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divineidolatry · 3 months

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CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER 1

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 4,352

just before our love got lost you said "i am as constant as a northern star" and i said "constantly in the darkness, where's that at? if you want me i'll be in the bar."

“Coriolanus…” You drop the silver cutlery on the fine porcelain, the sound sharp enough that he winces. Good. This should hurt him as much as it hurts you. “What are we even doing anymore?”

His face holds that cold expression you can’t read, beautiful and impossible, a question you saw the first day you met him and you knew you wanted to crack him open.

You always knew he had ambition, and you possessed plenty to match. Power called to you from an early age, you’d just gotten smarter about you grabbed it. Still, he made you better. He made you sharper. And in turn, you could make him look soft enough to please.

But the parts of you that slotted together like perfect gears before had grown jagged and mismatched now. His ambitions mean more than you. They come before you. A part of you thinks it would be okay if he still made room for you at the end of the night, but it’s all perfunctory and dutiful.

“We need to talk. Actually talk.”

It’s not for a lack of trying to understand him, but there’s walls in Coryo that shift position, closing him off when you’re not careful enough. Talking with him turns into talking to him. He never did share much, even when you made it clear that you supported his ambitions, never troubling him with your own. You’re big girl, after all, independent and capable, you can hold your own value and underscore his. You know how to charm the worst of them and flatter the best of them, you are an asset beyond compare and yet he’s losing interest. Galling.

“I’ve been loyal, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve kept clean in public so you can defile me in private. I play your game so well, and yet…” You flick your finger against the crystal wine glass, lipstick stains rimming the edge. You dressed to the nines tonight, giving him a last chance to look at you, at everything you offered him as a partner in every sense of the word. “You make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

His silence hangs heavy and painful in the air between you two. There’s something so pristine and perfect about the room that itches in your gut, that sometimes makes you want to take the knife and stab him through the back of his hand just to see if he’d even flinch.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

Oh, how icy his gaze is. It cuts right through you, past all your defenses.

These dinners, once bubbling with conversation and excited plans about the next chance you’d have to shift the board, have turned to quiet and perfunctory affairs now. He meets your eyes less and less on the university campus. You spend hours waiting for him in the quiet hallways on the top floor no one goes to, doing your seminar readings in the same hidden alcove where he once liked to make you moan so high a rumor had spread of a ghost haunting.

It doesn’t matter to you that he is busy, it mattered that he stopped including you, that he didn’t even try. And you can’t get through to him. It’s getting sad — worse, stale. On top of that, people are talking. Gossip loud enough that you could hear it from the back rows in lecture halls, of discord between Panem’s golden future and his leading lady. Bad metrics for both of you… and it fucking stings too.

His heart isn’t in your mouth anymore, and you are beginning to starve. And he’d let you.

You fold up the napkin, dropping it on top of the half-finished meal, knowing the waste will irk him. Whatever hook you still have in him you will pull on. You must. You refuse to go down without damages.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s easier this way, me deciding to leave you, that way you won’t have to clean up the mess. That’s why you’ve been so cold, right?”

He doesn’t speak. Pushing the chair out, you get up and walk the length of the table, your heels clicking loud against the marble. You move close to him, press your body against his and feel the heat of his breath on your skin… but his expression does not shift, and you shake your head with a pained noise catching in your throat.

“I don’t think you are this cold,” you whisper, slipping your hand in under his shirt, pressing your fingers against his chest. His heart beats hard and strong. “I hope you realize when I’m gone…” You trail off, struggling with the words.

Silence. Again. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you try to reconcile this… and he is letting you flounder. Has he allowed you to ask for his time with the intention to give you nothing? The cruelty in that hurts even worse.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek, scraping your nails over his skin, hoping it stings as much as his icy silence does. You gather your bag and coat, and leave his penthouse quietly.

In the elevator, you wipe at an errant tear. The air around you feels crushing but you cannot give in under pressure. You won’t.

For a few days, you don’t cry. You had foreseen this outcome to the conversation after all, made your preparations to leave as little behind as possible, and fortified yourself to understand that no matter how perfect a match you seemingly were for each other, you still actively had to choose one another. Whatever had consumed him also kept him from letting you in as he used to, and it meant he was no longer choosing you.

The barb still lodged itself deep in your chest, leaking poison all the same.

You go through the motions, brushing your hair, washing your face, studying. It’s in one of the lectures, the professor slipping through the lackluster material, that it hits like a fist between the ribs, and you clutch at your side remembering how Coryo would have made this make sense to you. It hits all at once how he’s not there, won’t be, he’s not going to make even the dullest media history class shine bright anymore.

When the tears come, it is Clemensia who wipes them away, lets your head rest in her lap, and offers to fetch the rest of your things. She was his friend first; you’d been a year under them in the Academy. When she comes back she doesn’t say if he reacted, though you doubt he was even at home. She strokes your hair, assuring you she won’t pick a side. Through all her care of you in the weeks to come, she proves her words, not letting you flinch away in public.

“Just because he plays a good game,” she reminds you, “doesn’t mean you can’t make a better move.”

You slowly get back on your feet, keeping her words in mind. She helps with applying your makeup on days when your hands are too shaky, keeping your perfectly crafted mask in place. She glues herself to your side as you attend classes, keeping it cordial with Coriolanus while your gaze slips past him. You forgot how good it felt to be someone’s priority.

“Why are you being so nice about this?” you ask one night, exasperated as she’s getting you ready for a party, squirming in your seat. You don’t feel ready for re-emerging into society, but what choice do you have? Crawl into a hole and vanish? You’d never give him the pleasure.

She rolls her eyes and gets up off the floor to fetch a dusty bottle of posca from the shelves.

“It’s not that different,” she says, handing a glass over to you. “I was in his corner too, and it bit me. Hard.” She grimaces, scratching at her wrist before rolling down the sleeve over her hands.

“Did you two…” You have wondered, after all, jealousy flickering at times like a dangerous question mark.

“Not like that! I just needed him to show up for me, to do this one thing, and he was busy chasing his own greatness.”

It's a relief to hear, mostly because you have an easier time believing her than him. “But you got over it.”

“I can’t fault him. If you’re here, it means something, and it’s not always flattering.” She wrinkles her nose at the posca even as she drinks it down. “When you want something so bad because you need to make sense of the world, to bring some sense of order to the chaos of life… I know you get it. He’s always been this way, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Her words are just a whisper as she pins curls in place on your head, her hand lingering to trace your chin as she examines your face.

Clemensia had taken a liking to doing these little things for you, drawing from a deep well of knowledge she’d amassed. It had become an outlet for her, creativity to couple with her own ambition. She liked to practice different looks on you before paring them down to a more fitting style suitable to current trends, but each flourish of her brush warmed your skin.

You knew that duality well — of wanting to create and struggling to find the time and place. Ever since you were small, your parents had clung to the idea that singing lessons and dance classes were of utmost importance, even keeping them going during the war. They wanted you to excel, rise in standing, and it had honed you.

Unbidden, one of his old comments floats up in your mind, making your breath stutter. ‘You have the prettiest voice of all the girls in Panem, do you know that?’ And while you scoffed then, your ego bloomed under his praise. ‘Tell me more about how much you love my voice, Coryo…’

“Hey… come back to me, you better not ruin the hard work I’ve just done, I don’t do hard work for just anyone, you know?” Clemmie teases, but you can see a stern look in her eyes. You don’t have a lot of time, and she isn’t keen to waste it. “We have somewhere to be soon, okay?”

You nod. She’s right. The Capitol’s numerous galas and grand events throughout the year had kept going despite your broken heart, and tonight is the Rose Ball, an extravagant gala held in the grand conservatory with an orchestra playing and the guest list consisting of only the names of the highest esteem in the Capitol. And your name was still on it. Tonight, you intend to make sure it isn’t the last invite sent your way, no matter what.

Clemensia finishes with a lipstick red as wine, smiling as she puts her hands on your shoulders and turns you to the mirror.

“Look at you,” she says, tilting your chin up so the light catches the pearlescent shimmer dusted on your skin. “Everyone will be falling for you. And he will have no choice but to watch what he lost.”

You shiver in excitement.

You share the ride with some people Clemensia knows, and while they gossip away, you sit alone with your thoughts, the mask wavering for a moment. This is the first formal gathering you’re attending since the split… Several months of picking up the pieces to pretend like everything’s fine, to recoup as much of your image as possible, while still doing him the courtesy to not hurt his. You have been so good, and still people look at you as if you made a mistake and not him.

Tonight would be harder to find a bathroom to tuck away into, an empty study room to make your safe haven. No cover to hide behind, so you needed to don the appropriate armor, to appear unaffected. To tell a tale to outdo his. After all, Clemensia’s right, everyone can be made to want you. You will move on, and you will make him regret it while you do. You will remind him that your heart isn’t a delicate plaything, but a fire furious enough to match his.

You play with the pearls around your neck, the matching gold and pearl earrings bouncing against your cheek as the car passes over cobblestoned streets. They are the very same Coriolanus gifted you on your first anniversary, and weighted with memories. You thought about throwing them away immediately after the break-up, but that would have said something about him winning, and you can’t stand that.

Clemensia, hawk-eyed as ever, notices your nervous fiddling and nudges your foot with hers right as the car pulls up to the entrance. “Shall we then?” Clemensia offers you her arm and you take it gratefully. You revel in the sync of your heels clicking as you ascend the hard steps to your most important battlefield yet.

Past the heavy gilded doors, the gala’s milling crowd slows down as you enter, eyes drawn to you. You hold your head high, gripping Clemensia’s arm tight. No one here will get the pleasure of seeing you flinch. They announce your names, and you smile, brilliant and beautiful. The corset underneath your rose-red dress keeps your back straight, reminiscent of old elegances that has the old garde softening for you.

You think you spot him on the far end of the room, but the shadows are long and the lights dimmed. His gaze feels a certain way though, and there’s a wicked warmth in your chest that only he has ever made you feel.

“I’m going to do reconnaissance,” Clemensia says as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Let me get the lay of the land.”

“Go, go.” You wave her off, confidently stepping into a circle that parts to let you in amongst them, laughing at the right time. If there is one dance you know better than any other, it is this: the social graces and manners expected of you in these cutthroat places, where the marble runs red with lies and blood. Your heels know where to step even when sleepwalking.

While your mask does not waver, you sure feel bare under all the scrutiny, hungry gazes roving over every bared slip of skin on your arms. After what feels like hours of compliments, cruelties and layered comments, you find a brief escape in an alcove on the second floor, rubbing at your sore ankles as you catch your breath, head spinning. Roses weigh in on all sides of you, enchanting and heady. If you had to say something nice, it’s that Coriolanus knows how to work with the best event planners the Capitol has to offer.

You rip off a handful of petals, crushing them until the fragrant oils spill forth, and press them down the front of your dress before you get up to continue mingling.

The night is long: a dance with the Featherpillow boy a year your junior who easily dances circles around most of the men here; a glass of champagne with the Fairweather twins as you chat about the latest fashion trends and they enviously compliment your pearls; Clemensia whisking you away to a polite and stiff conversation with the Ravenstills. The night goes on for some time in this manner, gliding between dances, advances, and gossip. No one can seem to keep you in one place.

And everywhere you go, you feel the constant, unrelenting pierce of eyes on you. Not just the masses… his.

You are showing him up. Everyone knows it. Coming to his event with seemingly no hard feelings, dressed like a classical painting, fielding every conversation with natural ease and charisma. Everyone wants to see you, talk to you, be seen with you. It’s a move that will have lesser men folding their hands.

Coryo isn’t.

There’s no shortage of attention in his corner, the constant requests for a word from important political seats and fellow society greats, and invitations to dance which he only takes when you do. The undertow between you is palpable. He is an inevitability, you can feel it when you draw close during dances, gazes brushing past each other.

He is throwing you off, little by little, his smile blistering bright and dangerous across the room, and he catches you looking. Just once. And once is all he needs.

You swipe a glass of posca from a passing waiter, knocking it back in one go. This wasn’t part of your plan.

It definitely isn’t a part of the plan that Coriolanus appears in front of you, taking the empty glass away from you with a cool smile.

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, voice perfectly warm and polite. Every single eye watches the two of you with rapt attention as he offers his hand out to you.

He knows you can’t turn him down now, and he is relishing in it. His eyes are lit up, a fire in them you have not seen in months. You put your hand in his, beaming up at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, dragging out the last word until it drips like daggers from your lips.

The two of you assume the starting position, you with one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice that it is all too comfortable a role to slip back into: the perfect pair, polished and primed for the show. A lone pianist begins to play, and you recognize the tune as one of your very favorites… one you played for Coriolanus more than once on the grand piano in his penthouse.

Maintaining a polite expression, you shoot him a look. “Did you request this piece?”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?” He keeps it civil. More than civil, he keeps it warm, saccharine sweet even as he continues to lead you without a single misstep while giving the audience a perfect dance.

“I thought you’d forget about me,” you say, testing the waters. “Like you do to everyone who no longer interests you.”

“You think I’d be that cruel?”

“I know you would be.”

A hum rumbles in his chest and you feel it against your body, heating your cheeks. The dance goes on, gliding and spinning, the room growing dizzying either from the drinks or the way he won’t drop eye contact with you.

This much attention from him was not the plan, definitely not the goal, and as the tempo slows for the twinkling end of the piece, you think you might fall over if not for the sheer adrenaline coursing through you… and the firmness of his grip, fingers digging into the back of your corset.

As the music falls quiet, there’s a brief moment where you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air releasing as the audience applauds. You blush, bowing to him, simmering with the dual-edged feeling of having been made a spectacle of — and a part of you enjoyed it because it was him doing it.

He offers his arm to you and you hesitate, wanting to search out Clemensia in the crowd, but with the expectant eyes still on you, it’s hardly the time to turn him down.

Shit.

You take his arm with trepidation, chewing the inside of your cheek as he leads you to the upper level of the conservatory. As you pass by Clemensia you shoot her a pleading glance, but she cannot save you, and you both know it.

He knows the place like the back of his hand and leads you to a tucked-away alcove crowned with rose arches. The plush settee is comfortable but small, and you wind up pressed against his side when you sit down. Worse still, it’s like he delights in tormenting you as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” With a gentle huff, you finally speak your mind, voice hushed. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, of his entire body, and yours never forgot how good he could make you feel, aching for him like a traitor. “Did you want to make a fool of me?”

He does nothing to assuage the pained curiosity of your words, tutting as he reaches up to finger one of your earrings. “No need. You and I can both agree you made plenty spectacle of yourself all on your own tonight, darling.”

You hold back from chewing him out, refusing to align his glance to his. It always frustrated him back then and it still does, as he moves his hand to your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Hard time letting go?”

He knows just how to stoke the fire in you. “Of you? Never.”

