#she encourages him to choose something he likes. for himself

[thbbie]

༄ choso x f!reader

choso goes feral when hes eating you out.

a certified munch if you've ever seen one.

he's eager, it's so cute.

but choso can't help himself. not when he sees you spread out for him, not when he gets a whiff of you through your panties, not when he sees you smiling down at, not when you tug at his hair, not when you call out his name, not when -

but you've been working, for hours. tied to your desk with all that you had to get done and poor choso just wanted attention, to spend time with you, in you, to taste you, to hold you. but no. you wouldn't let him, brushing away his advances because you have other 'more important' things to get done.

he understands that he's a curse, but it can be so frustrating when his pretty (human) girlfriend gets so caught up in well, being a human. fulfilling the responsibilities you have in your human life and working to provide for your human self (and cutie pie curse boyfriend)

it isn't all bad, he loves taking care of you when you get home after a long day, he's so attentive and he knows you like that. what he cannot stand the most is when his poor darling has to work so hard while away from him and still have to work at home when she should be spending time with him.

it isn't a matter of selfishness. it's purely concern for you

and so he sets his plan in motion.

at first, he'd tried to coax you away from your desk and into bed, you could bring your computer! he just wants to be somewhere more comfortable, maybe the couch? but you quick shut him down, knowing yourself (and your loved) too well,

"no cho, i won't get anything done. we can cuddle and watch that show you started for as long as you'd like after."

plan a, resulted in failure. choso? he remains unfazed and entirely determined.

though also, at a complete loss.

so instead of sitting around twiddling his thumbs or plotting another plan doomed for failure he'll instead choose to sit on the floor next to you, resting his head in your lap. you give him a once over with a suspicious look in your eye, your tone warning, "choso."

"i know, i know" he says sadly, eyes down cast and fiddling with the material of your shorts, "your busy, i'll wait for you but i just wanna be near you baby. is that okay?"

his dark eyes look up at you sadly, so sincerely, oh how could you say no to something so sweet. you'll allow it.

you type away at your computer, stopping when your reading something l, revising your notes, every once in a while your hands would come down to card through his dark hair, stretching at his scalp while he purrs in your lap, fingers pausing their fidgeting. his hands dig into your soft thighs at the feeling of your nails on his skin, the action remains the same though the circumstances are different; the effect remains unchanged as well.

an uncomfortable stir in his pants, they get tighter and tighter as does the grip he has on your thigh, lost in his own world up until you yelp out at the pain of his grip. and oh as guilty as he feels for hurting you, that only encourages him. you sound so pretty, he needs more.

"mm sorry baby." he says when you shot him a glare, releasing your thigh from his strong grip, faint red marks left behind. he soothes them by running his hand over the skin gently, missing the feeling of your hand in his hair, of you in his mouth-

he peaks up at you again, almost shyly as if there isn't filth running rampant in his mind. his nimble fingers moving to play with them hem of your shorts, checking to see if you'll notice. when you don't, he slips them beneath the soft fabric, feeling the smooth expanse of your delicate skin.

choso moves from sitting next to you to sit between your thighs, shuffling around trying to get comfortable in the small space. his face is so close to your core under the cramped space of your desk, he can smell you. the dewy wetness of your prefect pussy. how long have you been keeping it from him?

he inches closer and closer to you, nose pressed against your core, obscured only by the thin layers of you panties and shorts. are you even wearing panties? his nose presses deeper into your softness trying to figure it out for himself. his conclusion? you were not.

what a teasing thing you are.

wet and sitting pretty without any panties .

choso clicks his tongue.

he pulls away, just barely, as he shifts around from between your legs, repositioning himself to get comfortable when suddenly he's yanked back by your hands in his hair. the hold you have on him is tight, stinging. just the way he likes it.

he'd almost forgotten the rest of you was there, so entranced by your cunt; the only part of his busy girl that would give him a lick of attention.

he speaks something against you but you don't hear it, muffled by your shorts and core. "mhmhhjm~" his words muffled by you as your thighs come over his shoulders, effectively caging him in .

choso knows what you want, and for a brief moment he contemplates punishing you, but ultimately decides against it. he's hungry, your punishment can wait. choso isn't selfish about anything in the world but your cunt.

he licks a broad strip, your wetness doing well in soaking through the flimsy shorts, but he spits on the mess before diving in, just for good measure.

he takes on of your hands in his own, holding you to keep himself grounded, to let you know he loves you. his other one busy gripping and groping your flesh, all that he can get his hands on. your just too pretty. they run over your belly and your thighs, your hips and your breasts, your arms and your calves. all of you.

he's everywhere. everywhere but directly where you need him.

he licked and prodded at your hole through the thin drenched fabric, easily finding you clit despite the dividing barrier and he sucks at it fervently.

"cho.. hah cho, please, i-i , mmm oh~ ineed, i need you baby."

your just so good. you taste so good. you feel so good. he feels light headed. you lean back in your chair to get a look at him, and oh the view. it's one you want tattooed and burned in your mind.

his thin brows pulled together desperately, nose deep in you with his eyes glossy and watching your body as it convulses and twitches from pleasure. smooth pale cheeks flushed red, his ears and neck too. he looks like he's the one being eaten.

when he catches your gaze he pulls away for a moment, revealing the bottom half of his face. completely slicked in you. covered in your essence, doing his best to lick it all, not wanting a single drop to waste away. you think you could cum at the sight.

over come with the need, choso pushes your chair out, so he can slip through and kiss you. it's messy an lewd and you can taste yourself on him. both of you panting into each others mouths, you own face not streaked with the mess he has on his.

choso grinds into you while he's away from four pussy, his hands at the side of your face and eyes closing desperately in the kiss. he holds you so tenderly, all his love and need spilling into it. from his eyes too. choso cries, into the kiss, warm salty tears slipping from his check and landing on yours.

he breaks the kiss, stilling his hips and just holds you for a moment; looking deep into your eyes. it's a lot, it's vulnerable and raw and that's choso. still panting, unable to catch his breathe, chasing it is fruitless so he says what he needs to without it, "i-i, hah h, i love you. i love you [name]. you're, hh~ the only thing i could ever, hahh, love."

he plants a small peck to your lips, short and innocent, because in the midst of you ravenous need for one another, in the midst of all the lust and longing for you, he still loves you sweet and tender. he holds your dazed gaze for a moment, as if to ensure his words have reached your feverish blissed out brain, and without another word, without waiting for your response, he dips back under your desk to breathe you in like it's the only air he wants to breathe. to lick and suck away at you through your shorts like it's the only drink he ever wants.

choso is insatiable when it comes to you,

successfuly bring you to that sweet high more times than you can count, ripping one after the other from you. sweet cries of his name spill form you like a fountain as he makes love to your pussy. he gives you breaks when your voice starts to break, kissing around the tender covered flesh, the delicate skin that peaks out of your shorts, teasing him, leaving behind markings of teeth and tongue.

and choso is in love with you, his hand never letting go of your own, intertwined together so deeply. but it's not only your hands or your bodies, his heart and his soul are tied to you. his mind and all that makes him himself. it is yours.

[missarchive]

ok ok ok!! what about spencer getting head from reader for the first time, and it's her first time doing it, so she's nervous and he teaches her and he has to try sooo hard not to cum immediately because he is just GONE for the innocence with which she does it/tries things out 🤭 you choose what season spence!!

Decided to do one more for tonight!! (I’m feeling generous)

thank you for the request!! im always writing munch!spencer but it's nice to write things the other way round for once

cw; +18 minors dni, inexperienced!reader, tiny bit of dom!spencer if you squint, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing

When you first kneel before him, his breath catches in his throat, and he’s certain he might lose himself right then and there. The sight of you—so eager, so nervous—renders him utterly helpless. Your hands reach for his belt with a mixture of determination and trepidation, your cheeks flushed a rosy hue that makes you look impossibly innocent yet utterly intoxicating. His jaw slackens as he watches you, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.

Your wide eyes flicker up to meet his, glinting with excitement and a touch of uncertainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it’s unfolding, every muscle in his body tenses, locked in an unbearable anticipation.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, the clumsy motions endearing rather than frustrating. He doesn’t mind the delay; in fact, it only heightens his awareness of you—of how genuine, how completely you this moment is. He knows this is your first time. Not just with him, but ever. You’d told him, shyly, how you’d researched, how you’d prepared for this, even asking friends for advice. Still, the vulnerability of trying it now, with him, makes his chest tighten.

His hands find their way to your hair, almost of their own volition. The silky strands slip through his fingers like water, grounding him. You haven’t protested, haven’t pulled back, and the faint smile on your lips reassures him that you’re okay with this—more than okay. You glance up at him again, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and the sight makes his heart stutter.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough with emotion. He needs you to be comfortable, to know that he’ll stop the moment you ask.

You pause, your hands stilling, and you smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips that speaks volumes. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Finally, you manage to undo his pants, your small hand brushing against his erection as you pull down the zipper. He groans at the brief contact, the sound guttural and raw. When your fingers wrap hesitantly around him, his breath hitches, and he can’t stop the way his hips shift forward, seeking more of your touch.

“God,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Your touch is tentative, exploratory, and it sends jolts of pleasure straight to his core.

You look up at him, startled by the intensity of his reaction. “Is that... okay?” you ask, your voice laced with innocence and curiosity.

“It’s more than okay,” he rasps, his hands moving to your shoulders, needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. “You’re perfect.”

Encouraged, you start to stroke him, your hand sliding up and down his shaft in slow, deliberate movements. He watches you, his gaze locked on the way your small hand moves over him. The sight alone is almost too much.

When your tongue darts out to wet your lips, he groans deeply, his head falling back for a moment as he imagines that mouth on him. The vividness of the fantasy sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through him.

“Baby,” he says, his voice strained, “I’m not going to last much longer like this.”

Your eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. He chuckles softly despite himself, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he confesses, his voice heavy with sincerity.

“I just... I’ve never done this before,” you admit shyly, your cheeks flushing deeper. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he assures you, his hands moving to cradle your face. The warmth of your skin beneath his palms soothes and excites him all at once. “Can I show you?”

You nod, your expression curious, and he takes a steadying breath, his restraint hanging by a thread. Gently, he guides your hand away, needing a moment to compose himself before he completely unravels.

“Like this?” you ask, your voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. The innocent question makes his chest tighten with affection and desire.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Just like that. Only with your mouth.”

His hand moves to the back of your head, not to push or force but to guide. He’s desperate for this but careful, wanting you to feel safe, to enjoy it as much as he knows he will.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding.

When your lips part and touch the tip of his cock, he shudders violently, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds him, and it’s so much better than he ever imagined.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his head falling back as you take him deeper, your tongue flicking against him experimentally. His hands clutch the sheets, desperate for something to hold as his hips jerk involuntarily.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “You’re incredible.”

Bolstered by his praise, you take him in again, this time with more confidence. Your mouth moves over him slowly, tentatively, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.

“God,” he groans, his voice ragged. “I’m going to come.”

His hand returns to your hair, fingers threading through it as he fights the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth. He doesn’t want to push too far, to take too much.

When he finally lets go, the release is overwhelming, a rush of pleasure so intense it leaves him trembling. You stay with him through it, warm spurts of cum painting the back of your throat.

As you pull back, you wipe your mouth with a shy smile, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his heart still racing as he holds you close.

“Was it... good?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“It was amazing,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You were amazing.”

Your giggle lights up the room, and his chest swells with affection. “I thought I did it wrong at first,” you admit, laughing softly.

“You were perfect,” he assures you, kissing you again. “Better than I ever imagined.”

[mononijikayu]

good old–fashioned lover boy — fushiguro megumi.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious. He sighed, bracing himself. “What?” “I like you.” His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of feminine pronouns, post-shinjuku showdown, post-hidden inventory arc, aged up fushiguro megumi, fluff, friends to lovers, romance, romantic relationship, pet names (babe, megs, kiddo, cactus, etc), humor, teasing, light-hearted, healthy relationship, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, living together, friendship, family, anxiety, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of self-doubt, sorcerer! megumi, gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: this went through so much adding, removing and editing cause i kept adding so much and i didn't want this to be something that was too long, considering i want people to not be impatient with me too,,,,,in any case, megumi beat his dad in the last poll season for valentines special which is funny but no worries, toji will appear in the 2.5k follower special!!! in any case, i hope you enjoy this, even a little bit. i love you all so much!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

buono san valentino, 2025;

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HE NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD EVER GET TO THIS POINT. Even when he was young, he wondered what love really looked like. At least of what he could remember of it, he knows. He wasn’t an expert on love, per se.

But he had seen and experienced so many versions of it, each one different from the last, all passing through his rather short life one after the other. 

Some of it was truly a memory that would be worth forgetting, too messy and too complicated, tangled up in unspoken words and distance, yet still undeniably present. Others felt like they belonged to live forever, with its genuine warmth and its eager simplicity, yet always just out of reach. 

When he thinks about both of them, it feels like sunlight slipping through his fingers, like a home he could see but never fully step into. It was hard to express these feelings sometimes, because at times he doesn’t know if any words can encapsulate such overabundance and its extremes. He thinks about it often, how love can take on so many forms. 

How it can be obnoxiously proud and boisterously loud,like Gojo Satoru’s laughter echoing through any room when they’re together, or dazzlingly silent and resiliently tender, like the way his sister Tsumiki used to squeeze his hand just to let him know she was there when his father left.

Love can look a lot like sacrifice, like choosing someone else over yourself. It was just that way to him when you love someone. It can be fleeting, burning bright and disappearing before you ever get the chance to hold onto it.

And just as much, love has many colors, many words, many textures. It can be the rough scrape of bandages being wrapped around bruised knuckles, or the soft hush of a whispered be careful. 

It can be the weight of someone's winter coat draped over his shoulders when he didn’t even realize he was cold. It can be the exhaustion in someone’s voice when they say I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me—even when they clearly aren’t, even when they want to say it out loud.

For a long time, Fushiguro Megumi thought love was something you had to earn. He always thought that it was something you had to be worthy of in order to gain. That if you weren’t good enough, strong enough, or needed enough, it would slip away, leaving nothing but empty space where it once existed.

For as long as he could remember, Megumi carried a gnawing doubt within him. He couldn’t help it. There was a certainty in his soul that love was something distant, always out of reach.

No matter how much he was reminded he mattered, that doubt lingered like a shadow at the edges of his heart. He didn’t know where it came from exactly, only that it had burrowed deep inside, whispering that he was undeserving.

At times, he wondered if love was something some people were simply never born to have. Maybe it was a gift reserved for those with a past worth cherishing or a future worth hoping for.

He had neither. He didn’t even know how he had come into this world or who he was meant to be. How could someone who didn’t know themselves be worthy of love?

But then in his doubt, came the truth and that was named you.

You who was like the meteorite that crashed on his Earth.

You who was the universe he found himself alive for the first time.

And suddenly, the thought of love, the very word, feels like something else entirely. The word somehow finally made sense. Something he doesn’t have to chase or fight for.

Something that stays. Something that holds his hand and meets him where he is, rather than waiting for him to catch up. And more than ever, his heart felt full of warmth in the spring of love.

Fushiguro Megumi never expected to find love’s truth, not like this. And certainly not with someone like you. The two of you were just too different, especially when you were children. He didn’t understand why Gojo Satoru thought that it would be a good idea for you both to meet. 

He was all quiet brooding and thoughtful stares, while you were a storm of energy and laughter, moving through life like gravity itself. Megumi could easily remember the first time Gojo Satoru introduced you both when you were children.

You were Gojo’s little niece, his only one and since he and Tsumiki were the only kids around your age, he thought it would be wise for you to meet them, especially Megumi.

But what was premonition on Gojo Satoru’s part was that the two were destined to be best friends. Though back then, he looked at him with a weird look that could only be akin to a cat’s soured frown.

What was Gojo about? Megumi couldn’t help thinking. And why does he keep talking about it with a grin on his face? I don’t even know the kid.

"You'll love her, Megumi!" Gojo grinned, ruffling his dark hair with an obnoxiously affectionate hand. "She's just like me—minus the blindingly handsome part."

Megumi scowled, swatting Gojo's hand away. "That sounds like a nightmare."

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "A nightmare? Me? You wound me, kid."

"Good." Megumi muttered.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. "Seriously though, she's great. Full of energy, adventurous, charming—"

"Loud." Megumi deadpanned.

