#nobody cares. why have i been thinking about this for ten hours.

[tamaharu]

see the thing with the daemon au is that sure, kdj as a person could be a weasel or a meerkat. thats noble and true. but the very representation of his SOUL needs to make him deeply embarrassed and ashamed. like it has to be small and cute and common and childish and he has to find it humiliating. you understand.

[witherby]

*raises hand* more littlest Wayne please 🥺

You got it!

The Littlest Wayne: Jason's Experience

You're a weird baby.

At least, that's what Jason thinks. You don't really cry about anything, you don't whine much except when you're maneuvered uncomfortably or rudely woken up from a nap before you're ready. But even then, it's almost a complaint for the sake of complaining, and not really a full-blown fit.

( It's great for allowing your new, vigilante family to sleep through the night. Horrible for their collective paranoia, which makes them get up to check and make sure you're still breathing through the night anyway. )

You're not deaf — Bruce had you taken in for a full examination and health screening while the ink on your adoption papers were still drying — so that's not why you're quiet, either. Aside from being a touch underweight, likely from whoever cared for you before, it seems like you just don't have much to be upset about.

Jason thinks that weird as fuck. Nobody is neglecting you or anything, but there are times where the lack of hunger cues make one of your brothers realize you haven't eaten since breakfast, or that nobody has checked your diaper in four hours and you've just been chilling in a wet nappy. This makes his monitoring of your general well-being increase ten-fold, to the point that he's the one that spends the most time with you aside from Bruce.

Dr. Leslie insists that some babies are just Like That. Alfred does, too. Their lack of concern helps him be less concerned. But it's still there. Surely there's something a baby would cry about; you're a fuckin baby, and that's, like, your primary job besides eating and sleeping.

He finds out that there is, in fact, something to cry about when he comes back from a week-long job as the Red Hood, having needed to leave the Manor to track down a criminal organization quickly gaining traction that he didn't like the looks of. When he wraps up the last of those loose ends, he steps into his apartment in Crime Alley and digs out his personal phone, switching it on to find dozens of messages from Bruce and his brothers.

Replacement: Dude, u need to get back here ASAP when ur done. The babe is straight tweakin

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Heyyy lil wing 👋 no rush no rush, but swing by when you've got a sec! Our newest member misses you 🍼

Ninja Wannabe: Todd, your presence is required. Father's newest ward is screaming incessantly without you to entertain their mindless brain. I've retreated to Bludhaven to spare my ears until your return.

B: Stay safe, Jaylad. Adjusting to you being gone is a little tough for the baby, as I'm sure your brothers already told you. I just want you to know that there's no obligation to hurry back. They're okay, and the screaming isn't as bad as everyone is making it out to be.

Alfred: Good day, Master Jason. There is an entire batch of double-fudge brownies with your name on it upon your safe return. Best wishes.

You must be screaming the manor down if Alfred is bribing Jason with junk food, let alone a whole tray of it. He hurries out of his armor with half-concern, half-amusement, showers, then speeds off. In less than an hour, he's pulling into the driveway and parking his bike, and Tim was not fucking lying when he texted him.

Turns out it was good that you weren't a huge crier, because you had pipes that put opera singers to shame. When Jason steps inside, the faint, high pitched whines he heard through the door turn into full-fledged wailing. It's just a matter of following it down a couple corridors before he reaches the day room, which was recently repurposed into one of your play areas. He locks onto the image of one very distressed Dick, face flushed and cotton stuffed in his ears as he desperately jangles a set of plastic keys over your body.

"C'mon, baby bat," he croons, sounding near tears himself, "I dunno what you need. Calm down, honey, please."

You lie on a playmat in front of Dick, paying the toy no mind. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears are running down your cheeks, your face is ruby red, and your tiny fists are clenched as tight as possible as you kick your legs and wail, and wail, and wail some more. It would be impressive if it weren't concerning.

"Whoa," Jason blurts, stepping fully into the room. Dick spots him and slumps with visible relief, like a puppet with cut strings. "They've been like this the whole time?"

"They were completely fine the first day! But next morning, we saw them looking around for you, and...well." Dick gestures helplessly to your thrashing form. Jason tuts and scoops you into his arms, wincing a bit at your shriek, and starts to gently bounce you.

"Hey, there," he mutters, "what's all this now, weirdo? You didn't have me around to spoon feed you gross baby mush or wipe your butt, and now you're making it everybody else's problem? Huh? That's rude as hell."

Your cries continue a little while longer. Jason continues to talk to you, to call your antics silly, to soothe you, until you finally crack an eye open and register just who it is that's got you in their arms. You stare at Jason kinda like he's an alien, brows furrowed and nose scrunched, but then your wails dissolve into sobs, then little hiccups, then just the occasional sniffle. One of your hands unclenches to latch onto his shirt instead, and you mush your face into his chest.

And you just. Completely stop it. Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred, and Damian had fallen all over themselves for days trying to soothe you, and a couple minutes of staring at Jason had completely eliminated the problem.

"You gotta move back to the Manor," Dick blurts from where he remained on the floor, wide-eyed and hands clasped together. "Please come back. Please. I am begging. On my hands and knees if you need it. I will do all your chores for the next year. Do not leave again."

"Not my fault I'm the favorite," Jason huffs, but the protective way he holds you, the concerned way he's checking over your face and throat to see if you hurt yourself crying for so long, the continued bouncing he does for you, all points to him moving back home. He makes the arrangements the next day.

And if Jason makes sure future missions he has to go on don't last more than two days, well, that's no one's business but his own.

You're still a weird baby, though. Even if Jason being your favorite is pretty cool.

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?”

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[lavenderprose]

I think there is a gossip column that makes the circulations in the Grand Necropolis and nobody is entirely sure who writes it because it's been going on for years (though there was a long break sometime around the mid 9:40's) and seems to be distributed purely in the form of random excerpts nailed to crypt walls and pages stuck in library books by the last person who checked it out. Nevertheless it is THE resource for juicy and usually true gossip. Sometime around 9:53 Dragon it takes this weird turn and focuses for several issues almost exclusively on this one Senior Watcher named Eric Kolvarin (Almost definitely a pseudonym) and his new spouse Knight (Couldn't not be a pseudonym) who apparently have a rather scandalous age difference and a blatant disregard for the Conflict of Interest clauses in the Mourn Watch doctrine, specifically those regarding senior Watchers dating subordinates.

Also around this time, Professor Volkarin breaks a pen between his fingers at the mention of the column by a nearby student, but that could mean nothing.

It could also mean nothing that Watcher Ingellvar can often be seen in the library late at night, taking diction from a skull. These late nights seem to always be followed by the discovery of a new issue of the Watcher's Yap on some marble sarcophagus the next morning.

"Why are they even bringing up the Senior Watcher's Ball?" Emmrich laments one morning, hiding behind his desk with the newest issue--found already somehow crumpled and glued to the window of his office. Magically. It took him ten minutes to find the proper counterspell. "All of the senior Watchers bring their spouses. It's no special privilege."

"Something about a plunging neckline," Rook mumbles, examing their nails. They've probably got other places to be. Who cares.

"I thought it was very tasteful," says Emmrich.

"Who cares about tasteful," Rook snorts. "Johanna said it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen."

"Johanna, crucially, no longer has eyes," Emmrich mutters.

"Anyway." Rook sits their ass on the desk, legs spread, and tugs the column out of Emmrich's hand. This exact copy will later be found on the tomb of a long-dead Pentaghast approximately twelve levels down later in the afternoon, despite nobody in the entire Necropolis being in both of those locations on the same day in over a week. Rook says, "It's your break, right? Maybe...eat something."

The next issue of the column, strangely, is a very long call-out regarding locked doors during office hours.

[reidsglasscs]

SO OBSESSED WITH YOUR EX!

✸ pairing: jason grace x fem!aphrodite!reader

✸ summary: it’s not your fault that your sister’s ex boyfriend is so stuck in your head that you can think of little else but him

✸ warnings: intense makeout but nothing more

✸ a/n: ik we’re all tired of the aphrodite reader, but it’s essential to the plot 🥲 anyways, justice for my man jason, he needs more fics

You shouldn’t have been thinking about your sister’s ex boyfriend so much, and especially not like this.

Piper and Jason broke up two months ago and had both well since moved on. No hard feelings involved, just a little resolution that they were better off as friends.

It wasn’t a big deal. Really, it wasn’t.

You shouldn’t have felt so bad about how much you thought about him. He was just so captivating, so beautiful. You remembered every detail Piper had ever told you about him as well as every one you had learned on your own.

The curve of his lips and the pale scar scored through them. The flex of his muscles when he trained. Those glasses that made him look unfairly attractive.