“As you say.” He rubs the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. “You seemed all too comfortable letting everyone reach out to pull you around tonight, truly playing the belle of the ball, hm?”

“That’s how the Capitol landscape is and you know it. I was not trying to upstage you.”

He tuts at that. “You think that is why I’m upset?”

You furrow your brow. “What else would it be?”

“Because for all your flitting about tonight…” He lowers his voice, and you lean in instinctively. “You wouldn’t have deigned to give me the time had I not put you on the spot.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your mental game board in disarray. “You’re jealous?”

You’ve learned to not cry over him anymore. Even when it hurts, when the three years down the drain remind themself like a splinter under your nail, you’ve learned better control than that. But this time, you feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes. When one slides down your cheek, he wipes it with his thumb.

Damn it, damn him, damn it all. You swallow.

“After everything, you are jealous? I didn’t even come here with someone else.”

“You came here with Clemensia.”

“Yes, a friend.”

“She was my friend first.”

“Oh, don’t be a child.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his chest. He holds your hand there, and when the first feeling that runs through your heart is a sliver of hope, you know you’re done for.

“I’ve missed you.”

Check mate.

He wins again.

You try to pull away, but he resists, pressing you closer into him. For all that hurt, all the frustration, when you look into his eyes, when your gaze flits down to his lips, you still want to crush his lips with yours, to slot right into his life like you never left, and that thought gnaws at you. You hate yourself for it. And your mask is not that strong…

“You really could have thought about that earlier, Coriolanus. You had every opportunity.”

He seems content with not elaborating on why he froze you out, left you in the dark, and it frustrates you. His only response, in fact, is to act on the heat of the moment, pulling you into a kiss.

It’s greedy and hungry and he bites at your lower lip, causing you to whine. His lips are soft and taste of sugary pastries and finely aged wines and oh, it would be so easy to fall head first into how good it feels, how much you missed this, to climb on his lap right here…

You lick into his mouth, wanting all you can take before you part from him, unable to forget where you are, that there is no privacy in this place, and that you can’t risk everything for him — however badly you want to. When you pull away, you see the mess you’ve made of him, lipstick on the corners of his mouth, and it thrills to know he’s made one of you too.

“Not here,” you say. But it isn’t a no. It’s hardly a stop. It’s a challenge and you desperately want him to rise to it.

He waves over one of his attendants to assist in making you both presentable, leaving you in the seat once he is taken care of. You hold back a protest, ready to settle back into the shadows of his ambition, but then overhear him whispering about “ready the car” and “make sure they have a good time” before he turns back to you. There’s the fire that could burn the whole of the Capitol down if he wanted it. There’s the hunger that could have you willing to offer him of yourself just to sate him. It leaves you speechless. It leaves you burning.

He whisks you away out the back entrance to the waiting car and once seated in the back, partitions pulled up, you spare no time climbing on top of him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He fingers your earrings again, hand trailing down to your necklace. “Our first anniversary, hmm? Do you remember why I had the rose engraved in the gold?”

You aren’t interested in reminiscing anymore, you want the present moment, you want to burn your mouth on his. You kiss him again, rocking against him as you do, relishing in the way he tightly grabs your hips, helps you keep grinding down as he lifts up the skirt higher, skimming the top of your thigh-high stockings.

“Missed you too.” Your breath is hot and ragged against his skin.

You look over his face, bodies still slowly rocking together, and when your semi-glazed eyes meet his, you see nothing but fire, dangerous and warming, everything you have ever wanted from him. In a craze, you find yourself begging.

“Please… make me yours again.” It’s a romantic notion, and it will haunt you come morning, but now you are nothing but a bundle of nerves and want, all ripe for his picking.

“Patience,” he breathes against your neck, his lips on the pearls. “We’re almost there.”

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #corionlanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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acehoons · 11 months

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dating the zerobaseone boys . . ?!

☆! ot8 x gn!reader. fluff. not requested.

a/n: i didn’t include yujin bc i’m not comfortable in writing about him in a romantic way, since we have quite an age gap. hope u guys understand.

% . . kim jiwoong

this guy’s the most protective boyfriend to exist ever

is big on physical touch as a love language

always have to have his hands on you

on your waist, holding your hand, even gripping your thigh sometimes??? this man istg

more under the cut.

loves taking you out in dates

is a big restaurant man

i feel like jiwoong likes “traditional” dating

like taking you out for dinner, paying for your meal, walking you back home

i mean you deserve the best treatment so

he’s also big on surprises

if he gave matthew a bouquet on his birthday, imagine what he would give YOU, his s/o

likes to listen to you talk

let’s you ramble about your day for hours

he doesn’t really mind it, even if you think you’re annoying him with your rants

his favorite past time is to listen to you so

can read you like a book as well

takes him 0.1 seconds to know if and when you’re upset

would always try to calm you down by holding you in his arms

hates seeing you cry too

he sees one tear fall from those pretty eyes and he’s already on his way to soothe you

“what’s wrong, are you okay? please don’t cry.”

overall he’s a big softie for ya

% . . zhang hao

zhanghao’s definitely the type of bf that just loves to annoy you

teases you to no end

he just loves to elicit reactions from u, i feel like

but really, he’s incredibly caring

won’t hesitate to pamper you at any given time

he even calls you his prince(ss)

especially when you get sick

boy!! this man is never gonna leave your side when you’re ill

always tries to make time for you as well

even if he’s super busy, he’ll clear his schedule somewhat

even if it’s just for 20 minutes

is big on updating you throughout the day

you’d receive texts from time to time, just zhanghao telling you about his day

“we’re on our way to the company” “gyuvin fell on the stairs and landed on his butt lol” “dw he’s fine”

calls you at the randomest hours of the day to check up on you

likes to make sure you both are aware of eo every day

because he’s afraid of you drifting apart

his favorite dates are the spontaneous ones

like eating in a diner at one random night or going out for a convenience store run at 2 am

will always be there for you

doesn’t matter what you need

a hug? a new bag? 15 million won? someone to help you hide the body?

he’s there to provide

% . . sung hanbin

hanbin is a bf and a mother combined into one

is never not coddling you

always makes sure you’re taking care of yourself

and if you aren’t, he will >:(((

big on words of affirmation!!

but i feel like he’s the type to try and hit all of the love languages as much as he can

but yours (and by proxy, his) favorite is words of affirmation

bc he never fails to praise you and tell you how proud he is of you

the first time he said reassured you, you cried like a baby

and he cradled you like one, too

is there to comfort you at the speed of lightning

whenever you tell him that you aren’t feeling well, his priority is to ensure that you feel better asap

makes sure that you’re prioritizing your health over everything

sends photos at random times of the day

“babe we’re in busan! wish u were with us rn :(“

the two of you aren’t big on going out

so date nights would be spent with just the two of you cuddling on the couch and watching a movie

although you end up falling asleep halfway through

he secretly loves it

takes photos of you when you’re asleep and sets it as his lockscreen

tries his best to make homecooked meals for you

but if not he’ll just end up ordering takeout for you

he just wants to make sure that you are always happy, healthy and fed

% . . seok matthew

now this man is the definition of a golden retriever bf

is the happiest when you guys are together

loves to take you out on dates!!

library and park dates are his favorites

just anything involving the two of you walking around together

is also a clingy baby

is immediately sad when you guys separate

spends most of his days thinking about what the two of you could do together

likes to listen to music with you

makes you lots of playlists to listen to

is also the type to facetime you for a period of time

when you’d be studying and he’d be practicing his vocals

likes to ask you for advice as well

he thinks you’re one of the smartest people he knows so, it makes sense

is fond of sending you photos of things he sees that reminds him of you

“babe look! this goat looks just like u ㅋㅋ“

teases you sometimes, but not as much

is also big on cuddling

boy if you guys sleep together.. good luck

expect this man to cling on to you so much

he’d almost be laying on top of you

likes to bury his face in your neck

this might sound weird, but he loves your scent so much

not your perfume, but your natural scent

it reminds him of home, almost

because at the end of the day, he always comes home to you

% . . kim taerae

another sunshine boyfriend

he’s just always so smiley when you’re around

likes to take buy you flowers and chocolates

you’d put one of the flowers behind your ear and he’d take a photo

later you’d see it as his lockscreen on literally every gadget that he has

likes singing to you

but also likes to hear you sing

even if you think that you aren’t good, he just likes your voice

sends you snippets of him singing whenever he can

is big on quality time and acts of service i think

whenever you go out on dates, expect this man to do everything for you

even if it’s just to tie your shoe or to ask for a napkin in a restaurant

you are a prince(ss) to him. period

likes playing with your fingers whenever you hold hands

he does it a lot, especially whenever he’s nervous

like before a performance

having your hand in his calms him down a lot

can also be a little protective of you

he’s okay with you wearing anything you want when you go out,

but expect him to wrap his arms around your waist whenever he notices someone staring at you outside

incredibly whiny when you won’t give him what he wants

“babyyyy, i need one more kiss, c’mon!”

i mean, who can resist this man???

% . . shen quanrui

make way for our young and rich tall and handsome charisma boss baby

this man is going to SPOIL you rotten

obvi buying you material things isn’t an issue

he’ll get you the most expensive things even when you complain

you need a new bag? he’ll get a louis vuitton. you need some clothes? there’s a chanel store near his place. you want some food? expect some gourmet takeout

he just wants to provide you the things you deserve, even if they are expensive

but ricky doesn’t just spoil you with material objects

he’s big on assurance as well

always making sure that the two of you don’t end up in any disagreements and misunderstandings

the thought of you worrying about him worries him

always asks your opinion on things, too

about his clothes, his singing, dancing, etc.

sometimes he uses that as a way to get you things

he’s send you a photo of a necklace one day and ask,

“baby, what do you think of this necklace?”

you’d say it’s pretty and boom, next day he’s bought it for you

if he’s big on giving you expensive gifts, he’s big on receiving handmade ones from you

he loves everything you make for him

handwritten letters, crotched stuff animals, everything

he keeps all of them in a box in his closet

and if you ever buy him any piece of clothing or jewelry

expect him to always be wearing it

because in a way, it makes him feel like he’s carrying you with him wherever he goes

% . . kim gyuvin

boy.. good luck

you just got yourself a bf and a baby all in one

i’m jk, but we all know gyuvin’s a (literal) giant baby

likes to be coddled by you most especially

acts just like a little kid when he’s with you

but that’s only because he feels comfortable being with you

loves to watch movies with you!

at home or at the cinema, doesn’t matter

buys you lots of snacks. like. tons

it’s his love language; to feed you

likes to go to fun little events with you, like music festivals or fiestas

this boy has a social battery as big as a truck, so prepare yourself

introduces you to his friends a lot

and invites you to their hang outs

you end up being a part of their friend group, almost

and everyone loves you because you take really good care of gyuvin

although you make sure not to mother him too much, sometimes you just can't help it

you end up buying him things he needs or calling him at noon to make sure he's eaten his lunch

in compensation, gyuvin likes to make sure that you are always happy

would be the type to say a random joke or to even embarrass himself in public just to see you smile

"babe, babe, what do you call a fake noodle? an im-pasta!!"

it gives you a headache sometimes but you genuinely love it about gyuvin

how he always prioritizes your happiness,

sometimes even above his own

% . . park gunwook

another giant baby, oh boy

but unlike gyuvin, gunwook doesn't require much care actually

you just give him few hugs and cuddles and he's good to go

requires a lot of attention from you. like. all the time

if you guys are separated expect to receive dozens of messages and facetime requests from this man

always wants to talk to you during his breaks or whenever he isn't busy

and he always has a story to tell you

he's a little clueless when it comes to dating, given how young he is

so most of your dates just end with either the two of you hanging out at home

or just a simple late night walk around town together

however, he does like shopping with you

he's not as "giving" as ricky, but he's definitely one to buy you a few expensive pieces here and there

especially if he sees a pretty bracelet or a nice pair of earrings

loves to surprise you with them

he's big on physical touch as a reward

it's his motivation

"ok so if i finish my chores i can cuddle with you? alright, got it"

boom he's washed the dishes and mopped the floor and cleaned his desk table all in under 20 minutes

physically relaxes whenever he's with you

like he'd be tense whenever he's out in public, always wary of everything he says and does

but when he's with you, it's like all of his worries wash away

he loves you so much

to him, you are his comfort

#?! sinag.works — 📋#?! sinag.works :: zb1 — 📋#zb1 imagines #zb1 headcanons #zb1 scenarios #zb1 drabbles #zb1 reactions #zb1 fluff #zb1 x reader #jiwoong x reader #hanbin x reader #zhanghao x reader #matthew x reader #taerae x reader #ricky x reader #gyuvin x reader #gunwook x reader

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devilfic · 4 months

Text

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @bi-andready-tocry @thescarletfang @spider-biter @hufflepuff-n-fluff @daydreamdrive05 @mentalidrainedfangirl @gwennesy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #tom holland peter parker #marvel #mjwrites #if you see any mistakes in this no u didn't #this has gone through a few revisions and uh. i'm sleeby

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brittle-doughie · 1 year

Note

I had this idea that, what if Y/N one day just got SLIGHT baby fever from hanging around Sorbet cookie, Custard Cookie III, ect, alot around the kingdom and how all the young cookies love them...One day they mention how they want a kid themselves one day, and word gets out to the whole kingdom...I imagine all of the Y/N simps rushing to their residents acting all like "I VOLENTEER!! I VOLENTEER AS TRIBUTE!!" Because they wanna be the other Parent/Mother/Father to Y/N's future kid

(I don't know how kids come about in the cookie run kingdom world since their is obviously a mixing of genetics, but on the same side they're COOKIES LOL)

Dough from both parents, mix them together, bake it in a mini-oven, one child cookie is made!

“Ha ha! I’m glad to have such great subjects!”

“Oo 0oOo0o00!”

“Let’s have another tea party soon, Y/N Cookie. Pompon agrees with me…”

“I’ll bring even more shroomies next time, Y/N Cookie…!”

You waved the little ones off with a smile as you returned to your bedroom in the castle, Financier Cookie was standing guard next to it. She greeted you politely with a snake on her face.

You thanked Financier Cookie for safeguarding your living space, she didn’t really have to, this castle is the more secure spot in the kingdom.

“It was my pleasure, Your Majesty. I’m always available to assist you in any way I can, the young cookies in this kingdom need someone like you to watch over them.”

Yeah, taking care of the kiddos filled you with a sense of pride and joy. You did miss that feeling when it came time for the tea parties and play times to end, sometimes you wish you had a child to watch over, you’d do nothing but spoil them!

“I’m sure you’d make a wonderful parent if you do decide to have children, Your Majesty. The cookie who has you as the other parent is a lucky one from my perspective.”

