#as well as just being a thing that makes the game fun

[mcu-binge]

Unspoken || Clark Kent x Reader ||

Pairing : Clark Kent x Reader Word count : ~2835

Summary : secret situationship clark kent x reader. you flirt back with someone new, clark short-circuits. cue petty office games

Tags/warnings : jealous!Clark, fluff, light smut (?)

A/N : Hellloooo I rewatched Twisters last night and I may or may not have written something inspired by David’s character Scott. Let me know if you would like to read it! Requests are still open feel free to send me one Clark Kent related or not!

=====================================

Daily Planet, 11:44 a.m.

You feel her before you hear her.

The intern. Madison. Or Madeline. Something with lip gloss and a fake laugh.

She floats past your desk again, third time this morning, armed with a stack of files she definitely doesn’t need help carrying.

You keep your eyes on your monitor. You’ve gotten good at pretending. Good at pretending a lot of things.

But you don’t miss the way her heels click to a stop at Clark’s desk.

“Oh my gosh, you’re seriously working through lunch again?” she coos, like it’s an original observation.

You can practically hear Clark smile. “I like to get ahead on edits. Makes Perry slightly less terrifying.”

She laughs way too loudly.

You tap your pen against your notepad. One, two, three. Breathe.

“You know,” she says, “I read that piece you did on the fires last month? The way you described the scene… it was like I was there.”

“Thanks,” Clark replies, gracious as ever. “It was a tough one to write.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You’re so good with words.”

You look up then. Clark is smiling. Polite. Friendly. Maybe not flirting, but… not shutting it down either.

Your stomach knots not necessarily from insecurity, but from the quiet ache of knowing you don’t get to say anything. Not here. Not where people would ask questions.

Not where you’d have to admit that you snuck into his apartment last weekend and fell asleep wearing his flannel shirt. So you turn back to your screen. Focus. Breathe.

Until you hear her say “I don’t know how anyone expects me to get anything done with you sitting over there being all—” She lowers her voice. “Clark-y.”

You blink. Clark-y? What the hell does that even mean?

And that’s when you hear him laugh. Really laugh.

That’s it. That’s the crack. A fine, hairline fracture in whatever unspoken arrangement the two of you have been delicately well stupidly balancing.

You stand, a little too fast.

“I’m going to grab coffee,” you say, mostly to the air.

Clark looks up. “Want me to come with?”

“Nope.” You’re already walking away.

Behind you, the intern giggles again.

You’re back from the coffee run, to-go cup in hand and pride barely intact, when a voice stops you cold.

“Sorry—hold it right there. Light’s hitting you just right.”

You blink, turning toward the source.

He’s standing by the east-facing window, DSLR slung across his chest, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. Tousled hair, scruff like it’s grown in defiance, and the posture of someone who doesn’t know how not to be confident.

“I’m the new photographer,” he says, as if reading your mind. “Caleb.” He adds extending a polite hand to you

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously before shaking it. “And you just take candids of coworkers without asking?”

“Only when they look that good holding caffeine.”

It should make you roll your eyes. It should. But something inside you, the same something that had to endure Miss Clark-y 20 minutes ago nudges you to tilt your head, just a little and let him snap some photos.

You smirk just a little. It’s harmless. It’s fun. And most importantly, you know exactly who’s watching from the corner of the bullpen, hand halfway to his glasses like he’s pretending to clean them.

Clark.

He’s facing his screen, but his ears are pink. You know that pink.

“Anyway,” Caleb says, stepping back, “if I’m ever assigned to your stories, we should, uh, coordinate. Lunch maybe. Talk shop.”

You nod. “I’ll think about it.”

And just like that, he walks away. No lingering, no pushiness. Just a lingering impression and a very obvious audience.

You don’t even have to look to feel Clark’s gaze. Not just watching. Tracking.

You take one slow sip from your coffee and return to your desk like nothing happened. The rest of the work day drags on with you avoiding Clark's glances and heading straight home after.

--

Your phone buzzes just as you’re about to put it on Do Not Disturb.

Clark Kent

You hesitate. One beat. Two. Three. Then answer.

“Didn’t peg you as a night owl Mr. Kent,” you say, voice soft in the dark.

Clark chuckles. You can hear the faint rustle of his sheets. He’s in bed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says. “Thought I’d call my favorite insomniac.”

“Oh? And here I thought I was just your coworker.”

“You know better than that.”

There’s a pause a thick and warm and familiar one.

You let it hang a moment longer. “Hmmm… what’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” he says casually. “Just wondering how your day went. You were… smiley.”

You blink at the ceiling. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

“You are. It’s just…” He trails off. “New guy got you grinning like that on day one?”

You smirk, biting your bottom lip. “You mean Caleb?”

“Is that his name? I didn’t know; he didn’t come by and take my picture.”

You laugh. “You’re not even pretending to be subtle.”

“I’m just curious,” he says, too quickly. “Didn’t realize you liked… confident guys with man buns and vintage cameras.”

“He doesn’t wear a man bun, Clark. Is that jealousy I hear?”

“Nope.” He’s quiet for a second too long. “Just trying to figure out what your type is.”

You let that hang in the air.

“I don’t think I have a type,” you murmur. “But I do like when a guy makes an effort.”

He exhales. “I make an effort.”

“Do you?”

“Hey, I brought you soup when you were sick.”

“And I never said thank you properly.” Your voice softens, slow and warm. “You’re sweet, Clark.”

Another silence. Then “I don’t want to just be sweet.”

That does something to you.

You shift under your blankets, suddenly too aware of the sound of his voice through the line.

“So you’re calling me for a bedtime confession?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe I just… didn’t like seeing someone else flirt with you.”

“Why?”

“Because…” His voice dips lower. “I prefer being the reason you blush.”

You’re quiet.

Clark clears his throat like he said too much. “Anyway. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

Another pause.

“You make me act weird, you know that?” he says.

You smile into your pillow. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Clark laughs, soft and wrecked. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

“Sweet dreams.” He adds.

“Dream sweet and of me,” You add with a smile before hanging up.

—

You don’t expect anything when you walk in.

No follow-up to the flirt-heavy, “I don’t want to just be sweet” phone call. Just normal Clark behavior: polished, polite, maybe a little sheepish for opening up the way he did.

You definitely don’t expect your exact coffee order, oat milk, half pump vanilla, cinnamon on top sitting on your desk like it manifested from a dream.

You stop. Stare.

There’s a sticky note stuck to the lid:

Figured I owed you caffeine after that late call. – C

Your stomach flutters.

You barely have time to recover before Kat waltzes past, side-eyeing your cup.

“Oof. Is that from who I think it’s from?”

You shrug, playing dumb. “No idea.”

“Sure,” she snorts.

9:05 a.m.

You’ve just settled back at your desk when Clark appears. Not his usual notebook-in-hand work mode. He strolls in like he owns the place. His sleeves rolled to the elbows. Glasses on dangerously close to heartthrob-who-reads-poetry territory.

And he’s beaming. Like nothing in the world is wrong.

He leans against your desk, tilts his head. “Morning.”

You glance up. “Little late, aren’t you?”

He taps your empty coffee cup. “Thought I’d give you time to enjoy that first.”

You deadpan. “That’s suspiciously thoughtful.”

He lowers his voice. “Just making sure I stay your favorite.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks betray you.

“Anyway,” he adds, dropping a paper bag in front of you, “they were out of your favorite muffin, so I brought you the second favorite. Blueberry and don’t pretend it’s not.”

That makes you smile. “You remembered that?”

“I remember a lot of things,” he says, voice dipping.

Before you can form a snappy comeback, he’s already walked off.

Kat peers around the divider again, mouthing: WHAT IS HAPPENING

You don’t answer. Mostly because you don’t know anymore.

1:12 p.m.

Caleb returns from an assignment and spots you in the copy room.

“Hey, smiley,” he says, stopping just short of the door. “You free for lunch?”

You open your mouth to respond friendly, casual, not flirty when a shadow moves behind you.

Clark appears out of nowhere, holding a takeout bag in one hand and a smug smile in the other.

“Ooof she’s booked. I grabbed lunch for us,” he says, breezy and bold. “Hope you’re still on your wings kick.”

You turn, confused. “You… ordered lunch?”

Clark nods. “Figured I’d beat the rush.”

He sets the bag down and for the first time in office history brushes his hand against the small of your back. Not obviously. Not possessively. Just enough.

“Sorry,” he says to Caleb. “Didn’t mean to step on your plans.”

Caleb blinks. “Oh. No worries. You guys enjoy.”

Clark just smiles and hands you a box of fries like a man very pleased with himself.

At 3:27 p.m. Flowers arrive.

It’s a small bouquet of wildflowers and peonies soft and subtle. There’s no note. Just a tiny card in the bottom of the vase with your initials. But the handwriting? You’d know it anywhere.

Kat is losing her mind.

“Girl. What is going on. Is this your boyfriend or a PR stunt?”

You laugh, half-exasperated, half-flushed. “It’s complicated.”

Clark walks past your desk with a mug of tea, glances at the flowers.

Then, audible enough to be overheard, he mutters, “Wonder who the lucky guy is.”

Kat actually squeals.

End of the day. The office is mostly empty. You go into the copy room to grab some print outs when Clark appears in the doorway. It’s quiet maybe a little too quiet. Like the building is holding its breath.

“I need to talk to you,” he says, low, almost careful.

You don’t look up. “Now’s not great.”

“Tough.” His voice drops. “I’ve been patient. That’s done.”

You freeze.

He walks in, not fast, but with purpose. Like every step is a choice. He doesn’t stop until he’s close.

“You smiled at him like he made your whole damn day.”

You scoff. “You mean the same way I’ve smiled at you for weeks?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“I’m the one who knows how you take your coffee. I’m the one you call when you can’t sleep. I’m the one you wear flannel shirts from like we’re already—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling.

You turn slowly, heart pounding, voice quieter. “Like we’re already what Clark?”

He stares at you. And it hurts. Because his eyes aren’t soft right now they’re hungry. Sharp. Bruised.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I do know I wanted to tear that camera out of his hands.”

You take a shaky breath. “You didn’t say anything.”

He exhales through his nose. “Because if I said anything, I was gonna say everything.”

You blink. “Then say it.”

He moves. One step. Then another. Until you’re backed up against the copy machine, the hum of it echoing your pulse.

“I want you,” he murmurs. “Not just late at night. Not just when no one’s looking.”

His hand grazes your wrist barely, but it sets your whole body on fire.

“I want to touch you whenever I want,” he says. “I want to sit in meetings and watch you try not to look at me. I want to take you to lunch and not pretend it’s platonic.”

You exhale shakily. “Then why haven’t you?”

His jaw ticks. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, then back up like it physically hurts him to look at you.

“Because…” he starts, voice low, tight, “I won’t be pretending. And if people know—if they connect us—then you’re not just some coworker anymore. You’re a target.”

You blink, a little thrown. “What?”

He swallows hard. “I interview Superman. People already watch me too closely. There’ve been threats before anonymous calls, notes, people trying to leverage my contacts. And if anyone figures out what you are to me—” His voice catches. “I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt because of me.”

The air between you thickens. Not with fear, but with feeling. Sharp and aching and all-consuming.

“Clark,” you whisper, stepping into him, hand curling around his forearm. “I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“But I don’t.” You shake your head. “I care about you. I’ve been waiting for you to say something—anything—but all I’ve ever wanted was for you to want me out loud.”

He looks down at your lips then your eyes and suddenly he starts leaning into your like gravity, hands finding your waist, your hips, hauling you into him like he needs to feel every word he can’t say. It’s clumsy, frantic, desperate.

You stumble backwards hitting the copy machine. He palms blindly resting his hands on it, never breaking the kiss, never loosening his grip.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathes against your mouth.

“Ditto” you gasp, already tugging at his tie, his shirt, anything to get closer.

He lifts you with a groan, setting you down on the copy machine like you belong there, like he’s dreamed of this a thousand times. His kisses trail down your neck, hot and open-mouthed, like he’s memorizing you with lips and tongue.

“This is reckless,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You curl your fingers into his hair. “You started it.”

He huffs a shaky laugh, then bites back a moan when you tug him in tighter. “I want you.”

“Then take me.”

His lips press against yours tongue begging to be let in, and there’s no more talking. Just moaning. Gasping. Your skirt is hiked up bunched at your thighs. You hastily unbutton his pants desperate to feel him. Desperate friction. You stroke his cock hungrily. His hand comes down moving your panties to the side. His name gasped against his shoulder as he moves inside you, forehead pressed to yours like prayer, like apology, like finally.

There’s nothing gentle about it just months of buried tension erupting into something real and raw and undeniable. His hands move your hips holding you tightly as he relentlessly thrusts into you. You lean back against the copy machine unable to keep yourself up anymore. He takes the chance and lets his hands explore every part of you.

And when it’s over when you’re clinging to him, lips swollen, heartbeat skittering against his chest. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“No more pretending” he whispers against your forehead

You smile, “No more.” You whisper back breathlessly

—

The next morning the morning air is crisp. City traffic hums in the background. You round the corner, distractedly tugging your scarf tighter, and nearly walk past him.

Clark. Leaning casually against the brick column like he’s in a cologne ad. Two coffees in hand. Hair a little windswept. Tie crooked in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

You stop short. He lifts your coffee and gives you that smile. The private one. The I didn’t sleep much thinking about you one.

“Good Morning,” he says, voice soft. “Brought reinforcements.”

You take the cup and stare at him for a beat. “You waited for me?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want to walk in alone.”

You glance at the Planet’s doors, then back at him. “You okay?”

“I’m great.” He bumps your shoulder. “Last night was… clarifying.”

You laugh under your breath, cheeks warm. “You mean wildly overdue?”

He grins. “That too.”

You sip your coffee, then glance sideways at him. “You sure about this?”

Clark’s eyes drop to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He opens the door for you, lets you step inside first, hand gently pressed to your lower back like it’s second nature. It sends a chill up your spine, but not in a bad way.

You walk toward your desk side by side, your steps synced, conversation light. And then, right there, in full view of Kat, Perry, Jimmy, and every nosy intern with a crush, Clark does something unthinkable. He leans in.

Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just casual, confident, and real. He presses a soft, slow kiss to your lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he murmurs, like it’s been your routine for years.

Then he walks off. Calm. Collected. Definitely smirking.

You’re frozen.

The bullpen? Silent.

Kat’s jaw is on the floor. The intern drops her pen. Perry mutters something about “finally.”

You sit down slowly, heart hammering in your chest, still holding your coffee like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

Kat leans in, eyes wide. “What the actual hell just happened.”

You take a breath. Smile.

“Clark Kent just hard-launched me to the entire newsroom.”

[toastling]

I've been in the freight crew for my store for 4 years now and I'm now the longest tenured person in that crew. I've been there longer than our current manager - I've seen at least 5 come and go in these 4 years and well over 50 crew members.

For most managers, this is a stepping stone position. Somewhere you cut your teeth for 6 months to a year before being promoted to a "real" management position that "matters". The hours are tough, because as the manager you're working through the night and sleeping through the day, so on some level I get that.

But we are essential. We are the circulatory system of the store, the blood supply, the beating heart. We unload the trucks, we move the freight, take it to where it needs to go and pack it out so customers and coworkers alike always have product and know exactly where it is at all times. We pack down the overhead, we straighten up the shelves, we track theft.

The only people who have been here longer than me work the overnight midnight to 6am shift. This means I am That Guy in my department, the lifer. I have no interest in being promoted. I'd like more pay, sure, absolutely. But I'm happy where I am. I like my repetitive tasks and think they're fun, actually. My favorite tasks are the ones everyone else hates the most, the solitary, slow, methodical ones. The big overhead pack downs and organizational tasks.

But because I've been here so long, I know where things go and how things work, inside and out. I'm the guy all the new team members come to with questions. Before our manager, before anyone else in the crew, they come to me, because I know how things work and how to keep things running Smooth. I'm always working at a brisk pace, no matter the conditions, no matter *my* condition. Hell, when my current manager took over the department, he came to me to learn the basics and our usual process, what the crew was like at the time, the little details the training videos won't cover.

The way I work is frustrating to some. They come here and expect an easy job, just put the boxes wherever. If it fits then who cares how you fit it. Stack until it falls. But there's a reason I work how I do. It's not just putting Box A in Cart A. As cleanly as everything is labeled, you never know what's coming down the belt next. You know how much freight total is in a truck, but you don't know how hard any aisle or department is going to be hit.

That makes this a job of anticipation more than anything else. Stacking carts during the unload is like a game of Tetris and building with Legos all at once. You need to keep track of the size of the box, the integrity of it and whether or not you can stack on top of it or must put it at the top of each stack, you need account for the potential of a dozen more on top of dozens of other products that also need to go on that cart. You need to keep track of the overall weight of the cart so it's not dangerous or a struggle to lug around.

And that's just the carts - the pallets are a whole other matter. In the carts you at least have sides, pallets are open wooden squares where the stability of your stacks is 100% on you and how you stack it. You have to keep in mind everything from above but also account for the fact that every turn, every stop and start, will cause the stack to shift from top down and topple over, potentially harming the one moving it, a coworker, or worse, a customer, if you're moving it out during store hours.

And these are just basic considerations for the unload - that is at best half your shift. You also have to keep pace, and a ton of post-closing tasks when putting freight away. You have to know what to do to manage SKU changes and stocking errors. You need at least 3 different machine licenses to do everything that might need doing unless you're okay hoping someone with the right license is scheduled that night. There is so much to do, all physically taxing and all very methodical and repetitive.

Our store is across from a college campus, so most of the people we get back here are college kids who are here for a brief time and then gone with graduation. The rest are middle-aged and no longer able to keep the lights on without a side job. It's not a place anyone sticks around in for long. Nobody takes it seriously because nobody thinks they have to, because taking it seriously means it's actually hard work until you learn the ins-and-outs. They think it's just picking things up and putting them down.

But we're the ones who set the tone for every other department. If we fuck up, it's a domino effect for an entire department, or worse, the entire store as a whole.

Unless you're actively in the way, I don't much mind how seriously you take things - and there have been a few instances of people who have been. But I'm always there, picking up after minor mistakes without drawing attention, straightening up in the down moments, keeping tabs on my coworkers and their needs, their health.