"You're not wrong, kid." Gojo admitted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But that just means she’ll bring some excitement into your broody little life. Trust me, it'll be fun!"

"Your definition of fun is questionable." Megumi muttered.

Before he could come up with a decent excuse to escape this impending chaos, Gojo Satoru stops at one of the massive wooden buildings around the gardens. Fushiguro Megumi could not mentally prepare as you came barreling around the corner, waving enthusiastically towards the,.

"Uncle Satoru!" you shouted gleefully, sprinting toward them.

"There's my favorite niece!" Gojo grinned, catching you in a playful spin before setting you down. 

You giggled. “But I’m your only niece!”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, sweets.” He ruffles your hair too, eliciting another giggle from you. "Hey, sweets, I came with a visitor. This is Megumi. He's about your age, and I'm officially declaring you two best friends starting now."

"Best friends?" you tilted your head, scrutinizing Megumi like he was some science experiment. "He looks grumpy, uncle Satoru."

Megumi crossed his arms, his expression flat. "And you look annoying."

Your face scrunched into an exaggerated pout. "And you look like a cactus."

Gojo, who had been sipping from a juice box like some oversized child, promptly choked and burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I love this already. Besties immediately!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You two are gonna be perfect together."

Megumi's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"Cactus vibes." you said confidently, tapping your chin. "Tall, spiky, and grumpy."

"I am not grumpy." he protested, though his tone only made your point stronger.

"And yet here we are, cactus!" you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Gojo cackled, slinging an arm around Megumi's shoulders. "You are kinda cactus-y, kid. But hey, she’s got the sunshine to balance you out. You might even grow a flower or something."

Megumi sighed in defeat. "I don’t need metaphors from you of all people."

"Don’t worry, cactus boy." you grinned, poking his arm. "I like a challenge."

"Great." Megumi muttered under his breath. "Now I’m stuck with a loud weirdo and a lunatic white haired old guy."

Gojo clapped his hands together triumphantly. "See? This is friendship in the making."

Megumi glared at both of you, but Gojo’s laughter and your bright smile made it hard to hold on to the scowl. Maybe Gojo wasn’t entirely wrong—though he wasn’t about to admit that anytime soon. Not just yet. He wasn’t one to give in just because there was space for it. 

Megumi sighed, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Disaster?" you grinned wickedly. "Sounds fun!"

Gojo clapped his hands together, beaming. "See? Told ya you'd love her."

Megumi grimaced. "I'm already doubting that."

From the start of you two starting to play together, you easily grated his nerves. He hated how loud you were, hated how you always seemed to find trouble at every turn, and somehow, at every sudden thought you had, you easily managed to drag him into it too.

And that was perhaps the most infuriating part: he hated how effortlessly you pulled him into your orbit. But the truth was, he never really hated you at all. He liked you, genuinely and deeply, in a way that bewildered him. He just didn’t understand it back then.

"Come on, Megumi! Don’t be boring!" you'd whine, tugging insistently on his arm as a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Help me put these fart pillows on their chairs!"

Megumi stared at you, deadpan. "You're going to get us both in trouble."

You waved off his concern like it was a pesky fly. "Trouble? Nah. It'll be hilarious. Just picture it with a very vivid imagination. The Gojo elders, all serious and proper, sitting down to a pfft! symphony. Priceless!"

"I like being boring." he grumbled, firmly rooted in place even as his feet betrayed him by inching forward.

"No, you pretend to like being boring, Megs." you shot back confidently, dragging him along despite his weak protests. "Deep down, you’re just waiting for me to show you how fun life can be."

Megumi sighed heavily. "You have an overactive imagination."

"And you have underdeveloped prank skills." you retorted with a grin, tossing him one of the cushions. "Come on, you're already in this. May as well go all in."

He stared at the cushion in his hand, weighing the likelihood of Gojo elders delivering a stern lecture versus the small, treacherous part of him that was curious about their reactions.

"Fine." he muttered, resigning himself to chaos. "But if we get caught, this was your idea."

"Deal!" you grinned triumphantly. "Now, put that under the grumpiest elder's seat. It'll be poetic."

Megumi couldn't suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he followed your lead. Chaos was inevitable, but with you, it was never boring—and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much.

“You’re always scowling, do you notice?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t actually hate me, y'know.”

Megumi rolled his green-blue eyes. “That’s debatable.”

“Oh please, you’re basically glued to me at this point.”

“You glue yourself to me.” he countered, lips twitching despite himself.

“Admit it, Megs!" you grinned. "You like me.”

He sighed, long and exaggerated, like he was being asked to move a mountain rather than admit his feelings. "Maybe." he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible.

But it was enough for you. Your entire face lit up, your grin brighter than Gojo's sunglasses on a summer day. "Is that a maybe from Megumi? I'll take it!"

He groaned inwardly, already regretting his choice of words. 

But the warmth spreading through his chest betrayed him. 

Perhaps, the truth is that there was no maybe about it.

And over time, as the days blurred into years and you remained firmly by his side, continuing to drag him into your schemes when he came around the Gojo manor, making him laugh when he least expected it, and somehow softening his rough edges. He would have figured it out. There were more words for you than just like.

It hit him one afternoon during a clan gathering. The elders were droning on about something he wasn't paying attention to, but his green-blue orbs were somehow trained on you, standing across the garden path, animated as always. 

Then he showed up.

That stupid clan boy with a perfectly styled ponytail and a smug look that Megumi immediately decided he hated.

Megumi's eyes harshly narrowed as the boy leaned in, all charming confidence, and reached for your delicate hand. He watched as your fingers slid easily into the boy's, and something inside him snapped. Something he never expected to be inside him whatsoever.

"Nope." Megumi muttered under his breath, already stalking across the garden before he could think better of it.

You blinked in surprise as Fushiguro Megumi suddenly appeared beside you, his strong hand suddenly and possessively wrapping around your own hand, pulling it free from his new enemy, the Ponytail Boy's grip. 

"Hey, I was talking to her, you punk." Ponytail Boy protested.

"She's busy." Megumi said flatly, not even sparing the guy a glance.

"I am?" you blinked up at him, amused.

"Yeah. With me."

You bit back a laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as you squeezed his hand. "Well, when you put it like that..."

As Ponytail Boy slunk away, clearly outmatched by Megumi's sheer intensity, you grinned up at him. "Jealous much?"

"No." he said far too quickly, his ears turning an undeniable shade of pink.

You beamed. "Adorable."

"You're imagining things." he grumbled, but his grip on your hand remained firm.

And in that moment, without needing to say a word, you both knew: there was never a maybe. Not for him, not when it came to you.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, 2017.

This was a day that was already testing Fushiguro Megumi’s patience with all the pink balloons, heart-shaped everything, and couples everywhere. It was hard enough that he felt these possibly one–sided feelings for you. But now he had to be confronted with the idea of love once again. And he hated it. He hated it too much.

The only reason he’s bearing with all of it was that you had urged him to meet up because you wanted ice–cream. And for the first time in a long time, you were allowed to leave the confines of Gojo Manor, to visit your uncle in Tokyo. And by extension, hang out with him.

The two of you sat on a park bench, quietly enjoying your cones under the peak of the beam of the persistent sun. Well, he was trying to enjoy his, but you kept sneaking bites from him despite having your own. And he could not for the life of him stop taking glances at you with these eyes of his.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious.

He sighed, bracing himself. “What?”

“I like you.”

His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

“I said.” you grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction, “I like you. Like like-like you.”

Megumi blinked, as though processing your words required advanced calculus. “Is this... is this because it’s Valentine’s Day? Like some weird theme confession? Is this some stupid prank from you?”

You laughed. “No, dummy. I just thought today was as good a day as any to tell you."

He stared at you, his heart doing some chaotic drum solo against his ribs. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you teased, leaning closer. “That’s it? Just oh?”

Megumi huffed, looking away as if the pigeons nearby were suddenly fascinating. “I... I guess I like you too.”

You gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh, was that a confession? Did Megumi Fushiguro just confess his feelings, romantically?”

“Stop making it weird, you dummy.” he grumbled, ears turning bright red.

“Too late!” you beamed, nudging his arm. “We’re totally counting that as your confession. Mark it in the history books: Valentine’s Day, 2017, Megumi Fushiguro admitted he likes me!”

He groaned. “I should’ve dropped my ice cream and run when I had the chance.”

“But you didn’t.” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

“No." he muttered, hiding a small, reluctant smile. "I didn’t."

And so began Fushiguro Megumi’s unexpected, often confusing, and undeniably heartfelt adventure to understand love.

Love, as it turned out, wasn’t some abstract ideal or distant fairy tale — it was you, standing right in front of him, messy and beautiful in all your chaotic brilliance. Love was shaped by you, and to him, that made it the most perfect thing he could ever hope for.

But he had to be honest: it wasn’t easy. And it will never be easy.

He struggled with it more than he cared to admit. Love wasn’t just about keeping you safe, though his protective instincts always flared when you tripped into trouble. It wasn’t just quiet affection either, where he'd stand in the background making sure you had space to shine. Love wasn’t just comfort found in familiar silences, though he cherished those too.

No, love was new.

Love was terrifying.

Love demanded vulnerability and bravery in ways that battles never did. Because of this love, his heart would stutter when you smiled at him, catching him off guard like a punch he never saw coming.

It made his chest ache in a strange, bittersweet way when you were upset — as though he carried your burdens alongside his own. It made him want to try, even when his instincts told him to retreat into silence.It made him want to be someone worthy of that love, someone who would stay, despite the part of him that feared he never could.

It’s in the little things, the moments that are easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention. But when you do, when you really see him, it’s impossible to miss the depth of his love. And you tell him each time, you adore it. Everything about it was perfect.

It’s the way he loves you in the quietest and yet loudest way all at once so beautifully. It’s in the way he waits for you after class, leaning casually against a wall, trying to look indifferent, but you know—you always know—he’s been there for much longer than he lets on. 

It’s the way he keeps track of your favorite snacks, the ones you forget to buy when you’re too busy with school, work, or whatever else life throws at you. And when you’re rushing out the door, he slips them into your bag with a quiet, almost invisible smile. No words, just a simple gesture of care that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s in the way he insists on walking on the side of the road closest to the street, always positioning himself between you and the traffic like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours, ever so lightly, but there’s a promise there—a silent vow of protection, of never letting anything bad happen to you if he can help it.

It’s in the way he takes off his uniform coat on a chilly evening when he visits you and presses it against your own body, his eternal warmth enveloping you like a shield against the winter cold. The way his hands linger just a little longer than necessary, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

And it’s not just in the little things. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet way he listens when you talk about everything that’s on your mind, even the things you think are too insignificant to mention.

You could ramble on for minutes, spilling out thoughts, worries, and stories, and he’ll just stand there, eyes blossoming with affection, his attention never wavering. 

He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. He just listens to you. Just truly listens to you, as though he truly wants to understand you, to carry your thoughts for you if he can. To make sure that he holds your thoughts as closely as you do his.

It’s in the rare moments when he’s vulnerable, those quiet admissions that sneak out when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The way his gaze softens when he talks about his past, about how he’s learned to trust you.

It’s in the way his hand finds yours when you least expect it. Sometimes just a brush of fingers, other times a firm grip that says I’m here, no questions asked.

And there’s the way he tries to make you smile when he knows you’ve had a bad day. He doesn’t have to try hard, because you know the secret behind his subtle humor, his dry wit. Just a look from him can turn the world back to normal, like the simple fact that you’re together is enough to make everything right again.

And in those little moments, your heart beats faster—over and over again.

Somehow, each moment, each time was louder with love than the last.

It was easy to see how much he loved you and only you.

Of course, Fushiguro Megumi isn’t great with words, you know that much. He’s told you from the very beginning. But he’s never needed to say much, because he always shows you. Actions meant more to you.

So, he makes sure, without fail, to let you feel his devotion, every single time. Even when his words falter or he stumbles on his feelings, that doesn’t matter much to you. 

The way he loves you is almost a quiet rebellion against everything he's known about himself, about what he knows love, that was enough to turn the world upside down. Fushiguro Megumi’s never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and even with you, it causes him a lot of grief. 

Fushiguro Megumi adores you, much more than he could ever hope. And just as much, he feels like he fails at it. At least that’s how he feels about it. He thinks he just can’t help it.

He can’t help but feel like his actions are not enough, that his sleeve isn’t wearing your heart close to him. It’s like he’s falling short of being someone worthy of you, when you do so much for him.

Sometimes, it feels like no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. It frustrates him, gnaws at him late at night when he stares at the ceiling, wondering if he loves you enough, if he shows it enough.

Because you make it look so easy. You laugh when you’re happy, you say I love you so freely, and you never hesitate to pull him into a hug, or press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He wants to be more proactive, just like you. He wants to be as good as you when it comes to love. But he’s stiff. Awkward. Someone who is a little too rough around the edges, perhaps even more than that.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you, he does, so much it terrifies him. Yet he struggles with what words to use or would those words be enough.It had been years. 

"You know…." he grumbled, leaning against a wall and watching you laugh at something Maki said. "I wish I could just... I don’t know, tell her I love her. Like a normal person."

Nobara raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. "Normal? Megumi, you are literally the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something."

"Hey!" Yuuji protested, nudging her. "You can’t say that about our bro. He’s a classic kind of weird."

Nobara ignored him. "So what’s the problem? You’ve been dating her for years now. I’m pretty sure you’re closer to marriage now. How have you not told her you love her yet?"

Megumi squirmed, tapping his foot awkwardly. "I don’t know. It’s just... I can’t make it sound right. I’m not... loud enough, you know?"

Yuuji snorted. "Bro, are you telling me you can't even shout ‘I love you’ in her face like a normal person?"

"Yuuji!" Nobara scolded, glaring at him. "This is Megumi we’re talking about. He’s more of a ‘grumble in the corner’ kind of guy. Or you know, ‘act it out like a mime if I can’t say it out loud’ sort of guy."

Megumi just groaned. "Exactly! I can’t just scream it! That’s...weird, right?"

Nobara crossed her arms. "You’re seriously telling me you can’t even try? I mean, look at her!" She pointed at you as you walked over, still in your own world. "She’s practically begging for you to shout it out loud!"

Megumi shot her a side-eye. "She is not begging for anything."

"I mean, I’m just saying, Megumi." Yuuji shrugged. "The guy who practically glows around his girlfriend could definitely manage a 'Hey, I love you!' without coming off as weird."

"I don’t glow." Megumi muttered, but he was starting to feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Nobara clapped him on the back. "Okay, look, here’s what you do: You. Take a deep breath. And then—" She paused, putting her hands together in a mock prayer. "You say it loud and proud: 'I love you! You're my sunshine! You’re the ketchup to my fries! The soy sauce to my sushi!' You get it?"

"That’s not what I’m trying to say at all." Megumi protested, now totally flustered.

"Come on, just let it out!" Yuuji grinned, his energy bouncing off the walls. "You love her, right? Then scream it from the top of your lungs!" He pulled out a random megaphone from his bag. "I’ll even provide the sound effects!"

"Yuuji, I swear to—"

"Just... just say it however you feel comfortable." Nobara interrupted with a knowing look. "But maybe—maybe—try something that doesn’t sound like you're reading from a self-help book, yeah?"

Megumi took a deep breath, hands still sweaty. "I don't even know if I can—"

"You totally can, I know you can!" Yuuji encouraged, giving him a thumbs-up. "Just say it, man! Use songs, do whatever. Just tell her out loud! Think about it like it's a movie moment! Gotta go big!”

Megumi had their words in his head all day and now it was simmering too long. He couldn’t help but look at you for a moment. You’re sitting beside him on the couch, leaning into his side as you scroll through your phone, checking what to buy for your mom’s birthday.

The sound of the television hums in the background, playing a show neither of you are really watching. The warmth of your presence should be comforting, but it only makes his heart heavier with the weight of everything he wants to say.

He steals a glance at you. The way your lips are slightly parted in concentration, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your features. And god, he loves you. He just does, too much, too overwhelmingly. But the words get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the walls he hasn’t quite learned how to break down.

Still, he tries.

You know he does.

That’s why you love him.

Your good–old fashioned lover boy.

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I—uh, you know I—”

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you having a stroke, babe?”

“No.” he grumbles, ears already turning red. “I’m trying to say something.”

“Oh?” You set your phone down, tilting your head. “Then say it.”