Around the corner, someone was listening in. Y/N Cookie? Wanting a kid?! This was surprising news, but good too. Having a child with Y/N Cookie will be ultimate proof of the love they and the other cookie shared!

———————————————————————

“I will not allow you to enter Their Majesty’s quarters! Stand back!”

“Let me speak to Y/N Cookie! They’ll clear up everything! Please!”

“You are trying to get in without their permission! I suggest you leave now!”

You woke up to shouting outside your room door to see a line of cookies in anticipation, Financier in a defensive stance as she glared at them.

“My deepest apologies for having woken you up, Your Majesty. But these cookies have disrespected you by trying to sneak into your room, I was just about to tell them that-“

You patted her shoulder, telling her you’ll take care of it from here. Financier looked at you with concern, but ultimately nodded her head as she went to your side.

The first cookie, eager with their proposition..

“Y/N Cookie darling! I’ve heard you were in need of a child and I am here to grant you that wish! Please treat me and our child with all of your kindness!”

Y/N Cookie + Kumiho Cookie = Marshmallow Fudge Cookie

They/them

Marshmallow Fudge Cookie, having both Y/N Cookie’s charisma and Kumiho’s charm, means they’ll be in a cookie’s good graces in no time!

“Y/N Cookie, it would be the greatest honor to have a young child with you. I’ve seen you take care of the ones in the kingdom, I’d love to travel that path together with you.”

Y/N Cookie + Caramel Arrow Cookie = Toffee Cookie

He/Him

An honorable Cookie who’s a natural born leader that inspires his fellow cookies with courage and bravery!

“I promise, with every piece of dough I have, to protect both you and our young one, Y/N Cookie. Nothing will get past me.”

Y/N Cookie + Lilac Cookie = Olive Cookie

She/Her

Olive Cookie will take after Y/N Cookie’s traits of wishing the best for others and friendship, but she will resort to the swift and deadly tactics of her father if things go south.

“Our kiddo is gonna be the hardest working cookie in the whole kingdom! Please give me a chance, I promise to make you and our child the proudest!”

Y/N Cookie + Carrot Cookie = Hutspot Cookie

She/Her

While Hutspot does have that farmer side to her, she actually wishes to be a scientist instead. She does promise her mom that she’ll still have a garden to tend to for her!

“My heart is at the warmest when I see you, a young one with you will make me the warmest I’ve been since forever. Y/N Cookie, I cherish you and I want our young one to be proof of my affection for you..”

Y/N Cookie + Sea Fairy Cookie = Pure Water Cookie

She/Her

Pure Water Cookie will carry the torch for her mother when the time comes and the same for Y/N Cookie. Land and sea will have Pure Water Cookie, a responsible and dedicated cookie who watches over both with all her strength.

#brittle answers #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #sea fairy cookie #carrot cookie #financier cookie #kumiho cookie #lilac cookie #caramel arrow cookie

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crimson-luna-writes · 10 months

Text

How They Treat You While on Your Period -

In the Twisted Wonderland head-canon collection by Crimson

Since I am on my period, I decided to make some head-canons about it and make it everyone's business ^.^

Note: All characters. Character can be depicted as Yuu or an Oc. Gender neutral pronouns. Character can get a period, do with that what you will. Platonic. I did struggle with this so and how certain characters will react, so sorry if some of these are short and plain. I also thank Discord friends for the help with certain characters!

Warnings: Just menstrual business. Mentions of blood. Some strong language. Long post.

Everything was looking as if it will be a good day, you are hopeful for this in fact! It was supposed to be a day where you felt like taking on the world! However, life loves to make you humble yourself. So now, all you can do is suck it up and power through the unbearable cramps (even though you wish you could just curl up in a ball and just die).

But there is always a shining light in the unfortunate presence of-

Heartslabyul:

• Riddle has a doctor as a mom, he knows what a period is. So when he notices that you are struggling with just walking to class and asks what the matter is, he springs into action. You know his mom had him run to get her some tampons when she was running late to work, he knows what to look for. Just tell him what kind of stuff you'll need and he'll go and get it for you. Midol? Yes. A heating pad? Absolutely. And depending on what kinds of things you like to eat on your period, Riddle will try to steer clear of super sugary foods but he will make the exception for strawberry tarts and tea, predictable like always and junk foods. But if you plead with him a bit, he'll let it slide and won't complain as much if you decide to snack on some chips. Riddle will also be more lenient towards you, meaning that if you're struggling with work or club activities, he won't be too harsh on you and advise you to just relax.

• Trey has a younger sister, he has definitely dealt with periods before and, like Riddle, he will get you anything that you need. Will definitely use this as an excuse to bake you all the sweets you can eat, but he'll also make sure you brush your teeth properly. Trey doesn't want you to get a cavity now. He's not that irresponsible.

• Living with two older sisters, Cater has some experience when it comes to periods. He will tease you by sending a pic of a piece of styrofoam with the caption "is this what you need?" while getting you the stuff you actually asked for. Cater carries around an "emergency period" kit in his school bag, so if shark week hits unexpectantly, all you need to do is go over the best person in the world and you'll be taken care of. You can always rely on Cater.

• Sometimes Ace likes to pretend he doesn't know what a period is just to be an asshole. If you ask him to get some supplies for you, he can and will complain about how much you owe him for it because it's embarrassing. Whenever you both hangout, Ace will chill out in another room and just text you if he wants to talk with you, he'll also occasionally toss chocolate bars and water at you if he feels like "feeding the beast" in his words. And if your nice to him, he'll take pity on you and give you a rough massage. Isn't he just the greatest?

• Deuce grew up with a single mother, he had to do the tampon/pad run whenever she ran out and was stuck in the bathroom. You can bet he will make sure you are as comfortable as possible and get you everything you need, heck, he'll even take over any responsibilities that you have, including your homework please stop him. Will get into an argument with Ace because he thinks it's funny how Deuce is practically your personal maid.

Savanaclaw:

• Leona will not give one singular fuck about your period, or at least only half a fuck since the scent of menstrual blood bothers his delicate, princely nose. If you ask if he could spare some money so that you can get more tampons/pads, he'll say no to your face but will have Ruggie go get you what you need (he is not stepping outside his room just to get Tylenol, be real). But Leona will show mercy towards you and let you take naps in his room which is just an excuse to use you as a pillow.

• Ruggie is also someone who won't really care if he finds out that it's that time of the month for you. And if he is your last resort and your so desperate, just promise to pay him and he'll get everything that you need maybe add in a bit of extra cash for the trouble, or donuts, bitches love donuts. Ruggie will tease you whenever you need to lay down when the cramps overcome you, "must suck to be you right now". Also, he won't really be bothered by the smell of menstrual blood, he's smelled worse.

• Jack will come up to you with concern because he smells blood on you and asks if your injured, will get very embarrassed when he realizes that it's just your period. Brotherly instinct takes over and he'll get you a chocolate bar/your favorite period snack and warm water, then act as if he wasn't doing it because he cared or anything, he just didn't like seeing you curled up in a ball during pe but seriously, get up, people are staring.

Octavinelle:

• Merfolk don't have menstrual cycles, so Azul is stumped whenever he finds out that you're menstruating. He's not ignorant on what a period is he had to learn human biology at a certain point in time, but he really doesn't know what to do when your uterus is trying to kill itself. Instead of asking what you need, Azul takes it upon himself to do extensive research on periods, so he knows what exactly to get for you. Why would he do something like that? Well Azul just loves to show just how much he embodies the benevolence of the Sea Witch he wants something from you, run.

• Jade also doesn't know how to deal with you once he finds out that you started your period, but unlike Azul, Jade actually asks you what you need to be comfortable in your trying time. For whatever reason you trust him with this information. Jade does take care of you, although you feel as if there was something else to this, but you're too much in hell to think too deeply.

• Floyd would act as if you were dying. Each and every time you have a period, he will squeeze you and hang off of you because he "doesn't want to lose his shrimpy". Depending on his mood he will either get you what you need, tell you to fuck off, or get you the wrong things like getting the smallest size of tampon/pad or the cheapest brand of chocolate.

Scarabia:

• Kalim is definitely someone who forgets periods are a thing and when he sees you barely holding on, he panics and thinks you're dying. But after telling him what's going on, he'll calm down and want to help in any way that he can. This guy has 40 siblings and most likely bombarded the maids with questions when they were taking tampons, pads, and treats to the Asim kids rooms, he knows what's up. Kalim will insist that you just sit back and relax while he takes notes for you or just straight up do your homework stop him please.

• Jamil has a younger sister who makes periods his problem, he knows the drill. But does he actually want to? Not really. He has so much on his plate that he can't really bother to take care of someone else, however if he sees you looking like your about to keel over and die, he'll step in with a pack of midol and a heating pad.

Pomefiore:

• At first Vil would brush you off whenever he finds out about your period because he has more important things to worry about, but then stops and springs into action because you are on your period and you will get an acne break out if he doesn't step in. Vil will not tolerate a bad diet and will make sure you are eating things that are high in iron. While your grateful that he wants to keep you well, it's also hell. But don't worry, your skin will be flawless and hey, you get a heated blanket out of this.

• Rook knows when your cycle will start before you do and he will send you a period care package filled with all of your favorite things for your period, including some skin care products. You don't even want to know how Rook figured all of this out.

• Epel is mainly grossed out by the blood. Yeah, he's obviously not going to actually see any blood, it's just the thought of it that has him feeling queasy. He'll suck it up for the most part, especially when he sees your discomfort and offers to give you a massage to help soothe the achiness of your body. Epel also gives you drinks with peppermint in it in hopes of settling your nausea.

Ignihyde:

• Not only will Idia not care about your period, he will ignore you so that it won't become his problem. Unless you threaten to unbox one of his special figurines or to delete one of his save files, then he will let you camp out in his room and get you whatever it is you need just leave his things alone please-

• Ortho will notice something is off and will do a full body scan on you, then he'll proceed to air out your business like it's a health class. But not to worry, he made sure to do some quick research about menstrual cycles and will make sure that you are eating well and help you fully relax as if you aren't dying from the inside out.

Diasomnia:

• The only one who would even know to deal with periods in the Diasomnia Foursome is Sebek, however Malleus will definitely do all he can to make sure you feel pampered. He will be extremely concerned when he smells blood on you, thinking that you are severely injured and will try to conjure up a spell to heal you which would be fantastic cause periods suck ass. You unfortunately stop and explain to him that this is normal. Since Malleus has never taken care of a real person before, he struggles a lot to figure out just how to make you feel comfortable. Will bring back a piece of styrofoam to you because Lilia and Cater told him to.

• Lilia will take your health into consideration when finding out you're on your period, he'll whip up a lot of things that are rich in iron and will help sooth those annoying period pukes and poops aren't you the lucky one?. Lilia will also give you a back massage to really work out the soreness of your tender muscles. He starts calling you his little ketchup packet after this.

• Silver thinks you are the bravest person because you explained to him what exactly happens during a period and will do everything he can to get you through it he makes it seem like this is such a serious endeavor. Silver mainly lets you use him a pillow and a heater, pretty much letting you sleep away the aches and pains.

• Sebek will be exasperated with you and argues why he has to do everything for you he doesn't need to do shit for you, he just cares about you but doesn't want to admit it. He'll sit you down on a comfy chair with a nice blanket while he gets you everything that you need, complaining the entire time. Sebek checks on you periodically to see if you need anything, and if you ask him for something, he'll just huff and grumble about being needy but still go do it.

(Doing head-canons isn't really my thing, but if there is anything you'd like to see, I might do it if I have the motivation for it.)

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tojiscumdumpster · 5 months

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CHAPTER SEVEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Within the next few minutes, I’ll be dead. I knew this the moment I saw that blue-eyed freak reappear after when I thought I killed him. Fucking sorcerers and their cursed technique bullshit. Maybe I was too confident thinking I would win the second time. I doubted myself at first, but then I calmed down… No.

I was just too confident.

A world like this wasn’t meant for a monkey like me. I was born into a fucked up family that treated me like shit because I didn’t have any cursed technique. The scar on my lip reminds me of it every day. I got over it, though. I accepted this was my faith. I served my purpose, and it was time for me to go.

Still, I can’t help but wish I made it out alive. That I had a little bit more time.

“Nah,” I replied, vaguely.

How am I supposed to answer some cliché question like that?

Any last words?

Why would I tell him that?

Tell him about the thoughts and images that’s in my head.

Tell him that I had a wife who I actually saw some good in me. Good enough to get pregnant and raise a kid together. Tch, me? Toji Fushiguro? A husband and father? I never thought I would live to see the day. And of course, it didn’t last long.

My wife died because of an incurable sickness. I never felt pain before. Not when I’m standing here with half my body blown off. Not when my family tortured me. But the day she died, I felt pain. I didn’t cry. I just felt empty. Felt like I had no reason to be decent anymore. How was I supposed to raise a kid by myself?

She told me I was going to be okay.

I wasn’t okay.

I’m a fucked a person.

A fucked up father.

. . . I was never made to be a fucking dad. Me selling my son to my family is better than what I could’ve done for him. It wouldn’t make any difference if I was or was not in his life because I would never be good enough to be a father. . . A person. . . But I met. . . Her.

In my final moments, I think of my late wife, my son, and—

“Dad!” Megumi’s deafening voice wakes me up. “It’s almost five. We have to go to the store.”

What the…

What the fuck was that?

Lately my mind has been clogged with thoughts and what feels like memories I used to have. Could never decipher them, but that dream was probably the clearest I had.

Me being on the verge of death (wouldn’t be the first time), apparently being killed by some blue-eyed fuck. Giving Megumi away to the Zen’in Family? Like fucking hell. I would endure the shit they put me through every day for the rest of my life knowing it would keep my kid safe. I just don’t understand these dreams I’ve been having.

Are they signs? Is my judgment day coming where I would have to atone to my sins? Some bad shit about to happen to me? Megumi? I don’t fucking know.

I don’t care for karma. I don’t care for faith, destiny, or any of that manifestation bullshit. But I do believe in purpose, and sometimes I feel like I don’t have any. That there isn’t any.

I’m a dad. For what? To fail my son. I was a husband, had my flaws but shit, I tried. And for what? To lose her only after being parents together for eight years? It was unexpected. Nature calling, and at the moment, I never hated whatever fucking god above so much because they took her away from me.

From me and Megumi.

Please take care of Megumi.

It’s like I can hear her lecturing me about all the times I had our kid eating take out or having him walk home alone from school.

Take care of Megumi. . . Yeah, I’m trying.

I have to do better.

I need to.

The little purpose I have is left for him.

“If you can’t go anymore, can you at least give me the money so I can go by my-”

“No,” I interrupted, clearing my throat. “No, let’s go. Sorry, kid. Your old man was dozing off.”