Without needing to go out of my way and be more social than I am, I ended up the glue and everybody's go-to guy and the 'older brother' of the team of sorts just by knowing my shit. Because I'm not looking for a challenge. I'm not looking for a promotion. I don't need any greener pastures. I like boring repetitive tasks and I like where I am.

I get a lot of leeway and trust most other people don't. I'm allowed to be almost entirely autonomous, though I always check in with the lead just so he knows what is or isn't getting done. Without people like me, like that applicant, like the Lifetime Dishwasher, large operations like these wouldn't be possible.

My job cannot be replaced by AI. It will always be needed until human level intelligent robots are a thing. I don't ask for much. Just a little peace and quiet, some good pay to match my contributions, and a little respect. I don't even need recognition. I'm not in a "seen" department and I don't want to be. But I'd like to be respected for what I do, and for others to respect the job we have. We're more important than anybody wants to give us credit for - even ourselves, sometimes.

[eulogiez]

ೃ༄ WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW? — clark kent

neighbor!clark kent x fem!reader, 2.4k

synopsis: neighbor, friend, && fighter-of-foe (aka nonexistent predators at your door) clark has always been just that; your unofficial protector and the only warm presence that you were aware you lived by, more neighborly than the ill-mannered antagonists that lurked down your building complex hall, anyways. but suddenly you can't ignore the whispers of something more developing the fateful night he shows up at your door with a warm, very aromatic treat.

tags: pure fluff, another slowburn omg, tooth-achingly domestic, quiet yearning again, friends to lovers! you and clark are awkward in love, you both watch the hell out of each other like creeps (but it's all cute and in good fun, i promise!), clark is overprotective about you but plays it off well, he is so bf it hurts, you've got banter going on, you're somewhat in denial but also really self-aware about your feelings!

˚୨୧⋆｡ navi masterlist latest drabble

You and Clark seem hell-bent on this game of cat and mouse.

You each find a series of trivial excuses to knock on each other’s door at night, (“Do you hear that cat screeching down from Apartment 1A?”) and message each other for the most nonsensical reasons (“These HOA fees just seem to keep climbing annually, don’t they?”). In all fairness, your proximity made the perfect excuse to talk to one another, your other fellow neighbors either being grannies of knitting age or standoffish middle-aged folk who’d slam a door and scoff in your face if you so much as whispered over their Monday night football. (You were only looking out for them, warning about recent mail theft happening around the block, how much harm could a few seconds of a neighborly PSA make?)

And so you and Clark accepted that you only really had each other in this hostile neck of the woods—all the more reason to find escapade of your true, ever-so-slow-burning feelings for one other that you couldn’t seem to make privy under self-proclaimed concern from one neighbor to another over noise complaints and evil landlords. It became routine, saving face from the evasion of your feelings in empty messages and random checkups between the two of you.

Clark sucks in a deep breath of air before hesitantly rapping his large knuckles over your door, the way he does every time. This time, his free hand is palming a big, foil-covered tin pan that weighs heavy on it. He’s looking down at his shoes as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world, awaiting the smooth rhythm of your footsteps approaching the door’s frame. Little does he know this time you’re waiting, peering at him from your peephole—you made a mad dash towards your door when you realized he’d stopped cooking; which you’d pieced together when you heard his bumping music come to a sudden halt. Clark always had on some tune while he cooked away, whether it be The Beatles or one of his self-proclaimed punk rock bands, so when it finally came to a steady stop, you figured he’d be on his way out, for whatever reason.

Not wanting him to know your whereabouts by the door, you walk slowly in place, feigning footsteps towards him before pausing for a moment to undo the chain that kept the door from swinging ajar, and the deadlock that Clark himself had installed, pushing that it was “imperative for your safety,” as if you didn’t live on one of the safest blocks in the city. That was Clark. So kind. So caring. So thoughtful, to consider safety measures you’d barely even cared to ponder in your naïveté. So frustratingly not yours. Not yet, anyway.

Like your footsteps, you feign surprise when you swing open the door with a slight creak. “Clark!” you exclaim, fake-startled, “What brings you here in the dead of night?”

He notices that you’ve already been well-awake, observing from his spot afront your doorframe that it’s well-lit, like you’d been up and moving about your apartment livened with activity, and can’t help but wonder if you’d been anticipating him.

He greets you with the warmest smile before he rehearses his well-crafted response, “I was just coming by with some lasagna leftovers from the other night. Figured I couldn’t let it all go to waste. Warmed it up, just for you,” he hands you the pan, which is perfectly hot, not scorching or lukewarm, just right enough to be able to hold with your two hands. Your heart warms about as much as the pan when you receive it from him.

“Clark, you shouldn’t have,” you gasped at its reception, wanting to bring him into a hug clumsily before almost forgetting about the pan, causing you to awkwardly fall forward upon him instead while you try a balancing act to save the lasagna from falling to a humiliating death on the apartment complex’s carpeted flooring and alerting the neighbors of your accident with a wafting Italian aroma to their doors. You laugh heartily with only a mild detection of awkwardness, apologizing before straightening yourself up off him and the saved pasta. Clark’s eyes are wide from the sudden movement before he joins in with the laughter and you utter a meek, “Sorry.”

You pick up on a few tells that this lasagna was fresh, and not in fact leftovers from the other night like he’d claimed them to be. His apartment, though securely closed, is heavy with the smell of the dish, like it was made only mere moments ago—an aroma you hadn’t detected a mild hint of last night. You could put together every ingredient if you tried by the scent alone. You bet if you made a rush to his apartment you’d see all the dishes still in the sink briskly clattered there shortly after cooking. You would be offended by Clark’s inference that you hadn’t a clue that he’d just cooked it, that you wouldn’t do an internal play-by-play on your own, if Clark wasn’t so sweet. You know he doesn’t think you simple-minded, he just knows you won’t call him out on baking lasagna for you from scratch and lying about it through his teeth. You pull back the foil to see he’d removed a few slices, just enough so that they really did look like leftovers. Well played, Kent, you thought to yourself.

“You still have a lot left,” you thought out loud to him. Wincing, you said, “I take it that date you had the other night didn’t go well?” you inquired with genuine curiosity. He’d texted you the previous eve that he was having a date over, that he’d planned on cooking for her over wine and that he’d hoped it wouldn’t be too much ruckus for you while he rummaged around for his finest bottle that he hadn’t seen since he’d moved in—the usual nonsense he texted just to have an excuse to talk to you. The truth was, he’d called a rain check on that date. Of course he’d felt remorseful as it wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing to do, but also feeling a queasy uncertainty about having her over that he couldn’t quite shake—and he figured it would be more unfair to have her over when he was feeling the latter. If one major attribute mattered to Clark, it was integrity, and no matter the circumstance, he would be true to stick to it.

“Oh yeah, something like that,” he replied briefly with a ‘tsk’ of his tongue. “No worries though. Makes more for you,” he said with a chuckle, gesturing towards the warm, hearty dish.

“You’re right,” you said, unable to shake the grin from your face. You’re silently watching each other for a moment, seemingly searching for more than endearment from one another before you’re coming in and saying, “Come in! Have a slice, clearly there’s lots to go around.”

Before he can decline his share, saying he’s had his helping and really just wants you to claim it all, you’re scrambling to your kitchen and plating him some while he’s sinking into your worn sofa, which he largely consumes a part of with his big frame. He can see you through the open structure of your kitchen and a large archway, perusing your dishes for the appropriate set for his serving and a refreshment, and he can’t help but picture you all domestic when he sees you like this, a depiction of you someday in your shared apartment illustrating in his head. Stray pieces of hair are falling into your face and your figure is hugged by the warm cotton-comfort of your favorite pajama set. The vision is tucked away in his brain when you brush away the loose hairs behind your ears and turn to him with dishes heavy in your hands.

"You shouldn't have—," he starts quickly.

"You shouldn't have," is all you say before sliding them over to him on your mahogany coffee table.

He’s polite about it all—the way he smiles back and reluctantly takes the fork, silver cutlery looking miniature in his mighty hand, and so sincere when he thanks you as if he didn’t cook the whole meal himself.

Truthfully, the pining held in every look you exchange and in your daily interactions is a killer to your resolve. You’re patient with him; as a woman not being the one to want to pursue and officiate whatever this odd, untethered relationship was, and you’d be frustrated about it all, quick to give up on him if it wasn’t Clark. He’s not a wuss or a man who fits into the broad category of the rest of them, wanting to take advantage of you for nothing in return, not wanting to commit or settle, milking out his years of non-commitment before finally looking to settle. He’s careful and cautious, as he is with everything, and you’re no different—if not more important than anything he dedicates his time, patience, and consideration to. You just figured that he understood you would have to move out if things escalated terribly (only half-joking to yourself) and thought he didn’t want to risk that.

When he’s cleared his plate, (while you’re only halfway through with yours) he nervously wipes his hands down on his black slacks, which you notice are the same ones he left wearing to the Planet with this morning. You feel guilty suddenly, realizing that only right after his long day’s shift he’d begun cooking for you already. You’re especially grateful now, and before you can point it out, he’s on to his feet towards the sink, making your eyes roll. You’re still chewing, mouth full of noodle and covering your mouth with your fork-less hand when you say, “Clark Kent, if you don’t back away from the sink right now—”

He’s smiling from ear to ear and shaking his head when you make your way towards him briskly, abandoning your half-finished plate. He’s already done and wiping the thing down when you protest by his side that he’d gone through too much trouble tonight, (of the dish’s delivery of course) (not letting him know he very obviously barely cooked it) before he’s fighting you back.

He’s smiling down at you, discarding the dishrag (which he neatly folded down) onto a drawer rung, his large frame towering you over, giving you the illusion that your already quaintly-sized kitchen suddenly reduced in square feet. He’d just finished shushing you, reassuring you with “It’s nothing,” and “Only took two seconds,” when he notices a fresh vase of flowers behind you standing atop your pristine counter. You look at him, perplexed, when you notice he’s stopped looking at you and instead shifts his attention to somewhere behind you. Your heart sinks when you notice him noticing the newly-filled vase.

He lets out a low whistle, playing off his mild disappointment and high interest, when he comments casually, “How pretty. Who from?” He’s stroking some of the petals with his thick fingers, feeling only slight guilt when he thinks to himself that he could’ve done better.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, newsboy,” you reply with amusement with a slight trace of worry, trying to play it off.

He raises a brow, looming over you again with either arm resting on the counter behind him, firm in his stance like he won’t let it go.

You sigh and add, “My coworker. It’s nothing though, I don’t see him that way, I just don’t really know how to shut down his advances,” you finish, equally as casual. You felt guilty receiving the flowers, that you repeatedly tried brushing off and avoiding reception of, as if you were betraying Clark when you took them. That same guilt, but also amusement, fleetingly returned when you noticed a certain air of jealousy that you’d miss if you didn’t catch how he’d observed them intently within the first few quick moments of discovering them.

“Anything I can do about it?” He asks like it’s nothing, like he can magically eradicate any problem, or problematic person, in your life.

“Clark,” you reply with a sigh, “You don’t always have to come to my rescue,” you say with a short chuckle, latching on to his tie as if to fix it, which turn both your pairs of eyes the size of saucers by the direct contact that neither of you had yet been brave enough to initiate in the six months since you had moved in next to him.

You clear your throat and let go, abandoning the tie which you suddenly feel is more embarrassing than if you’d gone all the way through with adjusting it to its regular position. You’re suddenly turned away again, eyes fluttered shut and rubbing furiously at your temples, and before Clark can make a playful retort about how it’s his civic duty to protect you or whatever, or address the tie move, you’ve cleared your throat again, finding your save.

“Oh Clark, I hate to ask, but can you help me change the batteries out in my carbon monoxide detector? The thing’s been beeping all month and it’s driving me nuts, I can’t quick reach it…”

He’s nodding profusely, followed by “It’s absolutely no problem,” and “It’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” and he’s left back to his apartment in a sudden motion for his screwdriver, big footsteps making muted thumping on the carpeted floor.

When he leaves, you’re inhaling sharply, rewinding the moment in your head—how your breaths mingled so closely together, eyes only slightly less blown out before you’d pulled at his tie, not missing how he’d slowly raised his thumb to the corner of your lip, in his attempt to wipe the slightest red stain of pasta sauce there, and how you’d dumbly ruined the moment.

Maybe the heat of the moment and the sudden tension of it all had implanted the delusion that he’d leaned in just a little closer, that there was a slight tilt of his head and a part to his pink supple lips—

No.

He couldn't have been trying to kiss you, could he?

You shudder and attempt to erase the clearly faux memory from your head, the fabricated details in all their glory and false promise. You’re nervously smiling again when he’s returned with the screwdriver with a white-knuckled grip, thanking his help to no avail.

Clark Kent, broad and beautiful in this soft orange apartment light, always to your rescue.

⋆.˚ © eulogiez all rights reserved.

— comments and feedback are appreciated!

[comatosebunny09]

nsfw headcanon challenge:

zayne makes sylus watch everytime you get punished for being a brat.

(this is inspired by your snowcrow post)

THANK YOU SO MUCH BUNNY 😋🤍

Hello, my darling. Sure thing! I’m so sorry. I got carried away. 😅😅😅

It’s something small—or at least, small to you. You conveniently forgot to eat. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. So, by the time you make it home, you barely have time to slip out of your shoes before you’re snatched into your shared bedroom, stern eyes gleaming like sea glass beneath waves serving as your only warning.

He molds you to him via an arm around your neck, Zayne. Not hard enough to cut off air flow, but enough to remind you you’re not the one in control. His unoccupied hand sinks between your legs, grazing the molten throb of your cunt through your panties. Never enough friction to satisfy, just to tease. To keep your breath tight, your body rigid, your hips spasming each time he taps the swollen mess between your legs. His voice is in your ear, soft yet clinical. Commanding. Absolute, the combination slowly disconnecting your brain from your body.

And the gorgeous, brilliant eyes beneath you—red as cinders flaked from a hearth fire—don’t help matters. He watches you both like a meal to be savored, Sylus, so helpless between your thighs, wriggling and writhing each time Zayne taps your cunt, and your hips jerk involuntarily, achingly closer to Sylus’ quivering mouth. He wants to taste you so badly, yet this is a part of the game—two birds, one stone. Zayne punishing you both for your insolence, for Sylus encouraging your disobedience, Sylus’ wrists bound behind him with silicone cuffs (he could very easily break out of them, but where’s the fun in that?)

The three of you are different levels of wrecked. Zayne wears his better, so controlled as he drags his teeth along your lobe. Sylus, the mafioso, usually so composed and well-constructed, is the paradigm of disarmed, cheeks and ears powdered with a pretty shade of rouge, lashes bowed, hair tousled, his mouth spilling open with each tease of your taste.

“You know she’s not very good at behaving,” Sylus husks through a smirk, though he trades that bravado for a gasp, bucking his hips when Zayne rests the slightest bit on his lap.

“I blame you for that,” drawls Zayne from your shoulder, eyes narrowed yet swirling with impishness.

“Guilty,” Sylus chuckles, breathless, so beautifully falling apart beneath the pair of you, almost proud.

Returning his attention to you, Zayne takes your face into his palm, turning you slightly until those pretty greens drill down to your soul. “You will ensure you eat tomorrow, yes? Three meals. Snacks when needed. I will pack them myself if I have to. Understood?”

Your stomach swoops pleasantly. You want to challenge him. Defy him again if it means this will be your punishment. But the look in his eyes and the pitch of his voice—the fingers that tap your cunt in warning, forcing your hips to surge forward, so dangerously close to Sylus’ face—dissuades you.

“Yes, Zayne,” you manage instead, voice gritty from his arm around your throat, eyes glassy, body surrendering.

A husky chuckle from below draws you away from your pocket of pleasure, reminding you that he’s in the room.

“Beautiful when she’s obedient, isn’t she?” Sylus drawls, donning that mask of arrogance like he isn’t breaking at the seams at the sight of his two lovers tangled together. “I’m starting to think I should misbehave more often, too, if it means I’ll receive the same treatment.”

Zayne laughs, the sound of it vibrating down your spine, ending its journey with a pinch between your legs. “Are you insisting that I bend you over my knee?”

Sylus bites his lip, head falling back against the pillows, lids shuttering, a shaky breath out as if the imagery is enough to unravel him. “Oh, doctor. You sure know what to say to bring a man to his knees, don’t you?”

To be trapped between them—to be manhandled by the pair of them, stuck in their unyielding but quiet duel for control over not just each other, but you—you could die happy like this.

[dollsxcaptains]

DeadDoveDontEat|DontLikeDontRead

Yandere, infantilization, forced parental figure/family dynamic (Clark is in his later thirties|reader is a early college aged) force feeding, mentions of attempted suicide by starvation, mentions of Clark's parents deaths affecting him. Purely platonic

Something about Clark Kent being deluded and infantlizing his platonic darling just makes so much sense in my head.

꒷꒦︶ ︶꒷꒦꒷︶ ︶ ︶꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦︶ ︶꒷꒦

"Come on, sweetheart. If you eat eat it all, you can pick a movie for us to watch together." Clark coaxed with an annoyingly patronizing tone as he held a brightly colored plastic spoon up to your lips. "I got the okay from my boss to stay home this weekend to help you recover, so we can stay up pretty late tonight and watch a couple more if you find yourself feeling restless.."

He gave you a tight squeeze accompanied by a stupid grin that crinkled the skin around his tired eyes. It was late in the evening, slightly passed nine o'clock, as Clark had been kept longer at the Bugle than usual due to deadline restraints that needed to be urgently completed. He hadn't even changed out work attire when he gotten home, too guilt-ridden to let you wait a moment longer for your already heavily delayed dinner.

You were on a strict diet with even stricter rules since your attempt that involved starving yourself while he left for a month to handle a very serious matter with the league. (Which meant cradling you in his arms while he force fed you blended up nutritional mush and medicine on a tight time schedule to help your body "recover" from the damage you dealt it.)

In hindsight, it really was a horrible lapse of judgment on your end. How did you think an alien with super hearing that has trained himself to zero in on your heartbeat wouldn't notice the drastic drop in it's rate after your body finally decided to give out and come crashing through the house to check on you? It was stupid but you were desperate at any chance at escape even if that meant taking yourself out in one of the most slow and miserable ways. It wasn't like there were many viable options at your disposal, to be fair.. Worry-wart Clark didn't allow anything potentially hazardous within a hundred yards of the house, including but not limited to cleaning supplies and sharp objects.(Yes even metal silverware made this list.) Running away or even trying to take the man out was not even a possibility for you, not when dealing with someone so overpowered and near indestructible .

