#this man has never had a full 8 hours of sleep

[twiggy-boy]

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 8: The Reunion

“Oh god, look at all these people,” you mutter, looking around the hall the award ceremony from your seat in the developer section, which is full beyond capacity. “Don’t think I’ve seen this many people before.”

The last time you saw so many people was your graduation night at Gotham Academy, but this makes that look like a small office party in comparison.

(There is no need to fret. You have polished your speech to perfection and have rehearsed it so many times you can recite it perfectly in your sleep. And when you are done, all will cheer for you.)

You smile at its words. No matter how uncertain you feel, the Megamycete always has your back. You’d hate to think where you’d be without it.

Well, without the Megamycete, you’d probably be dead.

“Wonder where Alfred is,” you wonder, looking around at the back of the hall. “He said he was coming.”

(We are sure he is here. The butler would swim through shards of broken glass to be here at the biggest triumph of your life.)

You’re so anxious to see the man; it’s been four years since you last saw him in person and you just know he’s going to bring up your lack of visits and probably try to guilt you into visiting since Gotham’s only three hours away, but you intend to stand your ground and go back to Goodsprings tomorrow.

“I hope he likes the suit I got,” you mutter, messing with your collar for the millionth time, not use to wearing such fancy clothes.

(He will. You chose from among millions of choices and made the best choice. Everyone in the room is no doubt in awe of your superior fashion choice.)

The day you were told you were in the running for this award, you drove to Vegas and spent well over an hour at the Men’s Warehouse, looking over and trying on countless suits. The salesman helped a bit, but many people in the Megamycete’s records included many upper class men, men’s fashion designers, and models, so you were more than capable of picking out a tasteful black blazer with a breast pocket perfect for holding your Momma’s pen, a white button up shirt, and matching black pants and dress shoes.

The clothes looked fine on the rack, but wearing them in public for all to see is something you had to psych yourself up for. You feel like a kid playing pretend with his father’s clothes and everyone knows it. Still, you can’t help but feel like a professional and take a little pride in it.

Just then, the lights dim and the audience cheers as the MC steps on stage.

“Hello, everyone,” he says. “Are you ready to kick off the Golden Games?”

The room fills with thunderous applause and cheers, yours among them. You’ve known about this event for years and have never missed watching it. When you first started your game, you fantasized about being at the Gamer’s Gala competing with your fellow developers for the Golden Joystick, but knew there was no chance your first game would ever make it to the first round of voting. Perhaps your second game. Or maybe your third.

But here you are, at this prestigious event with your first ever game in top contention for a prize so many covet.

You pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake and are pleased that you’re wide awake.

The ceremony opens up with the Golden Joystick for the Triple-A Game of the Year and awards for their various categories, like story, gameplay, music, graphics, etc.

“Alright, with all the big dogs out of the way, we finally get to the indie games. And boy, was this year a massive success for so many indie developers with over fifty percent of this year’s most anticipated games being indie games! Let’s go over your picks for this year’s Indie Game of the Year.”

You get a look at the trophy you and your peers are competing for: the Golden Joystick. As the name suggests, it’s a trophy in the shape of an old fashioned joystick made up of a gold material. For a moment, you allow yourself to visualize winning it and displaying it in your office. Hell, you had a spot on a shelf made for it when you got the email from the event committee that Salvage Rights was a candidate for Indie Game of the Year, even though voting was still ongoing.

The MC begins going through the list of games with said games and their developers being displayed on one massive screen behind him with the game’s team showing up on the other one. With each game mentioned, you think about your Momma; you can remember being at some awards ceremony years ago when one of her books was up for some fancy prize. Even back then, you could tell she was so nervous about getting up and making a speech in front of so many people and having it broadcast for all to see.

At the time, you didn’t understand because she would’ve been given an award and everyone could see. Unfortunately, she didn’t win and while she said she hope to win it, it was good enough to be considered for it, you were pissed on her behalf over it.

Being here, you understand why she felt that way. While it would be a dream come true to win the Golden Joystick on your first ever game, just being here, among your peers, is more than enough; knowing you’re skilled enough to make a game worthy of being judged among the best is a tremendous honor. Plus, the thought of having to make a speech in front of so many people makes you so nervous, you fear you’ll lose your lunch.

God, you wish your Momma was here. This is the biggest moment in your professional life and having her in the audience would make you feel better.

(We are sure she would give anything to be here for you. Wherever she is, she is no doubt watching this moment with unparalleled anticipation.)

“And last but not least, the game that exploded onto the scene a month ago and made a surprise cameo on the voting polls, Salvage Rights by Gould Games,” the MC announces as your game appears on one screen while you appear on the other, lit up by a spotlight.

You feel your face break out into a blush as the room fills with applause and cheers. To know that so many people hold you and your work in such high regard… it’s humbling to say the least.

You wave back and give them a big smile.

Finally, the room quiets down, allowing the ceremony to continue.

“Ok, everyone, with all the candidates on the board.” The screen on the right of the stage lists all the games and their developers, yours the last on the list. “We opened the polls for all gamers and had a record breaking ten-point-nine million ones this year for the Indie Game of the Year, guys!”

The room once again fills with applause and a girl runs from backstage, delivers him an envelope, and runs off.

“It took the Gala Committee a while to tally the votes, but when all was said and done, it was clear who the winner was.” He opens the envelope and a drumroll plays from the speakers to buildup the moment. As he pulls out the piece of paper inside it, you realize you’re holding your breath and your heart’s stopped due to the anticipation. “The Golden Joystick for Indie Game of the Year goes to…” He looks down at the paper and looks back up. “Salvage Rights by Gould Games!”

Your eyes become wide as saucers as you process the words, your heart resumes beating and your release the breath you’d been holding since the candidates were announced. You then realize you’re bathed in the spotlights as the big screen shows you at your seat; the room fills with applause and cheers, many people near you congratulating you.

You get up and walk to the stage, nodding and clapping hands with many you pass by on your way to claim your award. Finally, you make it on stage and shake hands with the MC, who gives you the Golden Joystick.

(This is the only way this could have ended. You worked tirelessly on your game and did not stop until it was the definition of perfection. You were more worthy than any other for this trophy.)

“Thank you,” you say into the mic, silencing the room. “I just want to thank my fellow game developers, the Committee, and especially the gamers, who gave me the opportunity to be here.” This garners more applause. “I have to say, when I first started working on Salvage Rights, I never in a million years thought I’d be here, in the most prestigious gaming event, receiving the greatest award an indie game can receive, but I guess I was proven wrong.”

The room fills with laughter and you sigh in relief. Good, they seem to be liking your speech.

(As they should. You revised it over a dozen times and practiced it in front of your stuffed toys at least fifty times.)

“When I first got into video games, it was just because I was a kid who was fascinated by being able to play on a DS anytime, anyplace. Now, I’m into video games because they are the new medium of art. Think about it, there are games out there that have stories that would made Shakespeare weep, music worthy of being performed in symphonies, and art styles that should be studied by artists hundred years from now. It’s a medium that transcends all others that have come before it.”

More applause. Good, they like it.

“I first started work on Salvage Rights not long after my fifteenth birthday, nine years to the day that I unfortunately lost my Momma to a drunk driver.” You see many people in the audience take notice at this, clearly not expecting to hear something so tragic. “At the time, I was living in a place that neglected me; from the day I first arrived, I was treated like I didn’t exist and any attempts I made to get their attention was ignored.” Clearly your words resonate with people, because you can see a few people tearing up.

“I had someone there I could rely on, and he made those times more bearable, but he couldn’t get rid of that feeling of loneliness that I had felt for years and all I wanted was for my Momma to walk through that door and take me back home. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, she never came and my loneliness only got worse with each day.

“My only escape from those days were video games. While in real life, I was a nobody in that house, but I was able to dive into one game where I was a noble hero who was destined to defeat the embodiment of evil, or dive into another game where I tamed the mightiest of beasts and triumph over the strongest of champions, or dive into one game where i could master every life skill possible and bring light to a world facing eternal darkness. It was during those days that I learned that games provided an escape from the confines of reality, if only for a little bit. And that’s when I realized I wanted to create a game that could allow someone to escape reality and become the best version of themselves.”

There’s definitely a couple people on the audience crying at this point.

(You have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Time to reel them in.)

“So, I want to thank each and every one of you, both those in this room and watching across the globe, for giving my game a chance and allowing me to fulfill my dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

The room explodes into applause and cheers, even a few whistles. I shake hands with the MC once more walk off stage and cross the room back to your seat, shaking hands and receiving pats on the back the entire time.

(A resounding success,) the Megamycete says as you sit down. (They hung on your every word. After tonight, everyone will know of your talent and many will beg for the opportunity to work on their newest project, offering you the world in exchange for your expertise. As they should.)

“Easy, buddy, you’re gonna give me one hell of an ego at this rate.”

(It is only naturally to think so highly of yourself. Compared to everyone in this room, you are a god.)

The rest of the ceremony features trailers for games releasing in the near future and announcements for new titles, making a note to keep an eye on many of them for you to buy on release or pre-order when they become available.

After the ceremony, you follow the rest of the developers to the Developer’s Lounge, a room that’s lavishly decorated and fully stocked with a wide array of food and drinks being served by a dozen waiters, all of it courtesy of Lex Luthor, who is currently talking to a group of triple-A executives, his bodyguard close behind him; many of your peers and various VIPs are already eating, drinking, and talking with other developers, game journalists (ugh), or their personal guests. You gratefully accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter and make your way around the room, looking around for any sign of Alfred.

“Where is he,” you mutter to yourself, scanning the room.

“Mr. Y/N Gould,” a masculine voice calls out to you, making you turn to the source: a tall, blue eyed man wearing a pair of black framed glasses, a grey jacket over a dark blue tie and light blue button up shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers.

(We sense a spike in your heart rate. Are you alright?)

Oh, you’re better than alright. Some attractive man knows your name and wants to speak to you.

(You are attracted to this man. This is the first time we have ever experienced infatuation firsthand. We look forward to seeing this interaction unfold.)

“Yes,” you say, managing to find your voice. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” the man responds, raising his hand and you accept.

It’s then you notice the feel of something metallic and when you glance at his hand, you see a gold wedding band.

Damn it.

(We grieve the loss of your potential mate.)

Oh well, always lots of fish in the sea.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, the Daily Planet was hoping to write an article on the winner of the winner of the Indie Game of the Year. Is there anyway I can talk you into doing an interview?”

(He can still be of use to you. By doing this interview, he can help you find you a worthy mate.)

Great, now you have sentient mold trying to play matchmaker. Well, at least you’ll be able to get more people interested in your game. The Daily Planet’s the biggest paper in Metropolis and has decent following around the country.

“I hope you can wait a little while for that interview, Kent.”

You freeze at the new voice, a voice you haven’t heard in over four years. You hope that, somehow, you’ve made some huge mistake and it’s not who you think it is. You then realize that the entire room’s gone silent, sans a few whispers, and now all eyes are on you and the newcomer behind you, Clark chief among them.

You realize that your breathing and your heartbeat have ceased, and the pit of anxiety and fear from earlier has returned, but there’s now rage included in that mix; rage you haven’t felt in over four years. Rage that finally went away when you finally escaped Gotham and put it and Wayne Manor in your rearview mirror.

You feel a hand grasp your left shoulder and out of the corner of your eye, see a tall figure come to a stop to your right. You slowly turn your head to fae the figure and look up to see your worst nightmare: Bruce Fucking Wayne looking down at you, his signature fake ass smile adorning his stupid mug and a champagne flute similar to yours in hand.

He’s dressed far too formal for an event about video games, wearing a designer black suit with matching pants that probably cost more than your car. You can dig through all your memories of the man and never find one instance of the man wearing anything casual. And that smile of his, the one he always flashes to his insufferable blue-blooded friends; you want to punch him so hard in the face that every last tooth shatters, but you manage to put a lid on that urge.

If only just barely.

(What is this shameless heathen doing here,) the Megamycete hisses. (The audacity of this creature to show up on the best night of your life and ruin it. You should kill him. Immediately.)

Right now, you’re really tempted to give him the Joker Treatment.

“I’m afraid Y/N and I have much to talk about.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark stampers out. “Do you know Mr. Gould?”

“I would say so,” he responds in that fake cheery tone he only reserves for galas and paparazzi, those “honeyed words” so disgustingly sweet and fake it makes you want to vomit. Preferably on him. He tries to pull you closer to him, but you’re able to resist it no problem thanks to the Megamycete. “He’s my son.”

And like that, the crowd around you descends into chaos, many of them loudly talking among themselves while others take out their phones and cameras and begin snapping pictures of the two of you, and so many media types are shouting questions towards you and him.

But all that doesn’t really phase you. Right now, you feel as if the world has crumbled around you and now you’re left free falling in an endless void, doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this sort of purgatory.

You’re frozen where you stand, unable to look anywhere else but at the face of the man you hate with your entire being and as you look into those eyes of his, every single memory of your stay at Wayne Manor flashes before your eyes; you’re overwhelmed by the feelings of sadness, loneliness, pain, and humiliation you were forced to deal with during those twelve long, horrible years. Right now, it takes every bit of restraint and willpower you have to not let all the thoughts you have of ripping this bastard’s head off and kicking it so far that every NFL team in the country would offer you fifty million in advance if you signed on with them become reality.

(You should do it. Kill this man. Teach him the meaning of pain. Let him feel all the pain he and his flock have caused you for years and despair. Make him regret ever taking you for granted.)

Ok, your usual voice of reason is now howling for blood. This does not bold well for you.

“Mr. Wayne,” you finally respond, finding the strength to keep your voice steady and not cause a scene (or at least a bigger one than he has already); you brush his hand off your shoulder, making a mental note to burn these clothes (damn it, you paid good money for these). “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, I’m definitely not your son. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink? Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You should sit down before you make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of all these people.”

His smile falls and you can see the hurt shine in his eyes for a fraction of a second. He’s an expert at concealing his emotions, so for you to do something like that makes you giddy.

“Y/N,” he pathetically responds as he reaches out to you, but you take a step back. “I am—“

“You’re a sperm donor, nothing more, Mr. Wayne,” you hiss, revealing in the hurt expression that breaks out on his face. It’s probably fake, a stunt to pull for the crowd, but you don’t care. You’ve held all these feelings in for years and now that you have the chance to give this son of a bitch a piece of your mind, you’re taking it. “You’re not my dad and I’m sure as hell not your son!”

“Y/N, I know I wasn’t the best father to you, but—“

You lose it at that. All the abuse and misery and neglect you had to deal with from him and his kids for over ten years, and he has the nerve to say he “knows” anything about how you feel? In a swift motion, you throw your champagne at him, dousing his face in the clear-yellowish drink that quickly pours down his neck and soaks his expensive black jacket.

The crowd gasps at this, but you absolutely couldn’t give a shit. This was to be the best night of your life and he had to go and ruin it by daring to show his hideous face and dare to have a conversation with you. Fuck, he probably took Alfred’s place, so you had no one here to share in your big moment, something that makes you even more pissed off.

Throwing your champagne at him only made your rage burn hotter, demanding to inflict as much pain and suffering on this man that you’ve suffered for years. You quickly close the gap between you two, deliver a harsh right hook to the right side of the man’s jaw and follow up by shoving the man as hard as you can (though still holding back a lot of strength so you don’t reveal what you really are), causing him to topple to the floor, landing on his ass.

At this rate, you don’t really care what people say about you after this, all you care about is hurting him. You look down at the pathetic wretch at your feet and love the look of horror and pain etched on his face, reveling in the terror in his eye and the blood dripping from his closed mouth.

(Yes,) the Megamycete screams. (More. More. Make him hurt. Make him bleed. Make him realize who the superior one is.)

“Someone call an ambulance, this asshole’s gonna need one,” you growl, pouncing towards the man who made you lose the best years of your life, ready to pound his face so hard that they’ll have to rely on fingerprints to identify him.

Just then, you’re caught in mid-air and when you look behind you, it’s Clark, his arms wrapped around your waist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Mr. Gould,” he says in a tone like he’s trying to soothe a startled animal (which isn’t too far off the mark). “Please, control yourself.”

You don’t want to. In front of you is the man who treated you like shit from the day you two met, making you wish you were in the car when your Momma died so that you never met him. This was suppose to be your night — your moment of triumph — and he had to go and ruin it. And you want nothing more than to put this man in a full body cast, and that’s you being generous.

But when you see the look of total shock on his face, and everyone in the crowd who has the same expression, your rage finally cools down. Not because you feel guilty over what you did to Bruce, you were ready to reduce him to a bloody red paste, but because everyone just saw your absolute worst.

You go slack in Clark’s hold and that’s when he finally lets you go, having to command the mold to reinforce your leg bones to keep you standing because without it, you’re ready to collapse form the burst of energy you just burned through.

“Is there a problem here,” Lex says as he emerges from the crowd, Mercy following close behind. He glances down at Bruce and a ghost of a smirk appears on his face.

“I have an axe to grind with him,” you say, doing your best to even out your voice. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“What about pushing Mr. Wayne,” Lex asks, motioning to the man.

“No, that’s something I’m very proud of.”

