#as much as he's an angry teenager who hates displays affection he really is their little boy and they adore him

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

the higher-ups (and Yaga) immediately trying to leverage Gojo & Ieri's absence to put Yuuta on the roster??? God that's such a stark moment. Thank god Nanami and Gojo saw through that one immediately, because Yuuta wants to justify his own survival so badly he would've fallen straight into it.

That whole scene, with Yuuta immediately jumping on the opportunity to help people even though something is Extremely Wrong with him and he's on the brink of physical collapse--this boy is selfless to the point of self destruction and I am chewing the drywall about it. I love him so much.

If only he was able to summon his newly found homicidal rage in defense of himself, the higher-ups would no longer be a problem. Alas, this boy is Extremely Unwell.

(Sea Glass Gardens is absolutely incredible and i am obsessed with it in a way that is totally and 100% normal. I'm so normal about it, trust me <3 )

The thing about Yuuta is that he really is prime to be taken advantage of right now and the higher ups know it. They had him try to kill himself for them--they know that there's a window of opportunity that they can use to get him under their thumb and avoid The Problem of Gojo, which is, namely, having a human weapon who you cannot fully control. Gojo nailed it from the beginning: they want a magic gatling gun with no personality or free will. They learned their lesson with Gojo and are trying to rob Yuuta of his agency before he learns how to protect himself.

And Yaga's part in that scene really was meant to kind of emphasize how, even with the best intention's, he just doesn't work to protect the kids. Like. everything he said was technically true, and he meant it with the best of intentions. He's the guy who has to think of everyone's needs. he has to manage this crisis. he's got a lot of people hurt badly who just came out of a war, and a lot of people going into fights with some very aggravated curses spawning without sufficient manpower to address the danger and no healer to save them if they cut it a little too close. He didn't have the intention of manipulating or sacrificing Yuuta, but he was aware that it would come to his detriment and risk.

The issue is the higher ups. They don't give a shit about the people in their workforce. They should be the ones doing whatever it takes to solve this crisis and save their people--and if that means giving up on their machinations? They should have already done it. It's their responsibility.

They just don't care. They want Okkotsu Yuuta under their thumb, and their society hemorrhaging is treated like an opportunity, not a dire problem to be solved. They don't care if half a dozen of their own people need to die to do it. Hell, it's better if they do die--they can put it straight on Okkotsu for not being willing to sacrifice himself, when they should have been making whatever promises they had to in order to make this work.

Gojo's done this before, is the thing. He was Yuuta, a long time ago. Nanami was right there watching it happen. They both know what the higher ups do: They let society get to a crisis level and put all the responsibility on you to save it. they let you maneuver yourself into a vulnerable position as a result, and then they use it as leverage to put their goddamn boot on your neck.

The thing is that Gojo adopting megumi all those years ago really did put them into a crisis state. the zenin pitched the mother of all bitch fits trying to secure his unconditional return, and they were a huge percentage of jujutsu society's labor force and resource pools. instead of the higher ups managing the problem at all, they took advantage of the situation and shoved more and more of its weight and responsibility onto gojo, until he was dropping off his own kid at his abusers' compound thinking it was the only compromise that could resolve things. megumi paid the price for gojo not calling bullshit, and right now, with him in a hospital bed? gojo's less willing to repeat mistakes than ever.

he knows that they're going to use the safety and suffering of everyone else as the leverage against him, and he knows that as terrible as it is, he cannot blink first. He's played this game before, and he knows that the only way to get the higher ups to back off on something like this is to dig in your heels.

I think what happened to Megumi all those years ago and how bad it got before they put a stop to it is something that haunts all three of them. When they first started raising him, they were very young, and they were very broken, and they loved him very, very much. He was their little boy, and he was never the same after the Zenin. They were supposed to protect him, and they didn't, and not a single one of them has forgiven themselves for that.

Megumi was sort of sacrificed for the greater good when he was a kid. None of them thought that that was what they were doing when it happened, but that's what happened. His happiness, safety, and wellbeing were sacrificed to pacify the Zenin and make it easier on everyone else.

Megumi and Tsumiki had to become their non-negotiables after. They had to become the things they refused to compromise on. The Zenin would take miles and miles if you gave them a millimeter, let alone an inch.

Gojo didn't think he was compromising them when he left them on their own to deal with Geto's war. They were disgustingly self-sufficient kids. They had been alone for longer stretches of time when they were practically toddlers--they should have been fine on their own for a couple of weeks.

But they were still his kids, and he still left them alone for everyone else's sake, and now his kid is blind and half dead in a hospital bed. It's like being punched in the face by old mistakes.

So they're off the roster completely, all of them. And they're not compromising an inch on what their focus is, and they're not letting anything happen to any of the other kids in their care.

It's terrible that their coworkers are suffering, but it wouldn't be happening if the Zenin hadn't fucked with Gojo Satoru's kid, of all the goddamn people. It wouldn't be happening if the higher ups would actually do their job and start managing shit.

And if they use Yuuta as an anxiety riddled bandaid on the bullet hole in their society? Then they'd be sacrificing him the way they sacrificed Megumi all those years ago. And they have never been less willing to do that.

I'm so so glad you like the story! Thank you for talking with me!

[sneepseverus]

cw: toxic relationships, mentions of abuse

As much as I love reading fluffy young!Snape fics about him being in a cute romantic relationship, I can’t help but also feel sad.

I think he’d definitely experience the honeymoon phase like most couples do but for longer than the person he’s dating. He didn’t have many friends, so the fact that someone actually likes him is not a regular occurrence. Of course he’d want to cherish it! But I think as a result, he’d become too clingy for their liking, and if he were told to back off a bit, he’d take it a bit too far and stop showing affection all together, at least for a little bit.

I also think he’d let a lot of toxic behaviors slide because 1) he was abused throughout his childhood and adolescence, so that’s more or leas all he knew and 2) he’d blame himself for making them upset, angry, etc. For example, if they wanted to date him in secret because they didn’t want their friends finding out, he’d agree to it because he’d be grateful that someone wanted to date him in the first place. He wouldn’t break up with them himself because it wouldn’t even cross his mind that they’d be in the wrong.

On one hand, I don’t think they’d have sex, at least not for a long time, because of his insecurities and fear of not doing well. On the other hand, if his partner’s sex drive were really high and demanded it, he’d agree to it even if he weren’t in the mood :(

But all that aside, I think he would be a good boyfriend. Not perfect, but good. He’d make homemade gifts for them and remember all special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, etc.) He’d help them prepare for exams if they were struggling. He would give them his coat, scarf, and gloves in the winter. He’d apologize sincerely if he did something wrong or mean. He’d want to kiss them between classes and in semi-private locations in the castle. He’d write them cute poems and draw them together (don’t know how good the drawings would be, but O for effort at least).

The relationship would realistically end after they left Hogwarts if not sooner unless his partner were his soulmate. But assuming it did end, that relationship combined with his other experiences from school would be enough reasons for him to never date again as an adult. He’d go through a long phase of hating couples who display PDA. Even hearing people who talk sweetly about their partners would make him want to vomit. He’d reluctantly attend weddings if he were even invited, but he’d mostly be seen standing in the corner drinking.

I don’t know if he’d have casual sex with people. I can see him as someone who wanted/needed sex and therefore did it with people (but no more than three times per person), but I can also see him avoiding it. He might have had a low sex drive due to depression, anxiety, etc. or thought he was too gross for anyone to want to have sex with him even for just a night. I also think him being asexual is pretty fitting. But what do you think?

