#actually any response from anybody would be nice

[ghostaholics]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader ➸ TAGS/WARNING(S): none ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune & benkeibear

Detail-oriented, exceptional manual dexterity when it comes to sewing him up. Your movements are careful and controlled – meticulous with regards to everything that you do but especially focused on how the edges line up so that they don’t overlap. Other medics – they'll rush. Botch it. A shoddy job like tectonic plates of skin forced to converge on each other, because in his line of work, stitches are an afterthought when there's another bloke with a sucking chest wound whose deep in the throes of respiratory distress and the only immediate threat about Ghost's own injury is the small amount of blood he'll lose. Whatever will get it closed. Nobody else cares much about the cosmetic factor. But you do. Painstakingly so. It's a thankless job to spend three times longer than it should to get it right, but he makes sure to express his appreciation for the consideration you put into every single graze/cut/gash (even more diligent if the injury's to any part of his arm that could mess up his tattoo sleeve). They always heal nicely.

He looks for you, after-hours – well late into the night because you were occupied patching up other soldiers. It'd been a grueling mission, lots of WIAs needing your attention. He doesn't even have a good excuse for this. It's a trivial thing, maybe, to bother you. Like asking Atlas for a favour, with the weight of the world on your shoulders and the soul-crushing responsibility of holding lives in the palms of your hands as though you're the last line of defense against death. This is stupid. This is beyond fucking stupid of him. Almost turns around and walks away from the medical tent, because that's how ridiculous it is. But he convinces himself to head in, asking if you can fix the stitching on his mask because the only person he trusts more than himself to do it is you. Though his request is benign, the significance behind it is profound in ways that he won't admit to himself. There are very few people he can count on. And of course, you say yes with a tired smile and a brightness in your eyes that never seems to dull in front of him no matter how exhausted you might be. It's one of the rare instance he lets his guard down, shows his face. He keeps you company the entire time, telling you about why he wears that mask while you restore it back to original condition.

The irony of having an injured medic: Simon's saddled with the pitiful task of having to step into your role because there's a gash on your forearm that needs to be taken care of. He knows how to do a basic stitch – is fairly confident that he can thread the sutures just like you’d showed him a million times by now whenever he’d been looking for a reason to see you ( ❝ Show me how to do it right. The proper way, yeah? ❞ ). And he's admonishing you to hold still, except it's sort of difficult when you're being treated like a bloody pincushion. He'd never let anybody else get away with making fun of him for that but this is you so he lets it slide. After talking him through it (which you find quite odd, considering that he never would've struck you as someone who’d need extra time and help), you inspect his handiwork, mildly impressed.

❝ Oh, you actually... well, you did quite a decent job. ❞ ❝ Of course. ❞ Because he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfecti— ❝ But then again, it is a little off over here, ❞ you point out, just to deflate his pride. There's still smugness to his tone. ❝ Would you like me to start over, then? ❞ ❝ Not on your life, Riley. ❞

He doesn’t mention how phenomenal he is at suturing, doesn’t mention that he sat in on a class for combat specialists early on in his career even though he didn't need to be there and was commended for his technique by the leading instructor. He definitely doesn't bring up the fact that he's been taking long on purpose just because he likes your company.

[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS..! G. SATORU X READER

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER THREE : just..friends!

NEXT… CHAPTER FOUR : tutoring.

gojo was reclined on his couch, legs sprawled out everywhere. the comfort of his own home at 17 was a luxury not anybody could afford. yet, it was gifted to him by his grandma on his 16th birthday. a 32 acre estate mansion designed by switzerland’s best architect. a blend of traditional japanese and a mix of modern luxury. despite the mansion being large enough to home a village, it was only filled with servants, gojo and silence.

which is why his father thought it was a great idea to have him take on a responsibility, a quite immense responsibility. 

“who the hell are you?”

gojo glances up from his phone and looks for what voice peeped from the entrance of the lounge room. the large dark oak doors were fully opened yet from his peripheral vision, there was no one there. that was until he looked down at a young boy.

his jet black hair, fair skin and green eyes stood out from any other kid has ever laid his eyes on. a shiver runs down gojo’s spine and goosebumps slowly form on his forearms as he continues to stare at the young boy.

“satoru,” his father’s voice echoed from the hallway, slowly becoming more apparent as he got closer. “this is megumi fushiguro, he will be staying with you from now on.”

the young white haired male’s jaw drops to the very floor as he repeated the last name out loud, “..fushiguro?” he glances at the boy then back at his father before raising an eyebrow, “and why is that?” there was no curiosity in his tone, just genuine concern. 

his father opens his mouth to respond before shutting it as megumi turns around to face him, seeming to have the exact same question. why is he staying with 17 year old gojo satoru?

“his father has..business to take care of. it required him to leave for a certain period of time so i’ve agreed to take him in.”

the explanation was typical; vague and left no room for any further questions. gojo knew better than to further poke the sleeping bear and just nod in agreement. but even though he answered gojo’s question, his eyes told a different answer. there was no doubt the boy’s father got into some trouble and was taken out for good.

gojo shrugged the lingering thoughts away before making his way to megumi. he knelt down to megumi’s height, to come off as less intimidating, and patted his head. “megumi, right? i’m satoru, looks like we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

“i am not sharing a room with you.” megumi spat out while clutching onto a small dog plushie. even if he tried to come off as fearless, gojo couldn’t help but notice the way he was violently shaking. 

he chuckles at megumi before pulling him into a tight and unwarranted hug. “sure man, whatever you say goes.”

the busy streets of tokyo were alive every night, capturing the life of the city and its residents. honking horns, distant chatter, and the same rhythmic footsteps of busy people wanting to get from point A to point B. gojo suggested the two shopping the day after the party, which clearly irritated megumi.

“do we really have to go shopping during rush hour?” megumi grumbled and shoving his hands into his pockets. “i have better things to do.” 

satoru only chuckled at the angsty teen’s behavior. he watched megumi grow from a know it all toddler to a slumped moody teenager. “oh come on megumi! i’ve been meaning to buy you something nice. besides, it’s not like you actually have friends to hang out with.”  

megumi shoots him a glare, “i do have friends, and i could have plans that only involved myself.”

“like what? brooding in your room all day?” gojo teased, ruffling megumi’s hair before he slapped his hand away.

as they entered a high end luxury store, gojo’s attention was immediately caught by a limited edition pair of sneakers. he nudged megumi towards the display before picking it up and carefully inspecting it. “what do you think megumi? these would look great on you!” 

megumi barely glances at the shoe before mumbling a response, “they’re fine i guess. can we get them and go home now?” irritation was written all over the poor boy’s face. 

gojo was able to immediately pick up the teen’s attitude towards him. he rolled his eyes at the moody behavior, “you’re in a mood today. something bothering you?” 

“i don’t know… maybe it's the fact you're texting my teacher and asking her out for dinner again!” he whispered-yelled in the middle of the store.

gojo clicks his tongue. “ah, so that’s what this is about huh?” he said with a stupid smile plastered on his face, “well i happen to think miss. l/n is a lovely person to be around. she’s humble, intelligent and she seems to talk to me like a normal person. she’d be a wonderful friend!”

megumi scoffs and crosses his arms across his chest, “you’re not fooling anyone, you know there’s more to it!”

gojo leaned slightly towards megumi with a slight mischievous look in his eyes, “it’s refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t obsessed with the whole gojo clan nonsense. she’s not stiff and never talks about business.” he leans further into megumi’s personal space, “but you seem to be real caught up on this. are you jealous..?!”

megumi’s face flushed in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “i am not jealous! i just don’t think it’s appropriate for you to make plans with my teacher. it’s  weird..” he mumbled the last sentence. 

gojo raises his hand to scratch his chin and pretends he’s in deep thought. “hm, well if it makes you that uncomfortable then i suppose i have no choice but to cut contact.”

“r-really?! you’ve decided that quick?” 

“of course,” gojo said, ruffling his hair once again. “you’re more important to me than making a new friend.”

a small pang of guilt hit megumi’s chest, and his expression softened. “i mean, you don’t have to stop being her friend. just..stop trying to invite her to private dinners.”

“deal!” gojo says with a wide grin, “now, let’s go find some shoes you’ll actually like.” despite megumi’s outburst, he knew he cared for him in his own way. no matter how many times gojo has been a victim of megumi’s prickly demeanor, he would still let him have his way.

the duo exits out the store, with gojo swinging multiple bags over his back, into the bustling streets. the both continued to have a quiet conversation about tonight’s dinner options. just as they turned the corner, a small figure collided with him, again. 

“ah, miss. l/n!” gojo exclaimed, caught completely off guard. standing before them was today’s topic of discussion dressed casually with a few bags in her hand. 

“megumi, mr.gojo! what a lovely surprise to see you two here.” you smiled.

gojo cleared his throat, trying to regain any composure he had left “y-yes, quite a surprise indeed! we were, uh, out shopping for new shoes for megumi.” he tried to reach over to pat megumi’s shoulder, with his eyes on remaining on you, and ends up patting his face.

you glance at the multiple bags being held by gojo, “seems like you guys found something nice.”

“yeah thanks to this idiot.” megumi muttered before swaying gojo’s hand out his face, “he insisted i get new shoes.” 

“well, it was nice seeing you both.” you replied. “i’m actually on my way to a movie. i’ve been meaning to watch the new action movie that recently came out.” 

gojo’s eyes light up at the mention of the film, “oh really?! we were just about to grab something to eat but a movie sounds even better! right megumi?” he glances back at the teenager who seemed to be absolutely mortified by the sudden turn of events. 

“uh, sure but we really shouldn’t intrude-”

“don't be ridiculous!” gojo chuckled before turning to you, “we’d love to join you if that’s okay with you miss. l/n. tickets and snacks on me!” 

you laughed softly at the man’s eagerness, “i don’t mind at all, some company would be nice.” 

megumi gave gojo a “what are you doing?!” look but he was too infatuated with you to even notice. 

as they made their way to the theaters, gojo makes an attempt to make conversation to fill in the comfortable silence. but his nerves seem to hate him.

“s-so, miss. l/n.” gojo’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before attempting again. “i hear that the, uh, curriculum changed throughout the year. i-is it difficult for you? but i mean i wouldn't be surprised if not since someone like you is capable of handling it well..”

you smiled kindly despite being confused at his sudden awkwardness, “it’s just an adjustment. i’m fine as long as the students are.” 

megumi sighed before yanking gojo aside and whispering, “ please stop, you’re embarrassing yourself. can we just-”

“relax megumi, i’m just trying to make conversation.” gojo said while nervously chuckling.

when they reached the ticket counter, gojo confidently stepped in front of both of them. “three adult tickets please, i’ll be paying.”

the young cashier smiled, “sure thing. i’ll be sure to add on tonight's family discount.” she prints out the tickets and hands them over to gojo. “enjoy the movie and your family night out!”

both megumi and gojo froze, processing her words while you chuckled at the misunderstanding.

“we’re not-” megumi started but was quickly cut off. 

“thank you and we will!” gojo said before snatching megumi by his collar. 

as they entered the theater, megumi gave gojo a stern look before muttering “did you seriously go along with that?!” 

gojo only laughed at megumi’s response to the situation. “why not? it’s kind of nice to be seen as a family, don’t you think?” he turned to you, waiting for your approval. 

your eyes softened towards megumi, “the two of you certainly give off the dynamic of a family. it’s cute to see.”

the theater’s lights start to dim and the chatter that was once there starts being hushed. gojo, being sat in between megumi and you, couldn’t help but keep up his playful demeanor. whenever a dramatized scene came on, he would whisper in your ear witty but funny remarks on it. all megumi heard were giggles coming from his teacher, and being caused by his mentor. 

it was annoying enough to see gojo play his classic playboy persona in front of his teacher. that was what he thought until he further inspected him. despite the horrible lighting, he noticed the subtle signs of nervousness.like the way gojo would lightly tap his fingers on the shared armrest, how he would stumble over his words, or the way he constantly looked over at you as if he seeked approval.

no matter how much of a distraction the both of you were, he couldn’t help but find amusement in watching the two of you. it was a rare sight to see gojo, the overly confident playboy, be genuinely flustered. for once, he decided to let gojo’s antics slide. 

once the credits rolled, megumi leaned into gojo’s ear. “you owe me for this.”

and before gojo could question what he meant by that, he sees him turn his attention onto you. “miss. l/n, i’m actually having trouble adjusting to the curriculum you mentioned earlier. would it be okay if you could tutor me at gojo’s house? he’ll pay you!”

and being the dedicated teacher you are, you respond with genuine concern in your tone. “of course! why didn’t you say anything sooner?!” 

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if you’d like to be added, please do the inbox thing! it’ll make it easier on my part. this is the updated tag list (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[cryptocism]

Since I think about clones like I’m getting paid for it, I've been rotating those alternate universe "what if Bart and Thad were actually raised together" scenarios in my brain, with Thad either post-redemption-arc or pre-villainy. Because adjusting Thad's character to fit an ally role while still keeping true to his core motives and personality is so so fascinating to me.

Like I think there's an immediate first instinct to slot Thad into a "bad" twin category: ie rebellious and prickly, doesn't get along with people, mean lil shit. And obviously it's not wrong bc we're outside the realm of canon, but the reading still feels a little left of center.

Because Thad is mean and prickly in canon. In the Impulse comics he belittles Bart and Bart’s friends/family constantly in his appearances. He loves to goad, and monologue about his own superiority and intelligence. He’s very Not Nice, and he causes many problems, and he even does it on purpose.

But, I think it’s important to consider the context. From the jump Thad knows very little about anything except which team he’s on and who he’s playing for. He gets his orders from an unseen authority and he carries out his tasks because success means his team wins.

For all his self-aggrandizing talk, everything he does is in service of an end goal that doesn't actually center him. He's trying to get revenge for grievances he's never personally suffered, retribution for actions never committed against him. Everything he does is on someone else's behalf.

Thad sees in black and white, us or them. Up until the final few issues of Mercury Falling, Bart and co. are Thad's enemies, of course he's not going to be nice.

So Thad's motivation seems pretty simple: Thawne Supremacy™.

But it’s in Mercury Falling where this starts to fall apart, and the real core of his motivation gets revealed. Thad pretends to be Bart and suddenly Helen is nice to him. Bart’s friends think he’s funny. Bart’s teachers are impressed with his grades. Max ruffles his hair and gives him hugs and tells him he’s done a good job.

If he was actually an inherently mean and standoffish character, if Thad actually had significant personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict, the weight of such tiny acts of kindness wouldn’t completely break him the way that it does in canon.

Thad thinks his goal is superiority and revenge and Thawne Supremacy™, but he's chasing validation. Thad doesn’t have a personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict. He wouldn't get much satisfaction if he actually destroyed Bart and his family. Thad's personal victory would be the recognition after the fact: the praise and attention from the other Thawnes (a group of people he has literally never met) for his success.

He wants validation. That's basically it. And the fact that he gets it so easily from Bart's family and friends doesn't align with how he's told himself things are supposed to work.

Actually tangentially, Bart and Thad’s respective relationships to authority is so diametrically opposed and tbh kind of subversive in a superhero narrative. Where the hero is the one carving his own path without regard to social or societal rules, no fucks to give what anybody thinks of it. And the villain is a chronic people-pleaser.

Just based on Thad’s reaction to simple praise and affection from Max I really think Thad’s motivation has more to do with the response he gets than whatever the details are of any given task. He has no actual personal convictions beyond getting positive attention, and whatever he did have crumbled as soon as Bart’s friends laughed at his joke one time. Which of course leads into the core of his whole conflict at the end of Mercury Falling. He cares too much about Bart’s friends and family now, he doesn’t want to kill them, but worse than that, he’s faced with the sudden realization that he’s on the wrong side.

The Allens gave Thad everything he actually wanted and needed, but his conception of himself is inexorably tied to the Thawnes: who gave him jack shit. These two facts are in opposition to each other, and he can’t reconcile the reality of it.

Anyway all this to say, in an AU where Bart and Thad are raised together or Thad gets an actual redemption arc etc etc, I think my personal take on Thad’s personality whether it be pre-or-post-villainy would be one that is extremely socially conscious. He is much more of a people-person than Bart. Whether he's actually accurate in assessing people's feelings and how to respond to them can be hit or miss, but he wants to behave in a way that gets people to like him.