You can see Bruce flinch at that and it makes you feel good.

“Well, it’s always a pleasure to see Bruce Wayne be taken down a peg,” the man chuckles. He then turns to the rest of the crowd. “Alright, show’s over, everyone. Go back to your own business.”

Slowly but surely, the crowd breaks up and the party resumes, but you can definitely tell many of the media types are still looking at you and Bruce and are no doubt chomping at the bit to talk to either of you, many of them furiously typing on their phones, probably texting their bosses and sending whatever pictures and videos they took.

“Mr. Gould, I’d be honored if you would give me a few minutes of your time.” He extends his arm as if you were a woman. “I have much I’d like to talk with you about.”

You discreetly glance down at Bruce, who looks like he’s ready to do to Lex what you did to him a minute ago. You know that Lex is only doing this to piss off Bruce, his biggest business rival, and is probably using you in hopes of getting some speck of dirt on Bruce and maybe even some Wayne Enterprises secrets.

And god damn it if the thought of that doesn’t make you giddy.

“Of course,” you say in a sweet tone of voice, looping your arm in Lex’s. “The honor would be mine.”

He leads you towards a private area of the lounge and as you pass by Bruce, who’s still on the floor, you glance over at him and give him a dirty look, making it clear that you hate his guts and the next time he tries something like this, you won’t hold back.

You don’t know what Bruce wants and why he’s suddenly showed up after four years of your leaving, but chances are he’s only here to serve his own agenda and you want nothing to do with him or his crazy ass family. You have your own life and are finally happy for the first time in years, and you’ll be damned if you’ll allow all your hard work to be destroyed.

If it comes down to it, you’ll wage war against him and the rest of the Bats.

(Yes, clip their wings. Tear them to shreds. Grind them into powder. Tear down everything that they are and leave nothing behind so they are forgotten by the world.)

Bruce watches as you and Lex wonder off to some desolate corner of the lounge, simultaneously plotting an attack on Lex Corp that will hot Luthor hard and replaying his interaction with you, going through millions of different ways that could’ve gone better. Or at least, not ended with you almost tearing him limb from limb, the only thing saving him was Kent’s intervention.

Ok, maybe approaching you like Brucie Wayne, millionaire playboy philanthropist, was a bad idea, but it was the only way he could think of that wouldn’t scare you off. He really thought that talking to you with his usual charm and bravado would’ve at least given him a chance to talk to you.

All it got him was a look into your temper.

Fuck, the look of pure rage and disgust in your eye the entire time you talked to him. Right now, he just wants to curl up and die, but he also wants to scoop you up into his arms, hug you tightly, and beg for your forgiveness, no matter how much of a fool he made of himself or how much you bite, scratch, and hit him.

It’s then he thinks back on you shoving him and it’s then he realizes it doesn’t make any sense. He’s a solid six-foot-two, way taller than you and while he would never call you weak, you definitely aren’t a bodybuilder, so he should’ve been able to withstand your shove no problem. But he’s been fighting against beings with super strength all his adult life, so he knows the difference between a strong human and a Meta.

But you’re not a Meta, right? He’s spent the last twenty-four hours digging up every piece of information he can on you, your medical records from Southern Hills Hospital being one of the first things he delved into. When you were born, you were a healthy baby boy, no signs of illness and certainly no trace of the Meta Gene. He even has your medical records during your time in Gotham (Alfred being the one to take you to all your appointments because he certainly didn’t do it), and everything points to you being in perfect health.

So, how were you able to shove him like that, a man who goes toe-to-toe with the likes of Bane on a regular basis?

“Are you ok, Bruce,” Clark asks, extending his hand to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he responds, brushing the hand aside and getting up on his own.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe that, I could tell you were shaken up by that.”

If there’s one skill Bruce prides himself on, it’s his ability to conceal his emotions, able to hide his true feelings from anyone and everyone, even from telepaths such as Martian Manhunter.

But seeing how his son, his baby boy, feels about him made him forget his control. Him not being able to hide the pain he felt when you lashed out at him, clearly holding a lot of anger and resentment towards him, was one of the few experiences that has shaken him to his core.

“Mr. Wayne,” Vicky Vale says as she emerge from the crowd and approaches them. “Care to make a statement on what just happened?”

It takes everything he has to not let out a groan. Of course, Vicky Vale is always there whenever some drama happens to either him or his children in public. She had a field day with him when he she asked about his bruises and limp he got last time he fought Killer Croc and he had to play it off as some really kinky sex he and some supermodel had.

“Not now, Vicky,” he responds, leading Clark closer to where you and Lex walked off to. “I have a prior engagement with Mr. Kent here.”

“I didn’t know you had a son before Damian,” Clark whispers as they walk.

“Let’s just say I did everything wrong when it came to him,” he responds back, keeping his voice low. “I found out I screwed up and came here to try to make amends. You know how that ended.”

“I know, we all had front row seats to that. Also, I’ve been listening to his and Lex’s conversation the entire time.”

“What’s that bastard saying to him,” he hisses, pissed off beyond words that snake is talking to you, his baby boy.

“So far, Y/N’s just trash talking you, calling you every name in the book and angry that you ruined his big night.”

Bruce winces at that. He knew it’s Alfred you want here to share in your achievement, but he couldn’t miss this night, not when he’s missed so much of your life. To see you, smiling on stage and acting so humble after wining an award as important as that was absolutely mesmerizing.

Of course, your speech hit him like a freight train. He knew he wasn’t the father you deserved, but to hear you talk about your time with him so poorly was more than he was prepared to handle. Of course you miss your mother and he’s glad you think so highly of her, but is there really nothing he can do to make you reconsider giving him another chance? To give his family another chance?

“Lex is now offering to be a benefactor to Gould Games; Y/N have total creative license on all projects and would be given a massive office in one of Metropolis’ premiere high-rises.”

“In exchange for WE secrets, no doubt.”

The thought of you and Lex working together makes him sick. The man is a snake and wouldn’t hesitate to betray you if it benefitted him in any way. If you need money for your new games, he’d be more than happy to do it! You could be a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises with as large a budget as you want, with your choice of office in Wayne Tower or around Gotham. You’d have all the best computers and software that money could buy and if you need to hire more people, you can choose all the people you want and he’d personally arrange for them to be flown to Gotham, ready to work as soon as possible.

“That’s right,” Clark responds. “Don’t worry, he turned him down. Looks like you won’t be losing nay more money to Lex this year.”

“Y/N doesn’t know anything.”

As sad as it is, that’s the truth; you’d been shut out by all of them that you couldn’t give any of his secrets away. Hell, you don’t even know that you’ve been living with Gotham’s vigilantes.

“He’s been kept in the dark about everything,” he mutters as he looks at you, chatting away with Metropolis’ biggest wannabe.

Maybe he should tell you that he and your siblings are Gotham’s vigilantes? Not that it’s any excuse with how they treated you for yeas, but with any hope, it would make you more understanding on why they were always so busy and at least consider talking with them.

Just then, Clark winces at something Lex just said.

“What,” he snaps.

“Lex just invited him for dinner. And based off his tone, he has more in mind than just business.”

And with that, all he can see is red and he’s filled with rage at the bald bastard.

“Bruce, wait,” Clark calls out as he stops over to where you are.

“Bruce,” Lex says with a smirk as he approaches the both of you. “I hope you’re not looking for another beating from Y/N.”

He looks over to you, your expression clearly indicating you’re visualizing beating the hell out of him right now.

“Of course not, I just wanted to extend an invitation to him for dinner. It’s been forever since we had a father-son dinner.”

“We’ve never had dinner together before,” you snarl.

“His loss, I assure you,” Lex responds, giving you a look that makes Bruce want to punch his lights out.

“Y/N has nothing you want, Lex,” Bruce growls, trying to keep his anger from getting the best of him. “Leave him alone.”

“I disagree, Bruce. Y/N is charming, witty, and a delightful to be around.” He has a twinkle in his eye that makes Bruce even angrier. “He definitely takes after his mother.”

Bruce opens his mouth to spit some insult at the fucker, but you intervene.

“Yes, Momma raised me well,” you say, looking right at him before looking back at Lex. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Luthor, but I’m afraid I’m heading back home first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe the next time I’m in the area?”

“I’m certainly hoping that will be soon.” He pulls out a card and hands it to you. “My personal phone number and email. The next time you come to Metropolis, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me and I’ll see to it you’re afforded every luxury this city has to offer.”

“Thank you,” you responded, taking the card and pocketing it. “I certainly hope to visit again soon. Metropolis is way better than Gotham. Hard to believe that cesspit is its sister city.”

He winces hearing your clear disdain for his city, the home of his family. Your rightful home.

“Indeed,” Lex chuckles. “Gotham is so painfully outdated in every respect it’s almost funny. If I had my way, all of its archaic structures would be torn down and replaced for more modern and aesthetically pleasing replacements.”

“That style is Gotham,” Bruce growls, unable to put up with the disrespect of his city. “Gotham has resembled its current form for over a hundred years now. It’s a reflection of its storied past.”

“A storied past of misery and insanity,” you respond. “Gotham isn’t a place where good people end up. It’s a spiderweb that slowly drains everyone within it of all they have, leaving nothing but empty husks behind. Maybe all of it should be torn down.”

You say the words, but all he hears is his voice. When his parents were killed, he felt the same way about Gotham as you do. It took him years to finally shed his hatred and resentment for the city and see its beauty. As much as you’d probably hate to admit it, you really are his son.

“I’d love to stay and continue this riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have an appointment across town. He turns to his bodyguard. “Mercy, ready the car.” She nods and leaves. “And Y/N, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in my city. Perhaps you’d allow me the honor of taking you to the airport myself?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Luthor,” you say, giving that bastard a smile that makes his blood boil.

“Please, call me Lex.”

“Ok, Lex,” you say with a chuckle.

Oh, he’s going to make Luthor suffer for this. When he gets back to the Batcave, he’s going to plant so many viruses into Luthor’s systems, he’ll spend months recovering a single piece of data.

Finally, the man walks away, leaving you and him alone at last.

“I’ll say this only once, Mr. Wayne,” you say in a tone that shows you mean business. “So listen close: I don’t know what you’re doing here or what you hoped to achieve here, but stay away from me. I’m finally happy for the first time in years and I won’t allow you to fuck it up for me.”

He winces at your words. And the fact that you’re calling him “Mr. Wayne,” like he’s a stranger (though with how he treated you for over ten years, that’s not too far from the truth). He knows that he has no right to be called “dad” or “father,” but you can’t even call him by his name like your siblings do? Do you really hate him that much?

“Y/N, please—“

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, cutting him off. “This is your only warning: stay away from me. I’m not weak like I was when I was first dragged to Gotham. Keep butting in where you don’t belong and I’ll personally reunite you with your parents.”

You go to walk away, but he grabs you by your shoulder. You quickly snap your head to look at him, your expression so full of hate and disgust. He knows this isn’t helping his case, but he can’t let you leave like this; he needs to keep you here so he can talk to you, to beg you for just a few minutes of your time.

You grab his hand with yours and begin squeezing so hard his hand begins to throb and he has to fight to hide his expression of pain from the crowd.

Not only do you not look you visit the gym, but this type of strength is something beyond what a normal human is capable of. Just what secrets do you have?

He meets your gaze and he has to suppress the fear he feels when looking in your eyes. There’s hate in them, no doubt about that, but there’s something else in them. Something dark. It also doesn’t help that you have his mother’s eyes and seeing them look at him that way cuts him to his core.

You shove his hand away from you and you storm off, ignoring as a dozen journalists come up to you and leaving him to stand there, watching you walk away from him and ignoring the throbbing of his hand.

“You ok,” Clark asks after walking up to him.

“No,” he mutters. He looks down at the camera in the Kryptonian’s hand. “Did you take any pictures of him during the ceremony?”

“Yeah,” the reporter responds, holding it up. “I was in the press section of the audience. I got a couple good shots.”

“Send them to me,” he orders while walking off.

Many reporters try to talk to him, but he doesn’t spare them a second glance. Right now, all that matters is planning his next move. You’ve made it very clear that you resent them for how they treated you while you lived with them and while he understands that perfectly, you need to understand that he’s your father and his children are your siblings.

He’s happy that you’ve made a life for yourself in Nevada and are successful in your career as a video game developer, but you’re a Wayne and all Waynes belong in Gotham, under his roof.

He gets his phone out and tells his children to be ready for a family meeting as soon as he returns in the morning. As much as he wants to find a way to bring you back to the fold on his own, he can’t do it alone. With any luck, your siblings will be able to reach you. Hell, he might have to call on Alfred to help bring you home.

He will uncover everything about you (including whatever what you just did) and when he does, he’ll use that knowledge to make you realize you’re son and your rightful place is by his side, where he can keep an eye on you and shield you from the dangers of this world.

One way or another, you’ll come back to Gotham and when you do, he and you’ll siblings will shower you in the love you deserve. And after that, they’ll throw the biggest gala ever, with you as the centerpiece, and show you off as the most important member of the Wayne Family; all of Gotham elite will climb over one another in hopes of courting you, but he and you siblings will never allow them to come anywhere close to you as you won’t need anyone but them to keep you company.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes or what he has to do, he’ll learn your secrets (as is his birthright) and lead you back to where you belong.

Even if he has to drag you back home by your ankles.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @v0idl1nq @diejager @solelifauna @bunbunbread @ratchetprime211 @ellaprime7 @fantasyhopperhea @exactlynumberonekryptonite @bellethesleepypotato @roseytheteacup @orbitingtraveler @lunaluz432

[charaznablescanontoyota]

"marn i missed sgdq 2024 what should i watch"

hi i decided i'm doing another one of these. it's been a minute. this past week was summer games done quick, an annual speedrunning marathon raising money for doctors without borders and also a great way to get into watching speedrunning. a lot of their content is tailored towards being both clearly explained and fun to watch for an audience outside the speedrun community, so you can jump in with basically no knowledge besides “this person is gonna play a game really fast”.

gdq has the full week's worth of vods up as a playlist on their channel, but here are some runs that i personally think you should check out:

ken griffy jr presents mlb by peanut butter the dog: look it's a dog playing baseball. i don't know what else to tell you.

the entire silly block: speedrunners get up way too early in the morning/late at night to play games that feel like a fever dream. some of the commentators are going on 24 hours of no sleep. it's brilliant. my personal highlights of what i've seen so far are stuart little 2, mad panic coaster, city bus simulator race, and the golf it wrong hole only race that the players dressed up as golfers for

alan wake 2 alan%: alan wake clips through walls and generally has a bad time while a bunch of gamers call him a sopping wet catboy. the runner for this one is really charismatic and it's very funny to see staff rushing to open up the pit as soon as we sing starts (yes they do the dance of course they do the dance). i just love joyful runs of horror games man

super mario 64 blindfolded randomizer: what if you played mario 64 blindfolded and also the stars were in completely random locations. and also you had to do it very very fast.

kingdom hearts 2 critical any%: every kh2 speedrun i've ever seen is a work of art and this one is no different. some of the boss fights go down so fast you will literally miss them if you look away for a minute. and also two of my favorite runners are on couch commentary!

balatro showcase: genuinely made me rethink how i'm playing some of the balatro decks. also great commentary and just fun all around despite (or perhaps partially because of) the absolute struggle session going on with plasma deck in the beginning

super mario world kaizo relay: kaizo is a shorthand term for a game hacked to its absolute limits of difficulty that often requires strict precision of movement and can punish the player for thinking they're smarter than it. in this segment, two teams of 4 very very good mario runners race to complete 8 kaizo levels they've never seen before in their lives

mario maker 2 troll level race: i always like the mario maker races for the same reason i like the kaizo relays. i love watching two speedrunners thrown blindly into the shit have to make up strategies on the fly via trial and error (and error, and error, and error, and...)

kirby air ride race: two high level kirby air ride speedrunners race for an actual physical title belt. the trash talk game happening here is of the insane variety that only two very skilled people who truly respect each others' talents at their game of choice can provide

kaizo mario galaxy: what if mario galaxy hated you even more than usual and would stop at nothing to kill you. also most of the commentators are only familiar with the vanilla game and their reactions to the added-in bullshit are hysterical

tony hawk pro skater 1, 2, 3, and 4: i fell asleep watching this and woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bunch of people singing superman by goldfinger. good run

super mario rpg remake: this was the finale block and it's just great to see a bunch of people who really really love the original mario rpg get to hang out and talk about how good it is and also watch a world record level player absolutely stunt on the game

halo 3 four-player co-op legendary: dudes rock

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 9

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Violence, kidnapping, physical violence, discussion of torture, descriptions of injuries sustained while being held captive, fear of mistreatment, certainty of death. Summary: As your disappearance makes him increasingly desperate, Javi enlists Carrillo to help him and Murphy track you down. The nature of his relationship to you is a revelation to some, but one person knows more than expected. Notes: Another heavy week. High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. This chapter contains descriptions of the mistreatment of prisoners. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

Pablo talks for hours. Expounding on his business while making it seem as if everything he had done has been completely legal and above board. Never actually admitting that it is cocaine that he is running. Griping about the interference of the U.S. and the threat of extradition.

