#through food and attempts at purchasing me useful things

[undercoverpena]

iv. anchor me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. hand stuff (f receiving), illusions to the past, bi!frankie.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after bake off and telling me that i can do the thing.

wordcount: 3.4k

The moment Benny’s (insistent) invite landed in your messages, you had expected the one from Frankie.

Phone in hand, tapping your foot, counting, barely making it to 30 seconds before the banner slid down your screen. Because, of course, the can’t-say-no invitation was on the day the two of you had a scheduled thing.

Unsurprisingly, his simmering annoyance hadn’t vanished when he came to pick you up—another thing insisted—and you came out to meet him.

I’ll pick you up. I can drive there and meet you, save you coming across town. I‘m picking you up. Means I get to make sure you get home okay.

The sound of the car door slamming into place as you lock up, turning to walk towards his vehicle to find him eyeing you up in a way that makes your cheeks burn and you want to hide your face.

He keeps having that effect on you.

Make heat lick up your spine, your brain forget its sentence or thought, and your eyes find themselves unable to stop dropping to his lips .

It’s why it takes all your strength to say, “Eyes up here, Morales.”

He does, although he does take a second. Licking his lips, before doing exactly that. “Do I tell you enough that you look good?”

Laughing, you roll your eyes. More for him. An act, a pretence. Because you’re trying to seem unfazed—attempting to ignore it, the flutters of wings in your stomach.

Having to focus on it more and more when he stops in front of you, the bill of his hat shielding his eyes from the sun, allowing you to see how they drink you in, swallow you. Practically smothering you in simmering heat that makes you want to tear your clothes from your skin.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot lately.”

He doesn’t move, a thing which makes the wings flutter worse. More intense. Practically beating them as you stare at him, fighting the urge to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours.

To have him. Kiss him.

Remembering as you shift in your shoes, that you’re not with him. This is all an arrangement, a plan—a schedule, a date each week (or two) that Benjamin Miller fucked up.

Nudging him, you wink. “C’mon, I want first dibs of the food Will is cooking before you lot leave me with the scraps.”

You were outside in the backyard an hour, before a water gun soaks you.

Benny’s—of course—a stupid gift you’d purchased him, now used on the neighbours’ kids, with you caught in the crossfire.

By the time you’ve realised, you’re being flooded with apologies. Each coming from Benny’s tongue tenfold, rushing over as though he’d sprayed you in bullets and not water.

Your discussion with Will all but ended with a gasp as you stared down at your now transparent shirt. Watching his eyes lift up, trying not to glance or look.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I was—and then—let me show you where the towels are—“

You’re not sure who you laugh at more: Will or Benny. Holding a hand up, accepting one of the many apologies that fall, waving it all off, as your eyes scan the other guests, not finding the one pair of eyes you really want.

“It’s fine—can I, borrow something?” you ask, dropping your voice, “There’s kids around.”

Before Benny has even finished nodding, you make a beeline for the house. The one you know. You’ve been here enough times, dipping in through the side door, feeling your top cling to your skin more uncomfortably than it had outside.

That’s when you stare outside. Noticing that the gathering was closer to a party, it all loud and busy—even from inside. Suddenly grateful for the cover to spend a minute cooling off in the house. An excuse merged with gratefulness when you could hide and slide your shades off—wanting a drink, water, ice.

Suddenly needing a second.

Because all you’d done is eye-fuck your friend. The one you’ve seen naked—the one who looks more than good, and fucks even better.

The one, you suddenly can’t spot.

The glass in your palm lets condensation droplets slide down your wrist. The rim against your bottom lip, staring out at the people laughing, smaller kids being chased by Benny and his water gun. Eyes scanning, nervousness bubbling, mind beginning to worry you’re about to see him with someone else.

Like you have done so many times before .

You’re so lost in it, you don’t hear him, never mind feel him, until his arm snakes around your waist. The man you’d been missing—the one who’d been burning holes into your spine, but never coming over.

Now, though, he’s all warm mouth again to your ear, a whispered shh, as he peels your glass from your hands.

“You’re all wet, querida. We best get you dry.”

And then you’re walking, being led. Moving with ease as Frankie—who you hadn’t even seen come inside—was wrapping his fingers inside yours. Leading you, down the familiar hallway you’d helped paint several years ago, to the bedroom you still called Frankie’s, even if he hadn’t lived here in years.

You remember when you‘d knock on the very door to call for him, or hang out on the other side of the frame.

Frankie and Benny had shared this space before Frankie had found his own. The offer of your spare room had not been good enough—even if he painted it in, not wanting to be an inconvenience. How you’d sit on the bed that’s now for guests, perched, waiting for him before the two of you grabbed food or visited the movies. Simple things—friend things.

It isn’t like that today. His mouth slants over yours as soon as you’re both alone, pressing your back to the wall, devouring, licking into your mouth as you gasp.

Because the two of you could be caught. A shudder spreading out at the idea. The thought of the door being thrown open, making you groan into his mouth.

But, you’re not sure you’d care if you did.

You don’t fucking care if they all found you like this.

Lost, whimpering, desperate—all for him.

Not at his hand places itself around the base of your neck—lightly touching, pressing the smallest amount of pressure down, as he hushes your soft moans. His finger resting against your chin, the others slowly bury themselves in your underwear, giving you more reasons to be loud than be quiet—not something close to friend things.

“You been thinkin’ about me?”

The yes leaves your lips, but it is swallowed by a moan. It travelling from somewhere deep, flowing up, rippling out as you begin to writhe against his touch. Your eyes fixed on his—drowning in brown, sinking in as he curls his fingers inside of you. Beckoning, pleading with you to hand him what it is he wants.

Fuck, you want to give it to him. Had done from the moment you’d arrived, pulled up in the space outside Benny’s home—the former fixer-upper, turned dream house.

Frankie always looked good, even if his wardrobe was minimal. The back of him easy to pick out from a crowd, so broad you’re sure you could draw it with your eyes closed. You’ve stared at it so much—and that was before this all began. This, whatever this mutually beneficial thing is between the two of you, neither of you will properly name.

It’s why you kiss him, needing to taste his groan, lather your tongue in the way he says your name. Pronounces it. It more noticeable when your hand cups him—greeted by the hard outline of him against your palm, all noticeable, barely contained by his cargo pants.

“—tan bonita,” he croaks, throwing your hand away before placing it back to cup your cheek, forcing your head to his, the base of his palm catching your bundle of nerves as he slows his ministrations. “Be good for me, querida. And just focus on being quiet.”

A chaste kiss pressed, a signature on the dotted line—one you agree to as you chase his lips. Just tasting the beer-tinged air of his breath as he continues to bury his fingers inside of you. The sounds of it so vulgar, loud, barely muffled by the strangled whimpers you try to keep back.

“So good for me, tan perfecta.”

Your eyes close, lashes clenching. His whispered words make it harder to stay quiet, to be the thing he’s just told that you are.

And the worst is, you know he knows it. Can feel his smirk against your jaw, the way the tip of his tongue swirls over your pulse as his hip pins you in place, his fingers continuing their wanted assault, keeping your feet rooted to the ground, head barely able to think about anything but this.

“Please,” you ask.

Eyes open, capturing his. Hooking in. Watching him drink it in, your request—your ask.

“Alright baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers, more breath than words, right against your cheek, finger drawing circles against your clit. “Always got you, haven’t I?”

It’s electric, and also fire. It surges and licks up your spine as you nod. As your throat goes dry, sound goes fuzzy, before he’s good—to you, for you. Alternating between filling you with the same fingers that built your furniture.

“Doing so well for me,” he says, nose against your cheek, fingers pumping—

In and out.

In and out.

“Be good though, let me feel you squeeze my fingers—wanna feel you come, querida. Please. Please.”

Your eyes clench, feeling both nothing and everything. Because someone could walk in. Your teeth bite into your lip as you try to keep back the chants of his name. His fingers are so deep, feeling so good.

“Let go, querida.”

It falls from his lips like honey. Sweet. Almost sticky in how it clings to the air as your eyes open, finding him.

The first thing you think is: earlier was nothing on the way he’s staring at you now.

Doing more than devouring, he’s drowning in you—likely unaware you’re doing the same with him.

Each nerve illuminated, your ears slowly buzzing louder and louder as you crash your mouth to his and lick into his mouth as you still, tense and writhe all at once.

Then you are stars, feel yourself unknotting, all at once. In the bedroom that used to be his.

Frankie shouldn’t like seeing you in an old t-shirt of his, but he does.

Unable to tear his eyes away from you as he leads you to two seats, your laugh flowing—something he said under his breath, now forgotten, still swirling through you, forcing your eyes to close and your fingers to dig into his forearm.

He likes you like this—has always liked your laugh.

Blissfully aware that he should, but shit, he can’t take his eyes off you. Even if he knows he needs to—plenty of eyes around, ones who have always teased, always taunted.

You’d be so good together. You pair are so cute.

The comments go on, and on. Have done for years.

Except now, you’re dressed in him.

To most, it’s a simple, old tee splattered with paint. To him, it’s when the group of them painted Ben’s house. His eyes having drank you in, wishing he could wash the paint from your legs, unsure how you’re covered in as much as the wall.

Your clumsiness having painted itself against you, your own clothes ruined, before you’d purposefully (and intentionally) splattered yourself against him when you’d come in for a ‘hug’.

Now, you’re sitting next to him, curled under one leg, shades hiding where your eyes are—but he hopes they’re on him—wishing you’d be on him.

“You dry, querida?”

“Oh, jodete.”

Smirking, he takes a sip of his drink. Licking the front of his teeth, leaning forward.

“Rather fu—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Your tongue traces the bottom of your lip, slowly shaking your head. A part of him wanting to pull you close, have you in his lap. Fuck everything and just give in and—

“So,” Will announces. Suddenly there. Blocking the sun, pointing at an empty chair before he sits beside you.

And Frankie drowns his throat in beer.

He listens, while staring off, as Will asks how your friend is—when she’s back in town, because Ben won’t. You knotting and unknotting the end of the tee around your finger, chatting and chatting.

Something tightening inside of him when he catches sight of you, from the corner of his eye, throwing your head back as Will makes you laugh. Him trying not to grimace each time his friend does so.

Because Will is his friend.

A good one, a great one. Yet, when it comes to you, he always feels inferior. Less than. Somehow more broken more than—

“Fish?”

Will’s voice drags him from his thoughts, blinking. Thumb tracing the neck of his bottle as he nods.

“I said have you heard from Pope?”

He tenses. Frankie feels himself still. Back all straight.

The question cuts through his bubbling thoughts. Suddenly aware of the sound of his own heart in his ears. That knotted ball of things, the one full of rope, strings, steel wire, as it all tightens inside his chest—and in his stomach.

Worst of all, he then feels your eyes land on him. Searching, cutting through the sheets he throws up as walls, desperate to press something warm to him, keep him rooted.

He takes a breath, feeling you willing him to. Appeasing you, even if you’ve not asked verbally, finding himself easily able to.

It’s always easy with you.

Just like it was the night he told you. Confessed it. Whispered it out on the floor, his back to the wall in the same bedroom he just had pressed you against.

I’d suspected it, honestly.

Your fingers brushing, carding through his curls until you pulled his head into your chest. A whole other sea of emotions bubbling, both of his long loves out of reach—even if one had their fingers buried in his curls, attempting to soothe him. The rest of his confession dying on his tongue, letting it rot, fester.

Because that one was and still is harder to confess.

It desperate to escape. Almost coming out the night you’d suggested he found you repulsive. Not knowing how wrong you were—

“Um…” you murmur, eyes digging further into him, practically clawing. Not to hurt, but to pull him back. “I don’t think I have—not since before?”

Frankie swallows. His heart hammering heavier, lifting his eyes and landing on you—and it all goes calm. Your face, like it always has been, is like a blanket that smothers the leftover hurt and anguish, an anchor that roots him in place.

“N-no. Not heard a thing,” he says, as plain as possible. Direct. Trying to hide the shake.