The only way he’d consider dating someone as an adult is if he fell in love with them. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea unless the feelings were strong. And I imagine he’d think he hated that person initially before realizing he loved them. In that case, he’d be overly cautious about revealing his feelings and entering a relationship with that person, even if the feelings were mutual and they confessed first. Like all relationships, it wouldn’t be perfect, but I think he’d learn from his experiences as a teenager.

[anthurak]

Loona Deserves a Promotion...

So an interesting detail I just recently noticed: Loona is likely a deliberate case of a character being assigned a role in an organization who is not only woefully under-qualified for that role, but is also extremely qualified for a role that is being denied for them.

To whit; when you think about it, Loona is not only the least qualified member of I.M.P. to be acting as a receptionist (Moxxie, Millie and even Biltzo have better social skills), but is also by far the MOST qualified member for assassinating human targets.

Really think about it: Unlike her coworkers, Loona can adopt a flawless human disguise at will, can apparently sniff out and track targets based solely on a name and seems to be all-around the best fighter of the group, certainly when it comes to physical strength. She even seems to be the most adept of the group at actually getting to Earth in the first place, as it appears that Loona is the only one who knows how to use Stolas’s grimoire.

Simply put, Loona could be a flat out BETTER assassin than Moxxie, Millie or Blitzo (or even all three combined), yet Blitzo relegates her to just being the company’s receptionist, something she clearly terrible at, and generally forbids her from going on missions. Almost certainly out of some misguided attempt to ‘protect’ his daughter. As I discussed in a previous post, it seems like Blitzo may be fixated on viewing Loona as some vulnerable, troubled girl/teenager who needs his care, affection and protection, rather than an actual adult.

I discussed in my previous post how Queen Bee re-contextualized Loona’s angry, abrasive and generally anti-social behavior as what is most likely an emotional and psychological defense mechanism. Something Loona uses to keep herself safe by keeping any and all potential threats at a safe distance, and something she uses pretty much on reflex whenever she gets socially awkward or uncomfortable. Which as we saw in Queen Bee, is pretty much all the time.

So with that in mind, I’m now wondering if Loona’s similarly abrasive behavior at I.M.P. is a similar case of this. It seems pretty clear that Loona doesn’t like being the receptionist, given the bare-minimum effort she puts into it. I imagine the only reason she goes along with it at all is because deep down, Loona does care about Blitzo and appreciates the care he has for her as a father, so she sticks with the job.

Which could explain, among other things, why Loona was going feral on Blitzo at the start of Seeing Stars. This is a job Blitzo almost certainly pushed Loona into, a job she likely hates, but goes along with for her father’s sake, and now he’s giving her shit over how she does that job? Honestly I could see where Loona is coming from when she started going after Blitzo with knives, shurikens, water-coolers, paintings and a coffee-pot. It’s not a good response, but an understandable one (much like all the other times Loona lashes out at Blitzo when he shows no respect for her personal boundaries).

In fact, upon reflection I think Seeing Stars makes a POINT about how Loona is being mismanaged as a member of the company by Blitzo. It’s pointed out, and then shown, how Loona is a terrible receptionist at the beginning of the episode. Then the episode spends the rest of its run-time displaying how Loona is an excellent field-agent, given how she ends up tracking down Octavia without ANY help from her coworkers (the only help she actually needed was simply getting to Earth via Stolas) and without any real issues or interference from humans. She even did all this without being able to use her normal sense of smell, showing that Loona actually has some real skill as a tracker.

I’ve discussed in previous posts how Blitzo seems to be fixated on viewing Loona as a young and vulnerable child he needs to take care of, and how he’ll likely be going through that classic parental character-arc of ‘being forced to recognize that your little girl is all grown-up’. With the twist here that the ‘little girl’ in question was ALWAYS grown-up.

With that in mind, I’m now thinking that Loona’s job at I.M.P. is going to be a major factor in this arc: That being, Blitzo recognizing (or being forced to recognize) that his daughter isn’t fit for and just plain doesn’t like the job he’s given her at the company, possibly leading to Loona leaving I.M.P. to follow her own path. Or alternatively, Blitzo simply recognizing Loona’s abilities and giving her missions/targets of her own. Like I think it’s easy to imagine a B-plot in an upcoming episode where Blitzo and the M&Ms are caught up in various shenanigans/drama and Loona is forced to take care of their target (or even multiple targets) on her own. And in the process realizes both that she’s actually really good at this assassination business, and that she also really likes it.

(I doubt this will happen but since the new episode tomorrow clearly takes place at a Summer Camp, imagine if the B/C-plot is just Loona going all slasher-movie-villain on some hapless campers and councilors?)

Which in turn leads to Loona pressuring Blitzo a lot more to let her go on missions. Or, because Loona has a history of telling Blitzo ‘fuck you dad, I do what I want!’, she ends up just swiping the grimoire and takes jobs herself (maybe with Octavia along for the ride?). Eventually leading to Blitzo recognizing Loona’s abilities and independence.

In fact, given the hints we’ve seen of Stolas preparing to cut things off with Blitzo by giving him an ‘Asmodean Crystal’ so he doesn’t need the grimoire (and by extension, Stolas) to go to Earth to conduct his business, what if this ends up leading to Octavia and Loona swiping the grimoire for themselves and going on adventures/taking jobs on their own?

Something to think about XD

[cardhamine]

*Sighs and unpacks my entire write-up for William Afton in this AU*

WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THE WAFERS

See Read More for Will's entire history prior to the fic, essentially. <3

TWs - FNAF-relevant child abuse/murder, Antisocial Personality Disorder discussed, cursing (but really that's it except uhhh trans Henry ig but I'd say that's not a trigger as much as just something that some people hate the idea of)

- William was born in 1947 as the only child of two products of Old Money from England. They were not in love and viewed their marriage as a business transaction, but they were amicable otherwise. Their marriage was open as long as no one found out. Business troubles required that they move to America when William was a teenager.

- William is a 3rd. His father William II (did go by Bill) was a difficult man who also treated his son as a branch of his business.

- William's mother's name was Juliet. She was a stay-at-home mother, but she was not affectionate. She kept up with most of the family's finances.

-The family business was originally from his mother's side. They were semi-famous toy makers. Father's side were investors. Both families worth a million or more. (Not as impressive in 2023 money but a big deal then).

- William's family emphasized the importance of LEGACY. If you don't leave something memorable behind, you may as well have not existed. You will rot in the dirt and be forgotten. Your life will have meant nothing. (Plus you were supposed to continue the legacy of your forefathers, so now you've fucked that up, loser)

- That gets in Will's head but manifests into a drive for work and fear of death that develops into a phobia before he's even reached college age.

- The Aftons were angry at William for wanting to go into things like puppetry/robotics/engineering instead of just taking the business, but he spun the idea as a continuation/evolution of the family toy making business and they chilled somewhat.

- (He didn't actually care much about the family business but he did genuinely enjoy circuitry and engineering.)

- Will meets Henry in university when he was pre-transition (still being referred to as Henrietta or, preferably, Henri). Henri is brilliant with design and Will with the technological aspects (building, engineering, etc).

- They date (not SUPER seriously bc William is aware his family wouldn't approve) for a couple years. Henri meets a nice woman named Marysol (Mary) in classes, and they end up getting married after a 3 year courtship.

- William stays close friends with Henry (post-transition after wedding, at least socially if not surgically/chemically). Mary is perfectly fine with this, although she can tell there's something off about William.

- (There is something similarly off about Mary. Henry really knows how to pick 'em. Or maybe he has a type. Either way, both William and Mary lie on the antisocial personality disorder spectrum.)