Pretending to be Bart isn’t remarked upon as, like, a difficult task for Thad. In his internal monologue he’s literally bragging to himself about how easy it is. But what’s especially notable to me is where his act differs from Bart's typical MO. Everyone notices, and lots of people comment, and presumably if Thad didn’t have the excuse of Max’s illness to “motivate” Bart to do better he would’ve been found out immediately. And those things are, specifically: paying attention in class, doing his chores, staying on task, and being helpful around the house. The one thing about Bart he chooses not to emulate is Bart’s rebelliousness.

Thad wants to prove himself, constantly, to whatever authority he respects (probably Max in this scenario) and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. In contrast to Bart, who only listens to authority when the shit they're saying actually makes sense to him. It’s excessively difficult to convince him to go against his own interests. (And I think a key part of that is Bart’s security in knowing that no matter how much he fucks up or doesn’t listen, the people he loves will always love him back.)

Thad’s got the people-pleaser in him that has to deserve whatever he’s given. It’s why he’s happiest when he’s given a clear goal or objective to complete, because it gives him an opening to prove himself.

All this to say that if we are quantifying Bart and Thad as a "good" or "bad" twin, in the eyes of every authority: Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the bad twin, Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the one who doesn’t care about school and whose grades vary wildly depending on his personal interest. He’s the one who goes off to do dangerous shit for fun and gets in trouble constantly and doesn’t do his chores and is thoroughly unconvinced by any authority figure trying to sell him bullshit. 

Thad is the one who needs to know all the rules just so he can experience the joy of following them. Relentlessly obedient. He'll put all his effort into doing all the right things that’ll endear him to whoever he wants to impress - meaning he’s the asshole who reminds the teacher about the assigned homework. Bart might be the most popular boy in school, but Thad is a pleasure to have in class.

Like Thad can (and should) still be high-strung and short-tempered and sarcastic and edgy and mean, because he is. But he can’t be doing all that without rhyme or reason. Colouring every interaction has to be that one-zero binary of ally or enemy. He needs to have somebody he’s proving himself to: a team he’s on and a team he’s against. He’s not an inherently rebellious character. He can go up against The Enemy, whoever he deems as such, but it has to be in service of a hypothetical future in which somebody eventually tells him he did a great job.

And in the interest of continuing to beat a dead horse, it connects to their respective upbringings. Thad and Bart were both raised in VR, but Bart’s experience had the side effect of basically hard-wiring him against insecurity. His world was a playground tailor-made for him, and he was never made to feel bad or insufficient about any aspect of himself. His first interaction with a real human person was Iris moving heaven and earth to save him, without him knowing her, without her knowing him, with no reasoning for the act needed beyond Being Her Grandson. Which is probably a significant factor in why Bart moves through the world with frankly atomic levels of autistic swag.

Thad’s VR upbringing installed self-consciousness in his psyche before any other personality trait. As in: he is immediately made conscious of himself and his relationship with everyone he will ever encounter. He’s told two things: he’s a clone of someone else (inherently derivative, lesser) and that he was made to be superior (a status to achieve). Which is such an instant clarifier for Thad’s everything. Where superiority is a condition that everyone either has, or does not. It’s the one-zero binary again: are they better than me or am I better than them. Being above others is mandatory, and if his superiority is ever challenged by hard evidence or god forbid nuance Thad’s brain physically cannot take it. He needs to be better, to be worse is unthinkable, and there is no other way to be.

And this status of better or worse is, crucially, not up to Thad to decide. He needs The Authority to validate him. Bart never tries to prove himself because he has nothing to prove. Thad’s entire identity hinges on the self-worth he gets from doing a Good Job.

It is such an inherent part of his motives in the Impulse comics canon, which is why it always feels a little off when he’s interpreted as a jackass indiscriminately.

Like I don't think he needs everyone to like him. But I do think he has either one person or a set of very particular people that he needs to like him. Everyone else is either in that circle or outside of it.

(Which is why Bart is such a great foil for Thad tbh. There is no set of words or behaviors that’ll change Bart’s opinion of Thad, because Bart is unaffected by obedience or charm. So ironically Bart is probably one of few people that Thad doesn’t bother to put on even a little bit of an act for.)

While Bart goes with his instincts, his personal beliefs and convictions at all times, Thad is hyper-conscious of big-picture goals. They balance each other out that way. Thad's keeping track of whatever expectations he has placed on him, and how his actions reflect on him and the team beyond short-sighted solutions. He's a team player. AND he's an asshole.

[jewish-sideblog]

hey, so im Palestinian and a strong activist for my people's liberation. i wanted to ask for some info/advice on avoiding antisemitism in my activism for Palestine. im on anon bc i don't want to be called a racefaker for caring about Jewish ppl. i know antisemitism is on the rise right now (and generally over the past few years) and i want to make sure i'm not unintentionally contributing to it.

Hey there! I wanted to start by genuinely thanking you for asking this question. Partially because I don't actually get any well-intentioned or helpful questions in my inbox anymore, but also because I understand the amount of bravery it takes to reach out with a question like that at a time like this.

Next, I want to apologize to all my followers who hate long posts. Judaism is a very complicated ethnoreligious group, antisemitism is a very complicated form of bigotry, and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict is arguably the most complicated international issue that has ever existed. I'm going to try to go through everything as succinctly as possible below the cut-- I am also going to ask other Jews to contribute to and make edits to this list as needed.

And finally-- I'm writing this as though I were speaking to someone with very little knowledge of the subject. I understand that as a Palestinian, you probably know a lot about what's going on here. But I want to make sure that I'm covering bases for anybody else who might need to use this post. So if you're like, Yeah, Obviously I Knew That. Please remember that a fuckton of people on tumblr are engaging in Israeli criticism without obviously knowing that.

There are two primary forms of antisemitism in anti-Zionist spaces-- antisemitic conspiracy theory, and criticism of Israel that no other country receives. The first kind is the easiest kind to pick out, and it makes a nice bulleted list, so we'll start there.

Dual Loyalty. A global stereotype that has skyrocketed since the establishment of Israel, but it's been around for a lot longer than that. Simply put, it's the idea that Jews are more loyal to Israel (or some global secret kabal) than we are to the countries we currently reside in. With I/P, it manifests as the idea that All Jews are directly responsible for Israel or the idea that All Jews secretly support Israel. If you see a Jew who isn't directly engaging in I/P topics, don't ask them what their stance is. Plenty of us have never even been to Israel, and it's fucked up to assume that we're all experts in geopolitics.

The Holocaust was a Fabrication or a Lesson. The idea that Jews made up the Shoah has been around since the Shoah was still happening, and it's always been ridiculous. Today, you'll see three primary lines about this. Either it's that Jews made up the Shoah as an excuse to establish Israel, that the Jews deserved the Shoah because of what's happening in Israel today, or that the Jews "should have learned their lesson from the Holocaust" because now Jews are "the new Nazis". Frankly, I wish goyim would stop treating the deaths of millions of Jews like a TV show. Palestinian deaths are genuinely horrible, but this isn't some kind of "narrative parallel" to the Shoah.

The Kazars Theory, or All Jews are White. This is the DNA test nonsense. The idea is that Israel (or Jews at large) are only pretending to be indigenous to the Levant and that secretly Jews as a whole are actually indigenous to Eastern Europe. It's a lie, started by a German professor of Russian history in the early 1800s. Meanwhile, the vast majority of genetic, historical, and archaeological evidence points to Jewish origins in the Israeli/Palestinian region. There have been literal hundreds of genetic studies on this. Most of them suggest that Jews, even "white" Ashkenazim, are nearly genetically identical to Palestinians.

World Domination. The idea that Jews control the world began with the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in 1903. If you're encountering criticism of Israel that suggests that world governments, particularly European or American ones, are being controlled by Jews, you've got yourself antisemitism. White supremacists like to use the term "Zionist Occupied Government" or "ZOG" as shorthand for this conspiracy. The next two points are born out of this same ideology.

Controlling the Media. The idea that Jews are in charge of Hollywood and/or major news organizations around the world. Regarding I/P, I've seen a bunch of people say something like "Western media outlets won't cover this! (Because you know who controls them!)" only to look online and see... Western media outlets covering it. See also: "My source is tiktok! I don't trust the news!" While it's obviously a fair criticism to say that some Western news outlets certainly have a pro-Israel and anti-Palestinian bias, it's certainly not every single one of them. Reuters and the AP are once again my go-to's here.

Controlling the Financial World. I haven't actually seen this come up regarding I/P, but considering how things have been going, it's only a matter of time. We don't control the banks. We don't control the stock market. We're not in charge of American aid being sent to Israel. HaShem knows that if we controlled all the money, I'd certainly be living larger than I am now...

Those Bloodthirsty Jews. This one arguably started with Blood Libel in the 1100s, when Christians started accusing us of stealing and eating their babies. Straight up, I have met Christians who still believe this in 2023. You see this a lot with I/P-- the Al Ahli Hospital is the biggest example. More than a month later, most reliable intelligence organizations agree that a misfired Hamas rocket landed in a parking lot, killing about 100 people. But a ton of people are still saying that Those Bloodthirsty Jews intentionally bombed the hospital dead on, killing 470 people. I want to be clear-- Israel is killing a lot of civilians. But if you see a bandwagon of people focusing on the one group of deaths that Israel probably actually didn't cause? Consider why.

Causing wars, revolutions, and calamities. Hamas has straight-up got this one in their founding charter. No, the Jews are not responsible for any major global conflicts, revolutions, or counter-revolutions that don't directly involve Israel. We didn't do WWII. We didn't do the October Revolution. See above-- we're not secretly plotting massacres on Shabbat. A lot of people are saying that Netanyahu and Likud let Hamas in to justify the invasion of Gaza... I'd be shocked if that was the case. All evidence points to a classic intelligence failure. We're not orchestrating bloodbaths.

Section 2: Criticisms only levelled at Israel

It's important to recognise that Israeli civilians are no more collectively responsible for the actions of the Likud coalition than Palestinians are collectively responsible for the actions of Hamas. No Palestinian deserves to be stripped of their rights to self-determination in their ancestral lands because of the October 7th attack. Likewise, no Chinese person deserves to be displaced from China because of the CCP's human rights violations in Tibet, Uyghur and Hong Kong. No Russian person deserves to be ethnically cleansed from Russia because of the Kremlin's invasion of Ukraine. But plenty of people do believe that Jews should be stripped of their rights to self-determination in historically Jewish indigenous lands because of the actions of the Israeli government.

After October 7th, I've seen people argue that Israeli babies deserved to be kidnapped because of their national origin. I've seen people argue that Israeli women deserved to be sexually abused because of their nation of origin. I've seen people argue that the seven million Jews living in their ancestral homeland deserve death or displacement because of their nation of origin. Justifying or allowing brutal harm against people because of their national origin is hateful.

I want to make this part very clear-- I do not have an issue with calling out Israeli war crimes or crimes against humanity. But I do have an issue with treating Jewish civilians differently than civilians of other nations responsible for similar horrors. Amplifying bias against a particular group because of that group's nation of origin is called bigotry. Taking a stand against Israeli settlements in the West Bank is anti-Zionism. Collectivizing the label of "white colonialism", and forcing that label upon refugees forced to move to Israel, or Mizrahim with uninterrupted 8,000-year histories in Israel, is antisemitism.

Part 3: Moving Forward

So where do we go from here? If advocating for the destruction of Israel is advocating for the elimination of Jewish self-determination in our ancestral lands, but advocating in favour of the Israeli government is advocating for the elimination of Palestinian self-determination in your ancestral lands, then we must find some middle ground. A solution that allows seven million Jews and five-and-a-half-million Arabs to share the same holy land, without fear of persecution, displacement, or death. For me, this means a few things.

First of all, the recognition that most Israelis disagree with Netanyahu's approach to Palestine, and most Palestinians disagree with Hamas's approach to Israel. And that brings up a question-- why are Likud and Hamas in charge of Israel and Gaza respectively if most people disagree with them? Without getting into the complicated intricacies of the Knesset and the PNA on an already very long post (and without explaining your own government to you), the simple answer is international funds.

Israeli crimes against Palestinians are bankrolled by American Evangelical Christians, who believe that when Palestine is gone, all the Jews will go to Israel, and Jesus will come back to kill the world's infidels. They actually fucking believe that. Meanwhile, Hamas is bankrolled by Iran, which believes that the more often Jews and Sunni Muslims kill each other, the easier it will be for Iranian Shiite Jihad to take over the world. They actually fucking believe that.

So what steps can we take during our advocacy? Not for the destruction of Israel nor the destruction of Palestine, but for America and Iran to get their noses out of our damn business. I genuinely believe that a defunded Likud and a defunded Hamas will allow Israelis and Palestinians to work together for a peaceful two-state or joint-rule solution. Something that will keep my Palestinian friends from feeling like they can't safely travel from Jaffa to Tel Aviv. Something that will allow my Jewish family to visit and pray at the Cenotaphs of Isaac and Rebecca and the Temple Mount. Something that will let Israeli children from Kibbutz Nirim and Palestinian children from Khan Yunis play on the same playgrounds together, instead of sheltering from missile fire.

Frankly, we nearly had that when the Supreme Muslim Council and the Assembly of Representatives began collaborating against the British Mandate instead of against each other. Clearly, it's possible, we just need to stop being pitted against each other by foreign powers.

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Okay I see your "if Hobie and Noir meet they would be besties and punch nazis together" and I totally agree with that! But also consider:

Hobie is Spider Noir's biggest fanboy!

Like in the comics he's like a HUGE Gwen Stacy stan and he's such a goofy little dork about it. In ATSV him and Gwen's relationship is more like chill friends, and I'm okay with that. But I think it be so funny that when Hobie was recruted into Spiderverse society and Miguel was showing him all the other universes with the different Spiderman variants he pauses by the computer screen with that one gritty black and white universe cuz he just saw some guy in a fedora and trench coat PUNCH A FUCKING NAZI!!! WHO IS THAT GUY?!?! HE'S SO COOL!!!

He asks Miguel a million and one question about the guy and when the old grump annoyingly shoos him away he asks Peter as he briefly met him during that one incident in Miles is dimension. When that still isn't enough he asks Lyla to tell him everything she knows on Noir. Now obviously Lyla has no obligation to do this but she's also never seen Hobie this giddy and excited over something other then music. Its adorable, he's almost like a little kid wanting to know everything about their favorite cartoon. Also she low key likes to annoy Miguel and Hobie's rebellious spirit that gets under her straight laced boss is skin which is hilarious.

You know when Gwen first met Hobie she was a bit intimated cuz he just had that "too cool" vibe about him. But as soon as she mentions that she has worked with other Spider people before, which includes Noir, he did a whole 180 and became a complete dork!

Hobie: Get out, you actually met him! 🤩

Gwen: Uh, yeah?

Hobie: How was he like? What did he say? Did he talk about fascist corruption that not only plagued the system back then but even now as well? Was he super cool during the fight?! 😃🤩💫😻

Gwen: ..........He was nice.

Hobie: That's so rad! ✨️🤟🤩

I also feel like, aside from Miles, Gwen keeps in contact with the other Spider peeps from the first movie and tried to recruit them into the Spider society but obviously Noir and Porker didn't join. Porker because he’s a cartoon that follows "toon logic" and Miguel's ideologies are too serious for his taste. And Noir because, and I quote: "The last I heard of a secret society designed to 'keep the peace for the greater good of humanity at any cost' a whole world war came about it. I know fascism when I see it, kid."

Gwen relays that message to Hobie when explaining why Noir isn't joining and Hobie's response to that is: "He gets it! He just like me fr! 😭💕"

I think it be really cute that in the next movie when they finally meet Hobie is kinda awkward and shy. Like this guy has never respected an adult in his life (at least not any that didn’t deserve the disrespect) and with Noir his all like "Hello sir" "How are you sir" "It's very nice to meet you sir!" And Noir is actually just a really nice guy if a little broody but he's heard so much about this kid from Gwen and how much of a good friend he's been to her so Noir already likes him on principle.

Hobie: Uh Mr. Noir-- Parker, sir! It is such an honor to meet you! The work you do in your universe is amazing and I hope to learn more while working alongside you however briefly.

