

And that’s exactly what you’ve convinced yourself to think.

Over two weeks have passed, and from the few times you’ve stumbled out of bed late at night, you haven’t encountered anything remotely similar to what you thought you saw on your first night here.

It became easier and easier to believe you hallucinated the whole thing.

Stress does crazy things to people, you told yourself. You just need to focus on your life.

Still, the faint embarrassment lingers every now and then, but it’s manageable. After all, you’ve been busy with moving-in activities, refining your resume, and applying to jobs. Productivity has been your savior, keeping your mind occupied and away from thoughts of intimacy—something that feels uncomfortable ever since your last relationship ended in betrayal.

Order seems to have been restored.

Conversations with Seokjin (who you now refer to as Jin) have become more natural, the initial awkwardness dissipating as you become more comfortable with one another and you’ve settled into a rhythm. You respect each other’s spaces, and despite the occasional childish banter, the dynamic is easy, like good old friends reconnecting.

You’ve gone shopping together for groceries, evening outings to eat at a sit-in restaurant or even just go for a drive or walk to destress, which usually ends in getting ice cream or bubble tea.

It’s oddly casual, but you don’t mind that. This is how things should be now that you’re both adults.

It’s a Thursday at noon when you hear the doorbell and find a large package waiting for Jin. 

[You: Hey, there's a big package addressed to you at the door? Where should I put it?]

After texting him to ask where to leave it, he eventually responds:

[Jin: Ah, thanks for letting me know. I was waiting on that to come in. Jin:Just put it in my room if you don’t mind!]

[You: Okay!]

And with that, you pick up the box and head toward his room.

It occurs to you as you step inside that this is your first time actually entering his space.

Jin’s room is, unsurprisingly, immaculate—spacious, well-organized, and undeniably him. The decor is a cute mix of his personality: shelves filled with gaming figures, an impressive collection of games, and stuffed animals of his favorite creatures scattered across the bed. There’s even a small shrine to Mario and Kirby in the corner that makes you grin.

You place the package on his bed as instructed and turn to leave, but something catches your eye.

His monitor.

The screen is still on, displaying a cluttered web browser with more tabs open than anyone should realistically have. You almost laugh at the chaos of it—thirty, maybe forty tabs?

But then your gaze lands on one in particular.

A small icon. A name.

Chaturbate.

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh. My. God.

It’s like the carefully constructed world of denial you’ve built over the past week shatters in an instant.

No way. No, no, no, this can’t be?!

Your feet feel glued to the floor as your mind races. This can’t be real. Why would Jin have that open? Wasn’t it just a mistake that night? A fluke? A hallucination?!

And yet, here it is. Right in front of you.

Your stomach flips as hell’s gates open again, memories from that night rushing back in vivid detail.

Curiosity claws at you, relentless and insistent. You know you shouldn’t, but the urge to know is overwhelming. If it really is what you think it is… then maybe, just maybe, you can confirm it and put this strange, lingering mystery to rest.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you step closer to the desk. The glow of the screen feels accusatory, like a spotlight shining on your guilt. This is so wrong, you think, but your hand still moves.

You nudge the mouse, waking the monitor from its idle dimness.

The browser window expands to full brightness, revealing the countless tabs more clearly now. You spot the one labeled Chaturbate. Your fingers hover over the mouse, trembling slightly, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you click.

The page loads immediately.

And there it is.

The profile is still open, though it’s not broadcasting live. A banner at the top reads: "Offline – Streams Scheduled 3x a month. Next stream: Tonight at 1:30AM."

The alias catches your eye immediately, bold and unmistakable at the top of the page: "BigTunaManXOXO"

Big Tuna Man?

You have to chuckle, though the sound feels unnatural in the stillness of the room. Well, he did mention he likes tuna when you two had sushi two days ago. You shake your head in disbelief at how absurd the situation is.

Scrolling a little more, your heart races as the tags and content descriptions appear on the screen. Tags like casual play, NSFW, punishment, and even interactive fill the list, confirming everything you feared—and hoped—was true.

What did you expect? you think, eyes scanning the content. His previous streams, unlocked for paid viewers, show glimpses of what you had seen—shirtless moments, fan interactions, and those subtle teases. Some comments from regular viewers flash on the screen: "You’re so cute, Big Tuna. Gonna get your next stream tonight?"

A pit forms in your stomach as you scroll further, seeing the balance of gaming content mixed with something... different. There are a few VODs, some marked with glowing red icons and some tagged with things like solo play, toys, edging and private sessions. Your breath catches in your throat as you click on one of the unlocked streams. It starts to load, and before you can stop yourself, you’re staring at a past broadcast.

Seokjin.

In a black Alo Yoga hoodie and 5” inseam black shorts. The camera angle is different now, the lighting softer, more intimate. His voice comes through clearly, playful, teasing. You watch as he interacts with the chat, joking around with his viewers, and then... he moves the camera just enough that you can see the lower half of his face for a moment—barely anything though, but enough to confirm it’s him to you, who has been seeing him every day since you moved in with him.

His usual smile is replaced by something softer, more relaxed, more... flirty.

And then, there it is.

The content, the movement—just like you saw that first night. The subtle, slow gestures that make everything come rushing back, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

You harshly click the tab shut, returning to the previous tab it once was. Quickly, you leave Jin’s room, making sure not to disturb anything else. The echo of the laptop snapping shut still rings in your ears, and your hands are trembling slightly as you step back into the hallway.

You hope it doesn’t look like you lingered too long. The last thing you need is for him to know you were snooping around, even accidentally. You slip back into your own room, shutting the door behind you, and lean against it, exhaling shakily.

This is too much.

You now have undeniable proof. Solid, irrefutable evidence that the man you’re living with, sharing meals with, and chatting about Pokémon and pasta with... is a cam boy. A cam boy doing porn and who’s managed to keep this side hustle hidden under layers of casual charm and everyday normalcy.

It’s not the fact that he does that kind of work that bothers you, not at all. If anything, it’s more… personal than that… The memory of what you saw—his expressions, his movements—lingers in your mind like an unshakable phantom, making your body feel uncomfortably warm and restless. You sink onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as if that will somehow erase the imagery burned into your brain.

Get it together, you tell yourself.

But curiosity—it’s a relentless beast. The harder you try to shove it down, the more insistent it becomes. Questions start to pile up, each one more intrusive than the last.

Does anyone recognize him? Do his fans know?

You grab your phone, desperate for answers, and open Reddit. If there’s one place on the internet where secrets can’t stay buried, it’s here. Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you type: Gamer Jin and BigTunaManXOXO Reddit.

The search yields only two results. Two. A drop in the ocean of online gossip and speculation, yet still enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You tap the first thread: “Jin and BigTunaManXOXO: Double Life?”

The original poster’s comment pulls you in instantly:

“Okay, is it just me, or doesn’t he sound like this cam boy BigTunaManXOXO? Literally has the same voice, same mannerisms... someone tell me I’m not crazy.”

The replies are a mix of disbelief, humor, and outright denial. Some users dismiss the theory as absurd, calling it disrespectful to Jin. Others joke about the sheer randomness of the comparison, adding memes and GIFs for good measure.

But a small minority entertains the possibility.

“I mean… I’ve seen his streams. The way he laughs does sound kinda similar…”

“I don’t think it’s him, but if it were, that would be WILD.”

One reply makes your stomach churn:

“Not saying it’s him, but I subscribed to BigTunaManXOXO just to fantasize about him being Jin. No regrets.”

You stare at the screen, your mind spinning. The majority of commenters don’t believe the theory, dismissing it as pure coincidence. But they have no idea how close they are to the truth.

And now, neither can you unsee it.

Seokjin arrived home that evening with a bright smile and the unmistakable aroma of takeout wafting through the apartment. The bags he carried crinkled as he shifted them in his arms, his voice ringing out cheerfully, “Guess what I got? Bao buns! And a few other things, but mostly the bao buns—because I remembered you mentioned them earlier this week.”

You hear a knock at your door a moment later, and you pause, nerves prickling under your skin. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before opening it. Seokjin stands there, still dressed in his work clothes but with his usual easygoing grin.

“Dinner’s here. Come eat,” he says, gesturing toward the living room with the bags.

You nod, smiling back, though it feels a little forced. “Thanks, Jin. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

His sharp eyes linger on you for a beat too long, and you know he’s caught the slight edge in your tone, the nervous way you’re holding the door. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression shifts—subtle, curious. He doesn’t push, though; that’s not his style.

Instead, he leans back casually and adds, “I figured we could eat and watch something. Maybe an old favorite of yours?” He raises a brow, the corners of his lips tugging upward knowingly. “Bleach? I noticed you have some merch on your bookshelf.”

Your heart skips a beat, both from the thoughtful gesture and the fact that Seokjin’s perceptiveness always seems to catch you off guard. Does he see right through me? Does he know what I found?

“Bleach sounds good,” you say quickly, hoping to steady yourself. “Let me just grab something, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

“Cool,” he says, his voice calm but tinged with something else—maybe a touch of inquisition. He walks off toward the kitchen, leaving you alone for a moment.

You close the door softly, leaning your head against it. Why does he have to be so…—you search for the right word—attentive? It’s like he has a radar for when something’s wrong. And now, dinner and your childhood favorite anime feel like a test of your ability to act normal.

A few minutes later, you join him in the living room. The coffee table is already set with the takeout containers: bao buns, lo mein, orange chicken, and fried rice. Jin is on the couch, flipping through streaming options until he lands on Bleach. He looks up and pats the cushion next to him.

“Sit. I already started the episode where Ichigo reunites with Rukia and the other Gotei 13 soul reapers. Start of my favorite arcs.”

You sit, the warm scent of the food making your stomach growl despite the anxious knot twisting inside you. Seokjin slides a plate toward you, and the two of you settle into a rhythm—eating, watching, occasionally commenting on the nostalgia of the show.

But the tension lingers.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing at you between bites, as if trying to figure out what’s on your mind. And you wonder just how long it will take before his curiosity outweighs his patience.

As you both finish up the episode of Bleach, Seokjin turns to you, his gaze warm yet inquisitive. “So, how was your day?”

You pause for a second, collecting your thoughts. 

What to say? What did you do today before your world got flipped upside down… Oh right… the job interview. “Busy,” you say with a small laugh. “I had a second interview earlier for a job.”

His eyebrows lift, impressed. “Oh? What’s the role?”

“It’s for a coordinator position at a small fashion house,” you explain. “It went… great, actually. But I don’t think I’ll get it though.”

Jin frowns, leaning slightly closer. “Why not? You just said it went great.”

You shrug, letting out a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. Fashion’s cutthroat, you know? The people in that industry are quick to judge if you don’t fit the vibe they’re looking for. You can have all the skills, a good background, everything—but it’s still not enough sometimes. I don’t think I got what they want.”

He watches you for a moment, then sets down his plate and reaches across the table. His hand finds yours, warm and grounding. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice steady. “You are good enough. I know it’s hard not to overthink, but you have to believe that you bring something special to the table.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in his tone. His thumb brushes your knuckles gently, and that nervous feeling blooms again, tugging at the edges of your thoughts. There’s something so familiar about this—like nostalgia wrapped in uncertainty. It’s comforting, but it scares you all the same.

You blink, pulling your hand back as casually as you can without it seeming abrupt. “Thanks, Jin,” you say, your voice tight. “I… I should probably get ready for this international networking seminar I have. It’s later tonight so I’ll be up for awhile.”

He tilts his head slightly, concern flickering in his expression, but he doesn’t press. “Right. Well, good luck with it. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Right back ‘atcha,” you reply quickly, standing up. You gather the disposable utensils and plates in a hurry, tossing them into the trash before he can say anything else.