Because he can still feel your eyes on him. Focused, unwilling to leave his face as Will mutters and mumbles about something until he’s shouted away, beckoned by an overzealous neighbour, Frankie plants a smile on for, not moving to greet or speak to.

You say nothing.

But you do lift your shades. Smothering him in warmth and kindness, and a bit of sorrow too. Your teeth nursing the skin on your bottom lip, picking and picking.

Fuck he wishes he could tell you.

He wishes he could tell you that Pope knew—knows. Had already guessed it. Teased him on it before he dragged it out of him in the cold, rainy depths of Colombia.

You just have a thing for friends, Fish. That it!

It had ripped from his throat then. Shooting, spitting in mixed English and Spanish as he told Pope his feelings for you—how long they’d been there.

How they were messy. The same as his feelings had been for him. That they churned and turned for months with the conflicting ones he had for him.

That it has shaped him—the thing that neither of them talk about, but had let happen the handful of times it did.

And now he was repeating himself, but differently. This time, he suspected there was something more there. Something there in your eyes in the moments after he’s brought you to pleasure, it twinkling, it licking into his mouth when you kiss him, softer, desperate in a different way.

“Are you okay?”

“Come to mine. Tonight. After.”

You release your bottom lip. Staring. Thinking. “Are you going to take me home after?”

He tries not to let his face shift, but he fails. It falls and drops out over his features as you take a sip from the bottle in your hand.

“Frank…”

“You like my bed.”

You roll your eyes, brow slightly arched. You’re faking annoyance, he can tell. He can tell because you’re ticking, pondering. Weighing up the options of what difference one night would make to your principles.

“It’s not because of that.”

“No?” you say, arched brow and laced in sarcasm.

Fuck, he wants to take your hands. Pull them to his face. Because he doesn’t feel like that for him anymore. He hasn’t. Not for a long time.

Not since before he showed up with his plan, and his lies, and his mission that ended with Redfly’s death.

He wanted to let it roll from his tongue that he meant it that first night. That he has hated all of your exes for the reason you must think, deep down—the one you’re unwilling to question or acknowledge for the same reasons he won’t.

Because he’s scared. Because he knows he’s only worthy of being a dirty secret—not something real. Not something stable and concrete, things you truly deserve.

And, he wants to respect your wishes, your rules. But, he also wants to wake up beside you in his bed. Wanting nothing more than to have his cake and eat it too, because how could he not? How could he not want you there for one morning, when he wants you there every single day?

That thought was the one he had shouted, it burning the air between him and the man he now doesn’t hear from.

You gonna tell her? Depends on if we fuckin’ get outta here, doesn’t it?

He didn’t. Even if he did make it out, make it back. You in his arms, sobbing, worries running from your mouth to his ear as he held you—silently sobbing into your shoulder for reasons he has never explained.

Which is precisely why he doesn’t reach for your hands. It’s why he lets the silence thicken before he answers.

Because he knows he loves you.

“No,” he says firmly.

Hoping it’ll be enough. Hoping the finality of the word will inform you that, if anything, it’s in spite of the memory of his former friend, former brother-in-arms, former…

“I live closer to here,” he shrugs. Not wanting to admit that it’s for any other reason. “Means we’d be quicker to—“

“Morales!” you cut him off.

All stern, cute—as though he hadn’t had his fingers buried inside of you half an hour ago in his old room.

“How have you been sleeping?”

It’s a simple question, easy. Your lips around the straw, draining your cup before placing it on the grass, next to his empty bottle.

His fingers reaching up, itching the front of his fringe under his hat—your eyes following his movements, holding on to them, adding them to the mental notebook you’ve likely made.

Frankie shouldn’t be surprised that you remembered. The trip that lasted more days than it should have and left its own marks on you, too. Scarred you in ways that you can’t explain or ever get rid of.

“Fine. I guess, just…”

“I know,” you say with a faint smile. Forced. Placed there to soothe him, but it doesn’t do much.

You don’t play with the radio.

You don’t even really talk. Just drumming your fingers on the door, staring outside, letting streets pass the two of you, until he pulls up outside his place.

All the way, he thinks about apologising.

For everything, and yet for nothing all at once. His eyes sliding over to you as he drove down roads, turned his chin a little more to gather more of you as he turned a corner.

You don’t look at him until he turns the engine off. Head rolling on the back of the seat, the softest, most beautiful smile on your lips—one he wants to taste, feel moulded to his mouth. Capture and steal it, in case he never gets the chance to again.

“If you say you’ll stay, you haven’t broken the rules,” he whispers.

It is all quiet, except for the little noises made by the car as it cools and relaxes from its journey here.

Frankie hears you swallow, and then sigh.

“Won’t I be?”

Shaking his head, he turns to face you on the plastic seat. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb stroking soft lines, hoping it’ll ease you. Relax you.

“If you prefer me to take you home—“

Your eyes drop.

“—then I will. But…”

Your eyes flash back up to him, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Even under twinkling lights, he can see each fleck of colour in them.

“But?” you whisper.

And he drags his thumb across your skin. “I just really want you to stay, for tonight.”

Sliding your lips to the side, your fingers move over his, pressing his palm to your cheek, giving him a smile—a gentle one, reassuring, sweet. “I want the right side. When you let me sleep.”

Smirking, he nudges closer, going to kiss you, but finding himself pressing a kiss to your forehead—one brimming with a smile.

Only realising he’s done so when he retracts.

Little lines appearing in your brow, gone, vanished in the next second, because then you’re moving closer, your lips on his—and for a brief, but pleasant moment, he forgets all of this isn’t real.

Falls into it, lets himself live there as he runs his hand up your thigh, before he’s dragging it over his. Uncaring that there’s a bed some so many feet away, he just runs his hands over your cheeks, along your jaw, thumbs on your neck—as he groans against your mouth.

Swallowing your moan, he fights a smirk at the way you rock your hips against him. Hand moving to your hip, pinning you—chasing your lips before kissing you again, and again.

Not ever having enough. Always wanting more.

As he has done for years. As he’s thought about for years.

Because there may have been others, but since he let himself think it, it’s always been you. A notion he kisses against your lips, writing them with his tongue against yours, content, happy.

“Can’t wait to spread you out on my bed, querida.”

He feels your lips spread into a smirk against his. “Can’t wait to have your cock down my throat again, Morales.”

He groans. Loud, almost undignified. Unsure how he got to be so lucky. Your fingers digging into the base of his neck.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

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[celtic-crossbow]

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Chapter 7

Warnings: Reader’s poor mental health

You awoke to raised voices but found yourself alone, still in Daryl’s space. Wiping your eyes, you attempted to fight through the fog of sleep to hear what was happening somewhere in the cellblock. One of the voices was unmistakably Daryl. You could hear the anger but not the words. The second voice was also raised but not in anger. Feminine. Carol?

“I’ll handle it! Go cool off before you pull something!” 

Definitely Carol, her voice closer and words decipherable. You could hear her boots on the stairs just before her silver hair came into view. Well, at least you knew what they had been yelling about. Her stony expression softened over immediately when she raised her head to find you awake. 

“Good morning! How are you feeling?”

You eyed her suspiciously, fingers twisting and tugging at the blanket. You still weren’t sure about who to trust, what to believe. You couldn’t even trust Daryl, but why should you really? He purchased you. Even with his kind eyes and gentle touch, he was still a man. And men at the end of the world only wanted you for one thing. Still, you continued to find you wanted to trust him. 

“Hey.” Your eyes focused again on Carol, a little closer than she had been but now sitting on the floor, a bowl in her hands that you hadn’t noticed until then. “Where’d you go just now? You were a million miles away.” Your knees were dragged up against your chest, assuming the familiar position. You said nothing but watched the woman carefully. Her finger was tapping against her own knee as she studied you. “Let’s try a different approach, hmm?” She smiled at you and relaxed her posture. 

The bowl was gently slid across the floor, stopping just in front of you. It looked like oatmeal, with some berries of some sort on top. 

“Not a lot of fresh fruits available right now. Daryl brings in berries that are safe for us to eat when he goes out to hunt. Those are a little bitter but they make the plain oatmeal taste more like…well, something.”

You waited for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth between the offered food and the woman in front of you. You were hungry. Famished, actually. But she wasn’t Daryl. Could she even give you permission to eat? 

“What, um… what do you want me to do for it?” 

“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything special for your portion of the meals here. You may have chores later but not until you’re settled in and feel at least a little safer, okay?” 

“Did S—um, I mean, did he say I could eat?”

“Who? Daryl?” Her brow creased in confusion. “Why would—oh.” When understanding once again soothed her expression, that gentle smile she seemed to always present you was back. “I can promise you that Daryl will always want you to eat what is offered to you here. Always.”

You remained unconvinced. 

“If he or anyone else ever says you can’t eat, they’ll have to personally answer to me.” 

Your stomach chose that moment to sound off its displeasure at being left empty. With trembling fingers, you began to reach for the bowl, noting that Carol’s eyes remained on your face. The moment your fingertips brushed the edge, you snatched up the bowl and hid it between your knees and your body as if she would attempt to take it back. 

It was just plain, unsweetened oats, but the woman had been right. The berries did at least provide some flavor. Even if it didn’t, you were too hungry to care. Carol stayed but had averted her gaze to somewhere past the railing. 

“Why, um…why do you get to wear regular clothes?”

She seemed to contemplate your question before countering with one of her own. “Can you explain why you would ask that? Just so I understand. There is no consequence for asking questions.”

No consequence? Hell, you shouldn’t be speaking, let alone questioning. “Do you dance? Or are you one of the special ones that the men get to take in the back?” There was the briefest expression of disgust, but you caught it, even if she was quick to bury it. 

“The women here are not property. We are free and independent, equal with the men. I mean, I do need the occasional jar opened but otherwise, we do our part and live as we please.”

“The men don’t—Sir, I mean, Daryl doesn’t fuck you?”

Her eyes opened so wide that you thought they might evacuate her skull. “Oh god, no! That’d be… no, just no.” Carol eased a little closer and sat right back down, maintaining a comfortable distance between the two of you. “I know what Daryl took you out of. I can’t even begin to imagine the things that happened to you there. But here? These people? You don’t have to worry. No one is going to touch you without your consent. No one is expecting you to do anything like you were forced to do before. The men here will protect you, not hurt you.”

You narrowed your eyes skeptically while taking another small bite. 

“I know it will take some time to trust again, but it will come.” She watched you take the last bite, eyes following your trembling hand as you placed the bowl onto the floor beside you. “I’ll be with you as often as I can. You’re welcome to join me throughout the day.”

You didn’t answer, choosing to fiddle with the buttons on Daryl’s shirt instead. 

“You can sleep in my cell if you’d feel safer but Y/N,” she paused and waited until you finally met her gaze, “you need to give Daryl some space.”

“I…I, um… he…”

“I know what he did for you, but Daryl has his own demons. You don’t belong to him. You don’t belong to anyone.” How that woman could have such a conversation and remain so calm was beyond you. “You don’t have to accept that now. I know it can be hard to unlearn things that were beaten into you. I just ask that you try. That’s all. Just try. And if you forget, I’ll be here to remind you.” That smile again. 

You nodded, finding comfort in Carol’s gentle presence. You could feel the tendrils of fear receding into the dark crevices of your fractured mind. You still didn’t understand and you were still afraid, but you no longer felt paralyzed. 

“If I… I’d like to stay with you.” You shrank back a little, as if accepting what she offered would lead to some horrific punishment. “Please.”

“Of course.” Carol answered softly. She climbed to her feet and then held out her hand for you. “Why don’t you just stay with me today too, hmm? I’ll show you around and then we’ll fix things up on the cell later. Sound good?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her hand was rough in places, calloused from years of work. A story she hadn’t shared with you yet but you found you were eager to hear it. 

Carol quickly tutted you with a laugh. “None of that. Call me Carol. Can I call you Y/N?” You gave her a small smile even as your shoulders drew up with anxiety at having offended her. She must have noticed because she turned to face you and requested you take a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is fine. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

And for the first time in a very, very long time, you actually felt it. 