Noir: Ah, Peter is just fine really, or Noir if it gets to confusing. No need to be so formal, we're all on equal footing here. I've heard a lot about you and your world as well from Gwen. Although it does sadden me that such a young man has to take on the burden of saving the world from such a corrupt society yet again, you're going about it quite well. War is hard and ugly and violent but you are amazingly brave to be able to stand up for what is right in the face of it all. If anybody is honored here it is me, for being able to meet such a remarkable young man like you. And knowing that my friends have made such honorable allies in the midst of all this chaos.

Hobie, externally: Yeah, it's whatevs 😎

Hobie, internally: Dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry YOURE GUNNA LOOK SO UNCOOL IF YOU CRY IN FRONT OF HIM NOW 😭💕😭💕😭

I just think it be really cute if they had a wholesome father-son sort of relationship where they shit talk corrupt government systems and punch fascists together. You know, regular father-son bonding!

(Also I think that's another reason Miguel didn't invite Spider Noir to the Spiderverse, cuz he knew that both of these menaces together would cause a bigger headache than its worth 🤣🤣🤣)

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

ok here i go full hc prompt🥳🤩🤩

m6 in the ✨✋Future🤚✨ or at least to them, relatively, from their medievaissance-y mixed bag nonspecified time period to something resembling our times! i personally like to consider it still Their World, fictional, which just progressed to look like ours now (it literally makes zero difference to anybody except the inner machinations of my annoying ass but yeah ifykyk) basically yknow shooting a medieval peasant into 2023 & giving him mountain dew type beat

The Arcana HCs: M6 in the Future

~ @tetsuooooooooooo this was so much fun, thank you for sending it in and I hope you enjoy these!! ~

-- for headcanon purposes, MC is from the future and is tasked with taking care of M6 during their 24 hours there --

Julian

It takes him less than two minutes to figure out where (read: when) he is and his response is nothing short of enthusiastic

Please, he's been around the world, and he's got a delightful guide, and he really, really wants to know if his theories about leeches ended up being correct

He actually gets a little emotional when a quick google search shows him how wrong he was and you end up having to take him exploring to cheer him up and distract him from his failures

You have a really hard time explaining to him that clinics don't allow doctors without medical degrees to waltz in and observe random patients getting treatments

You take him to see a movie and he's transfixed

The screen is so big. The actor's faces are so clear. The drama is so much more than anything he could have imagined. And they come with music?? Hums the soundtrack for the rest of the day

If you show him that one version of Jurassic Park with Jeff Goldblum in it Julian will imitate him sporadically afterwards

Enjoys fast food way more than he should. Especially instant noodles. Will spend half an hour trying to pack some to take back

Fascinated by the concept of typing

You hit a button to make the next letter appear instead of writing it? But MC, this means that everything he wants to communicate through text could be easily readable. Imagine!

Freaks out a bit when you try to take him in a car. He's surprisingly comfortable in a metro, though, so you'll have to do with public transportation and bicycles

Oh yeah, he loves bicycles. He only crashed into three trees, a wall, and a stranger's parked car before getting the hang of it

He's convinced that earbuds don't actually play music, they just trick your brain into thinking that you can hear it

Almost exploded when you gave him coldbrew coffee

Asra

They know instantly that they're in a different version of reality. Sure, they've never traveled through time, but they've traveled through plenty of other dimensions

He's the least ruffled, and unfortunately, the least impressed. Don't get him wrong, this looks super cool, but this isn't any more otherworldly to him than the otherworldly places he's already been

Wants to go on a food tour immediately. Not the nice stuff though

No, they want the questionable food. The is-this-going-to-make-me-regret-existing food. The food that, if it was shown in an anime, would be pixelated and have threatening auras around it

So chill about what you tell him to do it's almost concerning

"Here Asra, climb into this four-wheeled hunk of metal that can travel over 100 miles an hour and hold yourself in with a single fabric strap while I pilot this through hundreds of other things just like it, driven by people we don't know and can't predict."

"Cool. Where do I put Faust?"

Don't tell them about edibles unless you want them to spend their day hunting some down and absolutely going to town on them

You swear you saw his hair stand on end the first time he tried popping candy

When you took them to get their radioactive meal (a.k.a. the closest fast food chain with the fewest ethical violations) they insisted on picking up one of every sauce packet to try them all

... and when he saw a nine-year-old mixing two different fountain drinks, he of course grabbed the largest cup available and went down the line so he could taste all of them at once too

You've never seen them this jittery and sugar high, so of course the next place to go is a trampoline park, with the bright lights and loud music and bodies hurtling through the air

He should not be getting the amount of air time that he does

Has a meltdown over modern fluffy blankets. They're so soft

Nadia

Gobsmacked. As in, she's a highly intelligent woman, and therefore able to really wrap her head around what she's seeing

The future!! She's in the future, Arcana help her

But she's got you and she adores you and she knows she can trust you so she's going to be okay. That said, start explaining. Now.

First things first: how's the infrastructure? She can't see any canals or aqueducts. Or fireplaces or lanterns, for that matter, what do you do for light? And cooking? (Cooking uses fire, right?)

Literally cannot walk past anything new without stopping to try to figure out how it works and if there's a way to recreate it herself

Bicycles on a rack? She's spinning the pedal and trying to figure out the balancing dynamics of two-wheeled movement

Almost lost it when she found out that it was possible to lift the hood of a car and look at the engine inside that makes it go. You decided to take her on public transportation instead

Which turned into all kinds of excited brainstorming about public carriages, and gondolas built for 20 people ferrying people along the aqueducts, and new and terrifying uses for the catacombs

Wasn't very impressed with the fashion she saw

She knows what good quality cloth looks like. This is a women who grew up in silks and fine linens, polyester does not impress her

Except for the stretchiness. She does like that

The perfume counter, on the other hand, takes up a good hour and a half of her time. She's smelled plenty of fine scents before, but she's never been in a shop where she could sniff so many at a time

This one smells like Prakra. This one smells like Vesuvia. This one smells like the beach. This one smells like the woods. This one ...

Yeah, it was an excellent opportunity to take a nap, if you're the napping sort. You wake up to her testing perfumes on you because she ran out of space on herself

Gets so frustrated when you explain your government setup to her

Muriel

Oh no, please be very gentle with him

He likes to live in the woods because it is peaceful and quiet and it's one place he doesn't stand out in

He stands out in this place very, very much and he doesn't like it

Refuses to leave the room he appeared in until his appearance is as unremarkable as possible (which is not easy to do, by the way, the man is a mountain. modern clothes in his size are hard to find)

Does not want to go in the car. It's way too fast and it makes him seasick when he closes his eyes to shut it out

Buses are somehow easiest - they feel the least claustrophobic when they're not crowded and it's rude to stare on them

You two end up going to a natural history museum in the middle of a weekday when hardly anybody is there, and he lights up

There are so many animals, and there are enough other people in the world who find those animals interesting that they gathered so much knowledge people had to make a building to hold it all

Has never heard evolutionary theory before and is fascinated by it

Once he starts talking, it's hard for him to stop

He's not being loud at all - you can only hear him so clearly because you two are holding hands so he can't lose you - but he's being quietly submerged in his own special interest and he loves it

He just wishes there weren't so many skeletons. But he's glad the species they belonged to aren't forgotten this way

Long story short, Muriel's inner Nerd is unleashed and he goes hoarse from the amount of murmuring he does all day

Does not like getting food in public. Does not like eating food in public. Does not like being publicly perceived. As soon as it gets into afternoon and it gets busy, he wants to go home

Which is where you show him what the internet is and he's in awe

People can work from home? People can make friends without leaving their house?? People can talk without being seen???

Portia

Spends five minutes hopping in place and squealing into her clothes to let out her nerves and excitement before you can decide what to do

Then insists on taking half an hour to hear you describe every single fun or interesting thing to do so she can make a list

Yes, she's determined to hit every single one in one day

First things first: food. Take her to a cafe and watch her sigh over all the baked goods and sugar-loaded caffeine beverages

Then (if there is one nearby) a mall, so she can see all the stuff that people buy so they can have the lifestyle they do. You have to drag her out of both Bath & Body Words and Bed, Bath, & Beyond

Please, it's full of fluffy fuzzy things and good smelling mystery goo, she wants to live in it also what do you mean "no stopping at the pet store", what even is a "pet store" -

Oh. OH -

You will have to physically pull her away before she adopts all the kittens. She does cry about it later, just a for a bit, they're so cute

Next is a library and cafe, of course, because she lives for books

This place is way bigger than the Palace library! The one in the Palace is just a large room, this is a whole building!! And people get to come here, whenever they want, just to read, for free?! What?!

You had to remind her about the "no loud noises in the library" rule several times. She's doing her best, she's just passionate

Completely demolishes her first chocolate croissant

Goes feral at the amusement park she has you take her to afterwards. This woman is an adrenaline fiend. You're cursing the pop up add for it by the fourth consecutive free fall ride

The only way to get her to leave is to tell her that one of her favorite stories was turned into a movie and that you'd have to go home to watch it. Don't take her to Target to get snacks. She'll disappear

Flicks the lightswitch 30 times in a row because she can

Lucio

He's immediately panicking. Not because he's in the future, no, but because of what it's done to his arm

It's changed. It's not running on magic any more. The only way to resolve his design is for it to be some kind of high-tech electrical prosthetic that even modern scientists would have difficulty with

Once he's adjusted to using it, you're good to go

Lights up like a firework the first time he rides in a car

MC. MC how fast does it go. MC that's a very high number. MC, he wants to drive. Please. Please! Pleeeaaaassssseeee

DO NOT LET HIM DRIVE.

Makes you pull over after seeing ads for Sephora because he's convinced that he could pull off that eye makeup even better

Tries every single makeup sampler and then gets offended when one of the poor employees suggests an anti-aging cream

Him? Aged?? How dare they - oh wait that really does brighten his eyes. He'll take ten, please, they're so small, they can't cost much -

You'll have to pull him out before he sees you use a credit card, because once he does he's going to keep asking to use it and you're not sure he understands why maxing it out is a bad thing

His arm does run out of battery at one point, which does cause some panic. All of a sudden he's stuck with a limp hunk of metal swinging from his shoulder, it's not ideal

You're able to find the retractable charging cable on the side and plug him in, but then he's stuck sitting in the same spot for two hours and a bored Lucio is a dangerous Lucio

There is a solution to this, of course. You can give him an iPad with games on it. He won't move a muscle after that

The caveat is that he will turn into an iPad kid and get glued to every single screen he sees afterwards. You don't know how to fix it

Falls in love with vending machines and tries Cheetos because the leopard on them looks cool. Develops an artificial cheese addiction

[drdemonprince]

i recently started hooking up with a cis gay man and last night he let slip a gap in his knowledge that makes me think he does not actually know shit or fuck about how vaginas work (gently tried to say that i wasn’t cleaning properly and i had to inform him it’s not healthy to douche vaginas and that pussy is supposed to have a flavor; it’s entirely possible he still thinks pee comes from the vagina). You always have good reading recommendations so do know of any good resources specifically for giving a cis gay man a crash course in boypussy?

There's definitely zines out there about fucking trans men, but tbh I find them super alienating and I don't think they would be helpful in this instance because the dude is lacking vagina 101 knowledge, not really trans guy specific knowledge. You might disagree with me but I think it's kind of on him to take a step back and google shit that basic. I think all you have a responsibility to do is to laugh off the dumbest shit he says and see if he puts the effort in, because it's really as simple as him like asking a cis woman bestie or opening up a cosmopolitan from like 2005.

I was hooking up with this gay couple for several months and the first time we hooked up, the more masc guy of the couple had no fuckin idea how to angle penetration. it's like he thought my vagina was a slot on the front of my body lol. but by the second time we connected a month later, he had it figured out. it helped that his femboy partner had fucked cis girls before.

i kind of liked that the two of them truly saw me as a cis guy who just happened to have this slightly mystifying fun hole to play with; the masc guy asked me at what age i knew i was gay and we traded adolescent coming-out stories and there was never any wrinkle of them thinking of my experience having been different or that i hadn't thought of myself as a gay man even back then. it allowed me to really feel coherent and validated in a way i never had been before. all of which is to say i think it can be nice sometimes when a cis gay comes at you with a """gay""" perspective rather than a """"trans""" one, because that means they get the whole of you socially and relationally even if it means they have to google what squirting is at some point or whatever.

but it's cool if you see it differently. if anybody does have resources theyve found helpful feel free to put them in the notes.

[sanjisblackasswife]

(NSFW/SFW) Having FWB Relationship with Law

If you like to read the Monster Trio Version you can read it here!

A/N: Ngl this may not be as good as the first one but one comment asked so nicely for it :(((. Also this is SUPER LONG—

CW: Mentions of sex, more Angst than usual because Law has mf trust issues, Law is pushing back his true feelings for the reader it’s not an actual one sided love, Fluff, FWB to Lovers(?), and yeaaahhh

You fell for him, but it was his idea—well moreso you were already in love with him before the agreement even happened

It was something you knew was going to happen when you agreed to it seeing that Law wanted nothing to do with an actual relationship with you.

He’s been your captain for as long as you can remember, and through out your journey he has seen you go through heart break after heart break after heart break of terrible men that do nothing but use your kindness and some even your body without any regard of your feelings

How it started:

You only did this because your feelings for Law never subsided so you tried to fill yourself with anything to get your mind and heart away from him but alas it never worked

One night you both were working together in search of something—you were like an assistant to him—and during your break with him you both started to turn to the topic of relationships.

“So you’re ganna keep on giving these idiot men a chance, huh?”

“Gatta get laid somehow.”

You somewhat regretted your wording swing as Law frowned at your response. You didn’t have sex with any and everybody it was only about 2 dudes you ever gotten that far with your entire journey; one being a green haired swordman and the other being some pineapple haired guy. They both were sweet, but you knew the relationship you wanted wouldn’t last.

Law got tired of your complaining. It wasn’t long until you blurred out something you knew you couldn’t take back;

“Well maybe if my captain was the only one to satisfy my needs I wouldn’t be searching it from random pirates.”

It was a stupid, stupid, STUPID thing to say. You knew it. He knew it, but it was too late now. You couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol because Law cut you off after one cup.

“Is that right?” His tone was dark, you look over at him across the desk you were already sulking in and furrowed your brows. Law got up to take away the empty glass being twirled in your hands to sit on his desk beside you. His eyes never broke from yours and he had an unreadable face. He didn’t look mad, disgusted, or annoyed. Amused maybe?

“Look at me.” He noticed you breaking eye contact first, flustered still at your outburst and grabbed your chin. “You know if I ever got into a relationship with you—or anybody else for that matter I’d just end up breaking your heart. So us being a thing will never happen. It would be too much of a distraction.”

“…I know..” You groaned, his words stung so hard you just wanted to go back to your room with a bottle of Sake and drink until you forgot about this entire conversation.

“But…Just know I never said I didn’t find you attractive…and that we could still make something out of nothing.”

If you were in a cartoon your left ear where he was sitting beside would have enlarged itself 3 times the size. Did you hear him correctly?

You sat up straight and before you could ask him to repeat himself he was already invading your mouth. It wasn’t long until the research you both were doing was forgotten and you spent the rest of your night a moaning mess under your captain.

How it’s going

If you would have told yourself 7 months ago you’d be having almost daily sex with Law just to not have any strings attached you would have laughed  hysterically , but here you were; laying under him, heavy breathing being exchanged, and then having to get up and leave before anybody on the ship seen you.

The sex was amazing, it really was, but you still felt empty even though he always filled you up .

After taking what you now feel like is the walk of shame to the bathroom and then to sleep you just think, why doesn’t he at least want to cuddle you afterwards? Maybe some reassurance you’ve done good? Hell even a Pat on the head, but all you get is a quick kiss after he pulls out and the veiw of his back as he rolls over to go right to sleep.

One night you wanted to stay, just once, he really worn you out since he has been so pent up dealing with the strawhats and barely seeing you anymore you just wanted a little affection. Just a Little. And you’ll be on your way.

His back was facing you again, you admired his tattoos, wanting to trace them over your fingers as he held you close telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked….

How much he loved you—

“What are you Doing?” His voice was cold. He broke you out of your empty thoughts and you noticed your finger making contact with his damp back. “You still want more or something?”