He talks until the sun starts to set, the light starting to fade against the walls. He’s gone through a pack of cigarettes and there’s been several cokes brought in for him. And one for you after he had noticed you staring at the bottle.

Sitting back, he crushes out the last smoke and looks at you. “We will stop here for now.” He announces.

For now.

You nod, feeling weak and tired from having had no food or sleep in well over twenty-four hours. Any adrenaline that had carried you through earlier parts of the day has flagged and the bone-deep exhaustion of fear is starting to set in. That soda may have been a good will gesture but it won't do a damn thing in terms of keeping your body going.

For now, he said.

"We will continue when you're ready." This won't happen any other way. No part of this gives you even a shadow or pretense of control – this is Pablo Escobar talking at a journalist, and it's your job to simply regurgitate the information. Thank god you're not still taking notes by hand otherwise you're pretty sure your fingers would be cramping beyond recognition. He talked all goddamn day without stopping.

“Bring her something to eat.” Pablo tells one of the men who had originally kidnapped you. He had disappeared for a few hours, but now he was back. “Take her to a room on the other side of the house.”

A perfunctory “Yes, boss” comes before the man yanks you up off the chair you’ve been attached to all day and a younger man — a teenager at best — scrambles to cut the tape from your ankles.

Stumbling is your best form of movement with the speed at which they push you along. It’s clear you are in a mansion wherever you are, as the other ‘end’ of the house is a long trek away. Two men propel you down a flight of stairs into the basement, where a room in one end of the space is apparently meant to be your prison for the time being. Inside the small room they toss you into, there are only a few exposed pipes and nothing else. Enrique — or whatever his real name is — enters with a wolfish grin and a set of chains, saying nothing while he cuffs and chains your hands to two of the pipes. A bare cement floor, torn clothes, and chains. That is what you’ll be dealing with tonight. And if you’re lucky, the worst thing that will happen is pissing yourself. Escobar had allowed you a single bathroom break today — and only because he had realized that he needed one himself.

“I think you don’t need food.” Enrique snorts as he turns around. “You won’t starve to death. Might do you some good. Bitch.”

“Do you always disobey orders on a whim?” Fat bitch remarks are just the right level of petty to piss you off right now, and even feeling weak you still have a smart mouth.

“I’ll make an exception for stupid American bitches.” He sneers, turning around and shooting you a glare. “Keep your mouth shut unless you want a cock stuffed in it until you choke.”

The threat is obvious. And real. And entirely what you expected. But that doesn’t stop you from summoning what little muster you have and spitting on him with gusto. “You’ll have to find somebody with a cock over two millimeters first.”

He huffs a laugh for a moment before he rushes over and kicked you in the side as hard as he can. Once and then one more after you gasp out in pain.

Well, you definitely hit a nerve, at least. The pair of men who threw you in here disappear, slamming and locking the door behind them. It isn’t until the second afterward that you realize there is truly going to be no relief at all tonight. No hoping to be dumped in the jungle with your cassette tapes to survive by your own wits. No dumping you back in the trunk of that car to be tossed out again in the streets of Bogotá. Not even the swift release of being shot.

The best you can hope is that your eyes adjust to the pitch blackness and that no one comes back to beat or rape you tonight.

******

“We don’t have time to fucking waste with this bullshit!” Javi hisses, jaw clenched and he’s ready to just rush past both Steve and Carrillo to make the woman talk. She had kept her mouth shut so far and he’s tired of this. Every second they waste is another second that you could be abused like Helena or worse. He’s checked his marks from you nearly a dozen times in the past twenty minutes alone.

“She’s the only lead we’ve got.” Steve reminds him, raking one exasperated hand through his hair. This woman has been terrified into silence and nothing is cracking her. A waitress for fuck’s sake.

Javi’s eyes are flatter than they’ve ever been before. “Then we torture her.”

Murphy’s mouth flattens in turn, not because they haven’t done it before but because Peña is too invested. But at the same time, his partner has to be in the room to catch any vital piece of information that the interrogation might produce. He’s been intentionally cagey with information about his living situation and now it’s obvious why. “We do.” Murphy bargains, gesturing between himself and Carrillo. “You don’t lay a finger. Got it?”

He’s not happy with that answer, even if he’s never really been one to torture someone. He’s watched, sometimes feeling sorry for the bastard, although it’s hard to feel sorry for a sicario. This is a civilian woman and while he should want to protect her, he wants to find you more. “Fine.” He growls, glaring at Steve.

"Listen, ask questions, but let us do the work." Us means mostly Carrillo and they all know it. Murphy is a little too moral to be hung-ho about red-blooded American information gathering techniques, but they all know this is too important to fuck around with today.

Javi clenches his jaw, his entire body rigid with worry that comes out as pure fury, but he nods. He should have had it out with you. He should have demanded Trujillo go with you. It’s his goddamn fault you are missing. Every fucking thing that happens to you right now is because of him.

"Alright, sweetheart." Steve strolls across the room with a raised voice, bypassing the open doorway which effectively leaves Javier behind while Murphy and Carrillo do the dirty work. Even though he knows Javi won't stay put. For that matter, he shouldn't. He just needs to stay far enough away that he keeps his hands clean – in a literal sense. "I think we've had enough stalling, haven't we?" It's become clear through the first part of this interrogation – however fruitless – that this woman does speak English, which is good for Steve if nothing else.

She tries to appear like she doesn’t understand, keeping her face blank as her eyes shift to the man behind her. She knows him. She’s seen him somewhere. She just can’t place where right now.

"Answer him." Carrillo orders in Spanish, his expression as stone-faced as ever. He hasn't heard all the details but he doesn't need to. Peña has done enough for him with interrogations in the past that he's willing to help if it's this important to the man.

“I don’t know what they want.” She answers Carrillo in Spanish, waiting for the other one to come and scream in her face again. He’s the one she’s scared of. Especially if it’s true that Escobar kidnapped his soulmate.

"Yes you do." It's clear she's stubborn but not stupid, and Carrillo is more than sure that it's clear to her exactly what Peña wants. He looks over at Murphy, inviting him to take over again. "She claims not to know what you want."

"Sure you do." Murphy stands directly in front of her, arms crossed and looking down his nose at the waitress that has been stonewalling them for hours. "What's Escobar got on you, huh? He got your sister or your mom or baby brother locked away somewhere?"

Javi marches into the room, pulling out your press pass to the embassy from his pocket. He had snatched it from your room and he shoves it in her face. “This woman! You saw her!”

"I see a lot of people." She drawls, affecting nonchalance in the face of the only one of these three men she is actually afraid of. It's the way she deals with the sicarios, too.

“Javier.” Carrillo turns to Javi, putting his hand on the other man’s chest and lifting a brow when he feels how hard his heart is pounding. Whoever this woman is to him - he hadn’t learned that yet - this is really getting to him. “Go watch.” He orders softly. “We’ve got this.”

"Most people who get taken by sicarios don't live long enough to be found again." He is so deeply intent on finding this woman – the scary one is – and while she feels something akin to sympathy she also has to look out for her and hers. "Or if they do, they wish they hadn't."

“She’s fucking alive.” Javi snaps, nearly snarling at the woman for voicing his fears. How broken would you be when you are found? If you are found? For all he knows, Pablo will mail him your body in pieces.

"Is she?" She seems dubious of that fact. Or maybe dubious of these men.

Javi stares at her, glaring at her for a moment before he leans down slightly and yanks the edge of his jeans up, kicking off his boot and sock to reveal the tattoo that is never visible to many. “She is.” He hisses again. “Her tattoo is still on my body.”

The air is sucked out of the room so quickly that Murphy actually turns away, wiping his hands down his face as he tries to process just how fucked they really are. The waitress, restrained as she is, doesn't have to strain forward a single inch to see the anchor tattoo on the man's ankle. It was the same one — with a word in English — that she had seen on that American woman last night. She gulps down a nervous breath, eyes darting up to his, and wets her lips. "I don't know where they took her."

“So she was there last night.” Javi scoffs, reaching down and swiping his boot off the floor before he turns to Horacio. “I don’t care what it takes.” He tells the other man in Spanish, aware she will listen in. “I want to know everything.”

"Peña..." Carrillo levels him with a warning expression, wondering if he is really willing to take this interrogation to the end of the earth for a soulmate that he, and seemingly Murphy, have never even heard of before.

His eyes are flat, almost black, glancing back at the woman in the chair who suddenly looks like she’s about the throw up. “Find her family.” He decides. “Bring them here.”

"They already have my family!" He has found the key, it seems, because the woman is now borderline frantic in her restraints. "If you go to find them, Escobar's men will kill them out right!"

Carrillo stares at Javi for another moment, waiting for the man’s expression to soften, but he doesn’t waver. Making the SearchBloc commander’s brows shoot up. It seems that Peña is willing to go even farther than what was needed to save Helena. He’s got it bad for this soulmate of his and he hadn’t even realized it until now. “Tell us everything you know and we can protect them, and you.” He promises her, turning back around to face her struggling in the chair. “Keep wasting our time, and my friend- I’m afraid that I don’t know what he would do.”

"Listen, sweetheart." Steve rolls his shoulders, gasping at straws to try to figure out if he can stop all of this bullshit before literal torture of this woman begins in earnest. He may not be the most moral motherfucker out there but this is still something he isn't totally comfortable with. "I believe you. You don't know where they took her. But you do know who took her, doncha?"

Swallowing harshly, she looks at the blonde American, biting her lip and nodding. “Yes.” She whispers in English.

"I get that you don't wanna make the sicarios mad." Seeing that he's cracked the surface, Murphy kneels down to be eye-to-eye with the woman. She can't be more than thirty years old, and more than likely she's much younger. The stress of a life lived in the shadow of a cartel ages people far before their time. "You just want to protect your family. But we can help you with that. We just need to know what you know, and we'll help you keep your family safe. How does that sound?"

“They own the building we live in.” She stresses, shaking her head. “Our lives are all hanging by a thread. All the time.”

"Well." Murphy offers her a smile, dropping his voice to push the drawl and laying that Southern charm on thick. "Ain't it good that we own apartment buildings, too?"

“Pablo knows everything that goes on.” She whispers. “His men are always around. Watching. Listening.”

"You've been with us long enough." He reminds her quietly. "They're going to think you talked no matter what. But if you actually cooperate we can help you. Even get you some visas if you help us enough." He takes a stab in the dark, hoping he's got it right, and tilts his head sympathetically. "How many kids do you have?"

“Dos.” she frowns. “Two. Two boys. They are only six.” Again her face sets into a panic, but it’s almost resigned. Like she’s becoming more aware of the fact that she is going to die. All because of Enrique wanting the American that comes in sometimes.

"My little girl's still a baby." Murphy nods in shared solemnity and looks back at Carrillo and Peña. "Visas for a mother and two sons in exchange for information leading to the return of a DEA agent's soulmate." He lays it out flatly, waits for Carrillo to nod, and turns back to the waitress. The visas won't be for America, but they'll at least get the woman and her kids out of the country and far enough away to hopefully give them a second chance. "Who took the American woman?"

“Enrique and Santiago Alvarez.” She knows that a visa will be the best offer she will get. She is in the middle of a power struggle and while Pablo has the force necessary here, he has far less control outside of Colombia. “Pablo’s men.”

Shit. Murphy glances back at Peña and Carrillo, recognizing the names all too well as ruthless enforcers who work directly for Escobar. “That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells the waitress soothingly when he swallows down the fear that his partner’s marks might not be around too much longer. “Was anyone else involved?”

“Our cook.” She swallows. “He didn’t want to, but everyone had to do what they say. They would have killed him. They are going to kill me when they learn I’ve talked.”

“They won’t.” He can’t be sure of that, obviously, but Murphy is going to be as reassuring as possible right now. “We’re going to give you our best protection.”

“Like that politician?” She snorts, wondering how the hell she gets out of this with her skin intact.

Murphy exhales, a long and disappointed sound. “He refused to follow our security recommendations,” he tells her sharply.

She senses that was the wrong button to push and she nods. “I won’t disobey anything.” She promises.

“Good.” He won’t guarantee her more, but at least knowing she’s wearing a damn tacvest if they have one to her is a helpful sign of cooperation. “Then let’s go back through everything you remember from last night.”

******

The door clanks as much as a heavy wooden door can, right before it bursts open. Enrique grinning as he see you jump, but your eyes are still closed. Swollen slightly, but not enough to piss off the boss. “Wake up, bitch.” He hisses, kicking at your feet and then your leg when you don’t respond fast enough.

“I’m assuming it’s morning?” Not that you could tell in this cement prison. Not that you weren’t woken up every few hours last night so someone else could kick you across the floor or use you as a punching bag.

“Still mouthy.” Enrique snorts, shaking his head. He had thought you would have learned some manners by now, but Americans are stupid it seems.

"I'm not dumb enough to think I'm gonna get out of here alive." If you had had any glimmer of hope before, the continuous beatings you got last night were proof that they have no intention of going easy on you here. Or maybe the fact that it was only beatings was their version of 'easy'. Either way, you make a show of shrugging your shoulders. "The least I can do is make an impression."

He’s impressed with your tenacity and stubbornness, even if he’s dragging you to your feet and shoving you. “Go.” He barks. “The boss wants you.”

"Can't wait for him to see my face." It sounds pithy or sarcastic, but you actually wonder – as much as you can focus on thoughts other than keeping your feet moving under you so you don't fall over – if he'll be upset that his lackeys kicked the shit out of you last night. With your face swollen and blood and piss staining your clothes, there's no way they can pretend that you were well taken care of last night.

“Bitch.” He hisses, shoving you again, but he hadn’t really thought about that. Pablo would be pissed at him. “Come on.” He growls, guiding you out of the basement and towards the bedroom you were supposed to stay in last night.

Expecting to be shoved along the length of the main floor of the hidden mansion like you were yesterday, you're surprised to be pushed up an extra flight of stairs and down a hallway into another mostly empty room. This one at least has a bed in it, and fear flits across your mind for yet another countless time. "What the hell are we doing up here?" You ask, deciding to mouth off one more time and pray that it won't be the very last.

“Shut the fuck up.” He huffs, pushing you towards the door across the room. “You have five minutes to shower.”

A shower. And then putting the same filthy clothes back on. It seems utterly useless but maybe the reminder of being covered in dirt and blood is part of the point. Humiliating the prisoner.

Whatever.

You're getting a chance to shower and you're not going to throw that away on the fact that you're going to have to put dirty clothes back on after. The chance to wash your wounds and hopefully stave off any possible infections is worth it, and you dive into the bathroom immediately. Wasting precious seconds is not an option.

Once the door is closed, Enrique moves to the closet and pulls out the larger dress that had been procured. He tosses it on the bed and scoffs when he hears a quiet groan from inside the bathroom.

It's the fastest shower you've taken since summer camp when you were thirteen, but it's glorious to scrub the dirt from your skin and to carefully tend to the wounds you can see through swollen eyes. Most of the damage is probably internal and you can't do anything about those, but you'll take this. You'll take this chance to wash your hair and wipe away the grime from your body.

After what you assume is five minutes, the water shuts off on its own. Somebody somewhere in the house has cut you off, but it's fine. You managed to clean up and for now you're going to take what you can get. There's a towel on the edge of the sink that you didn't notice originally. It's not big enough to wrap around you but you can at least dry off.

Prepared to put your old clothes back on, you step out into the bedroom and see the dress flung out on the bed waiting for you. There's no hint of underwear and you have no idea what happened to your shoes, but there is a clean item of clothing that actually looks like it might fit you. Taking a chance, you rummage through the drawers of the dresser – the only other piece of furniture in the room – and find a pair of boxers that clearly belonged to a large man. They'll do perfectly well for you, and you tug them on under the dress and can't believe how human it feels to just be clean again.

Enrique beats on the door, only a few seconds before he flings it open. “Let’s go.” He grunts, glaring at you like it’s your fault that he’s had to let you shower.

"What?" Feeling infinitely better just from five minutes of hot water and soap, you move past him the best you can on shaky, weak legs. "No words of appreciation for feminine beauty? That's why you're so angry, ya know."

“You’re lucky Pablo wants you right now.” He hisses, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the room.

Now it's back down to the same table where you sat all day yesterday. Enrique shoves you along until his boss is barely in sight. It's only at that point that he pushes you one last time then lets you walk forward of your own accord. He really must have been under orders to go easy on you. There isn't even a gun to your back today.

Pablo calls your name, a smile on his face until you get closer and the sight of your face becomes very obvious. “What happened?” He demands, staring at your face and then looking back at Enrique.

"You ought to keep a tighter leash on your men." You have no fear of throwing any of these bastards under the proverbial bus of Pablo Escobar's anger. It's as if being bound to a chair while he shot a man yesterday has only made you more acutely aware of how that could easily have been you and your fight or flight reflex has chosen to fight with words.

“I see.” He narrows his eyes and motions to Enrique. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” He hisses angrily. “Go to fucking Medellín.”

Well...it's better than having to witness another man's murder. Though you can't pretend you'd be upset for Enrique to be punished. "I assume I wasn't supposed to be starved in a room in the basement, either?" You prompt, knowing full well that he had told the bastards to feed you.