Megumi swallows, his body somehow tense. He can feel the words clogging his throat, his mind screaming at him to just get it over with. Megumi looks at you, nervously, his face red from it all. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You can see the way he shifts his weight like he’s debating whether this was a terrible idea. (It probably is, he thinks. Overwhelmingly, to be sure).

But still, for some reason—maybe insanity, maybe the way you’re looking at him so expectantly. Yet, he decides to go through with it anyway. If he bombs, you’ll laugh and that would be worth it too.

Clearing his throat, he mutters. “I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.”

You blink at him, your head tilting slightly. “Huh?”

He’s already regretting it, but at this point, he can’t just stop. His voice is a little lower now, more hesitant, but he continues, “We can do the tango just for two.”

Now you’re really confused. Your brows furrow, and he can see the gears turning in your head, trying to piece together what exactly he’s saying. But he keeps going, voice a little stiffer, a little more awkward than before. Almost instantly, he can feel the heat crawling up his neck.

“I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings.”

And then finally—it clicks for you.

Your lips part slightly before curling into a slow, amused smile.

“Ah.” you hum, crossing your arms. “So Queen’s lyrics are your idea of romance poetry, babe?”

Megumi tenses like he’s been caught doing something unspeakably embarrassing, his entire face burning. “It’s not—” he starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, never mind.” 

He shakes his head, looking utterly done with himself, already gearing up to escape this moment entirely. But before he can retreat into his usual brooding silence, you reach out and take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. He freezes at the warmth of your touch, and when he looks back at you, you’re grinning, eyes twinkling with delight.

“No, no. I love it, babe.” you say, squeezing his hand. And then, with that playful glint in your eye, like when you were kids. It was the one that made his heart do something stupid. You continue. “I mean, I can also be your Valentino just for you.”

Megumi stares at you, utterly dumbfounded. For a second, he looks like he’s buffering, as if his brain is refusing to process what just happened. And then, finally, he groans, dragging a hand down his scarlet colored face. “I hate you.”

You burst into laughter, tugging him a little closer. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part? You’re right. 

Because despite the sheer, soul-crushing embarrassment consuming him, despite everything in his being telling him he should never have attempted this in the first place, he doesn’t let go of your hand. No matter what, he had to hold your hand, even if he was using his other one to hide his red face.

Fushiguro Megumi exhales sharply, his fingers twitching in your grasp as if debating whether to pull away or hold on tighter. He settles for something in between—keeping his hand in yours but looking anywhere but at you, like that might save him from further humiliation. 

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” he mutters, his voice flat but laced with unmistakable exasperation.

You grin, squeezing his hand. “Oh, absolutely.”

Megumi groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically, like he’s hoping the universe will take pity on him and make this all go away. But the universe, as it often does when it comes to you, seems to have other plans.

Not only are you still holding onto him, your fingers intertwined so snugly. But you’re also swaying your linked hands gently, like you’re encouraging him to dance. He sighs deeply, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

“You’re seriously not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, never.” you answer, grinning, your voice light and teasing. “Was the idea from Yuuji? Or was it Nobara?”

“How did you—”

You giggled. “Who else is going to make you do something like this and thinks it would work?”

He groans at you, shaking his head. “Look, I was desperate. And it just….”

“It did work, you know.” You say to him, flicking his hand with your fingers. A big smile on your face. “Your message was well received.”

“......Was it really?” He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest.

You nodded happily. “It did. Though, I have to say…..I thought we were doing the tango just for two. Are you backing out now, Mr. Lover Boy?”

Megumi’s eyes snap open at your words, and he immediately narrows them at you, clearly ready to refuse. “We are not—”

But it’s too late.

In a swift motion, you’re already standing, tugging him up with you, not giving him a chance to protest. You can’t help but laugh at the way he stumbles slightly, thrown off balance for just a second before he catches himself, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters, a scowl pulling at his lips as he steadies himself, trying to hold onto what little pride he has left. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to act annoyed, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching as if he’s fighting back a reluctant smile.

You tilt your head, still grinning. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta drag you out of your shell every now and then, right?”

Megumi huffs, looking at you like he’s been cornered, but there’s no real anger in his eyes. He’s already giving in, whether he likes it or not. His hands hover at his sides for a moment before one of them moves to hold yours more firmly, as if to say he’s not completely defeated yet.

“Fine, fine.” he grumbles, finally giving in, his voice soft but with a hint of warmth creeping through. “But don’t expect me to make this look good.”

You give him an exaggerated pout. “Aww, I have high hopes for you, babe. I think you’ll be a natural.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s an undeniable softness in his gaze now. The usually guarded Fushiguro Megumi is slipping away, replaced by the version of him that’s willing to indulge you, even if it means he’ll probably trip over his own feet a few times.

“Yeah, right.” he mutters, but his hand tightens around yours, and just for a second, he lets go of his usual serious demeanor.

“And you’re blushing.” you point out smugly.

He immediately looks away, ears burning. “No, I’m not.”

You chuckle, stepping a little closer, resting your free hand lightly against his shoulder. “You are. But that’s okay.” you say, voice softening just enough to make his heart stutter. “It’s cute.”

Megumi grumbles something incoherent under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightens. For a moment, there’s just the two of you, just eager to be standing close to one another.

Your bodies sway slightly, wrapped up in something that feels light and easy and warm. It’s embarrassing, but somehow, it’s also nice. All too nice.

After a beat of silence, you tilt your head, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. “So… does this mean you’re more of a Somebody to Love kind of guy? Or just a Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy?” You pause for effect, smirking. “Are you gonna take me to a club, or to the Ritz?”

Megumi freezes for a second, caught off guard by your incessant teasing. The edges of his prominent cheeks quickly go a little pink to cherry red, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how to answer without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I—I’m not, uh…” He stammers, waving his hand dismissively, clearly flustered. “I’m not a Queen fan, okay? I just—” He trails off, suddenly aware that he’s over-explaining. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You snicker, leaning in just a little closer, your voice teasing but warm. “You sure about that, Megumi?”

“My name is babe.” His eyes dart around, like he’s hoping for an escape, but then his gaze flicks to you, and he slumps in defeat. “Also…. I don’t really know. You’re a Queen fan. But I’m not a Queen fan, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him, pretending to analyze him like he’s some kind of puzzle. “Okay, then. So tell me, what about Weezer?”

He blinks, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “What? What does Weezer have to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you tease. “Except the fact that you’re practically obsessed with their music. You do listen to Buddy Holly and Say It Ain’t So on repeat, right? I mean just Island in the Sun alone, babe…..”

Megumi’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I—I like their music. That doesn’t mean…”

You’re grinning now, enjoying his discomfort. “That doesn’t mean what? That you don’t like romantic stuff?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words don’t come out. Instead, he just huffs, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of his cool demeanor. “Weezer’s not romantic.”

You raise your hand in mock surrender, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, sure, just a bunch of songs about heartbreak, longing, and that old-school, angsty vibe. Totally not romantic.”

“Shut up.” he mutters, looking away and crossing his arms in his typical brooding fashion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, I do, Mr. Fushiguro Megumi.”

He looks at you again, frowning. “Why are you calling me by my name? Aren’t I babe?”

You can’t help but laugh, a light sound that makes him glance back at you, half-exasperated and half-amused. “I’m just saying, babe.” you continue, poking his chest with a finger. “If you love Weezer, you’re basically guaranteed to love romantic stuff too. You might not admit it, but it’s in there, just waiting to come out.”

He groans, dropping his face into his hands, embarrassed and defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you get all defensive.” you tease, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna force you to do some big romantic gesture… yet. But I can see it, babe. Deep down, I know you’ve got it in you.”

He sighs, not bothering to fight it anymore. “Whatever.”

You can’t help but grin, your heart light and warm from the back-and-forth. The teasing, the playfulness. This was just on brand. It feels like an easy rhythm between you two, like a dance he didn’t expect to enjoy but now can’t help but follow. You’ve gotten under his skin in the best way possible, and the connection is undeniable.

“No, seriously.” you say, your voice softening, letting the playfulness slip away just enough to let something deeper surface. “It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it. You’re just what you are. And I love that. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything. For a moment, the world around you seems to still. The playful air between you two quiets for just a beat, and in that space, Megumi shifts slightly, as if he’s considering something deeper than just the teasing.

His gaze softens, and for the first time, there’s no defensiveness in it. It’s genuine. It’s a look that tells you he’s letting his guard down, just a little.

And then, for once, he doesn’t try to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. It’s subtle, almost shy, but it’s there. The kind of smile that says he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. And that, in itself, makes your heart swell. Your grin can’t help but grow wider. You’re winning.

“Besides, babe….” you add, your voice teasing but affectionate. “You’re romantic. You’re my lover boy, aren’t you?”

Megumi freezes, and the light in his blue-green orbs slowly shifts. There was a mix of disbelief and amusement, like he’s trying to process the words you just threw at him. His face flushes, and he rubs the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard.

“Fine.” He sighs, the word heavy with resignation. “Maybe… maybe I’m not totally immune to it. Being…being your lover boy.”

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a teasing glance. “Oh? So it’s true?”

“Only…” His voice drops slightly, like he’s about to admit something that feels too vulnerable for him. He shifts again, looking away from you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Hm?” You nudge him, your voice light, but there’s a warmth in it now, something that makes his heart stumble a little.

“Only because I really like—”

You raise a hand quickly, cutting him off with a playful wag of your finger. “Uh, uh. It’s the other word.”

Megumi’s eyes widen as the weight of what you mean hits him. He swallows hard, visibly embarrassed now. “Yeah, yeah. I… I love you.”

The words hang between you two for a moment, and your grin spreads wider, your heart fluttering with an almost childlike joy. “Much better, lover boy.” you say, your voice soft but full of satisfaction, like you’ve finally heard the thing you’ve been waiting to hear for so long. 

Megumi huffs, his face still pink, but his posture loosens just a bit. You can feel the tension in him fading, the part of him that has always held back just a little, a part that he didn’t know how to let go of, finally giving in to what he truly feels.

You chuckle, stepping closer and giving his hand a playful squeeze. “I knew it. Deep down, I knew you were a softie all along. A softie I love.”

Megumi grumbles, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there’s no real heat behind it. His cheeks are still a little flushed, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. His voice drops to something quieter, almost tender, as he mutters. “Shut up.”

You grin even wider, brushing your shoulder lightly against his. “Aww, look at that. I made you all shy.”

He groans, but there’s no force in it. He gives your hand a little squeeze back, his touch almost gentle, like he’s trying to hide just how much he’s enjoying this. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward, even if he’s pretending not to care.

“You’re impossible.” he mutters, but it sounds more like an affectionate confession than anything else.

You lean up, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice teasing. “Impossible, huh? I think you just like having me around.”

Megumi’s eyes widen for a second, and he quickly looks away, though you can see the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

But the way his hand stays in yours says everything you need to know. You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that seems to melt the last of his resistance. There’s something about him, in this moment, that feels right. Like everything he’s been trying to hide is coming to the surface, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

His bright eyes flicker to yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. No more barriers, no more hesitation. Just you and him. And you realize, as you watch him trying so hard not to smile, that despite his grumbling, despite the layers of defensiveness he wraps himself in, maybe Megumi really is a romantic at heart. He loves you, after all.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The evening had settled in, soft golden light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. Fushiguro Megumi was standing over the stove.

There was a half-smile tugging at his lips as he stirred something in a pan, pretending to be nonchalant. You’d been chatting and laughing with him, but now you were distracted by the phone buzzing on the counter next to you.

“Hey, check my phone, will you? I think I missed a call while I was cooking dinner. Might be Maki–senpai.” he called, not even looking over his shoulder. His tone was casual, but you could sense a hint of something beneath the surface. Something that made you curious.

You reached for his phone, raising an eyebrow at the way he’d phrased it. Missed a call, huh? When you opened it, you found that the call had already disappeared, as if it was never even there. Strange, you thought, but didn’t give it too much thought—until a new notification popped up on his screen.

A notification from Spotify.

You clicked it without thinking, the app opening automatically. You froze, blinking at the screen in surprise. The very first thing that caught your eye was a playlist titled My GF’s Favorite Tunes.

Your heart skipped a beat as you scrolled through, realizing the entire playlist was a mix of Queen songs, Weezer hits, Taylor Swift, and a whole lot of other random songs that somehow seemed to perfectly fit your taste. You blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh.

“What is this…?” You murmured, flipping through more of the tracks, utterly charmed by the odd yet thoughtful combination of songs. Some of the tracks were ones you had casually mentioned liking, others you never thought he'd remember.

You could feel Megumi standing behind you now, his footsteps quiet on the floor. “What’s up?” His voice had an almost imperceptible shift in it, but you didn’t look back at him right away.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you said, your grin spreading wider as you glanced over the playlist one more time, now thoroughly amused. “Just, you know… a little surprise.”

You gently set his phone down on the counter and turned toward him, your grin widening as you closed the distance. Megumi looked at you, confusion and a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes. “What? What’s so funny?”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him in a sudden, tight embrace. Megumi froze, his body stiff in surprise. He stood there for a second, the silence between you two stretching, before he gently placed his hands on your back, his voice a little rough with a quiet, unexpected warmth. 

“What’s this for, hm?”

You pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your heart still beating with fondness. “For being the cutest, loving, prettiest, person I’ve ever met. And for making me a playlist that proves you’re secretly the most romantic person alive.”

Megumi blinked, his usual cool exterior cracking for a second as he flushed a little under the weight of your words. He looked away, muttering under his breath. “It’s… it’s just some songs. Nothing big at all—”

You laughed softly, pulling him closer again. “Well, you sure know how to make me smile, don’t you?”

His beautiful lips pressed into a tender smile reserved just for you. And for once, there was no argument. Just the quiet, comfortable warmth of being together, in each other’s arms. Nothing was more perfect than this moment right here, you were sure.

[ruegarding]

so. percy's arc in boo (learning to step back, allowing leo to sacrifice himself despite his loyalty/fatal flaw) sucks. for many reasons.

for one, percy yielding is such an integral part of pjo. all of pjo. but even if u somehow missed it in the first four books, tlo explicitly spells it out. "sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding" hestia says to percy. "i yield when necessary. can you do this?" and then this is the climax of the story. "you are not the hero...it will affect what you do." percy has spent the last five books being told that he's the super powerful chosen one able to save or destroy the world, and he still chooses to yield to someone that has done nothing but betray him. "the line from the great prophecy echoed in my head...my whole world tipped upside down, and i gave the knife to luke." hoo acting like this is a lesson percy needs to learn is an affront to reading comprehension. percy lives bc he yields. and then he does it (yielding) again when he surrenders godhood, and power, to choose other demigods instead. this is not subtle writing.

for two, percy has rejected power, and his title, for the entirety of his story. percy doesn't even fully recognize how powerful he is until the volcano in botl. and he had to be told directly that it wasn't a fluke. then in son, percy immediately rejects the power and status offered to him. repeatedly. reyna offers him praetorship, he turns it down. frank is abt to let percy climb the wall first in the war games, percy says it was frank's claim. percy doesn't even want to go on the son quest but relents bc frank asked him. in moa, percy never demands that he lead. instead, he includes frank where he probably wasn't necessary, supports hazel, encourages annabeth, follows leo and piper's lead, and strategizes w jason. he isn't acting as a leader, but rather as part of a team. percy didn't need to "step back," the writing for the other characters needed to step up.

for three, percy had to be kidnapped and manipulated to be on this entire quest. he's not there bc he has a hero complex. acting like he has to learn to step back when he was quite literally shoved into place is wild.

for four, an integral part of percy's character is freedom, autonomy, and he extends this to the ppl he's loyal to. this is pretty explicitly established in tlt: "you're enough like me to understand," sally says. "if my life is going to mean anything, i have to live it myself." percy respects ppl's decisions. this is one of the first lessons he learns when he becomes a hero and an integral part of pjo: percy has to let sally save herself. percy has to let tyson go to the boiler. percy has to let bianca defeat talos. percy has to let nico walk away. percy has to let annabeth fight. if he loves them, he's going to let their lives mean something. even in hoo, percy still lets annabeth go on her quest alone, despite hating it, despite disagreeing w it, bc it's not his place to tell her what she can and can't do. this is her life. she has to live it. so this plotline doesn't even work it we ignore all of pjo and focus solely on hoo.

this theme of autonomy is especially important bc pjo is abt disability. one of the first things ppl try to take away from u when ur disabled is ur autonomy. the fact that percy vehemently defends it not just for himself but for others is essential to the narrative. percy advocates for other demigods, other disabled kids, and tyson, and he does so while maintaining their autonomy. it's why he's the leader, it's why he's the protagonist, it's why there is a callback to it in every pjo book. trying to act like he wouldn't respect someone's autonomy is a bastardization of this entire theme. which is actually fitting for hoo considering it bastardizes the rest of pjo anyway.