“N-no! I…I Just um…” Law turned over to make eye contact with you resting his head on his hand gazing at your body partially covered by the thin blanket. “I wanted you to…to hol—-“

“You want to be held?” He almost sounded like he was scoffing, you couldn’t blame him. You weren’t very subtle hiding your feelings for him even after he talked to you throughly that you both would never get into a relationship. It broke your heart a little when you thought that one day these moments of intimacy May run it’s course, and it may be soon from the way you seen him get so close with that one beautiful black haired Strawhat girl lately.

“I—forget it I’ll go.” Law almost did. Almost. But he knew he couldn’t. For the last few months he felt a tinge of guilt because he knew how much you loved him. He thought that maybe if you spent more time with him, got to know the real him besides just with sex— knowing how much of a grump he was, how straightforward and blunt he could be, maybe you’d be turned off and move on.

But he was so wrong and he felt bad. He started to feel like he was misleading you. He didn’t want that. He really didn’t want any of this he didn’t know how to be a boyfriend, how to take care of your romantic needs, how to share, how to be someone you need.

He knew that. He knew he couldn’t be with you.

So why was it when he seen you talk to that green haired swordsman today he got so angry? Was it jealousy? He knows about your past with him and he also knows you’re a grown consenting adult with no strings attached so WHY did it bother him so much?

Law grabbed your wrist, you looked back at him with sorrow and a hint of shock in your face feeling his grip tighten.

“You can stay.”

It was only three words, but it was what you always wanted to hear from him.

It was what you needed to hear.

You crawled back into bed hesitantly and Law noticed so he pulled you in closer to his chest. You heard his heart and it was pounding as if he were running a marathon.

Holding you was new, you both were still naked and a tad sweaty, your breath tingled on his collarbone, but this is the first time in a while Law felt…

Comfort.

Your fluffy body was something he enjoyed holding. Maybe he could get used to it.

But he didn’t want to he knew he would just end up hurting you in the end if he furthered this and thinking that caused him to back up a little.

“You can sleep here tonight. You’re probablyly—-“

“Why can’t you love me, Law?”

He nearly choked on his own breath hearing the hurt in your voice. You sat back up looking defeated. You’d probably end up getting kicked out because of this, but you didn’t care you wanted answers.

“You…you knew I still had feelings for you and you..you still put me in a position to fall more in love with you and it hurts!”

You didn’t mean to holler at the end of your sentence, but it was all too much. You hated yourself for getting into this situation and you hated him for allowing it.

“You knew I would never say no to you, and for us to be doing this for so long and I try to respect you not wanting to be with me so you don’t hurt me, but you’re hurting me more by being away. I want you! Do you know how hard it is going day after day seeing the man that you are in love with not feel anything back but in the same day can lay down with you and just fuck you?! I’m so STUPID to even let it go this far and I’m sorry! Okay!? I’m sorry I can’t stop thinking about you and about us! Not if we keep this up—“

“Then let’s end this.”

At that point your heart was torn. It was a truth you didn’t want to hear, but it was bound to happen eventually. Your eye immediately trickled with tears, you wanted to slap him, seeing how quickly he was willing to let you go especially after pouring your heart out, but—

“Let’s start something new then….I want to…I been wanting to for the past 3 months…but y/n I—“ Law sat up straight hitting his head on the headboard groaning—he didn’t want to spill his heart out because he wasn’t great with sentimental words but it was either that or just let you walk out of his room and possibly out of his life because he couldn’t believe if you guys broke off your little agreement like this you would still want to be in the same crew anymore.

And he couldn’t lose another person he loved.

“I’m sorry you feel this way…and more importantly I’m sorry for not being more attentive to your feelings. I…Y/N i do care about you….okay—?”

“I just…—”

“I don’t want to disappoint you…I thought that maybe if you seen more of me and realized who I really were you’d back off but now I feel like either way it goes I will hurt—-“

You cut him off with a kiss—it was a bit harsher than he was used to with you, but he managed to return the kiss back and pulling you closer to let you straddle him. You didn’t care about his stupid assumptions you knew he’d kill for you So what makes you think he’d actually hurt you on accident or on purpose for that matter? You also knew about his trust issues so you were willing to work on it for the sake of your relationship.

“Break my heart then, Law…” you muttered under his lips to then find his eyes. “If that’s what it takes to show you that you’re worth loving…then do it…break my heart.” He let out a breathy chuckle.

“That doesn’t even make any sense, y/n.”

“None of this really does make sense but….” You pulled back to admire his tanned skin, covered with a red tint and pulled back some of his strands of hair. “I’m willing to work on it with you.”

It was moment of silence between you both. He couldn’t look away from your eyes shining in the night as the moon bounced off of it. Maybe it was the post sex high or maybe he was really in love but you looked breath taking at this point.

“…I am too, y/n.—”

“I love you.”

You damn near cried on him and he did too, you almost couldn’t believe it.

“Wait what—“

Law rolled his eyes playfully and scooted you so close your nose was touching his.

“I…” he kissed your lips softly slowly rolling you over on your back,

“Love..” He kissed your warm neck with his hands rubbing the sides of your hips so gently.

“You.” Law bit the other side of your neck where your weak spot was and granting him a sight of you moaning just above a whisper, you were pretty like this.

He went back to your lips to return a most steamy and passionate kiss with his tongue rubbing against yours until you eventually end it with you sucking the tip of his tongue.

Freaky asses

“I love you, too Law.”

Law knew he had more to work on about himself so you both agreed that no longer will there be any of the “no strings attached “ rule, but now you both can start off with talking it slow

With you being his.

[pupyr0arz]

more drabbles to fill out that word count. Priceghost but also some weird dynamics mentioned with the rest. Price is set on taming ghost, the very beginnings of that.

Price has a older brother. They don’t talk as much as they used to, few siblings do, but his brother fell into the urge and moved out into the sticks. He keeps dogs, massive walls of fur and strong muscle, not little city lapdogs. Big, working dogs with teeth and ferocious energy, bowling Price over during his visit with ease and snap sharp teeth playfully near his face and Price, who’s never had any sort of animal asides from one of his lost lovers lazy pug, thinks about what would happen if it actually bit down. His brother rescues him easily with an apology and a laugh, and they have beers while Price watches the dogs leap and roughhouse in a way that makes Price doubt how man ever managed to domesticate wolves. His brother keeps them in line with easy words and Price watches him and thinks about his promotion waiting for his return. He’s a captain, now, coming into his own, hand on the collar this time around.

Eight days into working with The Ghost, Price googles the best place to buy a clicker. He would have liked a whistle, but he needed something discreet and fresh of any associations, a clean slate.

His other tabs are looking for collars, and wondering how drunk he’d have to get Soap to try one on for the first time. He’s sure the overeager pup would wear one, but he’s got a surprising amount of ego for a guy who barked for him on a dare.

Laswell showed him the files a good couple months before things became official, picking and choosing the best of the best for his little fighting force. Ghost, as he’s known as, is the most worrying. Soap, funny little creature that he is, has his own litany of behavioral issues, but a list of glowing commendations just as long and Price is sure he’ll be the good fit to bring out the more obedient qualities of his explosives specialist. He’s surging at the bit, poor thing, and faster than you can blink he has Soap glancing back at him for permission to act without thinking about it, heeling on command. Kyle goes along sweet as honey, before he knows it and when Price sees the afterglow fade in his eyes, confusion brimming forth and new worries, he soothes them away with a pat on the back and Gaz leans into it smoothly. Roach waits and watches him from corners, gauging his judgement with little comment and Price is halfway through a worried plan to get some kind of response when Roach apparently makes up his mind, and he’s as easy as anybody ever could be, eager to draw for him. No fuss, no muss, his lead is sure and his halter fits nicely.

The Ghost is more liability than a boon, he’s warned. The man, if he even is one many mutter and curse, seems more scar tissue and scary stories than living parts. He keeps himself covered, baclavas with his skull patterning worn at all times. ce doesn’t touch this when he meets him, spying the sore wound and choosing not to prod that area. The Ghost doesn’t trust him enough to let him look without knowing he won’t touch what he isn’t allowed to, that he won’t do more damage than harm. When The Ghost is asked by a nosey nobody while settling into the base a little too insistently, Price sharply orders him away before he can get too tense. He doesn’t acknowledge it, and in a couple of hours is sure to beat it into the other residents on base that they sure as hell aren’t supposed to either. It can wait. Price prefers to leave that fumbling to lesser men, until he picks out all of The Ghost’s neuroses.

Look. I don’t understand, but I don’t need to. I’ll trust you.

On the third day, Price calls The Ghost for a chat in his office on the base, a report filed of an altercation with one of the sergeants, not one of his but some no-name that Price is already forgetting about. The Ghost didn’t kill him, or break a bone, but the man’s beaten dead to rights and his ego bruised severely. Price thinks that’s a folly, The Ghost could’ve done a thousand things worse to him, but the higher ups don’t see things like he does.

The Ghost sees the report, there’s no way he couldn’t have. Price wanted him to read the whole thing. He settles down in the chair, hands on his lap and cokd brown eyes firmly on Price’s without wavering. He can’t help but take a second to wonder what the Lieutenant is feeling, pride, anger, shame? He doubts the last one strongly. Price doesn’t let his gaze shift away from The Ghost’s when he takes the leaf of paper, careless and openly not bothering to look at it, and dumps it into the bin besides his desk, and launches into a bland speech about mission readiness, praising Ghost for his frugalness.

See? Look at how little this matters to me. I’m on your side. I don’t care about them.

Price waits an extra day before he unpacks the clicker. He slips it into his pocket, takes it with him to the range. Pats The Ghost on the shoulder now that he’s more used to it, slips it out of his pocket quietly next to The Ghost’s leg, let’s him see it. He clicks it, twice, and pockets it again quickly. The Ghost glances at him, eyes dark in the shadow the ceramic casts on his eyes, but his gaze shifts back to the range without comment and Price takes it as a win. The Ghost would never let him try something without knowing, but Price can work with being ignored. He can tell from the shift in him that The Ghost is starting to seriously consider him, reminds him of Roach in a way, and the slight, almost imperceptible peeking of his shoulders after Price praises him is his only chink in the armor. Time will wear that into a crack, into a gaping hole that Price will fill before he feels the ache of it.

[jenanigans1207]

“What about angels?” Dean turns his gaze to Cas over the rim of his beer bottle.

“What about them?” Cas answers, his gaze unwavering as ever as it meets Dean’s steadily from his spot in the chair next to Dean.

“Do they have any, y’know?” Dean gestures vaguely in the air with the hand that isn’t holding his beer.

Cas sighs. “No, Dean, I don’t know.”

Dean suspects that isn’t actually true. Cas has been good at reading Dean like an open book and to filth equally and simultaneously practically since the moment they met and he has never had any qualms about stating Dean’s unspoken truths if he felt it was necessary, no matter how Dean felt about it. So he certainly would be able to follow the thought process Dean had followed to jump from their previous topic to this one. But sometimes Cas just liked to fuck with Dean, and other times he liked to force Dean to communicate clearly, despite them both being on the same page and knowing it.

“Mating rituals.” Dean supplies because it becomes clear that whether Cas knew what he meant or not, he wasn’t going to offer anything further to this conversation unless Dean started it.

“You’re asking about angel mating rituals?” Cas asks with enough surprise that Dean briefly thinks that maybe he really didn’t know.

“Well,” Dean shrugs and takes a long draw of his beer. “Yeah.”

Cas’s gaze turns curious as it pierces into Dean, and he looks like he would love to probe around in Dean’s head for some sort of explanation. “Angels don’t—“

“Wait!” Dean cuts him off before he gets a chance to answer. “I want to guess.” He swirls the remaining half of the beer around in his bottle while he thinks before snapping a finger and pointing it at Cas. “I bet you’re like peacocks! You fluff your feathers up all big and do some dorky dance.”

The look on Cas’s face is priceless— somewhere between shocked and incredulous and Dean wants to commit it to memory forever. “No, Dean.”

“Damn.” Dean mumbles, reclining in his seat. “What about a nest? Do you build nests for your mates? Not with like twigs and shit, obviously, but— I dunno, pillows or blankets or something?”

“I believe that’s called a pillow fort.” Cas supplies dryly.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Dean taps a finger along the edge of his beer bottle, the condensation cool against his fingertip. “Find a shiny rock and gift that to them? Or like, a pretty piece of glass or something?”

Cas’s expression has turned long-suffering. “Are you going to compare me to every feathered creature you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean doesn’t even try to hide his own self-satisfied amusement. “If you give me long enough.”

Dean tries to think of anything that he can actually picture Cas doing. Because yeah, Cas likes shiny rocks and pretty glass as much as anybody does just because they’re nice to look at, but he doesn’t seem overly affected by them. And yeah, when he naps, he’s been known to find the softest and coziest blanket to curl up with, but that’s just smart. Dean has never seen Cas’s wings, so that’s a fifty-fifty shot, he supposes, but he’s also never seen Cas dance and can’t even picture it in his head.

“Well, allow me to spare us a long— though very enlightening, I’m sure— conversation.” Cas’s glare is unimpressed but it slides right off Dean while barely even drawing his attention. “Angels don’t have mating rituals because angels don’t mate.”

That stops all of Dean’s thoughts short. He turns his gaze back to Cas, surprised to find that Cas has turned to stare absently at one of the bookshelves in the room.

“They don’t?” Dean asks after the silence stretches thin between them.

“No.” Cas answers. And though his response is firm, it’s not mean or cold. “Angels don’t know love, Dean. At least, not romantic love. The only sort of love an angel is meant to feel is the sort of holy love for our father and his creations. The idea of romance doesn’t exist in heaven or to angels at all. There’s no need for mating rituals when mating isn’t something that would ever occur to or appeal to an angel.”

Dean thinks about this for a long time, the rim of his beer bottle pressed against his lower lip but he doesn’t take a sip.

In general, Dean has no problem believing that angels don’t love. In general, angels are selfish dicks and he can’t imagine any of them caring about anything other than themselves. In general, angels would never put someone before themselves in a way that’s required for both platonic and romantic love. But in more specific terms—

Well there is one angel who wears a trench coat and a tie that matches his eyes. There’s an angel who fell from heaven for the love of humanity. There’s an angel who has bled for love, died for love, given up everything that love is supposed to mean to an angel and completely rewritten the definition. There is an angel that has spent the better part of a decade looking at Dean in a way that he doesn’t look at anyone else, making Dean’s toes curl in his boots with the intensity of it.

“But…” the gears are turning as Dean tries to refocus his gaze on Cas. Cas isn’t looking directly at him, but Dean knows that Cas is watching him in his periphery, gauging Dean’s reaction without looking like he’s putting a significant amount of weight into it. “That’s not true.”

“Dean, I am quite certain that I know more about angels than you do.” Cas remarks.

Dean doesn’t rise to the bite of the comment. “But you love.” He says instead.

“Of course, I love humanity and the Earth very much.” Cas answers reasonably.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I know.” And then, “but I mean romantically.”

“Dean—“

“Don’t you?” Dean challenges.

Cas doesn’t answer the question directly. “I am not a very good angel.”

“You’re the only good one.” Dean replies quickly and easily, with every ounce of sincerity he has.

Because Cas is the only good Angel. Cas is the only one who gets it, who cares, who actually wants what’s best for the world.

Cas is also the only one who can make Dean’s stomach squirm the way it does whenever he’s at Dean’s side. He’s the only one who makes Dean feel safe, the only one Dean trusts. He’s the only one Dean would ever trust or picture a future with. He’s the only one who makes Dean’s fingertips tremble, his heart stumble, his throat dry.

Granted, he’s the only person who does any of that for Dean, Angel or not.

“You think too highly of me.” Cas says before sipping his own beer that he had been nursing for the majority of the conversation.

“You’re avoiding the question.” Dean hedges.

Because— yeah, okay, Dean isn’t stupid. He sees his own feelings reflected in Cas’s eyes when Cas looks at him. He understands what it means when Cas steps closer to him, or gives up an entire goddamn army for him. Dean can be slow on the uptake with emotional shit, but he’s not that slow. And it probably helps that he sees it so clearly because he feels it so clearly in his own heart.

He knows the yearning, the longing, the desire. He knows all the fantasies of the happy-ever-after, all the filthier fantasies that fill up the days in between. He knows what it’s like to want to cling to Cas, to desperately plead with him to never leave Dean’s side. He knows the agony of their separation as acutely as possible. He gets it.