Seokjin stays seated on the couch, his gaze lingering on you as you retreat to your room. The moment you close the door behind you, you exhale sharply, pressing your back against it.

Why does he have to be like this? So supportive, so perceptive, so… kind?

This is not the Seokjin you imagined when you decided to move in here!

You shake your head, trying to refocus your thoughts. You have work to do. The seminar is important, and you need to be prepared. But even as you sit down at your desk and open your laptop, you can’t shake the image of Jin’s hand on yours or the soft encouragement in his voice.

It’s almost enough to make you forget what you saw earlier today. Almost.

Would it do you any good to force yourself to forget? Pretend that the tab you saw was just a fleeting mistake, an inconsequential moment in time?

Or would it be better to confront this unsettling curiosity head-on? Maybe, if you understood more about his “side hobby,” you could find a way to desensitize yourself. Make it less of a big deal. Normalize it in your head.

The thought gnaws at you until you’re lying in bed at 1:28 a.m., the glow of your laptop casting a dim light across your room. You’re wearing your old blue track shorts and a faded YMCA T-shirt, the kind of comfort wear you don’t expect anyone to see you in. You thought the seminar would last longer, but with some guest speaker changes, it ended right at 1am.

So now you’re doing this.

The chat on the pending livestream is already alive—rows of messages racing up the screen, eager fans buzzing in anticipation of “BigTunaMan’s” arrival.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

You glance at the clock again. One minute to go.

Then, he appears.

The camera flicks on, revealing Seokjin—or BigTunaMan, as his audience knows him—seated in his chair, the warm glow of soft lighting the only facially visible part of him: his lower half of his face and the subtle curve of his smirk. He’s wearing a loose tank top, the kind that clings just enough to hint at the lines of his shoulders and chest, paired with pajama bottoms that ride low on his hips. His demeanor is relaxed, confident, and undeniably captivating.

“Hey there, my army of lovers,” he greets, his voice lower, smoother, each word deliberately stretched out as if he’s tasting them. The chat floods instantly with messages, adoration pouring in from every corner of his audience.

“BigTunaMan, looking gorgeous as always!”

“Omg, talk slower, I can’t handle it.”

“Take all my money, please.”

Jin leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, his lips curling into an indulgent smile as he reads through the comments. “You’ve all been so patient tonight,” he purrs. “So how about I spoil you a little?”

He picks up a small bowl of strawberries from beside him, holding it up for the camera. The way his fingers brush over the fruit feels intentional, sensual, as though he’s fully aware of the effect he has on the people watching.

“Let’s start simple,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering to the chat, teasing. “A little ASMR snack to set the mood. And of course, I’ll be saying your names—if you’ve earned it.”

The screen lights up with donations almost instantly, usernames accompanied by desperate messages and heart emojis.

He picks a strawberry from the bowl, holding it delicately between his fingers, and bites into it slowly. The sound is soft but amplified, deliberate, and his eyes never leave the camera. He chews thoughtfully, his tongue darting out briefly to catch a stray bit of juice.

“Thank you, PurpleHeart94,” he whispers, his voice silky and intimate. “You’re so generous tonight, baby.” He takes another bite, his gaze steady and smoldering. “And you, HentaiPrincess420—what a sweet name. Thank you for spoiling me when I should be doing that to you.”

Shit… He’s so smooth.

The chat goes wild, messages pouring in faster than you can keep track of them.

He takes his time, naming off more donors, each one met with a sultry thank-you, his tone dripping with playful affection. By the time the strawberries are gone, the tension in the air feels palpable, even through the screen.

Jin leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he speaks. “Now that we’re warmed up,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “how about we move on to something… a little more sexy?”

Your breath catches.

“The touching session,” he says simply, his hand trailing down his chest slowly, almost lazily. The camera angle shifts slightly, framing him in a way that feels more intimate, inviting, as if he’s closing the distance between himself and his audience.

You’re not sure whether you should close the laptop or keep watching, but your fingers remain frozen, hovering over the keyboard.

The chat explodes:

“YES, PLEASE!”

“Touch me instead!”

“PICK ME CHOOSE ME BigTunaMan!”

Jin chuckles, the sound low and resonant. “Patience,” he chides softly. “We’ve got all night, haven’t we?”

The camera zooms in slightly, drawing your focus to the deliberate, almost hypnotic movements of Jin’s hands as they trail over his skin. His voice, smooth and sultry, seeps into your ears like honey, wrapping around your thoughts and making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“Do you like this?” he murmurs, his tone so intimate it feels like he’s speaking directly to you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

The chat erupts in eager replies, but they’re a distant hum compared to the pounding of your heart. You can’t look away.

Though he keeps his face just out of view, it’s his voice that captures you, that low, velvety timbre punctuated by soft, breathy moans. They’re unintentional, almost reluctant, but they strike something deep within you.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, as your eyes remain glued to the screen. The way his hands move—slow, teasing, purposeful—sends heat coursing through your body. Every movement is a study in precision, a dance of tension and release that makes your breath hitch.

You feel your body responding in ways you didn’t expect. Warmth pools low in your belly, and your thighs press together instinctively. Your fingers hover near the trackpad, ready to click away but unable to follow through.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?” he continues, his voice breaking into a soft groan that sends a shiver down your spine. Why is this actually feeling…good. You can’t stop yourself from imagining those hands on you, guiding you, making you forget everything—your ex, the breakup, the shitty job market, the confusion of the past weeks.

For a moment, you close your eyes and let the sound of his voice wash over you. Your fingers inch lower, hesitating, as you let yourself get lost in the moment. You’re not thinking about the consequences, about what this means. You’re thinking about him—his hands, his voice, the heat building inside you.

The guilt simmers beneath the surface, but it’s drowned out by the relentless pull of desire. The screen lights up your room, but it’s his voice and movements that light you up inside. You barely notice the chat anymore; it’s just you and him in this moment, an unspoken connection through the glow of the laptop.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as your hand moves on its own accord, slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You close your eyes again, imagining his hands instead of your own, his voice murmuring your name instead of the ones flooding the chat. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, you let yourself feel without holding back.

In this moment, nothing else matters. Fuck the breakup you had with Mingi. Fuck the stress of job searching. Fuck the awkwardness of living with him. And most importantly, fuck the consequences of watching this. It’s just him, the way he makes you feel, and the heat that consumes you completely.

Your breath hitches as your hands wander further, slipping under your shirt to tease at your nipples, fingers rolling and pinching lightly. Each touch sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, but it’s not enough—not compared to what you’re watching on the screen.

Not like Jin’s movements at all.

Jin’s hands move with expert precision against his dick, his body shifting slightly as he leans into the motions. His moans, soft yet intentional, echo in your ears, spurring your own need higher. You slide your shorts down your hips, the cool air kissing your skin as they drop to the floor.

Your fingers dip lower, grazing over the slick heat pooling between your thighs. It’s good, but not nearly enough. You want more. You need more.

With a frustrated sigh, you pull yourself away from the bed, heart pounding as you open the drawer of your nightstand. Your fingers quickly locate the toy nestled among your folded underwear. It’s a guilty secret you’ve kept for moments like this, though none of those moments have ever felt as charged as this one.

You crawl back onto the bed, the glow of the screen casting shadows over your skin. Jin’s voice fills the room, low and enticing, as he murmurs, “You want me to keep going? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily at his words, your hand trembling slightly as you press the toy against yourself. The first vibration jolts through you, a gasp escaping your lips as your body arches into the sensation.

On the screen, Jin leans back slightly, his voice dipping even lower. “Just relax,” he says, as though he knows exactly what you’re doing. “Let me make you feel good.”

You follow his lead, letting the toy work against you as your free hand resumes teasing your chest. The pleasure builds steadily, your movements syncing with his as if he’s guiding you through the screen.

Every sound he makes, every deliberate motion, heightens the sensation coursing through you. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan slips out despite your efforts. The rhythm of the toy against you matches the cadence of his voice, and it feels as though he’s right there, coaxing you to the edge. You feel yourself almost reaching your orgasm.

But then…

The darkness in the room is lit by the various colored lights and monitor screens as Jin’s chest rises and falls. He begins to slows his movements on his cock, his fingers curling reflexively against his skin. For a brief, unguarded moment, his mind conjures your image—your laughter from earlier at dinner, the way you nervously tugged at the hem of your shirt when he reached out to reassure you.

Woah, what.

Why am I thinking about her right now?

The thought crashes into him like a freight train, shattering his carefully constructed cam-boy persona. His rhythm falters, and as he shifts back abruptly, his elbow knocks into the small Mario figure perched on the edge of his desk.

The figure wobbles, teeters, and then tumbles, the plastic base snapping cleanly off as it hits the hardwood floor.

“Shit!” Jin hisses, his hands flying up to stop the disaster that’s already occurred.

He quickly reaches for the webcam, clicking off the feed and muttering a quick excuse to his audience. “Hey guys, I’ll be right back. Technical issue. Don’t go anywhere.”

The chat floods with reactions—some disappointed, others supportive—but Jin pays them no mind. He gets himself covered up, with his focus no on the broken Mario figure in his hands.

He turns it over, the damage glaringly obvious. It’s just a silly little figurine to anyone else, but to Jin, it’s so much more. You’d given it to him during a Secret Santa exchange in elementary school. It was back when you were both just kids, long before life got complicated and your paths diverged.

He’d kept it all these years, quietly treasuring the memory of that moment, even if you probably didn’t remember.

“Damn it…” he mutters under his breath. He needs super glue—immediately.

The thought strikes him like lightning: you bought super glue just the other day to fix a keychain. You even mentioned it offhand while you were unloading groceries together.

You must have it in your room.

Without hesitation, Jin stands, his mind racing with urgency. You’d said you’d be up late for some seminar, so you’re probably awake. There’s no time to text or knock; he can just explain in person. You’re a few steps away anyway.

He pushes your door open, stepping inside in a rush, only for the world to come screeching to a halt.

His eyes widen as they land on you—sprawled on your bed, your shirt rucked up to expose bare breasts and heat, your shorts kicked off and forgotten. The unmistakable hum of a vibrator fills the air, the glow of your laptop illuminating your flushed face.

Holy shit, he just caught his new roommate and childhood rival… friend? masterbating.

Your hand freezes mid-motion as you look at him, your expression a mixture of shock and mortification.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

“I—” Jin stammers, his voice catching in his throat. His gaze darts away, his face heating up so fast it feels like it might combust. “I—oh my god—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Your own voice fails you, a strangled moaning sound escaping your lips as you scramble to pull the blanket over yourself, fumbling in a panic.

“W-What the hell, Jin!” you manage to croak, your voice high-pitched and shaky.

“I needed super glue!” he blurts out, clutching the broken Mario figure in his hands like it’s the most important thing in the world. “For this! It’s broken, and I—”

“This couldn’t wait?!” you snap, the mortification only growing as his words fully sink in.

Jin takes a step back, clearly flustered. “I didn’t think—! I mean, I thought you were—”

He freezes mid-sentence, his eyes darting to your laptop screen. His breath catches as the realization washes over him.

That’s my stream.

For a moment, the room is suffocatingly silent, his wide-eyed gaze flicking between you and the unmistakable paused screen of his cam boy persona on your laptop. You're watching me? The thought echoes in his mind, equal parts flattered and horrified.

Jin had sensed something was off earlier in the evening, even before all of this unfolded. After dinner, when he’d returned to his room, he’d noticed the Chaturbate tab—closed.

That was odd.

He distinctly remembered leaving it open before leaving for work this morning. He’d scheduled some exclusive content for his next stream and had moved the tab to a less conspicuous window. He figured maybe he’d closed it in a rush and forgotten.

But now, as he stood here, watching your flushed face buried in your hands, it started clicking into place.

Your awkward behavior during dinner—the way you fumbled through your answers, the slight tension in your laugh. He’d assumed you were just jittery from nerves after your job interview, but this? This was something else entirely.