Here’s another thing about being a parent. Being around other parents who force small talk while their kids go off and buy shit. Because we’re parents, that means we have to share funny stories and randomly show baby photos to people you don’t even fucking know. Why? I don’t know, but I bet the mom next to me that has been talking my ears out for the past fifteen minutes could tell you.

Having Megumi as my kid means he’s going to have most, if not some, of my traits. One of them being how much of a loner I am that appreciates his space. After my failed attempt to walk around with the kid to maybe have some father-son bonding, I figured I just stand at a comfortable distance and let him do his own thing.

No pressure. I’m on his time. Not the other way around.

Still, me standing alone was not a fucking invitation to talk to me.

I respect women. I do, but I’m two seconds away from telling her to fuck off in the nicest way possible.

Though, I have a reason why she approached me to begin with.

How she’s invading my space, trying her hardest for me to look at her tits. The extra pout she gives her lips while talking to me. How she’s still asking me one off questions, despite my vague one word answers.

She’s looking to get fucked, but she’s just too shy to say it.

Attractive for most part. Probably five-foot-ten, maybe in her late thirties. Strong perfume. Hair drops right below her jaw.

Hm, not my type.

“So, here’s another photo-”

“Sorry, why are you showing me these again?” I abruptly asked.

“I—” she stumbles over her words, pushing her hair back while giving me a timid smile.

“Seems like you had other reasons.”

“Like?”

I shrug. “To get fucked.” I can tell that my brute honesty throws her off a bit, but she gathers herself.

“Are you offering?”

“No.”

She’s probably taken back by my response. I wouldn’t know because I casually walked away to the next aisle.

Back in Tokyo, I gained attention, but in America? The women here look at me like I’m a fucking piece of meat. Not that I don’t mind, but shit.

What would help if they didn’t waste both our time with trivial chit chat and just cut straight to the chase.

Anyways.

Told the kid I’ll be walking around the store if he needs me, and of course he replies with whatever . Like I should be surprised.

He’s my son, after all.

Pretty packed for a Tuesday night at the store. Guess all the parents are out buying their kids shit, too. While Megumi is getting his supplies together, figured I could go to the meat section to make dinner tonight. Probably hot pot for the kid and offal for me.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this parenting shit right. You know, letting Megumi be by himself to buy things while I roam around. Probably not because I see families throughout the store and they look happy, for the most part.

The look on their faces, the light conversations they’re having about who knows what. . . I can tell this is going to be one of those fucking nights for me.

Remember there was a point in my life where I was content with the small family I created. My wife. Megumi. Living in the shittiest apartment building back in Tokyo and barely making ends meet.

I came from a wealthy family. One of the wealthiest in Japan. I was supposed to be a silver spooned brat that was grateful to be born into money, only later to be beaten and emotionally abused, which eventually left me in the streets.

And you know after all the shit those Zen’in fucks put me through regardless of the amount of money I had access to, I’d always choose what I had with my wife and my strained relationship with Megumi.

But of course, any good that happens to me is only temporary. Can only imagine how long I have left with Megumi until he turns eighteen and moves far away from me if he decides to go to college.

Is it wrong for me to wish my kid would cut me some slack? Probably, but that’s not something I would ever ask him. Though, I can fucking admit that it stings how he addresses me has changed over time.

Daddy to Papa, now to Dad. Soon he’ll start being formal and shit by calling me father or even my first name. I guess I should be grateful he’s calling me anything at all.

Damn, if I liked alcohol, I would’ve said I need a drink right now. Maybe a few. Being in family settings makes me feel the emotion I hate feeling the most. Vulnerability .

It makes me feel weak, like I’m pitying myself. I don’t care for pity. I don't care to say I didn’t deserve to experience trauma. It happened. There’s shit I can do about it. No point for me to keep thinking about it.

It’s just hard when your son doesn’t even want to be seen with you in public to go school supply shopping.

I need to clear my head.

Already worked out twice today, and clearly that’s not working. Maybe some pussy. It’s been a while since I last had sex. Maybe I need…

Y/N .

Here I am again thinking about her at the most random fucking times. I said I need her. Would I ever tell her that? Most likely not.

How can I tell a woman that I don’t know that I need her? To be around her and have her bubbly personality overshadow my grumpiness. To stare at her in dead silence and think how fucking pretty she is. How good she smells. How can I tell Y/N that?

She’s good company.

That’s all she is…

Soon she’ll see I’m no good.

“Miss L /N told me you’ve been doing good in class, kid.”

Been home with Megumi for about two hours now. School shopping is not fucking cheap, to say the least. My job pays well, but the cost of shit in America is still something I’m trying to adjust to, especially in comparison to Japan.

Megumi is the only reason why I haven’t gotten broke yet.

“Yeah,” he responds flatly.

I stuff my mouth with a piece of meat. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright.”

There goes that loud silence.

I continue, trying to keep conversation. “Food's good?” He nods. “Think you got everything you needed for school?”

“Yes, Dad.” Annoyance fills his voice, making it very clear that I’m bothering him.

“Everything’s okay?” I asked.

“Can’t we just eat in silence? Why are you forcing conversation?”

Oh.

“Sorry, kid. Just trying-”

Megumi pushes back his chair, standing up with his plate in his hand. “I’m going to my room. Thanks for dinner.”

What the fuck am I doing wrong?

I talk, he’s annoyed with me. I don’t talk, I feel like he’s being neglected again. Not sure if I’m giving Megumi too much space or just enough space, but it’s kind of fucking hard when I don’t how he feels.

When you come from an abusive family that doesn't know how to give or receive love, it passes onto you and potentially it’ll pass onto your child.

That’s what I’m trying to prevent.

I was scared as shit when my wife first told me she was pregnant. I mean, how the fuck was I supposed to be a dad? I don't know what it feels like to have one. But I knew I was going to be okay if I had her by my side.

I’m a fucked up person. . . A fucked up father.

“Fuck, I need to take a walk,” I say to myself.

I get up to put the leftovers in the oven so I can finish later. Before I walk out the door, I tell Megumi I’m stepping out for a while and guess what he says?

Whatever.

Patience, Fushiguro. Patience.

Be kind to yourself, Toji . That’s what Y/N told me the other day. I have messaged or contacted her at all since I got her number yesterday. Maybe I need to talk to her… see her… just for a little bit.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

discussion question #3 — the more we see toji and megumi's relationship, struggles are shown between them. more so, on toji's part. do you think he should continue making small talk or allow megumi to come around whenever he's ready? looks like toji is afraid to let that happen because he doesn't want megumi to feel neglected. thoughts?

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sky-berrie · 1 year

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Heartbreak - the batboys

Summary: How the boys (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) react (platonic) when you're broken hearted.

A/N: If you're going through heartbreak over a breakup or rejection I'm so sorry that you're hurting right now. I wish I could take your pain away. Although we don’t know each other, I can say with 100% certainty that you have so much to offer, way too much to waste it on someone who can’t/won’t appreciate you.

If you’re suffering right now, please don't give up. You got through yesterday which means you can do it again today. People often say that every day will get easier, but I know that it doesn't always feel like it; there may be good days and bad days and that's okay. Use that as a reminder that feelings, even negative feelings, don't last forever. But on the bad days, please stay strong. You've worked so hard to heal, don't let it go in vain. Progress may be slow and imperceptible from day to day, but progress is progress and I am proud of you.

You deserve all the love and happiness in the world. You deserve someone who will treat you the way you want to be treated. You deserve better and there is much better out there. If you need to hear it from someone else, take it from our BatBoys. Without further ado, here is how the boys react when you’re going through heartbreak.

Dick

If you’re hurting, Dick is hurting. He’ll do anything to help you feel better. He’ll ask you what you need from him, whether that’s someone to talk to or someone to sit in silence with, someone to wallow and eat junk food with, or someone to hit the gym with.

If you want to talk, he’s a great listener. He's patient and lets you vent and circle around and around as many times as you need, but he never lets you put yourself down. He’ll gently challenge your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Why am I not good enough?”

“Y/N,” he says firmly as he turns your shoulders to face him and leans down to connect with your eyes. “You are more than good enough.”

“Then why don't they want me?” you ask as tears pool in your eyes.

Dick shakes his head. His brows knit together in sorrow. “I don't know and we'll never know. Maybe they're going through something difficult that has nothing to do with you. Maybe they're confused. Maybe they're hung up on their ex. Maybe they think you’re too good for them and they got scared. Maybe they're looking for something different at this point in their life. There are so many possibilities but none of them matter because whatever is going through their head doesn't change anything about who you are. You are still the same amazing person that you have always been.”

"If I was so amazing then they would want me."

Dick shakes his head again. "That's like expecting every person in the world to love the same book, movie, song, food, you name it. Who's that comic book character that you're obsessed with? You're always raving about your hot take on why they're the best and how everyone's sleeping on them. Most people don't see their appeal but that doesn't make you love them any less, does it?"

Dick has a point. It's only a select group of people who share your adoration for your favorite character and that has never bothered you. In fact, that makes the character even more special to you.

If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, too. If you'd rather consume an unreasonable amount of junk food, then Dick will clear out the local convenience store and be at your place in five minutes. He won't let you make it a habit because he cares about your health, but sometimes you just need a day to drown your sorrows in sugar.

You’re both in your comfiest clothes sitting on the couch under a fluffy blanket, even if it's 100 degrees outside. You'll just turn on the AC so you can be cozy and snug. You lean against him with your head resting on his shoulder as you eat your favorite snack in dejection. If you want physical comfort, then he'll put an arm around you and hold you close until you've eaten yourself into a sugar coma and fall asleep on him.

Dick worries about you and can't bear the thought of you suffering alone. If you laugh together, you cry together. He will be by your side as much as possible unless you genuinely want/need alone time. Eventually you might start to feel like a burden for taking up his time and disrupting his life, but don't bother pretending to be fine just so he'll stop worrying about you.

You put on your best smile, though you feel it faltering. You hope Dick doesn't notice. "I think I'm good now," you tell him. "That was the last of the tears."

Dick doesn't say anything. He just eyes you, a mixture of concern and contemplation on his face as he evaluates the veracity of your statement.

You try to hold it together just a little longer, but you crack and break down in tears again. Dick pulls you in for another hug. "I'm sorry," you mumble against his chest.

"What for?"

"For being so annoying. You must feel like my babysitter."

"You are not annoying, Y/N. You know I love hanging out with you and I know you'd do the same for me, so please, don't be a hypocrite and just let me be here for you."

Jason

Jason is best at supporting you through the anger stage of your grief. In fact, he will perpetually be in the anger stage on your behalf. If you were cheated on, you best believe that Jason will pay said slimy cheater a special visit. He won’t ever tell you about it because you’re probably going to object, but when your friend tells you that your ex was randomly beaten up the day following your break up, you can make an educated guess as to what happened. Jason knows you don’t approve of violence or revenge but it helps him sleep at night. He hates seeing you cry and if you’re crying, he’s damn well going to make sure they’re crying too.

If you’re ready to talk shit about your ex, Jason is your boy. He has a slew of creative insults to call the person who broke your heart and this man does not hold back. “Y/N, you are way too good for that assmonkey bitchface douchebag. They were lucky you even gave them the fucking time of day. Seriously, you are so fucking far out of their league."

If that weasel has the audacity to beg you to take them back? Over Jason's dead body. You are not wasting a second more on that asshole and Jason will make sure of that. If they call or text, he will not hesitate to colorfully tell them off. If they are brave (read: stupid) enough to show up at your place and unlucky enough that Jason happens to be there, Jason is absolutely going to go berserk on them.

Even if your ex didn't cheat on you, Jason won't want you to take them back. He refuses to let you be someone's convenient option. Jason wants you to be with someone who values you so much that the thought of letting you go never crosses their mind.

If you start missing that person and wanting to contact them, Jason will give you some tough love. He will physically stop you by confiscating your phone or having Tim rig it so that it can't call/text or receive from that number.

“Fuck them, Y/N. They’re trash and you dodged a bullet. Don’t tempt fate now.”

You might be craving the feeling of being wanted and chased and you probably have all sorts of wild fantasies of you and your ex rekindling the relationship. It clouds your judgement and makes you forget about all their many negative qualities.

"But maybe they've changed. What if they really love me and I'm reading it all wrong? What if I'm throwing away something special?" you object.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind? First of all, they're a moron who took you for granted. Unfortunately being moronic is an incurable and terminal illness so it's all downhill from here. Second of all, there's a thousand more just like them. If you really want to waste your time on a jackass, at least pick a new one."

Your head says Jason's right but your heart says otherwise and it's written all over your face.

"Y/N," says Jason, a little softer now. He stands directly in front of you with a serious expression. "I know you're going through hell but I've been there and back. I promise everything will be okay. Walk away with your head held high. Let go of them." Jason offers his hand for you to take. "I've got you."

And with his encouragement, you decide to move on. To help you get through this tough time, his go-to tactic is to distract you with all sorts of activities. It’s 3am and you’re feeling sad? Jason’s over at your place in a heartbeat and you’re going for a drive to get your favorite comfort food in your pajamas. You want Jason to get all dressed up and take you to a gala? Under normal circumstances, he'd rather die again. However, Jason will gladly do that if it means you aren't talking to your ex.

Tim

When you're heartbroken, people invariably tell you don't be sad because everything happens for a reason, be glad that you didn’t waste even more time on them, forget about them and find someone who cares about you. Gee, what splendid ideas; why didn't you think of those before? You know they mean well, but feelings don't go away just because you think they should. As a result, you might act optimistic and upbeat around others to spare yourself the well intended lecture.

However, keeping up the facade gets exhausting. Being social or being around high energy people can become an emotional drain. Sometimes you might want to avoid the entire world, save for Tim. It’s easy to be vulnerable with him because he doesn’t tell you how you should feel. Of course, he doesn't want you to be upset, but he understands that you need to grieve and it's okay to feel sad. Similar to how some people can sit in comfortable silence, Tim can sit in comfortable sadness.

"Did you want to do something today?" asks Tim from the driver's seat.

You shake your head wordlessly. You barely had the energy to leave your home today. Anything else would be too difficult.

"That's fine. We can chill at the manor," he says without judgement. He doesn't make you feel bad for wanting to be a hermit and he doesn't try to force you to get back out there before you're ready.

You follow Tim up to his room and you plop down on his bed. If you want some comfy clothes, Tim will toss you something from his drawers or he’ll grab some of his brothers' or sisters' old clothes.

Tim pulls back the covers for you to crawl under. He tucks you in like a child and kisses your forehead affectionately. It makes you feel loved and for a fleeting moment, the pain is gone.

If you want company, Tim will jump in on the other side and you’ll both be idly scrolling on your phones for a while. However, if you're on your phone, there's a good chance that you'll see something that reminds you of the person who broke your heart. If you don't want to talk about it, Tim won't pry. He'll open his arms in case you want a warm safe place to rest. He might rub soft circles on your back if you don’t mind.