And he also knows why this has never happened, why neither of them have ever crossed that line, even though they’ve never even dared to hint at its existence before. Because he knows that what they would have— that would be forever. It would be ruinous in the most beautiful way, burning down everything around them and blazing a path to eternity. And for so many goddamn years, forever and eternity were in danger. For so many years, a future of any goddamn length was in danger.

What would be the point of starting something meant to last forever when forever didn’t exist? It hurt like enough of a bitch every time Dean lost Cas and he didn’t know if that was the last time he’d ever see him. If he’d lost his forever then, too, instead of just his best friend— well, what the hell reason would he have had to keep fighting? It was self preservation in its barest form, the knowledge that they could only keep going if they kept apart. Because that would keep them fighting, keep them determined to reach the day where forever was finally secured and they could fall into each other without reservations.

And, well, Dean hadn’t killed Chuck, but he had taken the bastard off the board so forever was well and truly theirs if they wanted it.

And Dean wanted it.

He wanted it so bad he almost didn’t know how to have it.

Cas is staring back at Dean now, seeming to go through the same mental calculations that Dean is going through. Dean just hopes that Cas has any idea how to reach out and grab the one thing they both want.

Cas takes a breath, sets his beer down.

“Yes.” He answers simply. “I do.”

Dean swallows against a dry throat. “So?” He prompts. “What’s your big game plan? You get to make up any mating ritual you want.”

“You know,” Cas says offhandedly. “If I tell you my big ‘game plan’, as you call it, you will have to give me feedback on it. How else am I meant to know if it would work?”

Dean licks his bottom lip. “I’m being trusted to approve the first ever angel mating ritual?” He aims for lighthearted, even though he can feel his pulse in his fingertips. “Lay it on me.”

“Well,” Cas doesn’t sound as nervous as Dean feels, even though he knows that he doesn’t really have any reason to feel that way. “I was thinking that I would start with the classic spark— maybe have multiple, raining down.”

Dean chokes on half of a disbelieving laugh.

“Then I would spend about, oh, over a decade at his side, always coming when he called and leaving when he got sick of me. I would try very, very hard to navigate his boundaries and I would be unsuccessful.” Cas’s smile is wry. “I would betray him a time or two.”

“Keep him guessing.” Dean says, the smile clear in his voice.

“Exactly.” Cas is smiling more genuinely now. “I would probably die for him a few times, too. Maybe even accidentally start a family with him.”

Dean has set his own beer down now. “You gotta add in some, like, intense eye contact, or something.”

“And no personal space.” Cas agrees with a nod.

Dean laughs outright now, the nerves draining completely from his body. He had no idea the conversation would steer this way when he had asked what he assumed was an innocent enough question, but he’s glad that it did. Because if he’d had time to prepare for this conversation, time to anticipate it, he knows that he would’ve chickened out. Just like he has so many times in the past.

When his laughter dies down, Cas says “well?”

“What can I say, man?” Dean leans onto the armrest of his chair, putting himself closer to Cas. “It would work on me.”

“Oh, would it?” Cas asks as he, too, leans into the barely there space that’s separating them.

“Hell yeah.” Dean murmurs, reaching across to wrap a hand around Cas’s tie. “Would have me all weak-kneed and giggling.”

Cas starts to say something back but Dean honestly doesn’t give a shit what, so he tugs on the tie and draws Cas to him, pressing a far overdue kiss to his lips. Cas, as always, meets him in the middle, a hand gently encircling Dean’s wrist as he kisses him back with ten years of pent of adoration.

One kiss turns into two, turns into seven before they finally settle back into their respective seats.

“First angel mating ritual in history,” Dean says around a satisfied smile. “And you were successful.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell the other angels in case any of them have a free decade to spend seducing one of the most frustratingly stubborn men on earth.” Cas replies in a way that is full of endearment instead of the frustration he mentioned.

Dean just laughs and kisses him again.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ cut off ❃ chapter 2

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU / Fashion? AU

directory/m.list

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You returned to the café a couple mornings in a row after that. While Bakugou did have regulars, not many of them stayed at the café and sat there for hours like you did. Actually, none of them did. There was only one of them who sat there for hours like you did on a regular basis, and he only came once a month to sit down with a cup of coffee and his journal, writing away until Bakugou saw his hand cramp up. The customer would shake his hand and continue regardless of his cramped hand, but he’d just keep writing. Maybe you were writing, too? Perhaps you were doing coursework?

Either way, it was somehow nice being in the company of another person when he was working alone in the mornings, even if the other person was a complete stranger.

Plus, it was fun seeing what you’d be wearing the next day. It was as if Bakugou was a teenage girl watching a social media influencer’s OOTDs religiously. He couldn’t blame himself–with his upbringing being so deep into the fashion industry, it was a given. Especially because you’d be strutting into his quiet café wearing full designer brands every day. Anybody without a trained eye wouldn’t be able to notice–you hardly ever wore gaudy logos all over your clothes like others. Because Bakugou grew up around designer brands, he instantly recognized your clothes to be from the runway or a couple seasons before.

Bakugou wondered if you were just some rich girl who’d either been there to court him or one that’d fallen in love with his coffee and was ready to drop a fortune on his café (by buying many cups of coffee or buying out his entire café altogether, he wasn’t sure). He wouldn’t be complaining about either option, but neither of them seemed correct. When you came into the coffee shop, the only interaction you had with him was a “Good morning”, “Hey”, or a “How are you?” in greeting. Your responses to his greetings were kept brief, so it didn’t seem like you were trying to flirt with him (sadly).

Also, he noticed that you spent your money on the less expensive parts of his menu. These were also all the drinks that were highly efficient in caffeine–it was always some variation of an espresso drink. 

This was until the one day when you two had a longer interaction that was deeper than a transactional conversation. It happened a couple days into your regular appearances at the café. Some of those appearances were only to grab some coffee. Much to Bakugou’s disappointment, you left the café right after grabbing your to-go cups. Probably meeting up with someone, he thought.

But today? You looked the exact same as the way you did when you first entered his coffee shop. Sleep deprived. Disheveled. Dead inside. He found himself worrying before he could stop himself.

“A quad, please.” You handed him your credit card with a blank face. It’d only been three minutes after he opened-- 5:33 AM. He didn’t blame you.

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity but didn’t ask any further questions. He never did. He didn’t want to pry into the life of some stranger who’d find it annoying. And seeing you in this state-- you’d definitely find it annoying.

Bakugou Katsuki quickly realized that you always put some sort of effort into your outfit no matter how tired you looked. Even though you were wearing sweatpants (“Kindeki again? This girl must be rolling in it,” he thought.) and a hoodie, the hoodie was layered underneath a trench coat, creating a put-together look. 

As he was waiting for his espresso to brew, he did a quick Google search on Kindeki. He looked specifically at the pieces you’d been wearing and saw that the pair of sweatpants you were wearing went for ¥100,000 (approx. 712 USD) a pop. It was normal in the fashion industry, but Bakugou hardly ever saw any of these types of pieces on people who went to his café. If they did, then the items were reused. Things like purses or a nice coat. They were… regular. But this girl seemed to have a closet full of these.

He was pretty confused. In his past experiences with girls who wear tons of designer brands, they would normally buy the more expensive options on his café menu. The caramel macchiato was especially popular among those types, and it made him a lot of money. It was also the drink that the women that flirted with him would always buy the most. The men that would flirt with him were pretty varied in drink order. 

So, were you spending so much of your money on luxury and designer brands that you had to save on money when you got here? No , he thought. That can’t be it . He took a quick glance at your face and saw the dark circles beneath your eyes. No, she’s here to drink coffee for one reason: as a replacement for sleep.

Bakugou turned his nose up at pieces that didn’t have much thought or creativity in design. Especially if they were charging ¥100,000 for it. But when he looked at the description and found out that the outer lining was made from 100% recycled alpaca fur, he changed his mind completely. This girl had… morals. And extremely expensive taste.

And the closer he looked, the more he found out that the design was one of the most ergonomic sweatpant designs he’d ever seen in his life. There was a hidden adjustable elastic on the cuffs, meaning you could change up the look of the pants easily. You had it scrunched up for the signature sweatpant look. The design was made specifically in mind to accentuate the waistline and the hips without sacrificing comfort. A pair of sweatpants.

He was impressed. Since his father mostly designed extravagant formal wear and office wear, he wasn’t well-versed in brands that focused themselves on comfort. Either way, Kindeki sounded very familiar. Not in the way that designer brands normally sound, but in a way that seemed… personal, almost.

He shook his head and passed that thought to the fact that he grew up learning the names of fashion designers. That’s probably it, he thought.

An hour after Bakugou’s rush hour, the row of short, transactional interactions between the two of you ended.

Maybe taking up a freelancing job the day before a huge assignment’s due was not a good choice. 

You sat in your favorite café, rethinking all of your decisions in life before getting back to the assignment at hand. Your eyes were extremely heavy. The four shots of espresso helped, but most of what it did was pump up your heart rate and make your hands shake so much that they felt like they were going to fall off. At least it was delicious. You held the mug in your hands and chugged the remaining liquid.

(Unbeknownst to you, from the counter, Bakugou watched in horror as you downed an entire espresso shot as if it were a Friday night at some trashy frat party.) 

Finding this café was like finding a true gem. The coffee is absolutely heavenly, the café itself smells good and has a super cute interior design, and the barista you saw every time was also absolutely gorgeous. But the coffee? It was unlike anything you’d be able to make at home. You tried to emulate the espresso that this rando dude made, but there was something about your espresso that was always off. 

Each time you went to this café, you always tossed on at least a decent outfit for fear that your aunt would be walking by and lecture you on, “Your aunt is an esteemed fashion designer! Why would you be wearing trash like that?! Wear the clothing I gifted you!” 

It happened too often in your early days. She’d somehow see you out in the open and then criticize your clothing choices. Not the way they looked, but the fact that they didn’t come from big names or better, from her designs. Especially because your aunt was opening up a store in the area, the chances you’d come across her were bigger, and you did not want to deal with that again. 

You just wanted to find a place to do your procrastinated assignments without having to be lectured about wearing Gildan for once. You still wore those thread earrings almost every day, though. They’re just too pretty…

Your head slumped down and you immediately woke up, startled. Your assignment was still sitting in front of you, half-finished. You had to finish this as soon as humanly possible. Before you fell back asleep.

Heading back up to the front café counter, you were faced with the extremely handsome barista who you saw wearing Masaki-branded items every time you saw him. You’d recognize those two signature dots placed strategically on their clothes anywhere. He had on blue-light glasses that were Masaki. The loose button-up he was wearing was Masaki. The combination of the two fit him extremely well. Almost like he was born to wear them. Like the outfit was made exclusively for him. 

You wondered why a rich kid was working at some café, but you ignored it in favor of ordering more espresso. “Double shot over ice, please,” you said, holding out your credit card to him before he’d responded.

You saw an eyebrow of his shoot up again for the second time today. “I’m gonna have to cut you off after this.” 

“Cutting me off? This isn’t a bar,” you said, continuing to wave the credit card in front of him before he took it.

He gave a quick nod to your hands, which were shaking more than an electric toothbrush after women find another use for them. “Yeah, but this is an establishment that cares about our customers’ health.”

You furrowed your brows in response, knowing he was right. You were still mildly sad that you couldn’t get more of the delicious espresso he makes. You just wanted your caffeine. As you stood at the counter, waiting for your drink while simultaneously taking a break and watching the man work his magic. You saw him whip something else up, which appeared to be some variation of a lemonade. Is he making a drink for himself or something?

When he finished, he placed the two drinks in front of you. You looked up at him with clear confusion in your eyes. Woah- he’s way taller than you’re used to. He always sits while talking to you, but now, you realize that this guy was blessed by whatever higher power is up there. Scratch that-- seeing how blessed this man is, he might be the higher power we’re talking about.

“Peach lemonade instead of more coffee. It’s got sugar, and the lemon kicks your ass. You should be able to wake up with these two. Let me know if you want a cup of water.” He says, turning to sit back down at his stationed spot at the register. 

Your brain, running on sheer adrenaline and 4 shots of espresso, lagged for a moment. “B-But-”

“It’s on the house.” He cut you off, opening up a laptop and appearing to look busy. You couldn't fight him. You didn’t even think to say “thank you” in your surprise, and just went back to your seat with two drinks in hand. 

You’d finished your espresso quickly, making sure it was still fresh by the time you ingested it. Still delicious as always. You were starting to feel the drowsiness again, so you picked up the peach lemonade and took a swig of it before coughing and feeling the sweetness and acidity hit you like a truck.

He looked at you from the register with worry, but then saw you holding the lemonade and started smirking. “You’re right,” you said, “this definitely kicks my ass.”

He responded with a laugh and softened eyes. This man is both beautiful and amazing at making drinks. Whew. He really is a god.

Before he turned his attention away, you caught his attention again. “I forgot to say this, but thank you. Your drinks are amazing. And this lemonade–I’ll start replacing some of my caffeine with it.”

“A pleasure to serve ‘ya,” he said, smile wide on his face. 

You had to clear your throat and try to clear your mind of the image of his extremely handsome face beaming at you like that.

directory/m.list

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[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Relationships -- slow burn Daryl x You

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

Pronouns -- neutral

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

feedback is nice to get :D

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?” as well as the cooking instructions Sam says in the movie.

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, then Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Oh, did the tension spike.

First thing you'd done was peek around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t.

His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. Then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick.

And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was back on it, it started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, too, but the sensation revved up more after the guitar question. Rest in peace Otis.

And at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed "troublemaker" to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie hasn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

And, well, right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on it. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause dude, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop. So, you know, maybe everyone else is also extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, you see as he scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing while you open the folded note.

It reads:

“aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room.

He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet, hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.” If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. It's his own damn fault— he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him. And now, someone else had seen them.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted, and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — fuck, who cares, it didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off. His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was too quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants or something? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, Y/N really did just worry if I had my hand down my pants.

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.

“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same, I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Just — why’d they need to use that pet name?

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” Y/N inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.”

He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but, he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt.

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a sec. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick Y/N out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to 'leave him be' like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted, “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt ham, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s white and brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you personally aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl who everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl suddenly surprises you by asking.

You snort. “We were trying to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time. I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on?? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…'Yo-ho…ho?'”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, giggling, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to taste how it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great.

But, like, why did Y/N say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it usually meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another quiet, hummed moan, and then Y/N opened their eyes and saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dying, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul bare-naked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.”

Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her. It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. With an empty half-laugh, they mumbled, “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with the hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out. For a few days, it felt to them as if Amy’s blood was still on it and wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Your hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know. It’s nothin'.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“It's not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just...existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his life was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t fix everything boom, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die really bad,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them to him and — shit, sorry, uh, he meant he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, betch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer on the nail, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too. Not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics.”

“Mm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick squinted at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pink because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do.

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savoring it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next bite was funny. “I’b also sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be cobooted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and their giggle, and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them, and so, did.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. It wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N obligingly took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed deh bigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a knockoff.”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend shook their head and smiled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’ve ever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself something nice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me my PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got very good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this?”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

------------------------------------------

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[ghostflowerhotpotch]

How do you think the events at the end of the movie would’ve played out had Miles actually gotten sent to his home universe (Earth-1610) and Gwen had also arrived there as well when she got the watch from Hobie? How different would that part of the movie be excluding the stuff that happened at Earth-42.

Honestly? That's a good question.

I initially was thinking of someone a fic response like I did with the jealous prompt I got a few days ago, but I couldn't find a way that I could align all the canon elements in the fic in a way that would give a good conclusion. Perhaps I would use that idea for a proper fic.

Regardless, the thing that I keep thinking is not on Miles or Gwen, but Miguel and his allies.

At first, naively so, I thought Miguel and the others were looking for the Spot; perhaps I just wanted to think this a bit more positively; because the idea that this grown ass man roped two other people to capture a 15 year old that wants to save his dad is...a choice.

(I swear I don't hate Miguel, he just tests my patience a lot.)

Now, for obvious reasons these would be a problem for any Ghostflower reunion because Miguel has no chill; and would not wait nicely for this young couple to settle an argument.

Where is he, though.

Not seriously, what is this?