“Fuck.” Pablo shakes his head and shouts for another sicario to come to him right fucking now.

"Boss." The man he called over is doing his best to cover up the fact that he's nervous, and you wonder if he's one of the ones that came in last night to kick you across the room or not.

“Get her some fucking food and something to goddamn drink.” He growls, looking towards you with a hard glare. “This is not the treatment I wished for you to have.” He admits.

While you're sure it isn't the worst that anyone has endured here by far, you still nod. "I understand that." It doesn't make you like him by any stretch of the imagination. In fact? It just makes you think of him as a sniveling little suck up, trying to curry favor with the American journalist.

“Good.” Pablo sighs, tapping the table and standing. “We will wait to continue the interview.” He decides.

“Of course.” He is in charge, after all. You may be surviving this ordeal with your mouth and your wits, but you aren’t stupid enough to think anyone else is in control.

“Sleep, eat.” He orders. “We will talk later. You need to be able to write this article clear headed.”

It goes on like that for days.

You're fed and that small bedroom to sleep in, with only minimal instances of guards bursting into the room in the middle of the night to beat you in places that your dress covers – which is why you're fairly certain you have a few broken ribs and are astonished that no crippling damage has been done to your back. One of the men the first night definitely broke your nose but much of the other swelling has gone down over the course of the days and nights that Pablo Escobar keeps your hostage in his hidden estate.

Every day you fill up tape after tape just letting him talk, and at night he lets you write. The article will have to be finished eventually, but the more he talks, the more material you have. And while you remain acutely aware that your lifespan directly relies on how long it takes you to write the piece he wants, there is another notebook hidden in that little bedroom that is your story. The account of how you're treated, how he treats his sicarios, the identities of those sicarios, and as much information as you can cram into it about the location you're being kept. All written in short hand like your own private code, the second your private notebook makes it into a secretary's hands at the embassy, it can easily be translated and distributed to anyone who can make use of the information.

******

“GODDAMNIT.” The entire department has become used to the sound of slamming drawers and papers being flung across the room the in frustration. Eyes wary as they glance towards the closed door and wonder how long it will take for it to slam open and Javier Peña to come rampaging out like a bull on the loose. His normal sarcastic charm is non-existent and everyone has felt the force of his temper. “Where the fuck are the satellite photos?”

"They're coming. We just called for them five minutes ago." Steve has sorted to being ultra-calm in the face of his partner's frantic chaos. It's not the survival technique he expected to use, but he does understand. Every single day he goes home late and holds Connie close, grateful that it wasn't her that went missing instead.

“She- it’s been days!” He hasn’t slept and his hands are shaking from the amount of caffeine he has lived off of. His eyes are gritty and heavy, but every fucking time they close he sees your body sprawled out.

"And she is still alive." The marks on Javi's body are proof that you're still hanging on, although both men have voiced their surety that more will join the set he already has in the days and weeks and months to come. There is no way you aren't being hurt, wherever you are. "We'll find her." He repeats the mantra for the hundredth time today. He has to believe it, or else Javi might break.

“Every fuckin hour- every hour that passes.” Javi closes his eyes and shudders. “You know what they will do to her. What they are doing.” He can’t think about that right now, he can’t. He has to focus on finding you. He’s already gone to some of his lesser acceptable contacts for any information he can find. It’s worth the possibility of selling his soul to the devil.

"Peña!" Carrillo's voice comes in a holler from down the hall. Not the photos they expected, but only one small piece of paper clutched in his hand.

He startles, leaping up from his desk and rushing towards the SearchBloc commander. “What is it?”

"We have leads." Carrillo shoves the information into Peña's shaking hands instantly. "Enrique and Santiago Alvarez have been spotted in four different places in as many days. Driving the same car that the waitress identified as their getaway vehicle. They're either headed for Cali, or for Bucaramanga. Which..." His lips purse, displeased. "Are in opposite directions."

“Fuck.” Javi hisses as he stares at the paper, squinting slightly. “They could be trying to throw us off. Or they are stupid enough to think we don’t know what they drove when they kidnapped her.”

"One team in each direction?" Steve suggests, having followed Peña into the hall to find out what Carrillo had found.

"They wouldn't take her to Cali." Javi reasons, staring at the information written as if it would magically give him more. "The Rodrigez brothers would not appreciate him bringing trouble to Cali. Paco Herras has already warned them."

"As far as we know, there are no labs or safe houses in Bucaramanga." The term 'safe' in safe house is relative if Carrillo knows about the place, but the point remains. As far as they know, Escobar has no solid footholds in that particular city. "Might be somewhere nearby. But that's a lot of area to cover, plus mountains and ocean."

"Order it searched." Javi crumples the paper in his hand. "I don't give a fuck if I need to have the Marines go in."

"We'll be ready to go the second you find something." Steve tells Carrillo, giving the other man a nod before he jogs away down the hall. If anything, Murphy is the optimism of the group right now so he has to believe that something will be found.

He watches Carrillo turn and stride down the hall, his footsteps quick and determined but it will still be hours, or maybe days before he learns anything. "I can't just sit here." Javi growls, slapping his hand against his thigh and turning to grab his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Where are we going?" Steve grabs his coat instantly, not willing to let his partner go anywhere alone. Mostly out of concern, but also because Peña is so wired and exhausted all at once that he might succumb at any point. The last thing the man needs is to fall asleep at the wheel on his way to find his soulmate.

"Stay here." Javi shakes his head, knowing that Steve would neither approve, nor want to be a part of what he was about to do.

“Where are we going?” Steve repeats, continuing to follow his partner down the hall.

"I'm serious, stay the fuck here." Javi hisses, glaring over his shoulder at Steve and putting a little more effort in his steps to get some distance from the long-legged bastard. "I don't need you fucking something else up."

"I've been fucking helping you, asshole!" Steve points out, hollering back with his own frustration bubbling over. It's been four days since Peña's soulmate went missing and he's been understandably insufferable.

Stopping short, Javi whirls around and grabs Steve by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him back against the wall with heavy thud. "You're the fucking reason she was unprotected!" He angrily accuses him. "You had to bring Elisa to my fucking house and leave her there. Complicating my life and pissing her off where she wouldn't even fucking look at me when she left!" His face is twisted in rage and regret, making the scowl even darker as he glares at the blonde man.

"I didn't make you fuck her!" Steve reminds him, growling right back as days' worth of exhaustion and anger boils over in both of them.

His face tenses and for a moment, neither one of them knows if Javi is going to punch him. After a second, he lets him go and his hands drop to his sides. Steve's right, he didn't have to fuck Elisa and this is all on him. He doesn't say anything else, just turns and flees down the hall.

******

Escobar does the same thing each day when he decides he is done talking to you, and you’re continuously unsurprised to find it is always right before his dinner time. The man is selfish in every way, including wanting a long and indulgent meal at the end of things.

But each day he will slap one hand on the table between you, stub out his cigarette with the other, and proclaim that you need something to eat. Apparently the treatment he wished for you to have is coffee in the morning, Coca-Cola and cigarettes — always shared with him — during the day, and a child’s portion of whatever he is eating for dinner. You never complain because you’re not stupid, but it does seem like treating you as a prized prisoner really always was his goal. Never letting you have any illusion that your life is in his hands.

As if you could ever think anything else.

“You need to eat something.” Pablo crushes out his cigarette and sends you a smile. “I’m eager to see what you have written so far.” He adds.

“It’s written in shorthand at the moment.” Turning the pad of paper you’re allowed to take notes on over in your hands to show him, you set it down on the table with the confidence that he won’t have a clue what it means. “If you would like, I’ll write it out tonight for you to read in the morning? So you can approve before we go on.” His version, of course. Not the one you’ve been actively writing for days now that is your real article. The one you’ll give him to read will be full of his naked lies and ambitions.

“Good.” He nods and looks very pleased with the idea. “A few more days and you will be able to send the truth to your papers.” He shrugs. “Maybe even win you that prize for journalists.”

“Perhaps.” A few more days. It’s disarming, to hear your expiration date said out loud like that. It makes you wonder how often the Pulitzer in journalism is ever awarded posthumously. “You will decide when you are satisfied with it.” And when he’s done with you.

“Of course.” He dismisses the very notion that he would allow anything else. “It will be the perfect way to show your soulmate that I am not the enemy.”

Very careful not to react sharply or irrationally, you exhale a measured breath and raise your head from looking at your notebook. "My what?" He fucking knows. Of course he does. Javier is in so much danger and doesn't even realize half of it...

He tilts his head, amusement glittering in his eyes. “You do not know?” He asks mockingly. “I know of your soulmate.” He teases. “I have a price on his head. And you will bring him to me.”

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe @cloudroomblog @the-queen-of-sorrows

[cinnamoneve]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬.

❆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x gn!reader ❆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you offer to join gojo on a 8-hour roadtrip for work. as usual, it's a big deal to him. hope you're ready for eight hours with your sweet boyfriend! ❆ 𝐰𝐜: 2k ❆ 𝐚/𝐧: gojo brainrot on the mind. i need to write about this man so bad. please enjoy ♡

no good deed goes unpunished.

the mantra repeats itself as you settle in for an eight hour car ride across the country for satoru’s work.

you offered to accompany him, after all. something about him driving solo for eight hours didn’t sit right with you–at least together, you could stop for meals and breaks, swap driving shifts, and keep each other company between the points of interest.

satoru, always the enthusiastic one, needed to make this an occasion in and of itself. since offering to join him, he’s made a point of cleaning the car, picking out your favorite snacks and goodies, curating a personal playlist, buying you a new cozy outfit to wear; it was all too much. 

it’s almost like he was wired to be the best partner: if not, prove he is. small happenings became momentous occasions, outings became intricate dates, and everything was worth celebrating. no moment was too insignificant to find love and happiness in.

sometimes, you worry it’s just a big façade. that, at the end of the day, it’s just a big act in order to trick himself into finding joy in the simple things; to find catharsis in the mundane and silver lining in even the most normal situation. after knowing him for so long, it’s hard to read him. once you feel you’ve gotten a grip on him, he seems to trickle a little closer off the edge of understanding. you’re not one to prod. 

no good deed goes unpunished.

satoru’s shift was first. you woke up early to hit the road so you’d be on location when he was needed–you’d hang around the town while he headed off to do whatever he had to. you didn’t mind the drive, and he didn’t mind the company. it was you, after all.

because of the early rise, the two of you barely had enough time to wipe the sleep out of your eyes. it was another night of him hogging the blankets, asking you meaningless questions right as you’re about to drift off to sleep (e.g. ‘what if all of my toes were as long as fingers? would you still love me the same?)–it was not a priority to get a full night’s sleep.

satoru’s hair was still messy. you practically had to drag him out of bed to brush his teeth and get ready for the day. unbeknownst to you, he bought himself a matching sweatsuit that is exactly the same as yours. seeing him walk out to the car was shocking, to say the least.

if you were told years ago that you’d be wearing matching sweatsuits with this man, you’d think it was a joke. tying him down to a committed relationship was a feat alone–everything else corny came natural to him.

satoru faked a shocked look when seeing you in the car, “well, one of us has to change.”

“it’s too early for this, satoru,” you laughed. the sun had barely kissed the horizon and you’ve had your first taste of his humor. you playfully punched his arm before putting on your seatbelt.

for the first 30 minutes of the drive, the two of you barely said any words to each other. it was an unspoken, yet always practiced routine for you in the morning: no matter what time you both get up. you’ll greet each other with a warm embrace and kiss, maybe cuddle for a little while in bed, but afterwards you don’t talk for a while. there’s a cooling period of waking up and preparing for the day–sometimes you just need a bit to get your bearings. between you two, it’s been in practice for a while. today was no exception.

“i guess you’d break up with me then, huh?”

satoru’s silence-breaking question makes you sit up in your seat and turn away from the window to look at him. 

“what are you talking about?”

“you never answered my question last night. i think you’re just avoiding it because you’d break up with me.”

you can’t help but stare at him in shock. awe, even. you hadn’t noticed that your mouth was open, but you closed it quickly when you noticed.

satoru kept his eyes on the road. you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not–there’s a fat chance he was staring so intently at the road to not laugh.

“are you kidding?” you can’t help but ask innocently.

“no. it hurt my feelings a lot, actually.”

now you know he’s kidding. 

“you’re an ass, satoru.”

“that’s still not an answer” he refused to let it go.

“hmm. well, if you need an answer, i think i'd make you custom shoes so you wouldn’t have to walk around barefoot. and i’d sew you really big socks to make sure your feet don’t get cold either. is that a good enough answer for you?”

satoru’s face grew into a grin at your notion, “yeah, that’s more than enough”

“what about you? what if i was the one with really long toes, would you still love me?”

you waited for a bit, expecting satoru to sweep in with his charm and knock the answer out of the park with some cheesy platitude.

he answered, “i think it would be hard.”

all you could do was dramatically sigh as he laughed.

satoru was just like that. he’d ask questions about any scenario and question your love or faith or trust in him. they’d be under the guise of a fun question, an icebreaker, or a conversation point. the catch was that he’d only time he’d ask them is in the wee hours of the night, when the world slows, and it’s just the two of you in the stillness of your apartment.

when the tables were turned on him, he’d deflect. rarely did he mean it though, he was just not the best at articulating how he really felt about it all. sometimes you wondered if these pointless questions were relationship checks with a deeper meaning; as if him having extra-long toes was indicative of the next fifty years of your lives together.

maybe in his mind, it was. even if you hated the idea of him having extra-long toes, even when you didn’t know how to make custom shoes, even if you couldn’t sew, or any meaningless task he propped up was not in your wheelhouse:it became part of your wheelhouse. you’d probably lasso the moon for him, if he asked. 

the question wasn’t really about extra-long toes. just like your answer wasn’t really about shoes and socks. it was about what’s between the lines of his question and your sweet answer. satoru couldn’t care less about the consequences of anything, whether it be something as trivial as having extra-long toes. what he really was interested in and loved was the way you’d love and accept him no matter the hardship. you knew this, he knew this, but he’d continue to hide it under the guise of a question with no real substance. it’s just how he operated. 

in reality, he would love you if you had extra-long toes or if you had no toes or if you were a worm or any other question you could ask. it all made him a little bashful, so he could only ever deflect it. often when he does this, he’ll say one thing and mean something else. you expected it, you loved it, and gladly took it with open arms.

two hours into the drive, satoru suggested grabbing a quick bite at the next town you pull into. you pulled over at some 24 hour mom-and-pop-type diner for some fuel. with some caffeine in both of your systems, the sun was peeking through the treetops to make its first appearance of the day as you were exiting the restaurant. 

“do you want me to take over driving?” you offered while walking to the car.

“i don’t mind, i’m good to go for a bit more” 

“you shouldn’t drive the whole way, satoru. i’m not going to let you.”

“whatever you say, beautiful,” 

satoru sat back in the driver’s seat while you just rolled your eyes and smiled. he reset the gps and put on the ‘official’ road trip playlist.

it was a tasteful blend of just about everything–your favorite songs, his favorites, and ones you had discovered together that seemed to fit. the two of you chatted between singing it all together. selfishly, he’d put some of your favorite songs in there just to hear you sing them. and all he’d do is pretend he didn’t know the words, as if he didn’t commit them to his memory as soon as he could.

you shared snacks, exchanged stories, and talked like the two of you had an entire lifetime of news to catch up on. everything flowed so easily with him. you felt like you could live in this moment forever. secretly, you hoped you would. without any hardships, any fights or arguments, any time away from each other or things unsaid. the only struggle you’d ever face is wondering the next time satoru would ask you to feed him a pretzel.

by hour six, satoru had stopped singing entirely and went back to staring at the road in silence. getting the impression he was tired, you told him you had to stop to use the bathroom next time he saw a rest stop. you’d have to ambush him when he got out of the car to steal the driver's seat–you know his stubbornness would never relinquish it.

while he got out to stretch, you snuck in his seat and started moving the mirrors to get yourself situated. satoru caught you and tried to coerce you into sitting back on your own side, but failed miserably. all he could do was pout and put his seatbelt on. 

for someone who fought against not driving, he passed out instantly. he settled into the chair under your very fuzzy blanket, turned on the heated seat, and kicked his shoes off. always the drama. there’s something amusing about the sight, but it was more endearing than anything.

it gives you a bit of time to get lost in your own thoughts and concentrate on the road ahead. literally and figuratively. what a privilege and honor it was for the love of your life to sleep soundly next to you, trusting you so much that he can let his guard down and be comfortable. seeing this side of him was always a treat. part of you wondered if he’d notice if you pulled over just to admire him.

you wanted him to sleep, rest up, gain his strength back, and feel well enough to take on the day. you would drive for hours if it meant he’d sleep just a little longer. 

no good deed goes unpunished.

you had thought of this phrase earlier, wondering why you even offered to go with satoru if he was just going to ask a million questions about nothing truly meaningful. but what is ‘punishment?’ being loved unconditionally? is it fair to call that a punishment? sure, he asked them a mile a minute. he asked if you wanted to play “i spy” when there was nothing significant around. he made a joke about playing truth or dare, and then dared you to kiss him, as if you haven’t done it a million times over.

satoru was many, many things. selfish at his worst and dramatic all the time, the laundry list of positives in his life could have an argument made for a negative that outweighs it. something about him felt like home, like comfort; the feeling you get when you have a warm bowl of soup, or settling in with a hot drink. his love warms you from the inside out, and manages to turn and touch every fiber of your being.

you’d never tell him this, though. it’s good to keep him humble sometimes when you fear his ego gets the better of him.

no good deed goes unpunished.

punishment looks really good at the moment. a beautiful boy sleeping soundly next to you as you listen to a song he swore to show you months ago. it doesn’t seem fair to call it a punishment when it can’t get better than this; but you find yourself looking forward to your next good deed.

all content © cinnamoneve 2023. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

[rivnedell]

50 nsfw questions for Joel Miller

Hey there, again ✨ Ok, I love this list and I want to write those for.. So many people now 🫠

Have fun with our dear survival man, he really needs some good time..