- In regards to their APD symptoms, the two share a lot of the same traits: impaired capacity for empathy (both had better cognitive empathy than affective empathy), lack of respect for social norms/expectations, deceptive behaviors. On the other hand, Mary had some features William lacked, such as violent urges/tendencies and a complete lack of guilt/remorse. (She may have been involved in some violent crime, but she was never found out.) However, she very badly wanted a family and had a larger capacity for affective empathy than William which displayed in her care for Henry and, eventually, Charlie. However, her capacity for AE was VERY person-specific.

- William had a far diminished capacity for affective empathy comparatively (if the average person has 70% capacity to empathize with others, Mary had 35% and Will had 20%). However, that didn't mean he wanted other people to suffer. He preferred for others to be successful, so long as their success didn't inhibit his own. Partially because when people were successful, they were happy, and when they were happy, they didn't trouble him with their problems; partially because he did have that smidgen of empathy. He also experienced guilt, though that often made him more irritable than apologetic.

- William goes through a semi-arranged marriage to a very sweet woman named Violet who is also the child of an old money family but who wanted to be married to someone she loved. She did end up loving William, and he was fond of her.

- William and Mary are aware of their similarities immediately. They eventually have a meeting about it. Mary insists that they agree to never bring one another's families into any of their activities. At the time, Will has literally never done or even considered doing anything she's implying. But he agrees. She emphasizes that she will ruin his family if he ruins hers. He says, "Ditto."

- Fredbear’s Family Diner is opened by William and Henry around 1971.

- Michael William Afton was born a couple years after the two married. He looked a lot like William and like Bill, and that was something that made it difficult for Will to be overly fond of him. He also represented the family legacy that Will felt was thrust upon him his entire life. On top of that, he was a rebellious child who caused Will a lot of irritation, and Will was not very forgiving of that. Overall, they had a miserable relationship.

- They had two more children after Michael because Violet wanted them, even though the Afton side of the family viewed it a waste of resources, given they already had a male heir. William felt real affection for the first time at the birth of Elizabeth "Lizzie" Viola Afton. She looked like Violet but was precocious and intelligent like William.

- Shortly thereafter, the Emilys adopted Charlie, and the two girls eventually became inseparable.

- Evan was born 2 years later. He was a quiet, nervous child. Michael's irritation at being unloved by his father was mostly taken out on Evan, because 1. Lizzie was very protected by her father but also 2. Michael also loved his little sister too much to hurt her.

- Evan Cecil "Cece" Afton was Violet's "favorite" (though she loved all of her children too much to make that obvious.) She doted on him a lot, since he was the baby.

- William develops the Talking Fredbear plush with an internal radio so that the children can communicate with him without barging into his workshop and bothering him. (Cece uses it the most.)

- William and Henry open the first of the Freddy's establishments around this time.

- Things go smoothly until Cece's accident in 1983 (as in, "The Bite of"). He was 8. Though Michael was only teasing his brother, an electrical short caused Fredbear's jaws to clamp down, leading Cece to sustain a critical injury to his frontal lobe. The family is devastated. He is kept in a medically-induced coma for several months. William did adapt the Talking Fredbear plush so the family and he could record messages which would play every once in a while for Cece when they were not at the hospital.

- Unfortunately, he does not recover and eventually passes away from hospital-acquired pneumonia.

- Violet does not take the incident well and must be hospitalized for stress-induced psychopathy shortly thereafter. She passes away for unclear reasons while hospitalized.

- William's phobia of death engulfs his life. He throws himself into his work and spends every waking moment either keeping his business afloat or trying to "solve the death problem". His ideas become more and more psychotic. He learns about the theory of Remnant and begins making plans. He reminds himself to eat and sleep just so he can keep appearances up for Elizabeth. This goes on for a year or so until he develops his theory to use remnant to transmute the soul to a sturdier body that won't die. He just needs test subjects.

- Mary can tell that Will is becoming worse. She reminds him of their agreement: they’re to keep both their families out of any of their bad behavior. William agrees and intends to keep the promise.

- (1985) The Missing Children Incident occurs. Charlie sees William tossing his bloodied uniform in the dumpster next door and returning to the building that night after police have already done primary investigation (questioned him/searched the place and found nothing). He cares at least a small bit for Charlie and is somewhat aggrieved about what he "has to do." He makes it quick and painless.

- The Emilys are devastated, and Mary knows immediately what happened. She doesn't say anything, just plans.

- William DID develop the sister location (Circus Baby's Pizza World) to collect subjects to continue his experiments. His children are NOT allowed to set foot on the premises, and he impresses upon Michael that he should do what he can to make sure Elizabeth never does. He emphasizes that Michael has the responsibility to make up for what “Michael did” to Cece and his mother.

- Not a month later, Mary got her revenge on William by "bringing Lizzie to see Daddy at work as a surprise". William did not know Elizabeth was there, and Mary directed her to Circus Baby when no one else was in the room.

- William goes absolutely bonkers after this.

- (Henry never has any clue William or Mary were involved in their children's deaths - until a decade or more later when he accepts William's involvement in the other children's disappearances/murders. He never realizes Mary killed Lizzie and forever blames her death on William.)

- (Michael essentially goes to live with Uncle Henry and Aunt Mary until he leaves for college, and it helps the three heal a lot. Henry likely lives through these events due to having Michael to watch after/set an example for.)

- (1987) The details Will described to Vanny when defending his murderous behavior were accurate. The DCI did occur at a birthday party for children from the hospice wing of the local children's hospital. William intended to transmute their souls to the animatronics. They were 100% a science experiment, and that was a very disgusting thing to do. He had convinced himself that the ends justified the means. He said the "curing death for everyone" bit as an excuse/manipulation for Vanny's sake, though, as he at no point ever cared how his research might improve the lives of others. He was only obsessed with escaping death personally and would do almost anything to make that happen

- The deaths are thoroughly investigated but inevitably it was impossible to prove William was to blame, despite him being brought to trial. He did step down as co-CEO of the company at this time.

- Sometime after this, while attempting to harvest remnant from the suits he stuffed the DCI victims in, he's Springlocked.

- By the end of his life, William had directly killed 12 children (including Charlie) and indirectly (via the Funtime Animatronics) killed an unclear number more.  

- His methods of murder were generally quick and painless. These methods are also easiest to clean up and hide. He had no reason to be overly cruel, as he was not studying Agony and had not discovered it before his death.

- Springtrap is a whole other ballgame. William's soul and remnant did inhabit the Spring Bonnie suit for decades, but his consciousness was not as clear due to the Agony created during his violent, torturous death also impacting that form's feelings and behaviors. This is one reason Springtrap is so often recklessly violent/homocidal.

- Glitchtrap is a much purer form of his consciousness not as manipulated by Agony, so he's more like his original personality.

- Overall, William (in Breached) is a deeply troubled man suffering from APD but who also allowed himself to excuse some of the worst possible human behaviors. He tried to excuse himself by blaming his evil actions on his personal fears. Then, he tried justifying them through half-baked promises of breakthroughs in science/healthcare which were entirely fabricated (i.e. they were not preconceived on his part, just an afterthought). He would have committed all his atrocities even if the outcome would have only benefited him, regardless of what he said to gaslight Vanny into feeling guilty for questioning his actions.

- Harming anyone, especially children, in any way is horrible, and taking away another person’s agency via emotional abuse/torture is also horrible. My William is definitely an abusive, miserable, evil person. However, I’m leaving out much of the additions from the books, including this Wafer Debacle. This is because I think he is a much more interesting and compelling villain if we are able to see the steps he took to get where he got. Being someone with personal struggles who gives in to desperate, selfish desires to protect themselves from their greatest fears is something more relatable and therefore more insidious, perhaps even more disconcerting to read than someone who makes fear gas for kids because they’re wicked (IMO). Being cartoonishly rotten isn’t my vision for him in this AU. On the other hand, there are real life villains who have perpetrated similar (perhaps not with the sci-fi, fear gas aspects) violence against their own children (See “A Child Called It” book if you want to be nauseated forever until you die but also TW TW TW TW!!!), so it wouldn’t be completely unreasonable to claim a horror game/novel villain would go to such lengths. Just. I’m not going that direction with my William in particular.  