Daryl observed you finally vacating his space, your hand in Carol’s as the two of you exited the prison. Though your apprehension was still quite perceivable, you were making an effort and that was truly all he could ask for at this point. He hadn’t been angry at finding you occupying his area. He was more overwhelmed by the grand propensity of helplessness as you continued to futilely seek comfort from him when he had none to offer you. 

It was better for you to be inducted into a normal way of life within the world as it was then. You had to learn to live again, to be your own person. There was no one better to help you than Carol. 

No longer tired, Daryl hefted his crossbow onto his shoulder and headed outside. The people could always use fresh meat, so it was only logical that he use the time to hunt. 

He could only hope that you would leave his thoughts long enough to get the job done safely. 

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[yoisami]

˚₊‧୨୧˚ TASTES LIKE VANILLA !

[૮₍ ˃ࡇ˂ ₎ა]: you and reo’s second anniversary is coming up, and he makes an attempt to bake you a cake.

tags. reo x gn!reader, 2050 wc, pure fluff, established relationship, mentions of food, reo and reader are aged up, use of profanities, not rly proofread bc i wanted to finish this to get it out of my drafts lol, forgive me if any grammatical mistakes, i love reo.

there were a few reasons why mikage reo always bought gifts rather than making them.

firstly, he’s the literal heir of mikage corporation—the company is an insanely fierce competitor in the japanese and global markets, with sales that regularly skyrocket up and rarely ever drop. the mikage family had billions of yen sitting in the vault of their bank account; hence, reo never had to personally make something from scratch because he could afford anything with the millions that he carried, coming in the form of a black credit card that was wonderfully polished and only obtainable by the ultra rich.

secondly, reo was absolutely shit at cooking and activities alike. with the reputation that he was the physical embodiment of perfection, his peers in his extensive social network had established it in their heads that the nineteen-year-old excelled in everything—calculus, japanese literature, soccer, flirting—you name it, he’s good at it. on the contrary, he wasn't good at everything (obviously). it was on one regular afternoon (when reo was still in high school), all the students in hakuho discovered a flaw in mikage reo—his culinary skills was fantastically terrible. somehow, nagi’s plate of half-assed grilled mackerel looked relatively decent when it was placed next to reo’s fully burned tamagoyaki that could not be salvaged.

which was why, since two years ago, all the gifts you’ve received from your beloved boyfriend, were all strictly bought from high-end quality stores, because he knew you deserved the best of the best, and because he supposed that it made up for his inability to make you a meal like other boyfriends do.

as your second anniversary approached the corner, reo’s mind was busy browsing through the gallery of ideas he had for your date. a surprise week-long trip to milan? or would you prefer the romantic ambience of athens more?

he was stumped, and his social media page was, as expected, unhelpful. his feed was teeming with posts of couples surprising each other with the simplest things that had little merit, like a new bottle of perfume, and these things could never succeed as a candidate for reo’s anniversary gift for you. it was simply not enough for someone like you—if it was possible, reo would have liked to purchase every single constellation known to astronomers, just so he can remind you that his love for you was as expansive and immeasurable as the universe.

but two evenings ago, reo was left baffled when he saw you giggling at your phone, hands covering your mouth and everything.

“honey, are you okay?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he approached your figure, leaning in to see just what exactly elicited such a dramatic reaction from you. when you passed him your phone, reo gave you a confused look.

“her boyfriend baked her a lunchbox cake! see—it’s so cute, and you can obviously tell he put a lot of love and effort into this!” you exhaled, looking up at the ceiling with your hand on your heart. “doesn’t this just give you butterflies?”

“i mean, i guess it’s cute. but it’s such a little thing—why are you so giggly about it? there’s nothing special about it.”

if the boyfriend had baked a cake that held eight tiers, then reo would be impressed. except, this cake had a measly diameter of four inches (he thought there was no ‘wow’ factor in this).

you shook your head as you propped yourself up on this lounge. “it is special! it’s from her boyfriend, so she’d obviously be appreciative of it! plus, it’s not about how expensive or exquisite his gift is. the fact that he took time out of his day to bake his girlfriend a cake is really thoughtful and cute. if you were to bake a cake for me, i’d honestly be over the moon.”

reo’s ears perked up at your hypothetical scenario. “really? wouldn’t you prefer a vacation or something as a gift?”

a laugh slipped from your lips as you turned off your phone. “to be honest reo, if we stayed at home in our pyjamas and shared a tub of ice cream together, i’d be just as happy.”

and since that day, reo has been determined to bake you a cake as your anniversary gift. since he was still worried that a cake would be of too little value, he had completed his shopping for your other gifts a couple days ago—a new pair of diamond earrings that were ridiculously overpriced and a designer-branded coat because winter was approaching—plus a reservation made under his name for a dimly lit dinner at a luxurious restaurant that owned shelves of delicately tasting champagnes.

he had returned home particularly early today, making sure that it was at a time where you were still at work, busy wiping down tables and serving coffees and teas for six hours straight. reo dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen island, with their contents on the verge of spilling out because, once again, he had bought more than what was necessary. for a single cake that was not going to be larger than a regular dinner plate, he had bought two packs of flour, two dozens of eggs, three cartons of milk, four bottles of thickened cream, and a collection of other materials.

in all honesty, the reason he went overboard with the ingredients was because he was prepared to face some legitimate baking failure. if he couldn’t even cook rice without turning it into a gruel-like texture, then he definitely couldn’t bake a dainty cake that needed to be edible and pleasing to the eye.

reo, as the son of a japanese billionaire who could obtain anything with the mere reach of his fingertips, would have never thought that he would be standing behind the kitchen counter in you and his shared home, tilting his head at an online recipe for a vanilla sponge cake that was to be made for his dearest, you.

as reo tied his hair up, he scanned through the recipe, smiling at how easy this seemed.

this could work, he thought as he grabbed out the ingredients. with a large bowl placed atop the scales, reo ripped open the packet of flour, pouring the appropriate amount over the sieve before he set it aside. he then added the remaining dry ingredients (baking powder, baking soda, and salt) into the bowl before stepping back, smiling at how smoothly things were going.

“[name]’s gonna love this,” reo hummed in delight, with a smirk that could cost a million yen. “i’m the best boyfriend.”

and as he continued to diligently follow the steps outlined on the website, his excitement was growing taller and taller by the moment. ideally, he hoped to present you with a cake that was perfect to the point where no other cake could compete with his. but reo was an ambitious man—he was too hopeful with this.

‘fuck’ was the first thing that came out of his mouth when reo knocked over the contents of his bowl. he frowned at the flour particles that flew into the air, and reo let out an exasperated sigh at the spill. it didn’t take him long to recover from the minor annoyance he felt as he wiped down the counter with a wet cloth, and swept away the remaining flour that was on the floor.

this was bound to take him a while.

three hours have passed since he commenced his baking debut, and the disappointment was blatantly expressed in reo’s facial expression.

on the kitchen counter of your apartment were four deformed sponge cakes that were either dry and burned, or somewhat undercooked. even with four cakes, neither of them was fit to be the cake that was supposed to be the ultimate gift that exudes nothing but delight from you, given your reaction towards the boyfriend’s cake in the video he watched.

you were going to return soon, and reo’s in trouble.

there was no humanly possible way that he could whip up a cake within fifteen minutes, let alone an hour.

after a single glance at the time that passed way too quickly, reo reached for his phone in his pocket. scrolling through his lengthy list of contacts, he hastily clicked on his attendant’s caller id. the pace of his heartbeat picked up, and reo’s impatience was conveyed through the tapping of his foot as he waited for ba-ya to pick up.

after what seemed like minutes (it was only eight seconds), reo was greeted by the familiar voice of his attendant. “young master reo? how may i help you?”

“ba-ya! i need you to run to the bakery and get a cake for me. preferably a smaller one, please—and i need it in a couple minutes,” reo instructed, a sigh escaping from his lips as he sat down on one of the high chairs. glancing over at his failed cakes, he grimaced. “it can be any flavour. just... make sure it looks nice.”

“of course, young master reo. i’ll bring it to your apartment within a couple minutes.” with that, the line was cut, and the apartment was silent again.

pulling the hair tie out of his hair, reo noticed that his apartment now had a distinctive scent of burnt cake. even if he were to hide the evidence of his fruitless attempts at baking a cake now, the odour was enough to let you know that in the past few hours, your boyfriend was caught up in some baking disaster.

and reo figured that you would probably get mad at how he’s made the whole apartment smell like a vanilla cake that was unfortunately burnt (literally).

ambling to turn on the ventilators in the kitchen, reo froze at the unwanted sound of your house keys jingling. at this moment, he was unable to move—it was almost like the soles of his shoes were glued to the floorboards. at this moment, as he watched the doorknob twist to the right, reo forfeited.

“reo? i'm ho— oh my god...”

the sound of your footsteps patted closer as a part of your cardigan peered from the wall. “why does it smell burnt here?”

innocently blinking at you, reo watched you enter the kitchen as he winced at your expression that clearly said ‘what the fuck happened in here?’. he quickly plastered a wide smile on his face. “baby! well, aren’t you early today?”

“reo, what happened—”

once your gaze averted to the counter, reo grabbed your hand. he carefully studied your face, expecting a scolding from you, but was pleasantly surprised when a smile broke from your lips. “w-wait, you’re smiling?”

soon after, you let out a string of laughter as you pulled your confused boyfriend into a soft embrace. “b-babe—”

“did you try to bake, reo?”

“i mean... yeah. it just failed horribly, though.”

your hands cupped reo's face as your grin widened. “i can tell. why else would we have four burned cakes on our kitchen counter?”

sheepishly rubbing his neck, reo nodded. “the other day, you said you’d be over the moon if i baked you a cake, so i tried. but as you can tell, i’m shit at this.”

you gently guided reo into your arms again as your giggles returned. “yeah, i agree. you are pretty bad at this.”

reo pulled away as he pouted. “sorry. and it was supposed to be one of my presents to you for our anniversary.”

“my love... don't be sorry! honestly, right now, i’m over the moon. the fact that you wanted to make my day by baking me a cake is a very sweet gesture, and i’m flattered.”

reo’s hands landed on your sides as you spoke. “these cakes show your hard work, and even if you weren’t successful, you still achieved your goal—i’m really happy right now. so thank you, reo.”

with a sweet kiss on his cheek, reo relished in your touch. “you’re welcome, my love. i’m glad that you’re happy.”

“great! now clean the kitchen.”

“what?”

“just kidding! i’ll clean with you.”

as the two of you wiped down the spills and crumbs on the kitchen counters, reo recounted his entire baking journey to you, forgetting that a new cake was on its way to your apartment.

© yoisami 2023. plagiarism, translation and distribution of my works outside of tumblr is not permitted.

#૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა — ୨୧ by saki #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #reo mikage #mikage reo #reo x reader #blue lock reo #bllk reo #reo imagines #reo fluff #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #the more i reread it the more i dont like this #i dont want a bf if hes not like reo

[animusicnerd]

Dorm Leaders and their Love Languages

☾ Genre: Fluff ☾ Warnings: Mentions of mortality, slight spoilers but nothing explicitly mentioned

☾ Pairing(s): Dorm Leaders x GN!Reader (separate)

☾ Notes: Soft Azul and Vil make me soft and I love them a lot. Also, please tell me if it does seem gender neutral.

☾ Twisted Wonderland and it’s characters do not belong to me ☽

Riddle Rosehearts - Gift-Giving & Quality Time

✦ As the dorm leader of Heartslabyul, Riddle is busy with both his roommates and his own studies meaning that he won’t have a lot of alone time with you. Regardless, he will always make sure to give you little gifts throughout the day. They are mostly delivered by Riddle himself, but sometimes Ace or Deuce would pass you a rose with a note attached in their dorm leader’s handwriting. 

✦ When you two do manage to spend time together, he’s giving you some of the strawberry tarts that Trey made. He would also help you with any classes you’re having trouble with and usually, there’s some type of treat at the end to motivate you to get through it.

