#like. do they not realize the reason why they have to write shit down in the first place? BECAUSE WE NEED THAT INFO AFTERWARDS

[spxdyr]

im going to try to be nice because bucktommy's are going to inevitably see this and im not trying to start shit.

i'm seeing a lot of confused bucktommy's about the breakup. claiming it was a last minute decision, it was because lou didn't want to keep dealing with it (wtv that means), that it makes no since because of 8x05, and a lot of other spiraling bs.

i even saw someone say that buddie is never going to happen because oliver said eddie is straight...

i'm going to break this down as clearly as i can, because i've historically had issues with bt's and comprehension skills.

1. the bucktommy breakup was inevitable from the moment they got together. if for no other reason than tommy himself. from the beginning of their relationship, tommy has decided if buck was ready. not buck. tommy left buck standing on the side of the road aftet their first date because tommy decided he wasn't ready. because buck was nervous to come out to his best friend in public. tommy decided that buck would break his heart and that he wouldn't be buck's last. tommy came into that relationship assuming it would end. not buck, and not the audience. we were just picking up on what tommy was telling us. especially, given the fact that buck was fully ready and able to move past the abby clark of it all. tommy was a bad partner to buck, that's why they broke up.

2. i said this after 8x05, it wouldn't have made since to give us an on screen breakup if the only thing we saw of tommy was the thirty second birthday scene in 8x01. 9-1-1 loves a three ep arc and buck's side of whatever realization he might have started on 8x05. we needed to see more of tommy so it made sense when he broke up with buck. throughout all of 8x05, we saw the seeds of doubt being sowed in tommy. from the hospital scene after denny, to the closing one, tommy realized he didn't fit or at least wouldn't for long. because he never got that built-in family. he doesn't trust/believe that anyone would have his back like that. and he made that choice all on his own.

3. lfj is fine. he's a mulit-million dollar nepo baby. one whose been callled out for negative past behaviors and some people consider that bullying. lfj knew how long he was going to be on the show when he signed the contract to come back. the networks choice not to renew that contract had nothing to do with buddie stans. his storyline was over.

4. i can't even be confident that he's gone. there was a lot of stuff left unsaid or moved past too quickly. now 9-1-1 has a history of bad writing in that regard but they also have a habit of dropping things to only come back to them episodes or even seasons later. if he's really gone well thank god, but if he's not im not totally shocked.

5. i don't know how many times i have to say this. if eddie is gay or bi or demi or wtv, the cast wouldn't be able to say so because it would be a MAJOR spoiler. does no one remember andrew garfield and tom holland lying their asses off about spiderman ffh??? actors are liars, its like the whole bit. buck was straight until he wasn't. let's stop being dense and accept that maybe they aren't telling us everything because that would the defeat the purpose of the show.

look at this point im not just in this for buddie. im in this for an eddie that gets to be unapologetically himself. and im going to emphasize one more time how dangerous and disrespectful it is to force eddie back into the proverbial closet because it doesn't fit your ship.

[hoxooster]

@littlebigadventure2 Actually, I never considered making a callout post. When DesBea was in the group, I wasn’t aware of her bullying other users (besides Red) or stalking anyone until well after she left lilspacewolfie’s Discord server. Beyond having to deal with her shoving her torture fics in everyone’s faces, and her going out of her way to push other people down, I had no thought towards making a post on her behavior. To be quite honest with you, I thought that she was just an adult who was being childish to gain attention, and that she only had beef with lilspacewolfie. Red wasn’t interested in making a callout post, because the bullying seemed like a minor issue, and I thought the same.

Then the callout post came out after I left the Red’s Ramblers Discord server.

Suddenly, behavior that I had reread in her messages back when I deleted them (in February of this year) from lilspacewolfie’s server, and that I was reminded about in conversations with others who experienced the same things whenever they interacted with her, made me realize the full scope of the worrying nature of her actions.

Because, I vividly remember how she went out of her way to pester Red. How she followed lilspacewolfie around in our stealth Payday 2 games without saying anything—in either voice or the text box—and would spam voice lines while standing directly behind her to make her scream in fear. And, how she also refused to stop when asked. No matter how many times the entreaties were repeated to her, or who was doing the asking—even if it was multiple people.

I remember how, in another time of us telling her to knock off her shitty behavior, she proclaimed in the Discord text chat—on a channel that was specifically designed for NSFW talk (mainly as a place to discuss fanfic ideas and bounce them off of the rest of the group)—that ‘anyone who writes NSFW in their fics are terrible people, and they’re disgusting.’ Red and I were taken aback by it for a while, then she asked for my help with addressing the issue, so I advised her to respond in a way that would basically tell DesBea, "Writing allows you to create whatever you want. People don't need permission to write about NSFW, or anything else for that matter, just because YOU don't like it. Just don't interact with it if it's so disgusting to you." DesBea tried to play it off with, "Well, I'm ace, so I don't understand it. Why do people do it? It's so weird. And I like reading anything and everything that has NaviMind in it." Red responded on her own with something along the lines of, "Yeah, but if you don't like to read NSFW, then just don't do it??? AO3 has tags on it so you can avoid things you don't like. Again, it's not hard." And this wasn’t the only time she used her, ‘I’m ace, but maybe not aro’ excuse to try to win or deflect her way out of arguments, but it was one of the more memorable ones. For all the wrong reasons.

I also remember how she would try to talk over other people in text conversations and make everything about her fics and ‘Bain is an alien’ and ‘the Payday gang are a hive mind’ and ‘imagine the guys feeling every bit of torture Bain went through with the Dentist’ and ‘this person’s writing sucks because it doesn’t include my head canons’ and so on.

But, as far as we knew at the time, this all only happened in the Red’s Ramblers Discord—and to people who seemed like they didn't really care too much about it. So, after she left, Red and I treated the whole situation as ‘DesBea was throwing a child’s temper tantrum, because she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted. Now she's out of here permanently. Good riddance.’

Then time passed, shit happened, and as I was leaving the server, I was deleting everything from people who had already left. I read back through her stuff and thought, “Yeesh, am I glad that she didn’t stick around.” Then I thought nothing else of it.

So, now we get back to the original callout post.

I wasn’t shocked about the content of anything that she wrote, but I was surprised by the targeted severity of it. And also the fact that she, as a ‘responsible’ adult, was knowingly being inappropriate with her messages that she was sending to a minor in that server.

Now, my mother is a middle school teacher, and I have helped her for 20 years with her work—this includes taking those ‘signs of abuse in children’, ‘bullying in the workplace’, and the ‘know that you’re expected to report bad actors on threat of legal action against you if you don’t’ tests for her, then giving her the rundown after (she’s bad with newer computers and programs). So, because of those, I know that you are, legally, NEVER ALLOWED to say what someone else does and does not consider as harassment towards themselves. I don't care if anyone tries to the pull the, 'yeah, it's only illegal where YOU are,' argument--it's a law that was put into place here because it's based on what should be common fuckin' courtesy, respect, and compassion afforded to and shared with victims in the aftermath of their trauma. If you want to consider the few messages you saw of hers as ‘gripes and misunderstandings’, then fine. If you want to interact with her, then knock yourself out. But, don’t, for one second, think that you can come in here and ‘weigh in’ on everything that has been said--which was at great personal embarrassment for some, and far too horrifying for others to even say anything beyond hinting at what transpired because of the trauma involved—and call any of it ‘not a big deal’.

In fact, since you didn’t reblog from the version of this post that has some concerning information on it, I’m going to assume that you didn’t see it, so here’s a photo of it:

On the original callout post, there's a reblog that's also from dracoleopardo that gives a bit more context on DesBea messaging at least one minor with inappropriate content. Which was followed up by lesbian-ferret mentioning that she had heard about accusations concerning DesBea going out of her way to pester the VAs—maybe with her torture fics or who-even-knows-what-else—which could have its own potential legal ramifications for DesBea, if they're true and the VAs decide to file anything against her.

So, there are people here—and possibly even persons who do/have work(ed) for Starbreeze—who have actively been hurt by her actions, some even to the point of attempting to do something irreversible to themselves. Is that what you would class as a ‘gripe’ or a ‘simple misunderstanding’?

Are muffy-official’s feelings about the whole DesBea situation that she experienced in their server not valid, because you, an admitted outsider to this issue, think that it’s ‘not a big deal’?

Is the original callout post ‘uncalled for’, because you don’t think that this was ‘worth talking about in an open forum’?

Is it ‘fearmongering’ to want to warn people—especially those that have been hurt by DesBea—about her multiple accounts that she has been known to use to block evade people who’ve blocked her on only one or a few of those accounts?

You asked me if I ‘thought of the consequences of my actions’ when I first made this addendum post.

I did.

I thought about the consequences of her messaging new people to our fandom to try and ingratiate herself upon them—which she did after an hour or so of the original callout post already being posted and it being spread around in reblogs by other people in the Payday fandom.

I thought about the consequences of her bullying more people in our fandom, especially those who are in terrible mental states or personal situations.

I thought about the consequences of her messaging any of the minors that are hanging out here in our corner of the fandom, and what any of those messages might contain.

I thought about the consequences of her continuing to stalk people in our fandom under her myriad of usernames, and none of them any the wiser about it or able to protect themselves.