Gods, it made you so upset that you weren’t supposed to be thinking about him like this, obsessing over the fact that you couldn’t have him.

Maybe Piper wouldn’t care. Or maybe, she’d be inflamed by the fact that you’d gotten with her ex boyfriend, friendly breakup or not. There was probably some girl code about this, right?

There definitely was, and your sisters would probably have your head if they knew you were busy breaking it.

You tried your best to stay away from Jason, you really did. If you just kept your distance, you could harbor the obsession in your own mind, keep it to yourself.

But of course, the son of Jupiter just had to notice it. Notice your distance. Notice you.

It was his fault, really, what was happening. He was the one who had approached you at the campfire, his mind set on getting an answer as to why you were trying to avoid him.

He was the one who’d followed you back to the cabins when you took off. He was the one who provoked you first.

It wasn’t your fault that everything just came spilling out. All your feelings and secrets, pretty much everything short of your guts, spewed from your mouth when you just couldn’t take the questions anymore.

This was going to hurt, you knew it would. You were prepared. And maybe, you wanted to get a little hurt.

But what you weren’t prepared for was that maybe, Jason Grace was just as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it!” You had confessed, standing in front of the door to Cabin Ten. “You drive me absolutely crazy, Jay. And I’m probably just embarrassing myself, but you wanted an answer and this is it.”

Jason looked at your face and then down at the wrist he’d caught to stop you from going inside your cabin and that he was still holding onto. His skin was hot. His head was spinning.

He was standing really close to you. You let out a deep breath, preparing for a rejection that would be embarrassing as hell.

“Who says you shouldn’t?” He breathed out the question, a tempting little smile on his lips.

You looked at his lips. He looked at yours. You went for it.

You grabbed his forearm of the hand still holding onto you and yanked him forward. In a rush of adrenaline, you pushed your lips against his.

He responded immediately, hands gripping onto the sides of your waist as his lips mashed against yours feverishly.

You skin was alive with delight, your head buzzing with excitement.

You stumbled backwards and grabbed onto the doorknob behind you, the boy following blindly after you. You twisted it with one hand, pulling him closer to you by his arm with the other.

Nobody was inside, they were all still at the campfire and should be for another good hour.

You made your way inside somehow, hardly pulling yourself away from his captivity. On the other side of the cracked door, you looked up at him, a moment of hesitation.

“This is a bad idea, right?” You asked as you caught your breath, which mixed together with his.

“You think so?” he asked, pressing a quick kiss to your wet lips. Moonlight filtered in through the cabin windows and covered him in a beautiful glow.

“I don’t know,” you answered. Looking at him, nothing seemed like a bad idea. You knew he’d slept on the opposite side of one of these beds as Piper, you knew he’d once maybe loved her.

You knew all of that. He did too. But still, you couldn’t help it.

“Well I do. I know.” He said. The hand he had on you slid up your arm and over your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Damn son of Jupiter and his electricity.

He rested it against your cheek, warm and tingly against your skin. He stared at you like maybe he wanted to risk getting hurt too.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for weeks.” He confessed, his voice husk. He trailed his other hand up your arm until it mirrored his other, now holding your face between his hands. You thought you just might die on the spot.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” He asked, face so close to yours that you could almost taste him again.

Even if it was a bad idea, it’d be fine.

“Not at all.”

He pulled you in this time. He held one hand on the side of your neck, the other on your face, and kissed you with ferocity.

You let him push you back until your back hit the door, closing it fully with a satisfying click.

You pushed your lips against his hard. No amount of close was close enough. You felt dizzy, lightheaded with bliss.

Your hands slid down his abdomen to the hem of his shirt and then, underneath. Your fingers pressed against his skin, sending shivers up his spine.

You could feel a smile tug at his lips as they moved methodically with yours, right beside where his scar was.

You’d always thought about what it might feel like, and now, you were rhapsodic that you had found out.

He forced his lips away from yours and began trailing sloppy little kisses from the corner of your mouth and across your jaw, lower and lower until his lips slotted against your neck.

You tilted your head back to assist, give him more room to roam. When it knocked against the wood behind it, he brought his hand up behind your head, carefully putting a barrier between you and the door.

He moved further down your collar bone, teeth and tongue and lips all heavenly against your skin.

One particular nip provoked a gasp from you, and your nails dug into the flesh of his abdomen, leaving little crescent shapes that would be there in the morning to remind him.

No sooner did you hear voices. Outside, there were footsteps crunching against the grass and the sound of voices as campers returned from the campfire. The one time they end early.

“Jase,” you sighed, your hands crawling out from underneath his shirt, much to your dismay. “People are coming.”

He pulled away from you, looking at you with disheveled hair, swollen lips, and beautiful as ever. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing on earth, smiling at the fact he had been allowed to lay hands on you.

“You kicking me out?” He asked teasingly, voice low and insanely attractive so that it was such a shame he couldn’t stay.

“I dunno, do you want to get caught?”

“Hmm, maybe next time.”

You suppressed a smile as you pushed him towards the window at the back of the cabin. “Next time?”

“Yep,” he quipped, pushing open the glass pane and letting in the summer air. It was almost like he’d done it before. “None negotiable. You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

You breathed out a laugh as he ducked down towards the window. “Get out.”

The doorknob to the cabin twisted, and Jason pressed a chaste kiss to your head, whispered to you a goodnight, and then he was gone.

You could hear his feet hit the grass as the door swung open and in walked Piper and Drew.

“What was that?” Piper asked as you quickly slammed window shut.

“Nothing.”

[uneducated-author]

Because I will never be over this adaptation and how it perfectly used every frame and then elevated them until you actually have a wonderful way of displaying each characters thought process. You see Dazai's expression change, how he moves. Dazai has been silly and disarming all of the arc so far. He dances with Sigma and splits because he wants sugar. He jokes while opening a door, and hosts a happy hour quiz, comparing Sigma to his mentee.

But here. we see him, and see how far he is willing to go. We see him stop smiling. He finds out his partner is his enemy, controlled by vampirism and smirks, even if it's more of a 'damn, Dostoyevsky'. But it's important. Because he has ten minutes to make Sigma willing to die for him. Ten minutes to make Sigma willing to die for the agency. And he has to be powerful enough to make Sigma think. Strong enough to shock him, to make him listen. Now, Sigma watches him control time, and drown Dostoyevsky. He has to show Sigma that survival isn't an offer exclusively from the decay of angels.

But here, he sees his partner, it's broadcast on a screen. He sees Chuuya follow Dostoyevsky's orders, pound at the wall, scream and struggle, and then slowly drown. And he stops smiling. Because he can't lie, not in front of his partner.

Something about how the memories load. Something about how Dazai, whose mind works faster than light, takes a moment, because if he thinks about their past, he knows he'll crack and he won't have the resolve for this.Something about needing time to prepare for the heartbreak he's going to inflict on himself. Something about how he's speaking to someone empty, because Dostoyevsky has scooped out Chuuya's soul and turned him into a stranger, and Dazai could never forgive that rat, but this is beyond unforgivable.

Something about a shadow. Something about Dazai blocking himself from the memories where their heart connect. Something about blocking the light because if he's good, right now, he'll destroy what little soul he has.

Something about opening his eyes, and forcing himself to watch, because this is why he came for Odasaku, this is why he wants a double suicide, because he believes that nobody wants to die alone.

Something about listening to Chuuya and how he drowns. Something about a second of silence except for the other half of his soul fighting to live, as Chuuya always had.

Something about the turtle smile, so clearly fake because Dostoyevsky is there, and if he survives (Dazai has every contingency) there can not be a shred of evidence that Dazai cared for his former partner, and something about how if Chuuya was listening under the echoes of vampirism, he would know that Dazai is lying.

Something about there being no chance of ambiguity. Something about the darkness over his eyes, and the pain he's tried to wipe away. Something about shadows, and how you need light to cast them.

Something and something and something, and how soukoku have always been something more.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadvent calendar Day 16

Shadow x GN Reader

Cookies

you had run out of space on the kitchen counters by the time Shadow had arrived home. you cursed yourself for having the idea to make everyone their own cookie boxes this year. you could have just bought them stuff but no you had to get creative this time. How were you going to get them all frosted and boxed in time? why did you think that making ten types of cookies were manageable? you were moving as fast as you could to get them done before Rouge's Christmas party but you weren't sure that was even possible at this rate.

The minute Shadow walked in the door he could tell you were frazzled. You had taken on too big of a project and you were getting close to cracking. If he didn't step in now you were headed straight for a collapse of immense proportions.

placing a hand gently on yours he stopped you from mixing the icing any more. looking into your eyes he spoke.