If you do want to talk about it, Tim offers a different perspective. Maybe you're plagued by a million "if only" and "what if" scenarios. Maybe you're stuck on things you did or didn't do.

"I screwed everything up. What if that was my once chance at happiness? I wish I could go back in time and do it differently."

Some people like to focus on the positives. "On the bright side, now you have more time for your hobby." Or, "at least you'll save money on expensive dates and gifts."

They might gravitate to the old cliches, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," and "there are plenty of fish in the sea." Unfortunately, none of that makes the pain any more bearable.

Instead, Tim focuses on the negatives. He recognizes that you're always going to find something to dwell on but you can use that to your advantage.

“You are the king/queen/champion of pessimism, Y/N. Even if you did exactly what you think you wish you had done, I have full confidence in your pessimistic powers that you would still find something to regret.”

Maybe something about that resonates with you. Maybe you've always struggled with indecisiveness because you're afraid to make the wrong choice. Maybe you've always felt like you're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so picking one seemed impossible. Now you realize if you're damned either way, then there's nothing to worry about.

“You did exactly what you needed to do at the time,” he assures you. "You are exactly where you need to be right now."

Even though you're understandably still sad, something in your heart tells you he's right. Being here with Tim is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Damian

Damian isn't particularly adept at providing physical or emotional comfort. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that it’s hard for him to empathize. He sincerely wants to be helpful and tries his best but he can be unintentionally blunt and may come across as insensitive sometimes.

“Why do you want to be with someone who does not want to be with you?” he asks. Ouch. That stings. Did he have to phrase it like that?

“I don’t,” you answer, almost defensively.

“Then for what reason are you sad?”

“Because they don’t want me.”

“But you do not want them either,” he points out, not understanding the issue.

“Yeah, I know. It just hurts, okay?” you bite, irritation creeping into your voice.

"I am sorry you are upset but I am not sorry they broke up with you, Y/N."

You're stunned into silence. How could be he so cruel? To kick you when you were already down?

Then he continues. "You are genuine, thoughtful, generous, strong, and brilliant. You are a once in a lifetime soul. And them? They were nothing but a lowly simpleton who lacked the capacity to offer you the rich and meaningful life you deserve. They were foolish to let you go - likely too foolish to ever comprehend what they have lost - but I am relieved that you will not be condemned to an unfulfilling life with such a halfwit. They were merely an albatross around your neck, preventing you from achieving and experiencing far superior things in life."

That might have been the kindest thing he’s ever expressed to you or anyone else. Given how much pain you are going through, it’s probably hard to believe him right now, but you have to admit that he made you feel at least fractionally better.

“Come now, Y/N,” Damian says, tugging on your hand. “Let’s go play with Titus.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch with Titus in between. Titus is keen and quickly picks up on your emotions. He cuddles and nuzzles into your side as you gently stroke his fur. The warmth of his body grounds you and brings you some peace.

If you need a change of scenery, you and Damian take Titus for a walk. During your walk, you might come across something that reminds you of your ex. Maybe you see a cafe that you used to go to with that person. Your eyes linger on the storefront longingly and your whole body deflates at the reminder.

Damian notices your shift in body language. “What is the matter, Y/N?” Damian asks.

You sigh. “Nothing, I just - Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I will be the judge of that,” he says, a little teasingly. “Tell me,” he demands.

You take a deep breath. “That was my favorite cafe. I introduced them to it and now it's their favorite place, too. I can't go there without thinking of them or worrying that I'll run into them."

"For once you are right. That is stupid."

"Thanks, Damian," you mutter sarcastically.

"Shall we?" He cocks his head at the cafe.

"Shall we what?" you ask in confusion.

"Go in."

You stare blankly at him. Did he not hear what you just said?

Damian explains, "you can introduce me to this cafe and then you can think of me whenever you come across it. Look, they even have a Puppuccino for Titus."

You give him a hesitant expression.

"Come," Damian encourages. He doesn't want your ex to have any bearing on your life anymore. He wants you to reclaim the things you enjoy. "Even Titus is excited to try it." Titus takes his cue and barks enthusiastically.

You take a deep breath and bravely follow them inside. You look around nervously as Damian peruses the menu hanging above the coffee bar. If Damian can sense that you are uneasy, he doesn't acknowledge it. He casually asks you what you recommend as if this coffee run was as mundane as any other coffee run. His calm demeanor eases your nerves and you start to feel more comfortable. You realize that it wasn't nearly as tough as your brain anticipated. Day by day you make new happy memories with Damian and Titus. Little by little the happy memories outshine the sad memories.

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raylex · 8 months

Text

You know the gist. It's fluffy comfort! I've never been one to take pride in my appearance... this is my way of coping with that, I guess. Please, enjoy! ✨

Lex let out a throaty sigh, the corners of his lips drooping as he looked down upon his reflection in the clear, cold water of the Glade’s lakes. Running his hands across his forehead, he couldn’t help but grimace at the feeling of his rough, partially peeled-off, acne-spotted skin. And of course, his watery mirror image grimaced right back at him. Had he been looking at an actual mirror, it probably would have shattered.

A familiar face bearing a big, curious grin appeared behind his reflection in the blue water beneath his feet, and Lex didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly who that smile belonged to.

“Hi, Ray,” Lex weakly muttered, making an attempt to turn his frown upside down, but it didn’t help much. He closed his eyes, leaning back in the grass.

“Hey, bud,” Rayman gently spoke, and as Lex leaned back, Rayman kneeled down (as much as you can do so without any knees) and let his hands lazily droop around his husband’s waist, giving him a little squeeze through his thick sweater. “You alright?”

“...I dunno,” Lex mumbled, turning his head ever so slightly to lock eyes with his lover’s tender, brown eyes, the sight of which helped him feel a little more at ease - though shortly after, he returned his gaze to where it previously was, looking out at the water. Resting his hand on his chin, he felt himself slouch down just a bit. “I dunno.”

“You wanna talk about it? Hug it out? Or do you need some space?”, Rayman asked, keeping his voice as soft and comforting as possible, not letting his smile falter for even a second, hoping it could help to cheer up his beloved. He gave Lex another slight squeeze to let him know he cared.

“I can… I can talk about it, I think,” Lex quietly spoke up, scratching the back of his head. “I just… I’m… gah, I don’t know. I’m - I’m not much to look at, am I?”

Rayman’s smile softened as he listened closely to Lex’s laments. He knew that Lex didn’t think very highly of himself, and he wished he could just snap his fingers and make all of his insecurities go away. If only he could love himself as much as Rayman loved him.

“I’m not… exactly a pretty sight to see. I’m - I mean, look at this face. It makes me feel like I’m 1.300 years old again.”

“Lex…”

“And - and I know you don’t like me calling myself ugly. But sometimes - sometimes I see myself and that’s all I can think. I don’t even know how you - how you can bring yourself to touch me.”

Before he knew it, Lex felt the familiar feeling of Rayman’s well worn, yet nevertheless still soft gloves stroking his face as his delicate voice rang through the air. “How can I bring myself to touch you? Pretty easily, I think, heh.”

Lex didn’t respond, and Rayman carried on. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Lex. You don’t know how beautiful you are to me. Waking up next to you every day? It’s like a dream come true for me. I look at that sleepy face of yours every morning and wonder what I did to deserve such a handsome hunk!”

Lex couldn’t hold himself back from letting a faint chuckle escape his lips, though he scoffed and raised his eyebrow. “Handsome hunk? Yeah, right… with this pizza face?”

“I’m serious, Lex. I know I joke around a lot, but I mean it this time. For real. You’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous and I’ll tell it to you a million times if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

Lex felt his tail lightly sway back and forth, and he sheepishly averted his gaze away from Rayman.

Rayman didn’t pull his hands away, instead continuing to trace along each and every single spot and bump on Lex’s skin. “You’ve got entire constellations on your face. You’re one big, bright, glowing galaxy.”

Hesitantly, Lex spoke up, a vague blush beginning to dust his cheeks. “Wh - what… what do you, uh, mean?”

Rayman’s smile grew wider, and he gently hummed as he kept drawing patterns on Lex’s skin with his fingers. “There’s Taurus,” he cooed, caressing the red specks on his cheek. “He’s facing off against Orion - I know you love that one. Good thing Orion’s got his hunting dogs, Canis Major and Canis Minor, following right behind him, yeah?”

“I…”, Lex merely stammered, his face growing warmer by the second. “I, uh…”

“I like your skin. It’s made me an excellent celestial navigator,” Rayman chuckled, nuzzling his nose into Lex’s hair from behind him. Lex remained silent, though Rayman swore he could feel the corners of his lover’s lips turn upwards into a faint smile.

“...Could ya do me a favor, Lex?”

Slowly, Lex turned his head back to face Rayman as best as he could without turning into a flustered puddle of emotions. His antennae perked up in curiosity, and his tail didn’t stop swaying, its yellow glow getting brighter by the second as it heated up the area surrounding the two.

“I know it’s easier said than done. I know. But… that whole thing you mentioned - about not understanding how I can bring myself to touch you? I want you to completely disregard that thought, okay? Just… throw it in your brain’s trash can for me, heh. I never, ever want you to doubt even for a second that I love you and your appearance. I will never - in my life, and even beyond that - be repulsed by touching you. You are so stunning to me.”

Lex could feel tears welling up in his eyes. The way Rayman spoke about him always made his heart beat faster than he even thought physically possible, and when his words were so sincere… he just couldn’t help it. All of his negative emotions and insecurities felt like they were becoming lighter and lighter, slowly drifting off somewhere in the clouds above. It didn’t take long for him to fully turn his body around and fall into the embrace of his beloved, who wasted no time in catching him in his (non-existent) arms, hugging him back tighter than ever before.

“Aw, hey, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Ray - I…”, Lex sniffled, the sound of which was muffled as he’d snuggled his face against Rayman’s hoodie, nuzzling into the fabric and letting the familiar scent of waffles and vanilla that emitted from it comfort him. “I just… th - thank you. Thank you. For loving me. All of me.”

“I don’t need any thanks,” Rayman whispered, allowing Lex to get all of the tears out that he needed to. He couldn’t care less about his shirt getting stained - heck, Lex could blow out an entire wad of snot onto it and he still wouldn’t care. “I just need you. That’s all. And you’re right here. So… I’m happy.”

“I’m - I’m happy too,” his beloved sniveled, wrapping his tail around Rayman. The warmth brought a loving smile to Rayman’s face, and he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

It wasn’t every day you got to hold the entire universe in your embrace.

#about that skinpicking... :')#self ship #self shipping #self ship community #oc x canon #my writing #every oneshot I write with us ends up with me crying and him comforting me. this says a lot about society #💜☀️ray of sunshine☀️💜

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blues824 · 9 months

Note

This anon saw a Ron Swanson MC with TWST first years request, and I think I also sent a Ron Swanson MC with the Obey Me brothers before? If not please add this to the requests to be made masterlist

I’m being honest here, but I have never seen Parks and Recreation before. So, I am basing his personality off the Wiki and YouTube video compilations of him. Also, I do not see your request from before, so here it is.

Gender-neutral reader. TW: alcohol, toxic exes, mentions of sex but this is not smut

Lucifer

He actually really appreciates your to-the-point perspective, but he wishes that you would be more open. As closed as he is, you don’t like conversations that exceed 100 words

Another thing he really doesn’t like is that you would go the extra mile to make sure that nothing is done, mostly to piss him off

It was clear to him that you were scared of him, however

All of a sudden, there was a woman who just burst into the council room. She walked with purpose and it was then that you got up and ran

As unathletic as you are, you sure made it out of there quick

Once Lucifer finally found you, you explained by saying the following statement:

“That’s Tammy 1. You know sometimes you eat chicken and you get food poisoning, and even the sight of chicken makes you sick? Tammy 1 is my blonde chicken”

There was nothing in your (rather blank) file that indicated you had been romantically involved with anyone

He actually escorted you to a safe space where your ex wouldn’t find you, and he went to properly deal with Tammy 1, thus ending your thought process in thinking that he and your ex were comparable.

Mammon

He finds you unsettling, to say the least. You are able to see right through his cold exterior, and you make it clear that if he is going to say anything, make sure that it’s something you care about

One time, he brought you a packaged meal which contained a steak burrito, and you both became best friends… or what you would consider best friends. You honestly didn’t know his name

You appreciate how he doesn’t like getting things done, especially since he is an Avatar of the Devildom

The one time he had seen you run away was when a lady burst into the room and you seemed to recognize her

Mammon chased after you, and once he found you, you explained who that lady was

“That’s Tammy 1. I don’t date blondes because of her. You know sometimes you eat chicken and you get food poisoning, and even the sight of chicken makes you sick? Tammy 1 is my blonde chicken”

It would have been funny to the Avatar of Greed had he not just watched you run a marathon to get kilometers away from the woman who burst into the council room

Now, he might be just a tad jealous that someone managed to win you over romantically before he was, because that means he isn’t you first

He also goes to deal with Tammy 1, if there is anything to deal with because the other brothers as well as Diavolo and Barbatos want to ensure the wellbeing of their human exchange student

Leviathan

If you don’t want him talking to you, he won’t. You have a very standoff-ish attitude, and he is intimidated by it. However, you like how he doesn’t make an effort to talk to you and how he is very quiet, so you tend to stick closer to him anyway

What really solidified your relationship was when he ordered food online. He asked what you wanted, and you stated that you wanted a cholesterol-loaded burger with a lot of bacon. He paid for it, and you were basically in love at that point

I feel like Levi and you clash because you are against Diavolo’s dream because it’s basically going to annihilate the human race, but he thinks it’s going to change everything

One day, as a meeting was being held in the Council Room, a blonde woman burst into the room that made you drop your bacon and run back to Levi’s room, your safe haven

Levi found you there, and he asked who that lady was and why she made you run away

Because he is the Avatar of Envy, he is definitely jealous that she got her claws on you first (wait until he finds out about Tammy 2)

Anyways, you are welcome to stay in his room as he fights back the urge to summon Lotan to absolutely destroy Tammy 1

Afterwards, he makes sure that you are alright and that this event didn’t damage your psyche too much. It would be a shame if you started opening up more

Satan

You both absolutely despised each other at first, but bonded over the fact that you both didn’t like Lucifer. However, your distaste for the Avatar of Wrath here came from the fact that he was blonde

Anyways, he doesn’t really approve of all the meat you consume, because he knows that you need to eat some more vegetables

Also, the alcohol you brought with you was much stronger than demonus, and he once drank it out of anger and bro got wasted

That aside, there was a meeting within the Council Room one day, but a lady with blonde hair burst into the room and was looking for you. Luckily, you weren’t there because exchange students weren’t required to be there

The woman was properly dealt with and sent back to the human realm, as she was not allowed to be in the Devildom without proper clearance

Satan later told you about it, and you looked genuinely scared.