I thought about the consequences of anyone in our fandom not being presented with all of this information, and thus being unable to react in an informed way if she tried to message or @ them or comment on their posts in the future.

And I also thought about the consequences her actions would have on her life on the internet, if she kept being allowed to behave and conduct herself around here in the ways that she has been.

But, we have to give her a pass, right? Because she’s ‘mentally unwell’—despite the fact that she continually refuses professional help. Or, because ‘she’s being childish for attention’—despite the fact that she’s an adult and she does know better. Or because it was ‘all just a misunderstanding’—despite the fact that she was bullying people almost to the point of harming themselves, and was knowingly being inappropriate in her messages to at least one minor.

I thought about the consequences a lot. I thought about how her actions and my own addendum post to the original callout post could effect and affect everyone in the Payday fandom. And, yes, I even thought about it in regards to Tumblr’s ToS.

So, while, yes, my post is targeted in the sense that it’s focused on DesBea and the accounts of hers that I’m aware of, it is not considered harassment under Tumblr’s definition in their ToS. This is because I’m actively calling for people to make their own decisions on whether or not they wish to block her, and I’m reminding them to not harass her. Multiple times. If you want to consider all of our efforts to try and warn people, while still reminding people to leave DesBea alone—despite how emotional our replies might have gotten and how many swear words have been thrown around--as harassment, then fine. Block me. Block all of us. Block everyone of us who created the posts, and every last person who reblogged it to signal boost it, so more people in our corner of the internet could see it.

I refuse to see any part of this as a 'non-issue' or as 'fearmongering'. DesBea has hurt multiple people in the Payday fandom in multiple ways in multiple places under multiple names. There are quite a few screenshots that have been provided as evidence to her behavior, and anecdotes from people in our fandom who've never interacted with each other before—all of whom are saying the same things about how she acted around them. If that's not what you consider as a 'good enough cause to make a callout post', then I don't know what to tell ya, hoss.

Do as you will.

On the DesBea situation:

I would've added my thoughts to the original post, but as I am not a part of their Discord server, I didn't think that that was any bit appropriate. However, I wanted to share some of my own personal experiences with her, so that y'all can see that her behavior in their server is a continuing pattern--I don't have pictures of what she said as proof, sadly, but I will explain why.

I'm also gonna slap this under a Read More. I apologize for its length, but the original callout post should be enough of an explanation as to why this post needs to be as long as it is.

And, as a quick aside, if any of you wish to completely block DesBea, NOT HARASS HER OR FEED INTO HER BEHAVIOR IN ANY WAY, be aware that her usernames are:

commence-screaming

des-paa-cee-toeee

pd3thoughts

If any of you know of any more, please tell me, and I will update this post. I don't want to be around her anymore than most people who've also interacted with her do.

About 2 years ago, I was invited to lilspacewolfie's server, Red's Ramblers, and I very quickly became a moderator there. Over time some people joined and a few left, but Ramblers remained stable through it all. DesBea joined later on into the server's lifespan, was around for awhile, said some nasty things, was given a warning (in the general), and just left without saying anything one day. After reading the screenshots in the callout post, I'm actually quite surprised by how much of a fit she threw in her efforts to make you guys apologize to her. Much like in the original post, with her gone from the server, things improved for everyone else, but the whole ordeal was rather confusing for all of us, in the aftermath.

See, DesBea was trying to be just as harmful in Ramblers, but it never really went anywhere.

Her hateful and self-pitying tendencies were the same around us as it was in their server. She really loved to talk shit about Yadoking and her writing--she would do this both in passing on random posts in the server, and while some of us were in-call when we'd play Payday 2 together as a group. It never smacked of genuine criticism for Yado's writing ability or style, as she only ever used childish language when doing it, and she would always do it right before she would try to push her own ideas and fics onto any of us who were online at the time. She was even trying to bully lilspacewolfie--which I will go more into later--over the tiniest of things. DesBea, in all of her posts, was either pushing someone else down, trying to make us all read about her rather disturbing fic ideas or headcanons, or trying to make herself look like the victim by claiming that she 'had bad experiences with abuse in the past' and that her 'PTSD was triggered over something someone in Ramblers had said' when we were trying to halt her bullshit.

It was all very aggravating to deal with, to say the least, but it also didn't have very much staying power, since most of us were just ignoring her in the server. And I do mean that, as most of the users in the Ramblers Discord server refused to interact with her posts over time, and people usually ignored her whenever she tried to insert herself into their conversations. It's probably why she left without much of a fight when lilspacewolfie posted "If you're being an asshole in this server, you better stop that shit right now" in the general chat. (That's not what she said, but y'all get the jist.)

Now, as for her bullying behavior in the server, I can't say for certain if she was targeting anyone besides lilspacewolfie (and badmouthing Yado from time to time, who wasn't even in the server), as I'm not a very outgoing or talkative individual. Despite the length of this post, I'm naturally quite taciturn, and even though I was a moderator in Ramblers, nobody in the server ever messaged me about any issues that they were having with anyone. But, I can say with accuracy that DesBea would go out of her way to harass lilspacewolfie--the creator and owner of the Red's Ramblers Discord server. Whenever she would join calls while we were playing together (but she was just watching from the server), she would only ever type in the voice chat channel, where she would wax poetic about her own fics and get rather offended that 'lilspacewolfie was intentionally ignoring her'. If we were playing a game of Payday 2 with her, DesBea would intentionally follow lilspacewolfie around as a character that she didn't particularly care for and spam callouts to scare and irritate her. And, when another user in the server was having an issue that caused them a lot of distress and made them go quiet for awhile (which had nothing to do with anyone or anything in Ramblers, when they were asked about it), DesBea tried to blame lilspacewolfie for it based on a lighthearted joke that she had made that dogged on Houston. So, not only was she trying to harass lilspacewolfie, but she was actively trying to turn others in the server against the owner of the Discord, as if she could muscle her out by making her out to be a villain.

Over a joke about a FICTIONAL character.

Because she started insinuating that lilspacewolfie had caused another user to 'go into a depressive spiral, and chased them away from the server with her insensitive comments about Houston', I got involved to shut that shit down. DesBea was always weirdly attached to me, because she had DM'd me a few times on Tumblr in the past. I can only guess that she thought that these few smatterings of messages made me her friend, and since, apparently, some people here think of me as being "Mr. John Payday", she figured that she could use me as an intimidating wall to hide behind whenever she was called out on her bullshit.

She was wrong.

After a while of still trying to get others in the server to hate lilspacewolfie for 'being mean to one of the other users in the server'--who ended up coming back once their mental health had improved, by the way--she finally left after the "Stop being a dick" post, and it took us a couple days to notice. So, all-in-all, it was a very weird and irritating experience, but, in this context, it shows a worrying trend of behavior that she ended up spreading to other servers.

Now, like I kind of glossed over earlier, I WAS a moderator in Red's Ramblers. (I ended up leaving the server last month due to personal reasons that're not germane to this situation, and I have no desire to talk about it on this forum.) As I was still a mod before I left, I took the time to delete every post and reaction made by people who were no longer in the server--this amounted to 7 people, DesBea included. So, all of her posts that I could've screencapped as evidence are gone, and even if they were still there, I wouldn't have access to them anymore, anyway. In fact, the only thing that I have left is this picture I took of my response to her whole "You're a bad person for hating Houston" spiel that she was going on and on about:

(I censored this to give some privacy to the person who DesBea tried to use as a cudgel to smack lilspacewolfie with blame for their condition at the time. Even though most people here probably won't recognize them from their in-server nickname, I didn't want to take any chances.)

But, anyway, as you have read from the callout post and these personal anecdotes that I have provided, her behavior in their server was an unsurprising, but also a very worrying trend that has effected at least 2 Discord servers and a good chunk of some of the people who were or still are in the Payday fandom.

If anything that y'all have read over these posts has angered any of y'all to the point of harassing her, PLEASE DON'T. Don't send her hate--anonymously or not. Don't engage with her. Just block her and make sure that others in the fandom are aware of her behavior, so they can avoid her if they wish to as well.

And, again, please tell me if she's operating under any usernames other than the ones I've listed. I was tired of her bullshit a long time ago, and I have no desire to entertain her further under yet another pseudonym.

[skhardwarevers1]

sorry for saying I was going to do things and even starting them and then disappearing from this website entirely for three days. It will happen again

[youmaycallmebrian]

any other health information managers (medical records technicians) here on tumblr who feel like smashing their computers and set it on fire whenever I can't understand the doctor's handwriting or when they invent brand new abreviations out of their asses or is it just me

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[entitled-fangirl]

A good father.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: fatherhood is different than what Gwayne expected. Daeron worries that it will be the same as Otto and Gwayne's relationship.

A/n: so I saw that this was the most voted for the poll so far, so I just decided to write it today! Surprise!

Masterlist

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

Otto Hightower had returned to Old Town only days ago, and things could not have been more awkward.

Well, not for Gwayne.

That cocky little shit just said everything that came to mind.

It seemed he liked to battle his father.

…

"Daeron?" Her soft voice came over the yard.

Young Daeron sat in the garden of Old Town, a frown upon his face. But at the sound of her voice, he turned and his eyes brightened.

Y/n Hightower slowly walked to him. Five months had passed and finally, she was beginning to show the child that was growing inside her. And she seemed to glow all the more for it.