At least it was YOUR choice, a stupid one, but yours. And that was something Clark would never let you have.

"M' not really feeling a movie tonight."

You tried to shift uncomfortably in his hold, completely over the pure humiliation of this whole…interaction, but it was useless. His muscular arms were like anchors, effortlessly keeping you in the exact position he wanted with little to no give. The Man Of literal Steel was too afraid that somehow you'd wriggle your way out from under and make a run for it. That thought was ridiculous enough to laugh at, but no so much that you thought it wasn't going through his mind.. Even if you had the energy to run, he'd have you pinned to the ground with the wind knocked out of you faster than you could even blink.

"Well, we can do something else as a reward for finishing dinner. Play a board-game, read some books together…"

No. None of that either. Clark didn't seem to get the memo, like always. It was kind of painful just how clueless he truly was when it came to this situation. Why would someone your age want to do anything tonight of this shit?

Luckily he was kind enough to allow you to have a nice bit of mobility in your neck, allowing you to turn away from him and focus on literally anything else as he went on about all the "fun" things you could do tonight.

You scanned the room in search for something, anything to dissociate with. It didn't take long at all, the little farmhouse was filled with all kinds of nicknacks and things that added to it's midwestern charm. Just over his shoulder was a small lamp that dimly illuminated the dining room. It rested on the corner of the kitchen counter, next to a small jar of cookies and a white vase with a bouquet of yellow flowers, his favorites. It was a very out of date decoration..maybe even a bit quirky, just like most things about the ol' house however it was still nice nonetheless. There was a painted fabric shade that was slightly discolored due to age and a porcelain sculpture attached to it's base. A little cowgirl playing with her best friend, a pretty brown pony.

You stared at it for a while, tracing every last detail with your pupils. You're sure that Martha, Clark's late mother, must've picked it out a long time ago. You couldn't imagine it catching Clark's eye, something about him didn't scream "interior decorator" to you.

The girl looked so happy…so carefree with her lovely horse. She could go anywhere with him, do anything without being bound to the confines of a traumatized man and his recently deceased mother's home. She didn't have to live in this hell.

Your jaw clenched as you thought more about the current state of your life. You envied that little girl. That should be you with your own damn horse, free to live your life the way you pleased.

He paused for a moment, his baby blue eyes resembling shining crystals softened with concern as he noticed your sudden boost in heart rate.

"Darlin'? Something wrong?"

Clark followed your far off gaze to the lamp. He wanted to understand you and your sudden shift in mood, so then maybe he could help you.

"Do you not like the lamp? It was my mother's but if it's somehow upsetting you I could—"

"No. It's pretty." You stated dryly

His head cocked to the side then raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh? Sorry. The rapid pace of your heart made me think you were upset with it. Did you see something else or have a bad thought? You know I am always here help you."

"No. Everything's fine."

Still confused and unsatisfied with your response, he pushed Further.

"You sure? The doctor and I don't want you to bottle things in anymore if it is somthing. No matter how small it is, you can tell me. You seem a little distant."

Your eyebrows knitted in frustration for a moment, peeved by his instance to not let things go. You shook your head, huffing out an annoyed response,

"Just a little envious of the girl on the lamp, that's all. She has a horse that can take her wherever she wants to go, whenever she wants…I dunno, I guess I want that too.. "

Clark let out a hearty chuckle then set the plastic spoon down on it's plate. He brought his thumb up to your cheek, it's slightly calloused pads rubbed gently in circles, "I see now. I know it's probably still hard to conceptualize for you but I can take your more places than any horse could dream of. We can go whatever you want, just tell me and I'll make time for it."

We. That wasn't what you meant. You didn't want to go anywhere with him. You wanted to be free from this and never come back to this farm ever again. Was it too much to want a friendly companion that couldn't suffocate you both literally and figuratively?

But how could someone who truly believed you loved him just as much as he did ever understand that?

You decided to shift the conversation knowing that it wouldn't go anymore in your favor.

"You must miss her a lot. Your mother, that is. You have a lot of her things still around the place."

Clark straigtening his back, pgave a soft, "Mhmm." , in response.

" Not just her, Paw's stuff is still lying about too. They would've loved you as much as I do. I hate that you won't ever get the chance to meet them.." His smile wavered as he thought but ultimately it remained. "It's been difficult however maybe things have a way of working out in the end. We found each other at our lowest. You saved me from myself and I was able to be the home that you needed."

“You complete me in so many ways and I don't know have I would've done if I lost you the other day." He carefully took your chin in his hand and turned you to face him again.

You noticed his face was now slightly more serious as you met his gaze, "I know I haven't been the most available for you and I promise that I will do better. But, my sweetheart, you being right here is still the best thing for you. For us. You can't go hurting yourself anymore like you did because of the stress and things you keep to yourself."

It took every bit of restraint in your body not to snap at that ignorant suggestion. For fucks sake, was he really that incapable of taking one good critical look at himself or at this situation? Could he seriously not see past his fucked sense of normalcy and realize you were never in need of a home? His fucking home. You were a college student whose beater car broke down a few miles out from his place during a snow storm and he offered you a bit of warmth while you figured out what to do. You weren't some runway child knocking on his door in hopes of a new family. You needed a jumper cable and a shovel.

This whole situation only took into account his best interest and his feelings. He needed you. Not the other way around. You were fine without him, you would've never rolled down that window if you knew accepting the offer of a deluded Smallville farmer would've had you in bondage like this. You had the promise of a future before him, now you're just a hallowed out shell only meant to be his emotional support puppy.

The plastic, neon colored spoon tapped the entrance of your mouth. You could already taste the sharp bitterness of the vile concoction he called "food". You instantly jerked your head back, "M-Mr. Kent, can i just—"

The sound of his tongue clicking cut your pleading short,

"What have I told you? You can just call me Clark or dad if you're starting to feel comfortable enough with it..'Mr.Kent' is so…"

You noticed his face contort in agitation, his grip ever so slightly tightening around the utensil, his tone a bit darker than his usual upbeat "..It's so unfamiliar..and we're far from that, right??" He looked down at you with an unsettling expression as he anticipated your reply.

You hurriedly nodded, plastering the best fake smile that you could muster across your fac after being put off put by his quick mood swing.

The tenseness in his body somewhat relaxed upon receiving your reassurance. "I'm glad you agree that we are too close now for such formalities. Your comfort with me, especially after your accident, means everything."

"I'm sorry, Clark. I just,,,," You needed to chose a believable enough excuse to get out of this without pushing any more buttons. "I'm not really feeling well right now and I think it's best if I lied down…can we just go to bed now?" It wasn't a complete lie. The mush had a nauseating aftertaste and you were certain that if you took any more unnecessary bites of it, you'd projectile vomit all over the place.

"We've been over this, you are to finish all of your food because you need your nutrients replenished. I know this isn't exactly what you want but the doctor was clear about not giving you solids for at least another week . You were malnourished for God knows how long..." His tone was firm yet still laced with his usual concern as he rambled on like the smother he was.

Once he finished, he let out a sigh, eyes a little watery.

"I'm just worried about you. If I don't let you finish this, are you going to start rejecting food more and more? What if you pass out again but this time I can't get to you in time and you…" His lips tightly shut. Those words were far to cursed to speak out loud, let alone think.

The spoon tapped at your lips again but this time pushing past your attempted resistance. Your face scrunched with disgust and you debated not swallowing it but holding something this rancid in your mouth any longer would be more torture than it simply entering your digestive track.

You pleaded with him, swore that you would never do it again.

His head shook, "No. I can't trust that. Not so soon."

You weren't able to get another word in as he quickly shoveled another pile of mush onto the utensil and forced more down your throat. Maybe it was the acidity of the medicines slowly eating away at your throats lining, making it raw but by the fourth spoonful it burned on it's way down. A strained cough escaped your throat in reaction to it, only making it feel more inflamed.

You tried to squirm but his hold was even tighter than before. Tears started to well in your eyes and all you wanted was to finally be done with this. All of this. It wasn't fair, you should've been peacefully resting in a casket by now, not being smothered by a lonely man-child whose convinced you're his pseudo daughter.

"Clark,, please can I have some water? My throat burns really badly." Your voice was shaky and hoarse from the last bit going down the wrong way.

He kissed your forehead, "You can get it afterwards, honey. The water might make you full and then you won't have any room left to finish your meal."

"Just a sip then, that's all I need." You begged

"It'll be okay until you're done." He moved to get another spoonful of food. There was at least another six or so more bites left of food and that was only if he was merciful enough to give generous amounts on each go..but knowing him, he'd drag this out for as long as he could if it meant coddling you in his arms for longer.

You debated on asking him if he could at least put more food onto the spoon but you already knew his response to that. 'You could choke on such big bites. There's no rush to finish so quickly.' You internally scorned at the thought of him uttering those fucking words to you in that dumb voice he'd use as though you were five years old. You weren't incapable of swallowing what would be actually be a small bite since he insisted on feeding you with children's utensils. You almost punched his perfect teeth crooked when he told you that you weren't allowed to use the adult silver ones because they're "dangerous".

An intense burning sensation hit the back of your throat again, knocking you out of your fierceness and back into your helpless reality. Your lips trembled as he removed the spoon, a quiet whine escaped you as you barely held it together.

"Shh, it's not that bad is it? I don't want to see you crying, sweetheart. Not after everything." He cooed, swiping a tear off your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Clark,, please—" You tugged on the bit of his shirt that you could grab , "I don't want it, anymore, I wanna go to bed."

"Can you do few more bites? Just a few more bites for me so I can make sure you got enough in today? The plates nearly finished, you can do it."

"NO— dad..please. I'm tired of this." You hadn't meant to call him that, it honestly just slipped in the weakness of the moment..

His eyes widened for a moment, his pupils dilating in a way that send goosebumps cascading down your spine. Pure adoration and bliss overcame his face with a soft hint of red. You weren't exactly sure what you just did but you knew that it hadn't helped his obsession nor your situation.

The next thing you knew you were pulled into his chest with his arms securely wrapped around your waist. His chin resting in the crook of your neck as he spoke tenderly into it."I love you. Dad loves you so much. I'm sorry. No more, okay?"

You stayed like that for bit while you sobbed into his chest, not even for the encrusting pain that throbbed at the back of your throat but for the freedom that you greatly mourned…

"Sweetheart. Why don't we go get ready for bed now, hmm? I’ll tuck you in."

[justlikeotherchemists]

I'm tired, but not sleepy enough to go to bed. So let me answer all of these questions just because I feel like it.

💗 - What inspired you to start a whump blog? I was rewatching Beauty and the Beast and heard Belle say "Take me instead." I just had to make a meme about it, but I couldn't put it on the main. So, here we are.

💙 - How long have you been into whump? My whole life, I suppose. But I found out about the term about a year ago. 🌸 - What types of media do you like whump in? Books and animation. Live action I just don't watch as much.

🍏 - How do you get inspiration for whump? Depends. Sometimes it's just stuff that happened to me, but wound up to eleven. Sometimes I read about other people's experiences. One of my fics was lowkey based on the story about Maccabean Martyrs.

🔮 - What's a favorite whump trope of yours? I've said it many times before, and I'll say it again. Defiant or stoic whumpees will always be my favorite.

🩸 - What's a least favorite whump trope of yours? I don't usually focus on the things I don't like. But I guess, anything Giant/tiny is just not my cup of tea.

🎀 - Do you know any good songs for whump? Nothing comes to mind. But for angst inspiration I often listen to "This is how villains are made".

🐈 - Are your whumpees of a particular demographic or diverse? I only wrote one whumpee so far. My dad called her "not European enough." She's white as marble, what the hell is he even talking about??

💧 - What's your favorite type of whumpee? On top of what I've said before, I like leader whumpees. So many responsibilities on their tired shoulders, so much pressure to stay strong and confident. All the moral dilemmas, and the all-consuming self-doubt, and, eventually, the reluctant acceptance of comfort from their teammates... 😍

🧠 - What's your favorite type of whumper? Someone who's on the same level as whumpee. Just as smart and strong. And with the power imbalance so clearly on whumper's side, what will whumpee do?

🎱 - How did you discover the tumblr whump writing community? Durind my Gravity Falls obsession phase I've started spending more time on tumblr and coincidentally found this community.

👑 - Do you post whump anywhere else? AO3, duh.

💜 - What's a movie/show with whump you recommend? Last Exile. It's not that popular of an anime, so I'm bringing it up whenever I can.

🌈 - Do you prefer Caretaker to be a partner or friend or rival to whumpee? Friend, although rival could work too.

🍔 - What hour is whump best to enjoy? Any hour? How is that even a question?

🪩 - what's your favorite type of Caretaker? Something I would like to see is a caretaker, who looks after their own well-being. If helping whumpee is too draining, they will step back, just for a while. Because you can't help others, if you don't help yourself first.

🎹 - Do you utilize whump to sleep? That was something whump community introduced me to and I thought it was fun.

🥽 - What is your favorite nonhuman whumpee? I don't really care much for nonhuman whumpees. But I've seen vampire whumpees done really well in that one mobile game.

Blog Ask Game for Whump Blogs

💗 - What inspired you to start a whump blog?

💙 - How long have you been into whump?

🌸 - What types of media do you like whump in?

🍏 - How do you get inspiration for whump?

🔮 - What's a favorite whump trope of yours?

🩸 - What's a least favorite whump trope of yours?

🎀 - Do you know any good songs for whump?

🐈 - Are your whumpees of a particular demographic or diverse?

💧 - What's your favorite type of whumpee?

🧠 - What's your favorite type of whumper?

🎱 - How did you discover the tumblr whump writing community?

👑 - Do you post whump anywhere else?

💜 - What's a movie/show with whump you recommend?

🌈 - Do you prefer Caretaker to be a partner or friend or rival to whumpee?

🍔 - What hour is whump best to enjoy?

🪩 - what's your favorite type of Caretaker?

🎹 - Do you utilize whump to sleep?

🥽 - What is your favorite nonhuman whumpee?

[rosie-posie1313]

Lando Norris Fic Recs Pt. 5

08/04/2025

⭒ Lando Norris

Wingman Roscoe by @theundercoversquid

Wolff!Reader

Baby Girl by @boysthatgovroomvroom

she’s kinda hot tho by @l4nd0n0rr1s

in which lando norris has a crush on red bull's rookie

racer girl by @eternally-racing

Lando's more than apprehensive when his daughter wants to try karting for the first time, but luckily you're there to hold his hand through it all.

Challenge Accepted by @rhaenella

it’s been five years since the last chinese gp, so when you and lando are set up to race each other on the shanghai circuit on mclaren’s state of the art simulator, anything is possible…

Espresso by @taasgirl

y/n is a famous singer who also happens to be a massive f1 fan. when she mentions a liking for a certain driver, it's only fate that he tries everything in his power to get her attention.

Comfort Person by @nayziiz

They do be comfy tho!  By @cheriladycl01

You try hide your pregnancy through Lando's large array of hoodies.

Funny Gaming moments with Lando and Max  by cheriladycl01

Just funny moments where Reader is a member of Quadrant and is a big UK streamer that does everything on Twitch and YouTube.

Sims Streams by @sophsbookstore

maiden win by @cutielando

in which all his hard work finally pays off

when in vegas by cutielando

in which you shouldn’t be left alone when in Vegas

Smau

poor oscar by cutielando

in which you traumatize Oscar

lucky number 100 by cutielando

in which he makes his 100th race extra special

driving around  by cutielando

in which you’re too stubborn for your own good

Sleepy by cutielando

in which you always fall asleep everywhere

Stream by cutielando

in which his fans want you to stream with him

hole in one by @sof1shticated

lando norris and his girlfriend share a love, she's just a professional at it and he's... just okay.

smau

new years traditions and drunk kisses  by @/sof1shticated

HOT WINGS  by @propertyofwicked

lando and his girlfriend take on the quadrant hot wings challenge

YOUR NECKLACE by propertyofwicked

smau

WORK EXPENSE by propertyofwicked

no one can quite work out if they’re together - neither can lando. yn? she’s just there for the vibes.

Smau

SECRETS part 2  by propertyofwicked

Fewtrell!reader

ROOKIE by propertyofwicked

INTERMEDIATE by propertyofwicked

the five times max tried to set his best friends up, and the one time it actually worked

slow down, be here by @katsu28

after a long, frustrating day of training, a night in with you is just what lando needs to leave it all in his rearview mirror

Can’t Sleep by @vinvantae

baby finn series, preparations by @eccentricwritingbaby

lando and y/n begin their quest to prepare for their baby on the way, while their first baby is just happy to be included.

baby finn series, the necessary reactions by @/eccentricwritingbaby

y/n is pregnant again, time to tell the world - well, their whole world.

new home by @formula1au

you and lando bought a new house, and you’re trying to decorate it, but it goes completely wrong

Overwhelmed With Love by @fastandcarlos

having family at the race is always fun, but bringing your baby girl to the paddock too excites lando like never before

(what’s the story) morning glory by @lovelytsunoda

noel gallagher’s daughter has a reputation for two things: being the funniest woman on the internet, and really having a thing for american guys. to the delight of all, she shows up at one of her dads concerts with a boy from bristol on her arm.

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation by @harrysfolklore

lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

LESSGO LEGO by @miusvault

every scan, every kick by @its-avalon-08

Sleep by @giannaln4

You always had a hard time falling asleep, but it seems like all you need is Lando to give you a little help.

they don’t know about us  by @rosyblooom

 lando norris x private fem computer science major!reader

Smau

blooming season by @/rosyblooom

four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans.

You’re drunk  by @forensicheart

Lando gets a call to pick up his not so sober girlfriend

told her you were just a friend - by @alittlebitofsainz

being away from home for this long should’ve felt more difficult, but somehow, with lando by your side, anywhere feels like home. still, you can’t tell your mum just yet.

breakfast for three by @pierregazly

Drinks and Jackets by @of-many-fandomss

lando comes home drunk and doesn’t recognize you, and you can’t help but swoon at the devotion your boyfriend has for you

Shh, baby by @op814kitty

The team gets nervous when you disappear after the summer break in 2023, but when you turn up in Vegas after lando's crash, they realise why

tell me you love me by @ynsbarbbb

on days like these, where everything just seems to go wrong, the uttered words from your boyfriend is the only cure

fem!driver!reader

Wagnifesting by @yeahxsurexokay13

y/n is lando's best friend but everyone keeps manifesting for her to be something more.