- (Malhare was being honest about "not carving up the kids", i.e torturing them like she does her adult victims. Her theory on getting good remnant samples involves torture (leads to her independent ‘breakthrough’ about Agony, before she looks into previous research on the subject by P. Taggart). William’s theory involves the victims being young (remnant is newer/easier to manipulate). From a scientific research perspective, including 2 or more uncontrolled variables in the research would mess with results and make it difficult and possibly impossible to decipher which variable was actually effective. So.)

- Just a fun fact, he did really feel real fondness for Vanny initially. He saw a lot of Lizzie's precocious nature in her, and he loved the ego boost from her gushing over how wonderful his company/designs were. He thought she was capable and had promise in robotics/engineering. He's just a very selfish person who uses people as pawns, whether he likes them or not. And if they start getting in his way, he isn't afraid to let them burn.

[sweetestlamb]

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

[tobi-momo]

"The Setter's Help" Chapter 7

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Volleyball player!reader

Synopsis: With a big game coming up, the confidence in your setting has gone down significantly. Knowing the setter on the Karasuno boy’s volleyball club is good at what he does, you ask him for help. Will he help you build your confidence and skills or will he just tear it down more?

Genre: Romance, fluff, some crack, angst, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, angst, physical violence (?) (not much if any), lmk if more

Word Count: 1.9k

Taglist is Open!!

“Kageyama!” A loud shout could be heard from outside the storage room where Kageyama had been sitting for the past two hours. Suddenly the blank white wall had the memories of his happenings with you covering it. Every time he looked back at himself, the emotion he saw behind his face said everything he wanted to. “You’re really pretty today”, “do you want to hang out?”, “You’re amazing at volleyball”, “I like you”.

“Kageyama!”

The yelling had become clearer, he regarded. His eardrums pick up the sounds of his name, although his eyes still never peeled from the partition. Only when the collar of his shirt was pulled and tugged on and his body being lifted off the chair did he look away, his brain finally responding to its messages.

“You’re such an asshole! Do you know what you did to her? She hasn’t stopped crying! She liked you! And you messed this up! How could you? What did she do to you?!”

It seemed as if Hinata has snapped, Kageyama notes. It’s not that he didn’t care, but the energy that he had in his body to keep fighting and defending himself had almost drained out.

I know, I know, I know.

All he could do was listen, silently scream at how he hurt you, how he damaged your self-esteem, and tore your view of yourself. He knew you looked up to him as both a mentor and a person, and he knew that you wanted to be just like him in terms of volleyball. The event that had occurred just about three hours ago had carved into his brain and embedded itself there, resulting in a headache that he thought he deserved. As his friend throws him around with his fist, his head wobbling and his teeth gritting at the reality of it all, he groans.

“She was good for you!” I know. “She just wanted your help!” I know. “Why did you mess it up?!”

“I don’t know!”

Hinata’s eyes widen dramatically when he heard Kageyama’s voice bleed through the air, his arm loosening a bit and lowering Kageyama’s figure down towards the chair. He looked distressed, Hinata noticed. It was obvious he was arguing with himself, his breath shaking as his chest heaves, his hands balled up into fists yet not having the energy to put them up and use them. His furrowed, frustrated eyebrows that guide his angry eyes when he stares at the floor, too ashamed to look up towards the man counting on him the most. It may have been the humid room, but his eyes felt hot, wet. His head felt sore, tired. But what could he do now, instead of just laying there in guilt and shame, constantly thinking about the way you grew scared of him once he stood up to you, or when you were sobbing and shaking into Kiyoko’s chest as she held you close.

Silence overcame the room; a dark, frozen occurrence in time that was only interrupted by a couple of sniffles as Kageyama tries to pick himself up. He brushed himself off as he stood straight up, a shadow overcasting the top half of his face when his hair sways in front.

“You better fix this,” Hinata mumbles. “Even I can see she’s too good for you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

~.~.~.~

Giving you time was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Watching you walk past him in the hallways and avoid looking at him during class. Every time he tried to stop you in the hallway to talk or say your name to grasp just a sliver of your attention, you do the opposite. You never looked at him once. A concentrated, determined look on your face as you stare at the piece of paper beneath you, your fingers fidgeting with the pen you hold.

The cap resides on your lips while you write down a new formula. His eyes carefully trail the way your mouth wraps around the lid, focused pupils darting to the different details your lips display, them blowing out when you move them, your hand slipping the cap out from your lips. He let his mind get distracted for a little bit while he thinks about how soft your lips would be against his.

“Oi,” Hinata whisper-yells at the man who stares at your mouth. He hesitantly turns around, a blank expression hugging his face while he looks at the ginger. “Stop looking at her like that, you look creepy,” he whispers as he leans upon his desk to give the message properly.

“What? No, I don’t,” Kageyama tries to defend, only his volume a little louder than intended.

“We get it, you like her, but take it slow, remember? No one wants to see you drool over her eating her pencil.”

“She isn’t-” he sighs, turning back around and sitting in his chair properly, “whatever,” he grumbles.

Once the bell rang, he only caught your eye once before you darted out of the class. Dammit, he thought.

“Hey, Y/n,” he called, only to be ignored by your leave as you exit the classroom.

He hated that. He kept seeing your body disappear over and over again and he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take watching your back vanish around the corner of the white walls any longer, but his brain ached when it yelled at him to just leave you alone. It was hard, he had to stop himself from taking another step, but his foot halted and he was left alone in the empty hallway while you storm away with no regard.

~.~.~.~

The minute practice rolled around an anxious feeling wrapped around his nerves, suffocating them and telling him to worry and be anxious. It created a pit in his stomach that he wasn’t able to shake, a nervousness that he wasn’t able to identify as he enters the silent gym. Well, silent now that he was present. All murmurs and small-talk came to a stop, all eyes turning to face him while the metal doors clang shut.

Well. This was awkward.

“C’mon! Let’s get to practice, y’all! What’s up with everyone?” Coach Ukai shouts in question with his arms in the air, hoping to clear the dread for a slow second. He chuckles dryly when the humming and mumbling continues, all except two volleyball club members grabbing a ball out of one of the available carts. He gives a double-take to two standing boys by the entrance of the gym, jogging towards them when they don’t move after a moment. “What are you guys doin’? What’s going on with everyone?”

“Well,” Hinata speaks up, a hand scratching his neck as Kageyama takes a step back, scared. “Something happened yesterday and… let’s just say the club isn’t too happy with Kageyama-kun over here.” He tries to laugh it off, but the evidence in Kageyama’s fearful eyes proved that this was, indeed, a serious matter, so Ukai’s face didn’t do anything but display shock and concern.

“Hinata,” he calls, walking off as he uses his pointer finger as a gesture to make the boy come over. He complies, speed walking with his arms sticking out the sides, while Kageyama just stands at the back of the gym, trying his best to ignore the stares of judgment- the ones of Tsukishima and Tanaka, of course. He couldn’t tell if they were glaring at him out of sport or if they were actually mad, but the way his eyes strayed to the polished floors was enough to say they still affected him.

“Yes, Coach?”

The man leans down towards the teenager while looking at the lonely player in the corner, a brow quirked up in question as he asks, “Why is he acting like that?”