Daeron moved to the side of make room for her on the bench, as well as hold his hand out to her to help her sit.

"Something is bothering you." She stated and pushed his blonde hair behind his ear. 

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Daeron," she tried again softly.

She had a way with him. She never had to raise her voice to get her way, for everyone that heard the meek tone of her voice still listened and obeyed. 

"It's Grandsire," Daemon explained. "More… it's the constant bickering."

She nodded, running a hand through his hair affectionately. "Gwayne and his father have never seen eye to eye, not since Alicent became queen. They are just two very different men."

"Is that how all fathers and sons talk?"

She pulled his chin up to make his eyes meet hers, "No. Not all fathers and sons speak in ill regard of one another."

"What if he does it to his own son?"

Her brows furrowed, "What?"

"What if Gwayne speaks like that to the babe?" 

She just realized how his eyes glazed over with tears. "Oh, sweet boy." She pulled him to her. "Gwayne is a man with a temper, but he would not do that. There is a barrier between Gwayne and his father. One that cannot be fixed now, and only because of that do they fight."

Daeron considered her words for a while, "So, because there is no barrier with the babe-"

"-Gwayne will love this child with his entire being, I promise you."

She held him for a while, promising to talk to her husband about it later.

…

"Might I speak with you?" Her voice echoed out.

Gwayne turned slowly, his face lighting up at her sudden appearance. "You and I both know that you may."

A soft smile came to her lips as she walked to him, "I've missed you as of late."

His head tilted, "I've been here."

She rested her hands on his chest, "Yes, but your mind has been elsewhere."

One of his hands moved to her swollen stomach, "Very much so. My father has been occupying my attention." He scoffed thinking about it, "He's a foolish man."

Her hands rubbed soothingly across his chest. "Even now, you only think of him." She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, "Don't neglect your wife and future child to argue with your father."

He let out a soft sigh as her words broke his angered facade. "Forgive me."

"No." She leaned against him. "You need to apologize to Daeron."

"Daeron?" He asked in surprise. "Why Daeron?"

"He's worried for you. Well… for the child."

His eyes moved to her to stomach. "I don't understand. He has no reason to worry."

"He's seen the way you bicker with your father."

His hand rubbed up and down, "I'm still rather confused. What does my relationship with my father have to do with the child? Are you alright? Is the babe alright?"

She placed her hand over his, "I am fine."

He tilted his head in worry, "You're sure?"

"I am. Daeron is frightened that you'll speak to our child the way your father speaks to you."

A worried look came over his face, "I would never."

"I know that."

"I did not realize he noticed that."

"I told him I'd speak to you to reassure his worries."

He nodded and looked to her face. "Let me talk to him."

She nodded, "Alright. He should still be outdoors."

Gwayne placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll go now. Wait for me?"

She hummed a questioning noise, "What? Why?"

He grinned, "I want to make up for lost time when I return."

A blush came to her cheeks, "Do make it quick then."

He smoothed down her hair, "I shall."

…

"Come here, nephew."

Daeron looked up and saw his uncle. He stood and smoothed out his shirt. "Yes, uncle?"

He ruffled the boy's hair and smirked, "I've been told that you're worried about something."

A guilty look crossed the boy's face, "Aunt Y/n told you that?"

"She did. But I want to hear it from you." He pointed to the bench, "Sit." Gwayne sat next to him. "I understand that you worry about the way your grandsire and I speak to one another."

Daeron nodded, "You fight often."

"We do." He wanted to fully explain it all, but his nephew was still a child. "We do not… agree often. That is all."

"You and Aunt Y/n disagree often," he pointed out.

He realized the direction that the boy was going, and was earnestly trying to make him see his side. "I'd never speak negatively to that woman."

"But why is that different to Grandsire?"

"Well, I love my wife," he said immediately.

Daeron's eyes watered, "Do you not love Grandsire?"

"I…" he looked away in thought. "He is my father. Do you love your father, Daeron?"

"I believe I do," he answered. "But I do not know. I've lived here for almost my whole life. I don't know father well at all."

"May I tell you a secret? I do not know my father at all, either." Gwayne leaned back against the bench. "My father has always been in King's Landing with your father. Seems we're the same."

Daeron nodded, "I didn't… I didn't think about that."

Gwayne put a hand on Daeron's shoulder, "I will always stay by the babe's side. I will not part from my family."

The boy relaxed at that. He stared in thought, something clearly bothering him. "What is my mother like?"

Gwayne frowned, "W…What?"

"The queen. What is she like? Surely you know."

"Why not ask your Grandsire?"

"I don't know him well enough. I try to avoid him in all honestly. Is that wrong of me?"

Gwayne considered the thought. "I don't think so. I was very frustrated to see him return too."

The Targaryen prince stared up at his uncle, "Did he treat his wife poorly?"

Gwayne felt a smile come to his face at the mention of his mother. "No. No, he loved her very dearly, as I love my wife." He looked out over the garden. "And Alicent is much like your grandmother. Very headstrong but very kind, and as fiery as the Hightower hair. Or, at least… I think she is. She was." He turned to look at Daeron, "Do you wish to visit your mother at some point?"

"No. I'm content here."

"Are you?" A soft voice interrupted. 

Y/n approached the two, a slight waddle to her step due to her condition.

Gwayne stood up and held his arms out to her. When she was close enough, he helped her sit on the bench. 

She still looked to Daeron. "You're happy here?"

He nodded.

"I'm very glad," she smiled.

Gwayne knelt in front of the boy, "I promise to you that I will love my child unconditionally. Now, I want you to stop worrying. Will you do that?"

Daeron nodded again.

Y/n reached up to smooth the boy's hair, "And you'll still be loved the same when you have a cousin."

"You'll be an excellent cousin," Gwayne chipped in.

"I don't know how to do so. I… I am hardly a brother."

"Do not fret, Daeron. It will come to you naturally," she cooed.

…

A few months later, Daeron entered the couple's chambers in nervousness, eager to meet his cousin.

Gwayne sat against the headboard of the bed, his exhausted wife leaning against his chest. "Daeron?"

He looked up at his uncle, "Is she alright?"

Gwayne nodded and pulled her just a little closer. "She's perfect."

"And the babe?"

Gwayne looked across the room. 

Otto Hightower sat on the sofa across the room, the babe held securely in his arms. 

It was clear that there was a little tension between the two men.

Otto looked to Daeron, "C'mere."

Daeron walked to his grandsire curiously.

Otto lowered one shoulder to let Daeron see the babe. "A boy."

Daeron's eyes widened, "A boy?"

Gwayne spoke up, "Are you happy?"

He nodded immediately.

Y/n's eyes opened and she let out a groan.

Gwayne shifted her, getting her more comfortable. "Need something?"

"Wanna get up," she whispered. 

Gwayne looked at the others in the room, "Leave us."

Daeron nodded, leaving with the maester.

Otto wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn't. He stood and went to put the babe down, but Gwayne spoke up, "Bring him here."

Y/n's eager arms took the child from Otto. 

Lord Hightower smiled softly, "You'll be a wonderful mother."

She grinned. "I hope so."

Otto then looked to Gwayne. He stared at him for a while. Gwayne was expecting an insult. 

"I was so scared the day you were born."

Gwayne was confused by the sudden confession. "What?"

"The day you were born. I remember the way my hands shook." He looked between the two, "Your mother was so confident."

"I heard she was wonderful," Y/n chirped in softly.

Otto nodded, "She was."

"Gwayne, I need to feed the babe."

Gwayne nodded. "I'll fetch the midwife to help you." He stood and led his father out.

The two walked down the corridor in silence. Finally, Otto spoke. "Your son will be a strong warrior."

"He will be. I'll be here to ensure it," Gwayne said bitterly.

Otto sighed. "We've never gotten along, I understand-"

"-No, you just weren't here."

"I was leading the realm," Otto tried to reason.

"You left," he grunted.

"I am still your father."

"No. Only by blood."

Otto scoffed, "Do not be weak."

"I will raise my son properly. I won't leave my child. And I won't leave my wife." Gwayne grunted. "Something you didn't do."

"Do you believe that I returned here only because I wished to?"

Gwayne stared at him for a while, "I… I do not pretend to understand your choices."

Otto took a step forward, "I was terrified the day you were born. I did not know how to be a father. I didn't have one long enough to learn from him."

Gwayne's head tilted, "And?"

"And…" Otto sighed as his frustration grew. "The king granted me a few months leave. Do you believe I just so happened to time out my arrival with end of your wife's condition and the months after?"

He crossed his arms in annoyance, "What are you saying? You wanted to be here? You wanted to see the child?"

"I WANTED TO SEE YOU!" Otto yelled. "YOU AND YOUR FOOLISH PRIDE!" He brought a hand to his forehead, "I remember the feeling of holding your first child. It is not easy to be a new father and to lead. I only wish to help you in the ways I know how."

"You came back for me?" He asked incredulously.

"Entirely," he admitted. "I see your mother in you. In every word, in every deed. Even in death, she haunts my narrative."

"Would you change your choices if you could restart?"

"Very much."

That was all Gwayne needed to hear. "We are both too stubborn for our own good."

"I want the best for you, Gwayne. I am sorry if I have never stated that. Your wife lives, as does your child. That is the greatest blessing that a man can receive."