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

[luveline]

I'm in an angsty mood.. and I love love love Spencer x bombshell!reader.

maybe she gets hurt somehow (maybe like an unsub or something) but refuses to get checked out

ty for requesting!! sry this isn't super angsty 

cw criminal minds typical gun violence

Blood is a strange thing. It can run quickly or slow, feel tepid or burning hot. It's warm and uncomfortable as it slinks down the curve of your shoulder to the very tip of your index finger, dark as coal pitch in the poor lightning. 

The gunfight is promptly ended, so quickly that no one even knows you've been hit. Morgan throws himself at one unsub and the other is shot in the thigh. Your ears ring, a gun firing too close to your head, clearly. 

In all the hubbub, nobody notices you're hurt. 

You'd like to keep it that way. 

It's not that you believe you're infallible, nor that the others believe it either, but in the grand scheme of things it is a very small cut that you can attend to in your hotel room alone with a butterfly stitch or even a roll of bandages. There's no way it requires real stitches, and no way you're gonna sit in the back of an ambulance for the next hour. 

Your jacket is black. The wound clots itself while you're in the SUV —you choose a window where your arm faces away from everyone and you manage it. And truthfully… you would like the others to think you're smarter than getting hit by a stray bullet. After everything that's happened lately, you've reason to build yourself up. Let the others hold you in some prestige again. 

It works for a time. You get back to the hotel, and everyone says goodnight. Your room is clean and waiting for your return. 

You'd collapse into bed if it didn't mean you'd leave a bloody line on the linens. You shed your ruined jacket and throw it in the trash. Your shirt is split where the bullet nicked you, and that comes off next. The wound begins bleeding sluggishly at the agitation but doesn't erupt, and stays strong as you wipe the skin clean around it. Your fingers mar with copper stain, the face cloth you've sacrificed turning an ugly brown, but eventually you've cleaned the skin enough to see the damage. 

It's deep but small. A nick. 

The issue is your lack of bandages. It's a hotel room, a small one. There's no first aid kit and your go bag is sorely lacking. Which means… 

You have to go bat your eyelids at someone, and if you're being honest, you only ever want to do that to one Dr. Spencer Reid. 

He's not expecting you, clearly. You weren't expecting it either. "Hey," he says, rubbing his eyes, his pyjama pants flush to the floor. 

"You were sleeping? I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, are you kidding me?" He opens the door wider to encourage you in, turning away from you as he murmurs, "S'like my dream." 

He must be very tired. You beam like a fool and follow him inside. "I had a dream like this once, too. Same kind of dream, do you think?" 

"Knowing you, probably." He's growing more comfortable with you, but he's still clearly a little flustered to be this suddenly presented with you, wrapping himself up in a cardigan hanging over the single sad chair. "What's up?" 

"I'm glad you asked." You take your uninjured arm out of your coat, and then the other. You know what you're doing, laughing softly as his eyes turn to dark dimes in an otherwise pale face. "I need your help with something, Spence." 

"Uh–" He stammers, looking you up and down with shock. "Um, I–" He licks his lips quickly. "Okay." 

You kind of hate that you aren't there to seduce him for a split second. Too bad your arm has started to throb. "I need a bandaid," you say, turning your arm into his line of sight. "Help me out?" 

—

"I know something you don't know," Morgan sing-songs. Emily sips her coffee, mildly interested by her friend's taunting. She doesn't give him any feeding, waiting, and sure enough he cracks. "What, you don't want to know?" 

"You want to tell me, right?" 

"Mm, no. I'll tell Penelope." 

"Fine! Alright, what is it?" She breaks, putting her coffee down on the little table in front of her. They're sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for Hotch and the others to collect their things. The jet awaits, as do a few hours in the air before she gets to sleep in her own bed again. 

"I saw–" Morgan laughs. "This is too good. I saw a certain bombshell visiting Reid last night. After hours."

Emily's heart kicks in. "No way!" she gasps. "I mean, I know there's something between them, we all know that, but– his room, seriously?" 

"He didn't even question her. She knocked, he answered, she went inside." 

"What were you doing up?" 

"That's my business," Morgan says. 

Emily leans forward to gossip. This is insane. Sure, you flirt with Spencer relentlessly, and sure, he blushes like he loves it the majority of the time, he even manages to get you back, but you're sleeping together? "This is so scandalous," she whispers. 

Her job is hard, but God does Emily love her team. She's genuinely happy for you both, but seriously! She giggles to herself at the drama of it all, and Morgan looks like he might say more, but then he looks behind her and stops. 

Emily turns. You and Spencer are walking out of the elevator together, and while you aren't looking more coupled than usual, Spencer's acting unusually. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks, hushed but carrying in the relatively quiet lobby. 

"I promise I'm okay, Spence." Your voice drops. "It's our secret, okay?" 

"Sure, but–" He takes your hand, there, where everyone can see, the love in the line of his shoulders clear to anyone who might be watching, which Emily and Morgan very much are. "Can I look at it again?" 

Morgan laughs into his hand, hiding it with a cough too late. Emily kicks his leg and he looks admonished, but it doesn't convince you where you look up from your conversation, the same surprise written in your features as Emily herself feels while Spencer continues, "You need to let me take care of you," he says, practically pleading. 

"Spencer," you say, looking Emily straight in the eye, "you took care of me just fine last night." 

She gawps. 

Spencer whispers in response to your lowered tone, making his answer partially inaudible, "It was my first…" He shakes his head. "I've never…  and I know you said it didn't hurt that much but… go see a doctor–" 

You stop him with an affectionate smile. "You could never hurt me, handsome. Do I look like I'm in pain?" 

"No." Spencer drops your hand. "If you're sure. Let me go get you a drink, okay? Go sit down." 

"Yes sir." 

Nothing about you says anything different to usual as you sit on the lobby chair next to Morgan's, beside your worn hoodie. You fiddle with a fraying sleeve as you kick one leg over the other, giving your friends a pleased smile. "Morning," you say lightly. 

Emily genuinely doesn't know what to say. Her mouth hangs slightly ajar. "I…" 

"You're shameless," Morgan says with a laugh. 

"Look," you say, shrugging though the action makes you wince, "I could tell you the truth and you wouldn't believe me." 

"Sure we wouldn't. Reid looks like a lost puppy right now." 

Spencer stands anxiously by the coffee machine across the way, his gaze locked solidly on you where you sit. You throw him a smile and he looks away. 

"I don't deserve him," you say softly. 

Spencer carries your bag for you all the way to the BAU. Emily doesn't think it's a question of deserving, though you do, only an example of Spencer's big heart. And, you know, post hookup appreciation, or something. 

[deathbxnny]

May I request a HSR men (Boothill, Adventurine, Sunday, Gallagher, Dan Heng more or less if you want) with a reader who is a certified napper? She’s always so sleepy and will be grumpy if she doesn’t get at least one nap in. Their favorite place to sleep is on them wether it be their shoulder, chest, lap, etc. And they have a special nap hoodie they stole borrowed from their bf because their scent helps them sleep? No worries if it’s too much

Hey there, Anon!! Since I have a limit of 3 characters, I decided to choose Gallagher, Boothill, and Sunday for this one! Hope you like this, and thank you for the request!<33

Content: romantic relationship, naps, just fluff really, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》GALLAGHER

Gallagher loves taking naps with you and often invites you to hang out with him in the bar during his breaks for a relaxing cuddle session. He'll practically drape you over his chest like a blanket, whilst he leans back in one of the soft cushion couches with a drink in hand. If heaven exists, then it must've been moments like those with you.

He doesn't even mind that you sleep alot and even encourages it as long as you stay in his line of sight. He'd let you take a shirt of his to wear as well whilst you sleep, something about you wearing his clothes whilst you do so warming his heart. It makes him happy to know that he makes you feel so safe and peaceful even subconsciously.

》SUNDAY

He is concerned by the amount of time you spend sleeping at first and wonders if it may be a sickness of some sort. But after you're cleared by a visit to a doctor, one he definitely forced you to go to, he decided that it may just be a part of your personality and decided to leave it at that. Sunday doesn't mind joining you whenever he has time for it, even if he never falls asleep himself. He's just too worried about your safety to do so.

He'll make sure your bed and room in general are as comfortable as possible for you. The man will let you borrow some of his clothes whenever he's away for business, especially if it keeps you in a good mood and happy. He may not understand your need for so much sleep, but as long as your safe, then that's all that matters to him.

》BOOTHILL

Boothill used to get a little annoyed for a while whenever you just napped all day instead of hanging out with him or completing work. It often ended in small arguments caused by him trying to wake you up whilst you whined for 5 more minutes... for the 50th time. So eventually, he just decided to accept your sleepiness and learn to adapt to it by resting with you. He can't necessarily sleep, but he'll let you cuddle up to him as much as you want.

With that said, if you want to wear his cape or steal his hat for a nap, he'll oblige gladly. He finds it cute to see you hold onto his clothes whilst you sleep.

[demonic0angel]

The Cult AU

As inspired by this post and this post. AO3 version is here.

CW: emotional breakdowns, implied torture, codependency, 5k+ words

“Danny,” Sam said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not, though?” Danny answered in a confused tone, putting his gloves on. When he turned, Sam stood there in her battle attire, flowy robes and plants that covered her protectively.

Danny stared at her for a moment in slight bewilderment before he said, “Take those off. I’m going in with Dan and Dani for a chat, not an interrogation, Sam.”

Sam growled. “They won’t be enough. Let me and Valerie come with you. We can protect you.”

“No. This is Jazz, we’re talking about. She’ll never hurt me. And like I said, it’s only a chat. I just want to see what’s going on.”

Sam narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “You think you can bet on it? You think she can’t hurt you?”

“Hell yeah, I can bet on it. She won’t hurt me.”

Sam sighed loudly before she said, “At least wear armor. Dani and Dan aren’t wearing armor either, but you should at least wear some.”

Danny shook his head. “No. And I’ll say it again, Jazz won’t hurt me. Besides, we're only going to talk. There's no fight to be had."

Sam sighed again, almost a groan. Then she muttered to herself, almost in complaint, "How could Jazz have turned to this in only 2 years? We were finishing our high school educations! We were supposed to be back here having a graduation party! Instead, Jazz is starting a damn cult?!"

They had only come back a day ago from their high school graduation, only to be met with news that the Ghost Zone was rebuilding from civil war and that Jazz had started a cult. Supporters of the cult had ambushed Danny when he came in, desperate for his attention and help as their god.

Danny had been horrified to see that in the two years he had been gone from the Ghost Zone, Jazz had somehow become a cult leader.

It was a jarring transition from peace within the human world to chaos within the Infinite Realms.

Danny frowned.

He thought of Jazz and the words she spoke to him two years ago, when he couldn't choose between taking the throne at the age of 16 or continuing his education as Jazz had encouraged him to do.

("It's okay, little brother. I'll keep the throne warm for you while you graduate!"

"But what about you? I'm supposed to be King since I turned 16. You're 18 now, you should be..."

"It'll be okay! I'll keep your Kingdom safe."

"And yourself? You'll keep yourself safe too, right?"

".... yes. Of course. We'll both be safe and ready for when you come back. Work hard, do your homework, and apply for college as fast as you can, alright? You can take online courses when you're king!"

"Ugh, don't treat me like a kid!"

"You'll always be my little brother, Danny. I'll do anything for your success."

".... I know. Thanks.")

Danny said, "Sam. Don't say that. It's probably something... not too bad. It's no one's fault."

Sam glared at him. "You clearly blame someone."

Yes.

He blamed himself.

He knew that Jazz had called him several times in the past two years when he had been gone, but as his exams mounted and he reveled in his newfound freedom, he answered her frequent calls less and less.

He knew that she needed him. That she didn’t have anyone else. That she was lonely.

He just… got lost in his own space.

He had no one to blame for Jazz derailing into insane ideas like cults but himself.

"Yes. And it's not Jazz, so don't say that."

Sam scowled, but begrudgingly nodded.

Danny eyed her. "Take off your armor. We're not going to fight."

Sam obeyed, glowering. However, her grumpy expression soon eased into something more thoughtful as she asked, "Practicing ordering me around for when you take back the throne?"

Danny gave her a small smile and hummed.

The door slammed open, startling them both. Tucker stumbled inside and then said, "I have information. I know where Jazz is and I think I know who's with her."

Danny's eyes went wide.

"Who?!"

Tucker swallowed at the sight of his blatant fury and then cleared his throat.

"Spectra. Penelope Spectra has been Jazz's advisor for the past year and... I think they're going to execute a heretic for the first time today."

————

"So what do we know?" Dani asked as all three of them flew through the Ghost Zone. "We just have to retrieve Jazz and defeat this cult, right?"

Danny frowned. "I guess, but keep the bloodshed to a minimum."

Dan clicked his tongue. "And why should we?"

"Because Jazz created this cult. She cares, at least a little, about them, so keep the killing to a minimum. From what we've been able to dig up, the cult is called 'The Religion' and Jazz calls herself 'the Matriarch.'"

"What does the cult worship?" Dani asked. "There's gotta be some sort of god, right? Is the cult worshipping Jazz?"

Danny grimaced.

"Err... no. The cult worships me, Danny Phantom."

Both Dani and Dan stared at him blankly. Then they shared a look before shaking their heads.

"Oh, Jazz," Dani sighed. "She's really gone off the deep end now..."

"Are we really surprised?" Dan growled. He turned to Danny with a glare. "She's only human and she's been holding up the fate of the Infinite Realms for 4 years! It should've only been two, but she's been sacrificing sleep and peace of mind to make sure that your throne would be secure and safe while you go and finish your high school education! Frankly, I'm more surprised that she hasn't even killed a single ghost since she became Queen."

Dan finished his heated rant with a vicious glare and a spat out, "It's your fault that she's come to this."

Danny closed his eyes.

In ways, Dan was out of line and blaming him for nothing. After all, he too, like Danny and Dani, had minimal contact with Jazz over the past two years, no matter how much he tried to argue about it. But even he knew that logic did not make the guilt go away.

No matter what, it was Danny's neglect and carelessness that made Jazz feel like she had to go off the deep end.

Why had she resorted to killing again?

(He knew why. She loved him, but to her, he was the little boy she raised since young.

Even now, she did not consider him as an equal, only someone she had to protect.)

His heart felt painful. He didn’t know how to describe the heaviness in his chest and the worry he felt as they continued traveling through the Ghost Zone to get to Jazz before she could execute someone.

Danny sighed.

"I know. That's why I'm taking back the throne now. I'll release her from the crown and take back my rightful place as the King."

Dani sighed too. "We're overthrowing her," she said. It wasn't a question, more like a forlorn statement.

"Yes. Let's keep the bloodshed to a minimum. C'mon, I hear that she's still in the cult place. She's going to try to execute someone so let's try to hurry."

Both Dani and Dan frowned before they followed him to fly to where Jazz was.

The building she was in looked like a cathedral built in the old times, with tall towers, sharp angles, and plenty of windows. It was enormous, with black and white marble walls and stained glass windows. It looked beautiful, but also in a way, haunting. The cathedral was enormous and towered over them like it wanted to eat them alive.

They all shared a determined look and then went inside without another word.

When Danny stepped into the cathedral, everyone took one look at him and then dropped to their knees in a deep kneeling position. All of them wore black veils on their heads, as if they were in mourning.

In the middle of the room was a ghost who was bowed over an execution block, who looked at him and then sagged in relief.

However, Danny was soon distracted by the sound of everyone else speaking.

Their chants echoed within the cathedral's tall ceilings.

“All hail the King! All hail our God! All hail Death!”

Goosebumps rose across his skin.

Their obedience made his stomach churn and he felt the urge to vomit. He almost wanted to turn around and leave just from that, feeling extremely unsettled. He glanced backwards to see Dan sneer as Dani similarly tensed, eyes wide as they looked at the rows and rows of ghosts kneeling.

There were so many of them.

How had Jazz been able to accumulate so many worshippers?

The urge to throw up nearly took over Danny's senses again. His insides twisted and he felt faint, bile rushing up his throat.