✦ There are also a lot of invitations to tea parties and unbirthday parties for you and you always have a seat next to Riddle, chatting with him about whatever pops up in your mind, happy that you could spend this time with him.

✦ “Ah, I finally found you. We’re having another unbirthday party this weekend, so please come. I’ve made sure that Trey has prepared your favorites.”

Leona Kingscholar - Quality Time & Physical Touch

✦ As a lion beastman, he mostly likes to spend time with you cuddling. Sometimes nuzzling into you or even just keeping an arm around you at all times. There are a lot of sleepy cuddles involved with him either sleeping on your chest or the other way around. He doesn’t really care as long as he has you in his arms. You end up skipping some classes with him because he doesn’t want to give up his pillow yet.

✦ On the rare occasion, he isn’t sleeping the day away, Leona would just give you head pats as he passes by. It’s very random so sometimes during lunch, you could be eating, and then suddenly, you feel a soft pat on your head. Your idiot trio has gotten very used to it but still finds it weird to see Leona show you some semblance of affection. 

✦ However, an arm around your shoulders or waist and maybe the occasional kiss on his cheek, is how far he’s willing to go with PDA. He still has a reputation to uphold as the strongest in Savanaclaw and he doesn’t want to be seen as a softy. In private, smother him all you want as long as it doesn’t bother his nap time.

✦ “Gimme five more minutes, then I’ll get up.”

Azul Ashengrotto - Gift-Giving & Quality Time

✦ Another busy dorm leader who’s juggling his dorm leader duties and his studies but on top of that, he has his contracts and Mostro Lounge to manage. Whenever things get too busy, he calls you into his office just to have you there and even makes some room on his desk for you to do your schoolwork while he does his own thing. Either that, or he’ll call you to his dorm or ask if he can come over just so he could recharge his daily need for your affection.

✦ If you have a bad day, he would ask if he could come over and distract you from your problems for a bit before talking about them. He tries his best to understand what you're talking about and offers a lot of hugs and sometimes food from the Lounge he cooked to brighten your day. Basically, he’ll make time for you and attempt to cheer you up with cuddles and food because that was how his mother cheered him up as a young boy.

✦ Whenever he’s away from you to restock supplies or to go to a meeting, he always gets something from the shops that he thinks that you would like. Some places probably have those collectible coins so he would purchase some for you and him and now you have a coin collection similar to his. One time, when he went back to the Coral Sea for a bit, he came back with a nautilus shell necklace that his mother gifted to him saying to give it to a special someone. That special someone was obviously you so when he got back from his trip, the first thing that he did was give you said necklace.

✦ “My mother told me to give this to someone very special to me and I believe she meant for me to give this to you.”

Kalim Al-Asim - Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, & Gift-Giving

✦ Kalim wears his heart on his sleeve so, from the moment you’re dating, he is singing praises about you in every way possible. Out of all of the dorm leaders, I believe that he is the one that is most comfortable with PDA. He would shower you with kisses and hugs whenever he spots you in the halls and gives Jamil a heart attack whenever he suddenly runs away like that. But if you ask him to tone it down, he will but just a little bit. 

✦ Along with the constant bombardment of affection you get from him, Kalim would also shower you with gifts as much as possible. It ranges from tiny trinkets to the most expensive jewelry that you have ever seen and you might need to rent out a storage unit to fit all of the stuff he gets you. 

✦ He just wants you to know that he loves you very much and is very grateful that you allowed him to be your lover. He was likely showered with this type of affection as a kid too, so it wouldn’t be surprising that it translated to his relationships that it was this way to show love to somebody. 

✦ “Found you! I was looking for you everywhere to give you this bracelet. Would you like me to help you put it on?”

Vil Schoenheit - Quality Time, Acts of Service, & Physical Touch

✦ Another busy dorm leader who’s working on top of being a good student and a mentor to someone else. He has a decent amount of modeling gigs throughout the year and while he mostly took a break from acting, there are some small roles that he does take. Sometimes, he would end up taking you or checking up on you every hour or so to check if you were okay. Whenever you’re having a bad day, he would stay in with you to help cheer you up, and yes, he would help you with your skin-care routine and other self-care necessities. 

✦ As cold as Vil seems, he is actually a very affectionate or caring person from what I have seen so far. I won’t get into it too much because it relates to the latest chapter but he does give Epel, Rook, and Yuu kisses and hugs for helping him out when he was “speaking as Vil.” So I suspect that Vil wouldn’t mind it if his lover showered him with affection or the other way around. Maybe in public, he would be more lowkey about it with an arm around your waist or a quick peck on the cheek, but in private, I don’t think he would mind it all that much. 

✦ Overall, Vil does shower you with affection in his own ways despite his busy schedule. He makes time for you as much as his schedule would allow and do little things for you when you’re together, and I fully believe that he is physically affectionate as long as it’s kept to a minimum in public, but in private, it’s the opposite. 

✦ “I know I’m not around much, darling, but please take care of yourself a little more. I get worried too, you know.”

Idia Shroud - Quality Time

✦ This man is a shut-in so when he allows you into his little bubble, it’s a big deal to him. Regarding his past, he was mostly either by himself or with Ortho. He’s still iffy with physical affection, isn’t good with words, does not go out enough to get you some things, and while he would try to do his best to do things for you, his anxiety gets the better of him. 

✦ Quality Time where he is able to spend time with you alone in his room is the best way for him to show his affection towards you. There are a lot of anime and gaming marathons where both of you would just hangout until the early hours before inevitably falling asleep and starting the cycle again a few hours later. Sometimes, he would come over but it was mostly for anime marathons and eventually does start coming over more just to spend time with you. 

✦ Over time, Idia will get used to physical affection but in small amounts like pinky holding and stuff like that. Eventually he’d want you to sit in his lap while playing games or vice-versa and if you manage to crash while he’s gaming, he would try to keep quiet for the next few hours to avoid waking you up. A lot of impromptu sleepovers happen this way but neither of you are complaining.

✦ “Do you mind coming over today? A new multiplayer game just dropped and I need my player two to play with me.”

Malles Draconia - Gift-Giving & Quality Time

✦ It doesn’t matter if you’re a faery like him or a mortal, he is giving you gifts. A lot of them too. Another one who buys you things from small trinkets to the most expensive jewels you have ever seen in your life. It could be matching t-shirts that he found amusing or the rarest jewel in his possession, nothing is out of bounds to give to you. You might want to ask him to slow down with the gifts because, in the beginning, he’ll try to make it obvious that he is courting you and he was taught that gifts were the best way to show your intentions.

✦ Now as fae or mortal, he would spend quality time with you. However, things hit a little bit harder if you are a mortal. Malleus is all too aware of the limited time he would have with you and would either find a way to extend your life as much as possible or cherish the time he has now. This includes going on late-night walks to look at the gargoyles around campus or running away from some of his retainers to be alone. It’s a very chaotic scene that you sometimes have gotten in trouble for by patrolling staff but when you don’t have to do that, then it’s actually a very relaxing night. 

✦ When Malleus falls, I believe that he’s one of those people that falls hard and would do anything in his power to make you happy. He finally has someone who isn’t afraid of him and is willing to hang out with him because they want to, not because they are obligated to—though it’s obvious that the rest of Diasomnia doesn’t mind hanging out with him regardless of his status. He would give you a lot of expensive and shiny things to show his love for you and would spend time getting to know you just because he just wants to.

✦ “I sense that Sebek is in the distance watching us. Hold on to my arm, dear. I’ll make sure we won’t get caught.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #twst

[shion-yu]

Taco Fiesta 2.0

Quick story for fun ft. @wussifer's OC Jack and my boy Cliff who are actual soulmates in another life <3 Based on this. 1,287 words, CW: food poisoning, emeto, mucho fluff.

Jack's love for questionably safe street food had gotten him in trouble more than once over the years. Cliff kept telling him to stay away from those stands but Jack's memory seemed only to last a few months before he took the plunge again. This time is was "Phil's Philly Steaks" and Jack thought the name was way too funny to pass up trying. 

Cliff groaned and tried to tug him along. "Jack, please, Leo's got dinner at home waiting for us," he tried, but it was hopeless. The call of street meat with a terrible pun was all too powerful. 

"It's fine," Jack said casually as he handed over a wad of ones. "I have a different stomach for this kind of thing."

"You do not," Cliff rolled his eyes. "Just don't come to me when it's 'Got Taco to the Fiesta' 2.0, alright?" 

"Sure, baby," Jack said cheerfully, accepting the giant paper plate overflowing with steaming Philly steak that he was handed. "Thanks man," he told the vendor and Cliff followed behind him to a nearby bench.

Cliff looked at Jack's purchase with distaste. "That looks like brains," he said. 

Jack took a big bite and hummed with satisfaction. "Delicious brains though. Wanna try?" 

"Absolutely not," Cliff said, pushing the forkful Jack was holding up away and sticking out his tongue. He waited as Jack miraculously devoured the entire meal and threw away the plate with a satisfied burp. "You're so gross," Cliff whined as Jack laughed and appologized. 

They took the train back home and made it to Leo's apartment without further incident. Jack's belly was sticking out a bit but true to his word, he managed to shove down a whole plate of dinner made by Leo, too. Cliff had no idea how his boyfriend had such a bottomless appetite but he figured at least Jack was eating enough for the both of them, given Cliff no longer ate my mouth. After dinner they went to Jack's room where Jack sat at his desk to study and Cliff watched videos on bed. 

Jack was still studying when Cliff got sleepy and turned in for the night. "Night Jackie," he said. Jack blew him a kiss and looked fondly at his little family on bed, made up of Cliff, one cat in his arms and one dog at his feet. He had about fifty of the same exact picture but he couldn't help but snap another one with his phone, they were just so cute. 

Around eleven, Jack's stomach started rumbling loudly. He rubbed it and shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He had definitely eaten too much today, but it'd go down soon enough. Except an hour later, it certainly hadn't gone down and Jack felt even more bloated than before. He groaned and stood up, thinking maybe walking around would help. Did they have Tums in the bathroom? Jack located then and chewed two of the tablets. The chalky taste did the opposite of make him feel better and he realized very quickly that he was feeling nauseous. 

It was just too much food, he told himself. No way this was the tacos from three months ago 2.0. He hit his chest with his fist a few times and let out a loud belch that made his eyes water. He glanced at Cliff but his boyfriend was still sleeping soundly. The dog, however, was staring at him in startled disdain.

"Sorry Sabi," Jack said, rubbing his aching stomach. Sabi sniffed as if he understood and rested his head back down on Cliff's legs. 

Jack tried to go back to studying, but his stomach was really burning now and it felt like the words he was attempting to read were running all over the page. He had begun to sweat and groaned, pushing his chair away from the desk and pressing his forehead on the edge. He tried to breathe through the nausea but one thought about the neon yellow cheese sauce on that cheese steak today put him over the edge and he made a mad dash for the bathroom.

It was an absurd amount of food to have eaten, and it felt absurd coming back up. Jack threw up wave after wave of chunky, smelly vomit and swore to himself for probably the twentieth time that he'd listen to Cliff about the street food next time. After a few minutes it seemed like he was empty, and the dizziness was gone. Jack flushed the toilet and stood on shaky legs to wash his face and hands in the sink. He listened, but Leo's bedroom was too far away to hear and Cliff seemed to have manage to sleep through it despite the occasional very loud moan that had come out of him. 

Jack returned to the desk in his room, hoping that was it. Going back to studying turned out to be a no go though and Jack gave up quickly, crawling into bed next to Cliff and resting his head on Cliff's chest. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. The attempt lasted about fifteen minutes before Jack was launching himself back into the bathroom for round two. That solidified it - it wasn't just overeating and Phil's Philly Steak was most certainly the culprit. Jack threw up until there really wasn't anything left but stomach acid. It took him another ten minutes to gather the strength to stand up and wash up again, spraying some air freshener on his way out to mask the putrid smelling combo of fry oil mixed with puke. 

Jack stumbled back to bed and lay down, clutching his stomach with a loud groan. Cliff didn't look so cute asleep anymore. He looked annoyingly peaceful while Jack was going through cheese steak purgatory. Jack shook his shoulder, whining. "Cli-ifffff." 