How long have you known?

The realization settled in his chest like a slow-building weight, pushing him further toward clarity. His gaze softened, not with pity, but with a blend of intrigue and confusion.

“Y/N, you’re watching my camming stream?” he finally says, his voice low, incredulous.

You groan, your hands flying up to cover your burning face. “Oh my god. I can explain—no, wait, I can’t explain. Just—” You trail off, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole. Your voice is muffled through your palms as you mutter, “This isn’t what it looks like at all!”

You're kind of cute, all flustered like this, he thinks to himself.

Jin crosses his arms, leaning against your doorframe, and his lips quirk up into a lopsided smile. There’s amusement in his eyes, but also something more—interest, maybe? He tilts his head slightly, watching you squirm.

Maybe he should tease her a little, like old times.

“Wow,” he finally says, his voice low and teasing. “Have you been that lonely?”

Your head snaps up, your face somehow growing hotter. “What? No! I mean…” You falter, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue, and you look away, unable to meet his gaze. “Okay, maybe a little. The breakup was actually that bad and um…but this—this isn’t about that.”

He takes a step closer, his smirk softening into something gentler. “You could’ve told me.”

“Told you what?” you ask weakly, your heart pounding as he stands just a few feet away now.

“That you’ve been feeling like this. That you needed…” His voice dips, and his dark eyes flicker over you, lingering just a little too long. “Some help...”

Your breath catches, and you swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Seokjin, I don’t—”

“I could help,” he interrupts, his tone soft but unmistakably suggestive.

The weight of his words settles over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind racing. Is he serious? Does he mean what you think he means?

No, like why would he? What does he gain from this? Even he himself wonders.

“You could help?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would shatter whatever fragile tension exists between you.

His eyes lock onto yours, and the look he gives you is steady, confident, and almost daring. “Yeah,” he says. “If you’d let me.”

He doesn’t think you’ll actually accept it, if anything, this is probably time for you to officially kick him out–

“Then help me, already.”

–

–

–

a/n: this is really long chapter because i really wanted to add some psychological warfare going on in reader's head + some character development as these two "childhood rivals" start to befriend each other now in their adult lives. i hope you enjoy this chapter. happy holidays!! thank you all for the support and for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[semisolidmind]

I've had this question on my mind for a while, but how would Wukong and Macaque react to a reincarnated peaches that actually defend herself against demons?

Like obviously she's not a match for demons of their power and scale. But against regular demons, she can pretty much hold her own in a fight.

I just find the idea of Wukong and Macaque's reintroduction to peaches being her just beating the shit of out a couple of demons that were causing her trouble to be hilarious. 😂🤣

they'd be into it. even knowing she's strong just by human standards is very attractive to our two warlords.

im partial to the idea of her using a frying pan as a weapon (cause she works at a restaurant and that'd be one of the funny first things she'd see and grab in the event of being attacked there).

like, the first time mac meets her, she tries to hit him with the frying pan during one of the instances where he attacks the group. he stops the strike, blocking the pan with the back of his hand (it dented on contact); he compliments her on her bravery before disarming and kidnapping her anyway.

she could also go to hit wukong during a battle, and although the hit connects, the pan shatters. and she's standing there, angry and prepared to die, but...he's amused by her bravery/stupidity, and instead of knocking her head off, he just laughs. he keeps an eye on her after that.

the fact that reader can hold her own in a fight is just another reason she'd make a great queen.

(and any future sparring is an excuse to get their hands on her or pin her down. if they say otherwise they be lyin 🤣)

[lemon-russ]

True Son of Horus

-holds up frying pan as shield- look, I'm just as much a victim to these sad things as you guys, I wake up with terrible ideas and they just appear on my phone. If I don't share I think I will face 100 years of curses. I don't make the rules (I do make the rules)

It's super short

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks for dividers @squishyowl

Horus x F!Reader (Sort of)

CW: Death, Sad, very sad, mentions of blood and wounds, Loss of an adult child

Song: Youth- Glass Animals

Fly Feel your mother at your side Don't you know you got my eyes? I'll make you fly You'll be happy all the time I know you can make it right

Legion mother.

Thats what they'd taken to calling you, once upon a time. Their gene father's wife, their Legion Mother.

Then you'd became a real mother. You'd raised your boy and he became the pride of the Luna Wolves. The apple of his Father's eye. 

You wish you knew then. You would have run. Fought. Cried, screamed, escaped. Oh, you had loved Horus. But if you only knew what he would do.

He stands over the body of his brother, The Great Angel, as his own Father confronts him about his treachery.

You didn't know of course. He didn't tell you anything important. It was always don't fret over it my love. Always placating you, pampering you, hushing you. And you let him, because things were so easy.

You can't hear what Horus is rambling about through the ringing in your ears. Your vision tunnels as you scoot forward on your knees over the hard, textured metal floor of The Vengeful Spirit.

Your shaking hands brush the cold, pale cheek of the boy you made with your own body, so many years ago. Forgotten by his father now, left aside in a pile of other corpses of forgotten sons. But those were Sons of Horus in name only. Gene Sons.

This is The son of Horus. The son of the Legion Mother. Your son. Forgotten, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

With trembling hands you lift his head into your lap. You hear the conflict nearby escalate, but again cannot hear the words. You close your son's eyes. There, he's sleeping now. You can't kill an Astartes afterall. They are strong and fast and heal so quickly. That's how Horus convinced you to let your baby boy be modified at the tender age of 10. He will be strong, invincible, immortal, he'd told you.

Yes, he will heal. He just needed his eyes closed so he can rest and heal. He's sleeping. He's sleeping. He's slee-

You don't realize your lips are moving, repeating the phrase aloud until someone touches your shoulder. You yank away. They want you to abandon your baby boy at a time like this? When he needs to rest on his mothers lap and heal? Just like when he was small and got a flu- something he hadn't had to worry about in decades thanks to his geneseed implant- he use to come to your side and lay in your lap, seeking the healing warmth of his mother's embrace. You'd pet his hair like you did now, murmur lullabies to help him sleep, just like you do now. He's so peaceful. You'll need to get him a bandage for the head wound, it looked like a nasty one, but that is alright, you will mend him just like when he had a scraped knee-

The hand on your shoulder starts pulling harder, tearing you from your sleeping boy. 

Through the echoing ringing of your ears you hear a new sound over the shouting of Horus and his father. A wet, screeching sound like a metal sheet being torn in half, or almost what your old planets tales might call a banshee's wail. It was not good to hear the cry of the banshee, it means someone you know or yourself will die soon. You worry for your sleeping baby boy in the back of your shattering mind.

A hand clasps over your mouth and the wailing muffles. 

"Please, Legion Mother, we have to go now-" and insistent voice urges you. Was that Levi? He's your son's best friend, and a good boy, you've known him nigh most his life. He was a neophyte with your son.

"Levi, he's so tired, we have to take him to his bed-" you say, trying to crawl back to the motionless form.

Levi picks you up, and the banshee starts wailing again in the echos of your ringing ears.

"Legion Mother, enough! We have to leave now-" he damands, clamping a hand back over your mouth as he throws you over his shoulder.

You reach out as your sleeping boy grows farther and farther from you. Distantly you hear shouting, and metal on metal. Levi turns a corner and your son is torn from your eyeline. 

You'd go back.

You'd warn yourself.

You would find the day you sobbed and held the tiny, distinctly human baby in your arms and you'd tell yourself to run. Horus hides things. Horus wanted to make your baby into a wepon. Horus would fight his own father over the corpse of his brother, yards from where his own flesh and blood son lay lifeless sleeping on the cold metal ground of a warship.

Your baby boy. You'd have gone back and told yourself they would take your baby boy, and you'd have to watch. 

[puhmpken]

this has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Author’s Note: this may be silly, but i have nagging myself to write this one 😭😭 hope yall like it <33

Warning ⚠️-> none! enjoy ☺️

Title: Hell’s GreatestDadParents !

Alastor X You OneShot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 1.8 K 🥱 not sm this time around

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with tension. You sat perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed, your arms crossed. The fabric of your knee-length dress rustled as you shifted–avoiding eye contact with a certain red-haired demon who stood in the doorway.

“Unfair, Al,” You muttered, your voice ringing out lowly.

Alastor’s response was swift, his tone unwavering. “Dearie, not everything I want you to do will be fair. Just listen and do as you’re told.” His footsteps echoed as he closed the distance, bold strides carrying him toward you. His tuxedo jacket was impeccably tailored, and he adjusted the sleeves with a flick of his wrist.

“I need you to come to the hotel with me,” Alastor continued, his crimson eyes piercing. “Help me persuade the princess to listen to me more.” His fist clenched, and a surge of green energy erupted from his palm. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded.

His smile was unsettling, a blend of charm and menace. “Excellent, dear,” Alastor murmured.

Your smile stretched as Lucifer's eyed you–He recognized you.

Charlie’s cheerful introduction echoed in the room, and you gracefully stood, leaving the bar behind.

“And this is Alastor's wife! (Y/n)” Charlie said happily

 Your hand extended toward Lucifer,

“Lucifer,” you greeted, your voice a velvet whisper. “Long time no see, old friend.” 

As your fingers brushed his, the chandelier above swayed, then plummeted, shattering into shards. Lucifer flinched, his gaze darting to the wreckage. But your smile only widened, revealing your sharp teeth.

Retracting your hand, you moved past him, joining Alastor’s side.

Lucifer bangs covered his eyes, his smile bared his teeth as he fist clenched on his staff 

“haha..alrighty then” He said lowly  

The blare of a trumpet was heard making you put your ears down

“Looks like you could use some help” Lucifer said swiping his cane in the air making Alastor and You dodge it, as he moved Charlie away from the both of you 

“From the Big Boss of Hell himself!

Check out Daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp” 

Mini little puppets appeared around Charlie, you kept your arms crossed watching him sing about the same thing he always does..the things he could promise 

“Who needs buspeople?” he asks, snapping his finger. The scenery morphed, reality bending to his whims.

You, now changed, were in a crisp standard waitress outfit, balancing a silver platter on one hand as Charlie sat beside your standing figure.

Standing at Charlie other-side was Alastor, he was in a server outfit pouring red wine into a chalet for Charlie

 Lucifer’s voice cut through the air

“Now that you got the chef!” 

The ground shifted below you before Alastor and you plummeted into a colossal frying pan. The impact jarred your bones, but you landed on your back—luckier than Alastor, who fell face-first, his ears pinning back in probably discomfort 

The scene shifted, reality bending like a mirage.

You groaned, your normal size restored. Revenge simmered within you;surely you had to get him back for him messing around with you..?

Lucifer’s pitch lacked conviction. His promises were half-hearted. 

(f/c) swirls manifested around you–Both you and Alastor vanished, then reappeared before Lucifer, neon colors exploding from your very essence as he finished his song note

Slinging an arm around Lucifer, you feigned warmth, as if about to embrace him. But instead, you pushed him toward Alastor

“Who’s been here since day 1?” Alastor sang to Charlie, catching Lucifer. The red demon’s smile, as he shoved Lucifer aside and out of the way

You manifested on Charlie's side, you clouded her vision from seeing Alastor shove her father with your mock nun attire that clung to your curves perfectly it caught her attention, you held your hands in a mock prayer 

“Who’s been faithful as a nun?” you asked, raising an eyebrow leaning towards her smiling.

Red theater curtains swirled around and engulfed the both of you–before swiping open, the curtain revealing a big stage bathed in warm light. You and Alastor both stood at its center, the spotlight capturing every move. 

“Who makes you chuckle with an old timey pun?” You questioned out hip bumping Alastor as you waved your finger back and forth shutting one eye as you looked up to a smiling Charlie who was seating in the audience. Her smile was radiant. She leaned forward, caught in the theatrical magic.