"I am well aware," Gwayne smiled lightly. "I… I had to rule Old Town in your absence. I suppose it has been hard to step aside now that you've returned."

Otto smiled. "For now, I wish for you to tend to your family. Leave the rest to me."

Gwayne nodded, "I will." He turned to leave, but hesitated. "Father."

Otto's brows lifted.

Gwayne forced the words out, the feeling new. "Thank you."

Daeron had hidden around the corner, listening to the entire exchange.

…

"Do promise to write often," Y/n smiled as she held the small infant in her arms.

Otto strapped the last bag onto the horse, "I shall try."

She shifted the babe in her arms, "Gwayne has… spoken well of you, as of late." She smiled teasingly, "Do you know why?"

Otto faked a confused look. "Has he? Haven't the faintest idea."

"Well, know that he does. Perhaps he's only now respecting the challenge that fatherhood brings."

He grinned, "I will pray that your son is only half of the battle that Gwayne is."

She laughed, "He is a Hightower. We both know that a prayer like that is worthless. He will be a fighter until his dying day."

Gwayne walked to the pair, pulling his wife to his side, "When will you return?"

Otto shrugged, "When I am granted leave next. I am uncertain. Care for Daeron for me still."

The red head nodded, "You know I always will."

Y/n stepped forward and kissed Otto's cheek, "We shall await the day you return."

He looked at the two. The love they shared was obvious. "As do I."

He mounted his horse. 

Y/n muttered something about feeding the babe and excused herself, leaving Otto and Gwayne.

"And Gwayne? You're a good father."

He felt a small twist in his gut.

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

[steddiealltheway]

Steve looks at Eddie and takes a deep breath. He can ask this. He really can. It's not that big of a deal.

"Hey, Eddie?"

Eddie glances up from the small book he's writing in and raises his eyebrows.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

The book shuts quickly, but, other than that, Eddie remains relatively frozen in place.

Steve shifts to sit up a little straighter against the wall of Eddie's bedroom as he explains, "There’s this girl who keeps coming into Family Video who is really persistent. I've tried to drop hints that I'm not into her, but she isn't getting it. And Robin suggested that I needed to appear to be in a relationship so she would stop."

Actually, Robin had told him that he needs to be direct and reject her, but he didn't want to be cruel. So, he suggested that the two of them should pretend to be in a relationship. But Robin only looked at him in disgust and told him that she would not be taking the fall for his problem.

"Why don't you just reject her?" Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. Why do people keep having to ask him that? "It's not the Family Video way."

Eddie snorts and glances away, pausing for a moment before turning back. "Why me?"

Steve shrugs. "You're the only friend my age that I can ask. It would scar me and Robin for life, and there's no way I'm asking Nancy."

"You know who would do it with no questions asked?" Eddie asks.

"Who?"

"Argyle."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, but I don't really know the guy."

Eddie softly smiles and nudges his shoulder. "So you're saying I make you comfortable?"

Steve looks at him, wondering why he's phrasing it like it's a question. "Yes," he confirms.

For some reason, it seems to fluster Eddie, but he quickly nods and sets down his book. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll give you a hickey," Eddie says.

Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. "Cool. Cool. Uh, I guess we should do that now?"

Eddie nods, but neither of them move.

A few seconds pass before Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So, how are we doing this?"

Steve shrugs. "However you're comfortable with, but you should probably be in front of me."

Eddie nods and says, "Right." Then, he shifts and swings a leg over Steve's lap, straddling him on his bed.

Steve's heart beats a little faster. He hadn't thought this far into his plan, and he certainly hadn't expected Eddie to make him feel this way.

Eddie slowly leans his head down to Steve's neck then sits back, biting his lip in thought but not saying anything.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and says, "This will be easier if we're standing up or laying down. Sitting like this is going to hurt my back."

Steve knows that either position is going to kill him, but the thought of his knees buckling while standing up has him deciding, "Well, we're already on the bed, so..."

Eddie nods at him and moves so Steve can lie down.

As he gets comfortable, Eddie climbs on top of him, hovering in a way that must be a damn workout.

Steve laughs, "You don't have to do a plank over me. You can get comfortable."

Eddie blushes a bit then settles his weight over Steve's body. And oh. Yeah, that feels nice.

Steve reaches up to hold Eddie's hair back so he can look at him. And shit, he didn't realize this is an angle he wants to see Eddie at more often.

"You're still okay to do this?" Eddie asks, voice slightly rougher than before.

Steve nods quickly. "Yes."

Eddie nods back and leans down as Steve tilts his jaw to expose the right side of his neck.

Eddie's breath is hot against his neck, mouth hovering but not touching yet. "Where do you want it?"

Steve tries not to sound so strained when he says, "Right under my jaw."

Eddie's lips finally brush against the sensitive area almost like a kiss before he opens his mouth wide and presses his lips firmly against the skin, tongue brushing lightly against him before he begins sucking. Steve's eyes squeeze shut when Eddie's teeth brush slightly against him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and fists his hands into Eddie's sheets.

This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not a part of it.

Soon, Eddie pulls away, and cool air makes contact with the wet spot against his neck as Eddie breathes out.

Steve's hand clamps over his mouth tighter before he opens his eyes, thankful that Eddie is staring at the mark and not at his face. But he's confused about why he's frowning.

Then, Eddie's hand comes up to lightly tilts his jaw back to him, but he still stares at the mark with his brows pinched.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, a little more breathlessly than he wants to sound.

Eddie finally looks him in the eye and says, "It's...it's good. Like, a solid hickey... but it's right under your jaw like you asked so it's not extremely visible." He crawls off Steve and grabs a small mirror off his side table.

Steve grabs it, trying to ignore how flushed he looks before he stares at the hickey. Eddie's right. It's nice and red, standing out against his skin, but only when he tilts his head just right. Hell, someone could brush it off as a hit to the jaw.

Steve sighs. He doesn't know if he'll be able to survive Eddie giving him another hickey.

"I can give you one on the middle and bottom of your neck if you really want to sell it," Eddie offers.

"Sure," Steve says without thinking. Because shit, if he doesn't think he can survive one more hickey, how the hell is he supposed to survive two??

But Eddie takes the mirror back and is on top of him again before Steve can really think.

Luckily, Eddie looks him in the eye and asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this? We could just put makeup on you to make it look like hickeys."

Against his better judgment, Steve shakes his head and replies, "No, it's okay. I want this to look as realistic as possible. But, hey, are you okay with this?"

Eddie nods quickly and enthusiastically in a way that makes Steve feel like maybe he's not the only one enjoying this a little too much. Honestly, it makes him feel much better... but also knowing that Eddie's into it makes him feel h-

His thoughts are cut off when Eddie's hand fists into his hair and gently pulls to expose his neck more. Without thinking, Steve's hands come up to grip onto Eddie's back tightly as he sucks another hickey into his neck.

Steve pinches his lips together as best as he can, but he's sure his heavy, quick breathing gives him away.

Then, Eddie moves on from his neck to the junction between his neck and shoulder, pulling at his shirt to get better access as he trails his lips over his skin, never losing contact as his wet lips leave a trail connecting the two areas.

But when Eddie starts sucking a mark into his neck again, something about the area sets something off in Steve causing him to moan loudly. He slaps a hand over his mouth again, but the damage is already done.

Only, Eddie doesn't pull away. He sucks harder.

Steve's back arches off the bed, and his hands fist into Eddie's hair pulling him off of him.

Eddie's lips are red and wet with his own saliva and his pupils are blown wide in juxtaposition with the panic filling his eyes.

Steve breathes out, "Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants this."

Eddie shakes his head quickly and rasps out, "Fucking hell I thought you were going to murder me."

"Eddie, the last thing I want to do to you right now is murder you."

He leans down, brushing his nose against Steve's, and whispers, "And what do you want to do to me right now?"

"First, I want to kiss you," Steve confesses, heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie leans down, lips brushing against his as he asks, "And then?"

"I'm thinking something that involves a lot more hickeys."

Eddie smiles. "I like the sound of that."

Finally, they both move together, kissing deeply in a way that makes Steve think that maybe Eddie's lips are magic everywhere.

And shit, he's going to have a hell of a time explaining the hickeys to Robin and the kids, but it'll be worth it.

Now including an Ao3 link :)

[autolenaphilia]

Edit: as hoshi9zoe pointed out, the original version of this post needlessly berated other transfems like Jennifer Coates, for which I do apologize, and I have toned it down in this edited version. The original version survives in reblogs.

Some months ago, I was searching through this transandrobro blog to see if they posted a callout of me, and i found this reblog, which I couldn't really write about for months, because what do I even write. I recently wayback machined it for posterity, and I guess this is my attempt to write a post about it.

It's saint-dyke himself, the coiner of transandrophobia, saying that the infamous (at least for me) article "I am a transwoman. I'm in the closet. I'm not coming out" is what made him coin the fucking word. It's literally bolded and underlined: "Reading this article is what made me coin “transandrophobia”.

The reason I put off writing this post is that reading that article makes me feel like i'm drinking poison. And it is poison, make no mistake, it's internalized transmisogyny brainworms dripping out of the writer's brain and onto the page.