"My love, slow down you are going to hurt yourself."

"But I have to get this done in time."

"I know, but you've worked yourself up. Remember love it's just cookies. If it's become too much work cut back, and let me help you. now take a deep breath."

You obeyed as the air filled your lungs you allowed your mind to relax for a moment. Shadow was right, it had become too much you already had five of the ten baked and you were at your whit's end. nobody was forcing you to make ten different types of cookies, in fact nobody knew about the cookies it was a gift. you sampled each of the cookies before and they tasted amazing if you said so yourself. each one was baked with love and care and it took time to get them that way. if you stopped baking now all that would be left to do would be to decorate, and that was your favorite part and with Shadow's help you could get it all done tonight.

"Okay, I think I should stop baking and focus on decoration's now. Could you help me color the icing?"

"Of course my love."

an hour later the two of you were laughing together around the table, mostly about Shadows decorating skills.

"That looks absolutely nothing like Santa my love."

"Really? I think it's a vast improvement"

"In what world dear?"

"The one where I get to hear your beautiful laugh every night. so this one."

You smiled enjoying the moment that wouldn't have been possible if Shadow hadn't stopped you.

"Thank you honey, for stopping me from going cookie crazy."

"Anytime my love."

[yup-i-am-weird]

I Care

Ship : Loki x GN!Reader

Synopsis : Reader attempts suicide but Loki is there to rescue them in time.

Word Count : 1061

TW : Suicide attempt, depression, self harm, panic attack, (grammatical errors?, english is not my first language) etc.

Please don't read if any of this triggers you.

You were hiding behind a soil wall you created with you elemental powers, three children none aging more than ten standing beside you as the enemies rained fire. It was in a middle of a fight when some terrorist organisation had decided to hijack a building and you guys were busy fighting them while simultaneously evacuating the building. Normally it would have been an easy task but it turned out that the organisation was linked to hydra and had got their hold on some dangerous weapons. Currently you were rescuing three kids as you tried to protect them from the attack.

"Y/N, take the kids and leave, now!", Steve said on the comms. Taking his orders you were about to leave with the kids to help them to a safer place when you spotted a man dragging himself on the floor, his head bleeding from side with his leg twisted in a uncomfortable position clearly broken, you take in the sight as the flashback of your own father's similar injury hits you, making you let out a small gasp. You continue watching the man for a couple of seconds until Clint shows up and helps the man.

The kids were still beside you, until one was not, as you turned around you heard him scream, one the terrorist had gotten to the little boy and was holding him in a tight grip, "Help me inside the building or he dies", the man said from behind the mask as the kid got more and more scared. At a distance you notice Natasha almost getting stabbed by a knife and you stop it in mid air by manipulating the wind. The terrorist on the other hand uses your distraction to his advantage shooting the kid and running inside the building with his crew. "No!", is all you could say as you hear the gunshot.

Later at the compound

"Y/N, what the hell were you thinking, you had enough time to save that kid!", Tony yells at you as you visibly wince at his words. "Tony, it's enough, leave it", Steve tries to calm him down. "I am not sure, if you see it Cap, but their distraction is evident, they are always so lost!", Tony says sharply as his words cut threw you.

Later, you go to your room, letting the weight of what just happened sink. You were a terrible person, you couldn't even get past a mission without distraction. That innocent kid did not deserve to die. It was only because of you that he was dead. He had so much life ahead of him but your recklessness got him killed. Nobody likes you. No one. You are a fool. They all hate you. You are useless.

You sat in you room thinking these things over and over, again and again as your head starts to hurt and tears start streaming down your face as you harshly grip the bed sheets, then your hair, and soon without releasing you are scratching your wrists with nails leaving small red marks all over. You are crying and feeling overwhelmed, almost on the verge of a panic attack, as you blame yourself for the boy's death and feel completely useless and unwanted. They all hate you. No one would care you if you just disappeared. Your brain tells you.

After about half an hour, you go to the roof top, deciding to end all the pain forever. You take the elevator and reach the top of the tower. A weird serenity surrounded the area which was in complete contrast to the storm inside of you, which had you trapped in it so bad that you couldn't take it anymore. You took a step forward. The sky had a tinct of pink and orange as the sun was setting, the noise from street below wasn't really audible from this height. Why was it so peaceful? Why was nature so calm when you were not. You felt more angry and hurt at the sight. You did not understand why you couldn't feel this calm and relaxed and someone else could.

You were still crying, and continued moving forward slowly till you were almost at the edge when suddenly, "Y/N! Stop! What are you doing?", you heard Loki's voice call from behind you with a sense of urgency in his voice. You turn out to find him looking frightened and concerned. "What are you doing? What are you thinking? Get away from the edge! Now!", he said still sounding panicked. "Just let me go", you say through tears. "No, I am not letting you go, i cannot", he says stepping forward, coming close to me. "No one cares, Loki, I am just a burden for everyone, i keep making mistakes, I am of no use", you say crying. "No, Y/N, I care about you, you are not a burden and this isn't the answer to anything, taking your life won't help, you can't give up", he says gently gripping my shoulders.

"I give up,Loki, I am weak, I am very weak", you say still crying hysterically. "Y/N. You. Are. Not. Weak. You are the strongest person I know, you remember you are the one who told me mistakes don't define a person, that waiting and trying can always make things better, and pain only makes us stronger, remember?", he asks looking at you with concern and gentleness as you nod your head yes. "Then why are you giving up yourself?, I know you are strong, and I care about you and always will", he says pulling you close to his chest as you cry more.

"Shhh, it will all okay, I am here, just don't try to take your life again, please, it hurts me, I don't know how will I survive without you", Loki says, his own voice breaking now, as he speaks with a hint of vulnerability. "I am sorry", is only what you can say. "Don't apologise", he says and holds you till you have calmed down, rubbing circles on your back. "I love you Y/N, I love you a lot, I cannot live without you, please stay with me", he says, shedding a couple of tears, "You, love me?", you ask little surprised, "More than you know" is all he says as he pulls you closer.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there’s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. “You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

After a mere half hour spent in the same room as these people, Philza has already been reminded of why he doesn't normally answer a summons.

The constant staring annoys him to no end. He supposes it's to be expected, what with his country's reputation for being a complete enigma. The Antarctic Empire is one of the lucky few nations that operates entirely self-sufficiently, producing all their own resources. They do not trade with other countries often. In fact, the mountain ranges that border the very south of their peninsula do not offer any convenient trading routes to begin with. And since that same treacherous terrain also cuts the empire off from the continent in such a way that passing through becomes a challenge in wilderness survival, they're mostly left to their devices. Some folks still believe Phil's nation is a myth, a story conjured up by fairytales.

So Phil coming all the way out here for Dante's attempt at diplomacy must be quite the sight. Most people will die without ever having seen the king of the Antarctic Empire, no wonder they have a hard time looking away.

That won't stop Phil from getting some satisfaction every time one of these pompous nobles cowers if he so much as flexes his wings and turns toward them. He's currently locked in a bit of a staring contest with a man across the room. Phil doesn't know if he's another royal or random noble, but he does know he can't stand the look on this fucking guy's face.

At one point the man smiles more broadly, as if pleased that Phil caught him staring. He bows his head a bit, with Phil half-heartedly returning the courtesy, tucking in his wings to keep them from flaring automatically with the gesture. However, this leaves Phil's elbow to bump into somebody trying to slide past him.

Phil didn't expect anybody to be there, the entire crowd had been giving him a pretty wide berth all evening. He's even more surprised when he sees it's a child, maybe ten or eleven years old. His fancy clothes and intricately braided pink hair with golden jewelry betray him as a prince.

"Sorry," Phil says. He reaches out to steady the boy, but the kid flinches and steps back at his attempted touch, pulling his sleeves up over his wrists. "I didn't see you there, are you okay?"

The boy looks up at him and instead of answering, his blue eyes widen a bit. "You're the emperor of the Antarctic Empire," he says. The statement is delivered in a deceptively neutral tone, especially for somebody of such a young age. Phil is used to more dramatic reactions.

"I am. Call me Phil. What's your name?" Phil smiles gently at the boy. He always had a soft spot for children.

Again, he doesn't receive an answer. Instead, the boy's gaze moves across him for a moment, pondering. He grins slightly, but it's a strange sort of expression. Almost private. As if nobody else is supposed to see. "You're shorter than I thought you'd be," the boy says. Before Phil can blink or respond, he's disappeared into the crowd.

Phil is very much left completely flabbergasted.