You and Alastor materialized on opposite sides of her, your voices harmonizing.

“Your executive producer~!”

Elbowing her playfully as Alastor wrapped a arm around her, Charlie’s laughter echoed, and the scene shifted seamlessly.

“That’s true!” Charlie exclaimed, glancing from Alastor to you.

 “He’s your guy!” You said appearing as a small shoulder angel infront of Charlie’s face “Your day-to-day!”Another little angel version of you winked. “Your chum!” Another version of you butted-in moving the first two a bit to the side as it pointed to Alastor

The scene shifted to the three of you guys working the front desk behind a busy hotel lobby “Your steadfast hotelier~!” You said as guests hurried by, their requests and complaints blending into a cacophony.

“Why, remember when he fixed that clog today?” you said raising a eyebrow before putting your hand to your chin. Alastor, sleeves rolled up, as he pulled Nifty out of a stubborn toilet. The cyclops grateful voice echoed as a once clogged toilet started to flush 

“I was stuck! Thank you, sir,” Nifty had exclaimed. Alastor, still holding Nifty, patted her head with a smirk as you mirrored it, watching Charlie with her close eye smile. 

 “Oh you” She replied holding her cheek 

Alastor stepped forward, spinning Charlie with practiced ease.

“I am truly honored that we built such a bond” Alastor said looking at Charlie from now on top the staircases as neon faces of them lit up 

“Aww” Charlie replied 

You appeared on Charlie's side leaning in, one hand on Charlie’s shoulders, sincerity in your eyes. “You’re like the child we wished we had,” you sang, your voice a gentle lullaby.

“Uhhh, what?”Lucifer’s voice interrupted from below the set of stairs.

Your eyes shot to him with a flash of a smirk spreading on your face for him to see and disappearing, did you strike a nerve? 

Seating yourself at the edge of a bed, you looked down at a tucked-in Charlie. Alastor stood beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Together, you painted the picture of an unconventional loving family—the perfect family picture for Lucifer to have ingrained in his head. 

“We care for you just like a daughter we spawned,” you said, patting Charlie’s head. Her eyes closed, as she relaxed into the makeshift embrace.

But Lucifer’s protest echoed. “Hold on NOW!” he shouted, disrupting the scene. You grabbed Charlie’s arm, pulling her out of bed. Spinning her, you cheered on her dance moves, and Alastor’s amused voice joined the chorus.

“Its little funny” You heard Alastor say— “You can almost say were your” Alastor’s voice trailed off as he grabbed both Charlie and you, spinning you both with one arm. He positioned you next to his side, placing Charlie in front of both of you. “Parentsssss,” he drawled, dragging out the word. His wicked gaze turned toward Lucifer, and you mirrored his smile, snapping your head to Lucifer before returning to your regular expression looking at Charlie 

Suddenly you heard the noise of a violin playing..you looked to Lucifer seeing him play a golden one rather aggressively towards Alastor and you 

You raised your eyebrow looking at Lucifer, as he was taking bold strides towards the both of you, before he got too close, a piano materialized in front of you as you heard your husband voice cut through the air 

“Take it away dear!” Seating down, cracking your knuckles. Your fingers danced across the keys, and you shut your eyes, lost in the music–focus on upstaging Lucifer

Playing the last key, the final note harmony was shattered–you cringed at the noise you were hearing. It sound like a instrument being crushed, your shoulders tensed to the loud sharp noise–your deer ears flickering back and forth in annoyance. You peered your head over your shoulders too see Lucifer with squinted eyes and the purposely crush instrument above his head. As you squinted back, the lights around both of you flickered before shutting off completely.

Thinking the little singing battle was over you heard, a rhythmic beat filling the air.

“They say when you’re looking for assistants,” Alastor began, as large books started to descend onto Charlie’s back as she struggled to keep them up

“It’s smart to pick the path of less-,” you continued for Alastor, as both your figures manifested tendrils from the ground

As Alastor and you sang out

“Resistances~!”

As the tendrils thickened before lifting the heavy books off of Charlie back with ease 

Lucifer interjected, “Others say in your needy hour. There’s no substitute for pure–angelic–POWER!!!.” With a spread of his wings, he flew briefly before landing near Charlie with a crazed look, gripping his staff tightly

“Whose is also your blood!”

As Lucifer approached Charlie closely, you stepped between them, easily grabbing her attention.

“Sadly there are times where a birth parent” As both Charlie and you appeared in a higher location looked down on Lucifer as you did a thumbs down motion “Are a dud” A trap door beneath him swung open, sending him plummeting into a black void.

“They say the family you choose” Alastor said appearing on Charlie’s otherside as little images of Angel, Nifty, Husk and Sir Pentious appeared around you three “Are often better!” 

“What a bunch of,” Lucifer interjected, popping up and shoving Alastor aside with his staff.

“LOSERS!”

You watched standing next to Charlie as Alastor hip bumped Lucifer “Can you butt out of my song?” He questioned watching Lucifer stumble forward 

“Your song?!” Lucifer countered, walking back towards Alastor and standing on his tiptoes, pointing at himself. “I started this!”

“I’ll finish it,” Alastor quickly replied, leaning down towards Lucifer as they both bumped heads, their razor-sharp teeth bared, growling like wild animals.

“OH! YOu tacky, piece of SHI–”Lucifer’s sentence was cut short as the door suddenly burst open.

Alastor and Lucifer both pausing their yelling at one another as they both turned their heads to the noise..really everyone did

A small but recognizable figure appeared at the door, prompting an internal eye roll from you.

“It’s me!” she sang out, wagging her finger and bouncing her hip. “Yes, it’s me! I know you were all waiting for me!” Confetti flew as if from thin air.

“It’s ME!” she exclaimed, now on the second floor, jumping from the railing and landing on her knees, sliding a bit on the floor. “MIMZYYY!” she proclaimed, taking in some big breaths after her energetic entrance.

“Who?” Lucifer asked after a moment, confusion written all over his face as he raised one eyebrow.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

No extra is available this time around! Tune in next time for extras! :))

[nunalastor]

Territorial Angels Au

Angels have this ability to mark important people in their flock, most are family, lover and friend. This lets other angels know who this person’s flock is or mate and lets the Angel know where their mate/friend is

However, some angels can be territorial, especially fallen ones. If they sense another Angel trying to mark their mate/friend, it’s seen as a direct challenge and disrespect

Charlie, Vaggie and Lucifer were the first ones in the kitchen and Lucifer was making pancakes. One by one, each guest of the hotel made their way for breakfast. When Alastor had made his way in to make himself some coffee, he was about to reach for the kettle when he heard the sound of glass shattering.

Charlie: Vaggie?

Vaggie had just dropped her cup of orange juice. Her eyes were wide with shock, as if just witnessed a crime. Charlie grabbed her girlfriend’s shoulder to get her attention, but then heard the sound of pancakes hitting the floor. Lucifer also had that deadpan expression while letting the pancakes slip through the frying pan

Both Lucifer and Vaggie were staring at Alastor.

Charlie: Guys?

Lucifer: Who was it?

Alastor: I have no idea what you are talking about

Vaggie: Pendejo! You know what he means! Who marked you and don’t lie!

Alastor: Are you talking about that silly Angel mark? Is this what’s ruffling those feathers of yours? Hahaha

The two angels were not amused, in fact they getting angrier by the second

Charlie: Hey you two, mind explaining this whole mark thing? Cause we’re out of the loop and it’s not fair to get mad at Alastor since he doesn’t know what that means

Lucifer: Angel marks signify that you are part of a flock. Angels can sense this and can tell if that person who is marked is with someone

Lucifer walked closer to Alastor and growled

Lucifer: But if that person is marked by another Angel, that Angel is declaring a challenge while disrespecting the flock

Lucifer grabbed Alastor pulled him closer to sense the mark and instantly learned who it was

Lucifer: I knew I should have kept a closer look at that asshole! Vaggie, how about you and me teach a no dog a lesson in respect and not touching things that don’t belong to you

👀

[maxsimagination]

𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘀 - 𝘀.𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗹𝗲𝘆

summary: it’s steph’s birthday coming up and her girlfriend wants to surprise her.

𖦹 masterlist

"𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗢 𝗠𝗨𝗖𝗛, i'm sure she'll love it. bye." i clicked the red 'hang up' button on my phone as i finished up my call with nikki webster, the one and only. it was steph's birthday tomorrow and i wanted to surprise her with her favourite song, sung by her favourite artist.

macca, lani and caitlin had suggested we throw a party on the night of her birthday, and we surprise her with something, but it was me that thought of flying down nikki to perform.

the whole team thought it was a great idea, and they each pitched in to help set up the party, and make sure steph didn't find out. i even had tony make sure we were allowed to hold the gathering in the huge 'lounge' we had at the matilda's training complex. of course he'd said yes and and made sure there was speakers and a mic for nikki to sing with.

i was snapped out of my daydream when steph walked in and slid her arms around my waist. “hey babe, whatcha up to?” i turn to her with a smile.

"nothing." my voice is laced with cheekiness and steph can tell something's up. "you sound like your up to something, what have you done?" her tone was light enough for it to be a joke but part of her was slightly scared, i'm known to be impulsive and not think things through.

"i swear i haven't done anything, stephy." again with the sickly sweet smile. she decided to drop it for know, but her gut knew that i was up to something. it's a sixth sense she gets when she's with me.

——

the next day rolled around; steph's 29th birthday. i was the first one awake, like an excited little kid even though it wasn't even my birthday. i slipped out of the bed we shared and tiptoed down to the kitchen to start making some breakfast for my girl. my phone was on the kitchen counter, some light music flowing from the small speakers as i danced around, whipping up some pancakes.

it didn't take me long and i was soon pouring the batter into little circles in the frying pan. i had two plates on a tray, ready to be brought up to steph in our room. finally i had all the pancakes dishes up, grabbed the bottle of golden syrup that i knew steph would use, the utensils and the tray and headed to the sleeping beauty still in bed.

she was in fact, still in bed, and i slipped down next to her, putting the tray on my bedside table. "steph, wake up. i made you breakfast." it must have been the smell of the pancakes that woke her because she always sleeps through alarms. "mmm, mornin' babe, something smells good."

i chuckled at her and brought the tray to rest in front of us. "happy birthday." i pressed a kiss to her forehead and she sat up to eat with me. "don't remind me how old i am." she grinned at me and we started eating.

"stephanie-elise catley, you better be dressed! we have to go to training." i shouted out to my girlfriend who was probably still lying in bed. we had both finished eating almost a half hour ago and i had taken everything to the kitchen to get cleaned up. now i was dressed and ready to walk out the door but steph was nowhere to be seen or heard.

"i'm coming i'm coming!" there was a faint shout back and some small stomps from the room, you could tell she forgot we had training and was now hopping about the room trying to get dressed quickly.

i just laughed to my self as she finally hurtled down the stairs with her shoes in one hand and phone in the other. "okay, i'm here. let's go." she grinned proudly at me, it was the quickest she'd gotten dressed before. "alright, alright tiger. put your shoes on and we'll go." it was times like these that really made me fall in love more. i grabbed the car keys and we both went out to the car, heading to training.

——

i was absolutely shattered after that session. tony had us running hard, fine tuning everything we could for the world cup. the rest of the team was currently in the change rooms, i was outside with sam. someone had to keep steph distracted, and then get her back here for the party. "okay, so i'll take care of steph, we just need to set up the room inside before nikki gets here."

i was slightly stressing and sam could tell "hey, yn, chill. i got everything covered. you said that party's at 5, nikki at 5:30?"

i took a deep breath and sighed. "yea, thanks so much sam. i just want it to be perfect for her." we finished the details of our plan and headed to get changed. once both me and steph were done, we headed to the car, me sending a discreet nod to sam and macca one our way out. they were the like the co-captains of steph's secret birthday celebration.

it was almost impossible for me to hard the jitters i had about my surprise for steph. it was now the afternoon and i had to get both of us ready and back out for the party. "hey, stephy! c'mere." she poked her head out from wherever she was hiding. "yea what's up?" "i'm taking you out for your birthday, you have to go and get ready." her face softened with a smile.