Happier by @keerysfreckles

kiss me by @arieslost

Haven by @loveluvrs

reader being clingy with lando in the mornings

Angel by @dilemmaontwolegs

Kingsday gets a little wild, in honour of Lando’s nose.

Childhood by @lillysbigwilly

in which… they have loved each other since they were little - very very short smau

young, dumb & bwoke by @delulujuls

there is nothing that lando loves more than a good party and his beloved dutch friends so imagine him with drink in his cup surrounded by whole orange nation. it could be nuts and it was

Seeing Someone by @forzalando

Lando is finally ready to tell you how he feels when he overhears you say that you’ve started seeing someone - but overheard conversations aren’t always what they seem.

Squish by @uglyducklingofthe2000s

Lando calls his girlfriend Squish because she always wants hugs and he is always happy to give her them.

𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 by @imnameimswrld

lando's protective streak outweighs his ability for patience by a ton, and so when paparazzi get far too close and end up pushing his girl in the midst of trying to snap a few close-ups of the mclaren boy, he snaps

smau

i miss you, i’m sorry by @inthedoghousern

you and lando break up and a few months later he wants to talk. inspired by “i miss you, i’m sorry” by gracie abrams.

Stream interruption’s by @bucket-hat-lando

baby steps  by @eternally-racing

Lando needs a little bit of encouragement to head off to his first race after the birth of your daughter, so what better thing to do than surprise him on race day?

LANDO AS YOUR BOYFRIEND by @mirohlayo

birthday girl by @maplesyrupsainz

in which the tl is full of posts for your special day and the love is overwhelming

smau

If she’s around. By @boiohboii

When lando decides to make a video along with two of his friends for their YouTube channel his girl of course had to make an appearance

leclerc!reader

Extra Special (Lando’s Poppy AU) by @chrisevansonly

lando’s just won another grand prix and his baby girl couldn’t be more excited

First Moves by @final-script

The first movements of the Little Norris

sky full of stars by @arieslost

dj!lando always plays your song when you’re at the club.

Maybe Leave The Cooking To Me by @itsprashimusic

You love to cook, and Lando loves to help, but this time it goes sideways.

My Girl by @anangelwhodidntfall

You have a rough day at work and Lando is here to remind you that your his girl

are you okay?: by @dreamydrifts

Dutch Courage by @vroomvro0mferrari

When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Verstappen!Reader

Our wedding by @goldsbitch

Y/N and Lando probably went a little too overboard when planning their wedding. She finally looses it when his friend suggests a product placement bucket hat.

a digital love letter by @sharlsworld

a glimpse of all the post’s from when they were “just friends”, to there engagement announcement, to the announcement of there first child.

my favourite interviewer. By @ham1lton

the one where you interview your sister and your boyfriend. also part of the nepo!sister universe.

Bragger by @yeahxsurexokay13

fans constantly tease yn for always bringing lando up and being a bit of a simp for her boyfriend - which only gets worse after his first f1 win - so she writes a song about how if they were her they'd do the same.

Forbidden Fruits: Part Two by @ameliablakesblog

Fewtrell!FemReader

annoying (affectionately) by @zjpg

in which lando is your boyfriend

Visiting his family by @charlesslut16

you and lando visit his family on christmas but in the end you discover something unexpected…

Meme by @maplesyrupsainz

in which you love causing mischief and mayhem and both of your fans eat it up

smau

baby we’re on camera by @wintfleur

lando loves teasing his girl on stream

A happy family of four by @theemporium

a f1 gossip page gets insider knowledge of what might be the paddock’s best kept secret. in fact, it is so well kept that even the paddock don’t know who it is about (aka a wee crack fic i couldn’t get out of my head ft the papaya bunch).

Car Shopping  by @jaeeyaaasworld

Y/n decided to finally buy her dream car since she was a child, Lando is accompanying her but the car guy is misunderstanding.

coffee shop by @emotionaldamages

lando decides to take time away from f1 talks and goes to a coffee shop where he meets someone

Slip by @eternally-racing

on a tough race weekend in qatar, you want to be there for Lando

new year’s day  by @chillielo

you spent new year’s eve in tears but a certain pretty boy is about to make new year’s day different for you.

you’re such a dream to me by @prettylittlels

formula one fan singer y/n y/ln is invited to a grand prix where she’ll meet her idol.

[diegoisfamous]

things to do to rekindle your passion for your big wip

Act like you're being interviewed, and answer a bunch of questions about how you came up with your story.

Pick a character, and think through how they were first conceived. Then go through all their different variations until they reached where they are now.

MUSIC!!! What would your characters listen to? What's a story-driven/musical song with lyrics that fit your story? What is a song that would be in your story's trailer? Look at video game soundtracks for your character's theme. (I recommend Undertale/Deltarune for some classics, Sonic Mania for a more upbeat techy sound, and The Great Ace Attorney if you have a more fantasy setting.)

Think about how your MCs would hangout when there isn't an ominous plot point looming over them.

Try talking to your MC or villain out loud, and think of how they would respond. Don’t feel pressured to write it down, just say it out loud. Record a voice memo on your phone so you can save any banger lines you'd wanna reuse. (Bonus points if you give the character a specific voice.)

Find a color palette for your story.

PINTEREST!!! They have lots of quotes and photos that are good character inspiration. But Pinterest is especially useful if you're like me and can’t draw for shit. (or just taking a break from drawing.) It's fun to be able to visualize your characters and settings, and gives you a better understanding.

Watch a show/movie or read a book that has a similar vibe as your story! Sometimes all you need is to see a finished product to be reminded that you have something special.

Talk your story out with a trusted friend or fellow writer. This often helps me the most because it leads to ideas just pouring out before I even realize. You also get free ideas and critique from them. (If you have no one to discuss with feel free to show me and I'll give you some honest feedback.)

TAKE A BREAK!!! I cannot overstate how important this is. The world's hard enough without you burning yourself out. Let yourself rest and when you come back it'll be like you unlocked a hidden part of your brain. Make sure to take proper care of yourself as well, sleep, eat, and drink water to ensure your brain is at peak performance for creating.

Have Fun! Seriously though, if your story isn't serving you or interesting you at all anymore then it may be time for a change. There will always be ruts and hard times, but if there's whole sections that you dread working on maybe you should just make a change. If you hate writing why should people love reading it after all? Just make sure you are writing because you want to, not because you have to. Love yall!

[theliterarywolf]

Notable Censorship News, 8/4/25

Alright, so today's updates are going to veer a little from the video game side of things. Not because the fight has eased up, in fact, we actually have some news coverage on the issue that I will share in this post, but because we do need to shine some of the spotlight on the recent re-re-re-resurrection of KOSA and its ugly bestie SCREEN.

To refresh ourselves on KOSA: It is touted as the 'Kids' Online Safety Act'. Because of course you want children to be safe online, right? That's why, rather than incentivising web-developers to reinvest in safe, child-focused online platforms, we keep seeing KOSA-like motions used to censor LGBTA groups and limit information to global events and historical documents! ...Wait, what?

You can access StopKOSA here to identify your local lawmakers for ease of contact as well as more information about spreading the word about this invasive Trojan virus of a bill.

You ever hear the saying about 'I've never seen two pretty best friends?' Well, in this case, KOSA is barging its way into spaces no one asked it to with SCREEN on its arm!

What is SCREEN, you may ask? Well, imagine all of the abject bullshit going on in the UK in regards to 'requiring' ID to access mundane things such as Discord, Wikipedia, and Spotify... Being applied to all aspects of the internet! Fun*, right?!

*If you actually think this is fun, I have a bridge to sell you

As of right now, the only direct link with actions to take and contacts to make is this one from Fight for the Future. Granted, some might be put off with their wording turning this into a bipartism issue but, to be fair, things have only gotten so mask-off in regards to censorship and the gutting of the internet with the current administration.

Now, for some less-than-dismal news, let's round things out with some news coverage regarding the current campaign of calling Visa, MasterCard, and PayPal out on their bullshit.

We have TechCrunch

We have CBC Radio

PCGamer

The Guardian

Please feel free to add any other news links/videos and I will be glad to reblog your additions for the sake of sharing viable information.

Things are seeming very dire right now, it is easy to admit. What may have started out as opening the eyes to how easily payment-processors have squirmed their grimy fingers into people's lives has ballooned into realizing just how many hands have been arming rifle of subjugation into freedom of speech's skull.

However, we still have the ability to fight, to scream, to claw at the ground until the very end. The battle is only over when one side stops breathing and, I don't know about you, but my lungs are still working.

[glxzsyy-n1vana]

tokyo revengers characters in a relationship 

Characters: Nahoya Kawata(smiley), draken, Baji, Mikey, kazutora 

summary: how some of the tokyo revengers boys would act in a relationship

Nahoya: 

nahoya brings intensity, spontaneity, and a sense of reckless fun into the relationship. He’s not the type to plan candlelit dinners but he will drag you on a midnight motorcycle ride just because he “felt like seeing stars with you.” Expect a lot of unfiltered laughter, play-fighting, and unorthodox romantic gestures 

Despite his nickname and smiley demeanor, he's fiercely protective of those he loves— especially with you. He won't hover or control you, but the moment someone disrespects you or crosses a line? That grin will twist into something far more dangerous, and he won't hesitate to step in. 

Smiley doesn't sugarcoat anything, which can be both refreshing and annoying, if something's wrong, he’ll say it. No games and no silent treatment. He expects the same kind of honesty from you too, and while he might tease you to death, he does listen when it matters

Despite his wild exterior, Smiley had a strong emotional intelligence. He can read moods well (especially yours), and even if he acts like he's brushing things off, he pays attention. When you're upset, he’ll probably crack a dumb joke at first then once you're calmer, he’ll talk you through it with surprising insight

Once you're his, you're really his. Smiley isn't interested in half-assing things. He doesn't fall easily but once he does, he’s all in. Loyal and proud to be by your side, and always fighting to keep you safe —- emotionally and physically 

He will drag you into his twin brother’s life. Expect family dinners, deep talks about balance and loyalty and being part of the Kawata twin chaos. Angry becomes like a brother-in-law the second you and Nahoya get serious

Draken:

Draken is fiercely loyal. Once he's committed to you that's it; no doubts and no one else. He's the type of man who shows up for you constantly, even if he doesn’t always say the perfect words. He’d never cheat, ghost, or make you question where you stand with him. His love is steady, like something you can build your life on.

He’s naturally protective, but not overbearing. If someone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll be watching closely—ready to step in if needed. Still, he trusts you and gives you space. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile—he treats you like you’re his equal who deserves to be respected.

Draken isn’t flashy with affection. He’s more about the quiet, intimate things: resting his hand on the small of your back, offering you his jacket, checking in on you without making a big deal out of it. He won’t always say “I love you,” but he shows it—in the way he listens, the way he defends you, and the way he always makes sure you’re safe before thinking about himself.

Compared to most of the boys around him, Draken is unusually mature. He’s emotionally intelligent and doesn’t run from tough conversations. If there’s a fight between you two, he won’t storm off or say things he doesn’t mean—he’ll sit down and try to work through it. He believes in strong communication and mutual respect.

He acts all tough, but he lowkey likes domestic things. He’d help you cook dinner, remember to check your tires, offer to do your laundry if you’re stressed. He values the feeling of “home,” and if he sees that in you, he’ll protect it with everything he has.

He can look cold and hard to the world—but he’s a total softie with you. He lets you see the parts of him no one else does. That quiet vulnerability, that hint of sadness he never talks about, the pressure of leadership—he shares it all with you when you’ve earned his trust.

Baji:

Baji doesn’t do anything halfway—including love. If he’s yours, he’s yours, and he’ll make sure everyone knows it. He might not say “I love you” every day, but it’ll be in the way he grabs your hand before a fight, in how he instinctively shields you in a crowd, or how he’ll throw himself into danger without thinking twice—just to make sure you’re okay.

Let’s be honest—Baji can be a lot. He’s impulsive, sharp-tongued, and quick to anger, especially when it comes to people messing with what he cares about. But with you, he’s different. He still curses too much, still forgets to text back, but his energy softens. He watches your reactions when you talk, picks up your favorite snacks even if he acts like it’s no big deal, and lets you tug on his hair even though he complains every time.

He’s got a pack mentality. His loyalty to Toman and Chifuyu runs deep—and so does the loyalty he feels for you. If someone disrespects you, you’ll barely have time to blink before he’s stepping in, teeth bared, fearless. But he’s not controlling; he respects your strength. He just wants to make sure nothing touches you—ever.

Baji loves to mess with you. He’s the kind of boyfriend who’ll steal your food just to hear you complain, then hand-feed you the rest with a smug look on his face. He’ll call you annoying with that shit-eating grin, but his hand’s already pulling you closer. Sarcasm is his love language, and so are forehead flicks and sneaky kisses when you least expect them.

Baji’s not the easiest to get close to emotionally. He carries guilt, pride, and a strong sense of duty, and he hates feeling vulnerable. But when he opens up? It’s raw, honest, and intense. He doesn’t lie, doesn’t fake affection. If he lets you in, he’s all in. And he’ll expect the same kind of ride-or-die energy from you.

You’d be one of the few people who truly sees him—not just the fighter, the chaos, or the loyalty to Toman. You’d see the guy who genuinely cares. Who’d stop in the middle of a brawl to wipe blood off your cheek, or show up at your door at 2AM because “he couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Mikey:

At first, dating Mikey feels lighthearted. He’s goofy, clingy, and endlessly curious about the smallest things you do. He’ll randomly grab your hand just to swing it between you two. He’ll fall asleep with his head in your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves teasing you, play-fighting, stealing bites of your food—and pretending he didn’t.

Mikey carries a lot. Grief, guilt, responsibility. He puts on a brave face, but underneath, he’s tired and hurting. In a relationship, he struggles to open up emotionally—he might distance himself when things get heavy, or shut down instead of asking for help. He doesn’t want to burden you. It’s not because he doesn’t care. It’s because he cares too much.

Mikey doesn’t just protect you—he claims you. Quietly, but fiercely. You’re his person, and that means he will walk through hell for you. He won’t make a big show of it, but if anyone crosses you? He won’t need to say a word. One look from him is enough.

He’s not big on over-the-top romantic gestures. Mikey’s love shows up in quieter, more intimate ways:

Long motorcycle rides where he doesn’t talk, but squeezes your hand when he feels overwhelmed.

Buying you snacks without asking, because he knows which ones you like.

Saying “Stay,” when you get up to leave, even if he doesn’t say why.

To him, love isn’t about grand speeches—it’s about the fact that you’re still there, even after you’ve seen his worst.

Being with Mikey means navigating his emotional highs and lows. There’ll be days when he’s energetic and golden, joking around and pulling you into his world. And other days, he’ll be quiet, distant, almost unreachable. The mood swings can be hard to handle—but he doesn’t want pity. He just needs someone who sees him, not the leader of Toman, not the broken kid—just Mikey.

When he lets you in, you become one of the few people he trusts with everything. He loves deeply, almost dangerously. If he falls for you, it’s for life. He’ll carry your pain like his own. He’ll remember the smallest things. He’ll smile at you like you’re his only peace in a chaotic world.

Kazutora:

Kazutora has been through hell. Trauma, guilt, loneliness—it all clings to him like smoke. He doesn’t see himself as someone deserving of love, so when you show him real affection, it throws him off completely. At first, he might push you away. Laugh things off. Pretend he doesn’t care. But he does. Desperately.

His emotions run deep—and sometimes dangerously fast. He can be affectionate and gentle one moment, then suddenly withdrawn or irritable the next. He struggles to regulate his moods, especially when he feels vulnerable. But he never lashes out at you with cruelty. If he ever snaps, he’s quick to spiral into guilt and retreat until you reach for him again.

Kazutora wants closeness more than he admits. He craves physical touch—a hand through his hair, fingers laced with his, resting your head on his shoulder. He’ll pretend it doesn’t matter, but when you pull away, his chest feels hollow. He has a deep fear of being left behind, so he keeps his walls up high… until you break through.

He’s not loud about it, but Kazutora is fiercely protective. He watches over you without hovering—reading rooms like a threat, always aware of your comfort. If someone hurts you, he won’t yell or posture. He’ll just go terrifyingly quiet. He has a don’t-touch-what’s-mine look that speaks volumes.

He’s not good with traditional gestures. Don’t expect candlelit dinners or sappy love notes. But he will surprise you with a stolen trinket because “it reminded me of you.” He’ll walk you home even if it’s out of his way. He’ll memorize the sound of your laugh like it’s the only thing worth keeping in this world.

Kazutora is loyal in a way that might scare you a little. Once you’re his, you’re his. No in-between. He’d fight, bleed, burn the world down if it meant protecting you. But he also needs you to remind him he doesn’t have to fight alone anymore. That he can have peace. That he can choose healing—and still be loved.

[kingof-rolypoly]

One specific pet peeve of mine is when ppl take tennas reaction to spamton in the hidden cutscene at face value and therefore assume he doesn’t recognise him. And write stuff where he “actually” recognises him and they have an actual heartfelt confrontation. Or have continuous scenes where tenna continues to be comically oblivious 100% genuinely.

Like sure I guess you can see it that way but I find it kind of. Boring? Like, the trademark of a good toby fox gag is managing to be both funny and character driven. And the interpretation of tenna knowing well and truly that this “creature” is spamton is miles more interesting imo

Tenna is conflict avoidant. This goes without saying. What’s important here is that one of the most prominent kneejerk ways he responds to any sort of problem that threatens his control over a situation is pretending the problem doesn’t exist entirely.

(Cutting away when the fun gang goes north on the island board)

(Cutting back to TV Time and trying to start the next board after the fun gang find out about toriel)

(Once again pleading for the return to his games long after the point of no return)

These are just a few examples. He does this constantly. He tries desperately to drown out change and conflict with predictable routines and an oblivious persona.