"Oh, Jazz," he couldn't help but murmur. "What have you done?"

Each and every one of the cult members were surprisingly and horrifically obedient. None of them moved away from their bowing, stiff and still, covered in veils like unmoving statues intent on showing him worship. Danny looked at Dan and Dani, both who nodded, although Dan looked disgruntled to be listening to him.

All of them wore their old costumes. Although Dani and Danny had outgrown that old uniform of theirs, they still wore it today in hopes of snapping Jazz out of whatever craze she had. Hopefully, they reminded her of the vows she made and how much she loved heroes.

He wasn't really sure what he was going for.

He just wanted his big sister back.

Danny clenched his fists as he tracked down the traces of his sister. Dani and Dan stayed behind to take care of the cult members.

He tracked her down through the long, empty hallways, full of marble statues and gray decor. He eventually ended up in front of a room with a tightly shut door. There were faint traces of Jazz everywhere, a trail of her soul that he could sense.

He stared at the door before he broke the door handle and then slid inside, uncaring of the damage he left behind.

Jazz stood in the middle of the room, holding a sword quietly, as if in thought. She turned when she heard the door open and they both paused at the sight of each other. The greenish light of an open window fell upon her, casting soft shadows for a perfect painting. Spectra stood next to her, colored in red and smiling sharply, completely disrupting the scenery.

Danny tilted his head as he observed Jazz.

She looked right back at him, but he couldn't see her face. She wore black and white robes with turquoise accents, covered in elegant armor and sparkling jewelry pieces. A starry veil covered her face, as well as a large headpiece that weighed everything down.

She looked authorative and regal. Like a deadly queen.

He hadn't seen her in such a long time, but he still couldn't see her face.

He glanced down at the sword in her hands, long and shiny and sharp.

Was she going to personally execute someone?

"Jazz, it's good to see you," Danny said with a small smile. "You're still huge."

"And you're still short," Jazz replied curtly. There was something in her voice, like she wanted to tease him and make him laugh but the energy required to do so had left her.

The sword in her hands did not lower.

"Your Highness!" Spectra crooned. "You're back from the human world! Did you have a good time?"

Danny ignored her and looked at Jazz. "Jazz, it's time to stop this. All of this. You don't have to do this anymore. You can stop now."

Jazz was quiet.

Spectra gasped, as if personally offended for Jazz's sake, "Your Highness! You can't just say that! Jazz has done all of this for you! Shouldn't you be grateful to your loving, caring big sister?"

Danny narrowed her eyes. "Who gave you permission to call her by her name? She is Her Majesty and soon, she'll be Your Highness. Watch your tongue."

Spectra gasped again. "What! Are you... are you overthrowing your sister?" She looked at Jazz with wide eyes of disbelief.

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was she seriously trying to start a fight with this nonsense?

Jazz was still silent and Danny frowned at this, eying her.

Danny ignored Spectra, who bristled at this, and said to Jazz, "C'mon, Jazz, let's go back. Please put down the sword. I don't want you killing for me, okay? Don't worry about a thing, I can take care of this for you."

He looked at her earnestly. He could not see the expression behind the veil, but he knew his sister. Her hands were clenched tight around the hilt of the sword, her knuckles white against the metal.

And of course, Spectra had to speak up again.

"You mustn't listen to him! He's only just come back, he doesn't know anything! You should continue as you've always done. We have plans, remember? Remember who all of this is for," she said, placing a manicured hand on Jazz's shoulder, a tad awkwardly due to Jazz's height.

Danny couldn’t hold back rolling his eyes this time.

Jazz did not speak.

Danny said, “Whatever she told you, Jazz, it’s probably not true. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. Please, Jazz.” He didn’t want to beg, but he would if it got him his sister back. “Please, let’s just go back home.”

“Don’t listen to him! I’m here to help you, Jazz. Haven’t I always been here to help you? He’s going to disrupt our plans. You must strike him down. It’s for his own good. He’s just a boy, you know that,” Spectra crooned, stroking Jazz’s arm. Her hands trailed down until she clasped at the fist holding up the sword and she lifted Jazz's arms, raising the blade to meet Danny's face.

Danny glared at her furiously.

The sight of someone else touching his sister had always unfuriated him, but he absolutely couldn't stand seeing this worthless ghost who thought she could control his big sister touching her like she had the right even more!

His powers crackled around him before he swiftly smothered it, taking another deep breath.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Get away from her! You’re nothing but a powerless, manipulative psycho who wants to leech off of my sister. Back off!”

Spectra gasped. “What! I’ve been doing nothing but help Jazz this entire time! But... where have you been? You’ve been in the human world, having fun, dating people, getting an education, while your big sister suffers here! I’m helping her! What have you done, while your poor big sister runs herself ragged trying to keep everyone alive for your future reign? You're so selfish!"

Danny snarled. He clenched his fists as Spectra so easily threw the fact that he had unwittingly abandoned his sister to the Infinite Realms in his face. His claws flexed and the urge to attack her rose within him sharply.

How dare she.

How dare she!

Danny took a deep, forceful breath as he loosened his fists before he turned to Jazz with a hard look that he quickly tried to soften. “Jazz,” he said again, “please come home with me.”

“Your Majesty!" Spectra insisted, shaking Jazz a little. "You should strike him down before he ruins any more plans. You must not hesitate! You’re the Queen! He’s going to take the rightful throne away from you!”

“Jazz, please.”

Jazz visibly faltered, looking between the two.

Danny perked up at the sight of her conflicted appearance, but Spectra grew incensed at her hesitation.

She practically went ballistic, her green eyes flashing as her red painted lips stretched into a snarl.

Spectra screamed. “C’mon! Strike him down! Don’t be a coward, Jasmine Fenton! He’s here to capture you! He’s here to take down all of the things you’ve done! Remember who you’ve done this for!”

Jazz slowly dropped her arm, her grip loosening.

Danny's smile grew, as Spectra shrieked, “What are you doing?! Fight! You must fight him! He’s taking down everything you’ve worked so hard for! What are you doing, you stupid girl?!”

Danny immediately glared at her in fury as he snapped, “Shut up! Don’t you dare talk to her that way!”

He looked back at Jazz and his gaze softened. “Jazz, come here, please.”

Her entire body looked like a wilted flower, with her slumped shoulders and lowered head. The sword was pointing down at the ground now.

His heart broke for her.

“Don’t listen to him! He’s going to hurt you! Don’t you remember what we’ve been doing this for? He doesn’t know better! You did this to protect him, remember?!”

Danny responded as if Spectra hadn’t been talking at all. “Jazz, come here. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. But I know better now. I’m older now. You’ve been protecting me for so long.”

He smiled softly and opened his arms as he said, “Let me protect you now. Come here, Jazz.”

“Don’t,” Spectra hissed. “You’re smarter than this. You know he’s still just a child. Only 18 years old. You can’t trust him to know what he’s talking about.”

“Jazz,” Danny said, lowering his arms for a moment.

“You must get rid of him now!” Spectra’s voice grew even more frenzied. “He’ll ruin everything! You were supposed to be great! You were supposed to be better than this! Do it! Jazz, do it! GET RID OF HIM!!”

Danny gazed into Jazz’s face, still covered in that stupid veil.

For a brief second, he worried that she wouldn’t relent. He worried that she would fall for Spectra’s tricks and turn away from him. He worried that he wasn’t able to reach her.

But as he looked at her, as he stared at her statuesque form, at the way her robes couldn’t hide the armor wrapped around her like she desperately needed the protection, the way she stood still like a deer in headlights, he suddenly knew what she would do.

She was his big sister.

His only big sister.

“Come here, Jazz,” Danny repeated. He couldn’t help the way his voice cracked and his eyes watered. He inhaled a breath to calm himself down, opened his arms again, and said, “I missed you. C’mon, Jazz. Let’s go back home.”

Jazz was silent.

Spectra practically shrieked, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!!”

Without warning, Jazz dropped the sword and then ran towards him. She flew into his arms and almost ran him over. Although she was heavy, Danny was not that weak, vulnerable 14 year old boy who couldn’t keep the crown on his head anymore. He was 18 now, ready to pull the heavy crown off of his sister’s head and take the responsibility for himself.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Jazz collapsed into his arms. Her veil flew off her head from the force of her collusion with him, landing on the floor with a flutter and a clack of her jewelry.

She sobbed and Danny held her tight, pulling her into his embrace so for once, it was him who was holding her and protecting her from outside forces.

For once, it was her who could let down her walls and be kept safe within someone else’s arms.

Each one of her tears fell onto his skin like boiling water. Each droplet made his body burn.

These were the tears of his big sister.

These were the tears of someone who desperately needed his help.

What was the use of being a king if he couldn’t even help the ones that depended on him? What was the use of being a hero if he couldn’t even save the ones that he loved? What was the use of being a brother if he couldn’t even be there to support his siblings?

As Jazz cried into his chest and began mumbling apologies, Danny sighed and squeezed her, gently pressing his cheek to her hair.

“Don’t worry, Jazz. I’ll take care of everything.” His voice was much more steady than he felt.

Danny lifted his gaze and stared at Spectra, who was full on trembling now. Her expression was horrified and scared, and she took a full step back when the full weight of Danny’s gaze landed on her. Danny rubbed Jazz’s back, ignoring her rapid fire murmurs as she sobbed and begged for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled, her words slurring over each other with her weeping.

Danny ignored her words, just trying to soothe her.

He would forgive her for anything.

(After all, he had forgiven her for what happened to their parents.

This was nothing compared to that.)

Though there was someone who he could never forgive.

Danny gave a bland smile to Spectra, who stiffened further like a horrified cat.

He had never wanted to kill anyone more than her.

Even when he had been strapped to his parents’ examination table, even when he had learned the truth of Dan’s life in another timeline, even when he had been humiliated and scorned by the people he was supposed to protect, he had never felt such a cold, unsympathetic hatred inside of him before.

His teeth and fangs itched for blood.

But his sister needed him more.

“It’s over,” he mouthed to the woman across from him, before he bent down to pick up his sister. An arm went underneath her knees and another steadied her in his hold. Jazz was limp, clutching tightly onto him, almost clawing at his skin as she continued crying. Danny calmly lifted her and then floated out of the room, where Dan and Dani were already waiting, eyes drawn to the still figure in his arms.

Immediately, their expressions changed, pupils sharpening at the sight of their big sister.

Danny gestured behind him. “Spectra’s still in there.”

Dan immediately darted off without another word. The door shut behind them and screams erupted before Danny moved Jazz away from the shrieks of pain. Her robes trailed behind them but Danny ignored it, adjusting his hold on Jazz as he left Spectra to her fate.

Dani followed them, carefully playing a hand on Jazz’s hip to test her reaction. Her soft cries had stopped, but she was as responsive as a block of wood.

“Jazz?” She called. “You alright?”

Jazz shook her head, burying her face into Danny’s shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter, almost choking in its tightness and grip. Danny hummed and said, “Let’s get her home first. She surrendered, so make sure to tell everyone that. Dani, can you also… uh, tell everyone else to go? Try and tell them that the cult is disbanded.”

Jazz whimpered.

Danny stroked her back and then said again, “Go, Dani.”

Dani scowled, but did as he said. Danny then went home, ignoring anything and everything in his path. Sam and Tucker, thankfully, did not say a word at the sight of Jazz in his arms and only directed everyone away from them both.

Danny finally entered Jazz’s room and placed her on her bed.

She turned to the side, away from him, curled up slightly in her pretentious, extravagant robes. They scattered around her in sparkly hues that looked distressing when contrasted against her pale expression and somber mood.

Danny stared at her.

She didn’t move.

Danny said softly, “You don’t have to tell me anything now… but you should know that we’ll have to talk later. But Jazz, also know this. No matter what you say, you know that we’re on your side. I’m on your side. No matter what, I— we’ll protect you.”

Jazz’s voice was weak. “I wanted to protect you.”

“I know. You’ve always protected me. But I’m 18 now, Jazz. I’m an adult. When I was 16, I was an adult in the eyes of the Infinite Realms too. I’m releasing you from the throne, Jazz. From now on, I’ll take on your burdens, like how you did for me.”

Jazz could only repeat, “I wanted to protect you.”

Patiently, Danny said, “I know. It’s my turn to protect you now. Rest up. We’ll definitely talk later, okay?”

She was silent.

"Unless you want to talk to me now? Why did you start all of this, Jazz?"

Jazz shifted and Danny waited, sensing her desire to speak.

“…. I’ve been having dreams lately.”

Danny paused and tilted his head. “What kind of dreams?”

He had to wait for her to speak again, as if she was unsure and afraid.

When she spoke, her tone was softer than ever, almost a whisper.

“……. Dreams of a boy. He protected me. He saved me and Dani. Sp-Spectra… she talked about him to me. About him and you. She told me that… she told me that you would’ve wanted me to do these things. I only wanted to protect you.”

Her voice cracked and her words wobbled. She curled up further, almost a ball now.

Danny was quiet. He thought of Jazz’s first year as Queen and that faithful night where a boy had saved her and Dani.

The memories began to return, like a flood from an open gate.

He winced as his head spun from new memories.

Danny began to recall that boy who had stayed with them for only 6 months before he left the Ghost Zone after being revived, devastating Jazz. Clockwork had sealed up their memories of him, but had Spectra manipulated Jazz in the wake of her memories returning?

“I see. Anything else?”

".... I did it all for you, Danny. Everything."

Danny closed his eyes.

When he had been young and childish, he had hated Jazz's stifling attention, the way she smothered him and treated him like he was a child, like he wasn't worthy of standing next to her.

As he grew older, he began to see things her way and gained a new appreciation for the ways she had protected him. Even when he had been alone for two years in the human world, finishing his high school education and growing up into an adult, he hadn't realized just how much she had protected him until he had lived on his own.

He sighed. "I know."

He stared at her still form before he said, "I love you."

His face couldn't help but flush.

He felt embarrassed for being so mushy, but Jazz was his big sister and she needed the comfort. She needed to know that he loved her.

No matter whatever lies Spectra fed to Jazz to make her do all of this, he needed her to know that he would back her up, no questions asked.

He would make sure that she would not be punished or treated differently for her reign. Like she always did for him, he would clean up after her mistakes and let her know better privately, so she could learn from her failures while knowing that he would remain by her side.

Just like what she always did for him.

Jazz did not say anything in response to his words and Danny awkwardly continued, "Do you want anything?"

"I want Robin," Jazz said immediately. Her voice jumped from her blurting out her words so fast. Then she abruptly fell silent, her face still turned away as her body went stiff.

Danny did not know what to say.

Robin had been a 15 year old boy.

He would be 19 now.

He was most definitely not Robin anymore. He was alive now. Different. Not the way he used to be, laughing loudly as he teased all of the Phantoms, staying by Jazz's side as she worked through the paperwork given to her, escorting Jazz to her many events as Queen, and playing around with them all when they were still just kids, carefree and happy.

Robin would probably never come back.

He couldn't come back. Not unless he died again, and even then, he would never be the boy that cared so much about others.

Danny swallowed around the lump in his throat and patted Jazz's hip again. He decided to ignore what she said, knowing that she hadn't truly intended to say it aloud. “Want me to call someone to help you out of your clothes?”

“… I want Dani to help.”

He was a little relieved to be moving on from this uncomfortable atmosphere. “Dani? Got it. I’ll call her in a little bit. Rest. You won’t get in trouble for any of this, I’ll make sure of it.”

At those last words, Jazz whimpered and then turned her head before she started crying again into her bedsheets. Danny was a tad surprised that she still had the hydration needed to cry, but he waved away his thoughts as her soft sobs and bitten off whimpers only made his heart twist even further in his chest. He had an extremely strong urge to sink his fangs into Spectra’s throat and rip out her voice box.

He would settle with knowing that Dan was already torturing her within every inch of her afterlife.

Danny reached over to stroke Jazz’s hair as her body trembled from the force of her tears.

Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep, stains on the silk sheets underneath her face. Danny moved her off of her tear stains and then called for Dani, who quickly arrived and moved past him into the room to help Jazz out of her ceremonial robes.

Danny left the room and was immediately caught by Dan, who was covered in green ectoplasm. His expression was stone cold, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

Sometimes, Danny could not stand even looking at Dan, but no matter what, they were technically the same person. One of the few things they could agree on was Jazz’s safety and happiness.

“Is she alive?” Danny asked. His tone was so venomous that it even surprised himself.