Cliff twitched and opened his eyes, squinting at Jack cluelessly. "What?" He asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"I threw up," Jack said pathetically. 

"Oh, sorry baby," Cliff mumbled, reaching for Jack and pulling him close. "Do you... need... Zzzz." Aaaaand he was asleep again. Jack sighed and cuddled against Cliff anyways. Cliff tended to be fairly useless between the hours of ten PM and eight AM unless Jack really set off the alarms, but he wasn't going to do that for another round of food poisoning by stupidity. 

"Thanks Cliff, you're so comforting," Jack muttered. Cliff's arms did feel nice though, and before Jack knew it his eyes had begun to sag closed. "Love you," he said.

The next morning there'd be plenty of time for scolding and then coddling and rubbing Jack's back as he threw up again. But at least until morning, the two of them managed to sleep - one much deaper than the other. 

"You should've woke me up," Cliff said the next morning while serving Jack plain toast in bed, hoping it would ease Jack's stomach cramps.

"I did," Jack said.

"Really?" Cliff asked, a look of genuine confusion on his face. "Sorry. I don't remember."

"It's okay," Jack said. "I'll forgive you if you make me a good Philly cheese steak at home."

Cliff made a face of disbelief. "Jack, you cannot seriously want to eat right now," he said.

"Not now! Later. To erase the taste of the poisonous version from my memory," Jack said.

Cliff shook his head. "Maybe you should try and remember the poisonous one next time you want street food," Cliff said. But then Jack gave him such kicked puppy dog eyes that he added, "Okay, I'll do it, just listen to me next time, please?" 

Jack grinned, gave Cliff innocent doe eyes and said with an incredible amount of confidence, "I always listen to you!"

#shionwrites #cliff sorta came out as a nagging housewife here but oh well #these two are my loves #other people's ocs #oc: cliff #sickfic #sicknario #emeto #overeating #food poisoning #illness whump #tw: vomit #sick whump #cliff and jack

[arkangel9]

Part 2

Varadha and Deva had mostly gotten over their laughter when Varadha's stomach let out a growl. He checked the time.

Ah no wonder. Its been around 7 hours since I ate.

He looks over at Deva and assumes that the youth is just as hungry as him. Deva doesn't seem to be a man of many words. Most of his replies were smiles not that Varadha was complaining.

Dei I'm hungry. I was thinking to grab some lunch but if i go to the cafeteria and the Dean sees me . He'll shove a gun up our asses.

Deva nods solemnly before standing up from the door and dusts his pants.He stretches his legs before slumping down onto his bed and running hands through his air.

Varadha decides to treat the man to a pizza for going along with his charade, as a token of appreciation for the man's dedicated ad libbing to save his ass.

Deva I'm going to order some food. How do you feel about pizza.?

Deva contemplates for a moment before replying.

Anything spicy will do for me.

Varadha barks out a laugh at the answer and moves to sit on Deva's bed so that he can order.He had already chosen his pizza now all that was left was to add Deva's.

I am not really familiar with this. I'lll just eat whatever you buy .

Fine Veg or Non Veg.

Deva looks at him offended that that was even a question

Non veg

(yo look i am a vegetarian and i cringed writing these lines.)

Varadha scrolls through the options before placing the order. He gets off the bed and stretches cracking his back before going to order the things that had gotten displaced due to their charade. Deva retreated to a corner and started setting up some sort of stand.

They both get caught up in their work and both jolt at the sound of Varadha's ringing phone. He picks up and its the delivery boy saying he left the package at the reception. He clicks the phone off after thanking the boy.

I think you should go down stairs. I dont think the Dean would take it kindly if he found me who was supposed to be at death's door springing downstairs to grab pizza.

Deva nods and moves to the door, closing it on his way out. Varadha looks around to figure out a way to eat without dirtying their beds. He eventually drags two chairs and unfolds the foldable table in the corner. Deva walks in carrying 2 pizza boxes and an additional parcel. Varadha pats the chairs and Deva sets the pizza down shooting a quizzical look at the 3rd package.

That's just the uh cake. I like eating cake after ah stressful days. you know what i mean.

Why was Varadha embarrassed . eating cake was normal. Deva simply gave him an oddly fond look before settling in. He surprises Varadha when he asks the question.

So how old are you.

20 but I'm turning 21 in a few months. you?

Deva swallows the pizza in his mouth. Varadha had already ordered the pizza with extra spice but the man still had used 3 packets of chilli flakes in the pizza.

I turned 21 awhile ago.

They finish the rest of their meals in silence. Varadha moves to dispose of the boxes when he returns he finds that Deva has cleaned up the crumbs and put the chairs and tables in their original places. Varadha looks at the time and decides to read abit of the novel he purchased last month. he stretches out on the bed and doesnt notice when he falls asleep again. He sees that its dark out by now due to the lack of flight . He feel around the bed for his glasses and the book to safely remove them to the beside table but his search is futile. He shifts and catches a glimpse of the glasses and the book already on top of the table with something sticking out of the book in the middle. He grabs the book and flips it open and sees that a piece of cardboard had been placed where he had left off.

Warmth fills Varadha's heart. He can see a Deva's sleeping form rising and falling with each breath. He's damn lucky to get such a nice guy for a roommate

***(guys im not a telugu person. I am in fact A MALAYALI if u didnt guess from the chali comedy so if i attempt something like telugu food or google translated telugu pls dont be toomad)

#salaar #prithviraj sukumaran #prabhas #varadeva #varadharaja mannar #devaratha raisaar

[pancake-breakfast]

It's difficult to understate the influence Nanami has had on my life. There have been a lot of stories that have touched me and moved me in my life, but very few have spurred me to meaningful action. I'd argue that the overall story of JJK itself is probably still unlikely to have that effect, but Nanami specifically already has.

When I first started watching the series a couple years, a friend who had already watched the show suggested I'd probably like him best, but I wasn't really expecting much. I don't always connect with (and sometimes actively resist connecting with) characters people expect me to connect with. But when Nanami showed up spitting truths about how both the business world and Jujutsu Society were full of shit, it struck a chord.

I'd been working for too many years in a job that was, in brief, Not Good. Like Nanami during his hiatus from Jujutsu Society, my company was based on making the rich richer with a lack of benefit to much of anyone else... though unlike Nanami, I was working in an industry that claims to benefit everyone, one that should benefit everyone and would theoretically be missed if it were gone, except that those who need it most often can't make use of it to begin with.

Like Nanami, I was often pulling crazy hours to get work done. This was particularly bad from October through January, leading to fights with family about whether I'd be attending holiday gatherings and a great deal of (justified) concern from a few loved ones about my well-being during the season. Unlike Nanami, I wasn't making bank for doing this; I was salaried, but all that meant was they didn't have to pay me more than lowest-end middle-class wages while still forcing me into overtime.

It was a job that was going to put me in the ground sooner rather than later, and for what? No benefit to me or to those one should look after in society. Just lining the pockets of those who already had too much money. It was a job I should have quit years ago, but for some reason or another, some legitimate and some less so, hadn't got around to doing yet.

Then I watched JJK. And read JJK. I saw Nanami and realized there was a character who "got it," and an author behind the character who "got it."

I got a Nanami sticker that I placed on my phone case to remind myself of important things. That work is shit. That the 9-5 grind to make money for those who already have it is worthless and there's far more nobility in the simple jobs that provide us with food and cleanliness even though those jobs pay pennies. That there's no point in draining one's self needlessly for a worthless, crap job.

I started working on a Nanami cosplay. I'd wanted to do cosplay for a long time, but rarely had the money and never made time for it. I still didn't have a lot of money, but Nanami's costume can mostly be purchased cheaply at second-hand stores and I'm clever enough with cheap supplies that I figured I could make his cleaver.

Most importantly, I started looking for a new job in earnest. I told myself there was no way in hell I was going through another round of feeling trapped and hopeless at my job from October through January, especially when my attempts to get help from my boss resulted in a bunch of good words and no actual help.

It worked.

I have no illusions that my new company isn't shit; it is still part of a very broken system and thus is, at best, shit in somewhat different ways. But the pay is better and the work load is more realistic, and again like Nanami, I'm somewhat better suited to it. And while it may not provide me with the opportunity to do things that have the kind of meaning being a Jujutsu Sorcerer might provide, at least for once I have both the time and the energy to do more meaningful things outside of work.

It's still a work in progress. It takes time to unlearn over a decade of bowing one's head to just try to get through and survive. Like many elder Millennials, I have no illusions I'll be able to retire or own property; I'd have needed to be making what I make now ten years ago, at least.

But I have a bit more freedom and peace in my life, and I can use at least some of that to do the things that feed my soul and make life worth living.

So as I wrap up my own personal Nanami Appreciation Week, I want to say thank you, Nanami, for being a symbol for the small ways we can seek our own peace in a world that seems determined to take it from us. It may not all be blue skies and sea breezes, but my life is still markedly improved because of your example. And thank you, Akutami, for writing a character that so many find so relatable, and helping us all feel seen. I saw so very many Nanami cosplayers my first year cosplaying as him, and I know most if not all of them "get it," too. We are not alone.

Even if the rest of the story falls flat for me, Nanami will still shine brightly as an icon of undying hope in a world that often seems all too dark, and for that I will forever be grateful.

#nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #oversharing #pancake thoughts #nanami appreciation week

[synnthamonsugar]

in the spirit of saturnalia, WOE WRITING ERIS/DRIFTER BE UPON THEE

Dastardly ... you understand the assignment. Anyway I had a lot of fun figuring out how to commit my "ideal" Eris/Drifter dynamic to paper. (And maybe getting closer to answering such questions as "how DO you write FWB when the B doesn't come into play presently?") Want me to write/draw something outside my usual body of work? Inquire here.

Drifter attempts to find purchase in Sanctuary's cramped and impossibly cluttered galley, stacking ration crates, jugs of water, empty trays and a partially-disassembled hand-cannon into a precarious heap until he has enough space on the scuffed steel counter. A few feet away, his coat lay draped across one of the chairs surrounding the small metal dining-table.

"Have you forgotten our agreement?" Eris asks, emerging from the hallway, straightening out her veil. Unarmored and unbooted, she's nearly impossible to hear approaching, impressive and unnerving in equal measure. 

"I'm not stickin' around," he defends, rummaging through the mostly-bare cabinets, turning up a dusty packet of noodles, some freeze dried veggies, seasonings and sauces, a bit of oil, a can of meat? . . . it's not clear if they were brought by Eris or some scout who'd holed up here previously, but nothing's broken or bloated, so it's decent enough to work with. Ferreting out some clean pans among the mess, he lights the stove and sets to work. "Just that neither of us ate. I'd feel bad leaving without fixin' that."

"The sentiment is appreciated, but I can feed myself."

"Well … I can't. Not at my place at least. The Derelict's cleared out and I'm not rifling through the Annex this time of night. Don't need Hawthorne asking questions … worse, Ada. She talks." Eris gives him a cross look. "Look, I'll replace your food when the next shipment of supplies comes. With interest."

"Take your time. I favor the ration packs anyway."

"I noticed," he gestures at the empty retort pouches. 

Eris leans against his back and peers over his shoulder, tip-toe, to get a better look at the stovetop. Noodles roil in a pot, while the mysterious meat-product sizzles in the pan, sliced thin enough to crisp. She's not particularly gregarious when it comes to physical contact, not beyond what's necessary, so the small gesture feels outsized. "Smells good."

"Don't take a whole lot," he remarks, stirring in the dried vegetables. They watch in slack fascination as they rehydrate from hard chips of foodstuff to something resembling diced mushroom, cabbage, scallion. "First thing you learn out there — it's all in the preparation, not the ingredients."

"I think the ingredients are important," Eris replies, letting go to fetch a pair of chipped bowls, some tumblers and mismatched cutlery from the shelf. Clears out enough room for two at the table.

"Maybe for hive rituals. This is cooking, Moondust." 