Hinata raises his arm to point when he says, “I jus-”

“No, I know what you told me, but what happened. This is not how the team usually is, have you seen the third year’s?” He points out the three men on the court, Hinata taking a quick glance at them grumbling incoherent nonsense to themselves.

“Uh… well,” he tries to explain, putting his pointer fingers together for comfort. “Do you know of Y/n?”

“Mhm, I know of the girl. Girls’ Volleyball Team, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s her. Anyways, Her and Kageyama-”

“Wait, a minute. Are you telling me what I think you’re about to tell me?” He questions with a whisper louder than he intended, although thankfully earning no quizzical looks as he quiets down.

“No, no, no. Well-”

“Are you serious?”

“No! Okay, okay, so basically what happened was he was helping her train for a game she’s excited for,” Hinata continued his explanation, both the ginger’s and Ukai’s head’s turned towards the dark-haired teenager as they talked under their breaths about what had happened. Hinata could see in his peripheral vision the way the blond’s eyes blew open in surprise.

“Kageyama-” he pauses, taking a breath, “Kageyama Tobio,” he clarifies, not believing his ears, “did that to Y/n?”

The ginger only nodded his head, guilty. “Yeah…”

“Oi! Kageyama!” The older man calls the lonely setter his way, the teenager hesitating for a moment before following directions. “Are you dumb or something?”

“What?”

“You heard me!” He keeps his voice at a low whisper, although the striking frustration in his voice does not falter to make Kageyama take a step back in utter shock. “Why the hell would you do that to a nice girl like Y/n? There could be no possible reason other than you being stupid!”

“Coach, I think-”

“Get to practice, both of you! And stop torturing girls like that!” He waves them both off, shoving them away with annoyance. They stumble off, not hearing Ukai mutter, “Dumbasses,” under his breath.

~.~.~.~

You weren’t there. You never showed. The empty gym rang with silence as the dust particles clashed with the windows and the benches, only showing themselves when strings of light bled through the clear panes. He could only sigh, as this was half expected of you, which he had come to the conclusion that that was valid as he closed the gym doors before heading home.

It was like that the next day as well, and the next; Kageyama has no idea why he keeps bothering to show up anymore. Whenever he had texted you politely that he was on the court waiting for you, the message switched from Delivered to Opened in less than two minutes, leaving him to assume that you knew you were doing this to him.

While he picks up his volleyball bag for the last time that night, he walks home with a conflicted expression. Should he keep waiting for you? Or should he stop? You had to come around one of these days, you were crazy about this game, you practically begged him to help you, and even if he wasn’t your mentor anymore, you stay at home doing nothing?

He stopped his thoughts from pursuing- he knew not to call you lazy, because he knew he would be wrong. You were determined, you had a goal. It just irritated him that he was the one to mess it up for you.

That’s it. He won’t do that anymore. He won’t mess it up. He knows you can do amazing on your own anyways, you never really needed him. His time helping you is over.

a/n: hi sorry its been so fucking long ive been having a lot of trouble not only with this chapter but with home things too, so im really sorry aljsdasld buut!! its almost over! one more chapter then an epilogue then The Setter's Help is over! thats so weird honestly but im super happy you guys tagged along! thank you!this is me trying to redeem kageyama, and redemption plots are hard for me so i apologize lasjdkas

taglist in reblog!

send an ask or fill out THIS form to join! (reblogs are VERY appreciated <3)

MASTERLIST

[vivithefolle]

I was always confused by Hermiones behavior towards Ron in OOTP. Was she trying to hide her feelings? because she didn't really gave him any signs. Why she was so nasty at him with the teaspoon thing. Was she trying to make him jealous with the letters? What did or didn't she understand from Ron giving her the perfume. Is all this just JKR being stupid because she don't want them together before the very end. Sry for all these questions but I am rly confused can you plz help Vivi?

Once again, I’ll copy one of my Quora essays!

it’s a stereotype to say that girls resort to underhanded tactics when it comes to dating, or like to “test” their partner’s love… but it’s a stereotype for a reason: there are teenage girls who resort to those tactics.

The archetype of the Tsundere exists as an exaggeration of the traits some teenage girls demonstrate when they find themselves in a position of vulnerability such as “having a crush on someone”.

For someone as prideful as Hermione is, having a crush on someone is extremely threatening.

Hermione prides herself in her logic and intelligence. The validation she receives from getting good grades is something she needs, because she’s very insecure deep down. She thinks all she has to offer is her intelligence, and as she goes from a little girl to a young woman, this causes her grief because she doesn’t want to be just “intelligent”. As her body develops and changes, she finds that being the smartest one in the room isn’t enough anymore - she still loves being the smartest in the room, but she wants more than just that, she wants validation for other things. That’s why she was extremely hurt when Ron tactlessly (and Rowling-ly) remarks “you’re a girl” - she wants to be seen as a girl, as a woman, as more than a walking brain. She wants validation that she is a girl, and beautiful, and sexy, and capable of making heads spin. She needs “sexual” validation, for lack of a better term.

Of course she doesn’t really realize those feelings. All she knows is that it hurts when Ron seems to consider her “one of the guys”, or looks at girls that aren’t her. She likes it when he compliments her, but she’s also angry at him because he only ever seems to compliment her intelligence and damn it, she wants him to compliment something else! She wants him to look at her, REALLY look at her! Look at her like he looks at the pretty girls!

Little does she know that Ron does look at her, but he probably thinks he’s a pervert for doing so. Because - because she’s Hermione! She’s not like other girls, she’s not - she’s not the kind of girl you ogle! She’s the kind of girl you gift flowers to - roses, they’re her favourite - the kind of girl you have long, meaningful talks with - not sure if they’re always meaningful, but they sure talk a lot together! - she’s the kind of girl you… the kind of girl you love, not the kind of girl you just look at…

*wistful sigh* Mutual pining, mutual admiration, slow burn, +100k words…

But truth is, many people go around saying that Hermione treating Ron harshly and treating pretty much every boy (with exceptions like Draco Malfoy) more gently is because she actually doesn’t like Ron, and likes anyone but Ron.

When the truth actually is that… Hermione is awful. No, no, seriously, when Hermione is in love, she’s terrible. She can be a nice friend but when she’s in love with you she’s horrible. Especially since she’s a teenager.

Hermione is a prime example of a Tsundere.

The cute, blushy, giggling Hermione who flirts with [insert character here] and cries delicately when she’s rejected? Pure fanfiction. Canon Hermione keeps her love aggressively hidden behind countless iron walls, only letting it peek through when she’s absolutely sure the person she likes isn’t looking.

“How was practice?” asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. “It was -” Harry began. “Completely lousy,” said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt. - Order of the Phoenix

Rare footage of the Hermione Granger, scientific name Selfinsertus Overratedus, displaying interest in specimen of mighty fine hunk

Hermione isn’t sweet and tender and kind with the one she loves. At least, the teenage Hermione isn’t. She’s harsh, she’s disdainful and only gives out breadcrumbs of affection once in a while as part of the complicated mind game she’s playing.

You see, Hermione is never going to make the first move. You must be the one to ask her out, because she sure as hell ain’t going to do it for you.

This is due, I think, to the events of Goblet of Fire. Viktor Krum asks her out because Rowling absolutely wants Hermione to be the ugly duckling who transforms into the beautiful swan, so she brings in Cardboard Cutout With No Personality Aside From Being Famous to woo her self-insert.

Now Hermione has gotten the experience of being asked out, and being a rather socially awkward person who also hates being vulnerable - more on that later - well, now she just assumes that if someone asked her out once, then anyone who does like her can do the same.

Which is why she doesn’t realize that Ron is actually aware he loves her. There’s a big comedy of assumptions going on in Romione’s love story.