Dan huffed, “Of course. I’m not stupid. She has to be alive for us to blame everything on her.”

Danny snorted coldly. “Good. Jazz is…. not doing great. I’m not sure what happened, but Spectra was manipulating her by using my name and… Robin’s name.”

He inwardly grimaced a little at the thought of him. Danny remembered thinking he was cool and awesome, but he was probably different now, wasn’t he?

Not to mention…

(Danny couldn’t help but blame him too for Jazz’s current state of mind.)

Dan’s next words surprised him.

“Robin? That brat who hung off of Jazz for half a year before being revived?“

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You remember him? I only just recalled his existence moments ago.”

Dan shrugged carelessly. “I didn’t care enough for Clockwork to seal my memories of him."

Danny scowled and shook his head in frustration. “Everything is so complicated. We’ll have to talk to the Observants, then Clockwork, I’ll have to interrogate Spectra myself, then I have to take down the cult and talk to the citizens and then I have to prepare for the coronation, not to mention, we all have to talk to Jazz and help her and—“

“Ugh, shut up!” Dan snarled and Danny scowled at him. He sneered before he crossed his arms and said, “What the hell do you think we’re here for? You have your loser friends, don’t you? They must have some use to them. Use them and let’s get all of this solved so we can help Jazz and take the burdens off of her shoulders. She’s dealt with enough in this shitty Ghost Zone.“

Danny rolled his eyes.

Why was his entire family so weird and fucked up?

He said, “Fine. We have to get this done. For Jazz’s sake.”

Dan huffed and repeated, “Fine. I’ll talk to the Observants about what happened and make sure that Spectra is blamed for Jazz’s actions.”

Danny sighed deeply. “Don’t kill them. The last time you killed one, Jazz had to apologize to them.”

Dan sneered again and crossed his arms.

“The things I do for her…” Dan mumbled to himself in disgust, but he shook his head and then floated off.

Danny watched him go before he similarly shook his head to wave away the thoughts in his brain.

He began the trip to see his friends and ask for their assistance. His speed grew with his urgency, hoping to finish up quickly so he could go back to Jazz.

He had a sister to comfort and a coronation to get to. Hopefully, she would feel better to talk soon, because they needed to plan.

It was time for him to take back the throne and become the rightful Ghost King.

|||||||||||||||||||

Me when I tell someone that it'll take a while to finish the cult one-shot and it comes out less than a day later: 🤥

I’m obsessed with siblings who are codependent. Siblings who depend on each other and have each other’s backs no matter what, siblings who will kill and die for each other, oooooooh I’m literally deranged.

Angst to me should be very vulnerable. I do love making Jazz cry, sorry not sorry.

Small essay on Danny and Jazz’s relationship: I’ve always found it interesting how Danny treated Jazz in the show. Like idk about you, but while Jazz can be annoying and seen as a know-it-all, with the way Sam and Danny treat her, it’s almost like she’s the most annoying person in existence. I can guess various reasons why, but it’ll be too long so wtv. That is why when I write in Danny’s POV, he acts like a brat around her and is the only one to see her flaws, but ultimately, he is extremely protective over her and depends on her for support and familial love. Jazz’s relationship with Danny is inspired by Supernatural’s Sam and Dean, Demon Slayer’s Nezuko and Tanjirou, Fullmetal Alchemist’s Edward and Alfonso, my own preferences, and most importantly, the Christmas episode ‘the Fright Before Christmas’ where Jazz protects Danny as their parents argue. Jazz is very much parentified and the only one that Danny trusts in his household and vice versa. As such, both Jazz and Danny are extremely codependent and protective of each other, but while Danny is nonchalant ab it, Jazz is extremely chalant ab it. Danny gets embarrassed about being a sister’s boy, but if push comes to shove, he would destroy the entire world and become Dan 2.0 if she ever died, no questions asked.

Why is Jazz lowkey obsessed with Robin? In my hcs, Jason left the Elsewhereness/heaven in order to go back to Bruce. While he explored the Infinite Realms, he saved Jazz and Dani. Bc Jazz basically fell in love at first sight, the two spent a lot of time together and Jason helped her in her duties for the next 6 months. When he was revived, he left her behind (and forgot her) and bc Jazz was so distressed, Clockwork sealed up all memories of Jason. Jazz had just started remembering him and Spectra manipulated her feelings about him and Danny to do her bidding, so her obsession/love is more amplified than normal.

Did the mention of Jason surprise you all? :3 I do love combining AUs and ideas together. I feel like my version of DPxDC canon is confusing (even to me) so if you have any questions, ask away bc I’d love to answer them and organize my thoughts :D

[directdogman]

A little bit more information about Crown, Milt + Marla's leanings + role in their triumvirate

It's fair to say that while Callum Crown was just a guy, Callum Crown the leader was essentially three people acting as one. By the time Crown ran for president, three people pitched in on his speeches. I'm sure I've given bits and pieces of this away in other posts, but I believe there's a few points I haven't expressed thoroughly, so I'm gonna discuss what each contributed, what they excelled at, how they saw the world and how it shaped policy.

Crown was naturally the engine of the trio. He was the guy with the grand ideas, the boundless optimist who could never accept the way things were. He always thought bigger and was never content with anything, be it his own ideas or the ideas of others. He worked himself tirelessly and saw his whole life as something that was supposed to be led exclusively in the service of mankind.

Crown saw the world kind of like a big machine and everywhere he looked, he could see imperfections that wound up slowing the machine down and harming innocent people. He felt those in power were incompetent hacks, who were only placed in their positions by circumstance, by the same hand of fate he had to overcome. Crown, of course, was born with a disability and had to invent his own prosthetic limbs in order to leave his garage. His mother never could've bought actual working prosthetics for him, given the nail-biting poverty his household faced. Crown was keenly aware that if not for his gumption and stubbornness, he never would've left his garage.

Similarly, he saw career politicians as ignorant fools who were incapable of understanding how screwed up the world was and how far the rabbit-hole descended. The zany optimism and grandiose, sweeping ideas seen in Crown's speeches were certainly his touch.

Then, we have Marla. Marla, like Crown, also had a disability and faced hurdles in her professional journey that Crown did not, being a woman in the mid-20th century. Marla, if she had been a man, would've sought higher office for herself, but knew she never would've been elected due to gender norms. This caused her to coalesce with Crown and urge him to move further on his path, seeing him as a surrogate fighter on the political stage not just for humanity, but for herself.

Crown's mayoral victory had a lot to do with her, as she interviewed Crown and wrote scathing editorials attacking Crown's opponent for his opposition to Dialtown's saviour. Marla's main focus was the pursuit of justice, a fight which she fought with even more fervor than her husband. Her main strength when writing for Crown (and delivering speeches on his behalf) was rousing feelings of indignant anger. Righteous anger directed towards those with power who would not actively use their station to fight the system. Marla was essentially an anarchist and wanted to fight and dismantle the system, something that put her at odds with her husband's plan in the end. It's easy to see why Crown fell head over heels for her.

Marla encouraged Crown to prioritize ideas that righted systematic wrongs, continue his fight for labour rights and focus on fixing systematic mistreatment of people before seeking total efficiency and technological advances (which Crown believed would benefit humanity as much as, if not more than advancing social policy first.) Though, trusting her judgement, Crown often took her cues as gospel.

The Crown 'saviour' narrative was also Marla's invention. Indeed, Crown's political career allowed her to actively help shape a better world, something that she would never have been able to do to the same extent without him. When Crown's paranoia set in and he began confiding less in her as president, leaving her to run smaller projects of her choosing and deal with the increasingly agitated press on her own, she felt this was a personal betrayal, as her opportunity to right wrongs in the world and affect policy had vanished. At this point, Crown was now solely concerned with the 'big picture', things like technology and projects like The Dialup.

Milt, unlike Crown + Marla, did not grow up in poverty and had an upper-middle class upbringing. He was university-educated and understood the middle and upper class in a way the other two could not. He saw those in power not as evil, but rather short-sighted and ill-equipped. Milt's main skill was humanizing Crown and somewhat neutering Crown and Marla's socialist rhetoric by marketing Crown not as a left-wing pro-labour candidate, but as an independent populist who would target corruption + lobbying, tackle electoral reform and stand up for the working stiff, implementing balanced (but radical) policies that would benefit ordinary Americans.

Milt emphasized Crown's humble upbringing, the adversity he'd overcome just to leave his house, alongside his sweeping success running Crown Mechanics, which made him sound like the most competent man for the job. Milt also emphasized his patriotism, writing him as a candidate who sat between both political parties, but fought for ordinary people. This is how Crown roped voters like Norm in.

Crown and Marla had some reservations about Milt's alterations to their scripts, but the 'us vs them' populist angle appealed massively to Crown, given his view on the political elite of his time, and the emphasis on the idea of fairness and the push for electoral reform pleased Marla's sense of justice. Both knew deep down that by appealing to a wider range of voters, they had a chance at winning, so Milt's suggestions were largely used.

Milt's leanings were less justice oriented than Marla's, he believed that systematic change would heal people, create a world where people were more free. This angle helped massively in winning over certain states. Like Crown (and unlike Marla), Milt too was massively interested in technology over social reform and he encouraged Crown to escalate the space race once he gained office and even helped Crown pick researchers for a project from fellow university alumnus.

Of course, Milt wound up being eventually relegated to the sidelines during Crown's presidency just as Marla was, namely over his repeated opposition to the idea of the Dialup. Crown took his inability to sell the idea to Milt as a personal failing, one he was internally hard on himself over. He was convinced that the Dialup was the ONLY way to ensure the world could be renewed, the only way to make sure that all people could be free. He felt that if he could somehow figure out the right words, find the right evidence, get the ball rolling on his own so Milt could 'see' his vision, he could convince Milt that the plan was the right call.

He didn't confide in Marla about the Dialup, fearing his enemies could torture information out of her. Given Milt's military experience, he didn't feel it could happen. It's the same reason Marla was never told the recovery code for Crown's memory deletion feature. Crown chose very poorly by not confiding more in her.

Crown's time at the UN is something I haven't talked about much, but many of his speeches during that time (one I may show off soon enough) were erratic and frankly, sounded crazy. This is due to Crown's overwork, mental strain (+ guilt) from losing Milt/Marla and naturally, losing their input from his speeches. Marla's focused indignation at the injustices of the world and Milt's humanization of Crown were now missing. There was no longer any voice other than Crown's, explaining his sweeping ideas in a way others could understand. And so, he explained his grandiose vision, depicting himself as a man who would split the heavens just as mankind had split the atoms, with no idea of how he sounded. The human element was gone. Crown was back to being the zany salesman, peddling wares that nobody else could understand the value of. Alone again, except this time, the whole world could see it.

Hope this was insightful :)

[coffee-fueled-cookie]

The Eltingville Club as parents

Josh Levy

Is a girl dad through and through (trust me guys, all fat guys should be girl dads)

Probably grows up to be a big fan of anime, but they'd both share a love for Star Wars. They watched the spin-off cartoons and movies, and she definitely dragged him to the new movies

He has tried to sit and watch through her animes, didn't like the cutesy magic girl ones until he actually sat down and watched Madoka Magica

Does enjoy Dragon Ball Z, so trust he put her on that

As for his collection, there are still important pieces that he keeps in cases, he probably has a space dedicated to them, maybe his office, but if something just simply won't gather value overtime then he for sure passes it off to her

This resulted in him crying over a chewed up Darth Vader doll (she was teething)

If his daughter grows up to wanna do cosplay he's definitely gonna have to straighten up about hus behavior, if he imagines guys like Bill talking about girls like his daughter??? Oh god, he'll have a heart attack

Took her to her first comic-con and basically hovered the whole time. Did, in fact, knock the mask off some pervy storm trooper

They've definitely had the problem about him being so stifling and protective, he feels a lot like his mom amd thinks about her a lot

Jerry Stokes

Oh brother, like father like son, those two are absolute dorks through and through, his clone basically popped out of his wife

As soon as his son is old enough, Jerry is hopping on making him a character sheet. He's teaching him Magic the gathering, painting him little miniatures

Was the dad that made his kid pick a Pokémon starter on the 1st birthday

Jerry has since found his place and enjoys the friends he has, but having someone so close that he can understand him and vice-versa is refreshing, especially since it's his own kid

They go to ren-fair for sure, the costumes are suuuppperr dorky, but it's fun

Jerry definitely struggles with his kid growing up and going off and doing his own thing. He definitely worries about who his kid is making friends with

He just doesn't want his kid making the same mistakes he did, even if his kid has proved that he can make good choices and make good friends

Bill Dickey

Oh god, everyone run, it's Bill, but a girl

Yeah, he has a daughter. No one knows how tf it happened, but it did

She's super bossy, super particular, and it's hell on earth, especially because he ends up wrapped around her pinky

Divorced dad core, definitely not married to the woman that had his girl

Surprisingly very present though

She's into Star Trek and mostly everything he's into, but on top of that, she's probably doing amazing academically

Raising a feminist, and he can't give credit to himself

Probably got it from mom

While she's terrible and has his nasty attitude, they actually get along too well

Bill, at some point, finally drops that femoid crap, it's hard to unlearn but it happens

Does that mean he's a feminist? No.... They still fight as much as they get along, especially because he can kinda put her down and doubt her a lot, doesn't help she's his kid

'I know better than you' mindset, it's not good

The fights don't even get resolved, they just choose to forget and next thing you know they're bonding over some old ass show Bill watched as a kid

It's exhausting but hey, they make it work somehow

Pete Dinunzio

(If this shit went accurately, he probably pumped and dumped, so he wouldn't be raising his kid)

BUT LET'S IMAGINE OTHERWISE

The dad that picks up his son every other week/weekend. It's always awkward the first half hour, but usually, he lightens up

He has for sure fought with mom about the stuff he keeps in his house

It's mostly posters from rated r films and the occasional prop from Sick Mofo

Finally, he just throws all the shit in one room and calls it an office, as for keeping it locked? He doesn't think that far

"The fun parent" or rather the enabler. He kind of encourages bad behavior, the guy to be like, "You can drink/smoke as long as it's at the house."

If his kid ends up into the shit he's into, then awesome for him, if not? He's kinda indifferent

Fell asleep once while watching his boy as a toddler, woke up to the police at his door and holding his kid (he didn't lock the door and the toddler ran out)

If they all met up again as parents, the other kids would probably be advised not to hang around him

Not because he's like a predator, he's just a bad influence, and his boy probably grew up alongside those influences and wouldn't be very nice or sympathetic either

[multifandomslxt]

Tramp - Stamp

MDNI

MINORS GO AWAY

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Yuta x chubby!reader

Synopsis: After years of silently admiring him from afar, your friends have finally convinced you to break the ice with the guy who's been the subject of your secret crush: Yuta Nakamoto, the renowned tattoo artist. His mere presence sends a wave of excitement through you...all of you. luckily you happen to have a particular design in mind—a tramp stamp—that you've been itching to get inked onto your skin.

WARNING: Smut, unprotected p in v ( use protection kids), choking, spitting, hair pulling, mirrors (hehe), crying, begging, needles, smoking, Yuta is mean but sweet (lol), READER IS CHUBBY!! stretch marks, love handles, back rolls, stomach rolls etc. (if you don't like it, don't read it), Reader calls Yuta "Daddy", Yuta calls reader "bunny".

A/N: I have nothing against lower back tattoos or tramp stamps. I plan to get one myself actually. however, the term tramp stamp will have a different meaning in this fic.

I apologize in advance for any typos. Enjoy!

"Finally!" Minhee, your best friend of five years mutters, exasperation dripping from her voice.

Your bottom lip juts out in distaste. "What do you mean finally? I mentioned this to you just a couple months ago."

"Yeah, Y/N, but come on, you usually back out of these things, y'know?" Minhee explains, a playful smirk on her lips.

You sigh, not bothering to argue because you know she's right. There was a good reason, though. You grew up sheltered, and because of that, you just shied away from things that would draw attention to you.

For example, a tramp stamp.

Minhee squeals and shimmies her shoulders in excitement. "So… who's gonna do it?"

Huh… You hadn’t really gotten that far in your thoughts. You just figured you would go to a random tattoo parlor with good enough reviews.

You shrug. "I'll just choose somewhere with great reviews."

Minhee looks at you quizzically, tilting her head. "Good reviews? Why? Yuta's sho—"

You hold your hand up, stopping her mid-sentence. You roll your eyes. "Don't even think about it."