Curiosity ever the greatest motivator for him, Phil walks up to the man who was staring at him earlier. The guy pales three shades at seeing Phil approach him, maybe thinking his rude behavior is getting retribution after all. But Phil couldn't care less about this man anymore.

He wants to know who the boy is.

"The child I was just talking to, do you know who he is?" Phil asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Who- Oh, he's nobody, sir." The way the man blunders and becomes overly formal brings Phil little pleasure. "Prince Techno. From the Blade family."

"From the Blade family? What is he doing so far away from home?"

"He's King Dante's ward." 

Phil glances over to where the man is looking, in the direction of Dante himself. Techno is standing next to the king, head bowed a bit and seeming pretty disgruntled to be there. But when Dante lays his hand almost delicately on the nape of Techno's neck, the boy flinches again and forces a neutral expression on his face.

"You know how the Blade family is," the man says grimly. "Ferocious beasts of war, all of them. It's a wonder Dante has managed to secure an allyship. They even got close enough bonds to leave their son in Dante's care."

Thinking about the summons, about how Dante was a nobody three years ago who since managed to overthrow several small countries by using superior weapons and strategies - those the likes of which only the Blade nation is known for - makes several things click into place. Allyship? It makes sense. A lot of sense.

Then what is the uncomfortable feeling that seems hooked into Phil's gut?

(Maybe it's because of the flinching. Or because of how Techno seems to move around like a ghost. Or because when he pulled up his sleeves, Phil was sure he saw the faded blue and purple of bruises on the boy's pale skin.

The Blade family runs their kingdom in a similar way to the Antarctic Empire. They don't make allies. Only enemies.)

"Are you staying for the peace conference, sir?" the man is brave enough to ask, now that Phil has broken the ice. It's probably a question for many of them. Despite Dante's ruthless way of overtaking other countries, Phil's empire isn't threatened by him. He's only here as a formality. He has no reason to stay, no stakes in this game.

Dante pulls his hand away and it's like Techno can finally breathe again. Phil's eyes meet his for a moment, then the boy looks away.

"I think I'll stick around to see how things unfold," Phil says pleasantly.

[madi-writes-things]

Nobody Pt. 9

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 1.8 K

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it is talked about), cyber-bullying/mean comments, SMUTSMUTSMUT (P in V, Fem receiving oral/fingering, hickeys, heavy making out, pet names, protection used!!!), you can not convince me that Chris isn’t a whimperer, self doubt, Not Edited

A/N: I’m sososososo sorry it took so long, I wanted it to be as good as possible. If anything doesn’t make sense, just chalk it up to my virginal status lol.

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

After patching things up with Matt, me and Chris decided to hard launch our relationship. It’s been two months since we went public, and the fans just seem to get more upset about it every day. Yesterday was our ten month anniversary, and the comments on our posts were horrific.

@ sturniolo.police

Do y’all think he just stays so she doesn’t kill herself?

@ Chris-Sturn-girlie

@ Sturniolo.police Probably, she treats her body like a kitchen counter… I would be scared too. I bet that’s the only reason why he even asked her out lol.

It was like watching a car accident, I couldn’t stop scrolling. I knew that it was stupid for me to think that dress was a good idea, but Chris picked it out specifically. The dress was a tight long sleeved crème dress. The issue was that it was fairly short, showing a large portion of my upper thighs. It was the first time since eighth grade that I felt comfortable wearing anything shorter than knee length, and less than 24 hours later I was severely regretting my decision.

“”“”“”“”“”

Now I stand in front of our mirror wondering if I should even go out with them tonight. The boys have a really important colab dinner, and I would hate for it to be ruined by people who don’t know how to be kind on the internet.

I look at myself and see someone I hate. The black short sleeve dress accentuates the jagged scars running across my wrists. I always tried to avoid spots that were hard to hide, but in that moment of desperation I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I’m so caught up in my thoughts, that I don’t even hear the door open.

“Is everything okay?” I look up to see Chris behind me, with his arms wrapped around my waist.

“I um… I don’t think I’m feeling up to going tonight… sorry.” He rests his head on my shoulder gently as he gives me a questioning glance. “I don’t want to ruin dinner, and everyone is already saying stuff about the scars on my legs… and if people find out I tried t-” I cut myself off before I could say the truth.

Chris turns me around quickly, looking deep into my eyes. “I don't give a shit what anyone else has to say, you are perfect for me… just as you are.” I try to protest, but he stops me before I can even get one word out. “But… if you don’t feel like going out tonight, that’s okay. I can tell my brothers to just go without us.”

I can feel my eyes burning, not from sadness or guilt, but from the realization that the man in front of me doesn’t care about anything but me. “You don’t have to miss it because of me, don’t feel like you have to stay home.”

In less than three seconds he’s putting his phone into his pocket. “Don’t be silly, I already texted the guys.” I hear the guys yell a quick goodbye and feel better from downstairs before the door closes and the car drives off. “Now… do you need any help getting out of that dress?” He gives me a quick kiss before turning me around so he can reach my zipper.

As soon as the zipper stops, my dress falls to a puddle on the floor. When I turn around I notice Chris’s eyes fall to the matching green butterfly set I have on.

When Chris finally meets my eyes again, his cheeks are a shade of red that I’ve never seen on him. “Like what you see, pretty boy?” Chris is a sputtering mess, trying to respond. I cut him off by quickly connecting my lips with his. His hands quickly find their way into my hair as he lifts me up by the backs of my legs, carrying me to our shared bed.

This wasn’t the first time me and Chris had ever made out, but something was different about this time. There was a hunger in each of us, that kissing couldn’t satiate.

Chris tossed me gently onto the bed before positioning himself above me and continuing our make out session. His lips slowly traveled down my neck, stopping for short moments, then continuing their assault until they landed on my collar bone. A moan left my mouth, much louder than I meant to, as my back arched off the bed.

“You like that baby?” Chris groaned into my ear.

“mhm…” My brain went blank as he made his way down to the valley of my breasts. “Please…”

“please what, ma?” He looks up to me with a mischievous grin.

“Touch me… please.” I practically whine out, upset that he stopped kissing me. Chris quickly taps my side, signaling me to lift up as he unclasps my bra in one swift movement. My bra is replaced with Chris’s hands before I even register that he removed it. He continues to leave wine colored marks across my breasts, while his hands squeeze in the most beautiful ways.

After what feels like an eternity, i feel Chris's hot breath moving down towards my waistline. He glances up at me quickly before turning his head toward my inner thigh. I feel him lift my leg up, over his shoulder, before he resumes his mission. "Did you know that your legs are my favorite part of your body?"

“no they aren’t.” I accuse with a small giggle. I never realized how ticklish my legs are. He quickly sucks on a spot, that will surely be a dark shade of red tomorrow morning, causing my brain to malfunction.

When he stops, I look down to see him looking at me with his big, blue, puppy dog eyes. He toys with my waistline, before finally opening his mouth. “Is this okay?”

I've never responded quicker, nodding my head aggressively while mumbling out a quick please and thank you. It takes him no time to get my panties off, and onto the floor. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“yes… just please touch me!” I’m practically begging when he decides to indulge me.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, seeing as I’ve never even ‘helped myself’. Whatever I expected, this was much better. The second he latched his lips onto my clit, I was seeing stars. My whole body felt warm and tingly, and I think I’m close. I quickly intertwine my fingers into Chris’s hair, pulling with the rhythm of his tongue. All of the sudden I feel a long thin finger entering, and I can’t stop the sudden sensation that was building inside me. I couldn’t even get out a full sentence without a loud, almost pornographic moan interrupting me. The second I feel a second finger, I loose all control over my body. My back arches off the bed, as my legs slam shut around Chris’s head. Once I manage to calm myself down, Chris slowly removes his fingers from inside of me.

“Having fun?” I see him wiping his hand against his pant leg, his lips still glistening with me. I don’t think I have the strength to speak, so I simply nod. “Was it… was that okay?” I can see the yearning for approval in his eyes. “… Like, was it good for you?”

I don’t really know how to respond to that question, my brain is stiff fuzzy from my orgasm. “It was amazing baby…” I don’t want this moment to end. “I want to… can we do more… If that’s okay?”

I swear Chris has the condom out in less than three seconds. “Are you sure?” He’s looking at me like he truly doesn’t care what’s in it for him. “We can stop… or do other things, you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

I do my best to find his eyes in my dazed state. “I’m sure… if it’s anything like what you just did, I’m not sure I ever want you to stop.” He nods quickly before getting up and stripping.

The second his waistband hits mid thigh, his member is hitting his stomach. It looks painful, so red and hard. I don’t know how it’s going to fit, but I trust him. He slides the condom on, quickly climbing back on top of me.