The noodles are better than expected, aided perhaps by their own hunger. As they eat, they talk idly about plans for the next day. Drifter, overseeing gambit matches at the newly-reinstated arena on the outskirts of the Dreaming City. (Eris is more interested in the details of Awoken zoning bureaucracy than he has the patience to explain.) She is cagey about her own, not saying much more than it involves meeting with Ikora and Queen Mara. Knowing he's unlikely to like the answer, he doesn't press further. 

When they at last finish, Drifter slips on his coat and meets Eris' cheek in a brief kiss that she returns. Bidding each other goodnight, they go their separate ways, tired and sated.

#mods are asleep post drifteris #drifteris #drifter/eris #eris morn #destiny #drifter #synnth fic

[husbandomail]

December 15: Christmas market

“John?”

Steinbeck glances away from the store’s window display and back at you, his eyebrows raised and a curious smile on his face. “Yeah? Did you find anything good?”

You shake your head and point. “Just because ability users are more known in Japan doesn’t mean… you can walk around like that in public.”

The blond man’s smile quickly turns sheepish; Steinbeck glances down to where he’s been using his ability out in the open, grapevines sprouting from his body to carry his too-many shopping bags. “Yeah,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “but it was either that or stop shopping, an’ I’m not done yet!” 

It’s tough to stay mad at him when he flashes that smile, so you just roll your eyes and turn away. The two of you have been shopping for an hour or two, and yet you’re not even halfway through everything; the entire street was blocked off for vendors to set up, and you had a ways to go. It was pure luck you’d been on this side of town for the Christmas market in time for the first few snowflakes. The street is lined with cute stalls in all sorts of different colors; some are selling foods you do recognize, some you don’t. Some vendors have hand-crafted goods, wood carvings or knitting or hand-painted artwork— and others are clearly selling things they’d grabbed from one-yen stores and marked up for an attempted profit. Steinbeck was insistent on stopping at nearly every one.

“Honestly,” you huff, “never seen a man as into shopping as you are. I haven’t even bought that much, and you’re carrying half the merchandise here!”

When you’re quick to abandon Steinbeck with his purchases, he dispells his ability and gathers the bags himself; he acts lazy, but he is still a farmer, so it’s not exactly difficult for him to carry things around. “Well, I’ve got people waitin’ for me back home! Gotta spoil my lil sisters,” He grins as his long legs easily bring him back to your side, no matter how quickly you try to get away. From the corner of your vision, you can see him tilt his head at you as you both maneuver through the crowd. “—are you shoppin’ for anyone in particular?”

You shake your head. “I did my shopping ahead of time, mostly,” you hum. Something gently draws your attention away from the conversation— a familiar scent wafting from one of the food vendors, one that seems to snatch you up and drag you that way.

“Mostly? So, there’s still someone on your list?” John lets you lead him in whatever direction. He’s interested in everything that happens in this new country, but he’s a bit more interested in keeping up with you. He tilts his head again and studies you as you order something from the food vendor. “I don’t see you with many other people— who else’re you lookin’ for?”

When you turn around, you’re holding two cups of warm apple cider. You press one against his chest and he has to drop some shopping bags to take the drink from your hands.

“Still gotta get something for you, John.”

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #john steinbeck #scenarios #imagines #christmas list #x reader #I love him so much #but I seem to be the only one #sdfghnjhgfd

[soloorganaas]

“are you frustrated with me?” “never.” with wolfstar <3

hesitant love prompts

(not nsfw but T-rated towards the end)

~

“And look, there’s the cat again,” Sirius said to Harry, fatigue bleeding through his attempts at enthusiasm. He pointed to the black cat currently cleaning its cheeks on the page in front of them.

“Look, Harry,” he tried again. Harry blinked at him, unmoving.

Sirius’s chest clenched with the usual wave of despair that began to hit around three pm, when another day spent futilely trying to coax responsiveness from Harry only made it clear how catastrophically behind he was in developmental milestones.

Sirius was doing something wrong, he knew it, every single day. The most important job he’d ever had and he was failing, failing the person who needed him most. Everyone was watching him, hovering around as he did things wrong again and again and again. Sirius didn’t even know what, just that he could feel the silent judgment from everyone who’d thought him incapable right from the start.

Then there was the very much not silent judgment; the letters that arrived from Dumbledore with short, curt, passive-aggressive threats.

Please ensure your intersaepio charm is sufficient. Alastor mentioned to me your household perimeter still retains identifiable traces of magic.

The Ministry of Magic Law Department will likely review the custody arrangement this December.

As a reminder, the Gringotts account of Lily and James Potter may only be used for approved purchases necessary for Harry’s care and well-being.

Remus would grind his teeth each time one arrived, jaw clenched as he folded the parchment into neat squares and tossed it in the fire. Sirius would scoff, burst it into flames with his wand, and then sit silent and brooding for the rest of the day.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius said again, a little pleadingly, offering Harry a reassuring smile.

Harry’s forehead creased in an anxious frown as if he sensed the desperation in Sirius’s voice and recognised it instinctively to mean something bad was happening – desperation meant scared parents and arguments and tears and clutching Harry late into the night and screams and bright lights and his world shattering in front of him overnight.

Harry grabbed hold of Sirius’s sleeve, pulling himself closer.

“Oh, Prongslet,” Sirius said quietly, his heart breaking in realisation. “No it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

He slipped his hands around Harry and lifted him gently into his lap, holding him tightly against his chest as he ran tender fingers through his messy black hair.

“It’s okay, Harry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sirius pressed his cheek against the top of Harry’s head, willing himself to hold it together for another day.

-

Remus arrived back shortly before six with arms full of shopping bags, pale and jumpy and slightly dazed. Sirius had always done everything he could to avoid Remus being subject to the sensory overload of supermarkets, and especially in the rush hour of early evening. But sometimes the fridge emptied without them realising it, and Harry wouldn’t stop crying if he left Sirius’s arms, and someone needed to get more milk.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” Sirius said quickly when he met Remus at the door, grabbing the shopping from his arms. Remus nodded, handing him the bags silently, and leant back against the front door with a sigh.

Sirius was hurriedly unpacking the cold food when Remus appeared in the kitchen, jacket exchanged for his favourite, indoor-only woollen jumper.

“Tea’s brewing,” Sirius told him, closing the fridge door and walking over to wrap his arms around Remus’s waist.

“Hello,” Remus smiled, taking a deep, grounding breath and inhaling the welcome scent of home.

“Tiramisu?” Sirius teased lightly. “For me?”

“Well, I can’t have you going without your little luxuries, Pads,” Remus replied with an affectionate smirk.

Sirius hummed, his fingers scrunching against Remus’s jumper as his existential doomed ebbed away a little.

“How was your day?” Sirius asked, and Remus let out an exhausted sigh that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus, after many heated discussions between the two of them, had started looking for work. Sirius had insisted there was no need for him to work ever again between Sirius’s money and James – and Harry’s inheritance. Remus had reminded him that Sirius’s money would run out eventually and Dumbledore had wound so many restrictions into Harry’s account they wouldn’t have full access to it until he was eleven.

So they had gone round and round in circles, until Remus realised Sirius was just terrified of letting him out of his sight, and Sirius understood Remus was desperately trying to free them all from anyone else’s control – and they cried, and hugged, and fucked, and struck a compromise. Remus was now searching for part-time work, reasonably close to home, that would allow him to be off sick around a rough full or stay home on Sirius's bad days without raising any questions.

The only problem was that the wizarding world was ever more suspicious of werewolves following their allegiance with Voldemort in the war, and even if Remus wasn’t registered he was perpetually on edge about someone discovering him. The muggle world too had its struggles, facing a deep recession and severe unemployment after three years of Margaret Thatcher.

“It was… well,” Remus said, attempting a small smile. “I have a few leads, at least.”

“What sort of leads?”

“A muggle bookshop, a solicitor’s office that needs someone to do the accounts, and another one of those… household enchantment businesses,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. They had sprung up after the war – people suddenly desperate to protect their homes against any and all future threats, assisted by a variety of legitimate and significantly less legitimate wizards.

“Sounds a bit more up your street than accounting,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“I was planning on some subtle charm work to help make up for my arithmetic deficiencies,” Remus told him with a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “But yes, I think I would be significantly more suited to something in the wizarding world. Although I’ll obviously have to be more careful,” he added gravely.

Sirius pressed his lips together, forcing back the wave of terror rolling up under his chest.

“I know you don’t like it, Pads,” Remus said, slightly irritably.

“Hey, alright,” Sirius replied, feeling the sting of his tone. “You don’t need to start something.”

He let his arms fall away from Remus, only to find his hands caught quickly before he moved away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Remus said sincerely. “I – I’m just on edge.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius told him frostily.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

Sirius pouted slightly, then nodded, conceding. “No, you shouldn’t have. But I forgive you.”

He gave Remus an almost mockingly chastising look, then tipped his head up to brush a tender kiss against his lips.

“We can be careful,” Sirius said quietly. “You can arrange your week to have four days off in a row, and I’ll make the quick fix-it potions as well, just in case.”

Remus gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hands.

“That’s going to be a lot to handle, with having Harry alone for three days.”

Sirius shrugged with casual cockiness. “I’m not worried.”

Remus laughed softly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, ‘course Moony.”

-

Remus hovered in the doorway of their bedroom a few days later, when Harry was away with Andromeda for the weekend, and Sirius was spending a few happy hours customising a new denim jacket he’d picked up in Camden.

“Sirius,” Remus began hesitantly.

“Mm?” Sirius replied, a pin in his mouth as he tried to charm some loose stitches into place.

“Are you – I know it’s been…” Remus trailed off, sighing, and Sirius looked up with a frown.

“Moony?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you frustrated with me? Trying to find a job, making all of this so much more… difficult.”

Sirius unfolded his legs and jumped up off the floor.

“Why do you think that?” he demanded, walking over to Remus. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s – I was just worried… that you were, and you hadn’t said.”

“Why would I not tell you?”

“Well… to avoid another argument, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d do,”

Remus gave him a look, then rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m being ridiculous, I’ll leave it.”

“Moony,” Sirius said fiercely, grabbing his shoulders. “I would never be frustrated with you for this – for trying to take care of us, for doing what you think’s best to keep us safe. Never.”

Sirius saw Remus’s fears crumble behind his eyes at his realisation that he wasn’t doubting Sirius – they had spent far, far too many hard years together at their very worst for Remus to think Sirius would turn away from him over this. No, it was the doubts about himself, a culmination of all the hatred from the war striking endlessly at his self-worth.

“I just don’t want him to take Harry,” Remus admitted, a little choked, as Sirius pulled him into his arms and he sank gratefully against him.

“Me neither,” Sirius said, pressing into his shoulder. “So we won’t let him.”

-

It was supposed to be Sirius taking care of him, but somehow Remus was the one tenderly soaping down his body, running kisses over his skin as rivulets of water dripped down it. Sirius leaned back with almost painful relief into him, head tipping onto his shoulder as Remus’s hands rubbed tenderly against his aching muscles.

Remus kissed slowly up his bare neck, tongue darting out along his tendons and eliciting a small, breathy sigh from Sirius. He moved his mouth wetly under his jaw, grazing his teeth against the bone, tightening more sharply as Sirius moaned. Remus’s hands had stopped moving, just squeezing lightly at the base of his stomach, until Sirius twisted to kiss him clumsily and Remus tugged at his waist to pull them flush together.

“Moony,” Sirius moaned, as their arms grasped tightly at each other, kissing desperately as if they could etch reassurance into each other’s mouths. Remus’s hands tangled in his hair, lips tugging roughly at his, the emotion he kept barely simmering below the surface now raw and uninhibited.

“Please,” Sirius gasped, head tipping back against the cool tiles as Remus sucked harshly at his neck.

Please break me down, let me fall apart here, hold me safely whilst I do.

Remus looked up at Sirius, just for a moment, desperate eyes holding each other in place – before they crashed back together, clinging to each other as they fell.