Also please excuse if there're mistakes, english is not my first language.

Gifs by @manny-jacinto

18+ MDI

1. Biggest Turn-On

Admiring you when you dress up in the morning, spooning you in the few lazy mornings you're both granted. Seeing you lingering in the house, just wearing one of his shirts, underwear or not. 

2. Biggest Turn-off

Lies. Do not lie to him. He's a survivor and he doesn't need people who would abuse his trust in his life.

3. Quickest way to get horny

Lingering gazes as you walk into him through your kitchen, leaning your body into him while kissing him, and jumping on the countertop, wrapping your legs around his waist. That would certainly lead to a quickie, both keeping your clothes on, or a long torrid night.

4. Top 3 places to be touched

Joel is a sucker for gentle touches and tickling while he sleeps. He loves when you travel your fingers through his dark, grayish hair, helping him soothe and calm from what he has seen outside during the day. Number two would be the small of his back and his ass, grabbed when he pounds into you.. And number three would be his gorgeous thighs, more precisely the groin. No need to tell you how much he craves you for kisses down there.

5. Do you like the idea of a threesome or moresome ?

Probably not. Joel is possessive and intense at love. He would never share you, and you would never accept another woman to own him as he lets you claim him as yours, don't you Honey ?

6. Sex or Masturbation ?

Oh both. That man is a passionate god surviving through hell. He needs to indulge, and to fuck. He needs you. All the time. He needs those moments with you, either tenderness, comforting and listening. But gods he needs good sex. And he would absolutely pleasure himself thinking of you if you've been far away from for too long.. Even for a few days. The man would miss you as soon as you're not in his sight.

7. Spit or Swallow ?

Girl. He wouldn't ask you. You just gotta swallow, ‘til the last drop.

“Look at you.. Such a good girl for me, aren't you ? That's it.. Swallow it for me, all of it,”

8. Rough or Romantic sex ?

Both. Joel adores you when you take care of him. And you would pretty much be the only one in this scorched world he would return that care to. He loves your tender and soft nights, full of caresses and long, wet kissing, but he's is a wild man, seeking, and needing roughness and wilderness.

9. Loud or quiet partners ?

You better be loud and significant to how he makes you feel.. But Joel is anyway going to make you scream, whether you're loud or not.

10. How much foreplay ?

Sometimes there is no foreplay. If Joel needs you right away as he sees you, he will take what's his for sure, wasting no time. But he is also known to be an exceptional lover. Making love to you, amusing and pleasing you for hours, watching you coming over and over on his fingers, or on his lips, would absolutely content him and make him hard as hell too.. Let's be honest.

11. How much teasing does he like ?

He likes it very much, but to a certain point. You better manage the man or he will manage you, and ravage you. He's very fond of public teasing, like discreet side eyeing while Tommy or the others are around, stolen kisses at the back of house while no one is watching. That is good teasing to him, a promise that a great time is awaiting for him at night.

12. Hooks up or only partners ?

After Sarah's mother he had multiple hooks up, but since he's with you he wants to be only yours, and of course you should never betray him.

13. How much kissing during sex ?

He simply cannot resist your lips Honey. Most part of the time he could cum while kissing you actually.

14. Favorite place to have sex ?

Bedroom, kitchen (he loves to take you right before you have breakfast, still dizzy from sleep, not even dressed up, probably wearing one of his check shirts, barely covering your intimacy and your breasts)..

15. Would he have sex in public ?

That's something you could ask him, he would probably be turned-on by the getting-caught thing, but since Austin is not a very safe place anymore, he would prefer to make love to you where he feels the safest.

16. Last place he had sex?

His truck, both of you on the driver's seat..

17. Where would he most like to have sex?

His bedroom, or his living room, on the couch after enjoying a nice meal with you.

18. Spontaneous sex or does he need to be in the mood?

Joel is a busy man, worried about everything and everyone to be safe. So you probably will have to hold his face in your hands as he talks about what incautious move Tommy did again today, and crash your lips on his to stop him speaking. That would immediately soothe him and he would take you to his lap, letting you straddle him, a promise of, finally, a nice and intense moment.

19. Would he go for a hookup at a stranger's house?

Before you, yes. Surviving is hard, so he needed to indulge sometimes without any romance involved.

20. Biggest kink?

Don't ask to have mercy if you're wearing a mini-skirt, or a nice summer dress that stops above your knees. He loves those, and above all he loves to fuck you while you keep them on, from the back against a wall.. Pulling your hair back so he can kiss you, his other hand resting on your throat. He would also be likely to dive half of a finger or two too into your mouth while you both are coming. And on top of this.. He would become mad if you let him call you his Babygirl, looking at you sucking those thick digits as cum inside of you.

21. Is he ok with name-calling?

Sometimes. If you've been very taunting in public with him he shall give you what you deserve once at home, and call you once or two.

22. Would he do BDSM?

Probably not. That's not what he really is into..

23. Would he prefer to tie you up or be tied up?

It would grow as a kink for both you for Joel to take you while.. He has your wrists tied behind your back, naked and exposed before him on his bed, at his mercy to fuck as roughly he wants. And he would lose his mind knowing you couldn't do anything but.. Take him. On the other side, Joel would totally let you tie his wrists, also behind his back while you're sitting on his lap, or giving him a nice time. Joel would curl his chest, hovering your head busy to pleasure him, unable to grasp furiously at your hair, nor to guide you to take him deeper.. And that would frustrate him to the utmost, but excite and amuse him for sure.

"Do not dare to think I will let you do this every time, you naughty girl,"

24. Does he like orgasm denial?

He likes you to play with him, but be careful. The man is wild and probably will deny your orgasm at least twice the time you did for him.

25. Does he like overstimulation?

He won't let you play with him too long after he comes, but.. He would love to play with you and make you cum multiple times in a row, holding your thighs tight, curled on his shoulders while he plays unmercifully with you.

26. Does he like pain being involved?

There's enough suffering in his daily life for having painful moments in his bed. The maximum he would do to you would be spanking you.

27. Does he like dirty talk?

Goodness, YES he does. Joel is talker in bed, he just can't help whispering, moaning how much he likes you for being so good to him, so good to fuck and just for him to possess.

28. Does he own sex toys? How many?

He does own a cockring, the one you offered him.. And he loves it to a point that he maybe has used it alone, when thinking of you, desperately missing you.

29. What does he masturbate to?

Memories of you mostly. Of your body framed between the wall of the shower, and him, both naked. And oh, he's terribly demanding when things start to get spicy on the phone, even just through texting. He would even read again your spicy conversations if you're not available, shamefully watching those evocative pictures you have sent him.

30. Multiple rounds or will he settle for one orgasm ?

If his work has spared him some strength, he would probably ravage you so roughly and give in multiple times.. In a row.

31. Does he enjoy giving oral?

Sometimes he would spend an entire night just giving you pleasure Honey, that's what we would call Joel's special. He would switch between being tender, slow, loving and going fast and wild, unmercifully ravaging your bundle of nerves, admirative of the mess on the bed sheets he would be responsible for.

32. Does he prefer giving or receiving oral?

He likes both. Although, he likes his babygirl to take care of him after a long day..

33. What makes him orgasm the fastest ?

Either watching you sucking him, yours eyes dove in his or when you're crying his name as he fucks you ferociously into the matress..

34. Does he like/do anal/pegging?

Nope.

35. Favorite position?

The lazy dog, and missionary are equal tops to him. Being able to ravage you, pounding his hips against you, his burning body laying on your back, pulling your hair and your head back so he can kiss you roughly, desperate to fuck you as deeply as he can.. And of course just being on you, facing you, or both of your faces buried in each others’ neck, sweaty, undone, groaning and screaming your names when reaching the Stars.

36. Does he use protection?

Joel is a careful man and would always ask to use it. Although he would crave to feel you raw around him.. And just make one with you.

37. Does he masturbate with clothes on ?

Yes he does when he thinks of you and misses you so much when you're gone.

38. How does he prefer his partner's hair/grooming?

It's survival here in Austin, so he would absolutely not mind taking you roughly after both of your work days, bodies still sweaty and tired. 

39. What does he wear to bed?

Nothing, so his Babygirl can enjoy his scared body right against her, hold him, tickle his hair and kissing him everywhere.

40. What does he like his partner to wear?

Sexy black lingerie would have him hard the second he sees you in it. He would never resist you if you would come to him dressed up like that. He either would back you up against a wall or immediately carry you to his bed, but he would have you right away, sometimes about to rip your underwear in parts.. But he would never do without asking you. He knows about much you like those.

41. Does he like his balls played with?

That's one of his favorite things his babygirl would do to him. That would absolutely drive him crazy if you do so.. While you're giving his manhood a great time.

42. What is his sexuality?

Joel loves women and their bodies. He would kill to be able to enjoy your's all the time Honey. Unless he already had..

43. Does he have extreme or unusual kinks?

Fucking you in the back of his truck, from the back while you're bending before him, on your knees between the seats and gripping at the dashboard. The risk to be seen while fucking you wild drives him mad, Honey. Be aware of this if he offers you a drive.

44. How often does he masturbate ?

As soon as he can, when or if he's not too exhausted. Though he might need a good time to help him fall asleep.

45. Favorite toy?

His.. Member. He's a proud man. Proud of the thickness and the length, and proud of how far it sends you every time.

46. Does he like roleplay?

Yes, God yes. You had dragged him down into this, and he discovered himself in a way he wouldn't have thought of.

47. Any fetishes?

Hair pulling. Oh Lord you better be ready when Joel's about to cum because his strong hands will grasp and pull your hair while his lips are on your mouth, groaning as he pounds furiously into you.. While being on you, or behind you..

48. Aftercare ?

Joel is a kind heart. So even after an exceptionally intense, savage moment with him, he would wait for your body to ease, for you to recover your breath, littering the sweaty skin of your neck with wet and sloppy kisses.

“You okay Babygirl ? Was it good ?”

49. Does he ever go comando ?

If he's alone only with you yes Honey he would, but you would have to be asked to be dressed the same as him, at least.

50. Phone sex?

Oh definitely if he is given some spare time to call you. He would firstly simply be sexting with you, but as time goes on and you get along with each other.. He would beg for you to scream his name on the phone and to not give a fuck about your neighbors. He wants (needs) to hear you crying and screaming to the world you are his.

"Say my name, Babygirl, scream it !"

~

Yes I was.. Inspired. He is to blame.. I really hope I got him right, feel free to tell me what you thought ! 🫶

Thank you so much for reading ! ✨

Tagging : @evolnoomym @thegreatwicked @crowandmousewritingco @the-mandawhor1an

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hii! Do you know any sterek kinda dark Fics where they’re kinda horrible to everyone but each other?

Yeah!

Blood For Blood by NotMyBestIdea 

(1/1 I 342 I Mature)

Nothing is going to come between Derek and his revenge.

He'll bleed you 'til you're just bone and skin by ElisAttack

(1/1 I 2,236 I Explicit)

It's moments when Stiles feels the dull pull of the bruises on his hips, moments when he can't sleep on his stomach because the throbbing ache does nothing for a good night's sleep, it's those moments that make him feel worthless.

Makes him hate Derek with a passion that burns brighter than anything else he feels.

Or the one where Derek doesn't know his strength, but Stiles knows he deserves it.

32 Hours by cheshirecat101

(1/? I 2,725 I Teen)

Stiles has to make the 32 hour trip from California to Chicago, Illinois, in order to get to his new home for the next four years. But it seems that the (super)natural world is doing everything in its power to stop him.

Alpha by Nival_Vixen

(1/1 I 2,357 I Explicit)

Stiles has been kidnapped by a serial killer known only as Alpha. Stiles finds himself far too attracted to the man that's probably going to kill him.

No one called, until someone did. by queen_of_OTPs

(1/1 I 4,419 I Mature)

Stiles found that he hadn’t spoken more than necessary since August. Gone were the rambling rants, extravagant gestures, and range of vocal tones. Monotone sentences that were cut with sharp edges, words like knives and tone like venom.

No one had called.

Mindset of a Killer by buftie

(1/3 I 7,363 I Explicit)

Troubled youths Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale meet in the counselor's office and form a haphazard relationship. They realize they share urges and desires they dare not speak to others - guns, knives, blood, and even murder. Soon the two are overwhelmed by their attempts to satiate their bloodlust and find themselves wanted criminals.

A Second Chance at Life by DaoOfGay

(4/? I 8,871 I Explicit)

Stiles held onto his bleeding chest as he watched the man who had taken everything from him walk away, as he laid there, on his last breath, he could swear there was a small tear running down Derek Hale's face.

But once he opened his eyes, he was back at the moment his life was destroyed- The moment he woke up on Derek Hale's bed, naked, and not remembering what happened the night prior.

This time he woke up before him. He packed his things and ran, ran as far away as he possibly could not looking back.

Unknowingly, that decision changed the future in a way he could never thought.

Full and Void by Hedwig221b

(2/2 I 23,286 I Explicit)

Stiles could be meek, sure. In Derek’s arms, softened under the touch, pinned under his weight. He allowed himself to relax only in Derek’s sole presence.

Stiles could also look meek. Small, scared. Let the enemies think he was hiding in his mate’s shadow. After all, no one would stop to think that the shadow could ever be dangerous.

Devil in the Details by Accidental_Ducky

(8/8 I 26,473 I Mature)

“So we’ll split up.”

“Baby,” Boyd says, taking her arm in a gentle hold,” that is the single whitest sentence to ever leave your mouth. Splitting up to search for a crazed murderer with no moral compass is a job better left to the police. I say we go upstairs, barricade the basement door closed and hangout in the lobby until help shows up.”

“Derek found a way to break out of a sealed chamber and you think shoving a desk in front of a wooden door will keep him from using our skin as lampshades?”

“I never should have let you watch American Horror Story. Our lives have just gone downhill since then.” Boyd runs a hand over his mouth, scratching absently at the stubble along his jaw before heaving out a sigh. “Fine, we’ll go look for Hale, but we’re sticking together. I’m not about to be the token black guy that gets butchered in some kind of cheesy nineties horror flick.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🔥Phoenix and Ashes

Suna Rintarou x f!reader

Summary: “It’s funny how nobody believed that we could make it work.” - “Well-maybe they were right.”

Meeting Suna Rintarou wasn’t part of your plan. Dating him, either. Getting your heart smashed into the palms of his hand, even less.

Content Warnings: Timeskip, Manga Spoilers, Alcohol Consumption, Mention of 1 OC, yn is lost & confused

Word count: 4.5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 9

184.

That’s the number of days that have passed since you last saw Suna or heard from him. 184 full days, mornings and evenings, without hearing his voice or touching his skin. You can't sleep a wink the night before the twins’ birthday party. You squirm in bed and watch the hours pass.

So many questions run through your mind.

What will happen when you see him? Will he talk to you; look at you? If you have the opportunity to hold him again—will you?

It’s raining outside. You hear the raindrops brushing the trees before crashing against your window. The moon is shining bright and high in the sky, at times, clouds hide it. It’s a typical autumn night, heavy and nostalgic. Just like your heart.

Around 3 a.m. you decide to text Umi.

“I’m scared to see Rintarou,” you admit.

It doesn’t take her long to reply, “I can come if you want.”

Osamu has invited your best friend to the party. Not only because he had known her for years but also because he would feel better if you had her by your side.

“D’ya mind?” He asked his brother.

“Do whatever ya want,” Atsumu said, he tried to look unbothered, but Osamu knew him all too well. Umi and Atsumu haven’t seen each other since high school and their friendship did not end up on good terms. The boy was still holding a grudge towards her. But if he admitted it, he knew his brother would make fun of him for acting like a child. So, he played it tough, pretending that seeing her again after years would be fine (but anyway, that’s another story).

“You should sleep,” you text.

“Says you haha”, followed by “but really, just tell me and I’ll come.”

You stare down at your phone, unsure of what you should do. Since Osamu told her about the party, she has been asking you if you wanted her to come, but you brushed her off each time. However, now that it is only a matter of hours before you see your ex-boyfriend again, you start to freak out.

“If you have nothing planned why not.”

“I don’t! see you tomorrow then, try to have a good night!”

The sound of the rain covers your heartbeat, the caress of the wind against your window masks the trembling of your hands.