IMO tennas reaction to spamtons sudden appearance is a similar case. The change that spamtons presence confronts him with is the prospect of even the slightest form of reconciliation between them. Having a genuine interaction with spamton (maybe even forming a mutual understanding that they both have blame in the way things turned out between them), after years of growing resentment and placing all fault on him is not something tenna has prepared for at all and thus despite his initial backhanded comment about even being willing to see “that little mailman” again in his time of need, he feigns ignorance.

Plus, tennas treatment of spamton just doesn’t make much sense to me if he really doesn’t know it’s him? The pause in the middle of his freak out like he has to comprehend what’s happening on a deeper, personal level? How targeted all the insults sound? The fact he only shows a protective urge over the pipis when ‘strangers’ are present in this version of the cutscene, but is fine leaving it out where an entire crowd has gathered in the spamtonless counterpart? (kris can take and consume it in this version, too) It’s extremely easy to read it as him just fucking with spamton to avoid having to start any form of discussion with him.

My point is that smth I find interesting abt that scene is that spamton is the one who actually reveals himself to tenna and is willing to put aside his side of the mutual resentment for just a second to try and talk to him, acknowledge the evidence that tenna still cares about him despite it all! And tenna is the one who shuts down the possibility of anything coming from it because he’s too stubborn to let go of his share of the bitterness.

Anyway. Tennas inability to properly converse with spamton is not simply a misunderstanding but rather an instance of a widespread pattern of avoidant behaviour he has. To me.

[kisapmta]

the melancholic sunday of summer | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: change pulls confessions of love and doubt from the hearts of you and your best friend.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader, bff!chris x bff!oc

warnings: fluff and angst. yearning</3, kissing<3, just avoidant attachments trying to be in love

notes: ik i'm basically 2 days late to their bday atp but i still wanted to share hehe

based off this request

word count: 4.3k

--

It was nearing midnight. A calm breeze shuffled between the oak's leaves, the moon reflected off each window's pane you passed. A silver hue cast over the sky and had your eyes captivated. The haze was so tranquil. So contrast against the constant life that moved in daylight. So comfortably beautiful.

Chris walked beside you, his hands tucked in his pockets. You had just spent the last day of July with him and his brothers.

Today was nothing out of the ordinary—just a long, lazy stretch of your teenage pastimes. Hours playing Fortnite, a quick vlog while walking through the woods behind their backyard, then more gaming when you got back home. It was the kind of day that felt like slipping into a favourite memory, familiar and comforting in all the right ways.

And now, Chris was walking you home. The five blocks from his house to yours stretched out beneath a sky that felt bigger and brighter than usual. 

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you asked, voice decorated with a smile as you referred to his birthday.

“Just another day,” he shrugged. 

You sighed at his lack of enthusiasm. “Yeah, but you’re turning twenty-two.”

Birthdays were bittersweet to you. They stood as a celebration of everything you have ever been and a reminder of everything you had yet to become. You always tried to be excited about them, and you wished he would be too.

“Twenty-two is so old,” he said with dread, so sincerely that you could tell he wasn’t even trying to make fun of your age. 

But your voice shot up a pitch. “Old?” You asked, genuinely offended being one year older than him yourself. “Well what the fuck am I, then?”

“Fuckin’ old as fuck,” he replied without missing a beat, already laughing by himself.

A single scoff escaped you as you stopped in your tracks, your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He kept walking for a couple of steps, then turned back to look at you, still laughing. “Alright, I’m sorry,” he said through his boxy smile.

“No fuck you, you’re so annoying.” Though your smile mirrored his and voided any meaning behind your words.

Chris took a step toward you, draping his arm over your shoulder to pull you back into step beside him. “I think it’s just like, unbelievable that I’m going to be twenty-two years old.”

Your arm found its place around his waist, and the two of you kept walking, comfortably linked.  

“You are so dramatic,” you replied.

He chuckled, but continued. “I just hate how fast time feels like it’s going. I think about how literally like, 5 years ago, we just started the channel, and everything’s changed so much since then. It’s crazy.”

“Change is good, though,” you said, stating the obvious.

But you understood exactly how he felt. Even just the nostalgia of today, of this moment—it made your chest tighten. A gut wrenching ache always pulled at your tummy when you could see how fast time was slipping through your fingers. A bittersweet feeling of knowing things would never be the same again. 

Three months ago, you started a new job in the field you’d spent years studying for. With a new 9-to-5 schedule, your hobbies and friendships and passions became limited to fit into whatever time was left at the end of the day. 

Meanwhile, the boys continued to grow on YouTube, quickly closing in on eight million subscribers. Chris had also got his license. You learned to cook. Your dog turned nine, and so did Trevor. You moved into your own place.

It was still near your childhood home, just a couple blocks down the street. Because the small city of Somerville didn’t give you a choice to go very far in the first place. 

And the boys had similar plans. Only they weren’t just thinking about moving across town. Their plans stretched across the country—to move all the way to LA.

Everything was changing.

“I guess,” he sighed. “But sometimes I just wish that like, I could be 19 forever.”

You didn’t say anything, just tightened your grip ever so slightly around his waist. A quiet gesture of acknowledgement and comfort, one he’d grown so used to over the years.

This. Change…It was one of those unspoken things that connected you and Chris in a way his brothers never quite understood. 

Where Nick welcomed every day with open arms and Matt found solace in the idea of “yesterday’s problem,” Chris, for lack of better word, was simply a person who cried on his 20th birthday. 

That milestone had felt like a funeral for his childhood. Like closing a door he wasn’t ready to shut. Like once he crossed that line, all the simple, carefree moments of being a kid were officially behind him. 

And you felt it too—that ache for something you couldn’t hold on to. So when he blew out his candle that day, you hugged him just a little tighter, both of you caught in that bittersweet pull of time. Unrelenting and constant.

“And like,” he continued. “I know it’s important to grow and be uncomfortable…but it feels like I have to let go of all these things that I love to do that. Like I have to make space for all these new things and it’s overwhelming sometimes.”

“No I get that,” you said quietly. His feelings were far from foreign to you, having gone through the same conflicting thoughts when you turned 22 just a year before. 

“But I think you’re really lucky, Chris. You have so many opportunities that twenty two year olds dream of, literally at the palm of your hands. You’ve achieved things people could never even imagine.” 

You glanced at him, your words an act of encouragement, but he didn't reply.

“And I agree, it is super scary, but like… even through all the things you’ve accomplished, there’s still a lot of stuff that has stayed the same.” 

He looked at you, his arm around your neck holding your gaze especially close.

“Like your family and Boston and your home will always be here. And I think the fact that you’re doing all of this with your brothers—you are so lucky, Chris. They’re never leaving you. You’re always gonna have them.”

He nodded, not doubting your reminder for a second. “I know, you’re right.”

You finally reached the front of your house, stopping beneath the lamp post that lit up your driveway.

“And I’m always here,” you added, softly.

You turned slowly, shifting to face him fully. Your arms wrapped around his waist, while both of his own crossed gently behind the nape of your neck. 

“I know.”

His words hung in the air between your embrace. They changed the atmosphere instantly, holding the weight of three simple words he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. 

But you could hear it.

The three words. 

Loud and clear in the way his chest rose and fell, so close to yours that each racing beat of his heart seemed to echo in your ears like it was trying to speak for him. 

In the way his eyes transformed, normally soft and blue, now wide and dark with dilated pupils that swallowed all their colour. 

It was in the flush of his skin and the quiet warmth rising in his cheeks, painted the unspoken color of everything he felt for you. 

In that silence, his body told you everything.

But the words still wouldn’t come.

So he showed you instead.

His lips caught yours in a soft, warm exchange. Just for a second, testing the weight of the moment before pulling away. His breath was shaky and uneven, his forehead gently pressed against your own. His arms unraveled from where they rested on your shoulders as his hands found their place—one cupping your cheek, the other settling at the side of your neck.

You leaned into his touch.

Your heart raced in your chest.

There had been so many almosts before this. So many times this moment had hovered between you two, so close you could taste it, only for him to pull back. He always stopped himself, always afraid to cross that invisible line. Afraid to ruin something sacred, this friendship you both cherished so deeply. Afraid of change.

And now that it was finally real, the weight of it all pressed heavily against you, making you both hesitant to believe it.

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, as if to double check they were really just on yours a second before. When you looked back up into his eyes, everything shifted.

Whatever thread of restraint he’d knotted himself into all these years finally snapped. His lips captured yours again, firmer this time, with a quiet need that you met with no doubts. His fingers tightened in your hair as his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. So close that every breath and heartbeat both of you took merged together, sustaining you as one.

The heat of the kiss was deep and all consuming, building with every pass of his lips against yours. You could hear fervour in the breathless sounds he let slip. Quiet, desperate exhales through his nose, though, you were no better. Your own sighs escaped without permission, especially when his tongue pressed through the seam of your mouth. 

Each of your movements were heavy with meaning. Both of you desperately trying to convey everything you felt for one another, pouring it into the space between you in a way words never could. 

For you, the kiss was a promise.

You needed him to feel it, needed it to echo the words you shared just minutes before—I am always here. You promised this, with each measured step of your lips. It was a vow of unshakable reassurance telling him to let go. To trust you.

And for Chris, it was something else entirely. 

I love you. 

Whispered in the way his lips lingered on yours just a second longer than they should have, savouring the taste of something he’d been longing for ever since his heart had found home in yours. For as long as he could remember.

When his mouth slowed, his forehead pressed lightly to yours, and the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin.

The rustling of the leaves was the only thing heard for a moment as his thumb lingered along your jaw, tracing it slowly. He was memorizing you. Memorizing the dream he yearned for the most, finally tangible in his fingertips, so fragile and delicate and new that he wasn’t sure how to hold it.

“I’ve wanted to do this forever,” Chris finally admitted, breaking the silence. But he didn’t glance at you, timid under the weight of the situation, not keen to look at your expression and see how you felt just yet. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for years.”

The confession made you laugh lightly. Not to make fun of him, but because of how true it was. How obvious. 

You thought back on every time Chris lingered when you said goodbye. How he’d pause at the doorway, or take a slow step back when the night should’ve ended. How, when his brothers were already long gone and waiting for him in the car, he'd drag out conversations about nothing just to keep you standing beside him for a few more seconds. 

You thought back on every time he found a reason to sit closer on the couch. The way he always took the seat next to you, even when there were plenty of others open. Sometimes in the darkness of the living room, while everyone else was focused on the movie, you could feel him watching you instead. And you never looked over, never said anything or acknowledged his gaze. But you were always grateful for the dark that hid the warmth that bloomed on your cheeks every time.

You thought back on every time his brothers teased the two of you about this. How Matt would glance at Chris when his tone would shift mid-conversation, a little more measured when he spoke to you. Or how Nick would smirk behind his drink when Chris let you finish your point uninterrupted, something he rarely did for anyone else. 

They were small changes. Barely noticeable, really. But they picked up on it in the way brothers do. In the way Chris listened more, and reacted less. In the way he was calmer. More vulnerable. More himself, somehow. Like being around you stripped away the part of him that felt like he had to perform. 

Maybe that’s what stood out most. How he never felt the need to prove anything when he was with you. There was an ease that settled over him in your presence, a steadiness that could only come from knowing someone so well, being around them felt like breathing.

And Chris knew you. 

He knew the way people’s words affected you in every interaction you held. How your mood could shift in an instant, lifted or weighed down by another person’s energy that sank into your empathetic heart. 

He knew when you felt confident and when your insecurities would creep in. Though in his eyes, with your heart and your character and the pure sublimity of your being, there was never any reason for you to doubt yourself. 

And he knew—no, he could feel your sadness, your anger, and your fears like they were his own. Yet somehow, he always knew how to steady you. Since the day you met at 6 and 7 years old, Chris had been there for you in moments when no one else was. 

Every time you were overwhelmed, he always knew what to say to make you feel better. 

Every time you shut down without meaning to and retreated into yourself the way you sometimes did, he never pushed. He’d just wait nearby, close enough for you to know you weren’t alone, but far enough to give you space until you were ready to come back.

Every time you cried in his arms. Every time he celebrated your accomplishments. Every time he supported you over the years, consistently, despite how many things in your lives had changed, and then changed again. 

You thought back on every time he had ever said ‘I care about you.’ It never sounded like much, but you always knew what he meant…knew that in its own way, it was a confession of his own. 

“I know,” you finally said. “I think I’ve known for a long time.” 

And although the tone of your voice leaned on the side of warmth, and the tenderness of your feelings peeked through the veil of caution you were both trying to hide behind, Chris sighed.

“I wish it didn’t take me this long to tell you,” he confessed quietly. His features fell, and the expression he wore was laced with something you could only pinpoint as guilt...or maybe regret. “I’ve thought about it so many times. About what it would be like if I just… said something. What we could’ve been all this time, if I didn’t wait until now.”

He still wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel the weight of what he was carrying. All those years of almosts and unspoken things. Of brushing up against a line and never daring to cross it. Of suppressing your love and making your feelings small, pushing them down, down, down. Down far enough that maybe they would eventually fade away. 

Only they never did. 

And now, finally, all of it was surfacing. Laid bare between you. No longer something either of you could pretend wasn’t there.

“I just feel like I wasted so much time being scared,” he added. Then like he was promising you that he wasn’t lying, he brought himself to meet your gaze and repeated, “I wanted to tell you so badly.” 

You reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, gently brushing your thumb over his skin where he still held your cheek. Another quiet gesture of acknowledgement and comfort, one he’d grown so used to over the years. 

It was a reminder that even with everything that had just shifted between you two, you were still you. Still soft. Still sweet. Softer than the hand you rested over his, and sweeter than the way you coaxed his own into gentleness; not just with you, but with himself. You looked at him the way you always had—softly, sweetly—as if to remind him: this part of you hadn’t changed.

“It’s okay,” you started to tell him. You squeezed gently at his wrist in reassurance. “I want to know what you’re trying to say. So take your time... I’ll wait for you.” 

That patience, that tender compassion that Chris had always loved so much about you, that response made his eyes water, and he had to look away. His gaze dropped to somewhere on the ground between you, the edges of your shoes blurring into the concrete as tears muddled his vision. Then he tried again.

“I always wanted to try with you. To just be with you. But it took me a long time to realize wanting something isn’t enough. Things don’t just work out because I hope they will. If I want something… It takes effort to make it happen. I have to work for it and try my best to put things where they belong...” 

Remorse ran through his veins and he shook his head at how spineless he was– unable to trust you enough, despite how much you always reassured him that he could. It was shameful to remember. 

At the mention of it, you couldn’t help but think about all the time you two did waste. About how unfortunate it was for you two to finally come to this realization with only one month left before the triplets moved across the country.

But you wouldn’t let Chris think this was entirely his fault. You knew you were also partly to blame.

A heavy exhale left your body. “I’m scared too,” you revealed.

And all this time, while he’d been so consumed by his own guilt, he never stopped to think that maybe you’d been just as scared as him. Your confession tugged at his heart—the idea that, despite how much he always wanted to help you from ever feeling afraid, there was a possibility that something in your relationship, or maybe even something in him, caused you to feel scared anyway.

Hesitant to hear you answer, his voice was soft when he asked, “Can you tell me what you’re scared of?” 

Silence settled between you. It didn’t feel heavy, but rather like it was giving you room to breathe. To think about how vulnerable you were willing to be. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say until you spoke again.

“There are so many things, Chris.”

The admission instantly brought pesky pinpricks of tears to sting the backs of your eyes, and made Chris’s features flicker with confusion. He shook his head softly. As if asking you to elaborate. As if trying to understand you better. 

With a deep breath, you started, “I know it’s maybe not fair of me.” 

There was a slight selfishness in your fears that you felt like you had to acknowledge before you even began to explain them—to give your feelings credibility, in a way. To make them valid, at least to yourself, even if you knew they were maybe dramatic and irrational. 

“But like…well, we both have our own dreams, right? And we’ve worked so hard to push ourselves to achieve these goals, especially over the past few years. And I can see everything slowly starting to pay off. How things are starting to fall into place—but that’s what scares me.”

He nodded attentively, but you could tell that he didn’t fully understand. You paused to think, wanting to piece together the right words and come up with a decent explanation for your inexplicable worries. 

“It’s not that I don’t want these things to work out. I do want us to grow, and change, and become who we’re meant to be... I do. I want all of that for you. And for me too. But I get scared thinking about how…while we’re pursuing these things that we want to do and while we’re building the lives that we want to live and fulfilling our goals, what if we become people that don’t fit together anymore–”

He couldn’t stop himself from quieting you when he heard the way your voice broke. 

 “___,” he said gently. 

He brushed his thumb over your cheek.

You kept talking like you didn’t hear him.

“What if we’re reaching for things that are taking us in opposite directions? And that we’re growing apart?” You looked up at him with glassy eyes, and each word was heavier than the last as you told him, “I’m sad that you’re moving.”

The edges of his composure cracked then. Enough to let you see that the sadness you were feeling wasn’t yours alone. His eyes rimmed red with tears and his thumb stopped at your jaw. His lips parted as he was about to respond, but you beat him to it. Your voice was barely there now.

“I know going to LA is gonna be so good for you guys. There are opportunities out there that staying here could never give you… I know this is what you’ve always wanted and I’m so proud of you for going. I really am— I just…” You exhaled shakily, and your chest tightened.

“I don’t want to be without you.”

Whatever you were going to say next didn’t come. 

You slipped your hand from his wrist and bunched the sleeve of your hoodie around your fist, then attempted to dry your eyes. Only your tears didn’t stop.

So your other hand at his waist came up to cover your quivering chin and quiet your soft cries. You buried your face in your palms as your shoulders trembled. 

“Hey,” Chris said softly. “Come here.” 

He reached out and pulled you to his chest. Your hands were still covering your face, so his arms circled around you as a whole and he rested his chin on your head and let you cry, his own eyes stinging. 

It was a minute or two that you wept against his chest before either of you spoke again.

He started first, “I don’t want to lose you either.” 

The words made it harder to hold back your tears, but did your best to gather your composure and give Chris your attention again.

He wiped away the wet marks on your cheeks as he continued, “Like you said, we’re both scared. Because we have no fucking clue how this is gonna go. Distance isn’t gonna make things easy. And we’re probably gonna go through stuff apart that’ll change the way we go about situations– teach us how to go about our lives without being there for each other the way that we’re used to.”

He gave you a small, sad smile that was too kind for the harsh reality of his words.