"you don't have to do that, yn. i'm happy to just stay in with you." "but i want to. c'mon, pretty please?" i attempt my best version of puppy eyes and she instantly folded.

"okay, okay. anything for you, love." she left with a smile and got changed. i had already changed into my clothes, and soon so was steph. we went on our way and when we got close i told her to cover her eyes. with much protesting, she reluctantly covered her eyes with her hand for the rest of the ride. i pulled into the matilda's complex for the second time that day, turning the vehicle off.

"hold on, i'll come get you." i raced around the side to get steph. she slowly hopped out, eyes still covered. i walked her inside and made sure she wasn't peeking.

"okay, 3, 2, 1, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" i opened the door to the room and the team yelled out at us from the other side. steph immediately opened her eyes and grinned at what she saw. "oh, this is so cute, thankyou yn!" she turned to hug me and i returned the favour. we started mingling with all our teammates, me heading for sam and mac.

"that was so stressful. i was jittering the whole way here." they laughed at me and we all checked the time, ready for nikki to make an appearance.

speak of the devil, i got a ping on my phone and saw it was from nikki. 'pulling in now, see you soon.' i snapped into action and told sam to meet nikki out front and mac was in charge of putting on the song. i headed for steph. "we have to dance, come on, mac is putting on music."

she laughed at my antics and followed me to the middle of the floor. her favourite song, strawberry kisses, blasted through the sound system and steph broke into a grin.

'𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦,

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨,

𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘴,

𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.'

the lyrics were thrown out into the room and everyone joined in. it was the teams' song, they loved listening to it.

'𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦,

𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦,

𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳,

𝘰𝘩-𝘰𝘩.'

steph was having a magnificent time, dancing away with me, yelling out the words with the song. the the voice changed, it was still the same song but it was like it was being sung live, in the room.

'𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴,

𝘤𝘶𝘻 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺.

��'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴,

𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦.'

everyone whipped their heads towards the door where nikki webster stood, mic in hand, singing steph's favourite song. the whole room cheered, even sam was clapping and cheering from her place next to the singer. i looked at steph, who was shocked. she had no idea this was happening. "happy birthday, love." she turned to me.

"you did this?" i nodded with a smile. she wrapped me in a tight hug, squeezing me until i couldn't breathe. it was definitely a memorable night, one that ended very late and with tony scolding us that we'd be tired at training the next day. but none of us cared in that moment.

[green-eyedfirework]

The sounds of the fighting have greatly died down in the past few minutes and Dick still hasn't managed to unlock the door.  It's fucking barred from the outside, he's managed to figure that out, and strong hinges too, if it held against his battering.

He got free of the manacles—there was enough sweat to wrench his hands free, even if one wrist is scraped and bleeding and the other has a dislocated thumb—and he managed to get his clothes back on, but this stupid fucking door.

Dick blinks furiously, jaw tight.  The entire room is soaked in his scent and he doesn't know if the fact that the smell of heat has overpowered the smell of his emotions is a mercy or not.  His fingers are trembling, his breaths are too high, and his entire body is sore in ways he's trying very hard not to think about.

He just needs to get out.

There's a part of him pointing out that it's not that simple, that he's still on a ship in the middle of open ocean, that he has no idea who's attacked the Blockbuster or why, that his situation will not greatly improve outside this small cabin, that he may be locked in here but at least he's alone, but Dick ruthlessly suppresses that voice.

If he thinks too hard about it, he will break, and he didn't get to be one of the youngest fucking captains in the Royal Navy by shattering into tiny pieces at every difficulty.

Dick pounds on the door in frustration—and realizes, too late, that the sounds on the other side of the door have ceased.

Oh fuck.

Dick edges back when he hears scrabbling at the door, grabbing the letter opener off the desk—not a real knife, but it has a sharp edge and Dick needs something—and willing his fingers to stop shaking as the door is unbarred and finally opened.

The people peering inside aren't Desmond's men.  Their attire is too colorful to be privateers—one part of Dick relaxes, the other part tenses up.

Corrupt privateers to pirates.

Frying pan.  Fire.

Both pirates immediately wrinkle their noses, discreetly coughing at the abrupt influx of concentrated heat scent.  Dick hasn't left the cabin in two days.

This should be his opportunity to attack.  Strike while they're distracted, and get free.  His grip on the letter opener is weak in his less-injured hand, and he tightens it as much as he dares.  But on his first step, pain goes lancing up his spine, and by the time he grits his teeth through the spike, the pirates have recovered.

"That's a Navy uniform, isn't it?" one says to the other, slowly grinning.

"A captain's uniform," the other rejoins, eyes tracing the distinctive gold detailing on his collar.

"I thought we already killed the captain of this saltwrecked heap," one narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not the captain of this ship," Dick says tersely, affronted at the very thought.

Both pirates—he can't tell designations, he can't smell anything over the too-syrupy scent of his heat—look at each other and shrug.

"You're still a captain," one pirate says, and she's smirking, "and our captain loves to have fun with pretty omega captains."

The chill that goes down his spine is colder than last time.  Sharp and icy with intimate knowledge of what exactly she means.  The reasonable part of him points out that he cannot hope to take them on both, and the entire ship after that.  The illogical part of him just attacks.

He doesn't want to go back to that, he can't go back to that, he will do anything to avoid spending the rest of his life shackled to a pirate's bed, one day was bad enough.  He's a good fighter, he's a great fighter, but he's fighting his lingering post-heat, the stabbing pains between his legs, the bruises all over his body, the sharp, throbbing bites around his neck, and a bleeding wrist.

One of the pirates grabs the hand with the relocated thumb, and the world goes white.

When it comes back, Dick has been disarmed, arms wrenched behind his back, and is being marched out.

The yawning horror is enough to seize the breath from his lungs.  The heat scent is a mercy now, to hide the scent of his blinding terror under the cooling scent and smells of sex he hasn't been able to rub off.  It's heavy and thick, and more than one pirate coughs or turns away as he's dragged out.

The ship is full of dead men.  Dick doesn't recognize all the bodies lying on the deck, but they're all dressed in privateer's uniforms.  The pirates seem jubilant and victorious, vastly outnumbering their prey, and Dick realizes why that is when he catches sight of the hulking ship next to the Blockbuster.

He loses his breath.  He's seen the Deathstroke too many times to not recognize it, even at night and lit only by the moon.  And that means the pirate captain he's being dragged to face is—

"Captain, we found this one in the captain's cabin," one of the two holding him calls out to the silver-haired man supervising the looting, as Dick digs his heels against the deck, the frantic beat of his heart pounding no, please, no.

Captain Slade Wilson of the Deathstroke turns and goes dangerously still when he spots Dick.  Dick's last, desperate hope that maybe he's too disheveled to be recognizable dies an ignoble death at Slade's slow smile.

"Captain Grayson," Slade says, voice dropping to a more predatory tone.  "What a pleasant surprise."

Of all the pirate ships and all the pirate captains, did it have to be this one?

"What brings you here?" Slade asks, stalking closer.  Dick automatically presses back, but there's nowhere to go, his captors' grips are too tight.  "Supervising this ship?  Watching over your interests?  I have to say, I thought you were too straitlaced for smuggling."

Dick manages to suck in a breath, enough to say, as evenly as he can manage it, "I don't answer to pirates."  His voice is hoarse but at least it doesn't crack.

"You're at the mercy of my crew, Captain Grayson," Slade smirks.  "We'll get you to answer one way or another."  He steps closer, until he's in Dick's personal space, and takes a deliberate sniff.  "Or was this a tryst, hmm?  Is that why you don't want to answer?  Are you ashamed?"

The words are pointed and sharp and Dick's armor has already been stripped.  He can feel each one sink in.

"Fuck you," he spits as loudly as he can to cover up the tremor in his tone.  His captors take offense to the tone and Dick is forced down with an angry snarl, hitting the deck on his knees with a lance of pain that goes straight through him.  Dick can't suppress the way he arches, face twisted around a mostly silent scream.

When the flare of agony recedes, he's trembling, taking in ragged breaths and trying not to shiver.  It's a grim reminder of what awaits.

Dick sets his jaw and tries his best to glare as Slade crouches, still looming over him.  He jerks back—first a flinch and then more desperate—as Slade reaches out, but between the pirates holding his arms and the deck below his knees, there's nowhere to twist or turn as Slade grabs his collar.

The alpha rips the cloth down with barely a thought, leaning in with an inscrutable expression as he grips Dick's neck in a powerful hand, and Dick is too weak to fight the grip.  Slade tightens the grasp to bare Dick's neck and Dick just squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the bite.

He knows what it feels like.  He knows how his limbs will get weak and trembly, how the world will narrow down to the alpha who bit him, how the submission will steal away any chance he has of fighting back.  How it will leave him all too aware of what's happening to his body.

Dick blinks up at the starry night sky, everything blurry, and waits.  And waits.  And waits.

He can feel Slade's hot breaths against his collarbone, igniting fresh throbbing in the bites that Desmond laid down, can feel the alpha's firm, inescapable grip tight against Dick's throat, can feel the nose pressed against his skin.

Can hear Slade breathing deeply.  Inhaling deeply.

The grip shifts, tilting Dick's head the opposite direction, and he tenses again, but Slade doesn't bite down on this side either.  He's just....sniffing Dick.  Scenting him.  Deeply, past the overpowering smell of heat and sex.

Dick feels dizzy when Slade releases him.

"Let him go," the alpha growls, and this close, Dick can smell the rage in his scent.  His heat scent is getting weaker, tugged away by the wind, and Slade's overpowering fury is acrid and thick.  The pirates immediately obey their captain, and Dick's arms are released.

Dick doesn't dare to wrap his arms around himself despite how much he wants to, doesn't dare to reveal that much weakness in a pack of sharks, but he can't help the slow exhale when the burning flare of Slade's attention moves off him and onto his guards.  "Where exactly did you find him?" Slade growls, and Dick winces at the deep alpha timbre to his tone.

"In the captain's cabin," one of them answers, "It was barred from the outside.  We heard pounding on the door and opened it.  And he had this."  Slade reaches up and takes the—letter opener, spinning it between his fingers with a frown.

Dick blinks in surprise when Slade offers it back to him.  He doesn't understand.  Is this—does Slade want him to fight?  Dick might ordinarily be good enough to give him a fight, right now he's in no state for a challenge.  He can't even sit without feeling the throbbing ache inside of him, much less attack.  But being armed is better than weaponless and Dick reaches out to take the blade.

Slade catches his wrist.  Dick freezes, but Slade's attention is on the cloth wrapped around his wrist, and the pirate captain gently tugs it free to reveal the scrape beneath it.  Dick winces at the sight—he's all but flayed off a patch of skin below his thumb, and there are cuts extended up the back of his hand.

The alpha makes a low, warning rumble, and Dick barely clamps down on the appeasing keen.  He's too raw to be calm with the full force of an angry alpha in his space—he's been attacked and held captive and assaulted and the violations have stripped him bare.  The threads of defiance he's clinging to are slipping out of his grasp.

There's a part of him—a small part, growing ever larger and ever louder—that just wants to submit and make it all stop.

“Take him to my cabin,” Slade demands after he straightens up, anger unfurling hot and thick, and Dick is too busy trying to breathe in the presence of overpowering rage to register his words.  Until he’s hauled up to his feet and pushed towards the boarding plank.