Minhee mimics you, rolling her eyes as well. "Y/N, you've wanted to fuck the guy since high school."

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassing memories resurfacing. "Minhee, please," you beg.

Besides, even if you did allow Yuta to tattoo you, there was no way in hell he would do anything more. You weren’t his type. He didn’t say that to you, but after years of stalking his social media pages like a creep, it was obvious you were definitely not his cup of tea. And it bothered you more than it should have.

"But Y/N, how will you get out of your shell without trying something new?" Minhee pleads. "Just trust me, the worst thing he can do is just give you the tattoo and never talk to you again." She shrugs.

You bite your lip in contemplation. That is true.

Fuck it.

"Fine, I'll do it."

Another squeal. "Yes! I'll book your appointment."

After some taps on her phone, she says, "Friday, 12:30."

You exhale, already hearing your heart pounding in your ears.

~~~~~

It was Friday, 12:15 PM.

You stood outside Yuta's tattoo parlor, teetering on the edge of decision. The air was thick with the scent of rain, and the cloudy sky reflected your inner turmoil.

Minhee had called you earlier, her voice a mix of encouragement and threat. "Just spread your wings a little. See where it takes you," she had urged over the phone. "If you back out, I'll never talk to you again."

Hopefully not an embarrassing fall from grace, you thought.

Sighing, you wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans and pushed the door open. The chime above the door announced your arrival with a soft tinkle, and you stepped inside, your heart pounding in your ears.

Your eyes darted to every corner of the shop within your sight. Holy shit.

It was dark. So fucking dark.

The parlor was an extension of Yuta himself. Black leather furniture, dark wood shelves, and posters of intricate, shadowy designs adorned the walls. Even the decorative plants were a deep, almost black, green. The only color contrasts were the neon signs casting an eerie glow and the cherry red telephone on the receptionist's desk.

And, of course, you.

A horrible choice to wear a baby pink crop top. You had hoped not to stand out, for crying out loud.

"Spread your wings," you muttered to yourself, taking another deep breath.

You made your way to the receptionist, pretending not to notice her staring at you since you stood outside. Her gaze was intense, but her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Hello, how may I help you today, sweetheart?" the receptionist asked.

"Hi, umm, I have an appointment? I'm Y/N for 12:30."

The receptionist nodded immediately, typing away and glancing at her computer screen. "Ah… 12:30 with Yuta." She looked up, waiting for your confirmation.

You nodded.

She smiled again. "Go through that door and wait; he'll be right with you."

The door she pointed to was, of course, dark wood, almost black, adorned with posters of various butterfly tattoos. A gold name plate read, "N. YUTA."

You exhaled once more, your heart hammering in your chest, and made your way toward the door, each step echoing in the dimly lit room.

The door opened with a soft creak, and my gosh, the light almost blinded you. Such a contrast from the waiting area.

The walls were a dark red with random splashes of black paint, all four sides adorned with even more sketches. Butterflies, swords, cartoons, and so much more.

a stool, and a bed -where you assumed customers lay down or sat on when getting tattooed- stood in the middle of the room. A table right beside the stool stood with different inks and the tools Yuta would need to tattoo someone. And, of course, there was a huge light standing over the bench and stool.

You awkwardly took a seat at the edge of the bed. The second you sat down, the door opened again, revealing Yuta.

His head was down, focused on his phone screen. You took this opportunity to look at him. Like, really look at him.

His black hair was grown out just above his shoulders, framing his face with an almost rough ethereal beauty. He was clad in all black—black pants and a black crop top that revealed just the tiniest bit of his butterfly tattoo and a fucking belly button piercing.

fuck me.

Finally, he looked up, and you quickly looked away.

his eyes were darker than you remembered.

"Y/N, right?" His voice was smooth and rich, with a hint of amusement.

You turned your attention back to him and nodded. "Y-yeah, I'm Y/N."

He nodded, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I'm Yuta. I'll be tattooing you today," he said, taking a seat on the stool in front of you. he smelled like cigarettes and faintlu of cologne.

it made you dizzy.

"Yeah, I know that. So, umm, I have my design—if that's okay?" you stumbled, trying to keep your composure.

The way he was staring so deeply at you like he could see through you.

It almost made you want to hide.

like a predator stalking its prey.

He stared at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before saying something that made your heart nearly stop. "You're still so shy after all these years, bunny?"

Bunny?

Did he just call you... No.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of his words. Had he recognized you? Your cheeks flushed as old, buried memories began to resurface. You had known Yuta back in high school, but you never thought he’d remember you. Let alone a nickname you thought he had long forgotten.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. "Y-you remember me?"

Yuta chuckled softly, a dark, almost predatory look in his eyes. "Of course I do. Some things you just don't forget."

butterflies erupted in your belly as you felt your finger tips tingle

You wanted to be under him so badly that your body ached.

The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, peeling away the layers you had built around yourself over the years.

"Well then," he said, leaning forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's see that design."

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your back pocket and pulled out the paper with your design on it. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing against his. His touch was warm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. For a brief moment Yuta's body stiffened.

Holy fuck.

Did he want you too?

He examined the design, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. " You drew this?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak.

he looks up at you quizzically causing your breathing to hasten

"do i still have to remind you to use your words bunny?" he asks his tone joking but his posture changed. from slouching to upright and his jaw was clenched. his eyes were a little darker and a little more demanding.

You realized that he wanted to hear you and he wanted it now.

your breath hitches before squeaking out a quiet "no"

he smiles, relaxes his posture and nods approvingly "Good girl"

This was unfair.

you wanted to affect him as much as he affected you.

Yuta looked up at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. "it's nice. it suits you. where do you want it?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "on my back please" you whispered.

Yuta raises a dark eyebrow in question "This seems a little small for the middle of your back bunny."

"no no, you don't understand" you you chuckle nervously

he looks at you expectantly, crossing his arms at his chest and tilting his head "Well make me understand sweetheart"

"I'll just show you" You get up from the bed and turn around

lifting our shirt revealing your lower back just above your ass.

you reach behind you and attempt to point to that spot "right here. I want it right here please."

A beat of silence passes, and another and another before you decide to turn around slightly.

his eyes lazily looked at you from head to toe.

He swallowed thickly, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and curiosity before he replied in a strained voice,

"A tramp stamp?"

You smiled, feeling a rush of boldness, and with a flicker of hesitation, dropped your shirt, fully facing him now.

"Yes," you confirmed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves within you. God, he made you so jittery.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, his eyes still fixed on you, observing every move as if he were deciphering a complex puzzle.

"Who's it for?" he questioned, his tone tinged with the same strain as before.

Confusion flickered across your features as you met his gaze. "Me?" you responded, the uncertainty evident in your voice.

He chuckled, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Fucking hell, you're trying to kill me."

" A tramp stamp just for your own amusement, bunny? And you want me to do it?" His words carried a mix of disbelief and a hint of something deeper, perhaps longing.

With a resigned sigh, he walked over to his stool and took a seat, motioning for you to shut the door.

It was common knowledge that when Yuta worked, he kept the door cracked, but shutting it completely? That was unheard of.

You decided to comply, despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. Closing the door softly behind you, you approached him with slow, steady steps, stopping in between his parted legs.

"A tattoo on your lower back," he mused carefully, his hands moving to grasp your love handles possessively leading you to the bed.

"You're putting ideas in my head." he whispers still staring at you hips.

His words were laced with a raw intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His eyes bore into yours so intently it made you heart race and your heart clench.

Did he want you to beg for it?

fine, you came prepared for that anyway.

'Please...ruin me. Fucking ruin me.'

is what you would have said if you were brave enough, instead all you could get out was

"oh..i-"

Yuta chuckles "flustered?"

you clear your throat and look away

a finger lifts your chin causing you to meet his predatory gaze again

"I'm gonna be real with you here bunny, I want to fuck your brains out. not professional of me I know but I wouldn't be saying it if I didn't know you wanted it too"

~~~~~

your fingers clawed at his back as he fucked you against the wall

his balls rhythmically slapping against you

you looked down enjoying the sight of him fucking into you , his cock branded with a white ring of your cum.

"Yuta," you gasp, breath hitching, "I want more."

“Oh, you want more?” he responds with a smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I can definitely give you more."

The motion of his thrusts causes your stomach to quiver, muscles trembling in response as your body matches his rhythm. Each movement is intense, sending waves of sensation through you.

Your throat feels raw from all the shouting and moaning—so much so that you can barely voice how close you are. Instead, your grip tightens around his arm, fingers digging into his skin in a desperate, wordless plea, silently telling him that you’re right on the edge.

"Already, Y/N?" he taunts, not even slowing his relentless pace. His voice is a mix of amusement and intensity, each word vibrating through you.

Before you can process his words, the sensation crashes over you, making your toes curl, your back arching away from the wall. Your mouth falls open, releasing a silent scream as the overwhelming pleasure grips you.

The release is so intense that tears spill down your cheeks, your body trembling under the weight of it all. But he doesn't stop—his rhythm remains the same, drawing out every ounce of sensation, leaving you breathless and barely able to think.

have you ever been fucked so hard you stomach started to hurt?

but fuck, you didn't want him to stop

soon you started to feel the burn of it all, our body twitched and trembled.

you fought so hard to speak but you couldn't even form a thought

suddenly it was all too much.

your head spun , your eyes rolled back and your body shook with one more orgasm

"Yuta please!" you screamed your hand instinctually trying to push him away from you and he only responded by gripping both your wrist in one hand.

"behave!" he growled out biting your nipple as a form of punishment but all that did was give you another orgasm.

"Ah! I'm-oh...please...fuck me daddy....please" you cried hysterically.

It's embarrassing what a good fuck can do to the mind

"Fuck bunny, such a dirty fucking mouth" he whispers as he bring his hand to your face gripping your jaw.

"open for me baby" he coos

you mouth is wide open not even a millisecond later and oh my hell

you died and came back when he spat in your mouth.

"swallow that shit" he thrusts deeper and harder.

"SHIT!" You scream out as he reaches a spot that you never had touched

he smiles at you mischievously "found it"

and just like that you had two more orgasms before you realized,

Yuta didn't cum yet

which could only mean one thing

"I'm not done with you bunny. I want you from the back"

You shook your head, still in a daze. " T-tired....t'much...mmm"

he kisses your temple oh so sweetly as anything but sweet words fall from his lips "i know baby but I want to see you cry some more when i fuck you harder. besides, don't you want daddy to cum all over you baby?

you look up at him with tear filled eyes "yes daddy"

he smiles showing his teeth "then be a good bunny and get on all fours for me"

~

"ah fuck" was what he said when he finally sank into you again.

his hands roamed your back squeezing and giving attention to your rolls

"You were fucking made for me" he moaned out in utter bliss.

looks like you did affect him like he affected you.

he was relentless with his thrust.

so fucking eager.

the room was just filled with the sound of your ass meeting his cock and oh was it music to your ears

"the view from here is fucking amazing baby"

he slaps your ass cheek repeatedly and you already know its bruised red.

from the mirror on the wall you could see him rubbing his hands all over your stretch marks as he mouths an inaudible "fuck"

You also see that he's going to take it up a notch when he lifts one of his legs up on to the stool. giving him a deeper angle as he pummels into you

"you grip on the white sheet on the tattoo bed as you scream

"I'M GONNA CUM!"

you fall on your chest as the strength leaves your arms. your eyes blur with tears for the the umpteenth time and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood

"I know baby me too" he pants out chest heaving as he tries to maintain his pace

"mmm-I'm cumming...i'm cumming- ah shit!" you manage to get out as your stomach tightens.

you feel Yuta swelling inside you but he pulls out just intime as white ropes of cum are painted over your back.

you barley can keep your eyes open as you see Yuta use his hands to spread his cum all over your stretchmark- filled ass cheeks

"holy shit: he says collapsing on top of you.

you're quiet for a moment not finding the strength to speak as yet

"i should've taken you on a date first bunny" Yuta says filling the silence

you sigh contently "you still can."

[22ayla21]

Nooooo I just read the third child part and🥺 that was so cuteeee and smdjaknaksnsk I was wondering how the chirldren spend time with their mom?

Mom and Kids

How the wives of the men of Amphoreus spend time with their children

She introduces the children to books by telling them stories before bed. Even if the children are already asleep, she continues to whisper the last lines so that their dreams are filled with adventures.

She also teaches them to weave wreaths, embroider patterns in the style of Kremnos, and cook traditional dishes. The eldest son especially carefully watches her hands, trying to imitate every movement.

The middle daughter always wins at hide-and-seek, because she has inherited her father's cunning, and the youngest does not consider it a competition at all, simply choosing a comfortable place where she can quietly read a book.

Although she does not require the children to be warriors, she teaches them to use weapons for self-defense. The eldest son is more inclined to tactics, and the middle one - to combat, which inevitably leads to friendly sparring between them.

She loves to take the children to the shore, where they splash in the waves, build sand castles and decorate them with shells. Mydei sometimes joins in, just to make sure no one gets too carried away.

On quiet evenings by the fireplace, she holds her youngest daughter on her lap while the older children cuddle up to her, sharing their worries. Sometimes Mydei himself joins them at such moments, surrounding the family with the warmth of his strong arms.

She teaches the children that strength does not always solve everything, and it is important to be able to negotiate. This is especially important for the middle daughter, who sometimes forgets that you can’t just “knock out” a problem.

Teaches the children to take care of living creatures, be it a wounded bird or a homeless puppy. Sometimes this leads to Mydei coming home and seeing a new “zoo” under the roof of their house.

Usually, her mornings begin with the children climbing into bed with her, settling down next to her, and Mydei, seeing this, just smirks and collapses next to her, turning everything into a heap of warm hugs.

Every morning she woke the children with soft words and kisses, and then ate breakfast with them, enjoying their chatter. Even if Anaxa sometimes frowned at the noise, she only laughed and said that these were "the sounds of family happiness."

She helped the children with their studies (at least what she understood, leaving the most difficult ones to her husband), but never pressured them. If her daughters were engaged in tactics and strategy, she encouraged them, finding time to explain something with examples from life. And she taught her youngest son that not everything can be solved by the mind - sometimes you just need to be kind.

Every evening she told the children fairy tales, sometimes about her adventures in her youth. The daughters were more interested in stories about bravery and battles, and the son loved stories about friendship and kindness.

Despite Anaxa's strictness, she did not forbid the children to be naughty. They would have impromptu fights, hide-and-seek, and sometimes even try to hide from Anaxa to see how quickly he would find them.

She often took the children for walks, showing them the beauty of Amphoraeus's nature. The daughters tried to analyze everything, like their father, but the son simply enjoyed the moment, and she was glad for that.

Sometimes they cooked together. The daughters learned precision, and the youngest son simply enjoyed the process, licking the spoons. As a result, the kitchen was in disarray, but the atmosphere was warm.

When one of the children was upset, she always found a way to support them. She knew that the daughters appreciated sensible advice, and sometimes a hug from his mother was enough for the son to feel better.

When Anaxa was free, she always found a way to include him in their family moments. Although he sometimes grumbled, even the children knew that their dad was just pretending not to like spending time with them.

She tries to give her children not only physical development, but also intellectual development. She likes to read them books before bed, tell them myths and stories about great warriors, but also teaches them tactics, diplomacy and wisdom.

She often takes them outside the city so that they can feel free and explore the world around them. She can teach them to collect medicinal herbs, navigate by the stars or tell them about the animals that live in their area.

Despite her seriousness, she knows how to be cheerful. She can let the children braid her hair in chaotic pigtails or play hide and seek. Sometimes, if they ask, she even plays along with them in role-playing games, portraying a scary monster or a noble hero.

Although Phainon is mainly involved in this, she does not stand aside. She shows her sons the basics of swordplay, teaches them to remain cool and discipline, but she does it more gently than their father, so that they do not perceive training as a harsh duty.

Unlike Phainon, who expresses love through actions, she gives her children a lot of physical affection. She can hug them, kiss them on the top of the head, lay them down next to her if they have a nightmare. It is important to her that they feel her love not only in words, but also in touch.

She is the first one her sons run to if they have problems or doubts. She knows how to listen to them without judging them, and give advice that helps them find the right solution, and not just tell them what to do.

She carefully preserves the culture of her people and instills it in her children, telling them about her roots, old customs and holidays. Sometimes she cooks dishes from her homeland, sometimes she arranges small rituals that remind her of home.