Well, that explains why you have rejected his rather clear advances

Now he’s really angry at the woman for ruining his chances with you, even if you were with her before you even knew him

Asmodeus

You were rather rude, which was a clear indicator that his charm didn’t work on you

However, it’s not just because of that. What he didn’t know was that you had two toxic exes, one of which was a sex-crazed, manipulative maniac

I will say that since he is the Avatar of Lust, he does want sex, but he’s looking for an emotional attachment to you as well, so the fact that you stay away from him makes him even sadder

On one fateful day, when everyone was in the Council Room, a brunette woman stormed into the room looking for you. You took one look at her and ran off before she had the chance to do anything

As the others dealt with the lady, Asmo went looking for you, and he was surprised to see you in his room when you said it was revolting

“Every time she laughs, an angel dies. Even telemarketers avoid her. Her birth was payback for the sins of man. But you know the worst thing about her? She works at the library.”

He also would have laughed had you not explained that that was your ex, Tammy 2, and she was a seducer who managed to get in your mind and tempt you. Now he knows why you don’t like him

It wasn’t him! It was a past experience with an ex!!!

Is also angry that she ruined his chances, but he can show you what a real partner, a healthy relationship, looks like! Just give him a chance!

Beelzebub

You two are best friends. You don’t even talk to each other, you just eat with each other and sometimes drink with each other as well. You even drank him under the table on your own alcohol.

To be fair, your alcohol is much more potent than demonus, so even on a full stomach he can still get utterly wasted. It was laughable how you had to help the large demon to his room where he promptly passed out on his bed

He woke up to the worst hangover imaginable, but he saw a bottle of water as well as painkillers that you bought at a nearby pharmacy along with a note. How the hell have you never had a hangover?!

Anyways, weeks later, there was a meeting in the Council Room and you both were snacking on some bacon when a blonde woman burst into the room and started walking towards you

Beel was not prepared for the cloud dust you left behind as you boot scootin’ boogie’d out of the room and ran all the way to the House of Lamentation

He had to stay to properly deal with the blonde lady, as she was not permitted to be in the meeting, let alone the Devildom at all

Then, he found you in the kitchen, eating some leftovers from Hell’s Kitchen

The Avatar of Gluttony sat beside you and asked who that woman was and why she was looking for you, and he was both mad and sad at what you said

Belphegor

You two are also ‘best friends’ because you both believe that it is a rather dumb idea to mix humans, demons, and angels together, but you believe it for different reasons

Your perspective is that humans stand no chance against the two other beings, and one would try to rule over all the others

His perspective is a lot more personal because of his sister

Anyways, everyone was in the Council Room one day and suddenly a woman burst into the room. She meant business with how she walked, and you meant business when you ran faster than the speed of light out of the room

Belphie was honestly intent on killing her, but he was the only one with that idea, so he went searching for you instead

You turned out to be in the attic, absolutely annihilating what seems to be a full pack of cooked bacon, staring into space

When you noticed that the Avatar of Sloth was there, you knew he wanted answers so you just gave it to him plain and simple:

“That was Tammy 1. I don’t date blondes because of her. You know sometimes you eat chicken and you get food poisoning, and even the sight of chicken makes you sick? Tammy 1 is my blonde chicken”

Well, that pretty much sums it up. Now he really wants to dispose of that lady

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stargazer-sims · 4 months

Text

Written In the Stars

Nikolai: It’s been quite the year, hasn’t it?

Mishka: It’s been a good year, despite everything.

Nikolai: Are you happy?

Mishka: Why would you ask that? I'm always happy when I'm with you. Even when things aren't the greatest, I feel safe with you and that makes me happy.

Nikolai: I just wish things had gone a little differently.

Mishka: Why? Aren’t you happy?

Nikolai: I am, but I feel like I could’ve handled everything better.

Mishka: What do you mean? You came when I really needed you, and you took care of me while I was recovering from my surgery back in the spring. I know it was difficult, but you handled it like a pro in my opinion.

Nikolai: I was a wreck, honestly.

Mishka: I couldn’t tell.

Nikolai: You weren’t inside my head.

Mishka: Can you talk to me about It?

Nikolai: I was worried about you most of all. About how much pain you were in and about your recovery, but there were other things on my mind.

Mishka: Eden?

Nikolai: Yeah. I was really worried about leaving Eden, Then, once I was home, I knew I couldn’t go back to Japan and I felt terrible because it was like I forced him into coming back too. And before I even made it home, there was Ginger. I basically left you on hold while we wasted five months on something we both should’ve known wouldn’t work out.

Mishka: Hey… look at me. I’m not upset about that, you know. And I don’t think it was a waste of time.

Nikolai: You don’t?

Mishka: You learned something from it, didn’t you? That you love Ginger, but you’re not in love with with her?

Nikolai: I did learn that.

Mishka: I learned something as well. The two of you are still friends, and now I know that I have no reason to be jealous of her, so it all worked out in the end. Plus, Ginger seems to have managed to chase Anna-Valentina off, so I’d put the whole thing in the win column.

Nikolai: Yeah, Anya… I’m hoping we won’t have to worry about her again. I don't think I could cope with another confrontation or any more of her drama.

Mishka: You don't have to be afraid of her.

Nikolai: I'm not afraid of her. Not any more. I just... I feel guilty for letting her come between us before. For not standing up to her. We could've been together all along if I'd been more brave. It's my fault for making you wait.

Mishka: Don't forget, she wasn't our only issue.

Nikolai: I know, but—

Mishka: No 'buts'. I won't lie. Waiting was hard and I didn't like it, and sometimes I was sad and scared, but I never stopped loving you. I always believed we'd be together again some day. And look... we are.

Nikolai: No thanks to my stupidity.

Mishka: I don't want you to stress yourself out about this any more, okay? We can't change anything that's happened, can we?

Nikolai: No, I suppose we can't.

Mishka: The important thing is to focus on where we are now. Isn't that what you're always telling Eden? Not to dwell on past mistakes because it holds you back from making the most of the future?

Nikolai: That does sound like something I'd say to him.

Mishka: Then, please take your own advice. We've got a lot of future left, and I want to make the most of it.

Nikolai: So do I.

Mishka: Just to be clear, you were absolutely worth the wait, but I don't want to wait any more. I want to be with you from now until the end of our lives and I want us to create our best future together.

Nikolai: That's what I want, too.

Mishka: That's what I hoped you'd say. It's going to make the next part easier.

Nikolai: What next part?

Mishka: Nikolai Pavlenko, will you marry me?

Nikolai: Are you... are you proposing to me?

Mishka: I wish I could've done it years ago, but when I think about it, I'm not convinced either of us was ready.

Nikolai: I'm ready now.

Mishka: Does that mean the answer is yes?

Nikolai: Yes. I will marry you, Mikhail.

Mishka: There's one little snag. Or maybe two. If I kneel, you might have to help me up, and I hope you don't mind that I don't have a ring for you.

Nikolai: It doesn't matter. I don't need a ring. All I want is you. All I've ever wanted is you, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get my head on straight and figure that out.

Mishka: No looking back, remember?

Nikolai: No more looking back.

Mishka: I love you, Kolya. Never doubt that.

Nikolai: I've never doubted it for a second. I love you too, and I promise I'll never do anything to make you doubt it again.

Mishka: Would it surprise you to know I never did? Some people might call it naivety or wishful thinking, but I like to think of it as faith. We were written in the stars. That's what I believe.

Nikolai: Written in the stars. I like that.

Mishka: Body of a warrior, soul of a poet. That's what a journalist wrote about me once.

Nikolai: They were right, and I'm glad I get to see the poet as well as the warrior. You know, the next time I look up at the sky, I'm going to thank those prophetic stars of yours.

#ts4 #sims 4 #brindleton bay #mishka vasiliev #nikolai pavlenko #stargazersims

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borntoocry · 1 year

Note

ellie x fem!reader

reader is Tommy and maria's adopted daughter Who's never been outside of jackson and also has a BIG crush on ellie

Tommy decides One day to invite his Brother ,Joel , over for a family dinner where while the olders are talking , reader and ellie are in reader's room where She tells the auburn haired girl her Wish (going to a real Mall)

funny thing ellie found One and decides It would be a perfect date to ask reader out ,they sneak out and ellie brings reader to this Mall where they have a almost-death experience since our smartass ellie forgot to clear out of infected some shops , they make It out alive but reader ends up with a medium/big wound (NOT A ZOMBIE BITE PLEASE) and they're like " well good luck to us explaining that to Maria"

They go home to find very angry and upset Brothers +Maria

(if you like It i also have an idea for a Little part 2 AND ALSO SORRY FOR BAD ENGLISH🤍)

THIS WAS SO GOOD??? HELLO??? OFC! the first part will be the dinner with a bit of an argument, and the second part will be the mall. we'll see how long we can drag this on for. thank you for this anon!

this is a fem!oc x Ellie williams fic. she's a poc. sorry if this diverges from what you wanted, I just wanted to write something in first pov instead of YN. (is that okay??)

warnings: conversation about death. drinking. some kissing. that's about it.

PART II

I fucking hate the apocalypse. Then again, who enjoys it? Besides psychos testing out their survival skills.

The apocalypse means losing people: people you’ve known since birth, people you’ve known since your mind could render memories, and people who you never got to know due to your young mind. Like my mom. Young and full of hope, which is something everyone says when they talk about the dead mom they don’t remember. But from what I hear, that’s what she was like.

Her name was Poppy, which means that I might’ve had weird grandparents. And because my name is Clementine, that means I might’ve had a weird mom. From the pictures tacked onto my wall, it seems so: she had blue hair as a teenager, she dyed it every so often from shades of pink to purple and orange. She had piercings all over her ears and a couple on her face, and she had tattoos that littered her soft tan skin.

I have… nothing. I’m bare. All that I have is curly hair and tan skin from my mom, and an odd shade of hazel eyes from my dad. I don’t match myself whatsoever. But I guess that’s why I’m like my mom–I don’t make sense.

But the one person who has made an effort to make me make sense is Ellie–Joel’s ‘daughter,’ who isn’t truly his daughter because they are not related whatsoever. She’s just been around him since she was 14. I make an effort to make that known, because people around town consider me Tommy and Maria’s daughter, which then implies that I’m Joel’s niece. Which I am not. Because if I was, that would make the entire situation of me liking Ellie sort of… incest-y.

But me and Tommy and Maria are not blood related, and me and Ellie and Joel and whatever this family is, are not related either. I’ve just been taken in by Tommy and Maria since I was three years old.They care for me like their own. And for that, I’m grateful.

Tommy enjoys inviting Joel and Ellie to dinner at least once a week; because we’re a group of put together people that have been through more shit than we probably should’ve. And every week, they come over. Sometimes with food, sometimes with alcohol. Maria allows me to drink because she says I’m mentally old enough. That and from what Tommy says, laws don’t really exist anymore, so they can’t really go to jail for letting me drink underage.

This week, Maria has made lasagna and her famous salad, which is just a mixture of pickled vegetables tossed in oil and goat cheese with lettuce. It really is good, but I won’t lie and say I haven’t gotten a bit tired of it. I eat it anyway, because Maria is a marvelous cook and I’d rather stab my eye than ask her to make something different.

I set up the table and lay out five wine glasses. I usually sit next to Ellie while the old adults sit next to each other around the end of the table. I somehow still get nervous sitting next to her even after four years of knowing one another. It starts off with a rumbling in my stomach, and then a batch of butterflies find their way into my chest and absorb all of the liquids spewing into my body. I can’t really stop it, but at least they don’t attack my vocal chords.

“You done?” Tommy asks as he walks into the room with two bottles of wine. This week, Ellie is making her famous garlic rolls, which pair amazingly with Maria’s lasagna. Because she never makes them, I eat one too many and end up tipsy and bloated.

I nod and grab the bottles from his hands. I set them in the center alongside the other bottle of wine and one singular bottle of whiskey. This family drinks too much, but no one seems to care. It’s a Friday, after all.

“How does it look?” I ask, waving a hand over the table.

Tommy smiles, which force his wrinkles to dance about his face. “It looks wonderful like always, sweetheart.” He comes around and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I pat his hand and lean my head against his.

I love Tommy–he’s truly my father even though I’ll never call him dad. I guess he knows that, but he’s fine with it. I call him ‘My Tommy’ to everyone I know, which is somehow more special than the title ‘dad.’

“Awe, look at you guys,” Maria says as she enters the dining room. She places her lasagna and salad in the center of the table and can’t stop her smile from spreading along her entire face at the sight of us. “My Tommy and my Clem. You are adorable.”

I kiss Tommy’s cheek and pull away, smiling back at Maria who has now run around the table to kiss Tommy. I don’t watch as she kisses him, but I hear the peck.

I take one last look at the table, trying to see if there’s anything I need to perfect. But as nothing comes to mind, there’s a knock at the door. I turn to look at Tommy and Maria, but quickly leap towards the door when I find them kissing.

I already know who it is, so I don’t check the peephole. I unlock the door and twist the handle, opening it up to see Joel and Ellie on the other side. Joel holds a bottle of whiskey and Ellie holds a dish of rolls.

I smile and take the whiskey from Joel. “I don’t think we need anymore of this, but thank you.”

They step inside and I shut the door behind them. “There’s no such thing as too much whiskey.”

“Or wine,” Ellie states, which draws me over to her.

I look at her and smile. “Well wine, no. Whiskey, maybe.”

Her hair that’s tossed into a low bun shakes along with her head. Some tendrils of hair fly into her face and I fight against my fluttering stomach not to push them out of my face. To fight it, I look away and take the whiskey to the dining table.

Tommy watches me place the whiskey next to the plenty of other bottles and chuckles. “Thank you brother but that might be too much.”

“That’s what I said,” I tell him. “Do you want me to take it to the kitchen instead?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Leave it. It’s a Friday and I’m sure we’ve all had a rough week.”

I nod even though I don’t do much around Jackson. I’m not really allowed to go out on patrol like Ellie. My mom died that way. Maybe not riding around safely like Ellie, but she died out on patrol. And ever since I was old enough to take on tasks, I was labored with tending to the farm animals.

I have never gone outside of the walls of Jackson. I’ve begged Tommy and Maria, but they always say no. We’ve even gotten into fights about it, which have led me to nights in Ellie’s room, where she tells me stories of what she’s seen out there. And some of those stories have included a mall.

Because of her stories, I have dreamed about sneaking away and finding that said mall. Even though I know it won’t happen, I dream about it–because how harmful can a dream be?

“Alright, has everyone washed their hands?” Maria asks.