Hermione believes that Ron either 1) likes her but is oblivious to his own feelings and so she thinks she has to “give him hints” to make him realize it. Emphasized best by this exchange:

Hermione laughed. “Harry you’re worse than Ron [at understanding girls]… well, no, you’re not, “ she sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall splattered with mud and looking grumpy.

“I’ve sent him so many signals and yet he doesn’t notice. Woe is me!”

2) doesn’t actually likes her, but sees her just as a good mate or worse, as another sister.

Hermione keeps flip-flopping between her two assumptions throughout the series, all because of her biggest assumption: she thinks that if Ron was interested in her, he would ask her out. Because Viktor Krum was interested in her, and he asked her out, so why wouldn’t Ron do the same? They’re both boys and she’s a girl, after all. Isn’t that how it works?

This is also why Hermione’s “““invitation”““ to the Slug Club isn’t even an invitation - really, it’s worse than Ron’s invite to the Yule Ball, at least he was actually offering her to come:

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” said Hermione, […], “and I was going to ask you to come, but […] I won’t bother.”

“I was going to ask you to come but I won’t bother.”

This is literally what she says. It’s more of a “look Ron! An invite! If you’re good maybe I’ll think about letting you have it!” than anything else.

It’s because this is Hermione’s last resort. The ultimate humiliation. She has to resort to inviting Ron when in her mind, he’s supposed to be the one asking her out. He’s the boy! He’s supposed to do it! (And this is why I laugh at all the fools who claim that Hermione is the pinnacle of feminism. Seriously, the girl is more of a misogynist than any other character in the series.)

Hermione failed to take into account that Ron’s insecurity cripples him worse than she imagines, and that he copes with it differently than she copes with her own insecurities.

And this is the part where I explain about Hermione’s hatred of being vulnerable.

You see, I can relate quite a lot to Hermione - I see a lot of me in her, and a lot of people who hurt me in the past as well.

Bullied because she was an easy target, being the know-it-all and local teacher’s pet? Yep. Bullied for her appearance (I got braces when I was 8 and have been wearing glasses since I was a toddler, she had her bushy hair and buck teeth)? Can relate. Cried easily? Super check. Rule enforcer when the teachers weren’t around? Mega check.

And naturally, when you’re such a water fountain as I was, there’s nothing more humiliating than ending up crying in front of your bullies. You quickly learn that it will bring you nothing but more bullying. More humiliation. More vulnerability.

Hence why you start despising any form of vulnerability you find in yourself.

Obviously, being in love? That’s one of the most terrible things you can find yourself in when you’re afraid of being vulnerable. Because, oh god, your feelings are completely insane around the person. They make or ruin your day. You keep wanting to show them how cool / great / impressive you are, and you try desperately to mask all your little faults so they will hopefully return your feelings.

Given that Hermione is already not the most socially-aware battering ram in the knife drawer, she acts especially nasty to Ron, because she’s overcompensating for the vulnerability he makes her feel. And she most likely isn’t even aware of it! Forget Fanfic Hermione cringing as she realizes how mean she sounds, welcome Canon Hermione who just doubles down on a pointless argument just to drive home how totally in control she is and how Ron has absolutely zero effect on her, no siree!

In short: Hermione overthinks. She overthinks everything. She’s overthinking every of Ron’s actions, she’s assuming he’s either out to get her because she assumes he’s perfectly aware of her crush on him and he’s just toying with her (this is the very insecure, pessimistic Hermione speaking), she’s assuming he’s completely oblivious to her feelings and so she uses the ages-old technique of the “subtle hints” to make her feelings known to him (and fails miserably because she doesn’t want to put herself out there too much in case he rejects her, which would be the ultimate humiliation and the worst possible thing to happen to her, in her teenage girl mind), and she’s assuming he’ll never like her the way she likes him, all the while being woefully oblivious to the fact that Ron does want to be with her but she keeps sending him signals that she sees him as a troublesome child rather than a potential partner.

All in all, a teenage Hermione in love is utter torture. She’s her own worst enemy, and it’s only when she decides to let go of it all - of the mind games, of the distancing, of the passive-aggressive; of the overthinking - and just takes a chance that her efforts bear fruit.

There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

(As much as I’m disillusioned with Romione, this kiss is still one of my favourite parts of the series. They mutually sweep each other off their feet for god’s sake, you wish your ship would.)

[ruby-whistler]

Your c!dream post came on my dash and while I can definitely agree with the main point (torture is wrong no matter who it happens to) some of the contents of that post were a bit bothering to me.

the fact that you implied that your concerned for people who really hate c!dream and therefore see the torture as payback is really crossing a line. I really hope I misinterpreted that because it sounds like your implying that you think those people would dehumanize people in real life. That is a big assumption to make my friend, not something you can just throw around because you see someone talking bad about a character you emphasize with.

And like I said, I’m saying that while agreeing with your main point. I can say that your right about that being something we shouldn’t do while also knowing that this is about a Minecraft roleplay revolving around a character who canonically abused a 17 year old. The accusation your making is not something you should throw around. Just like people shouldn’t accuse Dream apologists who say bad stuff about c!tommy of being real life abuse apologists. There’s a huge difference about being attached to a character and saying something dumb and doing these things irl.

Also I thought we were past referring to lmanburg as colonization? I’m not sure if that’s what you were doing but That’s a real thing that effects people and not something you can just pin on a couple of white streamer men roleplaying. Someone more equipped then me can explain why they are very much not comparable at all, and why it’s bad to compare it, ill probably butcher it. I saw a good post about it somewhere.

And then onto the stuff that’s more story based and doesn’t matter as much:

- dream very much did plan to keep tommy in the prison cell for life, like I’m pretty sure he flat out said it or at least very heavily implied it during the confrontation, someone probably has a clip.

- I can agree that Sam wasn’t manipulated by dream, but he does have trauma from him, in fact it’s a big part of his arc. Dream would brag about what he did to tommy in exile, laughed in his face after killing tommy, and often screamed at him threatening to kill him as well. It affected sam greatly and is what started his spiral.

- There are other things in your post that I disagree with to some extent but honestly debating lore things isn’t what I’m here for. So we can agree to disagree. I’m not really to concerned about the lore stuff.

just like you were talking about being careful about what you are saying about c!dream because it can hurt people, I will also say to be careful in what you say about c!dream in his favor because it can also hurt people. Please do not forget he very canonically abused, murdered, and threatened to murder teenagers. That’s a touchy subject, especially because it was displayed in such a raw manner. Is he deserveing of abuse because of it? Of course not. Is he unworthy of growth or change? Of course not. Does that mean people have to forgive him or like him or sympathize with him? No. No one is morally required to sympathize with a character, as long as your not saying gross things about them. ( like claiming that they deserve torture! )

Someone saying something in the heat of the moment about a character who reminds them of their abuser does not justify calling them real life dehumanizers, or claiming they are prone to it. It’s not cool. And, I and feel like In liking c!dream (or any character who has done something really morally wrong) you have to make sure to be respectful towards people who have been in those situations. You can like a character without excusing their actions. Not saying your doing that, just a blanket statement.

Also, please take care of yourself. If seeing people criticize or say bad things about a character you like is causing you genuine distress, please take a break. I tend to hyperfixate and project and I know that sometimes it can be a really harmful thing. It helps a lot to take a deep breathe and step away for a few minutes. This is a reminder to everyone else as well to always tag crit. And to clarify, I’m not trying to like drag you through the mud for anything I disagree with in your post. Like trust me I get heat of the moment reactions and not completely thinking through everything you write down. And just blatantly not knowing that something isn’t cool to say. I just want to make sure it’s known that hey, maybe people shouldn’t say _.