“Are you sure the at you want this?” This again. “We can stop whenever you want to… and you really don’t have to do any-”

I cut him off quickly by grabbing ahold of him and making sure that he knows that my motives are purely selfish at this point in time. He finally gets the hint and lines himself up.

“fu-ck…” Chris practically whimpers as he pushes into me. I unintentionally clench around him, who knew that a man whimpering was so sexy?

“Babe… you gotta stop squeezing me like that, I won’t last.” I mutter a quick apology, before giving him the go ahead to start moving.

It’s an interesting feeling. It’s not necessarily painful or uncomfortable, just different. It doesn’t take long for the feeling to melt into pleasure though.

The house is filled with sounds of whimpering and moaning, as we reach our highs. Chris reaches down and starts rubbing heavenly circles against my already overstimulated clit, causing my orgasm to crash into me without warning. I swear my vision goes out for a minute while Chris chases his own high.

Chris slowly pulls out, making me cry out in pleasure. “I’m sorry, but I have to get you cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”

The second he leaves it hits me all at once. What if it wasn’t good for him? What if he realizes that he only wanted me for sex, and decides the rest isn’t worth it? What if he-

“Are you okay?” He pulls me from my doom spiral, as he starts cleaning me up. He crawls into the bed next to me, looking deep into my eyes.

“Sorry… my brain is just trying to convince me that you’re going to leave.” I see his eyes soften, as he realizes what I’m saying. “It’s not necessarily like I believe it, I just worry sometime that all of my flaws outweigh the things keeping you here… like what if you leave, or you only stay because you feel like I’ll kill myself if you don’t?” Chris stares at me, looking like he doesn’t fully grasp the concept. “Does that make sense? I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes.”

“Do you really think that I would do that?” The way he asks it makes my heart break.

It’s not like I really think that he would do something like that, but my brain just refuses to let me be happy. “No baby… I just find it so hard to trust anyone who says they care.”

Chris just pulls me into his arms, promising me that he loves me more than words could describe. After a few minutes in his arms we decide to put some clothes on and order some food. After dinner, I drift slowly into a peaceful sleep in his arms.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos

[thetomorrowshow]

i came to take up your offer

posted to ao3 19 November 2024

this is a fic that was a dream i had :)

~

Grian’s been trying to leave for months, now. Years, even. 

When one’s home world turns to war, though, the portals all close. There are ways to get out, but hubs tend to ban the presence of refugees, so if you escape you have to be well-disguised and have quick entrance to another world.

Grian’s seventeen when the war breaks out, and the draft comes for him as soon as he’s eighteen. He escapes when he’s twenty-three, after fighting in this stupid war for five years.

There’s a small group of friends that he’s gathered—people from high school, fellow soldiers, et cetera—that are all waiting on a message from him at any time, telling them when and where. Grian’s not sure how he ended up in a leadership position, but he promises them that he’ll work on it, and until then he fights this bloody war and hates every second of it.

Then it happens.

Twenty-three years old, about to march into a battle. He’s out on the field already, scoping out the place, taking notes on where they ought to line up their cannons, when he passes over a patch of land that makes his stomach swoop.

Grian blinks.

Then he backs up, walks over it again.

It’s just a bit of grass, a space no bigger than a meter squared, nestled between the roots of a massive, gnarled willow tree. He’d thought that hiding under the shadow of the tree might keep them hidden, give them a moment of surprise against the opposing army, but now he quickly leaves it, noting down that it is not an advisable place for anyone to be.

There’s a portal under the grass, he’s sure of it. One that no one had caught, hidden as it was.

He sends out the message that night. They’re all there, camped on the other side of the hill from the battlefield, but he doesn’t dare to whisper of their plans aloud. Plans to desert could just as easily get them executed as the battle tomorrow.

Found it , he writes. Meet me after the battle if you survive .

None of them respond. He doesn’t expect them to.

-

This battle is no different from any of the others. Grian considers himself lucky that he’s on the winning side, because it leaves him with less of a likelihood that he won’t make it. He sits in a trench for days, tnt exploding all around him, bullets whizzing past his ears, and occasionally pops his head up and fires at the lines opposite.

By the afternoon of the fifth day, they’ve won this one. The other army retreats, and the soldiers all around Grian breathe silent sighs of relief as they haul themselves out of the mud and trudge on back to camp.

Grian hangs back, volunteering to start digging graves. Nobody else wants to, of course, when they have the chance to go back to camp and wash off and sleep, so they let Grian stay and lead the gravedigging, a handful of others helping him.

Once the rest of the army has disappeared over the hill, Grian turns to Martyn.

“By the willow tree,” he says shortly, and Martyn nods once.

It isn’t too deeply buried. They dig for maybe half an hour before BigB’s shovel vanishes entirely, and from there, they dig carefully, handfuls at a time, to completely unearth the small square of swirling, purple portal.

Grian’s never cared too much for purple, but right now, in this final moment, it’s the most beautiful color in the world.

They stand in silence, gathered around it, all eyes drawn to it. Finally, Grian pulls his gaze away, quickly counts everyone there.

“We’re missing someone,” he murmurs. There’s only nine of them, including himself. Shouldn’t there be ten? “Who are we missing?”

“Timmy,” Martyn supplies. Grian bites his lip, glances behind himself at the bloodied and torn ground.

“Did he. . . ?”

“No,” Netty’s quick to assure. “No, I saw him. I think he’s on the hill.”

On the hill? Why hadn’t he come down to help them?

Grian huffs, adjusts his pack over his shoulders. “Right. I’ll go find him. Pretend to dig graves.”

He isn’t the oldest among them, but somehow, he’s become the leader. They trust him—maybe it’s because he was able to get in contact with an enemy soldier and convince him to join their group, or maybe it’s because he’s willing to admin a world once they get out to create a safe place for them, or maybe it’s because he’s an ordained minister and he married Martyn and Netty for free. Maybe none of that.

Maybe he’s just the only one who dared.

So Grian, the leader, heads back out from under the shade of the old willow tree.

He doesn’t want to go looking for Jimmy. He knew they were supposed to gather after the battle, and he should have seen them getting ready. If certain members of his group weren’t such bleeding hearts, he would have just left him behind.

Having to take the time to look for him could put their entire escape at risk.

He finds him, and not nearly quickly enough. He searches for what must be almost an hour, trekking across uneven, exploded ground and limp bodies, before he eventually spots a figure sitting on the side of the hill. He’d had to go all the way to the other side of the battlefield to see him, angled to look out toward the setting sun as he was.

Grian huffs when he sees him, starts hiking up the hill. Of course, he had to be on a different side of the hill instead of the one that faced that battlefield.

Why didn’t he come down? He knew what was happening, why didn’t he help them?

Jimmy’s face is smudged with dirt and soot and a bit of crusted blood, his helmet in the grass beside him, his hair limp and greasy. His uniform is barely recognizable under all the grime, even worse than some of the others of their group. He must have been near an explosion.

He’s just sitting there, knees pulled up to his chest, gazing out at the reddening sky. He doesn’t even look at Grian, not more than a glance to the side.

“Come on,” Grian says, folding his arms. He’s out of breath from the walk up, exhausted down to his bones. He hasn’t slept in almost two days straight, far longer than any soldier is supposed to go (but about the amount of time that all of them spend, anyhow). “Let’s go. We’ve already dug it up, we’re just waiting on you.”

Jimmy doesn’t respond.

“Let’s go,” Grian complains. “Get up, we’re going. Unless—”

“I can’t hear you,” Jimmy says bluntly.

Grian rolls his eyes, then sits down in front of Jimmy, the grass crunching under him. Jimmy’s eyes focus on him, weary and irritated and bloodshot.

After a staring contest that Grian quite decidedly wins, Jimmy groans, digs in his pocket. His dirt-stained fingers pull out a hearing aid, gingerly fit it into his right ear.

“We’re leaving,” Grian says, once Jimmy stops fiddling with it. “We’ve got the portal, we’re all about to go in. You coming?”

Jimmy sighs. “What’s the point?”

“What’s the point? The point is that we get out of here. We’ll never have to fight again, come on.”

“Wherever we go, it’ll turn to war eventually. That’s just how it is.”

“Not on my server,” Grian says firmly. “I’m gonna admin a world. It’ll be peaceful, I swear.”

It’s clear that Jimmy doesn’t believe him. He shifts, just a bit, so that he can see the sunset over Grian’s shoulder.

There’s something odd in his expression, under the layers of battle. Something dark. Something . . . disturbed.

Well, he tried.

When Grian rejoins the group around the portal, Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“He didn’t want to,” Grian says by way of explanation. Martyn sighs.