Tommy and Joel nod but Ellie and I look over at one another, shaking heads. I head into the kitchen with her behind me and the butterflies come out in full effect, knocking into the walls of my stomach.

I eject soap into my hands and turn on the sink, quickly shoving my hands underneath the slow stream to get some bubbles forming. As I knead the soap into my hands, Ellie clears her throat. I look over at her with a smile and she begins a conversation.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

I nod. “Good. So far, I’m doing good.”

“Has that guy Jacob been bothering you?” she asks, referring to this one guy around our age that can’t seem to stop pestering every girl in Jackson. He used to catcall me everyday during the summer. I wore shorts and thin shirts so I wouldn’t overheat, and he’d come over whistling at me, hoping I’d feed into his delusions.

I never told him I wasn’t into his type, so he kept coming onto me. Until a couple weeks ago when I punched him so hard that he fell back and got a concussion. I guess that gave him the memo.

I wash the suds out of my hands as I shake my head. “He hasn’t talked to me since you know what.”

She laughs and takes my spot by the sink. “That was badass, by the way,” she tells me as the soap suds up in her hands.

My cheeks become hot and I laugh. “Thanks,” I say, “you’ve told me that quite a couple times.”

Her cheeks heat up and swell with blood, but I try not to think of it. Instead, I focus on her hands and the way the soap begins vanishing from her fingers. The new tattoos that tread down her hands come into full effect and I have to turn away.

“I say it ‘cause it’s true,” she tells me as she dries her hands on her jeans.

I shrug. “It’s no biggie.”

“What’s no biggie?” Joel asks as he steps into the kitchen.

“Me punching Jacob,” I tell him.

He laughs and grabs a couple more napkins from the counter. “That was bad ass, by way.”

Ellie and I turn to one another and laugh. Joel, as confused as he is, turns away and re-enters the dining room, where we follow him into and sit down for dinner.

We’re three bottles of wine into dinner and I’ve had about two very full glasses. Even though I’ve been allowed to drink around Tommy and Maria since I turned 17, I haven’t gained a high enough tolerance. So now I drunkenly sit in my seat with one of Ellie’s garlic rolls in my hand.

Tommy and Joel are laughing at something Maria said, and Ellie is staring me down.

“You don’t think you’ve had enough to drink?” she asks as she glances at my wine glass.

I shrug. “You want some?”

She shrugs.

“Have it,” I tell her.

She chugs the rest and places the glass next to her, as if to say, ‘Now you can’t get any more.’ I’m fine with that, so I chow down on the garlic roll and listen to the adults.

This runs for about ten minutes before the conversation is redirected towards the teenagers. “So,” Maria says, “how are you girls?”

I glance at Ellie and I catch her looking back at me. Her red cheeks make a re-appearance and I mistake it for the wine and whiskey. Ellie looks back at Maria and smiles. “We’re good. Well–I’m good. I’ve been doing fine on patrols and all that.” She turns to me again and with her red cheeks and perfectly molded lips, asks, “And you, Clem?”

I shake out of my drunken thoughts and crookedly smile. “It’s been fine on the farm.”

Joel glances between me and Ellie and chuckles. “You hate it at the farm, don’t you?”

I shrug. I pick at the leftover pieces of dead lettuce on my plate and try to find words that don’t come off as bitchy. But I fail. The words tumble out of my mouth before I can slap a hand over my lips. “Nothing new ever happens and I can’t do anything else, so yeah, I kinda do hate it.”

Maria sighs and I look up at her. “You know you can’t go on patrol, Clem.”

“Well I can’t do anything else here either.”

“Clementine, don’t start your arguing,” Tommy warns.

I scoff. “I’m not arguing, I’m just trying to understand why you won’t let me go on patrol.”

“Because–” Maria starts.

“Because what? Ellie goes on patrol!”

“That’s different,” Joel mutters.

I avert my gaze towards him and ask, “How? How is it different?”

“Your mom died while out on patrol,” he continues.

“From what I know, combat skills aren’t hereditary. Y’all can teach me! Ellie can teach me.”

Ellie stays silent. I suddenly feel bad for jamming her into our conversation. She sits next to me and places her hand on my hand, forcing my trembling fingers to die down. She leans in and tries to whisper something in my ear, but I shove her away and continue with the conversation between me and the adults.

“Stop trying to fight this, Clementine,” Tommy tells me.

“But you can teach me! How do you know I’ll die if you don’t teach me how to defend myself?”

“Your mother knew how to defend herself,” Maria says, but before she can continue, I cut her off.

“Okay then! So teach me how to defend myself.”

“But she was stupid and got herself killed. And I’d rather keep you locked in Jackson than have you do the same.”

“So I’m stupid?” I ask. The color drains out of my face and leaves me as pale as a ghost. I’ve always been mistaken for Tommy and Maria’s daughter due to my skin color, but now that my color has drained from my body, I feel like everything that used to connect me to this couple is gone. “You think that because my mom died stupidly, I’ll do the same?”

Maria shuts her eyes and pulls herself away from the table. She stands up and gathers her and Tommy’s plates. “We’re not talking about this. Talk to your Tommy and leave me out of it.”

Tommy glances at me and I look away, pulling myself away from the table and fleeing. I trip over the chair and try kicking it away, but Ellie latches her hand onto my arm and pulls me around the tipping chair.

She helps me up the stairs as my vision becomes blurred and once we enter my bedroom, I flop onto my bed. She shuts my door and I instantly sob.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Ellie whispers as she plops down next to me and rubs her hands along my spine. “You’re okay, Clem.”

I shake my head. “Fuck them!” I exclaim. “They’ve kept me locked up in Jackson my entire life and expect me not to want to go out? I’m a fucking human, not a pet!”

“They just want to keep you safe, Clem.”

I drunkenly disobey, pushing her off and scooting up to the back of my bed. She crawls towards me and sits in front of my legs. She places her hands on top of my knees and slowly rubs her thumbs along the grooves.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

“Nothing they said was true,” she tells me.

I look up at her with a frown. “How do you know that?”

“You’re the smartest girl I know, Clem.”

I roll my eyes.

Ellie slaps my knee and cowers over me. “I mean it. You’re incredibly intelligent with animals. You practically speak to them!”

“I’m telling you, I’m weird.”

She shakes her head and places her hands on both of my knees. She spreads them apart and crawls between them. I gulp down the nervousness cinching my throat and try to push myself back against my bed. But I’m already against the wall.

I’ve wanted this ever since I met Ellie. Sure, it was inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old to be thinking about this very moment where Ellie kisses me, but I couldn’t just knock those thoughts away. They have been imprinted onto my mind ever since, and now it’s happening.

Or maybe not. We’re drunk. But I so badly want this.

“What’s so bad about being weird?” she asks me in a seductive tone that makes an awful whining noise come out of my throat. She chuckles and lowers her head even more. “What was that?”

I shrug. “I’m nervous,” I say. “And we’re drunk.”

“And what about this is making you nervous?”

“It looks like you want to kiss me…” I whisper.

“And what if I do?”

I raise an eyebrow.

Ellie places her lips on my forehead and smoothes the wrinkles lining my skin. “You are nothing they say you are. You’re intelligent, you’re beautifully weird and you I know you’d be one badass fighter.”

I look up at her, our lips mere centimeters apart, and frown. “Then why don’t they see that?”

Ellie’s fingers move up from the bottom of my neck up to my cheeks. She rubs her thumbs along my lips and whispers, “They do, I promise you they do, Clem. I think maybe they don’t want to risk losing you, even if they can show you how to be a badass warrior.”

I crack a smile, even though it might be the fakest one I’ve ever put on. She must notice, though, because she leans in as close as she can. “If I kiss you, is there a chance this frown will disappear?”

I lick my lips and stare up at her dark eyes that seem to seep into my body. “Maybe,” I whisper, and allow her lips to sink into mine.

Her hands wrap around my cheeks and mine wrap around her hair. She pushes me down into my bed and I slowly lean back, wrapping my legs around her waist. I act needy, because I am. I kiss her like I’ve always dreamed of, with my lips following hers and opening up my mouth when she wants to dart her tongue in.

I’ve kissed one person before Ellie, but it was to get her off my mind. She was spinning in my head, owning every single crevice of my brain. I used to think it was on purpose–the universe was trying to drive me mad before the walls of Jackson did. But now I think… Well, I don’t know what the universe was trying to do. What I do know is that all those times I made out with Kennedy was to prepare me for the making out Ellie and I are doing.

The kissing between Ellie and I is fervent. She’s kissing my lips, sucking my bottom lip, kissing along my neck down to my collarbones. She’s trying to pull a leg over one of mine so she can–what I assume–hump it, but before she does, I pull away.

“Maybe let’s go back down,” I whisper, out of breath.

She pulls her head away from my neck and brushes her hair out of her face. “Not yet,” she says. “I have something to tell you.”

I nod. “Do you like me?” I ask.

She chuckles. “Yes, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

I frown. “Oh.”

“I thought that was obvious,” she tells me. “That I like you. I’ve been staring at you ever since I showed up.”

I drop my head in embarrassment and sheathe my eyes with my hands. “I couldn’t tell. I’m sorry.”

Ellie lifts my head with both of her hands and sits on her calves in front of me. She kisses the corner of my lips and pulls away. “It’s okay, Clem. Don’t worry about that right now.”

I nod. “So… then… tell me what you were going to say.”

She nods and drops her hands onto my shoulders, where she rubs my blades. “You remember that mall I told you about ages ago?”

My eyes open wide and I smile. “Yes. The one you found when you went on patrol the first few times.”

She nods. “What if I sneak you out one of these days and take you there? Just us. We can look around and make it memorable for your first time outside of Jackson?”

I nod. I nod like a child who’s just had a tub of sweets. “Yes!” I exclaim, but quickly run a hand over my mouth. “Sorry… But yes! We should.”

Ellie nods and kisses me one more time. “How about next Friday? Our dinner will be at 4, and we can sneak out and make it back here by midnight. They won’t even notice we’re gone–they’ll be drunk by eight o’clock.”

I nod. “Okay. Deal.”

Ellie kisses the side of my head and pulls away, crawling off my bed. She walks over to my record station and thumbs through my vinyl records. I crawl to the end of my bed and watch as she grabs one and pulls it out of its sleeve. She pulls the needle up and sets the record down. Then she places the needle back down on the record and we wait for the music to begin.

Ellie turns and extends a hand. “Wanna dance? To get you out of your bad mood?”

I bite down on my lips to hide my smile and nod. I take her hand and she pulls me up, almost launching me into the air. I hold onto her as she spins me around, and once we’re tired, we plop back onto my bed.

I turn my head to her and smile because she’s already looking back at me. “I’m excited about this trip,” I whisper in case anyone is standing outside.

“Me too. I’ll make sure to make it extra special.”

“You promise?”

She nods. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #elliewilliams x reader #ellie williams x you #fluff #lesbian romance #the last of us #oneshot #romance #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams recs #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfiction

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laundrypause · 6 months

Text

An AU where Pierre's still an F1 driver but Yuki isn't. He could be part of Alpine but as a chef where he doesn't know Pierre personally but he sees him sometimes in the factory and when he comes to the cafeteria for lunch sometimes. Yuki doesn't really pay much mind to the Frenchman though. Like yea, he's attractive but eh. However, when one of his close friends gets hurt by the baguette muncher, Pierre now has his fullest attention. He's thinking of revenge plots that may or may not land him in jail but the perfect plan just somehow manages to fall into his hands.

Literally.

Yuki was minding his own business, sipping on his virgin martini when Pierre Gasly slips onto a stool beside him at the bar. The unthinkable happens. Pierre, the Alpine driver, the French driver who drives for Alpine, who hurt his friend, starts flirting with him.

What. The. Fuck.

Sorry Josh, that's another euro in the swear jar.

It could simply be seen as Pierre being friendly but the eyes roaming does not seem friendly. At all. Yuki's first instinct was to you know. Throw his martini at the man and sucker punch him before bolting out of the club. But...a more enjoyable plan floats into his head. If he's interested in him then why not play into it? Pretend to be interested too and bam, make his life a living hell for however short they're together. It could be an hour, a day or even a week but Yuki will relish in however long he manages to make Pierre suffer in his hands if it means getting revenge for his friend. So Yuki flirts back.

He ends up with Pierre's number by the end of the night.

Honestly, Yuki didn't expect for them to last this long. It's been a week and they're still kinda together. Since its summer break, Pierre has more free time than he usually does and Yuki's been taking advantage of that fact. Calling him up at 3 am continuously to complain about being hungry, asking him if he could pretty pretty please take him out to get some food? Adopting a cat, naming her Count Meowzilla and dropping her off at Pierre's house saying it's his now. (What do you mean it's mine now? I can't have a cat, I don't even like cats! And why did you name her something so ugly. Isn't she a girl? Shouldn't it be Countess and not Count? Take her bag to the shelte-wait Yuki don't cry. Okay, okay fine I'll take care of her) Those acting lessons on YouTube actually helped, who would have thought. Oh and his most favourite moment of all. Yuki had managed to make himself a copy of Pierre's key and completely redecorated his entire apartment. Pierre should be grateful. His house looked so monotone, at least now it has some pzazz. How he wished he had taken a photo of Pierre's face when he walked into his apartment after a day at the gym. Yuki was just finishing the final touches too, adding a pink bathroom mat here and changing the boring, blue comforter to a green floral patterned one.

"Welcome home, Pierre!"

The way the easy smirk on his face slowly slid into an expression of complete disbelief. Yuki would remember that forever. The once boring living room became more colourful, with green drapes, pink cushions and a yellow throw over blanket. Not bad, not bad at all.

Summer break ends and it's the Dutch GP. Yuki's there too, being the supportive partner he is. He can't deny that he kind of likes being in the paddock, seeing the cars zooming past him. Sometimes he wishes he was the one behind the wheel but that was a dream he gave up long ago. He's happy now with his job as a chef. He's happy. Yea, he's happy...

The race starts dry but it becomes increasingly obvious that there's going to be a downpour soon with how the once clear sky turned dark and gloomy. You'd think that it's ten at night with how dark it was. It started off light then it started pouring as if the world got turned upside down and the sea was now raining onto them. The rain was so heavy that even Yuki couldn't see the outside from where he was in the garage. To say he's worried would be an understatement. Pierre had come in for inters a few laps prior but Yuki thinks that even with wet tires the conditions would be too dangerous to race in. Of course he's proven right not even ten seconds after.

"Someone's gone into the barriers and it's an Alpine! It's Pierre Gasly!"