“I’ve thought about these things,” he added, “‘more than I wanna admit. And it’s scary because maybe we won’t figure it out right. Maybe we’ll mess it up, or we’ll hurt each other. Maybe we’ll grow into people who want different things. Maybe we’ll find out that we weren’t meant for long distance, or that we weren’t meant to be more than just friends.” 

You flinched. Visibly recoiled as if his words were enough to cause pain. 

Up until this point, you’d blamed your avoidance on your selfishness. On being dramatic and irrational about things that could go wrong. So as comforting as it was to know Chris shared the same worries as you, you almost wished he didn’t. Because if the both of you felt this way, it meant that these things you were afraid of weren’t imagined or exaggerated. They weren’t just passing thoughts, but actual possibilities… 

But then you considered perhaps that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe the fact that you’d both thought about what could go wrong meant you’d be more careful with each other. That you wouldn’t take this lightly or pretend it would easy. That naming the hard parts now might keep you from slipping into them by accident later.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” Chris amended, his voice gentler now. “Except that I want to try. I want to try for you, __.”

Tears gleamed in his eyes, shiny under the lamp post light that covered you two. 

“And if you’ll let me, I want to try with you. Because if we don’t even try— I think I’ll spend forever wishing that we did.”

His words were perfect. And still, you hesitated to respond.

It crossed your mind that maybe you were too willing to push things aside, that you were too keen to move into it all. That you weren’t giving yourself enough time to consider all the things you hadn’t touched on yet. Enough time to process what you just did.

But you didn’t want to waste even more waiting for everything to be figured out. You didn’t want to slow down the process of moving forward by getting stuck trying to map out every twist before it happened. Not with just a month left. Not when you’d finally made it this close to each other.

So with a cautious heart you whispered the only thing you could. 

“Are you sure?”

And just as he had all your life, Chris knew exactly what to say. Only this time, he reassured you with three new words.

“I love you, __.”

Minutes passed, and the first of August came. That was last of their birthdays you'd spend together in Boston. The final month you would live together in the same city. 

It was the start of the end. 

Or maybe just the start of forever. 

You didn’t know how things were going to change from here. You only knew that they would.

Your routines would shift. You would feel different without him near. You’d both move forward, maybe not always side by side, but still trying. Still choosing.

There were no guarantees. No promises beyond the ones you hadn’t needed to say out loud.

But this felt right.

Because even if everything else was changing, it felt like this part of you two— this care, this love— was always going to find its way back.

—

a/n: thank you for reading<3 i love you guys<3

[fishyaudio]

This question isn't asked out of hate, but of curiosity: Why do you ship Barbeque? What is in it that interests you?

LONG POST AHEAD. I'M SO SORRY

I had to think about it for longer, because the simple answer would be "fun vibes middle-aged scug couple", but I also have a more elaborate one (never ask me about opinions because it'll end in multiple paragraphs explaining my headcanons and interpretations that are worthy of a few-chapter-long fanfics I'll never write)

First and foremost I see them as best friends who'd play fight a lot, bicker for fun and be generally chill with each other, with the addition of being a mostly-stable middle aged couple, that type of vibe. With how I picture their personalities, I think they'd just mix well by sharing the adventurous attitude of "act first, think later", enjoying taking on new challanges and not being afraid of risks.

I like to think of romance and relationships as really varied, both in media I make (fandom or OC content) and consume. These two just opened a door in my head to explore something with less emphasis on corny romance, hurt/comfort and lovey-dovey gestures, but with more focus on a bond formed on mutual understanding with no judgement, honesty and simply just wanting to spend time together and having each other's back (with lovey-dovey gestures sometimes sprinkled in-between. Why not). Not every relationship has to have the energy of highschool sweethearts who hold hands 24/7 and that's was an amazing realization to have at a certain point in my life as a creator, bwahaha

As much as I dig wholesome Artimand content where Gourmand is really caring and helps Arti heal with love and understanding, it doen't exactly fit my vision for the two. It kinda does but in a different way. I picture them as equal partners who talk about their problems with a heavier focus on fiding solutions aside from just comforting each other. I feel it supports them being mature indivuduals a lot more (and is way more helpful in the context of what Arti deals with) than just having one of them be the crutch for the other/babying someone who's struggling.

Whenever I think of this ship, it's always the case of throwing post-campagin Arti to meet mid-campaign Gourmand for probably obvious reasons - ain't no one dating someone who goes out of their way to murder people. This is where it all gets lengthy because we step into the territory of "why my headcanons for their personalities based on how I played them make them work"

I've always seen Gourmand as a great, ambitious leader with a lot of understanding and motivation to overall do good things and help others, but not a super responsible or consistent one, prone to acting on a whim and always trying to prove himself. Not out of any insecurity, just for the thrill of it, taking enjoyment out of simple things in life and being seen as a strong, fun guy (c'mon, look at all those in-game drawings where he's fighting lizards and vultures). I've always seen the food quest as this sort of grand challenge to take on in a new, unknown enviroment. Just to prove to himself he's still capable and talented as a treat, an adventure after which he could finally come back to his colony with many new (and probably a bit overblown) stories and a bunch of new flavors to bring into his cooking.

So imagine a straight-forward guy with a really positive attitude and most importantly - someone who thinks with their heart and trusts their gut and experience about things and people, moreover, doesn't dwell on things and doesn't analyze them in depth - if a simple solution works, then it's a good one.

Artificer is the more interesting case here because of how hard inserting her into any sort of relationship is with the trauma she experienced and the actions she took as a response.

I don't see her as 100% irredeemable, pure evil villain. I mean, I share the sentiment of her not being redeemable, but not in the most conventional way - the interesting question is, would there even be a way for her to redeem herself after murdering so many innocent Scavengers and their leader? How'd that play out in a case where she actually has regrets and would want to fix her mistakes?

I love to imagine Artificer not as someone who gets lost in her rage forever, but someone who's punished by the sheer realization, one she had a little too late, that:

1. she messed up so, SO BAD,

2. all she did never brought her any satisfaction, that "I was hurt so I will hurt you more and go for your beloved leader" was never "justice",

3. and there's no turning back from this.

I don't think she'd ever be accepted as the next leader after overthrowing the Cheiftain, she is not getting any respect out of the Scavengers - only fear and the aspiration to see her dead even more after that, from the braver ones at least. Nor would she be the one aspire to rule over the people she both despised and hurt. The only realistic option she has is leaving in shame and never coming back.

Terrible people are interesting, thinking of ways to punish them (or not!) is even more fun. And I feel like Artificer would suffer more than enough knowing she sealed her fate with unfixable mistakes. Her children aren't coming back, she's not getting any sense of closure or satisfaction, not even an ending - ascension is off the table too. I feel like this is a bigger burden to carry than any conventional physical harm or death.

Then comes a question of what to do in life after such events and with such baggage. If she can't make it up to anyone, does she just punish herself further by sulking in self-hatered? Is there even a moment where she could feel she has the right to say "okay I suffered enough, I can allow myself to be happy and live normally now"? Is there a way to reach that point if she can't fix what she had destroyed? There are no right answers to those questions, no one qualified to answer them from an objective standpoint.

But, after all, she's still a person that lives here and now like everyone else, with feelings, regrets and A LOT of shame. There's no way to tell when someone suffered enough for their mistakes and it's all in Artificer's own hands to make the choice to move on, or at least allow herself to live a normal life after all of that - being left to decide everything about herself alone instead of having some sort of punishment from above to endure with humility is also a terrible scenario to be in.

And I feel like Gourmand is someone who could open Arti's eyes to that. When I think about his attitude, I envision someone who, while aware of her past sins, sees the current Artificer as a really capable, reliable friend, who has a lot of useful skills and talents. He'd come to a simple conclusion - that she's better off being this instead of just acting like the shadow of her mistakes, both to herself and everyone around.

I imagine them starting off as really loose pals that'd meet on their travels, with the more apathetic Artificer slowly warming up to be more honest with Gourmand, a simple, understanding guy who just emits this absurd, contagious optimism. And despite him being more straight-forward and far from someone who'd ponder morality in depth, I feel like he could raise an important question to Artificer - whether she really thinks that not doing anything bad ever again is better than maybe trying to finally do something good. (I actually made a short three-panel comic about that question for my anthro AU. It's in the DC server but I never posted it here on Tumblr)

That's something I think only a guy who's willing to take the risk of offering help to a literal wanted criminal, because he trusts his gut that this is the right choice, could say.

There's no "redemption" for Artificer who'll always be tormented by her past, but maybe there's a future for her in a slugcat colony where she can at least lend a helping hand and live by her partner's side. There is a place for tales about mindless violence, revenge and justice, but there's also place for tales where things are a bit more messy and you can't really measure when someone's worthy of moving on or suffering in pain forever. That's also interesting to think about and I think Artificer's character is a perfect canvas for that sort of exploration. The game gives you just enough room to really ponder where "the point of no return" even is and what it could mean in what context.

What's also interesting to think about is why I dwell on headcanons and ships of characters made up of a bunch of single-colored pixels that never met in canon in such detail (nobody's reading all that), but I hope you enjoyed my ramblings! Thank you for the ask, I should think of this ship more but godmode took over my page. ah

[hahanamegobrrrr]

"I think you know."

Date Everything, Volt x player character :)

Lee!Reader, Ler!Volt

Words: 2,526

You meet Volt at the Breaker Box after helping Eddie fix things for the past few days. He is extra intent on teasing you for not being able to admit that you're clearly attracted to him. (No spoilers for the ending of their route!) This is a tickle fic!

GAHHHHH I'm unwell about this man. This is based upon an interaction that you have with Volt in-game, and a lot of the dialogue is taken straight from the game. But a lot of it is my own, as well! It's basically me going "ok, yes, this happened, but what if then it went on for even longer and Volt got tickly about it?" HAHA because that's how my brain works. So it's like, in-game dialogue in the beginning, then what I wish happened HAHA, then back to in-game dialogue and events to close it out cleanly. Hope y'all enjoy!

__

After helping Eddie with behind-the-scenes fixes at the club for the past few days, you felt much more confident coming back during its proper running hours. And, as genuinely fun as it had been to hang out with and get to know Eddie, you were excited to see a certain someone else again…

"Live wire! You look ravishing, as usual," Volt greeted you with an enthusiastic warmth as you entered the Breaker Box. "Do we have the pleasure of your company for another evening? Be honest, you enjoyed yourself so much last time you just couldn't stay away. Am I right?" Volt grinned at you.

"The club is nice, but that's not what keeps me coming back…" You admitted. You loved the club and its atmosphere. The lighting was beautiful, and it was entertaining to see the live performances of the objects around the house. The real reason you were excited to visit, though, was much more to do with the people running it.

"Is that so? What is it that has captured your attentions, then?" Volt teased. He knew damn well why you were here.

You found it hard to maintain eye contact with Volt as you flushed slightly, focusing instead on how his hair glowed and buzzed slightly. You could feel the energy radiating from it, even standing two feet away from him. "I think you know," was all you said, not wanting to give Volt the satisfaction of hearing you admit out loud what you both knew.

"Do I, now~?" Something in Volt's tone of voice shifted in a way that sent a shiver up your spine, before it was back to its regular playful smoothness. "Perhaps you should enlighten me, just to be sure."

The longer Volt kept this game up, the more you were determined not to admit it out loud, despite the fact that his every word was causing you to blush just a little bit more. "I- uh. I mean. Well... come on, you know!" You stammered out, cursing your inability to match his level of pure flirtatious prowess.

A smirk grew on Volt's face hearing you stutter, as well as a determination in his eyes. He was not going to let you win this. "Mmhmm, but it's so much more enjoyable to hear you say it."

"You're doing this on purpose!" You said petulantly, crossing your arms even as your face was certainly beet red.

Volt was clearly reveling in this situation. "When one has power, might as well use it." He waited a moment for you to respond. But you couldn't come up with anything, your mind rendered completely blank in your flustered state. "You're actually tongue tied. Awww, how sweet." He cooed, then he laughed slightly. You saw something shift in his eyes, pure mischief, and you were suddenly wary of what he might be planning.

"As adorable as this is, live wire, I just don't think I can let you get away with it," Volt said, a new, slightly dangerous tinge to his tone of voice sending another thrill up your spine. He took a single step forward, easily closing the short distance between you and getting right in your personal bubble.

You squeaked slightly in surprise, backing up only to feel your back press against a wall. "Volt…? What do you- what do you mean?" You asked, trying to ignore how his proximity was making your brain short-circuit.

"I need to hear you admit it. With your words, out loud," Volt teased, smirking down at you in a way that was downright evil (at least, in your opinion, given how much worse it made the growing butterflies in your stomach to see it).

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. It was like your vocal cords simply refused to say the particular sentence: 'I'm here to see you, Volt.' You really did try to say it, but it just wouldn't work. Eventually, after looking down and away from Volt's grin, you managed to squeak out a small "I can't."

Volt cooed at you again, causing you to glance back up at his face before quickly averting your eyes again. There was a slight static shock and buzzing on your chin that made you jump a little as Volt gently lifted your head up to look him in the eyes. "You are positively precious, live wire, truly. Perhaps you just need the proper motivation?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. You were about to question him on what he meant, but then his hand left your chin to lean against the wall and you felt the static shock of Volt's other hand coming into contact with your side. You jumped again, because of the startling shock, yes, but also because of an entirely different reason. Your eyes widened and you slapped your hands over your mouth to keep from giggling. Volt was tickling you. VOLT. Was tickling you.

You squeezed your eyes shut and curled forward on instinct, trying to shy away from the sensation as Volt wiggled his long fingers ever-so gently against your side. All you ended up accomplishing, however, was butting your head right into his chest.

You could feel the vibrations from Volt's small laugh on your forehead as his fingers began to roam. They traveled from your side, across your stomach, and up towards your ribs.

The electric buzzing you felt every time Volt touched you was certainly not helping. It took the regular almost-electric feeling of ticklishness and multiplied it exponentially.

"Of all the ways I thought you might react to this, this is certainly the most adorable," Volt said. As his fingertips grazed over a certain spot on your ribs, you jolted harshly. He froze for a second, before gently swiping his fingers over the same spot again. You jumped and let out a small squeak, the only sound so far to escape through your hands. "Spark~?"

It took you a moment to process the new nickname. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly opened your eyes and looked up at Volt. One look at the glint in his eyes was enough to send another torrent of butterflies through your stomach.

"Do you want to say it yet? Or shall you laugh for me?" Volt asked lowly, his fingers hovering threateningly over your ribs. Even just this threat was causing the giggles to build up in your throat, and you shook your head frantically, trying with all your might to hold them in.

Volt's smirk widened, and he leaned in close to whisper in your ear. "Good luck staying quiet, then," he murmured, before scribbling his nails over that particularly sensitive spot on your ribs. You let out a muffled squeal through your hands, and one of them flew from your mouth down to hold onto Volt's wrist. It didn't do anything. He was much stronger than you anyway, but it also certainly didn't help that you weren't really trying all that hard to push him off.

Hushed, almost whispery giggles and gasps were all you allowed to escape your throat. You couldn't hold them in anymore, but part of you was shy about anyone hearing you. Hearing your quiet laugh caused Volt's eyes to widen a fraction. His teasing demeanor melted into one of pure fondness. His small, genuine grin was unbearably flustering to look at. He nearly looked like he had stars in his eyes.

You unconsciously moved your remaining hand from your mouth to cover your eyes. The other one was still uselessly gripping Volt's wrist. He moved to focus on your stomach, and you threw your head back against the wall, barely containing a snort. The ever-present electric buzzing of his touch was really quite the unfair advantage.

Suddenly, the ticklish sensations doubled. You realized that Volt had only ever been using one of his hands this whole time, up until now. Now there were two sources of the ticklish wiggling and buzzing, one on each of your sides. You inhaled sharply before falling into even worse, silent, whispery giggles.

"You are so, so precious, live wire," Volt breathed, positively awestruck by the sight before him. One of his hands crept up to your semi-exposed underarm, where your arm had lifted in order to cover your eyes.

As soon as his fingertips made contact with the spot, you let out a surprised yelp and your eyes shot open, both your hands quickly finding his as you protested. "WAIT- wait wait wait- I'm- I can-" you stammered, your brain too scrambled to find the words. He stopped immediately, letting you take his hands in yours. You watched Volt's expression of pure joy- with a bit of returning mischief- as you tried to plead with him. "Uh-" you tried to continue. It was hard to focus on forming words when Volt looked at you like that.

"Yes, spark? Do you have something to say?" He prompted. His eyes sparkled. You could feel the electric energy still coursing through his hands as you held onto them.

"I-" you tried, but your voice caught in your throat. As much as you tried to will the words out, it was like your body physically wouldn't allow you to speak them. Your eyebrows furrowed. You looked down and let out a small, frustrated growl. "I- I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to say it."

Volt's face softened. He brought a hand up to gently cup your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to his. "It's alright. I understood what you meant, before." His smile was so genuine and soft, completely contrasting his entire demeanor from just five minutes before.

"I really want to say it, though," you whined. "It's so stupid that this happens, my brain just like- puts a block on certain things sometimes."

He gently traced your cheek with his thumb. He stayed quiet, giving you time to sort through your thoughts.

'You're the reason I came here, Volt.' That's what you wanted to say. Try as you might, though, your voice wouldn't allow you to utter those words. Eventually, you managed to squeak out, "It- it's- you. It's you."

It wasn't perfect, but Volt clearly knew what you meant, and his eyes shone with something extremely tender. He smiled. "Thank you, live wire. It truly means a lot to hear you say."

His demeanor shifted back to his regular, flirtatious self, as he stepped back and held out his hand. "The spark is undeniable. And mutual, I assure you." You took his hand and let him lead you onto the dance floor of the club. "I was rather hoping you would come by today. What do you say we enjoy it a little more closely together, hmm? Care to dance?"

"Ok… but fair warning, I'm terrible at this," you laughed, letting him pull you in with a hand on your waist, the other clasped in yours. You shivered slightly and held back a smile at the buzzing on your waist again, even though Volt had no mischievous intent this time.

"Not to worry, live wire. It just so happens you're talking to the annual Hollyween Masquerade dance competition winner three years running." He boasted, then his face shifted to contemplation and slight amusement as he continued: "It would have been four, but Wallace is surprisingly graceful after a few caipirinhas." He focused back on you with a smirk. "That is to say, I'm quite an accomplished dancer."