I was thinking he would be in Visions Academy, but this doesn't look like it at first glance. The dark atmosphere and the rain is not helping this either. If anybody has an idea, I am listening, but the only clue I have is that Miguel has a gigantic red sign that says "Welcome."

(Fun fact, the first time I saw this movie i almost expected the sign to say Hell. It wouldn't make sense on a world building sense but that was what going on my mind seeing this situation.)

Riley we know was waiting in front of Miles's house.

Now, this one is not really a problem because in the scenario that they are all in the same universe, this would mean Gwen already dispatched the Meathead (the director's words, not mine;) with Miles just entering his room after that.

Considering the situation, there is a chance Gwen would either see Miles going into his apartment, or perhaps Miles realizing that Gwen is on the alley. However for the nature of this ask, we would not explore those scenarios in this post.

Here is when it gets tricky.

Jessica was following Miles' dad, which makes sense considering they are looking for Miles and he may try to go directly to his dad.

In the scenario the timing tracks exactly the same, Gwen would probably look at the window and see Miles, so she may or not realize Jeff is coming.

What would I think if Gwen got to Miles directly? That things would probably escalate rather quickly.

I think if Gwen saw Miles lying on the floor (As he did when he got home in Earth 42;) she would quickly rush to him. To which I would expect Miles to either adopt a defensive posture, or tell her to stay away.

We need to remember that as far as Miles is aware, she is still working with the organization, last time they saw each other she was attempting to capture him (Well, honestly she didn't try very hard, but it would still be betrayal for him.)

Of course, I imagine Gwen would start with either a "I'm so sorry, Miles," "I am not here to fight, I am on your side," "I know a way we avoid the canon event." Perhaps she would say a combination of all of those things, the problem is that I don't think we would have a chance because problem number 3 would arrive.

(Imagine this is Rio from 1610.)

Now, I am going to be a bit generous here, and I will imagine that Rio didn't hear Miles coming in (unlike Rio from Earth 42,) perhaps the other version of her heard Miles come in because she was picking up laundry and was close to the door.

But I am sorry, every time I try to imagine an scenario where Gwen and Miles get to met here, I can't imagine any of them being quiet enough to not make Rio realize there are people in her house. Emotions are running way too high for either of them to think about that.

In the movie, Miles was on the floor and heard Rio appear, so he had the time to get his jacket on. In this scenario? Frankly I imagine Miles and Gwen would be close to screaming so neither of them would realize of her coming by.

Now imagine you are Rio for a moment.

You all of the sudden hear your son and or/the girl he was with earlier screaming about nonsense you don't know what the heck could be about, and when you open the door you see your son and that girl in Spider suits. No idea if there is any information or pictures of Gwen's as a Spiderwoman on Earth 1610, but that's kind of a moot point when your son not only is dressed up as the current spiderman, but also is sporting these.

(Sorry I don't have a full image, I try to get ANYTHING in the movie that would give me a good visual, and no shot; I couldn't get the complete image of where I got these, and finding these was a pain and a half.)

There is a 50/50 chance that Gwen/Miles may be able to sneak a "is a costume!" lie, but all things consider this would probably make Rio realize a lot of things are making sense all of the sudden. Rio would probably rush to Miles once she sees he is this hurt and freak out, no doubt.

And if things couldn't get worse, is around this time Jeff is coming upstairs, and who came with him?

YEP.

Now, we see that Jess spies on Gwen and Miles' parents thanks a device, not sure if this is the spider thing Gwen used earlier to track the Spot, or something else; regardless, she would definitely see them there, if not hear the ruckus.

Here is the thing, would I think Jess would do something?

...Sadly, yes.

Jess has kind of a soft spot for Gwen, and while I don't think she was the best Mentor (less about what she taught Gwen and more on not being there for her enough, but that's another discussion.) Jess gave the chance to Gwen to go to 1610 in the first place, she also let her try to fix it (thought the circumstances weren't too generous,) and while we don't have a clue what she would do next, I am inclined to believe that canonically, she is not going to snitch to Miguel that Gwen went by, perhaps only mention that Miles isn't in this dimension.

Because here is the thing, she has a soft spot for Gwen, but we can see that she definitely thinks Miles is a problem; and considering she is still helping Miguel, I doubt her mind had changed much in that regard.

So while she let Gwen "go" to get Miles (though there is the chance she is just letting her go so she can track where she is going,) I doubt she would see Miles there and not do something.

Now we have Rio screaming her lungs out about what the heck Miles has been doing, Miles probably trying to explain the situation to her, Gwen may or may not try to defend Miles (honestly the only reason I may think Gwen doesn't say anything is because this is really a conversation she shouldn't be involved.) And Jess then comes out from the window to collect Miles; she may also bring her Motorcycle with her which would cause even more chaos.

Hey remember how Jeff was just going upstairs? I like to think is something like this.

I know is an old meme but imagine Jeff, happily coming back home after an end of his shift; and he finds the house with his son on a Spiderman costume fighting a very pregnant woman (who may have the motorcycle INSIDE HIS HOUSE,) the girl he brought with him earlier shooting webs or something trying to stop the black lady, and his wife probably screaming on a corner.

While writing this, I originally was going to say earlier that having Miguel and his croonies here could make things a tad complicated; no wonder I deleted that earlier because this is just chaos.

Speaking of Miguel, no doubt Jess informed him that Miles was at his house, with no signs of Riley. Depending or where he is, he may be coming by soon enough.

Sorry if you or anyone else was expecting a fluffy or heartwarming scenario, but in this blog I try to adhere to canon facts as much as I can for these analysis, and I couldn't answer with canon possibilities without taking everything into account.

That being said, oh my g-d this was so much fun; I should try to do these more often.

I will see if I use the original fic idea I had in mind, while drafting this I also thought of the possibility of what would happen if Gwen's picture (That as discussed in this analysis, she may have with her) fell off while she was leaving Miles' apartment; if anyone is interested in that last idea please say so because I am on the fence about it.

That's it for today! Hope you folks had fun with this.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - True Evil 4/4

part1 part2 part3 part 4

*

“Do you understand?”

The Not-Earbuds were taken off with shaking hands. Superhero grabbed Hero’s wrists so tight the latter let out a muffled scream of protestation.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

The man looked at their grimace of pain and slowly eased their grip, their eyes intense.

“I worry about you, Hero. You seem to think that villains are nice people if only you gave them a hug. Powers are a curse. Or you can shoulder them and become a hero, or you embrace them and you end in the wrong side. That’s all there is.”

“I-”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand, it’s different for you. You have a blessing, not powers. But you have to, or the reality will catch up to you. Like me, you’ll be responsible for a death.”

“Sir, you were not responsible for any of that.”

Hero’s wrists were released at once. It was the Superhero’s turn to recoil, a wide-eyed expression on his face:

“How – How can you say that? If I'd been a little quicker, I could have caught her. If I’d never approached the monster, she might have been safe.”

His fist clenched:

“If I’d killed them, they’d never have made victims then or after.”

Hero swallowed hard:

“Sir, I’m sorry for what happened to you. Truly.”

“Save your pity for people who deserve it. I want your efficacy. Can you promise me to do your job better than you've done until now?”

“I’ll try, sir. I’ll really try.”

Two pale red eyes followed them as they left the office. It didn’t scare Hero as much as before.

*

Villain’s room was still locked when they came back. Hero knocked, but didn’t try to enter. They let their back glide along it, landing on the floor, and slipped their hand under the door. After a while, they felt fingers encircling theirs. They looked at the ceiling, their eyes gazing at a small crack in all this white.

“When I was five-year-old”, they said, “my moms told me I could put my shoes on my own. It was really hard, you know. I had two pairs, so I had to make a choice, and it killed me. I knew that no matter what I’d do, there was going to be poor little shoes under my bed in the dark all day long. My moms found me in tears the next week. They had to buy a chest to make a shoe house, and a third pair so they could have fun with each other during the day.”

“That was very prejudiced of your child self. Like your shoes would rather work all day long than spending time on their own. Like darkness was a curse.”

“I was five-year-old, buddy. I didn’t think. That’s my point, actually.”

“I didn’t realize you had one.”

“I was devastated because of shoes. I can’t even imagine how it was for you, when you saw someone die.”

Hero heard a gasp from the other side of the door, but they grabbed the hand that tried to get away from them.

“My boss told me what happened. I don’t think you’ve killed anybody.”

“These sentences don’t go together. Do not even try to tell me he changed his mind.”

“He didn’t. He’s traumatized. But I’m the one who lives with you. Even if I didn’t know any fact, I know that the person who hugs me every morning before I’m going to work and who harassed me to call a doctor when I was sick would never kill someone on purpose. Of course it was an accident. It wasn't premeditated at all.”

“It is quite a shot in the dark for someone so terrified of it.”

“I was five. I got better.”

“How naive. Just because someone pretends to bear with you doesn’t mean they’re unable to murder anyone.”

Hero squeezed their roommate’s hand.

“But I’m right,” they whispered. “I’m sure I’m right.”

Villain struggled to get free and this time, they let go. After a few minutes, the lock clicked. Hero moved back from the door, staring as it opened. Villain looked at them back. For once, their shadow didn’t cover their head altogether, leaving two pale green eyes in sight, coldly glaring.

“I didn’t even see her run into traffic,” they simply said. “There were ants in the tree. I was too busy to fight with the little creatures eager to invade my very own personal space.”

Hero jumped on their feet:

“I knew it!”

“You seem suspiciously relieved for someone who pretended to be certain.”

“Hmm - it’s the ants. Everybody hates ants.”

“You are such a dreadful liar.”

Nevertheless, Villain grumpily accepted the hug.

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[eternal-armin]

'CAUSE HE THINKS he's made of candy.

i think this is the longest thing i've ever written here, around 6.7k words and i had to revise it a lot because it took up too much space ;;; the title is a reference to candy by robbie williams because that song slaps hard

pairing : five hargreeves x male/transmasc reader. [he/him pronouns]

─────

where : after surviving the apocalypse together and saving the world, things finally return to normal, in good ways and in bad ways.

─────

warnings : mentions of trauma, some light mentions of gore, reader has a congenital insensitivity to pain and find getting injured amusing, so... a lot of that kind of trouble. i totally wanna do another part or so because klaus and diego being father figures gives me life

you walked through the half-dark house, making your way to five's room like you had many times, skateboard in one hand and phone in the other. making sure you hadn't waken anybody up, you opened the door, greeted by the expected sight of a dark bedroom and the sound of gentle snoring. "five, wake up~," you whispered, half singing, shaking his arm, steadily waking him up. he looked annoyed, his brow already furrowed and a frown already tugging at his lips, but he wasn't angry. he was rather used to it by now, in all honesty. "your favorite person ever in the entire world is here!" you hummed. five could basically smell the grin you wore.

"and i wish he would go away," he grumbled in response, trying to turn back over and go back to sleep, only for you to flick on the light and blind him. "jesus christ, a fucking―a warning next time, please?"

"shove your warnings up your ass, five, you can miss out on your middle schooler sleep schedule for a night."

"many nights, actually," he hissed distastefully, giving a mourning glance to the cozy pillow before he sat up, now disappointingly awake. "what do you want this time?" the grogginess was now leaving his voice, but not really his eyes. five almost looked nice when sleepy, even if he looked pissed as hell at being woken up. at least your face was a little more pleasant to look at now that you were back to your teenage self.

"let's go shopping."

five looked at you like you were utterly insane, then slowly looked over at his clock. he cocked his head at you. "it's almost midnight."

"mm, did i stutter?"

"i wish you did. i'm not going shopping with you at midnight. no place is even open." five tried to put his foot down. he was a steel wall to anyone else. but to you―perhaps for you, he was simply a clay plot, one easy to crack the more water you filled it with. it was nice to spend time with you without the entire world desolate and destroyed around you, at least.

"who said the place had to be open?" you shot back with a cheeky grin. five wished that he could be surprised with your blatant delinquency. at some points it had done you both well and your affinity for breaking rules, laws, and regulations gave you a peculiar resourcefulness, but now that you were both safe and home, well... you'd become a mischievous troublemaker. just how you used to be.

"... how the hell did we ever become friends." his voice was utterly flat and his expression exhausted and peeved and yet he still stood up, shrugging the blankets off of himself, heading to his closet because he would be damned if you were going to get hurt and he wouldn't be there to laugh at you.

well, you didn't really get hurt, did you?

"i dunno, but i'm sure you regret your decision." five didn't respond to that. "i will satiate your worries, though, old man, it's an abandoned mall this time."

"wow. character development. didn't expect that from you." with the newfound information he searched for something decent to wear. something that allowed him to move and remain covered by shadows should any unsavory things come to pass.

"hey, hey, i went from crying when i stepped on an ant to killing people, and even if that's negative character development, it's still character development, okay? stop underselling me." you leaned against the wall next to his door, skateboard lounging beside you, picking at your nails. he finally took a full glance at you now that sleep was totally gone from his mind and his body, narrowing his eyes. you were wearing jean shorts, an old nirvana t-shirt, and a hawaiian button-down completely unbuttoned. at least you were wearing knee-pads this time around, but that was all the praise he could give you. five still found himself stunned that you so brazenly didn't care about how visible your scars were; scars from broken bones, scrapes, cuts, gashes, burns, stabs, bullets, shrapnel. you paraded them about like they were boy scout badges which was almost hilarious because you never learned anything from the incidents which now lined your body. even though five would never do it himself, and in fact found it incredibly weird, he kind of respected it. admired it, even. but just that one thing, nothing else. never.

"what, see something you like, old man?" you mused, going from fidgeting with your fingers to looking him in the eye, your own glinting with a bit of cheekiness. not the worst thing to be woken up to in the middle of the night.

five scoffed. "never in my life." you rolled your eyes at that sarcastic response and your grin did not fade. "you're―you're seriously wearing that?"

"hey, i dress my age, mr. retired-man-with-dementia-who-only-remembers-how-to-play-bingo, alright? leave me be." neither of you were bothered by bickering whilst five changed from pajamas to day clothes. he wasn't getting totally naked, so neither of you really gave a shit.

"'dress your age'..." he muttered. "you dress like a blind tween."

"thanks, hot stuff."

"that wasn't a compliment."

"i literally could not care less," you shot back, then winked at him, adding, "lovingly."

five faked a chuckle in some sort of hum sound, shooting you a falsified grin before returning to what he was doing. "i don't want your love. i'm good."

you frowned a bit yourself, which was totally and utterly unnerving and made five, somehow, regret what he said a little bit. "ouch, dude, tell me how you really feel."

"you couldn't comprehend even the most elementary of my emotions, so i'll spare you the headache." he glanced at you a few times, more so at that lingering twinge of unhappiness that so brazenly took over your expression. those words were typically the closest you would ever get to verbal reassurance or comfort from five, not just because he was completely incapable of voicing his own emotions properly, but because physicality did more for you than talking ever did; so, with a comfortable, neutral flannel now hiding his previously exposed torso, he placed a hand on your shoulder. he was always gentle with you, which completely didn't make sense because if anyone in the world needed to be treated gently it would certainly not be you.

a little smile found its way back on your lips. now reassured that not everything was wrong with the world, five pulled on a dark sweater and paperboy cap. you looked him over. "you really look like a retiree now," you mused, but it wasn't an insult. he looked nice like this, out of that hellish uniform, and never could you imagine him in anything else. "do you wanna hit the golf course too, gramps? i'm sure they got some mocktails for you since you wanna keep the drinking to a minimum tonight."

"shut it before i make you." he spoke through gritted teeth, jabbing a finger at you, only succeeding in making you grin.

"is that a threat or a promise?" you clicked your tongue, picking up your skateboard and heading for the door before he could say anything else. "the old tree is, like, a twenty-five-minute walk."

"i'll just blink us, i'm not spending another thirty minutes with you on a skateboard on rough sidewalks, i don't even wanna think about what would happen this time."

"it was so cool, though! i never thought a compound fracture could look like that!"

"[y/n], you only think it's cool because you couldn't feel the pain."