“I’ll go talk to him,” he says, heading off in that direction. “Don’t wait up, all right?”

They don’t.

Grian goes first. He went to a hub once, when he was thirteen. The one he lands in isn’t so different from that one, but Grian doesn’t stick around in its portal room for long. He heads to the first public restroom he can spot (just off the main room, the sign visible from far off), where he takes off his shirt and balls it up, shoves it into the trash can. He sticks his dog tags into his pocket, then scrubs the grime off his face until he’s moderately presentable.

His trousers are plain enough that they won’t immediately call him out as a soldier on the run, and his white tee is dirt stained but passable. He has all the money he’s ever earned in his backpack, which he transfers to the front pocket of his trousers.

Tom slips into the restroom, stripping his shirt off. Grian pats him on the shoulder and walks out, then confidently strides to the nearest information desk.

“I’d like to buy a world,” he says, his eyes following Netty and Salem as they fall into the hub together. The woman at the desk surveys him for a moment, then slides a paper to him.

“Fill out the form.”

-

They call it Evo, and it’s everything Grian’s ever wanted.

Evo. It’s an old, abandoned world (absurdly old, honestly), the cheapest available. Grian had spent every coin he had to purchase it, much to his chagrin. Even so, this rusty old dump is safe, and has respawns, and they can all live here in peace.

He loves it.

He gets to properly build for the first time in his life. He has his own place, where he can feel the clay under his feet and feel the salty breeze against his cheeks and it’s perfect.

Grian doesn’t spend much time around spawn, usually out in the ocean, working on his base, but he stops by to fix up a rail on his little train track and notices that Jimmy’s there, sitting atop the Property Police station.

He’s staring at the sunset, legs drawn up to his chest.

Grian doesn’t call up to him. He doesn’t do anything.

He just watches him for a moment, then heads back home.

[auspicioustidings]

EEE

The pound being a correction facility, their goal to correct the behavior of the pets as quickly as possible. I can imagine their not very interested in doing it themselves most of the time.

Probably machine based punishments, sensory deprivation, bound in place to a machine or vibe or something, leaving the pet there for extended periods of time till the pound gets the results they want ><

Anon, you are a genius! Also FYI things are very bad and no good below the cut.

When you are taken nobody talks to you and in your state you don't really care. Graves gives you a thorough physical exam, it's all sterilised and clinical how he slides gloves fingers into you and presses everywhere to see where gets a reaction. He uses a speculum to hold you open and prod about your cervix, he flushes out your system with an enema, his fingers spend ten minutes examining you mouth, feeling all around your soft palat, caressing each tooth and testing your gag reflex thoroughly.

It's a new kind of violation because it's so impersonal. This isn't being a pet, it's the cold examining of some wild animal.

It's always Graves at the end of the week performing his exams. They range from just a thorough cleaning to him piercing a metal tag through your clit that lists his clinical notes on your vagina. Sometimes he gives you injections and you don't know what they are, you only know that at least one made you feel like you were so tight his finger may as well have been a battering ram. But you would take him and his shadow "nurses" over Konig and his kortac "trainers".

Konig is a scary man just by sheer size. He does speak to you, yells at you, barks orders. They are all in Austrian and you don't understand, but then given how he delights in punishing you for it you think that's the idea. He's the one who uses machines.

It's what gets him off really. He loves watching you immobile, folded in half and held in a perspex box with only your head and your holes sticking out. There's a scoreboard on the wall. Each of his people gets an hour with you a week and whoever has wrung the most orgasms from you gets bought a beer. They get creative. Anytime you think you get used to one contraption, they produce another.

Some of them come in and see the board before deciding that they're not going to win that week, so they don't need to make any of this hour pleasurable for you (not that the orgasms feel pleasurable anymore, the overstimulation is painful). Those weeks are the worst because it usually starts a train reaction. When someone comes in and sees your pussy covered in marks from being paddled they forget all about the initial competition and see who can make you scream the loudest instead.

The only reason you have any concept of time is because they theme it sometimes. On Halloween week they all dressed up. Horangi was the worst because he dressed as a baseball fury and spent the hour seeing just how much of that bat you could take.

But between their visits you are left alone. The room is bright, no decoration. There is nothing to distract your mind from the constant vibration on your clit and the machines fucking your pussy or ass or both. Sometimes there are clamps on your nipples, sometimes not. If Konig is in a bad mood you have a machine fucking your throat as well. If he's in a good mood he might take you out for a bit to strap you to his torso so he can go about his day with his cock being warmed inside you. At least then there is some distraction because it's starting to be worse when you're alone than when they are there. That's why the training works, it makes you so needy for any external interaction that you are willing to be whatever slut they want if they'll just spend some time with you.

The man responsible for turning you into an attack dog is called Nikto. He is violent and you never see his face. You did not know there were men that existed as cruel and cold as him. When he gets you, you have to be sent to recovery for a week. If it wasn't so horrific what he does to you then you could almost see the bright side because recovery is with Mace and Roze. You don't see them outside of recovery, but they don't ever hurt you during. The small kindness they give you is so foreign in this place that everytime you just sob for hours while they comfort you. It's all part of the process of course, all part of breaking you down and then getting you attached.

Within a few months they have their perfect dog. Takes whatever you give her because she's so desperate for anything at all. Attacks on command because anything Mace tells her to do must be for her own good. Is kept the perfect specimen through the "medical" team.

They think they have you right where they want you. But there is always a final test. And they did not anticipate how you would react. After all, so many people who work at the pound were animals once themselves, broken and moulded to break and mould the next generation. It was hubris really, to capture good boy. It was arrogance to think they had you so well trained as theirs that you would follow orders to treat him how they treated you. It's what ultimately leads to you busting both of you the hell out of there.

[luvtonique]

I realized something this morning.

This is probably gonna be a long post. (Edit, yep)

I'm a pretty fairly public figure on the internet, and I very regularly interact with a huge amount of people. From YouTube Comments to Discord to Tumblr Asks/Comments to Newgrounds Reviews to MMO Chat to Mic-Chat on Games to Twitch Chat to Stream Chat, blah blah blah.

I've, for years now, over a decade (hell over two decades) talked to probably thousands of people, and have been able to get a gauge on a pretty safe to say "average" of collective human intelligence on the internet.

I've come to realize that not everybody has that kind of experience talking to people online as I do. I've talked to literally thousands, probably near ten thousand, people online in my life.

This is a staggeringly high number and puts me in an outlier position among the rest of you, who likely have only interacted with a double digit number of people online in your life.

Now that you have that information in mind, here's what I realized this morning.

I realized that the reason I don't listen to people, ESPECIALLY when it comes to politics, is because I have learned through talking to all these people that fucking nobody knows what they're fucking goddamn talking about.

I study a lot of things in my spare time, and history is a huge one that I study. I very regularly read and listen to multiple sources talking about historic events, and I make sure to look at as many sources as possible, sometimes including reading encyclopedias in my own home that we've owned for like 40 years.

I cross-reference all of these things and paint a picture of the most likely truths through various means.

Why's that important? Because sometimes a 14 year old on Twitter, literally nearly less than a third my age, will occasionally come along telling me that I'm wrong. Not about history necessarily, but about some opinion that I have based on my own experience and my own knowledge that I've researched myself.

I usually ask them where they got their information, and I'm met with boldfaced idiocy. Completely braindead shit like "180,000 people said it on Twitter," or they link me a Tumblr post with 100k notes, or they say "It's common knowledge," (which is the biggest red flag of them all because not only does it prove they have no evidence to back up what they're saying, but as this post will go on to explain, "common knowledge" is quite literally the worst source of information on anything. People commonly think the earth is flat and that Scientology is real. People commonly think that walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror gives you bad luck. People commonly think that naturally blue food exists.)

In my life I have met thousands of people, and THOUSANDS of them are fucking idiots who very very smugly state completely incorrect knowledge. Earlier today someone tried to tell me that the creators of Beat Saber never sold the company to Facebook, and I showed them proof and they went silent for 3 hours and then went "Yeah so what, Facebook is still a good company" and I wanted to beat my head against the desk.

The internet is full of people who are fascinatingly ignorant. I'm not calling myself "better" or "smarter" than anyone here, I'm just saying that I have learned better than most people that people on the internet are not, and never fucking will be, a good source of information. I don't care if they're your best fucking friend, the coin-toss of them knowing what they're talking about or actually having the facts is so heavily weighted against them, it's seriously like a 98% chance they have no fucking clue what they're talking about.

I urge everyone to take a moment and realize that the internet is, in fact, a good place to find information and do research, but PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET, especially MEDIA AND SOCIAL MEDIA, are NOT SMART PEOPLE AND ARE NOT GOOD SOURCES FOR YOUR INFORMATION.