It's a justification for why the author, known by pseudonym Jennifer Coates, doesn't want to transition, despite knowing she is a trans woman. And it's the exact kind of internalized transmisogyny that keeps trans women in repression and not transitioning. "I'm not going to pass, i'm forever going to be an ugly freak who will at best be humored by other women, the closet is uncomfortable but at least it's safe"

It's the same exact bullshit a lot of represssed trans women tell themselves because it's what society tells us about trans women, that we are freakish parodies of women, that we will never pass, and if we don't pass we have failed and are ugly freaks. It's all to scare us into staying in the closet and make others hate and fear us. Transmisogyny permeates our society, and the majority, maybe all transfems will absorb and internalize some of it.

Coates says that it all is just applicable to her, but again so many transfems believe this shit before transitioning and realizing it's a pack of lies. If this bullshit was in any way valid, a lot of trans women shouldn't transition, because before we actually transition many of us believe it word for word. And "it's only true for me" is how we justify it to ourselves. We tend to be way harsher on ourselves than others. This kind of self-hating transfem tends to think: "Other trans women are beautiful graceful goddesses, earthly manifestations of the divine feminine, always destined to be women, while I'm an ugly forever male ogre who just has a fetish."

It's all bullshit, it's poison, it's internalized transmisogyny.

And the rest of the article is bullshit too. It is not some insightful mediation on gender as some people say, it's the author confusing and mixing up actual transmisogyny with an imagined problem of misandry. She does this because she has gone full repression mode, and decided she has no other choice to live as a man, so her dysphoria and experiences of transmisogyny are actually men's problems.

It's a bad article, excusable because as Coatas points out, it's "essentially a diary entry." that was meant to be a way to "vent frustration" and she "did not intend for anyone else to actually read it." It is clearly not the product of a healthy mind.

I hope the author sometime in the past seven years eventually did transition, and that for whatever reason she didn't want to publicly repudiate her own article. Maybe she lost access to the medium account so she can't delete it.

Far worse than the article itself is the response to it. I've seen it passed around as some insightful commentary on gender by the "feminists are too mean to men, misandry is real" crowd. I have argued against this before. And other people have made insightful comments about it.

And learning that saint-dyke claiming that he was inspired to coin the word "transandrophobia" because of this article is the cherry on top of this shitcake of transmisogyny. For my thoughts on "transandrophobia" theory and how transmisogynistic it is, see here.

Of course, Saint-dyke absolutely could be bullshitting here. Claiming that Coates's article is what inspired him to coin the word might be a lie to claim that transandrophobia theory is not transmisogynistic because it came from listening to trans women.

This is why "listen to trans women" doesn't work. Because TME people will always choose a trans woman who confirms their prejudices. Blair White has made an entire career out of this. And Coates article is popular because it says that misandry is real and trans women's issues are partly caused by it, misgendering herself and other trans women.

And it's popular for another reason. Coates has thoroughly internalized transmisogyny, and thus her article presents a trans woman that is exactly as transmisogynistic patriarchal society wants her to be. She is suffering, but ultimately accepts her assigned role. She truly believes that her biological sex dooms her to forever be male. She literally "manages her dysphoria by means other than transition" as conversion therapy advocates want us to do. She never makes an social claim on womanhood by actually transitioning, so she doesn't invade the sacred women's spaces. Yet she performs the role of woman perfectly by serving men, by defending them from supposed feminist misandry. And she fulfils the ritualistic role that the rhetorical figure of "trans women" sometimes serves in progressive spaces, of giving a blessing to TME people's pre-existing views and actions, all while actual flesh-and-blood trans women are destroyed by those same deeply transmisogynistic spaces. This time it's a blessing for the same "misandry is real" soft-MRA bullshit that has infested the online left and created the transandrophobia crowd.

That is why this article and the positive response makes me sick, makes me feel like i'm drinking poison. This is what its fans want trans women to be like. I'm acutely aware this kind of self-denial is exactly what transmisogyny wants from me and tried to indoctrinate me into doing it. And I want none of it. I want to live, I want to be a woman.

[itsthestutterforme]

Terrible Liar (Jack Reacher Drabble)

Summary: You were sparing with a coworker when he got a little rough, leaving you with a bruised cheek. You avoided Reacher for as long as you could but it didn’t last very long.

Warnings/Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, protective Reacher, soft!Reacher, and a little sub!Reacher 👀, sexual themes (riding, p in v penetration), MINORS DNI

Prompt credit @writing-with-emy : “Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“He’s wound up tight again. This is our second missed bust and he’s starting to get a little angsty.” Neagley explains to you over the phone.

“He’ll catch on if we keep doing this, Neagley.” You tell her.

“Or maybe he already knows and doesn’t mind seeing your pretty face.” She jests and you grimace, staring at your reflection through the glass in your cubicle

“What just happened?” She asks. “What are you talking about, Corporal?” You fire back.

“You just made a face,” “And the how did you- I’m not going to ask. I was sparring with Tiago the other day and his elbow clipped my cheek.”

“Shit,”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. You’re not proud of it, but you’ve been avoiding Reacher for this very reason.

It doesn’t matter if you said it was an accident or not. If it was a man who did it, he would hold him responsible. Everything was black and white with him.

Your relationship with Reacher teeters between friends and.. something else.

Neither of you or him decided to put a label on it. But two things are known to everyone with eyes.

You don’t mess with the special investigators.

And if you touch Y/N, you’ll end up with a broken jaw.

“Well if anyone can keep him relaxed, it’s you.” “Come on, please.” She adds when you hesitate and you let out a groan of frustration.

“Fine,”

**

No one could miss the way Reacher’s shoulders relaxed when he walked back to his desk to find you sitting in his chair sipping on your milkshake.

Neagley and David found it particularly fascinating to see the hard, mountain of a man turn to mush at the mere sight of you.

“Isn’t it my favorite mountain man,” you tease, sliding the to go box from his favorite soul joint across the desk.

You place a brown bag on top of the to go container and a smile threatens to spread on Reacher’s face.

“Are those..?” He starts.

“Of course,” you take another sip of your milkshake and he digs into the bag, popping a hush puppy in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Is this to distract me from the fact that you’ve been avoiding me?” He starts, reaching back into the bag.

“I have not been avoiding you, Reacher.” “No?” “No,”

He stares at you for a moment and when you realize what he was doing, you set your milkshake down. Standing from the chair, you crossed your arms as you neared him.

Neagley and David watch the entire interaction like it’s their favorite sitcom. Which it is.

“You’re not trying to intimidating me like I’m one of your soldiers, are you Reacher?”

“Not at all,” he examines your features, his gaze falling to your bruising cheek that you covered with make up this morning.

“Please tell me you’re a better liar than this when you’re on missions,” you retort.

“I’m a better liar than you. That’s for sure.” “Do you really want to talk about who’s better?”

He reached back into the bag but you snatched the hush puppy out of his hands and took a bite out of it. He was shocked but not entirely surprised at the betrayal.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the reason why you’re avoiding me has something to do with the make up on your face. Am I right?”

You finished the hush puppy and reached for your milkshake. “It’s just a scratch,” he finally pried out of you.

“From?” “Sparring with a friend,”

As amazing as the food smelled, it was long forgotten at his point. “Which friend?”

“Reacher,” “Answer the question,” he crosses his arms. “It was an accident,”

“No, the person was irresponsible when they weren’t practicing self control. It’s sparring, not boxing.” He seethes.

“He didn’t mean to. He apologized.”

His face hardens when you mention a him, although he suspected it was a man.

“I don’t care. I bet it was his idea, wasn’t it? To spar with you.” “Yes, but-” “Because he found you attractive and wanted an excuse to touch you,” he said matter of factly.

You were about to object but then you pondered about the past interactions you’ve had with Tiago.

You guess you could say that he’s been testing the waters with lingering touches and you subtly created distance between you.

You didn’t see Tiago as anything else besides a coworker honestly.

“You think so?”

“One hundred percent. In their eyes, you’re attractive and single so you’re considered free game.” He clarifies, clenching his jaw.

“That would be their mistake, wouldn’t it?” You state, causing him to look at you. He didn’t miss how your eyes drifted to his lips before returning to his eyes.

**

“Fuck, keep doing that.” He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as you bounced on his cock. His body twitched when you clenched around him hard.

Throwing your head back when the tip of his cock thrums over a gspot deep inside of you. His hands slide from your hips and wraps his arms around your chest to hold you in place when he drills into you from below.

You bounced quicker on him and a breath gets caught in his throat when he cums into the condom.

Your legs started to tremble when you slow your movements and rest your hands on his thick chest as you both tried to control your breathing.

Leaning up, he cupped the back of your head and pressed a messy kiss on your lips.

You lift your hips a bit and he slides out of you, not breaking the kiss just yet. He finally pulls away from you and takes off the condom before tossing it in your trash can in the bathroom.

“Well that was..” “Long overdue?” You finish and he chuckled before adding, “Definitely over due,”

You rolled on your back when you felt a cold air blowing from the vents. You snuggled deeper into the sheets but goosebumps still littered your skin.

“Cold already?” He states when he comes back into the bedroom to see you shivering under the covers.

“Don’t patronize me, mountain man.” You retort and he shakes his head at your antics.

He slides under the covers and wraps an arm over your frame to effortlessly pull you into his side.