You were clearly still nervous, however. However well of a dancer he was didn't change the fact that you'd only ever properly danced with a partner once before in your life, in P.E. class, in 5th grade. And you didn't think that really counted.

His face softened as he smiled reassuringly. "Just follow my lead."

You felt slightly awkward at first. But you soon fell into the rhythm of the dance, letting Volt guide your movements. As you got into the flow of the music, you stopped worrying how you looked. This was really fun, and you giggled a little as Volt led you through a spin.

"You move quite beautifully, live wire," he complimented softly. "I'm impressed." You looked up to see that this time, it was Volt with the blush on his cheeks. Then he got a playful look on his face. Before you could question what he was plotting, you felt your stomach swoop and let out a surprised noise as he brought you down into a dip.

"Volt!! A little warning would be nice!" You scolded him, but you were laughing, and your face was bright red. You gripped onto his shoulder and hand, your instincts telling you to be careful of falling, but you felt entirely secure in his arms.

He brought you back up, a cheeky smile on his face. "But then I wouldn't have gotten that beautiful reaction! Such a beautiful laugh. Say, where were all those giggles before?" Volt teased, wiggling his fingers just once where they were resting against your side. You squeaked and flinched away, then petulantly smacked his shoulder as you scowled at him. It was really unfair, actually, just how much he could make you blush. It was excessive, honestly. He simply laughed at your reaction, leaning in closer so your foreheads were nearly touching.

"I get… self conscious, I guess. About my laugh. At least when I'm being- well- y'know," you stammered, avoiding eye contact. "I guess I'm worried about other people hearing."

Volt got a playful, conspiratorial look on his face, making a show of glancing around before gently grabbing your chin and leaning in to whisper in your ear. "I suppose we'll just have to find somewhere more private next time, then, hmm?" He murmured.

Shivers shot up your spine, and your face positively erupted into a fierce blush. You immediately pushed away from him, covering your face with your hands. "Oh my godddd you can't just SAY that!!" You whined. This man was INFURIATINGLY flustering.

Volt looked worried for a fraction of a second when you pushed away, but he quickly got an extremely smug smirk as he realized that this reaction was a positive one. "Duly noted," he teased, "we will be revisiting this later, live wire, I hope you're prepared." You simply flipped him off, completely unable to come up with any rebuttal when your brain was short-circuited like this.

He laughed. "Thank you for the dance. It has been a long time since I've had the pleasure of such a gifted partner~. I must admit, I am rather reluctant to let you go, live wire. I enjoyed your company, as always." He held out his hand, and you reluctantly took it, allowing him to graze the top of yours with his lips. It felt like a static shock, sending a shiver through your arm. "But, unfortunately, I must take my leave. The show will be starting soon."

With that, Volt left you to find your seat. He leapt up onto the stage to announce the acts for the night. You couldn't help but think that you wouldn't be focusing very much on the music.

[w0rm3y]

MILKING POPPIES - S. GOJO - HESITATIONS

TAGS: College AU, Best Friend!Gojo x Fem!Reader, but also CEO!Gojo (but it's different), friends to lovers, fwb, smut, slow burn, angst/comfort, fluff, Gojo is a simp for reader, like a hardcore simp, I am not joking

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, suicide, drug addiction, drug overdose, drug-induced psychosis, alcohol consumption, obsession, SA, violence, physical abuse, emotional abuse, toxicity, depression, manipulation, explicit sexual content, explicit language, cheating, reader is OBLIVIOUS, everyone is making bad decisions, but it's fun THIS CHAPTER: mentions drug use/drug addiction, implied/referenced cheating, Suguru and Haibara are rage baiters fr, and Satoru is sweet with Reader as always :)

--I am not a chemist/pharmacist, nor have I studied college-level biology, so the possibility of there being inaccuracies in the chemical jargon used below is very high. I tried my best.

SUMMARY: You meet a new friend, Satoru, who helps you navigate your screwed up, toxic relationship with your boyfriend. According to him, friends always do it better, even if you're too oblivious to notice that. Little do you know, your friend isn't the perfect guy you think he is, which leads you to being a pawn in his family's fucked up game.

WORD COUNT: 6k, loosely edited, def contains at least three typos

|| Series Masterlist || HESITATIONS >FALLACIES>

Biology was fun and interesting, and it was a subject that pushed you to strive for your career in pathology to begin with. Perhaps when you graduate with the term ‘doctor’ attached to the front of your name, you’ll even find yourself giving thanks to biology for getting you through college. However, there was one class that came along with biology that you despised–biochemistry.

Your hatred for the subject stemmed from only half of its name–that being the chemistry half. It was a miserable course created solely to crush the hopes and dreams of aspiring doctors like yourself. That being said, you weren’t good at chemistry either, and maybe that’s where your hatred for it lies. For some reason, there was just something about it that you couldn’t seem to grasp fully, no matter how hard you tried.

You liked to blame it on the boredom you felt toward the subject, for it made the guilt of just barely passing another quiz just a little more bearable.

There was nothing about chemistry that spoke to you–you would never in your life reach out to study such a boring subject. At least that’s what you thought until today. 

After your dreaded biochem class, you huddled up in the library with a book that held the bane of your existence. But this time, you couldn’t brush off your boredom.

Something inside of you was pushing for you to figure out what the fuck happened last Saturday. 

And the suspected culprit of that night?

None other than C11H15NO2, or 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine if you wanted to get fancy with it. Fortunately for you and your brain, the suspect’s name had been shortened significantly to something more sensical. It went by the aliases of MDMA, Ecstasy, Molly, E, or X–all of which were far more reasonable for the average user of this illicit substance.

But what on earth could poor and defenseless C11H15NO2 do that would ruin such a lovely night? Well, there were a couple of things–most notably, the raging hangover and bouts of sadness you were still feeling to this day. It had been two days, and you had yet to fully recover from the aftermath of it.

That’s not to say it didn’t offer a wonderful feeling, because it did. You had to give the substance some credit; the way it increased the activity of the big three neurotransmitters in your brain was fucking beautiful. Dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin, all three working over time in a brain that had been severely lacking in that department–it was amazing.

But how could eleven atoms of carbon, fifteen atoms of hydrogen, and two atoms of nitrogen dioxide make you completely forget yourself? They were atoms, after all. Teeny tiny molecules that should inherently have no great effect on you, right?

Sure, but if that were the case, how did you end up here?

The guilt was eating you alive. Not just for the betrayal of your fucking boyfriend, but for the line you crossed with Satoru that no doubt terminated your friendship. There had been no contact between the two of you since he dropped you off in your freshly cleaned apartment–courtesy of him. And wasn’t that just a twisting knife in the chest?

Contact between you and Charlie had been the same, too. However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be too stressed about it. Should you reach out to him, your guilt would only intensify until you spilled the truth to him. His rage, though it would be warranted, is not something you could bear right now. Especially, since you’ve yet to entirely recover from his previous outburst. 

But not only are you still recovering from that, you’re still recovering from the effects of coming down from the drug and the aftereffects of that kiss. Both of which have left you with so many questions and conflicting feelings. 

The loudest question out of them all was the one that scared you the most.

Why did you have to stop?

Your mind strayed back to that moment when he brushed the kiss on the fact that you both weren’t sober. While that was probably the biggest factor at play, you couldn’t help but think there was something more going on behind the scenes, maybe in your subconscious. 

Fuck, you just wanted to hit fast forward and skip this part. It only just started, and you were already exhausted. 

“Switching to pharmacology or something?” Haibara asked, appearing out of nowhere and scaring the hell out of you. “Come on. You did better on that biochem test than I did. No need to change classes.”

You looked up at your friend, who was peering over your shoulder at you. His eyes danced around your face as a look of concern morphed over his features. You knew you looked back; sleep had not been easy the past two nights. In true Haibara fashion, he didn’t hesitate to let you know it.

“You look like shit.”

Your lips fell into a flat line as he tossed his bag onto the floor, taking a seat next to you.

“Thanks, Yu. Can always count on you.”

The man leaned over to lift the book cover from the table to get a look at the title. “Psychoactive Drugs and Their Effects On The Brain? You really are switching to pharmacology, aren’t you?” he scoffed and fell back into his seat.

“No. That would be too much chemistry for me. Don’t worry, you’re not losing your human cheat sheet.”

He grinned and nudged you with his hand. “You act like I use you.”

You raised a brow. “Do you not?”

“Well, not all the time.”

“Mhm.”

“Whatever. Why are you reading about drugs anyway? Did I miss something in class?”

You sighed and closed the book, knowing there wasn’t much work you’d be able to get done in your small break now that Haibara had decided to grace you with his presence. But maybe that was a good thing, to have a distraction. 

“Just curious about hallucinogens and how they affect our ability to make appropriate decisions.”

“Uh oh. Don’t tell me you did something bad at the party.” A heat bloomed on your face at the mere mention of that night’s events. “No fucking way. What happened?”

“Shut up,” you groaned and began gathering up your stuff.

“No! No! Tell me, please!” he exclaimed, earning a very harsh shush from the librarian, a warning he didn’t heed because why would he? “Come on! I’ll die if you don’t tell me!”

“You’re impossible,” you whispered sharply, collecting your bag off the floor.

“I never ask for anything!” You snorted at his attempt to gaslight you. “Well, I’ll never ask again-!”

“Yu!” the librarian finally shouted, her voice echoing throughout the whole library. “Shut up or get out! This is a quiet space!”

A bit ironic as she shouted that scold across the room, but okay…

“How do you know my name? I’ve never been in here before.” His voice didn’t quiet down, despite her command.

“Everyone knows your name. This might be a library, but people talk. Quietly, might I add?”

Your friend cooed at the older woman, “Aww, people talk about me? Good things, I hope.”

“Yu, get out of my library before I call the dean.”

At the mention of the dean, Haibara’s eyes widened, and he bowed his head toward her. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize for the intrusion.” You rolled your eyes at his little display and grabbed onto his wrist, leading him out of the library before he could get you both in trouble. “You know, she’s the reason the younger generation doesn’t want to go to libraries anymore.”

“Is it her? Or is it you?”

He gasped, head whipping in your direction while you worked on stifling your laughter. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing, nothing. I gotta go.”

He groaned, pausing with you in front of the doors. “Fine. But you’re telling me about Saturday tomorrow.”

“Mhm, sure. Bye, Haibara!” Without waiting for another remark from him, you exited the building, destination set on the one place you had been dreading entering since Saturday night.

Limitless Enterprises Tower.

At least there was a bright side to this scenario, and that was the freedom to wear your clothing of choice. Within reason, of course. As Satoru said, that dress you wore to the party would never see the inside of the office.

That left you with a ton of different options, and in the end, you chose a knee-length pink skirt with a white knitted sweater. But your favorite part was the returning pink bow that you used to keep your hair out of your face. And the entire ensemble was almost enough to quell the bubbling anxiety in your stomach. 

The keyword being almost.

While it didn’t entirely remove your trepidation about seeing Satoru again, it gave you the push to actually enter Limitless. You kept your head down as you navigated to your office, praying to anything that was listening to allow you to arrive without running into him. 

Or anyone else, for that matter. 

As it seems, that last addition wasn’t heard by the universe, so rather than running into Satoru, it was another friendly face.

“Hey!” Shoko exclaimed excitedly and loudly enough to alert the whole floor to your arrival. 

So much for getting in undetected.

“Good Morning, Shoko. How was your weekend?” You rushed to her side, desperate to get you both out of the hallway before anyone else could join in on the conversation. Luckily for you, Shoko and you always had pleasant conversations, so she didn’t notice the way you were hurriedly ushering her into your office.

“It was good. Utahime and I went on a little weekend trip. Her family owns this cabin in the countryside, and we had it all to ourselves,” she gushed, relaxing back onto the edge of your desk. “What about you? You and Charlie do anything fun?”

You choked on your spit, but played it off with a little cough. “Oh, it was nothing too exciting. Just… relaxing at home.”

…until he broke your phone, kicked you out of your apartment, leaving you to turn to your boss, who then attended a frat party with you, where you both took drugs and ended up locking lips.

But something tells you that hearing all of that word vomit spilling out of your mouth would ruin the calm morning she was having, so as much as you wished to confide in another woman about your little predicament, Shoko was not the one. This was a topic that you would need to speak with Maki about over the phone as soon as possible. 

She hummed over your answer with a smile. “If you ever wanna borrow the cabin, spend some time with your man, just let me know. Utahime’s parents would let you stay.”

Your mouth dried. 

Spend some time with your man? The man you haven’t talked to in a couple of days? The man that you cheated on last night? You couldn’t take him to a cabin after what you’ve done.

“Hey, Sho?” a familiar voice called from the hallway, probably checking her office, which was right next door to yours, only to find it empty.

“In here!”

Seconds later, Suguru’s head popped around the corner, and when his eyes landed on you, they widened, along with a knowing grin on his face. He said your name, purring it almost. “It’s lovely to see you on this fine morning. How are you?” He took that question as his own invitation to step into your office. 

“Wonderful. And you?”

“Never better.” His grin continued to grow wider, now adding a devious glint to his eye. 

Did he know? Did Satoru really tell him?

“Anything fun happen over the weekend that you’d like to share?”

And there it was.

Satoru most definitely told him. 

“Nothing too exciting,” you bit back while your anger started to boil beneath the surface. “Maybe a little boring, I can’t really recall anything significant happening.”

“That so?” You nodded to answer his question and removed yourself from the duo, hoping to find some solace in your work. “Well, if that’s the case, I guess there really isn’t anything to discuss. Sho?” His assistant straightened to look attentive. “Can you have Ijichi reschedule my obligations? I’m taking a trip home for the upcoming holiday. I’ll be away the entire week.”

She nodded her head, already making her move toward the door. “Of course.”

Then she was gone, leaving you with someone who rivals Haibara when it comes to being nosy. And as a nosy person does, Suguru began to pry into this weekend’s events.

“Heard you met Yuta and Ino this weekend. Don’t tell me they weren’t good hosts.”

You sniffed, looking away from him. “They were fine.”

“Just fine?” He slinked into the chair across from your desk. “From the way it was described to me, it sounded like you had a really great time.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get at something, Suguru. Why don’t you just save us both the time and get to the point?”

He chuckled. “Don’t get all hostile. I’m only curious about how much fun you were really having this weekend.”

Your jaw clenched as you dropped the pen you’d been using, glaring at the arrogant man in front of you. “It’s clear that you already know what happened, so why do I have to go into detail about a-a mistake?! One that will definitely not be happening again, by the way, because I will never trust Ino again after he practically drugged me!” you gasped, taking a breath before the rant inevitably continued. “Yes, I willingly took the pill, but I didn’t know it was ecstasy, okay? I’ve never done that before, I didn’t know it would… feel like that–had I known, I would not have gone into that room with Satoru alone!”

Suguru leaned forward, frowning. “Wait a-”

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean it. I mean, I did, b-but not like that! I-I have a boyfriend, and Satoru and I are just friends. I did not mean to cross that line. But the way he was looking at me, and the drug made me feel things that were so far out of my control! He just looked so good, and it felt so good! It was-!”

In the midst of your rambling confession, you didn’t notice Suguru had walked behind your chair until he grabbed onto your hand and began guiding you out of your office. 

“It really was an accident, Suguru, I wouldn’t have done that on purpose!”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you down the hallway.

Why wasn’t your mouth shutting the fuck up? And you were crying, now, too! How ridiculous!

“And it’ll never happen again. Never, ever-”

“Suuure,” he mocked, stalking up to an all too familiar set of office doors. You gasped and tried to get away, but before you could, Suguru already had the doors open and was leading you inside. 

“Sugu-”

“Shush,” he jabbed at his startled friend sitting behind his desk before turning to you while he shut and locked the doors behind him. “You, sit.”

And with nothing else to do besides comply, you did. This man was technically your boss, too.

Fuck, he was your boss, and you just confessed all of that to him.

“Why is she crying?” Satoru asked his friend, motioning to you while you wiped away your tears. “What did you do?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Suguru laughed while taking a seat in the chair next to yours. He folded his hands in his lap, taking a moment to appreciate the tense atmosphere he put you in. “Do anything fun this weekend?”

Satoru’s eyes flicked to yours. “Nothing too exciting,” he settled on, returning his attention to his smug friend. 

“How interesting. Your assistant here said the same thing. I only ask out of curiosity. You see, I spoke with Yuta last night, and he informed me of the party you two attended this weekend. Said he and you both hung out all night until you disappeared. He said you went home.”

“Did he?”

A smirk twitched at the corners of Suguru’s mouth as his eyes strayed toward you. “He did.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as the harsh realization sank in. Suguru had no idea that you and Satoru did anything because Satoru never told him a single thing about Saturday night. Suguru talked to Yuta, who was definitely not in the room with you and Satoru. Which, unfortunately, means-

“Imagine my surprise when she starts giving me all the interesting details that I didn’t ask for.” Satoru’s thumb tapped against the desk, eating up the awkward silence as he waited for his friend to say the inevitable. “Had I not stopped her, I think she might’ve gone on to describe the length and girth of your fucking dick-”

You gasped loudly, pushing yourself up out of the chair. “That is not true! I would never!”

But Suguru spoke over you, “-after explaining how you looked at her, of course. Which, I can assume, is why she came onto you? That part I’m a little iffy on, it was hard to piece it all together. Her confession was all over the place. Oh, but I did manage to catch the part where you both were fucking rolling-”

“You practically forced it out of me!” you argued.

“I definitely did not. All I wanted to know was how much fun you had this weekend at a party that I wasn’t invited to. I guess in a sense, you did answer my question, but I could’ve gone without the details. As entertaining as that was, I really don’t need to know what my best friend is getting up to in the bedroom with his assistant.”

You didn’t think your face had ever felt so warm and red before. The skin would start to blister soon if you didn’t cool off. 

“You’re one to talk. Let’s bring your father’s assistant in there and see how detailed she can be when she tells us what happens between you two in your office.”

Finally, that seemed to break the cocky attitude Suguru had been harboring. “How did-”

“Your office is not soundproof. Now, go torment your own assistant. I know she enjoys it more than mine.”

He groaned but pushed himself up from the chair regardless. “Fine, fine–you’re both no fun,” Suguru grumbled, pulling the door shut behind him as he left. 