"uh, yeah," you said back, raising a brow at him while he shut off the light to his room and closed the door behind you two. "but it was still cool." you had your bubbly little grin again and five rolled his eyes. despite all that trouble, all that excessive worry he would never admit to feeling, five still looked back somewhat fondly on those times. back when you were ten, still learning how to skateboard, and your parents didn't even give you a helmet or joint pads, when you broke your ankle and didn't even know something had happened until five pointed it out.

after taking one hell of a tumble, hearing the board crack a bit beneath you, you let out a breathless huff, allowing yourself a moment to absorb the sudden shift in, well, everything. five perked up at the sound, surprised you weren't crying or something after falling like that. you stood up and brushed yourself off like nothing was wrong, peering strangely down at the board, which had no damage. you pushed it back and forth once or twice with one foot and it seemed undamaged. that was weird. you'd heard it break, right? five came up to your side, glancing you over once or twice, before his eyes settled down at your feet. "you've got a little something on, uh―" five cut himself off, eyes wide, and you knew that shit was bad when he looked at you like that. he looked about as shocked as one could be, and that unnerved you to no end.

"what? what, did i..." you looked down at your shirt to make sure you hadn't torn it up or anything or were totally exposed, somehow completely not noticing the broken ankle on which you were unsteadily standing, chalking it up to you still half-standing on your skateboard. "what, i don't see what's wrong this picture. stop being cryptic with me, man, you know i'm dumb as shit."

"well―i mean, you aren't wrong about that 'dumb as shit' thing, but i think you just fully busted your ankle." his curtness was plain and simple, and you had already known back then that it would be a constant in his attitude. you looked down, then back up, your eyes wide and mouth twisted as you poorly suppressed a grin and a very annoying giggle. "don't look at me like that! how―how are you not feeling it? that would hurt like hell!" he kept gesturing down at your ankle, at the protrusion of bone and reddening, swelling skin.

"i dunno, i just can't feel it," you mumbled. he pursed his lips, simultaneously in disbelief at what you were saying and knowing that you were too shit at lying to pull this kind of thing off. all of a sudden, his mind was screeching like a fork in a garbage disposal. not being able to feel pain was kind of a bad thing.

he had actually been right, to no one's surprise, when you were diagnosed with congenital analgesia. that incident had marked the day where five silently vowed to be there to protect you, because you were alone except for him. and, to a certain extent, he was alone except for you.

"god really was fucked up when he made you, wasn't he," he muttered.

you both headed downstairs and the clock, by now, was probably around twelve. klaus waited at the bottom of the staircase with the cheekiest of smirks on his face, hands clasped together and his cheek leaning against them. you let out an exhausted groan, thinking you'd missed this tonight.

"something tells me he's super weird-dad tonight."

"why are you surprised, he's klaus, and he's basically your dad."

klaus let out some weird giggle. "i mean, i prefer the thought of being the really cool uncle who teaches you how to smuggle alcohol and how to juke rehab therapists, but i don't mind being a dad." he stepped in front of you two, hands now extended, and that dopey uber-proud dad smile back. "oh, just look at you two!"

"i thought you were sober," five said flatly.

"come on, you two are perfect together! your over-the-top chaos," he gestured to you, "and your sterile literalism!" and he gestured to five. "i'm just waiting for you two to make it official, i mean, two guys don't just survive fifty years in the apocalypse together only from a platonic bond." you and five shared a wide-eyed glance. "don't worry, if my cupid abilities don't get you two together, hormones will. i can't imagine going through puberty twice, let alone the sexual tension between two guys who can't admit their love for one another―"

you put your face in your hands, utterly embarrassed, whilst five was utterly unsurprised. a similar conversation had gone down before, and he just hated reliving it. "okay! that's enough. okay, okay, uh, we're gonna go! if you contact me within the next seven days, i will call child protection services and the police." of course, the threat was empty, but hyperbole was the best way to get your point across. klaus raised his hands in surrender and stepped out of your way. he did enjoy the picture of you two, though; the two extremes on opposite sides of the social attitudes spectrum, one extroverted to the point of it being a flaw and the other antisocial to hell; the opposite sides of the fashion spectrum, one being well-put together mature vintage, and the other being power-clashing at its finest. the multicolored shoelaces were also an appreciated detail.

"i love you too, my little schneke."

"... stop calling me a snail, i'm―i'm not slow."

"maybe not physically," five said quietly to you, and in response you jabbed him in the side with a quiet 'fuck you.' on that cheerful note, you two went about your way. the front door clicked closed behind you, and in a flash of blue-tinted light, you were gone, and the house was mostly silent. klaus was soon joined by allison, quietly making her way downstairs, the only remaining light sleeper of the family.

"you really are just laying on that matchmaker thing, aren't you." she sounded drowsy and awake at the same time. klaus greeted her with a simple smile and a single nod.

"i mean, aren't they just the perfect couple?"

"they certainly were standing next to each other," allison mumbled.

seeing five frustrated was worrying. staring down at his clenched fists, blue light barely rippling out like ice spreading over a metal surface. and so when you passed him, even when he did not notice you, you touched his shoulder, finding yourself in another time. "h-hey, uh, five―" you managed, feeling nauseated as yet again he travelled to some time else.

"get off of me, [y/n], you shouldn't be here!" he looked at you with anger, more like fury, but it was a weird cocktail because it was mixed with a very weird concern. suddenly the world around you two zipped away and was replaced with one of fire, ruined buildings, complete and utter desolation of what was once a world, once compiled with many lives and now every single one was snuffed out because a different roaring fire took everything with it. both of you stood in shock for a few seconds but your cool nature was the first to crack.

"five?! five, where are we?" your voice cracked and your chest tightened, whipping your head around because you thought if you turned fast enough you would be back home.

"like hell if i know, [y/n]! why didn't you let go of me?!"

"i wouldn't have been home anyway, five! i would be just as stranded, i―we―someone needs to be alive, right? someone?" both of you seemed to have the same idea click into your minds, stumbling into weak runs to find the umbrella academy. the building had once stood grand and tall and foreboding and now it was down to the foundations. your friends, his siblings, were gone. he fell to his knees and you turned around, horrified at the world but at least free from the stinging pain of heat and dust whipping into your skin. you felt as cold as ice in a world of fire and heat because, buried amongst the broken homes, were the only family you both had. just older, and... dead. in very painful, excruciating ways.

for all those years, you thought it had been you that stranded you in the apocalypse together; you had distracted him, you had ruined it all, and you never forgave yourself. you hid it well. but five never came out with the same thought process because he didn't believe it in the slightest. he'd already been struggling to transport himself to the time he wanted. maybe you'd exasperated things just a little, but it wasn't entirely your fault. never.

you both allowed yourselves time for the mental breakdown you so dearly deserved, but the time was coming to man up and start trying to find ways to survive. joined at the hip didn't really cover how close you were over those decades, how you couldn't sleep unless you were besides each other, how you protected five because you wouldn't feel the pain and how he always patched you up while cursing you out and still kissing the wound better because it always properly calmed you down, at least more than any words could. you took the brunt of the pain, weaponizing your congenital analgesia and using it as a defensive plan. it worked. even when the handler came around, especially when the handler came around, no defense quite matched yours.

"i should've left you back near the academy building," five muttered, wrapping makeshift bandages around your... well, your practically crushed arm. his voice was gruff now, and not just from the unpleasant living situation, but you were both nearing your thirtieth birthdays. you'd both filled out. you kept gazing at him whenever he patched you up, and even though his words were sour, his touch was sweet.

"what're you looking at, dipshit."

"nothing much."

"fuck you."

"you first."

five grinned a bit. some things never changed.

"wow. this place really didn't age well." the old liberty tree spanned out in front of you with basically no windows left intact, and beyond them a black void without any electricity in the circuits. the outdoor walls were crawling with ivy, the grounds fuzzy from overgrown plants on unkempt laws, and the concrete of the structure looked about ready to crumble. you'd come here a few times in your pre-apocalyptic childhood. it had been coming down for a long time after a few bigger malls came into the picture, carrying more stores, more variety, more fast food restaurants in the food court. now its charms drew only you in as 'how sick would it be to die crushed under the ceiling of an abandoned mall?'

"it's super cool, right?" you giggled, giddy as all hell. your attitude toward liminal spaces had stayed remarkably the same over the years. always, when passing by some tired old house, you nagged five to just take a peek.

"i don't think so, no."

"well, you're friends with me, so i don't think you really have good taste, so i'm gonna ignore that comment and think you said yes." try as he might, and he desperately did, five couldn't bring himself to hate that glint in your eyes when you looked at him. pure, raw curiosity with an undertone of excitement and glee that you were exploring some boring, abandoned place with him of all people. you set down your board and took your place standing on top of it and before five could scold you for skating on very uneven ground, you took off, ducking and pulling a small ollie to get through the shattered pane of the glass main door. five sighed through his nose and followed you in, eventually greeted by the sound of your bluetooth speaker blasting something he couldn't make out by its echo.

"how could you possibly find this fun?" he almost had to shout to be heard. you were approaching again after going around the empty lobby for a few turns, just going faster and faster, losing more caution every time.

"because it's mindless and mostly not illegal!" you responded brightly. suddenly you got the fantastic idea to jump off your board and let it go flying and you followed the instinct, landing wrong on your foot and immediately heading straight for the ground. you would've landed hard, getting at least a deep bruise, if five hadn't caught you by your waist before you could break yet another bone, scoffing at your terrible decisions.

"there are millions of words in the english but none of them could ever describe just how incredible it is that you aren't dead yet," he said curtly, helping you stand back up. you were giggling.

the music was still playing and so you wrapped your arms around his neck, starting to sway and hum along to the eerily-echoing tune. he looked at you with confused horror, eyes narrowed slightly, not moving with you.

"don't give me that, shortstack!"

"i'm taller than you."

"i'm going to ignore that!" you chirped. "we're alive and out of hell, and we have been for, like, weeks now, it wouldn't kill you to dance a little bit!" your hair, bouncy from its messiness, danced almost more than you did as you moved it back and forth, singing whole-heartedly along to saint motel, keeping it a bit dialed back so that five wouldn't have his ears fully blown out by the volume. "who do you think'll see your shitty dance moves other than me? and we both know that i would be a total hypocrite if i insulted you for them."

"i don't dance."

"yeah, and i don't care. your hip won't give out if you use it for fun, fivey."

"don't... don't say that, actually." the cracks were staring to show, just as they always did with his clay pot attitude. you sputtered at the accidental innuendo.

"aw, c'mon, please? just this once?" it was no wonder that klaus was dead-set on his precious, unofficially-adopted son being in love with five, and also no wonder that diego was dead-set on keeping that same unofficially-adopted son as far away from five as possible. your puppy dog eyes were totally nauseating and deeply troubling and so he gave in, solely for the sake of his own sanity. he shut his eyes for a second, mumbling something along the lines of 'i should've killed you decades ago.' but he hugged your waist a little more purposefully and begrudgingly swayed a bit to the tune. the look of utter happiness on your face was, admittedly, kind of worth the wake-up call and following exhaustion.

"i cannot believe that you guilt-tripped me into dancing."

the happy music saw you getting a bit more creative, making up the moves as you went, whatever felt right. five let go of a little control to do the same, and found himself mildly enjoying it. would he do it again? not on his own accord. would you probably make him do it again? without a doubt. it was, however, nice to watch you enjoy yourself. he kind of wanted to dip you, but he didn't.

"you're a natural, though." clasping his hands and intertwining your fingers, you leaned back, and he found himself doing the same, both of you held upright by your grasps on the others' hands, and you started to move in a circle. for the sake of both your safety, five went about it too. walking turned into sideways jogging and you started giggling. the world around you both blurred. for five, it was just you now, just you, like it had always been. it had been a while since you'd held hands for so long but eventually it ended, much to five's dismay, and you went stumbling backward a few steps, falling hard on your ass whilst he quickly remained his balance. you were breathless for a moment after falling so suddenly, but eventually you just started laughing. five wiped his hands on his shirt, peering at you strangely.

"you didn't hear anything crack or whatever? nothing feels weird?" he spoke with no emotion in his voice and yet the words and underlying tone were careful and concerned. nobody else could hear it, but after so long, you could read his every move.

"no, nothing." you shook your head a bit, finding yourself dizzy. "nice to see you're still concerned."

he offered his hand out to you and you took it, and in a strong move, he pulled you up. "i wouldn't call it concern."

"well, then, what would you call it?"

good question.

you were sniffling and crying while trying not to sound it at all. of course, it wasn't from the pain, but from the total stress. sometimes it all just collapsed on you again and you were a hyperventilating, shaking kid again, too scared to turn off the light because the shadows freaked you out. five sat down beside you, leaning against the least-crumbling wall of the small shack you'd both been calling home.

"you're not really a crier," he began. "did something happen?"

"i-i almost got crushed and i saw my life fucking―flash before my eyes and i hated all of it. every single second. i wish i'd killed my parents, i wish i'd killed that landlord, i wish i'd killed my uncle―"

"wish all you want but that's not gonna happen, [y/n]." his voice softened. five was essentially the same as he had been when he was thirteen, just sprouted into someone who would've been one hell of a college freshman. "i wish i killed a lot of people too, but we're here, and we're here together, and―for what it's worth―i'm glad that you're alive." he settled a bit closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you, still sniveling, against him. "hating your childhood is pretty common where i'm from," he joked, successfully getting a wheezy chuckle from you, "and it's still possible to lead a decently okay life. i'm trapped in a terrible apocalypse, and it's not just external, but... it's a little better because i have someone else who's more insane to remind me that i'm right."

you chuckled yet again, snuggling against him. his warmth was better than the world's. "i think i only moved because i heard you call."

"seriously?"

"i-i mean, yeah." it was kind of hard to forget the feeling of stumbling away from a ton of hard reinforced concrete that would've left you as a reddish smear on an orange world. five's curt and somewhat annoyed call was the only thing that grounded you, and you both knew just how quick that faded.

"you really would be dead without me." his voice was quiet and deeply peeved but he didn't shy away from you, his hand remaining idly just against your hair.

"no shit, dumbass―trust me, i am well aware." you snorted to yourself and five sprouted a small amused smile on his own. eventually your smile dimmed a bit, and were reminded of the world in which you lived in, and the world from which you had come from. "why did you stick around?" your disheartened soul was reflected in those words, lined with a pure confusion. five furrowed his brow. apparently it was completely out of the realm of possibility to you for him to just care.

"... there was a lot of―"

"answer the question. please. j-just this once." five quieted a bit when he heard that. usually he was quite skilled at deflecting questions but you melted his resolve so easily. you asking a genuine question in a hauntingly low voice left five silent with no idea how to respond, even after all these years of dealing with your rollercoaster mannerisms.

"wrong place at the wrong time, i suppose." right place at the right time was better to describe it, maybe. "after you broke your ankle when we were ten, i guess i took it upon myself to make sure you didn't do any dumb shit that would end up in a gnarly death. whether you can feel it or not." so he'd appointed himself to be your protector?

"why? it wouldn't do you any good. well... it hasn't done you any good."

"do you really think i only do things if they'll give me an advantage?" five paused, not looking down to see the squinted eyes you stared at him with. "don't answer that question, actually. don't answer. it hasn't done me any good but i don't regret anything i did. not terribly, anyway."

your grin would make the cheshire cat blush.

five immediately regretted saying that. "don't let that go to your head, [y/n]."

"already there, bud."

his brow furrowed again, the corners of his lips twitching down in another frown. "alright. maybe it's partially concern. but fracturing your pelvis would be a very stupid way to die, and not worth laughing at, so i didn't want to miss out on a show." maybe there was some form of truth in that desire for a fun death, but you had that desire too, so small potatoes. it was silence between you two for a few seconds as you patted concrete dust off of your clothes and the backs of your thighs. "let me help," he said, and it was a demand and not an ill-cadenced suggestion. he stepped behind you and swiped away the strips you couldn't reach with a heavy hand. while he did so he carefully looked you over, even going to far as lifting your arms to check for any injuries. you were quite used to it by now.

"thanks," you mumbled. "still waiting for that broken leg."

"well, your plan wouldn't work anyway, because i can see your legs."

"yeah... i like my legs. i don't want one to go janky from a broken bone."

"it would be unfortunate."

"mmhm, so you agree."

five narrowed his eyes slightly, not getting what you meant for a second or two, before scoffing. "i don't think that your legs are nice."

"really?" you turned to look at him, and the teasing grin on your face was reassuring in how amused it was. you were just playing with him, but that was always the way you got him to inadvertently expel whatever he was thinking. you tilted your head, crossing your arms.

"don't give me that, [y/n], or i'll blink away and leave you here."