It’s going to be okay, you repeat and repeat.

You arrive at the Miya’s apartment before anyone else. You tell Osamu you want to help them (or, rather, him) prepare.

Atsumu comes out of the bathroom when you put the beers you have bought in the fridge.

“Oya, oya dear Mademoiselle.”

You share a surprised look with Osamu—one tinged with mockery and pity. It takes you a lot of self-control not to burst into laughter.

“Ya speak French now? And don’t walk around shirtless.” Osamu sighs.

“Yer my mom or what?” Atsumy says while getting closer to you. “My abs deserve to be shown to the world.”

Your eyes immediately fall on his toned chest and belly. And you must admit that yes, Atsumu’s muscles are indeed well-shaped and nothing compared to his high school days. Despite his childish attitude, he is a man now.

“See, she agrees with me.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and smiles teasingly.

“I never agree-”

“I’ll grab a beer.” The setter cuts you off and opens the fridge.

Osamu strides forward and takes the beer from his brother’s hand, “Calm down ya moron, it’s for tonight.”

“The night is young little bro.”

“Huh?” Osamu frowns, “Never call me that again.”

Atsumu mumbles something back and the argument escalates as always. The starting point of the fight is soon to be completely set aside.

You laugh so hard, that you almost forget the knot in your stomach. Atsumu decides to go back to his room, insults resonating in the whole apartment.

“Why do you guys live together?” You ask, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Gosh, I don’t know. He pisses me off.” He grumbles.

“But?” You put your hands on your waist and look at him, waiting for your question to be answered—honestly.

“But…” He hesitates then mutters with a shy voice, “Am just used to bein' with him all the time, ya know. It’s -” he clears his throat, “comfortin'.”

The vulnerability in his eyes soothes your heart, you tilt your head and smile. Osamu sees your nose wrikling. He turns around, “Shut up.”

You lift your hands in defence, “I haven't said anything yet”

“But I know exactly what yer thinkin’”

“Can you read my mind, Miya Osamu?”

“I’d rather not.” He glances at you, his back still facing you.

His left profile really is his best, you tell yourself.

You only chuckle after that and stop the conversation here. After all, he is not wrong. Why would he want to read your mind when it’s full of Suna? Paced with the memories of what you shared and tortured by the regret of what could have been. Maybe this incessant ache in your heart and in your thoughts is a reminder of how guilty you should feel for letting your relationship down, for not showing him enough support. Maybe you have been too hard to love and he is happier with someone else.

Or maybe, you truly deserved better?

Maybe he is the one who let you down? Who didn’t fight for you?

Maybe you should be happier with someone else—could you be happy again; loved again?

You open your mouth. Anyone who would see you might think you have seen a ghost. The questions make you feel dizzy so you decide to push them away. You feel the tension of your face ease a little and when Osamu calls you to help him cut avocados to prepare some guacamole, you take a deep breath and join him.

It’s time for the guests to arrive.

Since Kita has some last-minute inconvenience at his farm, Ginjima is the first to arrive. Half an hour passes and the place is almost full.

You stay with Osamu in the kitchen, even if “ya should go talk with everyone”, he tells you. “I like to be with you.” You reassure him—how can he argue with you after that? But your gaze travels to the living room, moves through the clock hanging in the entrance, and stops at the door. And it keeps going there, again and again.

There is a weird combination inside your heart—fear mixed with hope. And each time someone knocks at the door, it hits you like a firework against a dark night; it’s noisy and overwhelming, but it’s also colourful and exciting.

Osamu pours you a glass of lemonade (he bought your favourite) when Suna enters his apartment. You see the discomfort in your friend’s eyes and turn to the direction he is glaring at.

Your body freezes. Your vision follows every single one of his moves—he shakes Atsumu’s hand, smirks when Aran fist-bumps him, takes off his jacket, runs his hands through his hair. Everything is going so fast, or so slow. You don’t know. You start panicking when his footsteps get closer to where you and Osamu are. You look down at the floor, the light reflecting on it is suddenly replaced by Osamu’s shadow. He stands before you, his broad back and shoulders almost hide your ex-boyfriend.

They greet each other while you restrain the tears from falling down your eyes.

“Hey,” you believe you end up saying. He says something back before turning his attention to Osamu.

“Happy birthday man.”

“Thanks bro, it’s nice to see ya.”

You think Osamu is sincere. They are friends after all and you never wished for them to grow apart because of you.

You finally decide to look at Suna—or maybe it’s just instinct, a force stronger than you, which pulls you to do so. It’s the closest you have been to him in months.

His face is perfect, and the shapes of his body outstanding.

You do not meet his eyes though and your heart breaks. You feel stupid, why would he look at you? Why would he want to have a conversation with you? Why would he care about someone as insignificant as y-

“Yer lemonade,” Osamu gives you your drink and smiles, “Want somethin’ to drink?” he proposes to Suna, pointing at the fridge.

“Sure.” The other boy says.

You bite your lips and think, the evening is going to be long and lonely.

If not for the twins you would storm out of this room, run to your parents’ house and muffle your sobs in your pillow.

Atsumu is drunk.

“It’s not even midnight,” Aran says nonchalantly.

Kita lets out a faint sigh, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer to Atsumu. “Atsumu,” he begins, his voice soft but firm enough to catch the setter’s attention. “D’ya want some water?”

“Captain!” Atsumu spins around abruptly, “Am so happy yer here!”

The boy often gives a slap on the back to his friends or teammates, you figured it’s his way of being friendly. It never looks like it hurts (well, it would probably hurt you since Atsumu is a 6’ tall and full-of-muscle athlete, but nobody was ever injured, so he must know how to control his strength). However, with three beers and six shots of sake in his blood, he loses all sense of control.

The slap he gives Kita makes the former captain trip. Suna, who is standing next to Atsumu, steadies him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kita apologises.

Suna doesn’t understand him at first, Atsumu is the one who acted like an idiot. But then, he starts feeling something stinging on his chest. He realises Kita’s drink has been spilled on his t-shirt (white, of course).

“Sunarin!” Atsumu shouts in Rintarou’s hear, it startles him, “Shit, yer shirt is fucked.”

“It’s fine,” Suna sighs, clearly exasperated.

“’Samu!” Atsumu yells, his voice booming through the apartment.

“Atsumu, stop screaming,” Suna pleads, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off an impending headache.

But Atsumu ignores him, “go get Sunarin one of yer shirts.”

Osamu, who had been sitting on the couch with you, raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”

Even in his drunken state, Atsumu seems to pick up on the bothered tone of his brother. “Yer such a shithead,” he mutters, though he probably meant to whisper. He pulls off his own shirt, revealing his toned torso (again), and hands it to Suna. “Wear that.”

Suna hesitates for a moment, but he eventually complies, pulling off his wet shirt.

“Fuck, Sunarin, yer girl is savage!” Atsumu suddenly blurts out, his loud voice cutting through the room like a knife.

You are following the scene from the corner of your eyes. You try as much as possible to not look at your ex-boyfriend, especially not when you see him starting to get shirtless. But when the blond twin screams and an awkward silence follows it, you can’t help but turn to the boys.

If you weren’t sat on the couch, vision perfectly directed to Suna’s back, you wouldn’t have understood what Atsumu meant. But you are sat on the couch and despite the dim light you see the scratches on his back.

“Yer a beast or what?” he continues, giggling like a teenager.

“Atsumu, stop.”

Umi interjects with frustration, but it feels distant, almost surreal to you. She gets up and steps closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down. But Atsumu’s too far gone and he continues to tease the middle blocker. The tension in the room thickens.

Umi tries again, her voice firmer this time, “Atsumu, that’s enough.”

“Oh, so ya know my name, huh? I thought you had nothin’ to do with me.” His slams her hand away and looks down at her, eyes filled with anger.

Osamu sighs and decides to take care of the situation.

As soon as you are left alone on the couch, you slip away from the living room, quietly making your way to the kitchen. The cool air is a relief, but it does little to soothe the turmoil brewing inside you. The tension in the room was suffocating, and you needed to get away from it all—the memories, the stinging pain, the sight of Suna's marked back.

As you lean against the counter, trying to steady your breath, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to see Osamu, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yer okay?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak without your voice cracking. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

Osamu isn’t convinced. He takes a step closer, his gaze searching your face for any sign that you might need him to stay. But you shake your head, more forcefully this time. “Really, Osamu. I’m okay. I just need a moment.” Leave me alone, you beg him in silence.

He hesitates for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on you. Finally, he nods and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to leave.

The moment he’s gone, you feel the weight of everything you’ve been holding back crash down on you. You glance around the kitchen, your eyes landing on a bottle of something strong on the counter. If Atsumu can act so freely with alcohol in his system, then why shouldn’t you? Maybe it will numb the ache in your chest, even if just for a little while.

You grab the bottle and pour yourself a generous amount, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat. You don’t care. All you want is to forget, to drown out the thoughts that have been plaguing you since Suna walked out of your life.

With the drink in hand, you head back to the living room. The scene has shifted slightly. Atsumu and Umi are nowhere to be found, and everything seems to be back to normal. You watch Gin and Kosaku play some cards game with a detached interest, but your eyes keep straying to where Suna is sitting. The pain deepens.

Osamu catches your eye from across the room. He must see something in your face because after a moment, he looks away, as if giving up on trying to figure out what you’re feeling. The drink in your hand is half-gone, and the room starts to blur slightly around the edges. You down the rest in one go.

An hour passes, and you’re in a drunken haze. The sounds around you—laughter, music, chatter—melt into an indistinguishable sound. As you stumble towards the bathroom, you nearly collide with the door, your mind spinning. But before you can push it open, you see Suna standing there, his tall frame blocking your path.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and familiar, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hi,” you answer.

He is about to get out of the way to let you through, but a voice urges you to make him stay. You need to say something; anything. And suddenly, the words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “I still love you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—regret, maybe—in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like an eternity, but his voice is distant, like he’s trying to put space between you even if he stands right in front of you.

You take a step closer, “I never stopped thinking about you, you know. I'm so fucking in love with you, Rin...”

He hesitates, his eyes searching your face as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re being serious or if it’s just the alcohol talking. “Are you drunk?” he asks.

Before you can respond, he reaches out and gently takes the drink from your hand. “I’m gonna go find Umi,” he says, as if that will fix everything, as if walking away again is the solution.

But the panic starts to rise in you, sharp and unyielding. You can’t breathe; the walls feel like they’re closing on you. You need to get out—now. Without thinking, you turn and rush out of the apartment.

You’re almost outside when someone catches up to you at the stairs, grabbing your arm firmly to stop you.

Osamu.

“Hey, where're ya goin'?” he asks worried.

“I need to leave,” you choke out, barely able to get the words past the tightness in your throat. “I can’t stay here, Osamu. I just can’t.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s go to the restaurant.”

The ride is silent. When you arrive at the restaurant, Osamu parks the car and helps you out, guiding you inside. He leads you to a seat and disappears into the back, returning moments later with a glass of water.

“Drink this,” he says gently, pressing the glass into your hands.

You take a sip, the cool water soothing your parched throat. It feels good. But it does nothing to ease the void in your chest. The alcohol is starting to wear off.

Osamu sits down across from you, watching you closely. He doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you almost break down right there in front of him, but you force yourself to keep it together. You’ve already shown too much tonight.

“You’re always so kind to me…” You look down at your drink, fingers grabbing the glass tighter.

“We’re friends.” He simply says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t deserve it.” You’re ashamed to look at him.

He says your name firmly, “Don’t say that.”

But you cut him off, “I’m a mess.”

He gets up to get closer to you, you hear the chair squeak against the floor, and he grabs your shoulder to make you look at him. He’s so close, you think he can hear your heartbeats.

“Yer hurt. Ya haven’t seen him in months, it’s normal to feel like that. But yer not a mess,” he hesitates and smiles a little, “and even if ya were, I’ll be there for ya. That’s what friends do.”

You study each feature of his face; his eyebrows; his eyes; his nose and an inch further down…

Your lips end up on his.

You grab the back of his head to tank him down, his hands brush your skin all the way from your shoulder to your free fingertips where he intertwines them with his.

You’re kissing Osamu.

You’re kissing Osamu.

You push him quickly, “Oh my god I’m sorry.” You suddenly get up, panic invading you, “I didn’t mean to - oh my god… I must look so desperate right now.”

“Kissing me makes ya look desperate? Gosh Champion, that hurts.” He lets out a small laugh and his kindness makes you want to cry. You're too drunk to decipher how he really feels.

You finally explode. Tears flow like a waterfall. You friend pulls you against him, you feel the warmth of his shirt against your cheek, and you grab his back with strength, afraid that if he steps away, you’ll crumble.

You don’t remember what happened after that. What you know is that you fell asleep at some point and Osamu stayed by your side.

When you wake up, the sun has barely risen. Your back hurts, your head is pounding, your throat is dry. You take a look at your surroundings; you’re lying down on some bench in Osamu’s workplace. It’s calm, way too calm. You try to remember last night, but your headache makes it hard to think straight.

“Mornin’, should I take ya home?”

Osamu’s voice surprises you, you gulp and nod, unable to come out with a coherent answer. His jacket is covering your body like a blanket, you’re about to give it to him but he interjects quickly, “put it on. It’s cold outside.”

“Thanks,” you answer with a broken voice. You don’t even have the strength to argue with him.

Osamu tells you it’s Sunday and 7am as if he sees how disoriented you are. The neighbourhood is quiet, it reminds you of the day Suna broke up with you. The calm before the storm.

Speaking of storm, Suna is standing in front of your house, hands in his pocket, back lean against the wall.

You get out of the car with Osamu, confused.

Suna clears his throat and when he decides to speak, there’s hesitation in his voice, “Can we talk?”

Osamu is standing between him and you, but somehow, he feels invisible. The way you look at Suna like he is the centre of your solar system is threatening. He will always be your first choice; what did Osamu think? His body moves on instinct, and he takes a step back towards his car.

“I…” he starts, “’Tsumu probably made a mess, I’ll go check on the apartment.”

You agree but avoid his gaze.

A moment passes and you’re alone with Suna. It’s been so long you think you forgot how to be with him. How are you supposed to talk to him? Call him? 

“I was worried yesterday. I went looking for Umi, but you had disappeared.”

“Were you really?” You ask, there’s poison in your voice. You feel the blood in your veins rushing through your whole body.

He takes the time before responding, “Of course.”

“Rin… You're telling me you're worried about me because I disappeared one evening, when you didn’t ask me how I was even once in the past six months? That’s nonsense.”

“I get that you’re angry, but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He seems honest and it kills you. You clench your fists. How are you supposed to react to that?

Your mind goes through all sort of emotions, incomprehension, anger, frustration. You finally speak again, “Why?”

“Why?”, he echoes, puzzled.

“Why did you break up with me? And don’t lie to me.”

His lips open and close a few times. His hands come in and out of his pockets awkwardly. “I… I was stupid. I guess I got tired of our relationship. Hiroshima, the club, my friends, everything was new, and it was exciting. And when we were together, it felt like it was holding me back.”

He looks at you and quickly explains more, “But I was wrong and stupid. You’ve been my pillar for all those years, ever since we broke up, I feel lost and I keep doing shitty things.”

“We did not break up Rin, you dumped me, like I was nothing.” You remind him. You can almost feel your nails rip off the skin of your palms from clenching too hard.

“I’m sorry…” He looks down at the floor. He looks so pitiful but even so, he is still beautiful.

You hate yourself for wanting to pull him against you. He is vulnerable right now, almost weak which puts you in a position of power, and yet, deep down, he has you wrapped around his fingers, still he has your heart caged in his hands. How unfair, how unfair.

“What do you want?” You ask him, trying to sound suspicious.

“I was hoping we…we could start over.”

“Loving you ruined my life Rin, how am I supposed to trust you again?”

Of course, you would ask him that. Suna is far from stupid—he knows exactly what he’s done. Until yesterday, he wasn’t even sure if you still loved him. Why would you, after everything? But perhaps, there is a tiny flicker of hope. So, he tries.

“Let me show you that it can be worth it.”

“Where-where does that come from? You barely looked at me once last night, I told you I still loved you and you said nothing back.” Your voice trembles.

“I did look at you, I swear, more than I thought I would. I didn’t expect to feel like that when I saw you, but something was weird in my heart and when you told me you loved me, I panicked. I acted like a jerk, you have all the right in the world to hate me,”

You cut him off, “I could never. You know that.” Your fists relax. 

There’s hope, there’s hope, he hangs on to the thought.

“So… Please let me make it up to you.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

He squints as if the accusation bothers him, but you have to know the truth.

“Rin.”

He doesn’t ask who you are talking and simply answers with a shy “yes.”

You deserve better,

You will find someone else,

Let go of him.

Your heart sings and the words give you the courage to walk past him.

“Wait.”

He says your name and grabs your arm.

One touch. It’s all it takes for you to melt, for your heart to forget all the pain it has been enduring for months.

You hesitate but your hand finds his cheek and you brush a strand of hair. How soft, you think. He closes his eyes, and his forehead leans against yours.

“Please,” the murmur sinks into your body.