#im working slowly through these #because clearly they ended up slightly longer than drabbles #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #otp: i'm mental about you #hp #asks #fic prompts

[blackbat05]

Life

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Plot: Life could be a cruel joke. You turn to escapism to meet someone with a unique perspective on your struggles.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Let’s just say I’ve based this on the shit I’ve experienced so far in adulting and it hasn’t been long yet. Really hope everyone is doing alright and I’m so sorry for the lack of content. Tagging @the-slumberparty for the BINGO card game!💜 I think this fic could fulfill two slots? I don’t think this is how it works? Please correct me if I’m wrong?😅

Life.

It could be a bed full of sunflowers and roses, and you feel like you could take on the world.

But it mostly also involved you being punched in the gut without warning.

Let’s just say, you had enough of terrible working conditions and decided that the only power a poor working woman like you was to quit.

You pulled your suitcase behind you, weaving through the departure hall. Passport in hand, you managed to get through the self check-in with the help of an attendant. In record speed, you found yourself having two hours of spare time to kill.

Making yourself comfortable at the lounge, you satisfied yourself by watching the planes dock and prepare for take off at the landing strip. Your phone beeps and you sigh at the rude intrusion.

It was only your parents who meant well, telling you to take care and text them when you arrived. A rush of emotions overwhelms you as you read how proud they are of you for making this decision.

Honestly? You were feeling pretty shitty. You were ecstatic getting that job you studied so hard for, only to be slapped in the face with reality where the lack of guidance and cliquey colleagues increased your self-doubt and incompetence. When you announced that you were ending your short lived career, there was no surprise. Only nonchalance and a whole lot of gossiping behind your back.

You abruptly stand up, hoping to make your way to the washroom before you experienced another breakdown.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You looked down to see a stain the size of a dollar imprinted on your shirt. The man in front of you with an opened juice bottle has what can only be described as a sheer look of terror on his face as he scrambles to hand you napkins from his bag. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

He doesn’t notice you staring at him blankly as he attempts to do damage control. You can’t help but to be reeled in by the way his curls bounce against his forehead rhythmically. Doe eyes furrowed in concentration, the man’s attention turns back to you and catches you looking at him.

“Yeah… I mean, yeah! I’m fine!” You shake yourself awake and into reality. “It’s alright. I wasn’t looking where I was going either. In fact, I could use a drink myself. Please let me get you another drink. I insist.”

The man doesn’t seem convinced, especially when you were about to board a flight with a soiled shirt. But if there was one thing you were good at, it was being stubborn.

An eventful way to pass time even, as you realized that both of you had the same destination on your plane tickets. Credit to the charming stranger, as he does not pry for more information. As the announcement booms through the departure hall, you shake his hand, glad to have made an acquaintance even if it was short lived.

***

The bright lights from the neon signboards mixed with the sounds from the foot traffic was enough to overload your senses. Yet, you felt completely at ease as you walked across the bridge that connected to multiple shopping malls.

Stomach growling, you opted to enter the next shopping mall to make your way to the food court. It was your happy place. Authentic, local cuisine that offered tantalizing flavors.

You weren’t the only one with the idea to come to the food court to escape the humidity. Tourists and locals alike prowl the area in search for seats to devour their purchased food and drinks. Carefully balancing your tray, you crane your neck to keep an eye out for an available seat.

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the voice to find a familiar face beaming at you.

“What a coincidence! You can sit here if you want.”

“Joaquin.” You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Am I glad to see you. Thank you.” You take the seat across him, eager to give your legs a break. “I thought I saw the last of you at the airport.”

“Well, I’m here now. I hope you aren’t rushing off to anywhere because I would like to know more about what brings you to the land of smiles.”

You pause, hesitant in dredging up the horrid memories. Joaquin senses this as he naturally steps in. “I lost a close friend. I can’t tell you much but his death affected me terribly. I needed to get away so here I am.”

He slurps more noodles to fill the silence. You can’t imagine the scars that Joaquin is holding behind his smile.

“I guess you could say I lost someone- well, something too.” You twirl the noodles around your chopsticks. “My sense of worth.”

“All this while, I thought I knew what I was fighting so hard for. I was so happy to be finally be able to make that difference that I always dreamed of as a student. But reality is often disappointing and terrifying.” You slowly savored the noodles as your chest constricts. “Maybe I’m just running away from reality.”

“Looks like the world hasn’t been kind to us both.”

“Touché.” You raise your glass bottle of soda, clinking it with his. “If the world wasn’t going to be kind to me, I figured I should be kind to myself.”

Joaquin nods in approval, taking a sip from his own drink.

As the crowds come and go, you get lost in the conversation with Joaquin, truly enjoying what it means to be in the presence of another human.

***

You had a blast.

It turns out that this wasn’t Joaquin’s first rodeo, as he took you to many places beyond touristy traps. Eating breakfast at a Michelin star coffee shop. Visiting the temple with locals. Meeting adorable canines at a dog cafe. Chilling at the hotel bar to finish the evening.

“I’m definitely coming back here!” You saved another picture of you and a majestic husky at the cafe. “Thanks for the amazing day, Joaquin. I didn’t even know half of these places exist!”

“Glad my reputation as tour guide still stands.” Joaquin takes a swig of beer, watching the vibrant nightlife that had no intention of dying down. You take a sip of your Bloody Mary, still reeling from the adrenaline of the past few days.

Even though you were aware that all good things had to come to an end.

“What’s next? Although being a hippie sounds very appealing but I can’t imagine it isn’t very cost friendly.” Joaquin keeps the conversation light, knowing how touchy the subject could be with you.

Little did he know how much of a positive impact he had on you for the past six days. Sure, it was a trip to shake loose all worries and responsibilities but Joaquin managed to keep you grounded. No one can run away forever, Y/N.

“I’ll try.” You watch the mini whirlpool you created. “But I’m not going to lie, I’m scared. The idea of being disappointed by others when you’ve already gave it your all… I don’t know if I can take it.”

“Then you know how to fall better. Sure, you’ll take a hit but that’s really all we can do. To fail better.”

Joaquin’s wisdom hits you and you wonder again what kind of horrors he had to witness and endure to come out with a rock solid mentality that was unshakable.

“You’re still in the game, you haven’t lost. So keep your chin up.”

“Is this what you tell your fellow soldiers?”

Joaquin chuckles. “No. This is what I tell to the people I care about.”

In the midst of tourists being invested in the soccer match that was shown on the large television and servers expertly serving countless of drinks and meals to hungry customers, time slowed down and the confusing thing called life seemed to make a little more sense in the chaos.

Joaquin checks his phone with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry-”

You waved a hand, dismissing his apology. “Duty calls, I get it. Thanks for everything, Joaquin. I mean it.”

He leaves a bill on the table, shooting down your protests. You can’t help but to feel a pang of sadness at how quickly Joaquin had disappeared from your dreamlike holiday as quickly as he came into your life.

A waitress comes to collect the bill and to your surprise, she slips you a piece of paper. “The gentleman told me to pass this to you once he left.” Her eyes have a knowing twinkle and leaves you to check the content - a number scribbled in blue ink.

Call me, Joaquin.

You toss your head back slightly, amused at the situation. Dialing the number, Joaquin picks up on the second ring.

“So, does this mean I can see you back home?”

“You bet.”

Life.

Maybe it punched you in the gut to fall into a bed of roses.

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #danny ramirez

[arent-i-the-fairest]

Idia with an s/o who used to stalk him (not in a perverted way) before they started dating bc they wanted to befriend him but was too afraid to approach him pls?

#𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲

author’s note : a non-perverse stalker, what an oxymoron lol— but i did my best to write it here! hope you enjoy~!! ( ＾∇＾）

cw : stalking

idia remembers the day you two started dating— which was also the day ortho revealed all the things you did to get to this point. (not knowing you didn’t want him to.) and idia was absolutely speechless— like, how does he react to this information?? does he… does he thank you for all the effort you went through? run for the hills?? thank you then run?

well, over anything, he is baffled. baffled that you went to the lengths you did just to try getting to know him. the biggest reason being because, well, it’s you— like, the coolest person in the school. you’re mx. magicless person that came from another world that also took down several overblots.

—he’d think you, of all people, would be able to just walk up to a loser like him and ask for his number with no problem. but ends up you were afraid of him. him. idia shroud.

(well, having someone intimidated by him… it’s not a first or anything— far from it, in fact— but still! he’s surprised.)

but anyways, it’s oddly amusing for him to hear all the shenanigans you got into before you two started dating. let’s take a look at a few of them, shall we?

one of the things you used to do was constantly look through his magicam— so you were always checking to see if he posted anything new, rereading his old posts, so on and so forth.

grim watched you scrolling from over your shoulder. “and just what are you trying to gather from reading all of his posts?” he asked.

“his likes, dislikes— stuff like that. he posts a lot about them, and is so passionate about them too! for example he loves this one idol group, premo— and this anime, attack on…” grim started tuning your voice out, sleepy.

“you…” he yawned, crawling up up your lap. “sound crazy— MRRAH?!” he hissed as you suddenly stood up, starting to pace back and forth around the room. “damn it..” you muttered.

“henchman?”

“I ACCIDENTALLY LIKED SOME RANDOM POST HE MADE 6 MONTHS AGO—”

you would often try and send your friends to go and ask idia questions, and they were… not the most enthusiastic about the idea of being your errand boy, to say the least. but hey, you gave them good rewards, so they all caved in at the end.

“so, you want me to run to ignihyde just to ask idia what his favorite food is?” ace asked, squinting his eyes.

you nodded. “correct.” “pfft— no way, you can do it by yourself, you’re a big kid!” he scoffed, walking away. “ace, come back! you know i can’t, i don’t even know how to approach him! do this for me and you get to copy off my homework for every day the next week!”

ace stopped in his tracks and turned right around. “ohoho— sold!” he laughed as he started running towards the dorm.

there were some times where you wanted to drop this whole scheme— several, in fact. because, well, this is weird. so you’d try and talk to him face to face, like normal people would— you had a pretty good chance of having a good, smooth conversation too, since you had the advantage of knowing what he likes and doesn’t like! —but still, every attempt failed since you ended up getting cold feet.

thanks to reading through idia’s posts, you felt prepared to talk to him. extra prepared, actually, since you brought something that he’s had his eye on— a manga, which he posted about wanting yesterday. that you went out of your way to find and purchase.

manga in hand, you approached idia’s room, but stopped halfway. did you really have the confidence for this?

on the other side of the door— idia looked at his younger brother, who suddenly seemed alert. “idia, i’m detecting someone else is super near— they’re right outside your door!” “WHAT”

hearing all the commotion, you were tipped over the edge and ended up running away. womp womp~

this whole thing was kind of a wild journey for you, one you don’t quite know if you enjoyed or not— but hey, you got your man now.

#lol psa : this is just fiction don’t stalk ur crushes (or. like. anyone else. ever)— that’s a very not-great thing to do #ok there i have shared my wisdom for the day #back to being dumb #gn reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #idia x reader

[giantologist]

Hello, Professor! Have you ever been in a giant's mouth?

Good morning!

Ah, yes, I've been waiting for this question. The innate fear of consumption by larger beings that dwells within us all is often the first thing that surfaces when first meeting a giant, i.e. the stereotypical pleading not to be eaten, despite it not being mentioned beforehand. Your question, therefore, is one I've anticipated for a while!

My first encounter with a giant's mouth was when I was visiting a village tucked away in the mountains, as they had a village giant. His name was Ochre, a gentleman of 85ft tall. I introduced myself and my profession to the elderman of the village, only for him to immediately lead me to their giant, who I was told had a very bad toothache. As it seemed I had been mistaken for a physician of giants, I resolved to utilise the opportunity.

Apparently none of the villagers trusted that they wouldn't come to harm, as most of them looked upon me with awe as I tethered a rope to my middle and was taken up into Ochre's hand with hopefully well-disguised anticipation. He assured my safety, to which I thanked him, though my reply may have trailed off as his jaws opened wide.