If there’s anything in my post that’s wrong I apologize, I’m open to respectful criticism. And also just to finish this off, I know getting critical asks can be upsetting, so if you are genuinely made upset, angry, or anxious by this ask, please just leave it be. Don’t respond, or take a breather before you do. I’m saying this because like I said I just came across this post, I don’t know you or how you tend to react to things so I don’t want to start a huge thing. Just giving my thoughts and crit.

And also because having people yell/be really rude at me makes me very genuinely anxious! Even if it’s anon. Please keep that in mind if you respond (you don’t have to, it’s up to you) You can respond and disagree however much you like, just please don’t be a jerk about it cause I’ll probably cry lol (seriously tho like I said I’m sensitive)

Alright, so first as a quick disclaimer, I’m going to out a summary of the original post’s points, just to ensure that we’re on the same page;

The post does say:

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because it continuously hurts people who relate to and/or sympathize with him, also dehumanization in general is an inherently wrong mindset

- don’t attack people who sympathize with him because he’s a victim of abuse besides other things

The post never says:

- you cannot hate c!Dream and not sympathizing with him is wrong

- the things c!Dream has done are to any degree excused

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a good person

- people who dehumanize c!Dream are real life abuse apologists

If you read the post and didn’t get these points from it, i advise you to reread it as I made pretty much all of these abundantly clear.

I absolutely never said anything about real life abuse apologism. I continuously put (fictional) in front of things to make that point. I don’t know how you got that from the post.

Dehumanization is wrong. Dehumanization of fictional characters on a large scale to the point where people will excuse his abuse is wrong and it hurts people and I will speak out about it. It doesn’t mean people will dehumanize people irl or that they are prone to it, but it’s still wrong.

I never said L’manberg was colonization. I said some people who have had their country colonized relate to him because he had his home torn apart and is desperate to return it back to its original state. This is a completely valid reason to relate to him as it is a pretty big part of the character.

He said he would “put him in the prison”. I don’t remember him saying it would be forever, but he could’ve said that, however I’d like a clip first. He never said he would be stored in the inhumane, main cell, and it makes a lot more sense that he wouldn’t be in there 1) because Dream said it was only a security measure 2) the prisoner was supposed to be able to move around the prison.

I don’t care that the abuser was “traumatized” by the abuse victim telling him of his actions. If I was being tortured mentally and mistreated and neglected physically by a person who hates my guts for weeks I too would probably threaten him. It didn’t start his spiral. His spiral was caused by corruption and possibly hatred, not being “hurt” by c!Dream. c!Dream didn’t cause himself to be abused, that was fully c!Sam’s decision, and saying otherwise is victim blaming (not saying you did that, just putting this point out here).

I do not forget the bad things he’s done. I was there. I saw it. I hated him for it. I still sympathize with him. I still believe he deserves better. I still believe he deserves to get better. I 100% agree with the point that it’s wrong to say someone is required to feel sympathy, as long as they don’t dehumanize him and harass people who do. That was the literal point of the post.

I am one of the many c!Dream fans who get constantly triggered because of how overwhelming the dehumanization is in the community. It’s not being hypersensitive, and I really hope you’re not implying that. It’s a very real issue that should be solved so that people don’t have to “take breaks” because of it.

I don’t care if people hate him or criticize him. I genuinely couldn’t care less. He did disgusting things. I’m used to it. But it is normalized in the community to say stuff about the character that is genuinely triggering, and would be to anyone if people were saying it on a large scale about their favorite character.

Hope this didn’t come off as too aggressive, I have anxiety and I didn’t want to let my feelings bleed into this because that wouldn’t be good for me. Wish you a nice day.

[yellowocaballero]

⭐️ For reel to reel and it’s crossover with canon?

Man you really know that something's stupidly self-indulgent if you get a really intense rumination of human nature and forgiveness and self-love at the end.

For some reason that is an insane amount to talk about in this stupid self-indulgent story (like what was with that ending?), but I'll actually pick out something small and show a very background part of the fic until the end.

There was a powerful spike of discomfort in the Force before it was quickly shuttled behind durasteel shields, so hot and fleeting Obi-Wan could have imagined it. Most masters would have released that feeling into the Force instead of hiding it away.

So imagine that you're this adult who is very embarrassed by the person you were when you were thirteen. I'm sure you don't have to imagine that. This teenage self was everything wrong and bad about you. He was unwanted, unloved, and almost abandoned. He was not good enough. He was too angry. And you grow up, and grow from that, and you dedicate all of your energy to proving that you aren't that kid anymore. But you know who you are. And no matter how hard you try to move on and grow up and prove that you're different, some part of you will always be that kid you hate so much and who wasn't good enough.

And just paper on the layer of everything we know about Roleswap!Obi-Wan, which is that all of his nasty traits that made him an unsuitable Jedi were magnified 100x by the war. He loves openly, laughs loudly, yells quickly and acts out. Bad mix.

From the very outset Kiddo!OWK makes Obi-Wan uncomfortable. His open display of affection with Cody of all people is uncomfortable. The way he blatantly emotionally connects with the clones in a familial way (Jedi don't do that!!!) is uncomfortable. The way that he eagerly and actively shuns being a Jedi is uncomfortable. The way that he actively stands in front of Obi-Wan and calls him a phony liar is insufferable. And Obi-Wan represses all of this extremely quickly.

The two idiots have a unique insight into each other. Kiddo!OWK sees through Obi-Wan's lies, but he's also the first time that Obi-Wan understands the psychological toll the war's taken on its children (and maybe even himself), in the same way/for the same reason the roleswap's used to demonstrate that to the readers.

And this is why, extremely out of character, Obi-Wan is a complete blunt asshole to a middle schooler. Normally he's better at hiding that lol. And that's why he breaks down at the end - because he's confronted with the one person he hates the most, and he sees how much he was warped and twisted by his shitty fucking life, and how that kid is really just a kid after all. It's easy to hate your past self, but it's really freaking hard to look at an actual real life teenager and hate them that badly and that cruelly.

Cody had automatically helped Kiddo!OBK and cared about him. He looked out for him instantly. He didn't see an unlovable kid, he saw somebody who needed an adult's comfort and gave him that comfort. And nobody had ever done that for Obi-Wan.

[guessimwritingficsagain]

To be seen part Five (Frankie Morales x Reader)

Summary : You're very horny. And you get your date with Frankie.

Author's note : So, this story got out of hand. There's going to be more.

You had to do something.

He’d crossed the bridge, and got scared, and you had to do something.

He was busy making coffee as you were standing there. You saw him tense as you called his name. He didn’t turn around. You walked up to him, heart hammering against your ribcage, put a hand on his shoulder, as your other arm snuck around his waist. The fingers that rested on his shoulder went up to play with the soft hair on the back of his head. His hands were gripping the counter, hard.

« I wanted you to do that. I’ve been wanting you to do that for a long time. You just surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t sure you felt the same way, and even if you did, I didn’t expect it to happen like that. »

He still didn’t turn around but he finally spoke :

« I didn’t want it to happen like that. I wanted to tell you … I wanted to invite you to the movies, like we usually do, and I wanted to have the balls to finally say I wanted it to be a date. I wanted to buy you dinner, drive you home, and kiss you on your porch, if that was okay with you. »

You felt hot and giddy, trying to press yourself even closer to him. You didn’t know what to do with all of those feelings inside of you but you knew Frankie was a bit spooked and still wouldn’t look at you so you made your voice the softest you could :

« I would have been okay with that, Frankie. But you don’t need to wine and dine me. »

That, somehow, got him to turn around, the movement so abrupt you had to take a step back but he kept you close, his hands going straight on you waist.