"there's ceiling access."

he pursed his lips. "alright, then leaving you alone here is completely out of the question, but i will find some way to make this miserable for you."

"what, why? why d'you wanna misery me?"

"you're dreadfully annoying, for one. i hate how you're always smiling, it gives you really bad wrinkles. you have the heart of a child because you're so immature and i don't know why the universe thought it would be funny to shove us two together, because god knows it would never happen normally, but here we are, much to my chagrin." five paused. you were accustomed to his rants by now. "your weird uncle-dad keeps trying to rush something which shouldn't be rushed, and i don't even know what level of weird that is but i hate being a part of it."

"rush something which shouldn't be rushed―what does that mean?" it was like you had selective hearing for the smallest freudian slips known to man. "what, do you need sixty more years to admit you've had some sort of big emotion or something?" it was mostly a jab, something meant to be funny, which was met with a stolid seriousness. you let out a near-silent 'oh' as the moment continued.

"yeah. turns out the crazy alcoholic was onto something, for the first time in his life." you snorted at the quip, nodding in agreement. both of you knew, dearly knew, that words wouldn't be the vessel of the confession, but both of you knew, dearly knew, that it was coming pretty fast. you'd just never think it would come this fast. klaus was really good at sniffing out a love arc, apparently. five felt like steel when he took your hands back into his, not because his biting sharp edges hurt you, no, and they never would, but he'd never done something in a manner such as this. with a few unspoken words the entire atmosphere of your relationship had been turned upside down and that was the scary part; he had no clue where to go from here.

"the worst part will be telling klaus he was right," you joked, swinging your arms in and out on socially-awkward instinct.

"you're telling me. he's gonna tout it around for the rest of time."

"we'll never live it down."

"i doubt you'll need to worry about that, i'll be surprised if you make it to your 16th birthday."

"you give me three years? seriously? you really think that my 58-year-old-13-year-old self can only survive three more years?"

"absolutely correct." you found yourself laughing and he found himself grinning, just slightly. the sound was pleasant, admittedly. he was more open with that now. well, barely, but it still counted. the silence that did follow this time around was almost pleasant. you were too nervous to maintain eye contact very long, so you glanced away from him and your gaze lingered on the random spot which it landed. plants had somehow found their way into the internal cracks of the floor, green shards glinting out in the pale light from the grimy sunroof.

"i never thought i'd see the day where you couldn't look me in the eyes. it's weird and i don't like it. look at me." your cheeks felt warm but you did as you were told. he smiled a little bit, and it didn't even hint at a snarky grin or smug smirk. you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his.

"i'm totally not telling klaus about this."

"neither am i, are you kidding?"

"never in my life," you giggled to yourself, graduating from holding his hands to wrapping your arms back about his neck, where it felt like they belonged. suddenly it was like he was new to embraces because his arms felt stiff when he hugged back, but he hugged back, tight. never before had you encountered something so gentle and so suffocating at the same time; gentle because he might break you, suffocating because he might lose you. neither of those would happen on his watch, of course. somehow, even with your wild self, your flaws and lack of capability to abide by laws and rules, you'd managed to charm the most level-headed, logic-addicted, cynical douchebag the world had ever seen. maybe there was some truth behind that old 'opposites attract' thing.

"do you wanna stick around this dingy place for a while longer like the psychopath you are or get food before you go to sleep so you don"t whine about being hungry?"

"am i really that predi—"

"yes."

"wow, you muttered, furrowing your brow. "i really am predictable."

"yes."

with just the will to prove him wrong you stood straighter and gave him a quick, albeit strong, kiss, and then you were right back on your feet. you caught him off-guard, that's for sure, because he looked like an android in the middle of uploading information; eyes slightly wide, brows slightly raised, pure subtlety. "how about that?"

it still took him a few seconds to respond after that, trying to regain his smug and blunt composure while also trying not to dampen the mood in any way. "you're terrible at convincing. give it another shot."

[roosterforme]

I Still Want You | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had been an idiot when it came to you. He still wanted you, but did you still want him?

Warnings: Smut, maybe a bit of fluff and angst, piv sex without a condom, reader receiving oral, swearing

Length: 2800

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This is in response to a request for @ccbb2222

Check out my masterlist for more

Bradley was an idiot. Sure, he messed things up on a regular basis, but when it came to you, he had fucked up royally. 

Things had been going great for months, and he was definitely in love with you. His friends liked you, you didn't get clingy when he had to work overtime, and you were funny and interesting. But as soon as you had asked him So, where do you see this going?, he self-destructed in spectacular technicolor. 

He let his own worst fears eat him alive. He was afraid of commitment. He was afraid of rejection. He was afraid of losing anyone else he cared about. And so he became distant with you. He stopped calling and texting you back right away. He avoided making concrete plans of any kind, including planning dates. He intentionally became such a shitty boyfriend, you'd have no choice but to break up with him. He knew you would too, because you were smart, determined, and didn't stand for anybody's bullshit.

And that's exactly why he shouldn't be surprised to see you at the Hard Deck, sitting and laughing with some fucking Pretty Boy who was most likely much better than he could ever be. Bradley's blood was positively boiling in his veins, and he knew he didn't have the right to be jealous. But that wasn't stopping him. 

Bradley's skin prickled in delight as he was able to hear your laugh over the hum of the crowd. He briefly recalled a time when you'd laughed so hard at something he had said, you'd actually had to lay down on the floor to catch your breath. He had loved making you laugh; wore it as a badge of honor every time he was able to do so.

And you didn't just look nice, you looked fucking incredible. You'd changed your hairstyle in the last month since you had grabbed your stuff from his apartment and left for the final time. You had on a little makeup, which Bradley usually didn't prefer, but your eyes looked big and engaging, and the guy you were with was eating it all up. And you were wearing that tight red dress that Bradley loved so much. He would never be able to forget the time when you and he barely made it back to his place before he had it pushed up above your hips, and he fucked you against the living room wall. 

"You gonna sit here and torture yourself all night, Rooster?" Hangman drawled, leaning against a pool cue next to the pool table. "You can drink your beer and wallow in self pity, but you don't have to stare at her and make it worse. She moved on."

"Can you blame her?" Bradley rasped. "I was such a dick. I can't believe I did that to her." To us, Bradley thought to himself.

"You have two options. Move on. Or try to get her back. But sitting here and drooling isn't helping either way," Hangman said. And then Bradley was out of his seat in an instant, his beer bottle slammed on the table. 

The guy you were with brushed your hair away from your neck and leaned in to whisper something while he smiled down at you. Bradley was going to punch him in his fucking Pretty Boy face if he touched you again. He wanted to be the only one who was allowed to touch you. He knew the right way to do it. He knew how to keep you coming back for more.

Bradley watched your expression as you pulled away from Mr. Pretty Boy, and he was pleased to note you didn't look too thrilled with the guy. Good girl. Don't let him touch you again. 

"Yeah, you're definitely not going to be getting over her anytime soon, so maybe go with the 'try to get her back' option?" Hangman suggested with a smirk.

But Bradley was barely listening to Hangman, because Mr. Pretty Boy was at it again. This time he ran his hand up along your neck and cupped your cheek. Bradley was off, stalking around to the other side of the bar, flexing his fingers to keep from tearing the place apart. But you were also quickly out of your seat and heading down the short hallway toward the bathrooms. 

Bradley changed course and caught up to you just before you reached the ladies room door. "Y/N."

You spun to face him, and your brow scrunched up a bit. "Bradley? What do you want?"

He looked at you for a beat, trying to calm his breathing. You were so perfect, and he needed to do this right if he stood any chance at all. 

"I want you."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about right now, but I'm here on a first date. I don't have time for you." 

Bradley growled. "I know. I saw you with him. He looks like a douchebag."

You rolled your eyes and shifted closer to the wall as another woman slipped past you and into the bathroom. "You were watching me?"

"I was playing pool with Jake. And it's hard not to look at you, Honey. Especially in that dress."

Bradley watched as your jaw fell open and a blush crept across your neck. 

"I really don't have time for this right now," you whispered. "I don't even know what you want. You went from hot to cold with me so fast, I had whiplash."

"I made a mistake," he replied. "I should have never done that to you."

You took a few steps closer to him and looked up earnestly. "Then why did you? I still don't understand what I did wrong."

Bradley hated himself so much right now. He had hurt you, and he didn't know if you'd be able to trust him again. "Honey, you didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect. I was an idiot."

"You were pretty perfect too, you know. Until you broke my heart. Why?"

Bradley reached for your hand and you let him take it. "Because I didn't know how to commit to you. I thought you would be better off without all my baggage weighing you down too. And I don't know how to stop being afraid of losing people I love."

"You loved me?"

Bradley pulled you closer to him, lacing your fingers with his. "Of course, Honey. I still do. That's why I was getting ready to punch your date in his pretty face. He touched you. I still want to be the only one who gets to do that."

"Are you jealous?" you whispered, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes. Your lips were parted, as you waited for an answer, and Bradley reached up, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Of course I'm fucking jealous, Y/N! He was touching you."

"I'm not yours any longer, Bradley," you said as he stroked your cheek with his fingers. Your eyes fluttered closed as you pressed your face into his palm. 

Bradley took a deep breath. "I lost the best thing I ever had. I want you back. I'll do better this time, Honey. I won't shut you out again. Please?"

You opened your eyes and Bradley pulled you flush against him by your hips, your hands bracing yourself against his shoulders. 

"Bradley," you moaned his name, and he knew he needed to be with you. In every way.

"Didn't I always touch you right? Just the way you liked?"

"Yes," you whispered, your eyes unguarded.

"Can your date touch you like that? Do you even want him to?"

You shook your head, your eyes wide. "No."

"Come on, Honey. What are you doing with him?"

"I'm trying to forget about you," you told Bradley, running your fingers across his shoulders and over his shirt collar to his neck. Your breathing was growing more rapid. "But clearly it's not working."

Bradley felt bold now. He knew he could make you happy again. He'd been doing it for months before he scared himself away from you. And he'd do anything to have the opportunity to show you how good you could be together again. You just needed a reminder.

"You think he can make you laugh all day and then fuck you good all night? You think he can make you come on his fingers while he's driving down the highway? You think he's worth your time?"

"No," you moaned, and then your needy lips were on his, bringing him back to life. Bradley shoved his tongue into your mouth and you moaned again. You worked your mouth against his, and your body molded against him in a way that brought back every good memory he had. Your fingers wound up into his hair as he pushed you back against the wall. 

Bradley could hear other bar patrons walking past and occasionally chuckling, but he didn't care at all. You were running your fingers all over him and he was completely lost in your kisses.

"I love you. Come home with me. Be with me," he begged, his lips connecting with your neck, gently sucking. His fingers slid down your hips and thighs, toying with the bottom of your dress.

"Bradley," you moaned, grinding yourself hard against him.  

His head tipped back, and he had to grab your hips to keep himself grounded. 

"Do you still want me, Y/N?"

"Yes, I still want you. I never stopped."

"Let's go. I'm taking you with me. Your date can fuck himself tonight."

Bradley took you gently by the hand and guided you back into the bar area. He led you back toward your barstool and the Pretty Boy you had come here with. "Don't want to forget your purse," Bradley whispered. You nodded in your haze of lust.

"There you are, I was getting worried," your date said with a smile when you reached for your bag. 

"Um, I'm leaving," you told him, and Bradley felt like he could conquer the world. 

"Oh, you want me to take you home?" Pretty Boy asked you, finally noticing that you and Bradley were holding hands. His pretty face looked so confused, and Bradley was feeling very smug. 

"No, man, that's okay. I can handle her from here. And don't bother calling her for a second date. That's not gonna happen," Bradley told him with a smirk. "You ready to go, Honey?" he asked you loud enough for everyone around you to hear. 

Your exuberant nods were enough of an answer for Bradley, who buried his nose against your neck and kissed you there before leading you to the door. The expression on Pretty Boy's face was enough to put a little extra bounce in Bradley's step. 

"Where's the Bronco?" you asked breathlessly, unstable on your high heels on the gravel. 

"I got you," he replied, scooping you up and carrying you to his car. 

The short ride back to Bradley's apartment was a bit challenging. It was dark out, and you were all over him, kissing him at red lights and unzipping his jeans. As soon as he had the Bronco in park, you were in his lap and your hand was inside his boxers. 

You suddenly giggled and buried your face in his neck. "I can't believe I ditched my date at the bar. Is it wrong that I don't even feel bad?"

Bradley kissed your ear. "It's okay, Honey. He was very ditchable. Do you even remember what his name was?"

"Ummm," you mumbled as you kissed up along the scars on his neck and chin until you reached his lips. "Matt? No, I think it was Mark? Michael? I don't care."

"That's my girl," Bradley said with a grin, hiking your dress up and running his hands up and down your legs. "Can I take you inside? Unless you really want to do this in the Bronco, I'd like to spread you out and take my time."

You moaned and tipped your head back, your grasp on his dick loosening as you said, "Please, take me inside."

Bradley scooped you up and carried you to his door with one hand while holding his jeans up with the other. He sincerely hoped he didn't bump into his sweet, elderly neighbors right now. Once you were both inside, you tried to pull your dress over your head, but Bradley wouldn't let you.

"No, Honey. You keep that on for now," he told you, pulling your hands away from the fabric and up to his chest. He backed you up into his bedroom as you unbuttoned his shirt and kissed him through his undershirt. He yanked both shirts off and tossed them on the floor. "I missed you so fucking much," he told you, pushing you back onto the bed and climbing on top of you. 

"I missed you, too," you whined as he pressed his body weight against you before he slipped his hands under your dress and pushed it up around your hips. Bradley gently pulled the tiny scrap of lacy underwear down your legs, kissing your thighs, knees and calves as he did so.  

You were already writhing around on the bed when he put his mouth to your wet center and gave you a long lick up your seam. 

"Oh, fuuuuck," you mumbled into your hands before they came to tangle in his hair. Bradley smiled against you as you spread your legs wide for him. 

He licked and sucked your clit, teasing you with his mustache. You tasted so good to him as he grabbed your thighs and fucked you with his tongue. First hard and then soft and then hard again, he used his tongue all over your pussy. He buried his nose against your folds and listened to the little gasping noises you were making. He knew how much you loved this, and he loved it too. 

He gently inserted two fingers inside you as he sucked your clit between his lips and caressed it with his tongue. Your breathing seemed to become more shallow with every swipe of his tongue to your swollen bud. "Bradley!" you moaned, trying to ride his face. But then he released you and stood to take his jeans off. "Why did you stop?" you asked breathlessly. 

"I want to be inside you when you come," he grunted, tossing his boxers to the floor. "Need to feel you squeezing me, Honey."

You just moaned as he pulled you down to the bottom of the bed by your ankles until your ass was half hanging over the edge. He wrapped his hands around your calves, held your legs up in the air, and slipped himself inside you. 

Bradley looked at the place where you and he were connected. He watched as he slid himself steadily in and out of your tight, sweet pussy. You were so pretty everywhere, and you looked perfect when he was inside you. Your dress was now bunched up above your waist, and it looked obscene to him.  

Not missing a single thrust, he reached up and pulled the dress out from under you and over your head. "Are you still on the pill, Honey?" he asked, placing gentle kisses to your breasts before palming them hard. 

"Yes," you said to him, your eyes so lust filled as you looked up to where he stood.

"You want me to fill you up?"

"Yes," you whined, bucking up against him.

Bradley played with your tits and fucked you until you were moaning his name incoherently. Then he planted one hand next to your head and pounded into you, railing you while he played with your clit. 

Your eyes slipped closed, and you were shaking your head slowly back and forth as you gripped his hair. You were close now, but so was he, and he absolutely needed to get you there first. He ground into you hard but kept his fingers soft on your clit, and soon you were squeezing around him and coming, your moaning getting louder. 

He knew he wasn't going to last, so he grabbed you by your hips and let his shallow bucking take him to the end. He came inside your pussy making a mess. Then he collapsed half on top of you, and you played with his hair as he caught his breath. 

"Bradley, I missed you so much," you told him when he rolled off of you. 

"Sleep over, Honey. Stay with me." He pulled you on top of him and kissed you sweetly. You just smiled and cuddled against his chest, lacing your fingers with his. 

And Bradley knew he wouldn't fuck this up again. 

------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! And thanks to ccbb222 for sending me the jealously prompt!

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