The problem was visible to me almost immediately, a large chunk of wood slotted between two molars and embedded in his gums, just out of reach of his tongue. There I paused in thought. A few moments more pain for my 'patient' while I studied his mouth seemed slightly unethical, but it was a spur of the moment decision.

[image taken from my journal]

I remember being unable to stop staring, my blood cold, my heart fluttering, my hair on end. It had been everything I had imagined, like peering into a cathedral dedicated to some lord of the aether realm. My emotions soon made way for scientific observation, my eyes immediately drawn to his teeth. The central incisors were between pre-canines rather than lateral incisors, indicating less of a need for shearing food, which I attributed to the fact that most food simply fit into his mouth without the need to be bitten. Most likely due to enormous bite strength, the molars were wide and flat, the surface seeming more like a rocky path than a deep mountainous cleft. Though the diets of giants now are known, seeing a complete set of teeth that I didn't have to dig for gave me many theories as to the food of ancient colossi. I did make a point, however, to advise him to get some better flossing habits.

Ochre's tongue, broad and flat, filled his lower jaw, and I attempted not to view it as a red carpet as my shoes sank into its give, saliva pooling around my ankles as I ducked into the scorching miasma of stale breath. I hoped that in my awed stupor I hadn't dawdled, but I was informed later that most assumed it to be hesitation.

I had a task, however, and the wood came away with only a few attempts to gain purchase on it. In his pain and relief, a loud groan rumbled around me, thundering my ribcage as the budded flesh beneath me lurched, and the halo of light filtering through his enamel was briefly cut off. It was in that fleeting moment of inky blackness that I felt a liminal stillness. The precipice before the fall. The foot poised to kick the hanging stool. A single movement is all it would take to seal my fate, and I clutched the wooden spike with a rushing sensation of pure thrill.

After clenching his teeth for a moment, light seared my eyes as Ochre opened his mouth, revealing the aghast faces of the villagers, and the comforting stretch of his waiting palm. I appreciated him not simply swilling and spitting me, as it left me with a moment more to appreciate my fleeting venture. I cast a last look at the archway of his throat, guarded by that fleshy hanging sentinel that swayed with his breath. I couldn't help imagining holding desperately to it as I dangled over infinity, the last hope one would have before endless nothingness. I then gazed at my exit, still amazed that the ruby red room in which I resided was nothing more than this gentleman's mouth. How I wanted to linger, to settle back against the pillowy flesh and write all I could see. Too soon the needs of convention gripped me, and I stepped into the relative cold of the summer air, my skin damp with condensation, my shoes squelching, my eyes wide and full of wonderment.

Ochre thanked me for my help, and the villagers were relieved that some poor visiting soul was able to do their terrifying work for them.

In payment, I only asked for an evening's interview with Ochre, who was more than happy to give me an abridged version of his life, from mountain whelp to protector of his village.

I left with a spring in my step, still riding the high of my first venture into a giant’s maw. Thankfully it was by no means the last!

Cordially,

Professor J. Finch

#No vore (just mouthplay kind of) #giant/tiny #g/t #giant tiny

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for November 21, 2023 Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 28:19-20 (KJV): 19 He that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread: but he that followeth after vain persons shall have poverty enough. 20 A faithful man shall abound with blessings: but he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent. Proverbs 28:19-20 (AMP): 19 He who cultivates his land will have plenty of bread, but he who follows worthless people and pursuits will have poverty enough. 20 A faithful man shall abound with blessings, but he who makes haste to be rich (at any cost) shall not go unpunished.

Thought for the Day

Honest work will always be rewarded, while those who scheme to get wealth will not go unpunished. Gambling is one of the oldest addictions in the world. Like alcoholism and drug addiction, compulsive gambling drains national and personal economies. Families are the ones who suffer the most. Many people feel gambling is an enjoyable pastime, and even some Christians support lotteries, horse racing, and casinos. Video poker has become so popular it is referred to as "the crack cocaine" of gambling. However, Scripture is clear that it is a snare that can lead to poverty. It is the ultimate get-rich-quick scheme, and Christians should pay attention to the Biblical instruction regarding it.

Anyone attempting to gain money at someone else's certain loss is not practicing Christian principles. A casino preys on the weakness of people. Gambling is contrary to the principles of working, saving, and giving. Gamblers ignore discipline and accountability for their spending. To many, gambling is a scheme to escape work. Some do not realize the gravity of their sin, justifying it because their present income does not meet their needs. God desires these persons to look to Him to meet their needs. He will give a plan for becoming debt-free if they seek Him and search out His economic principles in the Bible. The Lord can bring deliverance to those caught in the web of compulsive gambling. He will break the bondage of all who call upon Him.

Doing an honest day's work is the way to earn a living. Faithfulness to a job brings its reward. God's blessing upon honest labor goes beyond any paycheck. No man can buy peace of mind, health, protection, or joy in the Holy Spirit.

"But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and we can certainly carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. But thou, O man of God, flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness" (1 Timothy 6:6-11).

Prayer Devotional for the Day Dear heavenly Father, thank you for Your many blessings and help me to be content with Your daily provision in my life. Deliver me from all worry and anxiety. Lord, help those who have fallen into the snare of gambling. Deliver them and set them free so that they will be able to trust You for their needs. May we all be content with Your daily provisions. Thank You for Your wonderful gifts of love, joy, and peace, which cannot be purchased with any amount of money. I am most grateful. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller@ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Tuesday, November 21, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

[loverockawaitsyou]

Vulnerable post... Dealing with a narcissistic ex unwilling to let go...

I am going through a really ugly breakup. I thought things would be OK but it turns out that the guy I was with was a big-time narcissist. I decided to leave him because our relationship wasn't going anywhere and he is an alcoholic, among other red flags. He was a wreck in the final days before I left. He cried on numerous occasions, especially at the airport.

Before I moved to Seattle, we were getting along just fine, and since I flew, he offered to help me ship off the big belongings I didn't take. Stupidly, I left my music memorabilia in his care, which included thousands of dollars worth of merchandise (mainly Pearl Jam items) including vinyls, books, posters, and expensive art prints purchased directly from photographers.

To put a long story short, my ex felt I "abandoned" him and started to retaliate, especially when I started to inquire about a website he was supposed to make for my writing business- which hadn't been finished after weeks of asking him to do so (and that I was paying for). He then ghosted me for over a week, refusing to answer about the website or my belongings. And during that week, he went to an expensive rave festival with a pass I paid for (as a birthday gift). I also learned he started to sleep with a coworker of mine less than a month after I left.

After realizing how devastated I was, and in an attempt to save face, he finally sent the bulk of my belongings and sent me some food. He also tried to sweet talk me, saying, "I can prove there's still good in me." However, he "forgot" one more item. I am still not sure whether it was on accident or on purpose.

The final item is my signed Painted Shield poster, which is in a protective metal tube. For my first vacation literally in years, I went to Seattle for the first time. While there, I went to Painted Shield's first-ever group of live shows. It was a special occasion, especially since you all know I'm a fan of Stone Gossard and some of his side projects, and I was near the front and got to see the whole band up close. The poster is signed by all of Painted Shield. I paid $100-$150 for it, but it's not just a money thing, obviously. It is a memento from an experience that is dear to me.

Unfortunately, my ex knows everything there is to know about me, especially my love of all things Pearl Jam-related. I affectionately referred to my collection as my "Rock Babies."

During our conversations, I told my ex I don't really want anything to do with him anymore, and that I wanted my things so that "all of this could be over." Constantly, he would say, "Don't talk like that!" And he keeps saying, I'll talk to you tomorrow... later... whenever... It's as if he is using the poster as a means to have an excuse to continue to get my attention- even if it is negative. He sent my other things on 8/22 and "found" the poster on 8/23. He said he would send it out on Monday 8/28. He hasn't sent it yet and is vague on when he will. I left my old place on 7/12.

So... my ex knows that he is intentionally withholding one of my "babies" from me. I am not well-off financially by any means, and saved a bit to go to Seattle and see Painted Shield.

These past few weeks have been difficult, and I'm towards the end of my rope. I'm at the point where I may sadly just let my poster go if it means not having to deal with my ex and his mind games anymore. Perhaps I can get one of my ex-coworkers to confiscate it, but I'm... tired. I'm just tired. I want to move on.

He is using it as leverage, control. He knows the significance of it.

I'm in Seattle now, so maybe I'll get a chance to get something else eventually that can replace it.

#personal

[quillsink]

really what kills me is that at the heart of it all, all chandler wants is to be loved. he spends so much of his life just longing for it, longing for any crumb of affection, any hint of romance, any possibility of it at all. he grew up with divorced parents, without a father, and with a mother who didn’t care, in an all boys’ high school it’s safe to presume was full of toxic masculinity and rudeness and a lack of any physical affection that wasn’t “no-homo” enough. it’s always played for comedy always written as a joke but it breaks my heart to watch him long for love so much. he’s so desperate for it. he keeps coming back to janice even though he hates her just because he knows he’ll be loved. 

and it’s because of his parents’ divorce that he’s built up this coping mechanism of humour, using it in the worst possible situations, always annoying people or putting them off or finding him strange or awkward. and it seems likely that this humour started putting off people, his sarcasm and attempts to lighten the situation hurting people, distancing him so much that he became even more desperate to be loved, in turn finding himself out of place and feeling awkward as he reached out, only to be surrounded by emptiness. and slowly, it grows, this never ending cycle, of being unloved, of awkwardness and desperation and pain hidden beneath humour that causes weird looks, and he thinks he’s going to be unloved forever. 

and his parents’ divorce didn’t only cause that. his dad turned out to be gay and left chandlers mom for a guy, and since the divorce ruined his chance at familial stability, and took away any affection he might’ve had from his parents (see: his mom sending him to boarding school a soon after + his dad and him barely talking bc of chandler’s hurt), and led to his feeling unloved, it led to so so much internalised homophobia. and i don’t imagine going to an all boys’ boarding school in the 70s/80s or having ross for a best friend for years would’ve helped much. 

it can be seen so clearly—when he’s teaching joey how to smoke a cigarette and joey makes his wrist limp and chandler goes “woah, hey, not that much.” his constant remarks about his dad. his reaction when someone thinks he and joey are a couple. and his fear and anxiety and desperation when people think he’s gay—not so much that he wants to correct them as though he’s afraid of them seeing who he really is.

and maybe it’s because his parents’ marriage, the main romantic relationship he was exposed to as a child, going to hell led to so much instability and hurt in his life and impacted him so much, or maybe it’s because of the general amatonormative heteronormative environment he grew up in and lived in, or a mix of the two, that led to him thinking heterosexual romance is the only way he can be loved. he’ll find some woman who’ll love him. he’ll find a girlfriend and they’ll love each other. but it never seems to work out, does it? because he drives people away with his coping mechanism that turned into insults and more hurt, because he isn’t in love, he just wants to be loved, because he’s just so desperate.

and it’s because of these things, because of this internalised homophobia and heteronormativity and amatonormativity that he can’t see just how much he is loved. 

he can’t see the way joey looks at him, can’t see how joey grins like hell when they’re mistaken for a couple, can’t see that there might be a reason other than “to shut him up” that joey kissed him, can’t see that friendship might not be the only reason joey moved back in, can’t see that the foosball table’s purchase symbolised something bigger than the both of them.

he can’t see how monica and rachel and phoebe are there for him through everything, can’t see how they sit by him and comfort him, hold him and reassure him because they love him. can’t see they sit with him and listen to him and comfort him because they love him. 

he can’t see the love behind it all, behind the food monica cooks for him, behind joey’s bracelet, behind rachel’s comfort and hugs, behind phoebe’s willingness to break up together and they all just love him so much and he can’t see it at all. can’t see hit behind the casual touches and hugs and kisses.

he is so, so loved, and he just doesn’t realise it. he spends so much time longing for love and it’s right in front of him the entire time.

he’s gonna be alright. he’s got his magic beans.

#YES i know he’s a fictional character. but he is real. to Me <3 #my god. there is something wrong with me #anyways #doubt anyones gonna read this but yea lol #im forever insane abt him. he means the world to me!!!!! #aryan talks #chandler bing #friends