You sigh when he rubs his warm hands over your smooth, bronze skin all the way to your ass.

“You’re really good at that you know,” “Mm, I know.” You smiled, relishing the moment his eyes rolled back when you first sank onto him.

“You’re really pretty when you do it too,” he brushes his nose against yours against yours.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Reacher.” You say against his lips, not wanting to kiss him just yet.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll gladly finish it.” He kisses you slow and passionately, his tongue smoothing over yours.

He cups your cheeks and you wince when his thumb grazes over the sensitive skin on your cheek.

“Sorry,” he apologizes when he pulls away from your face.

“It’s okay,” “No it’s not. Tell me who did this to you.”

“I’ll find out either way, Y/N.” He adds when you hesitate. “I’ll only tell you if you let me handle it first.”

“Fine,” “It was Tiago,” “That fucking prick,” he says lowly, gripping your thigh harshly.

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” He attempts to negotiate. “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“Reacher,” you scold.

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[starwrighter]

1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

[penvisions]

there's a place and time {joel miller x reader}

Pairing: Younger / No-outbreak! Joel Miller x Neighbor! Reader

Summary: Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

A/N: this literally came out of nowhere, a random thought on the way to work and then a manic two hours of writing once i got home. this turned out a little different than first imagined, but i hope it reads well!

navigation || joel miller masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Why don’t you date?”

“Excuse me?” The form crouched in between kitchen counters looked up at you with a raised brow, surely mishearing the question.

“Dating, I know you know what that is.” You repeat yourself as you push your arms back to brace on the counter and hop up on it. The granite of it is cold on your bare thighs, the shorts you were wearing thrown on haphazardly when a panic stricken pair of teenagers had begun to bang on your door in the early afternoon. The words of ‘fire’ and “help!” spurring you into action where you had been napping on your couch. Now though, the oven was off, the blackened frozen pizza still on the rack and covered in foam from the fire extinguisher neither of them had known how to use. Their father had sent them upstairs, thanking you for helping them out and getting it taken care of. “Or the concept at least, yeah?”

“Don’t mean it’s any of your business, little lady.” Joel’s voice leaves no room for further conversation as he realizes you’re more serious than need be. Little quips between you two common, the unspoken understanding of not discussing the reason for your presence in the neighborhood mutual.

“I dunno, I remember you being real keen on the idea of me babysitting.” You take a sip of your soda, swiped from the fridge after everything had calmed down. “Would do you a favor now, should you need the night off for some…fun.”

“Dating and fun are two different things.”

“Dating can be fun, if you do it with the right person.”

“Yeah, and what do you know about that? Saw you move in all by your lonesome. No big, burly man helping you with your boxes.”

The fizzy drink sours on your tongue and you toss him a scowl as he stands. He’s a few feet away but you can feel the warmth of him as he stands at his full height. He’s reaching to close the oven door, the creak of metal on metal loud in the beat of silence.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you on your perky ass, Miller.”

“Language, you’re in my house.” His brow furrows and he pins you with a stern look. Something you’d seen him give to his brother, his girls, the neighbor across the way when she wouldn’t take the hint that he didn’t want her dog shit in his yard.

“Old men like yourself deserve to have some fun every once in a while. They deserve happiness too.”

“Even if I did, it’s no concern of yours. Your daddy didn’t help pay for two degrees for you to end up babysitting for grocery money.”

The rebuttal on the tip of your tongue suddenly dissolved as you felt a shiver run down your spine. He’s right, you know he’s right. But you just…you couldn’t even open the envelope with the certificates let alone add them to your resume and begin the arduous task of job hunting.

“Fuck you, I was only offering to help out a neighbor.” The words are rough, rounded out with the weight of too many emotions. You shove off from the counter, abandoning your half-finished drink. A delicacy you enjoyed only over at his house, too expensive for you to indulge in as bills you never anticipated paying became your responsibility.

“I didn’t mean-“ He had the self-awareness to realize he said the wrong thing. His hands coming up from his waist to reach out for you, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make your way through the kitchen.

“Don’t come to me if you do need someone to look after the girls. I wouldn’t take your money anyway.”

“C’mon now,” His full lips shape around your name, but you’re already out the door. Resisting the urge to let it slam shut behind you, your anger still so sharp and hot. But the girls didn’t deserve to feel it, even the echo of it in the slamming of a door. Despite being a dick, Joel was a good father to them. He’d made his home a nurturing and loving environment. You didn’t want to taint it with your stained hands.

As he stands there in his empty kitchen, the smell of burnt dough, smoke, and ammonia dizzies him as he watches you cross over his yard to yours next door. The blank expression on your face and the faint smears of dried pant all over your legs makes him regret his fast words. He had been going for teasing, but of course they had come out harsh and wounding.

You were someone he didn’t know how to interact with. So sweet and polite with the girls, with the neighbors. But you were a firecracker with him. Teasing, whipping words that rung around his head, and he recalled far too often. The little smirk that pulled at your lips as you said them, waited for his response or sputtering lack of one. His own pulled from him, making him feel like a teenager again, like a young man you hadn’t been suddenly left alone to raise a child. Like his old self, someone who stood a chance with you as you gave him your attention time and time again.

He had only ever met you through the words of your parents, the people who had once occupied the house beside his own. He had moved in with two six-year-olds just as you had shoved off to college upstate. The running joke was that it was perfect timing for him to have missed out on the perfect babysitter.

-

Graduation is supposed to be a time of celebration and proud smiles, at least that’s what everyone else got. The day you had counted down on the calendar and crossed off the passing ones as it neared was now a blur of too bright colors and phone calls with people telling you things you didn’t want to think about, let alone hear as your new reality.

A car accident, on the drive upstate. Both parents, reckless driver.

A house that had been recently paid off, left to you. Your name already on the deed, something you didn’t want to think about too hard. Close, you had been close with each of them and them as a unit. A small family but understanding. It was yours, the backdrop to your life and suddenly the two people were only memories.

The move had been quick, the apartment you shared with fellow graduate students mostly books and a beautiful desk. The bedframe taken apart to go while the shelves had been left for the next occupants.

You hadn’t shared the news with any of your roommates or friends, not wanting to taint their own celebrations and happy memories of the day you all worked so hard for. Addresses were exchanged, well wishes were meant, but of course it all faded as time had gone on. Their news of job offers and exciting dates had been good to hear, but with no good things to respond with of your own, it was hard to feel the same way about them as you once had. They reached out, worry coloring their words, which made you feel even worse.

It haunts you for days, as you seal yourself into the home that is now yours alone. The paint slathered on canvas dries and the brushes coated in it turn into hardened caps over the bristles. You’re allowing things to sit for too long, the water evaporating in the cups you use to rinse between swatches of color. The open paint tubes oxidizing and becoming unsalvageable. But you have no control.

The bed becomes damp with nights of sweat, from your tossing and turning body as the heat rises and the air conditioning that needs to be repaired is just another phone call. You don’t even think you know where your phone is. It can’t bear bad news if you don’t answer it. It can’t carry the end of your world if you don’t let it.

There’s a sharp knock on the door at some point, in the midst of the haze of days after storming out of Joel’s kitchen. You hadn’t been able to dissect the sounds of life going on outside your closed windows.

But it had, to the point where now someone was calling on you to make you return to it.

Shrugging on a robe, you hold it tight to your aching body as you push up from the bed. Bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor as the heat fills the home.

“What?” You can’t help but bark as you swing the door open, only to find a concerned Joel on the porch, with your phone in his hand.

“I found this in the kitchen, must’ve fallen off the counter in the madness of getting the fire out and callin’ me.” He holds it out to you, but you don’t move to take it. “Figured you needed it, there’s a lot of missed calls and voicemails. I may have left a few too, to check on ya. Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Been here, painting.”

“Okay, that’s…that’s good. Got everything you need? Food, water, someone comin’ to fix the A/C?” It’s an apology in the only way Joel Miller is capable of giving, the need to make sure someone is getting what they need, that they’re taken care of. He’s a good provider, to his girls, to his brother, to the neighborhood when he’s not beat down from long days in the sun with concrete and paint dried to his skin, with wood shavings and stain splotched on his jeans.

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m my own person.”

Your name leaves his mouth on a sigh.

“I know that, but your parents…I know that kinda thing is-“

“I’m fine. Thanks for returning this.” You snatch it from his hand and go to close to door, not willing to hear what he has to say on the loss of your parents. For his credit, he let’s you. Knowing that you’re going through the motions, through the event in your own way. It doesn’t stop him from speaking loud enough for you to hear him through the door.

“The girls will be by with dinner later! Try to be nice to them, they ain’t me!”

-

The meal delivered by two smiling teenagers does lift your spirits a bit, even if all you do is shower and do a few loads of laundry. It’s a long process, the climb out of the hole that you had found yourself in.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. You’re back to quipping across the yard with the man. His daughters delighting in the comraderies that underlies it all. It’s the height of summer now, the girls spending time with you to try their hand at painting. Sarah is better with bursts of color that compliment each other, vaguely floral. While Ellie is better with a muted palette imposed between detailed line art.

They always thank you for the time and attention, offering to help you clean up or tidy the house in exchange for watching over them when you notice Joel’s truck is still gone from their own driveway until late. They aren’t helpless, but you know what loneliness feels like and you don’t want them to become familiar with it.