Something inside him goes cold, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.  Perhaps he should be grateful that Slade’s taking him to his cabin.  Desmond told Dick he’d throw him to the crew once his heat was over, and Dick has no illusions about his ability to survive that.

Dick keeps a firm grip on the letter opener and doesn’t struggle against his captors.  He only has one solid chance, and he can’t waste it here.  He forces himself to keep breathing and keep moving, even when his feet touch the deck of the Deathstroke.

[corrodedcoughin]

They’ve been seeing each other for just under a year when Steve points out that they’ve never actually made a meal together. He doesn’t think mucb of it, just a passing comment but Eddie sees it as a ‘couple activity’ and declares that It Must Be Done. And what better reason than to celebrate Wayne’s upcoming birthday?

Now the meal they plan is one of Wayne’s favourites, hearty chilli that takes hours of low heat simmering and ingredient preparation. The pair of them head out to get the groceries the weekend of Wayne’s birthday and start cooking as soon as they get home, hoping to be finished before Wayne’s shift ends. Eddie has dug out an old scrap of paper with a recipe neatly writing along the fading lines detailing the step by step instructions. It’s covered in various stains, the writing has run in places, the condition of the paper is a testament to the love this meal has in the munson household and it makes Steve smile to see something so care-worn.

Side by side they start on the vegetables, Eddie wearing goggles to protect himself from onion attack as he calls it and Steve with sunglasses at Eddie’s insistence ‘Steve this guy is going to be firing stray tear bullets and I won’t let you be a casualty’. The pair of them looking a sight for sore eyes. Fully kitted up in ‘Protective Gear’ Eddie is chopping the onion, letting out little screams of pain and terror as he sentences the vegetable to its frying pan death, acting as executioner. Honestly he’s having a great time role playing as an onion.

In between his tiny screams he hears Steve’s own mutterings timed with his own cutting motions. A notable and iconic ‘vooooosh, vooosh’ clear lightsaber sound effects as he decapitates a chilli pepper, clearly lost in his own little world. Eddie can’t help himself, or more accurately, doesn’t even think it through. He drops his knife and turns to Steve, grabs him by the face and solemnly states ‘I love you’. They haven’t said it before, both thinking it of each other but too jumbled up in their own thoughts to say it out loud, not wanting to shatter what they have.

There’s no hesitation now as Steve lets a slow smile spread across his face and leans into Eddie. ‘I know. I mean….I love you too, sorry tried to do the Han and Leia Thing and uhh I just… I love you’ Eddie leans in to kiss him, intends to keep kissing him goggles be damned but feels a wetness on his finger tips where he’s holding Steve’s face.

Pulling back, he begins to say ‘hey, you okay? Sorry to spring this on you, I-‘

The sentence isn’t finished before Steve is ripping off his sunglasses. ‘Dude. The onions. FUCK they’re strong. Oh my god. Shit shit shit!’ Eyes streaming and furiously rubbing at them. Then? Screaming as the chilli sets in.

Wayne comes home that night to find a chilli half way through being cooked and two very happy boys. ‘Sorry it isn’t ready yet, had bit of a delay.’ Eddie reports from his place on the couch, goggles pushing his hair back and feet on Steve’s lap. Wayne glances over to steve who is sitting back with a wet cloth over his eyes and held in place by sunglasses. Wayne would ask questions but he knows better than that by now. Instead he just takes his jacket off, grabs a beer and waits for his chilli with his family, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Gosh looks like today needs more Kakashi positivity

Kakashi's first lesson to his students is 'fuck the rules if your friends are in danger/need your help

Kakashi actively wins multiple fights on his own and even holds his own against Kakuzu and Hidan without using the MS. Cannonly (Manga only) Kakashi wins against Zabuza (twice), the seven deadly swordsmen, multiple enemies in the war arc. Kakashi is also portrayed as more of a leader than a direct fighter, excelling most when he can lead a team to victory (like in the Kaguya fight).

Obito's eye is a GIFT to him. It doesn't matter if he 'shouldn't have it' or any other reason people come up with for him being crap for using it. He is the only character we see with a Sharingan (that is none Uchiha or even Uchiha in the vast majority of cases) who was 100% gifted the eye and told to use it. He uses it to honor the memory of a friend he lost.

Kakashi is the only character we see actively stand up to the system from inside the system. He's the one who stands up to Danzo to save Yamato. He's the one who turns his back on the 'New Hokage' (Danzo) and takes Naruto out of the village during a time when ALL shinobi are supposed to be restricted to inside of the village. He's the one who ignores Hiruzen's order's and plan in order to go save Yamato. He turns his back on Tsunade giving him an S-Ranked missiong to go after two of his students.

Kakashi taught each of his students something in the short amount of time we actually got to see him in teaching mode. He helps Sasuke improve his taijutsu so much that Gai is impressed by his improvements in the short span of a month. He teaches Sasuke his Chidori. He teaches Sakura the Qi release. He teaches Naruto how to make use of his shadow clones to learn faster (something Naruto uses both to create his rasenshuriken in such a short span of time and which he again uses later to learn sage mode.). That's not even touching on the obvious moments of teaching them about teamwork and chakra control (with the tree climbing)

Kakashi cared about all of his students. When he saw Itachi he assumed he was there for Sasuke, and when he found out he was there for Naruto he was just as ready to fight to protect his students. He carries Naruto on his back after he exhausted himself and gives Naruto a head pat. Seeing a bit of himself in Sasuke does not mean he ignored any of his students. While other teachers were hyper-focused on one student, Kakashi at least recognized he was only one person and when he needed to hyper-focus on Sasuke he still made sure that Naruto had someone to train him in chakra control as that was his weakest point.

Kakashi is the Hokage that made genuine changes to the system. He's the one who made a no-kill order for the shinobi of Konoha. He's the one who redirected Konoha's system away from shinobi toward a more economic system. It was during his reign that Konoha became an economic giant and grew exponentially in size.

Kakashi also became stronger after losing the Sharingan. The Sharingan was a gift from Obito that directly hurt him because he didn't have any magical fixes to keep him from getting chakra exhausted. the chakra was constantly being drained from him by the Sharingan, making him chronically fatigued just by existing with Obito's gift.

Kakashi's purple lightning is a stronger move than his chidori and does not require the sharingan. He's also capable of turning pieces of his mud wall jutsu to glass to deflect electricity before returning it to mud so that it is not left as an extremely fragile material that would shatter under most other attacks. this is a feat that was thought to be impossible even by the person who originally suggested it.

His chakra pool is so much bigger that he held a mud wall for three days and released it when he was ready to go on the attack

he defeated 50 jonin rank missing nin shinobi with a frying pan and some really well-used genjutsu

he's always learning and growing. Kakashi in OG Naruto was one of Konoha's strongest ninja and he STILL trained to get stronger after Naruto left because he knew he needed to. The same Kakashi who made the mistake of looking directly into Itachi's eye in their first fight then turned around and tricked Itachi into wasting a MS move on a shadow clone.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 23 - Perfection

Dinner for three.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Very good. Now, focus on the interstitial aspects of the crystalline structure. Feel how you can weaken or strengthen the bonds through the nature of its geometric arrangement. You are seeking to locate and place pressure on the liminal spaces between the bonds. This will enable you to reinforce the foundation or shatter it."

"I see now. Yes. It is not the edges but the inner composition."

"Precisely. Now, try to win… if you can."

Eris Morn and Ikora Rey floated a few feet apart from each other in the middle of Ikora's living room inside of the Warlock Vanguard's apartments within the Tower. Their hands were outstretched. Between them, a sphere of Stasis was simultaneously forming and being dissipated as each one attempted to gently undo the work of the other's manipulation of the entropic forces they had manifested between them.

It was an exercise that the Drifter and Eris had practiced together on Europa, taught to them by Elsie Bray. Eris was now using it to teach Ikora some of the finer points of Stasis wielding.

Ikora's living room was half library, half dining area, with three of its four walls covered in immaculately arranged bookshelves.

The two women hovered in the air over a large woven rug with an intricate pattern. The rug covered one half of the floor. The other half of the floor was hardwood, a luxury few in the Last City could afford. In the middle of that half of the room, a beautifully carved dining table was set for three, with a lit candelabra in the centre, fine china, and long stemmed wine glasses.

Through an archway there was a loud sizzling sound and the occasional clatter of pans and cooking. The Drifter had taken over Ikora's kitchen for the evening.

Ikora's half of the Stasis sphere seemed to be overtaking Eris' but the Warlock had known Eris long enough to assume her three-eyed friend would not lose so easily.

"Alright, alright, alright," the Drifter stepped out of the kitchen, his hands covered in oven mitts with beautiful purple embroidery on them.

"Oooh! You're doing the take over the world thing! That's fun." He walked over to where Ikora was floating and looked up at the sphere.

"Uh oh, Ray-ray. You're about to lose."

"Am I?" Ikora asked idly.

"Uh… yup. You're too focused on the outside. Ya left your middle undefended. She can just…"

Ikora's eyes narrowed. Three cracks appeared across her side of the structure. The Warlock concentrated, trying to knit them together.

"…do that. Now you're screwed. Ya can't recover from that."

The corner of Eris' lip quirked as one third of the sphere shattered, causing a chain reaction which reduced the rest of the structure to small shards. The shards fell down onto the carpet where they glittered prettily like glass beads in the light as they slowly began to dissipate.

"Eris is a very aggressive player," the Drifter explained. "Ya can't over extend or she'll get right in there. And she's super fast too. As soon as ya start goin' in for the kill, that's when she springs, like a steel trap. Gotta go heavy on the defense with Three-Eyes or she'll pop ya right open just like that."

"I see." Ikora slowly descended to the floor.

"You are giving away all my secrets, Rat." Eris said as she, too, began floating toward the floor.

"Ya beat the pants offa me enough times before I figured that one out. She needs every advantage she can get. Speakin' of, can I interest you two badasses in fortifyin' yourselves for your next battle with dinner?"

"Yes," Eris answered immediately, walking toward the table. "We've been smelling it for the past hour."

"Sit yourselves down and I'll bring it right out."

Ikora sat at the head of the table with Eris to her side. The Drifter was back quickly, carrying the only kitchen implement he insisted upon bringing with him to Ikora's apartment: His cast iron frying pan. A loud hissing was coming from the pan, along with considerable smoke.

The rogue Lightbearer pulled out tongs he'd shoved handle-first into a pocket and placed a sizzling steak on each plate. Then he circled back to each plate in turn, drizzling the hot liquid from the pan onto the meat and placing several crisped herbs on top of each portion.

Eris's eyes dimmed slightly as she inhaled deeply, leaning over her plate.

"Now don't touch it for six minutes."

"What?" Eris's eyes flared bright again. "Why?"

"Because the meat needs to nap first."

"That is ridiculous."

"Trust me on this one. It's gotta take a little nap on your plate before ya cut into it or it won't be as good."

"Surely this is simply for dramatics."

Ikora sat back in her chair and watched them bicker with a bemused smile.

"No. It's not for dramatics. If it was for dramatics I'd be telling you somethin' like…"

He held the empty pan out and waved the tongs over it with a flourish as he spoke while deliberately looking off to the side with his eyes closed.

"Do ya feel the eerie movements of the dead animal's life force skitterin' around as I do… in the delirium between death and life, it broods upon yer plate… Knowin' you are about to consume it into yer vicious hungry maws… devourin' its flesh to take its power and infuse it inta yer own. Ooooh Oooohhhh!" He shivered in an exaggerated manner.

Ikora burst out laughing.

Eris stiffened. "I do not sound like that."

"Well now I didn't say ya did. I was just showin' what it would be if I was bein' dramatic, Moondust. Not everything's about you."

Eris turned to Ikora. "Do I sound like that?"