These are angry, smug, annoying little idiots who are likely 14 years old with a 1st grade reading comprehension who aspires to be a TikTok content creator as a career, and under no fucking circumstance should you ever, ever, EVER listen to any social, financial, religious, gendered, medical or political advice they give.

The world has gotten vastly out of control with how much people think "A lot of people agree with me" is a good enough reason to solidify your opinions. "A lot of people agree" is the biggest red flag ever, because people on the fucking internet are complete fucking idiots, I'm sorry, but I'm someone with far more experience talking to people on the internet than literally any of you reading this. I talk to people on the internet as a career and have been doing this for longer than most of you reading this have been alive.

So what's the point of this? What's the take-away?

The take-away is that I'm saddened by how many people will attack each other vehemently, cut off friends and family members, label people as toxic or problematic, jump to conclusions, etc. based on complete and utter misinformation spouted to them by people who have never once in their entire life actually looked up what the fuck they're talking about. They treat random strangers on Twitter as "experts" because that person is well articulated or put together a YouTube video with really good editing that's softly spoken by a British accent guy and has scary music whenever some "evil" person is on the screen.

The take-away is that people, like yourself (don't you dare try to deny it) will just believe whatever they read on social media, or whatever their Discord friend-group is talking about, because they are living in a complete falsehood that people on the internet know better than they do.

You are not incapable of doing your own research. You are not incapable of finding the truth. You are not stupid. Just do your own research, look into things yourself, cross-reference, use the scientific method, go to a library, read books, for fuck sake please adopt the basic social skill of "If someone says it on the internet it is most likely not true and I should look into it myself."

Because the current state of people is monstrous.

Y'all get so fucking mad about things that are just plain not true, and you revolve your entire life around things you were told by complete idiots and/or children on Twitter and other social media websites.

Stop.

Look at yourself, look at how angry you get about things, and consider that there may be a possibility that anger stems from a complete lack of any foundation or truth in your own beliefs.

Consider the almost 100% guaranteed possibility that you have been blatantly lied to by people who have no fucking idea what they're talking about, and that you are violently upholding standards that are incorrect because you have placed trust in the word of untrustworthy people.

Look up confirmation bias, read about it.

Look up manipulation tactics, read about it.

Look up "Plato's Republic" and read about it.

Absolutely, under no circumstances, should you ever, EVER, form your social or religious or political or financial or gendered or sexual etc. opinions based on SHIT YOU READ ON SOCIAL MEDIA.

And while we're here, don't listen to the news either. They're just a bunch of parrots saying what needs to be said to get you all fighting with each other so that the government can fuck things up while you're distracted. Do your own research, check multiple sources, don't consider social media or regular media to be a 'source,' get every bit of information from every angle, and for fuck sake, stop attacking people for disagreeing with you when you, yourself, only believe what you believe because your friend group believes it and you know that if you disagree with your friend group they'll all attack you so you'd rather be on their side, which only further proves my point that y'all need to fucking chill.

"Democracy will never work. If 3 medical experts tell you that you must eat a ginger root to cure your ailments, but 100,000 idiots with no medical experience tell you otherwise, you're more likely to believe the 100,000 idiots. They are louder, there are more of them, and you will gamble on the hope that among those 100,000 idiots, there must be more than 3 medical experts. The voice of the ignorant will always drown out the voice of the educated."

-Plato's Republic, 375BCE (Paraphrased)

"I can't believe Jay just called us all idiots and expects us to listen to him"

-Someone in the comments of this (It's gonna happen)

PS: If you looked up "Naturally Blue Food," and found out it does in fact not exist, good for you for doing your own research!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Solitary Man: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: You're feeling more like yourself for the first time in forever. You're not going to let anything spoil your good mood.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Nancy's abduction hit the news pretty quickly. You just hope the unsub doesn't see it and dump Nancy's body out of fear. Penelope has been all over the HSK database and connected four more victims to the unsub. That brings his count to ten. If your team can figure out why he's choosing his victims, you'll find him easily.

After bringing Courtney to the police station, your team works on putting every victim's name and picture on the bulletin board. He started killing months before you thought he started. His first victim was a woman named Erika Joy from Lexington, South Carolina. She disappeared from a truck stop. According to her rap sheet, she did everyone she could for a living--a lot lizard. The other victims were waitresses, gas station employees, and even a female trucker. The only one who was married is Nancy even though she is recently a widow.

Nancy has been given the most amount of time in the news than the other women. She doesn't fit the unsub's MO. He had to have a reason for taking someone so far from the spectrum of the other victims.

"He had to have walked right by that minivan. Why didn't he take Courtney?" Emily asks.

"Maybe she's too young."

"She's closer to the victims' ages than her mother. That parking lot was deserted. He could have taken Courtney and nobody would have seen a thing. Instead, he walks past her."

"That's not who he wants. He watched Nancy. He followed her because he wanted her."

"So much so that he left Courtney as a witness? What could be that important?"

"You have your thinking face on," Derek says to you. "What's your theory?"

"What if he took Nancy because she is a mother? When I saw Tanya's body on the side of the road, she was in the fetal position. She looked like she was sleeping. That's exactly how a parent would care for their child. The other victims weren't mothers, Nancy is. Maybe this unsub is looking for someone to be a mother for a child, maybe his own?"

"It's a good theory. Tell that to Hotch."

You're about to when you notice Hotch and Rossi walk into the room.

"I heard," Hotch says. "It's good to have you back."

You can't help but smile at the small accomplishment.

"Nancy's been missing over twelve hours," JJ informs the team. "If he jumped on the I-40 before we got the police blocks out, he could be three states over by now."

"We don't think he has time for that. He's courting these women. He needs them in Edgewood."

"There are over eight hundred truckers on this list," Hotch sighs and looks at the list Penelope sent over. "We have to get Garcia to run background on all of them."

"Listen, I've already given you a list of all the trucker stops that we've checked in town," the sheriff says.

"We're gonna need to check them again."

Derek and Rossi head out to a truck stop to ask about truckers to try and narrow down the list, and they manage to get the manifest of the truckers who visited the stop. They come up with seventy-six truckers who are independent with Penelope's help. If this man is killing women and driving cross country with them, he has to be independent.

"Alright, so let's go over this again," Derek says after he and Rossi return. "This offender is preferential to young women mid to late twenties. He takes his time watching them. He makes sure there are no witnesses. He kills them twelve to twenty-four hours after abduction."

"Only now that timeframe's getting shorter."

"Then he comes home to Edgewood where he's home and he feels safe. There's no rape involved. So, is it the companionship he's after?"

"I really think he's looking for someone who will mother a child," you say. "Whether or not that's his own, I don't know."

"How do you figure?" JJ asks.

"Based on the way he positions the bodies once he dumps them. If he's not looking for a mom, he's definitely looking for a wife. He starts out with easy targets, then he moves on to women who could actually fill the role--sweet, outgoing, and warm."

"No, I think you're on the right track of it being a mother," Hotch says. "If he's got a kid of his own, that would explain what keeps him coming back to Edgewood. It would explain why he walks past Courtney to get to Nancy. Just by watching he knows she's a mother. She's already qualified to pass any test." He dials Penelope on the desk phone. "Garcia, I want you to narrow down the own authority trucker list and tell me which ones have been through a divorce or a custody battle recently."

"The custody fight would be a stressor. Limit your searches to months prior to the first murder," Rossi asks.

"Got it. Thanks."

"He might be sick. Maybe that's why he's trying so hard to find a mom for his child. He doesn't want her alone," you say.

"Cross-reference for men who have medical problems."

"Sure."

When the news of another body comes through, Courtney is in tears thinking it's her mother. After Rossi checks and confirms it's not Nancy, Courtney breaks down in tears this time, in relief. You're in the conference room with Hotch, Derek, and Spencer but looking at Courtney with Emily. You want to cry alongside Courtney not because you have unspoken trauma but because you feel and recognize her pain. The realization that you're not using her fear to fuel your own makes you want to cry. Are you finally free from prison?

"Hey, baby girl, talk to me," Derek says when Penelope calls.

"Of your seventy-six independent truckers, I have twenty-eight who are currently involved in custody cases."

"How many of those cases are still open?"

"Eight. Not the most relationship-friendly job, trucking."

"Look for instances where the mother died. A guy like this wouldn't tear a child away from his own mother."

"Okay, Caroline Hatchett died in a house fire, leaving behind seven-year-old daughter Jody and husband Wade Hatchett. Wade lost his home, his wife, and custody of his daughter when the courts deemed him unfit. He's still contesting the case."