“Let’s try.” You give up. You have been waiting for him to come back to you for so long, you have dreamed about those words so many nights. You don't have any other choice but to trust him now.

A comfortable silence settles between you, it almost makes you believe you’re in a dream. You decide to take a step back, but Rin doesn’t let go of your arm.

“I forgot my phone at the boys’ apartment.”

“I’ll come with you.” He hurries to say, afraid you would runaway if he doesn’t follow you.

“‘Tsumu is still sleepin’, Umi left an hour ago.” Osamu explains with a quiet voice once you’re back in the apartment. He hands you your phone.

“O-okay.”

You look around you. The living room is a mess, more than what you remember from last night.

Last night.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Hey, Osamu?” you start carefully, he waits for you to go on, “is everything okay, I mean between us?”

“Sure.”

“Sorry about last night.” You feel extremely guilty. You might have gotten the boy you love back but you can’t bear to lose one of your best friends.

“Last night? What happened last night?” He smiles. You’re relieved; your secret will be safe with him (he is so precious, you tell yourself). You’re about to answer but he lifts his eyes from your face, and you turn to see what has caught his attention.

Suna.

“We should go.” You say.

Osamu thinks you’re talking to him but when he sees you facing your ex-boyfriend he is confused. Suna’s answer confirms his doubts. Something is going on between you two.

“Yeah.” He takes your hand, “thanks for last night Osamu. I have a game in Osaka next month, I'll text you.”

Osamu is unable to answer.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the restaurant," you conclude with a soft smile.

“Hmm, see ya.”

You're afraid to see disappointment on your friend's face so you don't turn back. Everything will be perfect from now on, just like it was before the break up. You are going to be happy and loved and cherished.

The knot in your stomach is normal, you try to convince yourself, there is nothing to worry about.

Absolutely nothing.

author notes: i won't get mad if you want to scream at me :)

Elie

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @obibiwan, @teyvatsunsets, @sugacor3, @hanadulsetaad

[thecapricunt1616]

Dad!Carmy x Beach Day

Okok guys more Dad!Carmy brainrot! It’s time for a walk *gently grabs your hand* okay okay so your first is away at summer camp for the first time, that was it’s whole ordeal (Carmy cried the whole first week they were gone intermittently bc he missed them esp. after you put your littlest to bed bc ‘the routine just feels odd babe we’re missing one’) so to turn his frown upside down you had been planning little outings so he wouldn’t just sit by the mailbox every day like a sad puppy waiting for the letters your kid sends home. Todays outing: A beach day! 

(More BTC 🫶) 

So as soon as your Toddler got up that morning and told you she wanted to make sand castles that day, the choice was easy. Seeing your sexy man carrying your little girl on his shoulders while you relaxed and enjoyed premium beach snacks that he’d pack for you and get some well needed tanning time? That was always a good day. 

By this time - Carmy has gone full dad mode because having a son old enough for sleep away camp and a daughter out of diapers that’s about 8 years of dad-ing, he has it all. Meaning, the man has yes - he’s gotten a truck. *Keep walking don’t look at me that way* because imagine he’d be like 

‘Babe- think, when we take the kids camping, or when we go on trips- we need something with a lot of space, plus it’s so comfy inside! And seat warmers! So you won’t get cold in the winter. And I can get a snow plow for the front so i don’t have to keep spending hours doing the driveway in the winter, and grocery shopping! Whenever we go to Costco we never have enough space and it’s so much safer you should see the safety ratings on this thing the guy really sold me on it. Unc was for it babe! He told me to go for it’  

Like he would have an endless amount of reasons but let’s be real. Little man, big truck - plus your son would think it’s cool. So you’d be all comfy up front with your cooled seats, your daughter in back in her little princess sunglasses and flip flops chewing on bubble gum to be like dad because after 6 years he’s just replaced cigarettes with nic gum and he hasn’t even considered quitting. Of course she’d have one of those little screen things on the back of the seat and bluey is on deck, or Ms Rachel if he’s feeling particularly educational that day. 

He would of course stop at Starbucks when you and your daughter ask and get her a lemonade and a cake pop, get you your signature drink he’d already have memorized for years and then a black cold brew for himself - I still can’t picture the man having anything in his coffee he still seems like a black coffee dude to me!!! 

When you get to the beach he has the whole set up. I’m talking he has the truck bed loaded, he has a beach cart and everything. You are a beach cabana family you are that family. Because let’s be real if Carmy is anything he’s prepared and every family needs that guy so Nat and Richie and all the nieces and nephews would also come hang!! He’s researched and found you the comfiest beach chairs, he has a timer on his watch and is carrying the baby to the tent and baptizing her ass in sunscreen but it’s funny because you have to force him to let you get his back 

He would totally be the sand art uncle, he would help his daughter make the sickest sand castle ever, he would teach Evie his ways too like he’d have a whole method with adding water to build a base he would be in there. Oh!! And he would loooove taking his daughter hunting for seashells. Like imagine you’re just watching as he walks back and forth with her on the shore, bright blue bucket in one hand and her little hand in another, crouching down whenever he finds a cool one and doing the same when she finds one she wants to show and bring like

“Wow! That’s a pretty one baby, I can’t wait for you to show mama that one!” He would be so supportive omg. Also teaching her how to write her name in the sand 🥹. Don’t even get me started on him bringing her swimming. She would absolutely love the game of holding onto his back while he dives under the water and he’d tell her like “take a deep breath we’re gonna go under ready!” And he would just tire her out within a few hours so that she could take a nap on his chest in the cabana after you have lunch and get a chance to talk. Premier sandwiches of course, Carmy has mastered the beach sandwich. Doritos, the whole lot. 

Oh!! Oh!! And he is a total grill master. He has a little charcoal grill he makes you guys smash burgers on the beach and you get to hang and watch the sunset, around the 4th he would always bring sparklers for the kids they would be heavily supervised of course because Carmy plus fireworks is a nervous wreck but sparklers are ok 

And of course on the way home your daughter would beg to stop for ice cream and he would be suckered in because he is absolutely the pushover parent. 

To end the day if you came home and checked the mailbox and there was a fat letter from your son detailing all of the stuff they’ve been doing that week along with a ton of pictures from the polaroid camera you sent him with it would be a day he gushes about literally forever ingrained in his memory. 

Okay, I hope you enjoyed our walk 🫶

[ethan-acfan]

Ferral desmond has my heart. So here are some feral desmond head canons

1. Extremely flexible and amazing at hiding even before the animus

2. blast the most aggressive music with a straight face. Like his headphones will be screaming about murdering people for drugs, and he'll just be chilling.

3. He definitely takes insane amounts of melatonin to fall asleep like 40+mg (please don't do that that is not safe).

4. Has started multiple bar fights on purpose.

5. Has connections to gangs.

6. Has never paid taxes, the IRS hates him.

7. He got really drunk and decided to have an energy drink with it. He ended up hacking into government intelligence and had to skip town because the fbi had tried to kill him

8. He is really good at throwing knives but can't shoot a bow to save his life. Like give him a set of throwing knives, and he can take down abstergo in an hour, give him a bow, and he'll be dead.

9. Once he learned how to fall safely, he started jumping off tall buildings for fun

10. A complete adrenaline junkie he spends most of his time at 6 flags

11. His feral-ness is not helped by the fact that he has the diet of a pre-med student reheated coffees with a side of hope and prayers

12. Prefers sleeping on the floor will 100% take the floor over a bed the only reason he has a mattress was so his friends had some where to sleep when they came over.

13. When he gets high, he either has questions that could get him on a watchlist or he's climbing the walls

14. He enjoys scaring children

15. Is very picky about keeping things a specific way. He can sense when someone is trying to reorganize his spice cabinet

16. LOVES spicy food. If he's not crying by the end, then it wasn't hot enough

17. His notes app is so fucking random like he has his grocery list, a hit list, the Geneva conventions, the bee movie script, the fucking Bible (he's not even Christian)

18. Once, he fist fought a gang leader and won.

19. He has had to disappear on multiple occasions because the FBI tried to revoke his life subscription

20. The only reason he got taken by Templars was because he was about to skip town again, but then Abstergo walked in and he was like "sweet I won't have to run across the country again thanks guys!"

21. Back at the farm, Bill had smacked one of his friends, and desmond had to be held back by 5 people (3 of which were seriously injured after)

22. He doesn't typically get angry, but when he does, everyone scatters bc he is punching concrete, and- *how tf did he just crack the concrete with a single punch?*

23. Never sleep (he might be batman)

24. "Do it, you won't" has been said to him too many times, and each time, he proves that he will, in fact, do it

25. If you gave that man a full 8 hour sleep along with a proper meal, he would be able to take over a country

[lilahisntsadanymore]

When everything goes wrong and life doesn't make sense anymore, there's one person to save Y/n.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Words count: 1.8k

Warnings: sewerslide attempt, Peaky Blinders spoilers

It's my first fic after 8 months and I wrote it at 11pm. I decided if not now, I'll never be back to writing and the break was too long anyway.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

I don't want to lose you

Maybe in another universe this life would've been worth living. Maybe if Y/n was somebody else, life would be easier. Why did everything feel so pointless? Y/n felt as if nothing made sense anymore and she had no explanation for that feeling.

Every breath cost her so much effort, like some huge and heavy creature was sitting on her shoulders. All the time, there were no breaks. Every breath she took was tiring, every step was torture. Every night she went to sleep hoping to never have to open her eyes again.

Y/n was stuck in a loop, but she wanted to put an end to this. It had to stop. And with this step she was about to take, it was supposed to happen.

Her heart was beating fast, finally feeling some adrenaline in her veins. Standing at the edge with dirty water of the canal at her feet, Y/n spread her arms like a bird spreads its wings. The difference was, unlike a bird, she wouldn't go up.

The sound of the girl's body hitting the water. The coldness. The silky, supposedly peaceful feeling. It never came. Y/n was now in somebody's tight embrace, a few feet away from the edge.

"Don't even think about it, you hear me?" A man's deep voice said. "Don't even think about it." His arms wrapped around Y/n protectively.

Tommy Shelby. The man with no emotions or feelings. Ever since his wife died, romantic relationships weren't his strength. The day Y/n appeared in his life, a small flame of hope lit up in his dark, empty heart.

"Tommy..."

A small whisper was all that left the girl's mouth. She squeezed her eyes close tight, but it didn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She buried her face into Thomas and started sobbing softly.

With his right hand, Thomas stroked Y/n's head, gently sliding his fingers on her hair. "I'm not letting you go home like this."

As usual, his voice didn't show any emotions. There was no difference when he was doing business or now, when he almost lost the girl that gave him a little hope for a happy ending.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere like this." His voice was harsh, like he was giving an order, but he cared. He cared for Y/n, but there was no way he could confess this. Romantic relationships weren't his strength. "You're coming home with me, Y/n."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Y/n was at the Arrow House many times before. But she never slept there and even though she was staying for the night now, it was going to be a sleepless one.

She sighed, turning on her right side for possibly the 50th time. The time was irrelevant, she most likely wasn't going to fall asleep. She felt too cold - she hid most of her body under the duvet, only her head sticking out. Then in a minute she felt too hot, so she pushed the duvet off in an annoyed movement.

Tommy could've been asleep for a few hours now. He deserved a good sleep after what he's done. Y/n felt grateful that he saved her. That moment she whispered his name was when she realized how bad of a decision she was about to make. There were so many other ways to deal with whatever has been going on inside her head. Now she was sure she could figure it out somehow.

Y/n's decided to sit and slowly put her feet on the cold floor. It gave her a little shiver, but she wanted to take a walk. Taking quiet steps to the door, Y/n yawned. She was tired, but she didn't feel like she would fall asleep anytime soon.

The halls were dark, but walking through them was possible still, because of the moonlight creeping inside through windows. It was a full moon. The girl took a quick glance at it as she carefully made steps down the stairs. Eventually, she ended up in the drawing room. It was big and full off bookshelves, even though Tommy didn't seem like a man who reads books, but even if he didn't, why wouldn't he keep them in his house just for the sophisticated look? Y/n never really paid attention to any of the titles and neither would she do it tonight. Her fingers traced the books, she squinted her eyes, but it was too dark to read the letters.

"Well, good morning. Didn't expect to meet you here so early."

Y/n jumped up lightly and turned around to face the source of the voice. Thomas was standing in the doorframe, leaning on it with his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual elegant clothes, like he was about to go out. Did this man ever sleep?

"Morning? What time is it?" She asked, automatically taking a quick look at a big clock that stood in the room.

"It's 3am." Tommy answered. "Can't sleep? I might have something to help you."

Still standing in her place, Y/n watched the man walk up to a cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, pouring a little bit of the brown liquid into each one.

"Come here, sit down." He said calmly, trying hard to not make it sound like an order.

Thomas himself took a seat on a sofa, one glass in his hand and the other he set down on the coffe table in front of him.

Y/n hesitated. Where was she supposed to sit? Next to him on the same sofa? Or on the one on the other side of the coffe table? They were friends, but he witnessed her in a very low point of her life, so she felt awkward.

Friends...

Thomas Shelby didn't have friends, Y/n had to remind herself. The closest to friends he had were business partners. If there was no profit for him, there was no reason to keep the partnership. And Y/n didn't have much, if anything, to offer.

Instead of sitting next to Thomas, Y/n decided to take a across from him. That was a safe, respectful distance. Y/n took the glass in her hand and drank a bit of the whiskey.

Whiskey wasn't for everyone like vodka or beer. Whiskey was for the people who could handle its taste. It was strong and could get you knocked out quickly if you were a beginner. Whiskey was like Thomas Shelby.

Y/n smiled internally at the comparison.

"Thank you, Tom," she said in a serious tone, "for saving me, you know."

Thomas sensed that she was embarrassed. He wanted to make his voice sound comforting. "I would be a fool if I hadn't done it." I don't want to lose you, Tommy said in his thoughts. "What you were about to do is not a solution to anything, Y/n."

"I know, I just... I don't know what I was thinking. I feel like something is eating me up from the inside."

"How long have you felt like this for? When did it start?"

"I'm not sure, some time ago. At first it was easy to brush off, but now... It gets hard to ignore sometimes." She realized she was talking to much and that it might put too much burden on Thomas. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Come to me whenever you're ready to share your thoughts." He spoke so calmly, as if with his voice he was holding a fragile piece of glass.

"I actually thought about leaving. Not right now, at 3am, but leaving Birmingham in general." She lied. She didn't think about leaving. "Maybe even leaving England." The idea appeared in her head just now. She had no explanation for this.

Tommy's bubble broke. He protected Y/n, he made sure nothing bad will happen to her and now he's supposed to lose her like that?

"Why?" Why would you do that to me, Y/n?

"Maybe it's a curse, Tommy, don't you think? If it's a curse, I don't want the people I care about to suffer as well." I don't want to be a burden to you, I don't care about the others.

If it was a curse, Tommy knew people who could remove it. He could pay them any amount of money to free Y/n from this curse. But it was way worse and Y/n didn't seem to know that.

"I think you should stay here." I want you to stay. "The company needs you." I need you.

Tommy cursed at himself in his mind. What was he talking about? What the hell was he thinking? The woman in front of him clearly had mental problems and he spoke of how important she is to his company.

"I'm sure you'll quickly find someone else who will be equally good. Maybe better."

"How would I know they're trustworthy?" You're irreplaceable. In all meanings.

"Tommy, I bring bad luck," Y/n stood up, "it'll be better if I leave."

"No."

"What?"

"It won't be better if you leave."

"Why not?"

Tommy stood up as well. His blue eyes met Y/n's y/e/c ones for a prolonged amount of time. The girl didn't understand anything.

Waiting for his response and not getting any, Y/n began walking towards the door. Then, Thomas walked behind her and made her stop by lightly grabbing her arm.

The man noticeably gulped. It's been a long time since he hesitated before saying something this much. He was a man of logic, calculated each one of his actions. Then why wasn't he prepared for this?

Actually, he thought of this situation many times. Maybe in a different scenery, surely in different circumstances. But he waited too long already. This conversation was a sign to not postpone this any longer.

"Because..." I love you... "I care for you. Deeply."

Y/n's mouth opened slightly, she didn't even notice. She looked so gorgeous in Tommy's eyes. Whatever was her reply going to be, he was happy to finally have made the confession.

"You do?"

Don't make me say the words... "I cannot bear the idea of my life without you in it, Y/n."

"Well, then..." the girl hesitated, "I won't go anywhere, Tommy."

"I will take good care of you. I'll make sure that your problem will be taken care of. I want you to feel safe with me and with yourself. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

"Tommy..."

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Thomas felt something in his chest. Something he hasn't felt since Grace died. His heart turned to stone with her death but Y/n brought it back to life.

With the kiss they shared, they stamped their promises - Y/n's to stay with Tommy and Tommy's to do anything he can to help her.

Maybe it was the hour, but something made the kiss feel so... Magical. It wasn't usual, it wasn't normal. Y/n felt a warm feeling filling her body from the inside, spreading through every inch of her. It finally brought her peace, she knew life will only get easier from now on.

The night wasn't sleepless, after all. And Y/n could fall asleep in a comforting embrace of a person she had feelings for...