Ikora covered her mouth with her hand. "Sometimes a little bit."

Eris glared up at the Drifter. He spread his arms out wide and leaned across the table, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Six minutes," he insisted. "You! Ghost!"

A single tone came from Eris' pocket.

"Time that."

The tone came again.

"Now don't cheat, Three-Eyes." He pointed at her with the tongs. "I'll be right back."

"I am not the one who cheats," she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Ikora laughed again.

As promised the Drifter returned almost immediately, carrying one of Ikora's pans filled with buttery golden mushrooms. He placed a heap of them on top of the steak on each plate before making two more trips to the kitchen. The Drifter brought back long green beans in some sort of sauce and small roasted potatoes tossed with herbs, placing them around the steaks on each plate with the tongs. On his third trip he returned with an opened bottle of red wine.

"It smells so good." Eris murmured as the Drifter sat, picking up Ikora's glass and filling it half way with wine.

Then he stopped. He tilted his head before lifting the glass up and down in his hand, feeling its weight, and then holding it up to examine it carefully near the candle flames.

"Ooooh."

He placed the wine bottle down and reached out with his other hand to lightly flick the side of the glass. It made a pleasant chiming sound.

"You hear that?" he asked Eris.

"Yes," Eris looked across the table at him, confused.

"This is actual crystal." he said. He looked over at Ikora, clearly impressed.

"Yes, it is." Ikora said warmly.

"I do not understand," Eris regarded him, perplexed at his behaviour. "What is the difference?"

"Well, it's thinner," the Drifter explained as he finished pouring wine into Ikora's glass and reached out for Eris'. "More delicate, but also heavier, and the sound."

He flicked Eris' glass, It was empty and made a higher pitched sound.

"I heard. Does it have a… different chemical composition from glass?"

"Yeah. Lead maybe? I can't remember."

"Lead, yes." Ikora confirmed.

"This stuff hasn't been made in a very, very long time." He filled Eris' glass with wine and handed it to her. "This is old-old. Rare. I knew Vanguard would be high-class, but damn."

"It was a gift," Ikora explained. "I do not use them often. Eris said you were excited to cook something special for us. It seemed appropriate to bring out the fancy glasses."

"I wish I'd brought a fancier wine." He filled his own glass and placed the bottle on the table, holding the glass up to the light and looking at it. "Damn!"

The Drifter's ghost emitted its single tone from Eris' pocket.

The Drifter placed his wine glass down on the table and held up both his hands to show Eris and Ikora that they were empty. He wriggled his fingers and snapped both his hands with an exaggerated movement that flicked his wrists to the sides. A fork and knife materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

"Show time," the Drifter announced and began cutting into the meat on his plate.

Ikora raised one amused eyebrow and mentally reminded herself to count the fancy glasses after the Drifter had left. He wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. It would upset Eris and he would not do that. But still… it was him…

Eris picked up her cutlery and eagerly cut off a piece of steak, putting it into her mouth. Her eyes dimmed as she chewed. Her usual slightly frowning expression began to shift, the corners of her lips lifting involuntarily into a smile as the Drifter watched her from his side of the table, a mixture of pride and delight on his face.

"Iss… so good." Eris mumbled through her mouthful of steak.

One of the system's most notorious criminals looked almost bashful as his eyes turned toward the Vanguard spymaster, seeking her approval of the meal.

Ikora finished chewing the small bite of steak she had sliced for herself and took a sip of wine. The Drifter licked his lips.

"It is. It is very good." Ikora confirmed and smiled at him.

The Drifter's face was downright gleeful as he grinned and took a bite of his own. "Oh yeah," he said out of the side of his mouth while he chewed it slowly. "This right here? This is what perfection tastes like. This. Right here. Right now." He swallowed and sipped his wine before repeatedly skewering mushroom slices on his fork until they formed a small frilly mouthful which he proceeded to devour.

"I am inclined to agree," Ikora said warmly and continued slicing her food into small pieces, taking polite and careful bites, her elbows off the table.

The Drifter reached his left arm out along the table and Eris did the same with her right, idly sliding her fingers into his hand in an automatic way that made it clear they did this all the time.

Ikora watched them as she sipped her wine, seeing the genuine adoration on the Drifter's face as he seemed to have difficulty looking away from Eris for any length of time. Meanwhile Eris moved with a comfortable ease that Ikora had not seen her display in a very, very long time. The Warlock felt like a weight was lifting off of her the more she watched them.

Eris was happy. She was sitting at Ikora's dinner table in civilian clothes. The top half of her face was still bandaged, albeit with a nicer cloth than she wore on the Moon. Her three Hive eyes still dripped ichor down her cheeks in endless tears, but Ikora saw parts of the Eris she had known centuries ago returning beneath them.

"This is one of them perfect moments you were talkin' about, Moondust," the Drifter said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, almost reverent, as he chewed his steak.

"Hmmm…?"

"This, right now. Good food. Good friends. Fancy as fuck wine glasses."

Both Eris and Ikora smirked at the honesty in his crudeness.

"This one of those times we file away in our brains and keep. Somethin' special to hold onto when shit gets bad. A good memory for when things are makin' it so you can't remember what feelin' good feels like. This is one of those times you keep in your back pocket and hold close so you can remind yourself that good things do actually happen sometimes. That they did actually happen to you. That it's possible they can happen to you again."

Eris squeezed his hand. "Yes. It is."

She reached out with her left hand and opened it in front of Ikora. Ikora placed her own well manicured fingers between Eris' calloused ones, noting how cool her skin was to the touch, how firmly Eris gripped her hand, and how contented the sigh was that left Eris' lips.

There was movement out of the corner of her eye and Ikora looked away from Eris in surprise to see the Drifter's open hand tentatively reached out toward her. He did not make eye contact with her and continued to look at Eris. He was holding his breath.

Ikora raised an eyebrow but took the criminal's hand in hers as well, feeling the warmth coming from him. It was, she realized, the first time she and the Drifter had ever physically touched each other. Ikora watched as a small, almost shy smile overtook his face.

The three of them sat like that together, simply feeling the moment in quiet appreciation. They did not stay that way for long, but it felt significant. Purposeful. A deliberate choice to share in a silent communion. There was weight to it and all three of them felt it. It felt right.

And then the Drifter gave both Eris and Ikora's hands a quick squeeze before once more picking up his fork and knife to continue eating. His eyes sparkled in delight as though he had just unexpectedly won a priceless treasure at a game of chance. Perhaps he had.

Ikora continued to hold Eris's hand, delighting in the small genuinely happy smile on her face.

The Warlock Vanguard reached out with her free hand and raised her wine glass.

"To perfect moments."

Three crystal glasses clinked together in the middle of the table, each with different levels of wine, causing them to ring out with three separate but pleasingly harmonized tones.

"Hey! That's like… downright musical," the Drifter said with a grin.

"You had to have done this on purpose. There's no way for it to have harmonized that precisely. You poured the wine."

"No!" he laughed. "I didn't do anything. Trust. It just happened like that."

"It's true," Ikora said. "I have been sipping mine. It was unintentional, but… beautiful."

"Yeah! I guess.. I guess sometimes things just… work out." The Drifter's voice trailed off as he spoke, as though he was surprising himself with what was coming out of his own mouth.

"Yes," Ikora smiled. "Sometimes they do."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[chrisbitchtree]

The One with the Birthday Lockdown

For Harringrove Week day 2

Prompt - To be happy

2.1k - T (tw: child abuse)

***

Billy stands, pacing the short length of his bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until he’s sure he’s soon going to wear a hole in the ancient wooden floorboards. When that gets old, he sits cross legged on the bed, then lays down, taking deep breaths, trying to resist the urge to scream.

***

It’s the night of Billy’s 18th birthday. He should be out with Steve right now, having the best night ever. Steve had planned a whole evening for the two of them, although that’s all he would say, unwilling to tell Billy what his plans were. Billy had been riding the high of excitement for weeks.

That had all come crashing down when he’d talked back to his father the day before. He knew now, thinking back on it, that it had been a trap. Neil had agreed way too easily when Billy had asked to spend the nights out with friends for his birthday, forgoing the usual intense round of questioning about who he’d be out with, where they were going, and what they’d be doing, on top of stipulations about when he could leave an when he had to come back.

Instead, when Billy had mentioned going out with friends, Neil had readily agreed, slipping Billy a twenty and telling him to go have a good time. Billy should have been suspicious, but he’d been too blinded by excitement over Steve’s secret plans. Then, at 7pm the night before, while Susan and Max were out shopping, Billy’s father had called him to the kitchen, where he’d demanded to know why Billy had left dishes in the sink.

Billy had protested, which was his first mistake. He knew that he hadn’t left the dishes, but even if he had hard evidence to prove that it had been Max, his dad would still blame him, so he should have just confessed to having done it and washed the dishes. But no, he’d just had to open his big mouth and tell Neil to ask Max about it when she got home.

His dad had immediately flown into a rage, hurling a frying pan at Billy, just missing his head. There was a dent in the wall behind him, along with a trail of thick, brown sauce. Clearly unsatisfied with the results of his throw, Neil had proceeded to throw a spatula, spoon, and coffee mug at him.

The mug was thankfully another hit, shattering in almost the exact same spot as the pan had hit. Neil was yelling so loud that Billy’s ears were ringing as he started to clean up the shards of glass from the floor. After he was done sweeping, Billy scrubbed the wall and washed the unbroken dishes as his father continued to yell at him.

He told Billy that he wasn’t to leave the kitchen until it was spotless, then he was to go to his room for the remainder of the night. Billy could take all that. This was typical Neil behaviour. He started to lose his cool when his father told him that he wouldn’t be allowed to go out the next evening for his birthday, as punishment for leaving the dishes and then talking back.

Billy took a deep breath, knowing that talking back anymore than he already had wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could only hope that he could somehow get in touch with Steve, since Billy wouldn’t have access to the phone in his bedroom, and the next day was Saturday, so he couldn’t even run over to Family Video on his lunch break to let Steve know.

***

An hour later, Susan and Max returned home. After a couple minutes, Billy heard a knock on his door. Too peppy sounding to be Susan, it had to be Max. Clearly she hadn’t noticed that the lock on the outside of his door was locked.

“Go away,” he called, sounding miserable, even to his own ears. He was upset about how being able to go out, but still pretty pissed at Max for leaving those dishes.

“I just want to…” she replied.

“Go away!” Billy shouted, drowning her out.

She stayed as persistent as ever though, knocking again before Billy could hear Neil guide her away from his door, telling her in a loud enough voice that he could be sure Billy could hear that Billy needed some time to think about respect and responsibility and was to be left alone.

Not ten minutes had passed before there was a quiet knock on Billy’s window. For a  brief moment, he got his hopes up, thinking it might be Steve, and was disappointed when he opened the curtains to see Max’s face staring back at him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled, sliding the window open as slowly and quietly as possible.

“I just want to know what you did to make Neil so mad that he said you can’t go out tomorrow night. I heard him telling my mom.”

He glared at her dumb face, resisting the urge to shout as he responded. “Maybe you should ask yourself that, Maxine. You’re the one who left dishes in the sink for him to find!”

“That’s not true!” she protested. “You made breakfast this morning, and we did those dishes together, then my mom picked me up right from school! When would I have dirtied dishes?”

Neil, that fucking bastard. Billy had absently thought about the fact that the frying pan only had sauce in it, with no food besides. His dad had planted the dishes in the sink so that he had something to get Billy in trouble for.

One recent night, when Billy was up getting a glass of water late at night, he’d overheard Susan and Neil talking about Billy. Susan had told Neil that she thought Neil was being too harsh on Billy for nothing, so now he was clearly inventing reasons to get mad. Jesus Christ, Billy had to get out of there sooner rather than later.