Yuki probably looked like a madman running into the medical centre. He practically begged one of the Alpine personnel to take him to the medical centre, to let him see if Pierre was alright. It took a lot of convincing but he managed to play the concerned partner card. At this point, he doesn't know if it's really still an act or not. He saw a glimpse of an Alpine race suit through the cubicle curtain and he wanted nothing more to see if Pierre was alright despite multiple assurances from other Alpine team members that Pierre was fine, his tires just locked up and he hit the barriers but overall he was fine. Even while his brain was screaming at him to go and see Pierre, he hesitated. What if he didn't want to see Yuki? Yea, they grew undeniably closer in the past month but what if? He doesn't manage to spiral any further though because suddenly Pierre was standing right in front of him.

Pierre asks him what he was doing here, looking concerned for some reason. Why he's the one concerned when he was the one who got into an incident is beyond Yuki. A calloused hand grabs his own, Yuki welcomes the warmth.

"You're wet."

Huh, he didn't realise. He thinks back to himself running through the rain just to get to the medical centre, not bothering to grab an umbrella. The realization made him register how cold it really was in the centre. All the adrenaline that had flooded his system slowly dissipated once he was sure Pierre wasn't hurt. He was sore but no long lasting injuries.

"Aw, were you worried about me? Did you run through the rain to check up on me?"

"Shut up, no I wasn't."

"You care about m- Yuki?"

It's so stupid, so fucking stupid. He doesn't know why he's crying over a stupid Frenchman's ass. Doesn't understand why he's worried about Pierre, why he needed to see Pierre or else he'd combust or something. Then, a dawning realization came upon him.

Fuck, he cares. He cares about the man in front of him.

The same hand that was gripping his wrist moves to cup his face, trying to wipe away the steady stream of tears flowing down his face.

"You're not supposed to move too much," Yuki mumbles.

And now Pierre's looking at him with those eyes that he thinks about each night. Intense, blueish eyes that he has to will himself each time not to drown in. Pierre leans into him, his head angled down towards Yuki.

"Stop me if you don't want this"

Yuki doesn't.

#yukierre #another day another mental decay

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azquine · 7 months

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This may be for too niche of an audience, but fuck it, I'm reaching the fixated audience of me.

The captain from BBC Ghosts and Abed Nadir from community share quite a few similarities, at least from the way I read them.

They both hyperfixate, and their broad hyperfixation shapes the very way they view reality.

For the captain every interaction is a battle he has to strategize through in order to succeed. People are divided into allies and enemies, ranked into inferiors and superiors. Everything is war to him.

And to Abed the world is a show, every event a plotpoint with tropes he can either embrace or subvert. Their sequence he can break down into genre and predict. Every person is a character with a role, with consistent traits and desires he can navigate.

It is through these lenses that they try to control others sometimes, and are occasionally controlled in turn. Though honestly, when he tries Abed is more effective in this regard. Think about the American poultry episode, the captain could never. The captain attempts to pull rank and order more than he manipulates. That's more Julian's thing. Whereas Abed isn't trying to be the leader, he knows he isn't the main character, but he does want to lead the story where he thinks it would be best

They are both outwardly stoic seeming. If you look at them as a stranger all you will see is a straight face and blunt words. But if you pay any attention to how they actually act, you can see that they actually feel things very deeply. They care a lot. Their way of expressing themselves just isn't the exact same way as everyone else. But if you know what to look for it is not subtle in the least. Every little action is practically dripping with their thoughts and feelings. The way they position their head, the way they fiddle with things in their hands, their habits are visible and consistent. If anyone so wished they could make a list of each one and what they mean. So what if they don't laugh or smile the same way that other people do, if when they try to do it normally to fit in it is a little 'off'. If sometimes people call them emotionless. If sometimes they think that of themselves. They aren't.

This is most visible when they get to interact with their fixation, or when that fixation is taken away from them. Their joy, or upset, is practically palpable. You can see them visibly brighten up when the opportunity to share or interact with the thing they enjoy arises.

And then there is the abandonment that fundamentally changes them. Havers and Troy. Both gone to another place far away, leaving The Captain to stare at an open gate and Abed at an empty chair. The person most important to them, who bothered to understand them more than anyone else ever did, ends up leaving them behind. And it hurts them. A lot. It's one of the last things they speak about with the other characters and audience before their show ends.

For the comfort of hetronormative society they appear as a friend or a working partner to them. Though there is clear subtext that there was something more underneath. That they wanted something more. Even though it was not something they openly spoke of.

They are also both just kind of silly. This is completely unintentional on the captain's part, who would prefer to appear perfectly serious and professional. Abed however does not really give a shit how others see his activities and interests. They just get so into everything they do that it quickly veers into ridiculousness, focused on their task long after everyone else gives it up.

I don't know, I didn't really have any point to this post other than to talk about my current favourite two queer autistic characters. I would highly recommend that if you like Ghosts and the Captain, or Community and Abed, that you also watch the other show. Both will make you laugh and also kick you squarely in the sternum. And if any of you have any thoughts please let me know, I am dying to talk about these things.

#ramble #bbc ghosts #the captain bbc ghosts #the captain #community tv #nbc community #abed nadir

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akanothere · 9 months

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About me

Part time fandom artist, full time clown.

20+, she/her.

DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, PRINT FOR COMMERCIAL USE OR BULK PRINTING

DO NOT FEED MY ART TO AI PLEASE

AI IMAGE GENERATOR USERS DO NOT INTERACT

TRACING& COPYING ARE FORBIDDEN AND BLOCKED. IF YOU ARE TOO AN ARTIST PLEASE RESPECT THIS UNIVERSAL RULE (UNLESS MEME/PARODY). “HIGHLY INSPIRED” WITHOUT CREDIT WILL BE BLOCKED AS WELL. MY HOURS OF HARDWORK AND BRAIN JUICE ARE NOT FOR YOU TO USE IN THIS WAY. I APPRECIATE THE LIKE BUT PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT FOLLOW.

THIS IS A MATURE BLOG OFTEN ENGAGING WITH DARK CONTENT, HOWEVER I STILL HAVE DNIs.

THIS BLOG CONTAINS NSFW, BLOOD AND GORE DRAWINGS, TONS OF TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND OTHER TW (ALL PROPERLY TAGGED UNLESS I FORGOT ONE OR TWO. IF I DO PLEASE TELL ME!!!)

FULL DNI, DOS AND DON’T, FANDOM CONTENT WARNINGS BELOW. I AM BAD AT EXPRESSING SO IT GETS LENGTHY BUT UM HOPE IT CLEARS UP EVERYTHING

THIS USER DOES NOT ACCEPT INSULTS, VIOLENCE, ABUSE, SLURS, AND DEATH THREATS TOWARDS HUMAN IN REAL LIFE.

What to expect or not here:

⚠️VERY IMPORTANT

I can tolerate/will create darker themed content when it comes to Danny Johnson or Tom Riddle, as well as some other slashers or mature fandoms and villains. I would say this is NOT a safe blog (I mean come on those are bad guys what do you expect! Don’t be too delulu to a point you gonna make them a good guy). However I do not tolerate any form of violence, abuse and discrimination in real life. Seriously, get help if you come across to any of these.

All my darker artworks are NOT for you to follow irl (can’t believe I still have to say this in 2020s do people use their brains nowadays)— It is for me to explore darker concepts, trying to figure out how, for example, how people attracted by psycho criminals, WITHOUT using an existing criminal and hurting anyone irl. Bc everyone is FAKE, they don’t exist, it’s FICTIONAL. Also, to explore my own/seen traumas. I turn personal issues into NSFW kinks or simply dark shit etc, and cope with it as a fictional content. Not exactly the best idea I know but this keeps me sane and overthinking about the past irl. I do not tolerate death/abuse threats and insults towards human in real life, it’s stupid. And all of you should also keep every dark shit fictional content in fictional world. We do not need anymore crime irl thank you very much. Think before you act or talk. Fandom is not that serious to a point you wish death and suggesting violence upon someone.

For my Haikyuu or Naruto art those are mostly safe as hell (my opinion) just loving caring and tons of smooch smooch!😭💖 OMFG I MEAN BOKUAKA HOW YOU GONNA LOOK AT THEM AND THINK OF ANYTHING DARK HELLO EXCUSE ME

Generally I’m open-minded to all ships and kinks (even with complicated relationships where abuse are mentioned for plot reasons, or larger age difference), but l0lic0ns and ped0s you can do us a favour go fk yourself🖕😘🖕While I’m in horror movies fandom, I do not support real life criminals. If you do or even a delulu fan of them please stay away from every living beings, also fk you too🫶💓 I don’t engage with inc3st contents, however will bear it for past trauma, but will not read purely inc3st stories. Pseudo/step c3st sometimes okay (depends on context really). Also I draw& read& reblog dead doves, which contains different TW like abuse/non-con/dub-con, you have been warned!!!! If it’s dark content with NSFW, please only recommend me with characters at least over age of consent but much more better if they are of age coz tbh I’m more into adult relationships really ahem. DO NOT SEND ME CREEPY PED0 (UNDER AGE OF CONSENT) SHIT THROUGH “ASK ME”. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED AND REPORTED. Also usual DNIs coz I’m traumatised by how stupid they are considering I am the most stupid people on this planet— c0mmies/ z!onists/ transphobes/ TERF/ homophobes/ biphobes/ typical fujoshis who complains about hetero but do same shit if it’s gay, do not interact.

ABOUT NSFW OR COMMISSION— In all circumstances, I cannot and will not create NSFW art piece regarding minors under the age of consent. PLEASE DO NOT EVEN ASK COME ON DUDE…

Also I DO NOT accept any NSFW commission, even it’s purely about adult characters. Adult characters with a bit of suggestive content, maybe um okay base on context. If it’s a pairing or character(s) that is at the age of consent (not an adult), and is from NSFW story/series, but you wish to make SFW art, please check with me before commissioning. Coz sometimes I read darker content but really do not have the heart to draw it if it’s too much for me…However let me be clear again— ANY NSFW OR SUGGESTIVE ART OF MINOR CHARACTERS UNDER THE AGE OF CONSENT IS NOT OKAY FOR ME. I’M NOT COMFORTABLE DOING IT. DON’T EVEN BOTHER ASKING. PLEASE. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I don’t post NSFW art directly (artistic nudes, maybe; explicit nudes? Nah). However, I talk nonsense/ adult jokes/ head canon on my socials, so please DNI if you are not comfortable with. I can’t check every single account before I reply, so minors and people who are not pleased with NSFW topics: if you see this post, do not engage with my posts even they are SFW. Sometimes posting slightly NSFW (aka suggestive) art or head canons directly, but will still tag it as NSFW.

I create art for my inner peace and needs. I cannot babysit and accommodate everyone, so, if you don’t like, don’t engage. The definition of “problematic ships” differs from person to person coz fk me people nowadays overuse this too much to a point idk what is & what is not…

Fandoms and ships

Dead by Daylight

Ghostface centric, Ghostface x OC/ x reader, sometimes GhostFrank, GhostMeg and GhostFrankMeg-the-daddy-issue-trio-poly

⚠️IMPORTANT: It’s totally okay to consume my version of Jed Olsen X OC content and imagining in your brain it’s you or whoever his S/O is, but I block people who draw my version of Jed with themselves/self-inserts/OCs, or generally drawing him. It’s a culture here: impolite to draw someone’s design without permission😭💦 So please don’t take it personally, it’s just me not comfortable with sharing my design of Jed with other people’s self insert/OC. Also I have many plans for him so when people draws him (even not a ship art), it might actually interfere with my WIP sketches and ideas which makes me so awkward like “should I continue when someone drew it already???” However I am glad many people like him! Thank you for giving him love he really doesn’t deserve it he belongs in the trash💥

PS. There are some designs out here alike which of course is fine, I do not own the character himself, but I‘ll stay away or block if it’s too alike/ overly referenced. I stay quiet about things I don’t like so unless shoving it in my face, I will just walk away🧍‍♀️💦Need not worry!

Haikyuu!!

BokuAka, sometimes Tsukishima centric and SunaKita

Harry Potter (Wizarding World)

Tom Riddle centric, Tomione. Casual: Tomarry, Drarry/Harco, Voldantonin, Antonmione, GGAD, SebOmi/OmiSeb, Sebastian Sallow x MC, Ominis Gaunt x MC, Seb+Omi+MC trio friendship.

⚠️I DO NOT SUPPORT JK ROWLING’S TRANSPHOBIC SPEECH. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. IF YOU CAN’T ACCEPT OTHERS HAPPINESS AND RIGHTS, THIS IS NOT A PLACE FOR YOU. FK OFF.

ALSO THAT ONE TOMIONE ANON WHO KEEPS ANNOYING WRITERS WHEN THEY WRITE FOR OTHER PAIR— DO NOT INTERACT.

Don’t follow me for ships. See me as a cheap ass £10 all you can eat cushion buffet please. No quality of art here. Just pure delulu and bad drawing skills.

Naruto

KakaSaku, ObiRin, ObiKaka and InoSaku.

⚠️Note that my main ship in this fandom is KakaSaku, but only when Sakura is of age and usually I ship them in same age AU. And I don’t ship them if they were very close as student and teacher before Sakura of age (it’s really weird). I also love them as platonically best friends, the way their personalities work together if they were born in the same generation, not the teenage-creepy-forbidden-love-in-classroom-gro0ming type of shit, in case you start wondering. If there’s no KakaSaku tag or it is described as “platonic”, it means that art is not a romantic ship art. There might be some head canon etc about teenage SKR having a crush on KKS or both of them feeling butterflies in stomach, but I will always prefer Kakashi not stepping over the boundaries in some close to canon AUs. He is a very nice person and would never take advantage of SKR, I think. It’s true crushing on older people like this happens irl, so I admire the storytelling, but OOC af if KKS lets himself be this low. If you are still concerned or feeling uncomfortable about this ship, please block me. ALSO DON’T RECOMMEND REAL FKED UP CONTENT TO ME that was the reason I stopped drawing coz mentally grossed out I had to stay away from the fandom for at least a while💀 I swear those KKSK doujins from like 15+years ago grossed me a lot if you know which ones you know… hell I don’t wanna spread those out no one should ever read that… would do anything to unsee the cover of those doujins MY FKING BRAIN WAS DAMAGED FK

Other games, films and anime

Who’s Lila?, Cube Escape & Rusty Lake series, Year Walk, Disco Elysiumc, Good Omens, Hotline Miami, Chainsaw Man, Golden Kamuy, Dorohedoro, any Kon Satoshi/ Ito Junji/ Wong Ka Wai’s creations, Horror and thrillers, Sci-fics

Fic recommendation lists

(Most of them are dark, dead doves and NSFW. Some are light and cracks! Read TW and tags. Read at your own risk.)

Danny x You/OC/SO

Tomione

#about my blog #about my art #not a safe blog for minors #but I can’t tag minors dni or else they can’t see this post and thought they can interact lmao #seriously minors dni

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