She sees each child as an individual and never compares them. If one son loves battles, and another prefers tactics or art, she will support them in any choice, knowing that their happiness is the most important thing.

When a long-awaited girl finally appears in the family, she gladly passes on to her the female traditions of her people. Although Phainon dotes on the little girl, her mother remains her first mentor in the world of tenderness and strength.

[the-kr8tor]

EEEEEEEEP GET ME SOME DILF! HOBIE TO MUNCH ON!!

Elder berries for my Beloved Bobart Brown with ❣️!! (I had a temporary war w myself trying to choose between ❣️ or ⭐) where R is chasing BBB (beloved Bobart Brown) cuz she has a big fat crush on him while he's like, "uhhh, you're cute but you do know that I'm way to old for you?" but R is a little hard headed y'know.

Hope I'm not asking for too much🥲

Watch me pull a "Too Sweet + Guys my age + Older + Favorite" combo for the next whole hour or so:3

AAHHHHHHH OLDER HOBIE! Thank you for requesting, rozey!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, older! Hobie, cw alcohol mention, awkward flirting, fluff!

A/N: Special thanks to @yumeaoka-chan bc their comment abt aaron single-handedly inspired this one 🤭

One year celebration 🎉

The giggling and the chatter of your friends are muffled in your ears as you watch him pass the doors of the pub. It's as if cupid himself struck an arrow right at your heart. He looks fit, like he just strutted out of a runway and into the dim pub. He wears leather well, jacket practically sculpted to his form. His hair is in long braids, all tied together in a ponytail that has the small silver charms clicking against each other. Then you spot the grey hairs weaved around the pretty braids, white hair running from the sides, earning him the title of a silver fox in your heart. Then there's his eyes, amber, soft and kind against the yellow lights of the pub. He has crow’s feet around those golden eyes, a testament that he has smiled a lot in his life.

As he strides towards the bar, his posture casual, hands tucked inside his pockets and with the nonchalance of someone who owns the place. Judging by how he paid for the single pint he ordered, that's not the case. But the curt nod exchanged by the handsome stranger and the bartender says that he's a regular. He just has that air around him that turns heads, admiration or something more as you see some patrons glance his way— all having the same shining eyes you probably have right now.

You purse your lips when he wraps his lithe ringed fingers around the glass, but before he sips, he blinks, head craning to look in your direction.

Caught in the act, you almost squeak, hands gripping at the glass of your forgotten drink as the handsome older stranger tilts his head, a smile curling on the corner of his lips. His eyes seem to gaze at you for hours, but with a parting chuckle from him, he turns back towards his lone drink.

“Shit.” You curse under your breath, palms clammy as you swallow thickly just from how you remembered his eyes meeting your own.

Your friends seem to notice your obvious gawking, and Betty, your best friend, taps your shoulder with a raise of her neat brow. “If you don't talk to him now, I will.”

“Don’t you dare.” Glaring, she giggles, pushing you off the booth until you're tethering off the edge of the rough leather seat. “Betty!” You whisper yell, gripping the end of the table.

“Go,” she continues to urge you, pinching your sides as you hop off the seat with a wince. “Go use your pretty girl charm and get your old man!”

“What charm?” Trying to sit back down, she quickly slides over to your seat, blocking you. “Betty!” Your friends stifle a laugh.

“How about a bet, to encourage you to put your pretty ass out there, hm?” She pokes your stomach, still sitting in your seat. You roll your eyes, pushing her away with your knee to no avail. “If you get his number, then we'll buy you that book you've been raving about.”

“Really?” You perk up, staring at your friends as they nod with a chuckle. “You better not be fucking with me, Betty, that's a really expensive book, it's limited edition.”

Betty almost falters. “Well, if we split it then it won't be, right?” She gets a few reluctant nods. “Besides, do you think you'll get his number?”

“For the book? Yes, bonus I get myself a boyfriend that would go to the store to buy me pads— and yes, I'm looking at you Anna and your Chad, who thinks wings are actually chicken wings.” A round of guffaws echoes out as Anna nods and sends you off with a pat on your behind.

As you start crossing the distance towards the mysterious hot stranger, you start to feel the nerves ebbing through you. Your hands are like waterfalls, and your legs feel like jelly once you get near enough to smell his cologne. Not overpowering that would give you the ick, it's citrus with a hint of fresh linen and mint.

You slide on the stool beside him, not knowing what to do with your hands as you put it on the counter then immediately change your mind and put it over your lap.

He raises a pierced brow, side eyeing you over the rim of his glass. “You’re punchin’ above your age range, love.”

Fuck, even his voice sends shivers down your arms. A good kind of shiver, not the type that you get when there's a scary movie playing.

“Really? I thought you were my age.” That's a shit reply, you thought to yourself, cringing. You close your eyes then swallow down your nerves before exhaling and craning your neck to finally look at him. “So, what's your poison?”

A smile slowly spreads on his pierced lips, eyes roaming around the curve of your jaw before meeting your own. “A girl after my own heart.”

“I'm not a girl, I'm a woman.” That sounded better in your head. You bite your lip to suppress a pained groan as you try to flag down the bartender.

He looks you up and down before flicking his eyes to yours once again. “Clearly.”

Your cheeks are on fire. Not getting a word out, the bartender ignores you.

He swallows the last of his drink, placing the glass down before flicking his wrist, index and middle raised as he calls the bartender effortlessly. You're in awe as the bartender walks over to him.

“A whiskey, neat for me and a cherry daiquiri for the…” he smirks, eyes glancing at you for a moment. “...Woman.”

You huff in your seat, cheeks still aflame. “How'd you know that's my drink?”

“Saw you cradlin’ it while you were oglin’ me.” The drinks slide on the counter, and he catches them before handing you your own. “A cherry daiquiri for the woman.” He teases with a glint in his eyes.

“Fine, I get it, I'm not your type.” Your shoulders slump, inhaling deeply and accepting defeat. “At least let me pay for the drinks.”

“Now, I didn't say anythin' ‘bout that.” His eyes grow softer, head tilting as he smiles, a genuine one, not a playful one. “Who said you're not my type?”

“Y–You, wait– no, I did. Yeah I did.” You stutter, almost fumbling off your seat as he grins at you.

“That right?” He rolls his shoulders, finger tapping the glass of his amber drink. “I figured I owe you a conversation with you payin’ and the book on the line.”

Chuckling nervously, you play with the hem of your dress. He keeps gazing at you like you're the only person in the whole pub, like all of his attention is on you. “W–What book?” You're caught red handed.

“The book that you'll get if you manage to get my number. What kind of book is it then?” He takes a sip, and you find yourself ogling at his bobbing Adam's apple.

You shake your thoughts away, taking your own drink and sipping at it, all the while trying not to choke from the pretty sight in front of you. “It's a new edition of my favourite book. It has a new cover, and they only made like a hundred of them.”

“Shit, is it the one from S. Collins?”

Your eyes widen, expression lighting up from the mention. “Yes! It's by her! Have you read it?”

“Read it? Love, I read all of ‘em.”

Grinning, the two of you fall into a smooth and casual conversation. From talking about books to everything under the sun. He's easy to talk to, smart and not just easy on the eyes. It's as if you've known him your whole life, and based on his easy smile, he feels the same. You don't realize it's been an hour until Betty tosses a straw at you and taps her watch.

“Shit,” you turn back towards him and his shoulders slouch with slight disappointment. “I have to go, thank you by the way. It's—” your heart already aches. “It was nice.” As you toss some bills on the counter, he stops you with his hand bracelet around your wrist gently.

“You forgot somethin', love.”

“What's that?”

“My name, it's Hobie, Hobie Brown.”

Your shyness peeks out as you tell him your name. Hobie smiles back, nodding and hiding his face by taking a napkin on the counter and writing something on it. Wait, was he flustered?

“And my number, call me when you get your book.”

[writingouthere]

Wait neighbor Sukuna is cuteeeeee I need a story pleaseeee🥹🥹🥹

another neighbor!Sukuna drabble. your first unofficial date.

cw: fluff, single parent reader, Sukuna is a good neighbor but a bad dude

The first time that Sukuna took you out happened on accident.

He'd been keeping track of your comings and goings so he could start being in the hallway at the same time as you to give a casual hello. His favorite times were when you had time to just chat without you needing to rush off to work or to daycare or one of the many activities you always were taking your daughter to.

It was a Saturday morning and Sukuna's ears perked up when he heard you talking to your daughter down the hallway. You couldn't clearly hear what you were saying but the tone seemed soothing and he thought he could even make out some sniffling from your daughter, unusual since she was usually so cheerful.

Sukuna grabbed his mailbox key so he had a purpose for stepping outside and slipped some shoes on before going into the hallway.

"Morning, neighbor," you managed cheerfully and Sukuna looked down to see that your daughter had tears on her face. The sight had his hackles up immediately.

"Are you all okay?" He tried to sound nonchalant and he wondered if it worked as you wiped away some of your daughter's tears.

"We're okay, it's just," you paused here and looked at your daughter. "Her dad was going to take her to the aquarium but something came up and he's not going to make it. I know he's really disappointed he can't go." The touch of anger in your eyes made him think that this was you just trying to make your daughter feel better.

Sukuna had been planning to wait a little longer, to build more of a rapport with you before trying anything, but he couldn't just see you or your kid look like this over some loser who couldn't be a real man for his family.

"Well I don't see why that means we can't go to the aquarium," he said and he finally got the kid to stop crying for a second and look up at him.

"We don't have a car and it's over two hours by subway," you said reluctantly and Sukuna couldn't contain his sly grin.

"I have a car, and I wouldn't mind taking you. If that's okay with you, of course."

"Yes, yes, yes, can we go mommy, please?" Sukuna had never heard your toddler say so much before and you bit your lip before looking back at him. Sukuna could barely keep his eyes off your mouth but he knew if he looked he'd kiss you and this wasn't the place for it.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to do it, sweetheart." You blushed a little at that and looked down at your daughter.

"Alright bug, we can go. But make sure you tell Mr. Ryomen thank you."

"Thank you, Mr. Ryomen," your daughter echoed dutifully and he knelt down to ruffle her hair.

"No need to thank me, and I told you, you can both just call me Sukuna."

"Thank you, Sukuna." Sukuna really wanted to kiss you. But he knew that if he did it now it would ruin this perfect chance for you to see what he could be for you, for both of you.

You bring out a car seat that you have in your apartment and you show Sukuna how to install it. Sukuna pays attention because he plans on going on many more trips with the two of you. Maybe the car seat can even just stay here(not yet, not yet, not yet he keeps telling himself).

He encourages you to choose the radio station you listen to on the way over and you choose a throwback station that has you and the kid singing along to. It's nice and warm and Sukuna knows every person he's ever met would be baffled at the scene but it feels too fucking right to care.

He pays once you get there, waving off your protests and you spend all day looking at the exhibits. When you get to the pool where you can pet the stingrays, he lifts your daughter up so she can reach them and shows her how to hold her fingers so the animals will come up to her. He can feel your gaze on him, but this isn't even just for you. The more time he spends with your daughter, the more he feels like she's supposed to be his too.

Finally though, the toddler being a toddler gets hangry and you all stop at the cafe for a light lunch. He watches as you try to persuade your daughter to have some fruit in addition to the cookie she has her eye on and Sukuna pops some of the grapes in his mouth with an exaggerated noise of pleasure, making mini-you copy him.

"Thanks," you tell him as you watch your daughter finish up her fruit. "It was one thing when it was just the vegetables she didn't like but now she's got beef with fruits and I'm worried she's going to end up with scurvy."

"No problem, happy to help." and the thing is, Sukuna is happy to help. He remains happy as you finish going through the aquarium. When your daughter gets too tired, he picks her up and carries her so you can make your way back to your car.

"All tired out, bug," you say, affectionately rubbing her back. He hoists her up higher on his hip as you enter the lobby when an older woman stops you.

"Such a beautiful family you have here," she says waving at the sleepy toddler on Sukuna's hip and he nods as you blush.

Neither of you speak about it, but he wonders if it's on your mind as much as his on your way back to your apartment building. He lets you say your goodbyes as the sleeping girl on your shoulder drools in her sleep.

When Sukuna enters his apartment he leans back against his door and just lets the warmth of the day wash over him. He had known before what he wanted, but now he felt almost desperate.

His days spent in this quiet apartment alone were numbered, and he was going to make sure you knew his intentions as soon as possible.

After all, he still had your car seat.

[your-nanas-house]

Just a... thong

◇ Pairing: Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy X Bff's daughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: mention of masturbation, age gap (all off age, Cill is in his 40s, Y/n 20s), pervert Cilly, laundry, dad's best friend, cramps

◇ Summary: Cillian decides to take care of the laundry and finds his best friend's daughter's thong.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Another piece of the "AU/series" of Dad's Friend. Thank you @drcranessweetestdoe to encourage me to write smt. It's bit shitty but I hope it will "satiate" you a little. 🤭

It had been several weeks since Y/n, his best friend's daughter, had come to stay with Cillian for the summer holidays.

He had rearranged a bit of the usual routine that the man had made his, now that he was in his 40s and considered himself too old for several things.

However, he had adapted quite well, thanks to the collaboration of the young woman who also did not want to cause any disturbance to him and therefore followed his schedule a bit.

They had established little silent rules, such as the times of breakfast and meals in general, who cooked and when. They had also decided without talking about it that they would do the dirty laundry individually even though she was the one in charge of running the washing machine and making sure of the little details like which clothes could go together and which couldn't.

Usually Y/n took care of the sorting too, before Cillian could do anything, so it was the first time for the man to take care of that task.

The young woman was busy on a call with her family and the Irishman didn't have much to do, so when he passed by the room where the washing machine had finished he approached it, deciding to do it himself to take away a task from her seeing how well he was taking care of all the things he had asked her to do in exchange to make her stay under his roof.

His baby blue eyes scanned the object, taking in the different buttons before making sure it was actually done.

When he was sure of it he opened it, rushing to get the basket to put all the wet clothes in there and then go and hang them outside since the weather permitted.

They were mostly his things and a few things from Y/n, just clothes he had seen on her the previous days, some sports tops and... a lacy piece.

A lacy... A lacy piece of clothing, Cillian repeated to himself before his eyes snapped quickly back to the undergarments he was holding in his hand. His breath catching in his throat as his mouth dried, his heart started to beat faster, drumming against his chest at the realization.

A thong.. it's just a thong, Cillian, get yourself together, he thought, scolding himself, as his eyes snapped towards the door and back to the fabric when he was sure that he was still alone.

Her underwear was soft under his fingertips, smooth and silky except the lacy part that decorated it in an innocent but provocative way.

There was little fabric... he really wondered why she worn something like that since it covered barely her cunt, exposing probably fully her round ass cheeks.

"Fuck" the older man murmured under his breath, his breath becoming heavier as his mind wandered, imagine his best friend's daughter wearing something like that... just that, her body completely bare, her breasts on full display as the thong hugged her hips, teasing him with its little see not see game.

His body reacted pretty quickly and he was hard.. again.

It had been happening quite frequently since she entered his life in a daily basis. He really felt like a pathetic teenager by the way his body acted at the mere display of a bit of her skin.

Cillian bite his lip, taking a deep breath as he stroked the fabric in his hand for a couple of seconds, groaning softly at the feeling while his other hand moved slowly to his boner which was quite noticeable because of the sweatpants he had choose to wear that morning. His thick fingers slowly brushed his clothed hard lenght, before palming it... his bottom lip caged by his white teeth as his mind started to play different scenarios.

"Fuck" he cursed lowly, moving his hand again to pull out his cock irrationally, following the wind of his carnal desire with no shame, too blinded by lust.

"Is everything okay? Is it your back again?.. I heard you curse" Y/n's sweet voice interrupted him, making his blood run cold and move quickly up.. stretching his muscles in the wrong way.

He really was too old for this kind of things, he thought dramatically while cursing softly.

A shock of pain hit him, making him lean against the washing machine in an attempt to regain himself.

Karma.. just Karma, Cillian repeated in his head while inhaling deeply, now feeling pretty much self-conscious about his actions. Luckily she didn't look like she had noticed the perverse actions he was about to comply.

Her look was one of worry and not disgust, even when she moved quickly closer to make sure he was alright and help him sit on the sofa to relax a moment while she continued the task, not noticing the piece of clothing that was missing since he didn't have the opportunity or the time to throw it back in the basket before she took it to another room, warning him that she was coming back to check on him and his back.