He sighed, flopping back on his bed, leaving Max hanging through the window frame. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to sooth himself and stop the headache he could feel starting at his temples.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Max said, mournfully. “I know it doesn’t really help, but I brought you this.” She placed two cookies on a napkin on his windowsill. It wasn’t much, but chocolate chips could always make things at least a little bit better.

“Thanks, Max,” he said through a mouthful of cookie, giving her a small smile. “Could you do me one more favour and bring me your walkie?”

***

Steve was kind and empathetic throughout their entire conversation, telling Billy it was no problem at all to postpone their plans for another week, asking Billy in a worried tone if he was ok. He didn’t even complain once about not being able to hear Billy properly, as Bill whispered into the walkie under the cover of his blanket, hoping it muffled the sound from anyone trying to eavesdrop outside his bedroom door.

Eventually, the battery started to drain, Steve’s voice fading in and out, until Billy had to let him go, trying not to tear up as they said goodbye. He laid in bed, hugging his own body under the covers, willing himself to fall asleep. The faster he could fall asleep, the faster he could wake up and get through the next day.

***

Billy wakes the morning of his birthday to loud banging on his bedroom door, and his father shouting at him to get up for his birthday breakfast. He dresses quickly, scrambling to the bathroom then to the dining room table, where Susan serves pancakes, smiling weakly at Billy as she slides a couple onto his plate.

Billy’s dad gives a speech about how his son’s now a man, ready to make his own way in the world, and for a second, Billy thinks between the breakfast and the speech that Neil might actually be making an attempt to do something nice for him after punishing him so severely, but then he sees it for what it really is, an attempt for Neil to show Susan what a great father he is, even when Billy’s acting like a piece of shit. The pancake syrup suddenly tastes bitter on Billy’s tongue, and he wants nothing more than to be locked back in his room, where he can at least be alone.

***

Billy gets his wish, immediately being ushered to his room after breakfast, and told to both stay in there and stay quiet. He complies, picking up a book he has to read for school and getting lost in another world for a while.

At first, it’s not too bad, pretty much the same as every other quiet Saturday he’s forced to spend at home, except this time he’s not in charge of monitoring Max and her every movement. Susan drops off his lunch outside his door, knocking softly and scurrying away before he opens the door. He eats his bologna sandwich and apple in silence, continuing to read his book.

As late afternoon rolls around, he starts to get restless. That’s when the pacing starts. As he walks the length of his room, his anger starts to build. This was supposed to be his big night. He’s finally a man, and he finally has someone that loves him, but he’s still here, rotting away in his bedroom.

Evening falls, and as the sun starts to set, Neil knocks on Billy’s bedroom door, telling him he’d better use the washroom before Neil and Susan go out for dinner and a movie. Billy’s blood boils as he pictures his dad and Susan out at Enzo’s while he’s stuck at home, separated from Steve.

He uses the washroom, and as soon as he closes his bedroom door again, he hears the padlock click shut. Fuck Neil, he starts to think. Fuck him and his stupid rules and mind games. Fuck what he’s put Billy through. Fuck Susan for letting it happen. Fuck his mom for running away and leaving him here. Fuck everyone who isn’t Max or Steve.

He’s on the verge of tears, trying to contemplate whether sneaking out is worth the punishment he’ll receive when he almost certainly gets caught, when there’s a knock at his bedroom window. He expects it to be Max, bringing him a snack, or if he’s really lucky, a message from Steve, but when he throws open the curtains, he finds Steve himself.

Steve’s standing in the hedges, holding a box of pizza with a lobsided birthday cake balanced on top of it. He’s wearing a paper party hat on his head, and there’s another one dangling by the string from his hand. Under his arm is a wrapped gift, and there’s a soft, crooked smile on his face.

The floodgates do open at that point, Billy so overwhelmed by this turn of events that he can’t even be bothered to hide his tears like he usually does. He just lets them flow as he takes the cake and pizza box from Steve before ushering him in through the window.

“Steve, I can’t believe you…” he manages to choke out before the tears overtake his ability to speak.

Steve pulls Billy into his arms and rubs his back soothingly. “What, you thought I was going to let you spend your birthday all alone in here? You underestimate me, Hargrove.”

After a couple minutes, he pulls back and hands Billy a tissue from the box on his side table so he can wipe away his tears. Billy blushes thinking of what they usually use the tissues to wipe up, late at night, bathed in moonlight when Steve’s snuck in, telling Billy in a whisper that he couldn’t bear to be apart from him for another moment.

Billy laughs when Steve places the party hat on his head, only grumbling slightly when he snaps the elastic under Billy’s chin, and he moans in delight at the first bite of hot, cheesy pizza. When Steve goes to sing happy birthday to Billy, he realizes that he never brought a knife to cut the cake.

They call out to Max, who brings them one, running around the side of one in hand, and Steve invites her, so she stays and she and Steve sing to Billy together as he grins at them, his two favourite people in the world.

His 18th birthday isn’t exactly what Billy imagined, but it’s not often that things pan out the way he thinks they will, and honestly, it’s ok. He's choosing, in this moment, despite it all, to be happy.

One day, he’ll look back at this day, and he’ll barely remember the way Neil tried to sour it. He’ll just remember his boyfriend, his sister, and the sweet taste of chocolate cake.

[peppermintpinklemonade]

MITRI COOKING FLASHBACK FIC…… SPARE MITRI COOKING FLASHBACK FIC PLS………

Baby, bro, child, dude, you’ve seen most of it, you’re my fe3h guy of all time, however… ty so much for asking so I have smth to share so here are some of my favourite bits:

‘Felix is gonna be so happy.’ Dimitri thought cheerily as he grabbed the handle of their frying pan from the cabinet.

Dimitri pulled out the frying pan from under the rest of their cookware and everything in the cabinet clattered out onto the floor with a loud crash.

‘Oh goodness.’ Dimitri sighed as he went to restack the cookware. It was probably fine, Felix wasn’t a very heavy sleeper, but his room was far from the kitchen. He needed Felix to stay asleep so he could surprise him.

~~~~~~~~~more under the cut

‘Oh, shoot.’ Dimitri thought as he placed their carton of eggs and butter on the counter. He hadn’t done this by himself yet and he’d forgotten to pen down instructions the last time someone had fried an egg with him.

He picked up his phone and paused the old rock song he hadn’t heard before and opened his messaging app.

Ashe my friend, could you please remind me how long to fry an egg for?

Thank you,

Dimitri :)

Dimitri waited as Ashe typed, the three dots jumping in place of his message.

It’s Dedue, apologies. Ashe is asleep right now but I heard his phone go off while fetching something I left in his room. Please make sure the pan is at medium heat and has a small amount of either oil or butter melted in it. Crack the egg into a shallow bowl and then slide it into the pan so you can start over if the yolk breaks or pick out any pieces of shell. Once the egg is in the pan, watch the edges of the white for crisp browning. You want semi-soft yolk, solid white, and a crispy brown bottom. You can use a spatula to slightly lift the egg to check if you are unsure if it is ready. Good luck Dimitri.

~~~~~~~~~

Dimitri took an egg and lightly tapped it on the edge of the bowl like he’d seen. Perhaps not as lightly as he had intended as he pushed the egg into the edge of the bowl almost to his hand, crushing the shell in his palm, and sending yolk and egg white onto the counter and Dimitri’s apron.

Dimitri sighed, the bowl was a good idea.

He washed the bits of egg and shattered shell out of the bowl and off the counter and tried again.

This time he managed to get most of the egg in the bowl, but the yolk was absolutely decimated and full of bits of shell.

Third attempt. A broken yolk again, less shell though.

Dimitri looked remorsefully at the carton of eggs. This was wasteful.

“Oh!” Dimitri remarked. He took a serrated butter knife and sat the egg on its side on the counter. He began to carefully saw back and forth in a line down the middle of the egg. Dimitri smiled to himself as the knife broke through the shell in a neat line. He opened the egg the rest of the way and stared at his perfect cracked egg in the bowl. Felix was gonna be pretty impressed he’d thought of that, he’d make sure to tell him when he served him the food.

~~~~~~~~~

‘Oh.’ He should make some for Sylvain too. He would probably get home in an hour or two, and he would probably be hungover and maybe sad and would appreciate a full breakfast he didn’t have to cook. Dimitri brought the eggs back to the counter, he’d make more after he served Felix.

~~~~~~~~~ ok for these next ones idk how to do left text so I’m just gonna colour it

Oh, he also needed paper towel to line the plate. He quickly doubled back to grab a few strips. On his way his arm caught the handle of the frying pan. He turned around and, without thinking, caught the falling pan halfway to the ground, its tilt poured sizzling butter on the back of his hand and fingers as the hot metal seared the palm of his hand. Dimitri instinctively yelled, dropped the pan with a loud clang and clutched his hand, now bright red and radiating–

–heat, the throbbing pain getting worse and worse, the smell of his sizzling flesh, no, not just his, he was pretty sure. Oppressive warmth pushed into him from all sides, he could barely see through the grey smoke and orange flames whipping in the air. Someone called his father’s name, and then his, quiet against the ringing in his ears from the explosion and the screams of the people falling to their fiery deaths around him.

He was twelve, he had been in the audience watching his father and stepmother speak against the backdrop of their promising political agenda for the year projected on the wall. He was in the front row, waving to his best friend’s older brother Glenn, who smiled back covertly from his position on the side of the stage. Glenn stopped smiling at him and his face contorted with concern, he said something into his mouthpiece and took a step towards Dimitri’s parents, his hand on the gun hiding holstered at his waist.

~~~~~~~~~

“Dimitri!”

Dimitri looked around, he couldn’t make out anybody in this inferno, and the ringing in his ears deafened him too much to identify its owner.

“Dimitri!”

Felix walked into the kitchen frowning, rubbing his eyes. “If you’re gonna get up at ungodly hours on a Saturday at least keep it down.” He admonished harshly.

Felix continued, “What the hell are you–”

Felix rounded the corner and registered the scene in front of him. Dimitri, kneeling on the floor beside a frying pan spilling steaming eggs and butter onto the floor. He had pressed his hands into the ground and was staring at them blankly with his one good eye. His left hand was red and blistering. Tears were brimming in his eye and his breathing was quick and shallow.

“Shit.”

Felix’s expression of anger dropped like a heavy weight, wide eyed concern etching itself deep into his face, sadness softening the edges of his worried brow.

~~~~~~~~~ same thing w center text imma make it purple

Glenn let go of Lambert and knelt down in front of Dimitri. Holding his hand out.

“Dimitri, let’s go.”

“Dimitri,” Felix began, gingerly covering Dimitri’s burnt hand with the wet cloth.

“It’s okay,”

“I’ve got you,”

“take my hand.”

Upon getting no response, as expected, Felix gently lifted Dimitri’s hand and wrapped it in the towel, wiping off the butter still burning blisters into his hand. He watched Dimitri carefully, making sure to move slowly so as to not startle him.

~~~~~~~~~

Dimitri looked up at Glenn as he ran beside him, gripping his hand tightly. His raven hair was falling around his shoulders, whatever he’d tied his hair up with was long gone.

“What happened, what’s–”

“–going on, Glenn?” Dimitri mumbled, slowly stumbling to his feet. He tightened his grip on the warm hands wrapped around his. He looked up, no, down. Amber eyes stared back at him through loose raven hair that collected around narrow shoulders. Amber?

Glenn stared back at him, his piercing blue eyes serious and hard.

“We’re not sure, we think this is an attack.”

Felix sighed tightly and cupped Dimitri’s face softly, “I’m Felix, it’s 2023, you’re safe, and–”

“–we’re going to get out of here,” Glenn continued.

“it’s going to be okay.”

AUGH I feel like put way too much to be qualified as ‘snippets’ but, them,,,,