"Why was he deemed unfit?" you ask.

"Double whammy... His job kept him away for weeks at a time, and he didn't have any other family to help him watch his daughter. It looks like he bent over backward trying to make it work, but she missed a lot of school, and he was charged with neglect of a minor."

"Do you have an address?"

"There is none. He's had a PO box for over a year."

"What about the daughter?"

"Jody currently resides in foster care. I'm sending you the file now."

Wade didn't bother posing the most recent victim and it was more brutal than the other ones which means it's more personal. Her name is Lynn Clemons, the foster mother of Jody Hatchett. She's in the process of being adopted so he must have run out of time if he killed her foster parent.

If you're going to get Wade, you have to get to Jody before he does. Your team heads over there just as she gets home from school.

"Hey, Jody," you smile.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Y/N."

"Where's Mrs. Clemons?"

"I'll tell you inside, okay? Come on." You bring her inside where the rest of your team is waiting for her. "It's okay, we're here to help."

"What's going on?"

"We're helping the police, and we're trying to find your dad. Do you know where he is?"

"No."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you walk to the window facing the front yard. You pull back the curtain and see a semi-truck parked across the street. Nancy is sitting behind the wheel with a terrified look on her face. You can see a gun poking out from the sleeper which is why she's so terrified.

"He's here," you say and look at Hotch. Emily makes an excuse that she's thirsty so Jody takes her to the kitchen to grab something to drink. "Hotch, I think it's a good idea to let Jody talk to him. She might be able to get him to release Nancy without hurting her. We can tap into the CB radio. They all use the same channel."

Hotch agrees and sets up the entire line of communication. You bring Jody to the couch so she can talk to her dad using the radio. You don't want her to see him just yet.

"Here you go, sweetheart." You hand her the handheld radio. Your dad's out there. Listen, we need you to get your dad to let that woman go. Do you understand?"

"Yeah." She puts the radio to her mouth. "Daddy? Daddy, are you there?"

His head pops out from behind the dark curtain and looks at the house.

"Hi, baby."

"You need to tell me the rest of the story."

"Well, the lonely king and the queen are at the castle."

He's talking about himself and Nancy. Maybe he was lonely this entire time.

"To pick up the princess?" she smiles.

Herself.

"Well, the guards are in the way."

You and your team are the guards.

"Will you let the queen talk to them?"

"They won't listen."

"I want to see her. Will you let her go so she can hold me? You said that she's perfect, that she's the one. She wants to live in the big castle with me."

"I need to see you."

Hotch nods to you so you bring Jody to the window. Derek opens the curtains so he can see his daughter.

"Hi, Daddy!" she smiles and looks at Nancy.

"Hi, princess."

"She's so pretty, Daddy!" Wade knows there is no getting out of this and he isn't about to make a scene in front of his daughter. He says something to Nancy and she wretches the front door open. She runs out of the truck and toward the house. Derek meets her outside and brings her inside so she's away from Wade and his gun. "Now the king won't be lonely anymore."

"No, and they're gonna live happily ever after."

"Why aren't you coming, too, Daddy?"

"You did a great job, Jody," you whisper to her.

"Are you going to the better place?"

"What?" Your eyes widen.

"Yeah. We're both going to a better place, princess. Close your little eyes, sweet pea."

Derek runs out of the house toward the semi knowing what Wade is going to do to himself. You grab Jody and immediately turn her into you so she doesn't see her dad shooting himself. Derek doesn't make it and Wade is dead. Nancy is going to be okay and that's the most important thing even though it breaks your heart a bit to know that Jody won't have her father anymore.

Once you're back in Virginia, your parents agreed to come down and hang with you, JJ, Emily, and Penelope. JJ couldn't get a babysitter so she brought Henry with her. None of the girls are able to stay long but you wanted them to meet your parents, at least.

"Thanks for coming with me. I know you can't stay long but I wanted you to meet my parents. I hope you like them. Spencer doesn't. It's why he's not here. That and my dad seems to hate him."

"I'm sure they're wonderful," JJ smiles.

"Y/N!"

You turn to your parents who are outside the restaurant they reserved. The girls won't be joining you but you'd love to have dinner with your parents. Penelope and Emily stiffen up when they see your dad. You feel their hesitation from behind you which is weird because everyone loves your parents. Spencer would if your dad treated him right.

"Dad! Mom! I'd like you to meet some of my friends. JJ, Emily, and Penelope, I'd like you to meet my parents Joey and Julie."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," JJ says with a tight-lipped smile.

Your mom leans closer to JJ and sees her son looking up at her with curious eyes. She coos and leans in even closer, causing JJ to shuffle backward uncomfortably.

"Oh, is he your son?" your mom gasps.

"Yeah, his name is Henry. My boyfriend is at work and couldn't watch him."

You're not sure why but you're getting waves of uncomfortableness and uneasiness.

"May I hold him?" she asks.

"You know what, it's past his bedtime. I should get going. It was nice to meet you," JJ chuckles.

That was a fake chuckle and you frown at her.

"Yeah, you know what, I have to go. I promised Emily I'd help her with her dating profile."

That was a lie. What is going on? You're not going to put them on the spot by calling them out. You'll talk to them tomorrow about it.

"Oh, okay. It's nice to meet you, all," your dad smiles.

All three girls part from the group leaving you alone with your parents. Your dad slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to him. He kisses the top of your head affectionately with a smile.

"I'm glad you're here with us."

If he's so glad, why do you feel anger coming off him in waves?

"The family is a haven in a heartless world." - Christopher Lasch

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[pikapitou]

murk!!! TRICK or TREAT!!!!! 🙀😈🤡💀

happy halloweennnnn!!! here's MY 600 words of presumed deaddie I won't finish

While Eddie is missing, Buck makes breakfast. Lunch. Dinner, too. Three meals a day, with occasional baking before he ran through the bag of flour and the freezer couldn't hold any more cookies. Between tasks his thoughts skip. Work, laundry, dinner, work. He doesn't remember anything from the gaps. Sometimes he considers, distant like it's coming from another room—is this normal? Then he has to go wash the dishes by hand, because loading the dishwasher doesn't take long enough.

The only time his thoughts run continuously is when he's with Chris. Driving him to school or having dinner or watching something before bed. Those times Buck holds onto every detail. He sits fully inside of his aching body with wet eyes and tries to—he just tries really hard. People keep telling him without telling him—you're not doing this right. You have to prepare him. Buck—can't do that, so he made Chris therapy appointments. When they drove to the first one Chris crossed his arms and refused to leave the passenger seat. They sat in the parking lot for ten minutes before Buck gave in or gave up and took them to In & Out instead.

This isn't like after the shooting, where Eddie was in a real physical room that you could visit, have face-times in, imagine in clear, crisp detail. Half of Buck had been in that hospital room. Buck could say: your dad is sleeping. Your dad is okay. Eddie's okay right now, because of course he's okay, they just... don't know where he is. So half of Buck is—floating, un-anchored. Somewhere. And all Buck can say is, we have to be patient and trust him, okay? while Chris stares at him like he's thinking something Buck really doesn't want him to say.

Bobby's in Eddie's kitchen. Buck doesn't remember letting him in, but he's here. Last time he was here was after Buck called him, vaguely explaining that Eddie was struggling, that his friends from the army were dead. There was a reason for Bobby to be there, then. There's not a reason for him to be here now, because Eddie is okay.

"How are you holding up?" Bobby asks, carefully neutral expression on his face.

"It's hard," Buck says, because people react better to that than I'm fine. They react a whole lot better than they do to Why are you asking me that? Why aren't you looking for Eddie? Why aren't you letting me look for Eddie?

"Have you..." Bobby lifts his mug of tea then puts it back down. Did he get that himself? Did Buck make it for him? Buck blinks at it until he hears his name, "Buck. Have you called Eddie's parents?"

Buck stares at him.

"They haven't found him," Buck says. "They haven't found him yet, so why do I have to call them?"

"They deserve to know, Buck."

"Why? They don't care about him. They just want Chris."

An expression crosses over Bobby's face—pained and uncomfortable and very, very sorry. Everyone looks at him like that lately. "Having family around could be good for Chris."

Buck doesn't understand. Abuela is here. Pepa is here. Buck is—it dawns on him: Bobby doesn't know. Nobody knows. Buck isn't even sure if Chris knows. And that's fine, because nobody was supposed to know, because the only time it matters is if Eddie were—which he's not.

So it doesn't matter what Bobby thinks.

A knock on the door again. Buck doesn't know how much time has passed. He did a shift, so it has to be at least twenty-four hours. A flight from El Paso to LA takes two. Eddie's parents are standing on the doorstep.