You finally open the envelope containing your degrees, the last letters from your friends and pen down long responses. The stamps cute as you drop them off at the post office, the ornate certificates framed and hung above the desk in your father’s old office alongside his own.

Joel joins them most days, mid meal if he can make it in time. Food finding it’s way into your kitchen, something you’re sure is the combined effort of two pairs of small hands and one pair of big hands. The least you could do is turn it into something for everyone involved to enjoy.

But just as things seem to progress, they fall back apart. It wasn’t over a throwaway comment this time, though, but a piece of mail delivered from a local gallery asking after your willingness to partake in an exhibit. That they expressed their deepest condolences in this trying time.

The paint dries up again, another set of brushes left to ruin. The door goes unanswered, as does the phone you can hardly stand to look at. The lights don’t glow in the windows once the sun sets, no music is heard from behind thin screens, nor the sound of you humming along to it.

The house becomes a burden once again, shielding you from the world you as you feel the loss of your parents all over again.

-

You don’t hear the door open from where you’re sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, the shower is running but you didn’t make it under the spray. You’re fully clothed, having reached down underneath the vanity for a bottle of shampoo when your fingers had brushed over something else. A bottle of your mother’s favorite perfume. The one that lingered in every room she occupied, on every piece of clothing she adorned. It was her, the perfect encapsulation of who she was.

And it was staring at you inconspicuously from the shelf. The mere sight of it tearing the wound open once again and making it hard to breath.

That’s where Joel finds you. In tears over something as trivial as a tiny glass bottle. But he doesn’t bat an eye, he’s taking in the scene and shutting off the shower in a few easy steps.

“Hey now, come ‘ere, darlin’,” He’s crouching down beside you, hands reaching for your shaking body.

He’s so gentle, so soft as he pulls you up from the tiled floor and into his chest. Leaning back against rhe now closed vanity to support your weight. One hand on the back of your head, holding it to his chest, pleading with you to match his breathing so you don’t hurt yourself.

“Datin’ is hard, you’re right.” His words make you pause, confusion crowding out the wetness lingering in your eyes. The words from a conversation long ago pulling you out of your breakdown, the casual way he continues it.

“It is.” You insist, voice small and muffled as you refuse to pull your face from where it’s pressed against the warmth of his chest.

“Maybe…. maybe you’d be kind enough to try it with this grumpy old man. I’d sure like to give it a shot with someone like you.”

“I ain’t nothin’ special. Just the neighbor girl your dead friends talked about too much.”

“They loved you, darlin’. With everythin’ they had.” He holds tight to the hand you move underneath one of his. Seeking him out, to feel his skin on your own. “You are special, those paintings they showed me, you got a gift, honey.”

“Gifts don’t mean nothin’ when you got no one to share them with.”

“You share ‘em with the girls, they loved coming over here to spend time with you. Share ‘em with me, if you want. The girls and I are in your corner, we got you.”

“You don’t…you don’t want to date me. Every boy-“

“Boys don’t know how to date, that’s only something us old men know how to do. Will you let me show you, how it feels to be taken care of and looked after? To feel appreciated and like you aren’t a hindrance on nightly plans to play fuckin’ video games?”

“I like video games,” You sniffle, voice gaining strength as the conversation goes on. He’s soothing you, even as he just sits on the floor with you in his lap, his arms around you and your body pressed up against him. It’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in months. And it’s just Joel being Joel, it’s just you being you.

“Show me, if you want. Let me get to know you, let me show you what it’s like to be loved, not just sought after for a night of fun.”

“I don’t date old men.”

“No?”

“You’re not that much older than me, so I wouldn’t really call you old.”

“Cause then you’d have to admit you’re old too, huh?” He reads the meaning behind the change of thought, as if he was in your head right there alongside you.

“Yeah, we ain’t old. Life just beat us down, but damn if it didn’t touch your perky ass.” You reach a hand down from where it’s cradled between your chests, to pinch at where his backside it firmly planted on the floor. He jolts a bit, not expecting the action. But his rumbling laugh lightens the air around you both even more so.

“You goin’ soft on me, a compliment like that is makin’ my heart pick up. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, cause you’re a big ole sap.” You can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes past your lips, the twitch of a smile trying to break out. You can, indeed, feel the way his heart is thudding in his chest. The truth of your words and his making you feel some of the weight lift from your own.

“You ain’t gotta clue how sappy I could me, lemme show you, huh?”

“Only if you promise it’ll make me roll my eyes and groan.” You lean back enough to see his face, the roll of your eyes up to take in his hopeful expression allowing you to know how much he means it. Your own heartbeat picks up and you swear he can feel it too, if the crook of his lips underneath his mustache is any indication.

“Only if you promise to have a smile on your face while you do it.” He leans in, nose brushing against yours. The action so soft, so welcome after the isolation you had subjected yourself to.

“Deal.” You breathe out against his lips.

“It’s a deal then.” He presses them to yours, and damn it all, but it does bring a smile to your face.

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @littlemisspascal @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker

@joelsgreys @tonysopranosrobe @morallyinept

[yuri-is-online]

One Sided Love Triangles: Tokyo Debunker

Link to Twisted Wonderland Post

Because I hate when people have to lose. Though I'd be way more comfortable writing a normal love triangle for tdb than twst... there's a few of these bitches who could stand to be knocked down a peg or two.

Haru vs Peekaboo- betrayal never comes from your enemies does it. Haru wants to be happy you get along with his baby, and he's really grateful for your continued help in the anomalous animal sanctuary, really. He even originally found your interactions with Peekabo really cute! He's got a bunch of videos saved on his phone and everything but he can't help but feel just a wee bit bitter. He really wants to be the one with his head in your lap getting scritches and being told how cute he is. Something he'd never say to your face but whines about at the bar enough for Romeo to record and send to you. "For free?" Yeah for free he's had enough of this shit please come get your man MC.

Kaito vs Luca- this one is cannon to a degree I think... Kaito is deeply insecure about how much more confident Luca is around MC compared to him and how the girls on campus seem to like him more. The fact that he's so painfully oblivious doesn't help, meanwhile Luca is just overjoyed that his two best friends are in such a good relationship. You're genuinely perfect for each other, why all these secrecy and making him promise not to tell the other about the nice things you say? Isn't it natural to gush about your partner???

Towa vs Ren- Towa is such a pouty baby who doesn't fully understand his feelings and Ren is just happy to have a friend who understands the concept of a log in bonus. Neither of you fully realize that Towa is attempting to flirt, or would it be closer to say woo? All you know is one minute the two of you are casually chilling and talking about horror movies or something and then *BAM* Towa's thrown some flowers at Ren and pulled you into his lap. He's happy you wiggle to get comfy with him but very upset that you keep up your conversation with Ren. Stop being a good senpai and pay attention to hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim.

Tohma vs Leo- just hear me out. I don't think Tohma really gets jealous? He seems super secure in himself and his abilities so he doesn't have much of a reason to get whiny and silly over MC, that's your role in the relationship. And he knows, logically that this little video Leo uploaded is bait to test the security on campus but it doesn't stop him from damn near cracking his phone in half when he sees it. That's how Leo wants to play this little game? Well fine, Tohma hopes he's ready to be thoroughly humiliated. No one can flirt with another man's partner quite as well as a bitch with a monocle. Leo is totally unaware any of this for the most part, he just assumes the extra irritation he's picking up on from Tohma is because he keeps spying on him and Alan. The fact he keeps teasing MC doesn't even cross his mind, he's just doing that to irritate you.

... as a side note can you imagine how confused everyone would get if Leo and MC kept picking fights about their upcoming "divorce" when no one even thought they were ever technically together. Except for Ritsu who sits you down to seriously try to talk you in to let him being your divorce attorney and still doesn't fully get that it's a joke by the time you're done. Actually while I'm at it:

Leo vs Ritsu- where that's exactly your dynamic but Leo starts catching some genuine feelings when he tries to crack a joke about you cheating on him with your divorce attorney only to realize that makes him unironically angry. How dare you, after everything you've been through. Wasn't he he enough? You know he can't treat you like he can. And you're just like "what can't treat me wrong?" And then you have a very toxic make out session Sho has to hear both of you scream about later while he seriously considers taking up a drinking problem.

Taiga vs Haru- this game has one character named Haru (ginger, baby) and one named Haku (green, evil?) Which confuses me an unreasonable amount. I already mentioned I wanted a serious Taiga vs Haku love triangle... but Taiga vs Haru would just be silly. You have MC who loves anomalous animals and hanging out in Jabberwock and Taiga who hates emotional intimacy and his feelings for MC just as much as he hates the idea of you being with anyone else. And of all people why Harry? He thought they were friends... or cool at least even if he won't let him eat that chinchilla thing. And now he's got MC playing defense for it too, it's irritating. He already has to fight himself to remember who you are every time he sees you again and go through the annoyance of recognizing he's a bit in love and now he can't even break into the animal sanctuary without tripping over himself and paying attention to you instead. It's annoying and it's all Haru's fault for having everything he wants. (If you ask he'll say that complaint is about Peekaboo but Haru and Romeo know it's not.) Haru is just trying to get some help from a trusted friend he's so stressed out ;-;

Sho vs Jin- Sho and his excuses... he doesn't want to just invite you to hang out and he doesn't want to ask you to come help him with the food truck because you've got so much else to do. You deserve a chance to rest, and he wants to be who you come to do that with. But Jin... he'd make that so much easier if it was him wouldn't he? He's rich and connected, and you're so sweet he's sure you could thaw that frozen heart enough for him to see you as human and not a gopher. Sho knows you, the moment he started paying attention to you he saw you as a person. But he still hurt you... and Jin didn't really do that did he? Jin doesn't like Sho because he's in Vagastrom and he doesn't trust him with your safety. Sho might see a rival and a better option, but what he's really dealing with is MC's disapproving dad who can't stand that their boyfriend has a leather jacket and a motorbike. He bets he's got tattoos and an arrest record too doesn't he MC, Jin is judging you so hard.