The skin on your thumb was almost torn to shreds from your horrible nail-biting habit, which has gotten worse since Saturday night. The silence was thick inside the office, and you felt like you were drowning in it. You blew out a deep breath, raking your hand through your hair and taking your seat again, just in time for Satoru to call out your name. 

“Hm?” you hummed, wiping away more tears so you’d be able to see Satoru clearly. 

“Do you… need to take some time-”

“No,” you quickly interrupted him. “No, time off is just going to leave me alone with my thoughts, and I… I can’t do that right now.”

There was only one word ringing through your head at that moment: selfish. 

Honestly, how selfish could you be? To be worried about only yourself while he’s the victim, and he’s asking if you need time? What about his own time? Why is he so calm and collected when you’ve taken the line between your friendship and ripped it to shreds? He should be angry with you-

“I understand-”

“Don’t–don’t say you understand.” 

His lips pressed into a flat line as he pushed himself out of his chair, making his way over to the leather seat beside yours. The chair dipped under his weight as he sat down.

“Look, you have every right to be angry with me-”

You gasped, once again interrupting him. “Me? Angry with you? No, that’s not–no, of course not! It’s my fault-”

“It’s not your fault.”

A fresh onslaught of tears dripped down your face. “It is, Satoru. I just ruined our friendship.” He shook his head and pulled his chair closer to yours, close enough to take your hand into his. The contact was scalding hot, instantly making you retract your hand from his with the subtle reminder that he was your friend and your boss. “I’m so sorry-”

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay?” The rest of your apology was swallowed by his admission. The corners of his mouth curved down into a frown as he leaned closer, taking your face between his two hands to wipe away the tears that seemed never-ending. “If anything, I thought you were going to say that I ruined our friendship.”

You sniffled, shaking your head. “No. Of course not, I kissed you.”

“And I kissed you back. We both… made a mistake.”

A mistake?

Why did that hurt to hear? He was right, it was most certainly a mistake, but the twisting in your chest was telling you the opposite. Your heartbeat picked up, imploring you that what happened wasn’t an error. Because if it was, why did it feel so good? If it was wrong, why did you feel this prickling sensation in your subconscious when you thought back on the kiss?

However, logic took precedence over your heart this time and firmly told you that the whole thing was a fuck up, one that you needed to fix immediately, or you’d run the risk of losing someone special–or, two special people, you should say. Charlie was a victim in this whole situation, too.

Yet it seemed your impulse to resolve that issue was placed on the back burner. Charlie was always on the back burner when you were around Satoru. For some reason, your friend just had the ability to make you forget about the shit show that was your relationship. Even in the aftermath of a mistake that directly affected your relationship with Charlie, fixing the problem between you and Satoru was at the forefront of your mind. 

“Hey,” Satoru coaxed you back into reality, sliding his hands away from your face to playfully ask, “Where’d you go?”

“You’re not mad at me?”

He bristled at your question. “There’s no reason to be mad at you. Now, stop worrying about me. I want to know about you. How are you feeling?”

Once again, tears welled in your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He cocked a brow, peering down at you without a hint of belief. “You don’t look fine.”

“You know, you’re the second person who’s insinuated that I look bad today,” you sniffled, forcing a wry laugh. “I thought my outfit was pretty cute.”

Finally, he cracked a smile. “I do like the outfit. Glad to see your pink bow is back, too.” His hand moved forward to trace over the bow in your hair before he seemed to realize what he was doing and forced his hand to retract back into his lap. “But I meant that you looked tired.”

You picked at your skirt, finding it to help with your anxiety when you busied your hands with something. “Well, sleeping hasn’t been easy, and I’ve been really emotional. But I found out today that ecstasy will do that to you–I’ve been doing some research on it. Did you know it was created in Germany as an appetite suppressant?”

He chuckled, “I did not. Why are you researching it?”

You shrugged, not keen on telling him the true reason behind the sudden quest for knowledge. “I wasn’t feeling too great and wanted to know if it was the cause, and if so, what else I could expect as potential side effects. I can see why it’s suggested to only use it once every couple of months, but I can also see why it’s a little bit addictive. The feeling is nice, but the come down sucks enough that I’d rather just keep taking it, you know?”

He nodded. “Can’t argue with you. The crash is awful.”

Satoru seemed to speak from experience–that wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest, but his comment intrigued you. He took the same amount as you, yet he wasn’t showing any signs of a comedown. He looked completely normal, and he sounded normal–could it be that he used it regularly enough that he’s learned to tolerate the crash? Or could it be that he hasn’t experienced the crash because he’s taken another dose? But there was always the chance that you were just being overdramatic about your situation. 

Surely, Satoru was not taking hallucinogens while working, right? What would be the point when you’re forced to confine yourself to your office all day and get lost in paperwork? Maybe you were silly for thinking about it too hard, but you were still curious.

You once again took note of the fact that he looked normal, sounded normal, and acted normal. While you might not have been sober Saturday night, you can still remember how he acted. He was bubbly and smiley–something that normal Satoru is not. That’s not to say that Satoru doesn’t look or act happy normally, but Saturday was different.

And when he looked at you, his eyes were so bright and full of so much admiration for you, so much so that every nerve in your body was begging for you to lean forward and kiss him. So, as he looked at you now, eyes exactly like they were the night of the party, you couldn’t help the question that tumbled out of your mouth. 

“Are you still high?”

His comforting smile faltered. “What?”

Your hands moved to his face to get a better look. “Your pupils are dilated like that night.” Gently, he pried your hands away from his face. “Are you?”

He huffed, an agitated look settling on his face. “Of course, not. Why would I take a party drug and come to work?”

“I–I don’t know. You just seem to be handling it pretty well-”

“Well, it wasn’t my first time, like it was yours.” He stood from his chair and then took his leave to retreat behind his desk. 

“Something else then?”

You weren’t sure why you were prying into it so much when you could see that he was acting normal. Perhaps you were way off, but there was something that just didn’t sit right with you. Something was off, but in a completely normal way. 

He groaned your name with a huff.

“What? I’m only concerned-”

“And I appreciate that, but I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“You can trust me, you know…” you trailed off, earning another sigh from him. “Our secrets stay between each other. You know that–well, except for all the secrets Ijichi tells you that you then relay to me, but that’s besides the point.”

His lip twitched with a small grin before he said, “There is no secret.”

But you could feel the lie he was telling you, and if there was one thing you hated the most, it was liars. And that came just before your hatred for surprises and also being kept in the dark about things. 

“So, if I looked through your desk right now, the most I’ll find is some Tylenol?”

He rubbed his jaw, chuckling humorlessly. “I hate to pull this card on you, but I’m still your boss. It isn’t very appropriate for you to be this persistent with matters that don’t concern you.”

You pursed your lips, standing from your chair to inch closer to his desk. 

“As my boss, it wasn’t very appropriate for you to reach up my dress last Saturday night, but you did it anyway. For the sake of the argument, let’s drop the boss-assistant label and remember that we were friends first. I don’t like being lied to.”

His finger tapped against his jaw as he looked up at you, contemplating the situation. He took in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “If I tell you, then I get one free wish from you.”

“I’m not a genie,” you scoffed.

“I’ll keep that in mind when I cash my wish.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t even know what you want yet?”

“Nope. I’ll use it when the time is right.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Alright, but it better not be anything humiliating, got it? So help me, if you embarrass me, I’ll put in an order to change your little business cards–I know how serious you are about yours. I’ll make sure they’re vertically oriented with rounded edges.”

He stifled a chuckle. “Not the rounded edges.”

His laughter was infectious, making it hard for you to hold onto the confidence in your tone. “Don’t play with me.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll make sure my wish doesn’t embarrass you, so leave my business cards alone,” he mused, pulling out his drawer to present to you a flat, rectangular metal tin. With his thumb, he slid the silver lid off, showing you inside the container. Small grooves were carved into the metal, and inside the small grooves, a fine white powder.”

“Coke,” you surmised.”

“Mhm.” He slid the cover over the substance and stowed it away in his drawer again. 

“How… stereotypical of you,” you playfully taunted, “That should have been my first guess.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, now that you know, can we drop the subject?”

“Wait. I have questions.”

“Of course, you do,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Go ahead.”

You perched yourself on the edge of his desk before asking, “How often?”

Satoru blew out a breath. “As often as I need it.”

“Which is…?”

“I don’t know. It depends on the day. How busy and overwhelmed I get usually dictates the dose.”

“So, you only use at work?”

He paused. “I didn’t say that.”

“So, you use every day.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that either. Is any of this really important?”

You shrugged. “I’m only curious. How long have you been using it?”

“Pass,” he scoffed, which made you frown. 

“What?”

“Pass. I don’t want to answer that one.” But with one look from you, he groaned, rubbing his face before leaning into his palm. “I used it on and off again through high school. Usually for parties and... other stuff, but it wasn’t until I turned 18 that I started using it consistently.”

His confession made your heart twist, but you’d pry into that later. “And cocaine is the only thing you’re using?”

“Currently, yes–excluding certain um… events.”

“You mean last Saturday.”

“Among other things. Let me ask you a question: is it your interest in medical studies that has you interrogating me like this, or are you secretly attending law school?”

“I’m just interested in what you do. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” He gave you a knowing glance, which made you cave. “I read over the syllabus for my courses, and in one of my classes next month, we’re going over drug use and how it affects the human body. I guess you can say I’m getting a head start.”

“How efficient,” he deadpanned.

“Thank you, sir. A compliment from a hardworking employer, such as yourself, is truly gratifying. I only strive to be as efficient as you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “If that were true, you’d be in your own office, forwarding me the important correspondence and scheduling my meetings. In other words, you’d be doing your job.”

“Is overlooking the health of my boss not in my description?” Once again, he rolled his eyes and picked up where he’d left off when Suguru barged into his office with you. “Just one more question.”

“One more,” he answered, not looking up from his work.

“Why?” you asked, trepidation prickling across your skin when you watched him go still. “Why do you use?”

After a few moments of silence, he answered. 

“Efficiency.”

* * * * *

Unknown Number: Hey Unknown Number: Can we talk?

It didn’t take much for you to figure out who sent you that message as you walked back to campus that evening. The work day at Limitless just ended, and after the hectic day that you’d had, the last thing you wanted to deal with was Charlie. Reaching out to him now, going into this whole situation without devising a plan first, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to do it. Especially with the night class, you had the rest of the evening to look forward to. So, you pocketed your phone and continued on your way, hoping the rest of the day would fly by. 

Since starting at Limitless, you have successfully managed to switch around all of your classes to fit your work schedule. The only downside was the classes that you had to take in the evening, which led well into the night, leaving you arriving home a little before eight, only to turn around and arrive at your next morning class around six. If you didn’t have loads of homework and studying to do, this schedule wouldn’t be too bad, but alas, there you were at two in the morning, glancing over your study guide for the next morning’s quiz.

That’s when you got another message, which unfortunately reminded you of the unopened one sitting in your inbox. Rather than opening that can of worms, you opted for the other. 

Toru •ᴗ•: Sorry for messaging you so late. I had to move one of my meetings to seven this morning. Think you can make it?

You were about to reply when another message from him came through. 

Toru •ᴗ•: You’re probably sleeping. Just let me know in the morning. Preferably before seven

You smiled from the faux professionalism he exuded even while texting you–as if your relationship was anywhere near professional. Despite his tone, you replied authentically.

Me: Not sleeping, but I do have a quiz in my morning class. Forge a doctor’s note for me, and I’ll be there. 

You placed your phone down and returned to studying, but just two seconds later, your phone chimed with another message. Thinking it was Satoru, you picked it up to see another message from that unknown number.

Unknown Number: Please. Unknown Number: It’s been days.

Just as you went to click on the message, ready to face the issue head-on, a new one from Satoru popped up on the screen, which quickly earned your interest more than the other one. 

Toru •ᴗ•: Why are you awake? It’s 2 am, you should be sleeping. Me: What if I said your messages woke me up?

You giggled as you hit send, waiting in the message log for his reply

Toru •ᴗ•: Did they? If so, I’m really sorry. Go back to bed.

The warm feeling in your chest was subtle, but so comforting.

Me: Kidding. I’m studying for that quiz, but I’m hoping my super cool boss can forge a doctor’s note so I can attend his meeting instead. Toru •ᴗ•: What makes you think your super cool boss has the means to forge a fucking doctor’s note? Me: Well, he’s kind of a big deal. I’m sure he can pull some strings for his favorite assistant.

Your giggling was quickly replaced with a gasp when his next message came through. 

Toru •ᴗ•: If that’s the case, I’ll get Shoko that doctor’s note asap Me: Fuck you. Ask Ijichi to take notes during your meeting. Toru •ᴗ•: Kidding. Of course, you’re my favorite assistant. No one can overlap my meetings like you can.  Me: 😞 Toru •ᴗ•: Getting your doctor’s note right now. Do you have the stomach flu or a twisted ankle? Me: I do believe it is the stomach flu. Toru •ᴗ•: I’ll have the note for you in the morning. Ten minutes early, don’t be late. This meeting is important.  Me: Sir, yes, sir 🫡 Good night, Toru

You reread his messages a couple of times, trying your hardest to figure out what this feeling was inside of your chest, but with the growing headache jabbing behind your eyes, you clicked off your phone. Since you had the promise of not having to take the quiz tomorrow morning, courtesy of your super cool boss, you shut your textbook without remorse and headed off to bed.

|| Series Masterlist || >FALLACIES>

a/n: tysm for reading, loves! Also, later today, I'm going to post a little side story drabble thingy for this story. It's sort of like an example of when Satoru tells Reader secrets about office drama involving Ijichi. You don't have to read it if you don't want to, it's not really relevant to the plot, just a funny little piece.

Okay, have a good day, lovelies! <3!

edit: I posted the drabble! You can find it here >Ijichi's Rash>

taglist is open :) @man1cslut @tetsuski @arrozyfrijoles23 @kazukuro

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

Play matchmaker with the boys between themselves?

For fun, I added in some other Bhol characters!

Steve Murphy/Donald Pierce: Look. Pierce earnestly thinks Steve Murphy is cool. He’s hunting down narcos! He’s a “good guy” doing morally complicated things! He embodies that takes-no-shit masculinity Pierce is always drawn to! And Steve thinks Pierce is cool as well! He digs his style, and he’s really impressed by Pierce’s engineering acumen (especially when Pierce fixes his apartment’s busted AC). This absolutely becomes a triad relationship between Connie, Steve, and Pierce. Steve is delighted to have a lover who is both willing and able to sexually satisfy Connie! And she’s so dazzled by him! She’s never had her pussy eaten so good before! They are both very impressed with Pierce, and he’s eating it up! He loves flattery, he loves feeling wanted, and he especially loves enveloping threeway cuddles. He’s so into giving oral to both of them, and he melts the day Steve decides he wants to practice fellatio on him. Connie and Pierce team up to get Steve to dress better.

John McBride/Eli Klaber: John is exactly the sort of old-fashioned gentleman Klaber’s been looking for. He’s typically pretty soft-spoken and mild-mannered, but he can be a firm man-of-action when the situation calls for it! He can handle a gun and handle himself at an opera house! He can quote Shakespeare, whip up a snare in a jiffy, and he knows a dozen sailing knots and also what all the different silverware is for! Klaber is so impressed! He wants to hang off his arm at fancy soirees, and he’s also keen back him up any of his hunts. Meanwhile, John’s kinda lonely, he’s gonna be so dazzled with Klaber taking an interest in him.

The Corinthian/Quinn McKenna: Here’s the thing: Quinn isn’t the Corinthian’s usual type, but that’s a benefit in this case! The Corinthian is a lot more likely to kill and eat men/boys that ping on his preydar. Quinn, not really resembling his usual type, is a lot more likely to survive him. These two don’t have a romantic relationship, but they work out a comfortable fuck-buddy situation, possibly just in the Dreaming. Quinn’s reluctantly turned-on by the Corinthian, and the Corinthian’s intrigued by Quinn’s potential for violence. He wants to coax it out, but the place where this relationship works is that Quinn is kind of immune to Corinthian’s dark mirror tricks! He knows who he is, he’s comfortable with who he is, and that actually ends up kind of grounding the Corinthian too. He does better when he’s “reflecting” off people with more stable self-identities! Anyway… if anyone’s curious how some Quinn/Coco might look, I wrote a fic about it!

Vic Owen/Ty Shaw: Ty is honestly so damn good for Vic. He provides him with structure and unconditional love, plus a new family to integrate right into, who adore him from day 1! He’s also really good at calming Vic down when he’s triggered or overstimulated. They’re pretty sexually compatible – Vic’s sometimes into roughness and being submissive, and sometimes he’s just craving some tender handjobs and cuddles, and Ty is so into both! Also, holy shit, Ty and Vic at the rodeo together??? Or riding horses??? They’re having such a good time. They have occasional threesomes with Sancholo, and love playing video games and smoking weed as much as they love going on weekend hunting/camping trips! And Ty is so down to let Vic ramble on about his interests, he thinks it’s adorable!

Clement Mansell/Steve Tynan: Look, they get up to SO much shit together. Clement’s underworld connections and opportunistic cunning combined with Tynan’s government connections and tenacity?? That opens SO many doors. They’re such a terrific duo, they do so much crime, and Tynan makes sure it’s all swept under the rug. Tynan loves getting to let loose with Clement a bit as well - he’s usually got to be so buttoned-up and professional, it’s nice to be around someone he doesn’t have to put on airs for.

Danny Maguire/Cap Hatfield: The two of them are actually super cute together. This pairing won’t happen naturally though – Danny’s gotta have been stranded in Cap’s town or something, or even kidnapped! He’s pretty dismissive of Cap at first, and I wouldn’t put it past him to insult him for being a “hick” in some “backwater mud hole”. But like. Fast forward a bit and they’re getting along a lot better! Danny appreciates how protective and generally easy-going Cap is, and I feel like they’ve both got some genderqueer vibes they could explore together. (Danny maybe wants to look like an androgynous lesbian, and Cap’s very into the shaggy hair, boyshorts, and sports bras!) They’re decently matched sexually; Cap likes spanking Danny and using toys on him, and they’re both cuddle fiends after scenes. Danny starts to reluctantly appreciate a bit of nature, especially when he’s got such an attentive and enthusiastic guide.