[ummmlife]

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami Boyfriend

part 2

warnings! : nanami x afab reader ; slight nsfw (still mdni) ; angst (?) ; headcanon ; salaryman!nanami ; if none of this makes sense (spelling and grammatically speaking) i'm sorry but my first language isn't english (lol)

What comes to my mind thinking about Salaryman!Nanami is: misery.

This man lives miserably in a constant depressive state that he isn't even aware of. He lives in a monotone routine that consists of: waking up at 5 a. m., getting ready for work, take the subway when is rush hour, getting at the office at 6:37 and start working at 7 o'clock for 8+ hours, have a casse-croûte for lunch, then leave the office at 1 a. m., get back home for a shower and sleep. Then repeat this over and over again.

The ambience of the city full of other corporative slaves just like him filling every single space of negative energy ends up draining him as well. An endless cycle of stress and tiredness that keeps, slowly but surely, consuming him.

That's how the life of a salaryman is.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami will always come back home extremely tired, wanting nothing but a glass of whiskey and a migraine pill.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami would try to pretend that everything is fine when he gets paid every month, just to then feel a knot in his throat after paying every bill.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who feels helpless every time he finds you completely asleep on the couch after a failed attempt to try to stay awake to wait for him to get home.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami will do his best to spend more time with you but that only happens twice a month because he craves to sleep on his free days.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who could get sick very often due to overworking himself and, basically, venerates you for taking care of him.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who cries himself to sleep silently every night when he's in bed with you while you're sleeping because he feels that he's losing his life in a job that is taking away his best years.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who hates himself for not having enough time for you as he had before and fears that he's ruining your relationship.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami whose libido is lower than 0 and has no energy to even have sex anymore, but begs you to cockwarm him to sleep, because the warm of your pussy hugging his dick brings him comfort. He doesn't just want to cuddle with you, he doesn't just want to hug you, he wants to feel as close as possible.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who will cum immediately once his dick is deep inside of you because, honestly, he can't last a minute with you anymore. Of course, he won't pull out, so get ready to sleep with his thick cum filling your womb and wake up with his flaccid dick still inside while his little "gift" from last night keeps leaking from your inside.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami will shyly ask you to let him sleep with his head on your chest to squeeze your tits and suck your nipples for stress relief.

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami who ends up collapsing in front of you like a little kid and who you end up convincing to leave his job.

After watching your boyfriend have a mental breakdown, which you never thought possible, you had him lean over you on the couch while he calmed down a bit and stopped crying. —"I really don't know what would be of me without you... you are an angel in my life, thank you."

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami that just quit his job and took part of his savings to go on a trip with you to Malaysia, so he can finally rest in peace next to you on a nice beach with no more worries in his life.

shitty concept and shitty headcanons, yes, but i really like miserable (big) men craving comfort from their partners :) that's all ‹𝟹

[angelsdevils]

Debt of the Heart

Taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @maraya-007 @shelly-ya @galactict3a @bontensbabygirl @thisbicc

*If you want to be added to the tag list you can fill out this form, or update it.

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chaper 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 |

Over the course of the next few days, you continued to work long hours, doing anything to make extra cash. Despite the anxiety that filled your chest, knowing that the man who came to your house would be coming back. You made sure to save every penny, pick up extra shifts, working tirelessly to try to make a dent in their debt. Except, you had no idea how much money they owed. So, it made it harder to try to save. Fear gnawed at your insides, uncertainty filling your mind. 

Your parents felt guilty that you were trying to dig them out of this mess that they were in. You came home later, and left earlier, losing sleep. You were sacrificing your health, but you were hardheaded and when they tried to shield their worries, you could see through it. 

One evening, as you returned home from, you found yourself face-to-face with Ran once again. He sat in the chair sitting across from your parents. His gun was still in his suit pocket. He seemed more patient than the last time he was here. 

“Miss (Y/N), I am glad you made it home safe,” Ran greeted you. His voice was smooth and calm. You nodded your head slightly, and Ran waved his hands at your parents.

“I want to talk to your daughter alone. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her,” Ran reassured your parents. Your father hesitated, but you nodded to him. 

“It’s fine, dad, please. Let’s not anger him,” you said softly. Your father looked at you, then at Ran.

“Please, Ran, she has nothing to do with,” your father said.

“I won’t hurt her. In fact, it’s the opposite. I have an offer for her, but I want her to answer for herself.” 

Your parents nodded and left the room. You went to sit in your dad’s seat, but Ran gently grasped your wrist and sat you in the seat directly beside him. Your heart raced with fear, and he turned your head to him. He examined your features, similar to how he did when you first met him.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he said. A bit of worry made its way in his voice, but he quickly masked it. 

“Here,” you said, handing him the money that you made over the few days. He looked at the money before placing his hand on yours.

“Keep it. I am not here for the money,” he said.

“What? But don’t my parents owe you money?” 

Ran was silent, before nodding his head, “They do,” he said, pausing before speaking in a firm yet gentle tone, “(Y/N), as long as you are by my side, I can promise you one thing: your safety, and that of your parents, will never be in question. Marry me, and you will have everything you have ever desired.

Your heart jumped into your throat; your eyes had widened in shock. You dropped your money to the floor that you worked hard for. Your mind was racing with so many thoughts, and emotions. You felt an anxiety attack come on, “I… have to give up my freedom… for you to not harm my parents?” you asked, your voice trembling. 

Ran turned to you, his full body facing you now. He stroked your cheek gently, as he leaned forward.

“You will still have your freedom, darling, but your parents owe Bonten a LOT of money. I can take care of the debt for them, but I can’t push it back again. My boss isn’t a patient man, but if you marry me, he will forgive it.” 

You felt anger, frustration, sadness, and fear swirling in your chest. You did not want to marry the man you didn’t know, who had threatened your parents. But when you met his lilac color eyes, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“Why me? Why are you doing this?” Your voice was a whisper, and Ran took your hands in his bringing it to his lips. 

“You are beautiful, brave, delicate, and I can tell you have a good heart. I am drawn to you in ways I never felt with anyone else before. 

You inhaled sharply; you bit your lip. You know you should accept it, but was this really the only move to protect your family?

“I… need time to think, is this really the only option?”

“The only other option is the unfavored option, my hands are tied, princess. So, it’s up to you, I can give you some time. I already ran this idea by my boss, so he is willing to extend a bit more. For you to decide, but the clock is ticking.” 

With that, Ran got up and left the house. Your heart was racing, and you leaned back against the couch, your parents came out of the room. Your father and mother sat on both sides of you.

“What did he say?” Your father asked, voice filled with worry. He looked you over to make sure Ran didn’t hurt you. 

“I have two options, marry him or you both…” you trailed off, and your parents listened in stunned silence. Your mother took your hand, as your father spoke up.

“I won’t-”

“Honey, wait, if she marries Ran, she will be safe, off of their radar, and our debt will be forgiven,” your mother said to your father. 

“But dear, if she marries Ran, she will be associated with Bonten. We can’t have that; she is our only daughter. 

“I know, but Ran is a man of his word. He gave us so many deadlines even though he didn’t have to, and she will be financially stable and will be able to attend the college of her dreams without over working herself. It’s not ideal, but this is the hand we were dealt with. (Y/N), what do you think?” Your mother asked.

You were upset, but didn’t say anything, lost in thought. 

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners. The dividers go to their original owners.

[aaabsinthe]

Night Routines of Talon’s Femme Fatales

I have literally no idea where this idea came from but honestly this is all my personal headcanon. These are night routines for Talon’s femme fatales while living with their gn s/o. 

Widow 

Sleep is a little bit touchy with Widow.

It’s unlikely for her to really feel comfortable sleeping around you until she knows you and trusts you... well... with her life, considering what she did to her husband (despite the fact that she knows she herself cannot die, it’s a trauma and trust issue related thing - trust me on this).

In the beginning of your relationship, Widow would lay with you while you fell asleep but she would never fall asleep herself in the same bed or even the same room. 

She has her own private room which she would sleep in with the door locked tightly. 

It kind of hurt your feelings in the beginning since she was the trained assassin with the massive sniper rifle and honestly you are nowhere near skilled enough or brave enough to murder her of all people. You should’ve been the one afraid to fall asleep around her, not vice versa. 

It wasn’t only to protect herself, she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around this whole ‘falling in love despite being genetically modified to be a heartless assassin’ thing and honestly she didn’t trust herself with you laying there with your guard down. She needed time to build that trust within herself. 

Eventually it was time to realise that Widow had her own shit to work through and she did get there after a few weeks. 

Once she felt comfortable sleeping around you, you began to get an idea of how her sleep schedule and routine seemed to work. 

Sleeps between 5-8 hours depending on a whole bunch of environmental factors including room temperature, her mood, your mood - you name it really. Her sleep is really finicky. 

Very light sleeper who will wake up if you even shift out of bed to get something to drink or to pee. She doesn’t even say a word, you just feel a freezing cold hand grip your arm as you’re halfway off the bed. 

Scares the shit out of you every time. 

Has the coldest feet known to man. Loves to put them on your bare legs and laughs at your pain. 

Honestly, I think Widow would have her own skincare routine with all her products stored in a little fridge and organised to a tee. 

Would definitely enjoy sharing with you so you could do skincare together. 

Widow surprisingly loves cuddles, especially when she can hold you, stroke your hair and massage your scalp while you fall asleep, humming French lullabies. 

If you do the same for her on nights where she’s particularly unsettled and struggling to sleep, you will have her heart forever. 

Sombra

Honestly, it’s a surprise she even sleeps at all.

Snores like a bear. 

Only gets between 3-4 hours of sleep (by choice). 

Light sleeper with occasional night terrors. 

Needs background noise to sleep, big fan of white and brown noise.

Doesn’t have a night time routine per se, however she is more than happy to be included in your routine just for the sake of spending some time with you since it’s likely to be scarce with her line of work.

Weirdly enjoys skincare. 

If you have a super intense skincare routine, she definitely won’t pick up a full routine for herself but she’ll secretly smell and trial your products when you’re not looking. She also loves facemasks and melts if you do one with her looking all goofy covered in bubbles or a sheet mask. 

Those little crystal rollers? Heaven. 

When you’re out for the night, Sombra forgets to care for herself at all and mostly just conks out whenever she can’t fight sleep anymore. 

When you’re home however, she follows you along as you get ready for bed and as soon as you climb in to bed she’s right behind you. 

Cuddle bug. Loves anything she can get but especially when you lay on her chest or she lays on yours. 

More often than not, you fall asleep before her and she finds herself so relaxed just laying there listening to your heartbeat. 

She’s totally creepy enough to watch you sleep silently.

She has the right intentions but damn it’s creepy waking up to her staring from her desk in the middle of the night. 

Moira

Definitely has her own relaxing night routine.

I can see Moira having a night time shower or bath, brewing tea and laying in bed with the covers over her legs reading a book for a good hour or two before bed. 

Needs absolute silence to sleep. Will make an exception for river or rain sounds if you need them to sleep, but it takes her some getting used to.

Anything other than those two options and she will lay there grumbling and rolling around until you eventually fall asleep - instantly switches it off. 

Takes sleep very seriously and needs a good eight hours or she’s an absolute terror to deal with (grumpy pants) the whole day after. 

Dead silent sleeper, only very light breaths. 

Relatively heavy sleeper. Unlikely to wake up unless you shake her a bit but wakes up pretty easy to alarms. 

Moira indulges a little bit in skincare routines but nothing too intense - she’s more of a moisturiser and eye cream kinda gal but really not much else. 

I get the feeling any brand she does use she extensively researches the ingredients and reviews before comparing them to other products and then eventually she purchases them.

Probably has the most scientifically backed anti-aging skincare available if she doesn’t formulate her own. 

Definitely has silk pajamas and an eye mask.

If you fall asleep before Moira, she’ll give you a kiss and say goodnight but she’s usually too invested in her book to really give you anything more than that. 

Not really one for cuddles. She won’t shake you off if you roll over and spoon her, but she prefers to kind of have her own space and won’t really initiate consciously unless you’re upset or she knows you need it.

Latches on to you like a monkey when she’s asleep though you doubt she even knows she does it.  

Drools little puddles on her pillow. 

It’s so gross but it’s cute.

[mikhailwrites]

The road / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #8 - Napping together (from the SFW prompt list)

Return to the base is by far Soap’s least favourite part of any deployment. The deal is done; there’s no more danger, there’s no objective—only the countless hours spent on the road or in the air.

Thankfully, Ghost knows him well enough by now and provides some comfort.

Return to the base is by far Soap’s least favourite part of any deployment. The deal is done; there’s no more danger, there’s no objective—only the countless hours spent on the road or in the air. Adrenaline has fizzled out of his system, leaving him tired and way too lucid at the same time. The flights and rides home are when the regrets register. What went wrong, what could he have done better, what are the lessons to learn. Most of the time, it’s completely useless. The reflection and analysis only make sense with a level of distance. So soon after the mission, there’s no way he can see the full picture and disregard irrelevant information. He knows all this, yet is unable to stop his brain.

Soap startles as something big and heavy flops down on the bench next to him. In the low, red-tinged light of the cargo bay, he can’t make out much. Soap relaxes the moment he realises it’s Ghost.

“Ghost?” he addresses his Lieutenant over the comms as the plane engines are too bloody loud.

There’s no answer, but suddenly, there is Ghost’s arm around Soap’s shoulders, pulling him close. Soap goes willingly, leaning against Ghost’s solid frame. Johnny sighs, feeling the tension gradually leave his body.

“Better?” The soothing timbre of Ghost’s voice sounds intimately close in the comms.

“Aye,” Soap admits, leaning on Ghost more. “Could you… keep talking? Please?” That’s a tall order, and they both know it. Between the two of them, there’s only one talker, and it’s not Ghost.

Ghost hums, clearly contemplating the request. “What would you have me say?”

“Anythin’ really,” Soap closes his eyes, too tired to explain his request.

“Alright,” Ghost’s arm tightens around Johnny’s shoulders, providing even more comfort. There was never any need for him to explain, Ghost knows him well enough by now. He thinks for a minute, searching his memory for something that wouldn’t be a horrible choice, like quoting the field manual or telling some horrible jokes. Both of those have a place in their communication, especially their infamous banter, but it doesn’t fit this moment. A possibility presents itself, and Ghost goes with it. It’s unusual, but he has a feeling that Johnny might appreciate it. “On the far side of the river valley the road passed through a stark black burn. Charred and limbless trunks of trees stretching away on every side. Ash moving over the road and the sagging hands of blind wire strung from the blackened lightpoles whining thinly in the wind.”

Soap filters out everything except Ghost’s nearly monotonous voice, which actually suits the picture he’s painting with his words. It feels melancholic. “’S nice… what is it?” Johnny asks, already on the verge of sleep.

“The Road by Cormac McCarthy. You should read it sometime.”

“Mmm… maybe I will… tell me some more.” He probably won’t read it. Soap’s never been one for reading, unable to focus on the pages for more than fifteen minutes before his mind starts to multitask. However, he’s reasonably sure he could listen to Ghost read him a book. Soap tries to imagine them huddled in a bed like that, simply enjoying a cosy evening. The world could go fuck itself for once.

Ghost rakes his memory for the continuation of the story. “Farther along were billboards advertising motels. Everything as it once had been save faded and weathered. At the top of the hill they stood in the cold and the wind, getting their breath. He looked at the boy. I'm all right, the boy said…,” Ghost trails off as he realises Soap has fallen asleep. Ghost’s gentle chuckle is hidden under the harsh skull mask.

Simon has always considered himself a man of violence—someone who can only take and never give back. Soap has changed that. Not the reality, merely Simon’s perception of self. He’s gentle with Johnny, and, as much as he struggles to understand it, he seems to be able to bring the man peace. It’s a new, uncharted territory, one he’s keen on exploring more.

Carefully, Simon makes himself a little bit more comfortable, resting his chin on Johnny’s mohawk as he, too, closes his eyes and lets his mind drift off.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

People always assumed that Jaskier, with his constant performing and streaming would be the one with the slight caffeine problem. These people have never seen Eskel first thing in the morning.

Yes, Jaskier may be the one who has never stuck to a sleep schedule his entire life (it's true. Ask his mother) but his Witcher was the one who was basically a zombie even with a solid 8 hours rest.

Speaking of, the shuffling coming from the bedroom of their AirBnB apartment alerted him to the fact that said Witcher was now awake after a particularly problematic vampire contract where what should have taken no longer than 24 hours turned into 72 (Jaskier was still pissed the mayor had tried to use that as an excuse to cut Eskel's payment. Luckily, he had legit social media clout on his side so the asshole had decided to cough up the full amount pretty quickly once Jaskier threatened to make him go viral).

The larger man yawned as he entered the kitchen, hair still adorably messy. Jaskier wordlessly shoved a mug of Eskel's speciality blend, which was strong enough to wake the dead (Jaskier had tried it once and was adamant he could smell colours for about an hour afterwards), into his hand before leaning up for a kiss.

Eskel hummed in thanks as he sat at the table, pulling Jaskier into his lap. Jaskier gave a happy wiggle, basking in the combined, complimentary scents of Eskel and coffee beans.