[makelemonade]

Both the parts for people finding out we're dating the characters are so good! Can I please request you to include Wriothesley in the next part if you're writing it?

how people find out you’re dating them

Wriothesley, Capitano

Wriothesley

ONCE AGAIN THESE GODDAMN MELUSINES

Most specifically SIGEWINNE.

she’s such a cutie patootie. you just wanna eat her up whenever you see her! Sigewinne, the adorableness she is, is not the smartest.

Whenever you come down so often to come visit Wriothesely, she comments on how you are such a good friend to always keep him company! and you just can’t bear to explain to her that is not the case!

This goes on for A MONTH. A GODDAMN MONTH and she has not figured it out.

Even when she bursts into his office to find you maybe massaging his back, arms, hugging him, holding him- she is completely OBLIVIOUS to the point Wriothesly wants to test out kissing you in front of her.

However, her obliviousness comes to a stop one day and for the stupidest yet funniest reason;

He’s not drinking his tea.

She’s shocked. Like jaw dropped, absolutely still shocked. She’s constantly trying to get him to drink or EAT anything other than tea so when she sees him with a MILKSHAKE?! A FUCKING MILKSHAKE.

She’s ready to lose her shit.
and then she sees YOU with the opposite flavour milkshake and she immediately knows and screams it out for the ENTIRE prison to hear.

A prisoner comes in injured; “Have you heard Wriothesly and Y/N are together?!”

On her next vacation, she’s running to Neuvillette, Furina, Clorinde- EVERYONE.

Well, it was a month of peace.

Capitano

It’s funny because he genuinely isn’t even trying to hide it from the Harbingers.

He doesn’t not tell them because he’s worried for your safety- he’s the fourth fucking harbinger he will GLADLY beat anyone’s ass for you even if it means it’s his own coworkers.

The man just doesn’t talk. That’s literally why no one knows. Like yeah, he’ll murmur a few words every now and then but like, he doesn’t see a reason in bringing something up if someone doesn’t mention anything related so he stays quiet.

He does talk a bit more though, and he’s willing to actually sit with the harbingers whenever they sometimes hang out.

It’s weirding them out.

The weirdest thing though,

WEIRDEST.

Is when he speaks to Childe.

Even Childe is absolutely shocked- like what do you mean the guy he’s been like practically simping over fight wise is actually soeaking to him?!?!!!

They have to ask Pierro if he’s sick, and even Pierro doesn’t know and Pierro is the ONLY one capitano talks.

They literally find out from YOU.

You walked into the castle once, being escorted by a guard who is quick to leave once he’s finally let you reach the insides of the castle.

“Sorry to disturb,” You spoke nervously, somehow ending up in some sort of lounge room with the Harbingers. “I’ve brought lunch for my…boyfriend? Uh, Capitano? Do you know where I could find him?”

“Yeah, down the hall, first room on the left.” Arlecchino murmurs, reading through the latest Snezhnaya newspapers.

You smile at her, although she doesn’t see and everyone just returns back to normal.

Until they all realize WHO the hell are you and BOYFRIEND?!?

They all give each other a look before they are RUNNING to you, ready to ask questions and capitano is shocked when suddenly all the Harbingers are in his office and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop them from questioning you on everything.

He likes the way you laugh at them all- it’s cute. He should bring you more often.

follow me on Twitter!; @II_makelemonade

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

edit cus tumblr tweaked out n posted the unfinished draft smh.

sitting in the bus with your fifteen minute now ex boyfriend was not something you expected to happen when you’d gotten ready for your date this morning.

you’re sitting as far away from his as possible, or at least as far as he’ll let you go. because of course shouto todoroki just couldn’t let you have one moment without flashing you his sweet little puppy eyes and kissable little pouted lips, three seats away from you.

your face is practically smushed against the window, intently keeping your eyes fixed on the green grass turning dark with rain while you try to keep your eyes dry. you wonder if it’s your fault, if you did something.

more people start coming in, trying to find shelter from the rain. the more people come in the louder it gets, they’re so loud, he’s so loud. he isn’t doing anything but staring at you, but it’s so intense it almost sounds loud. you feel it in the beat of your ears and the beat of your heart, you focus on the rain droplets bouncing off the pavement outside to desperately keep from crying.

you know shouto doesn’t have to take the bus, his dad could probably get someone to pick him up, he’d only made it a habit of taking the bus with you so you could spend more time together. you think maybe he shouldn’t have, it’s his fault, he spent more time with you then he should’ve and somehow that brought him to sit you down on a random park bench, grip on your hand still firm as he told you he thinks it’d be better if you didn’t see each other anymore.

as if you could just stop seeing him, fucking idiot. you’re in the same class, have the same friends, you see him in your favorite manga and the website you read your early leaks on that you shared with him, you see him in your notes because he’d write them down for you when you were sick to bring them to your dorm, you see him in your favorite snacks because you make it a habit of having him guess the flavor of the skittles you’re sharing.

seriously, what a moron. who does he think he is, the love of your life ?!

well, you sure thought he was.

you can’t bear it anymore, this feels like actual torture and you could honestly give less of a shit about how dramatic you sounded. this is unbearable, it’s suffocating feeling those deep colored eyes constantly on you, reaching out and begging and pleading for something you cannot and will not give more of to him.

this isn’t your stop, but it’s close. you can walk the rest of the way. screw the rain and screw him.

you quietly apologize to the people you’re pushing past, though they can barely hear you as you try to keep your wobbly voice even. when you pass by a group of people the start hissing and murmuring behind you and you think you weren’t being loud enough until you realize that of course he’d followed you off as soon as you got off. ever uncaring of the people around him except you know that’s not true. you know shouto cares, he’s kind, but you thought he cared about you and he apparently didn’t, so you trudge forwards with teeth clenched and hands tightened into fists. to desperately keep from crying.

why does he care so much, why did he follow you in the bus and now out of it ? couldn’t he just let you be alone ?? he’s the one who broke it off.

but you’re sure you’re the one who did something, how could he have ? your shouto’s perfect, the sweetest boy in the whole word. teeth clenched tighter and tighter, to keep from crying.

he calls for you, and then again louder over the rain, he won’t let you drown him out. of course he won’t. not when he calls for you again, a cool hand wrapping around your wrist this time. you want to melt despite the chill, but instead you boil ripping your hand out of his grip.

“just go home ! why’d you follow me out here ?!” his eyes are wide and so sad, you’d never raised your voice at him before even during your rare arguments.

“this isn’t your stop..” he tries to reason, voice quietly drifting through the air, the rain hits the pavement and his hair is getting wetter. he’s so handsome, he always is. you want to kiss him and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah, i noticed that too. did that on purpose if you couldn’t tell, which you obviously didn’t.” you’re being mean, you’re spitting everything at him to get him to just fuck off. but of course he won’t, because your shouto is kind. and he reaches out for you again only for you to back away from him.

“i’m sorry.”

“just leave me alone ! why can’t you just leave me alone ?!” you ask him and yourself and anyone who’s listening. you sob when he slowly, ever so softly wraps his arms around you and you push at him and push and push and push him away but he never backs off, he never leaves you alone. not when he’s everywhere. with the smell of his cologne and the softness of his lips on your forehead and the softness of his clothes as he pleads, he’s so sorry he says. but you don’t know why. he’s the one who broke it off right ?

“is it me ?” you whimper, he immediately shushes you but you continue “was it something i did ?”

“no, no it’s not you—it could never be you, love.” his voice is even, or it’s trying to be, you can tell he’s having a hard time with how tightly he’s holding onto you. like you won’t hear him out if he doesn’t keep you close, it’s funny because you’d hear him out even if he was trying to convince you the earth was shaped like a rectangle, hilarious even.

your heart bleeds for him, despite it being his fault your heart is hurting in the first place.

"it's just…better that way" is what he'd managed to spit out. "but listen—look at me." he grabs your cheeks, pulling your face up to look into his unwavering pretty bicolored eyes. he presses the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your lips, you don't think anyone would love you enough to kiss you like this ever again, and the tears keep flowing because you don't think you'd want to be loved like this by anyone other than him. and it makes you press back against him when he kisses you again, and again

" i love you, i do. and it's not you." he reaffirms again, because he knows you're thinking about it

"it isn't you. i love you, angel." he babbles over and over against your lips. "you know i love you, yeah ?" and you want to say you don't, but the shine in his wet eyes tells you everything you already knew, and you kiss him again, and again. his hands, cooling and so invitingly warm still firm against your cheeks.