« Yes, I need to. I want to. You deserve it, you deserve everything and I don’t know what you see in me that makes you want to hang around but I want to give you everything. »

He didn’t see how good he was. You’d suspected, caught glimpses of self-depreciation once in a while but it still made your heart ache to see it written so openly on his face. You cupped his face, the stubble there tickling your fingers as you stroke his cheek slightly.

« You’re everything to me Frankie. You’re the only thing I want. »

He brought you closer, then, and his forehead came to rest softly against yours. You wanted to lift your head, to let your lips find his, but he whispered :

« Let me do it, then. Let me wine and dine you and kiss you on your porch. I’m not … »

His voice broke, and you detached your forehead from his to take a look at his face. His eyes hold such sadness you felt your throat tighten.

« I’m not kissing you for the first time in my kitchen. Especially not on Redfly’s anniversary. »

You understood what he said, and what he didn’t say : he was still scared. Your previous reaction had scared him into a corner and though you were ready, he wasn’t quite so sure he was anymore. You weren’t quite on the same page, not yet. So you nodded, got on your tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek, whispering okay on his skin.

———

Date night didn’t come right away, but things changed after that. He’d try and see you everyday, even just for a minute on the bar’s parking lot. If he couldn’t, he’d text you, pictures of his daughter or funny jokes (dad jokes). You’d answer in kind, with pictures of Starbuck and funny anecdotes.

Everyone noticed the shift in your relationship because, as it turned out, Frankie was handsy. He was always touching you one way or another. On one memorable occasion, before one of Benny’s fights, he’d manhandled you to sit on his lap, his hands firmly planted on your hips, his nose nuzzling briefly against your ear before he’d slightly pressed his lips there.

The want and the need that had shaken your body had been honestly embarrassing.

But you still hadn’t had your date. He still hadn’t kissed you.

And the whole thing was starting to drive you crazy.

You were wondering if he felt the same way, or if the touching was just enough for him, just like when you’d bumped into an old pal of his and he’d just smiled contently when the man'd called you Frankie’s girl while your insides had caught on fire and you’d felt like a horny teenager.

Because you were, his girl. There was no doubt about that. But Frankie, sweet Frankie who had kissed your wrist in his bed a couple of weeks back was taking his sweet time making it official that you were his girl and frantically touching yourself thinking of him every time you came home after hanging out with him was starting not to cut it anymore.

But, as it turned out, Frankie was affected too. His kisses lingered more, his touches grew more insistent, which did nothing to improve the achingproblem between your thighs. So, one evening during your holidays, as you were all gathered in Benny’s living room, when Frankie randomly started nuzzling your ear, and then left an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, you turned and sharply whispered in his ear :

« Frankie, take me out on a date. »

His smile was blinding as he whispered back tomorrow night, the hand of your thigh sliding a bit further on the inside of your leg before taking a sip of his beer.

Had he been waiting for you to ask again ?

Dumfounded and more than a bit frustrated, you stole his cap to put it on your own head. He choked on his beer but didn’t take it back.

The moment Santi got up to get more drinks, you followed and cornered him in the kitchen and you asked. Santi laughed and clapped you on the shoulder.

« Yeah, that sounds like Frankie. He was waiting to make sure that’s really what you wanted. He’s a respectful idiot like that. It’s about time, though. The PDA is getting really intense. » He grimaced.

———

Frankie picked you up a little bit before seven, opened the door of his truck for you, and told you you were pretty, his eyes all soft as he said the words. He had made an effort, and so had you. You were a bit nervous, even though you had no reason to be : you both knew where this was going.

Frankie took you to a small diner, nothing fancy. The place wasn’t overly crowded, but he had made a reservation anyway. You took his hand and the waitress walked you to your table, relishing in the feeling of your fingers intertwined. You were happy.

There was a moment of silence when you sat down, the two of you just looking at each other. You were shy, suddenly, which didn’t make sense because you’d done that before. It just wasn’t a date.

« Let’s play a game. » Frankie declared suddenly.

You laughed and asked which one.

« 20 questions. »

« Frankie, we know each other. »

« Not exactly. Not everything. I know next to nothing about your past. I know about some things you like, but not all of them. »

Your heart clenched at his words and selfishly, you thought you were lucky that his ex-wife left him just so your paths could cross like this. You smiled.

« Let’s do this. »

He smiled back and shot :

« Favorite color ? »

« Red. Really, you’re gonna ask that kind of question ? »

He shrugged and replied :

« Starting slow. I’ll grill you later. »

« Well, » you declared with a solemn air « I am going to ask a really important question. On that’s going to define wether or not I’m walking out right not. »

He actually looked a bit panicked at that, so you put him out of his misery :

« What’s your favorite movie ? »

He sighed, at that, and without missing a bit answered with Die Hard. You scoffed, of course it was.

« Did I pass the test ? »

« Yes, » you explained. « There are three wrong answers only : Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, and Ferris Buller’s Day off. »

He frowned.

« I guess I get it for the first two but Ferris Buller ? »

« I bloody hate that movie. »

« Guess I’m gonna be the one walking out then. »

He was laughing, his dimple on display for the world to see. You wished you could kiss it. You settled for reaching out and touching it. Frankie got flustered, but you didn’t offer any explanation. He grabbed your hand, kissed your wrist (he like doing that a lot) and you both let the moment linger a bit.

« What’s yours ? » He finally asked.

You were lucky you loved him that much, because that question gave you an existential crisis. You were also very lucky he loved you that much, because he listened patiently as you launched into the explanation that he could not ask you that and maybe I have a top 5, Francisco, but I cannot for the life of me choose one single movie out of all the masterpieces I have seen, there are too many good things out there, it’s like asking me to choose my favorite book, I can’t, that’s why I opened a bookshop in the first place.

« You had a bookshop ? » He inquired, truly surprised.

So, maybe he had a point, with those 20 questions, because it’d been a big part of your life but you’d never told him about that. So you explained, and of course Linda got tangled up in the explanation. You told him the whole thing, and he had an air of gravity when you were done.

« I’m sorry things didn’t work out. »

You weren’t, not anymore, but it was nice that he was.

« You know why she’s here ? Linda, I mean. »

You didn’t. You hadn’t cracked her yet even though it’d been a year. But she’d gotten her fresh start, and that was enough for you. Maybe you’d never know. You were content to let it be. You told him as much. His voice was soft when he whispered :

« You’re a good friend. »

« So are you. Which … tell me about the boys. Come on. Callsigns and all. »

He talked about his long friendship with Santi, went a bit quieter when he spoke about his time serving. Details, little stories, that made you understand your friends a bit more. Most of the stories involved Tom, so you mustered the courage to ask :

« Did he die serving ? »

Frankie froze. You started :

« I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… »

« No, » he cut you off. « It’s fine. I should … tell you a bit about that. He didn’t die like that. Pope was fucked up and angry after coming back home. We were all a bit like that. We coped like we could. I think Will had it the easiest, but since he still agreed to what Pope offered, I guess he wasn’t that good. We agreed to do something, for Pope. Turns out, he didn’t tell the whole truth. We did it anyway because he’s our brother. Things went wrong. Tom pissed off some kid. Got killed for it. »

He had explained with simplicity, and for a second you couldn’t wrap your head around the glimpse you’d had of his former life because soft, sweet Frankie, you knew. But that was new information.

« Were you there ? » when it happened you couldn’t bring yourself to add.

« Yeah. Could have been me. »

Your hand shot for his and gripped tight, almost knocking your drink over.

« No. »

He put his fork down and brought his other hand to cover yours.

« Yes, but it’s fine. That whole thing was succession of fucked up decisions. We were a mess, me a lot more than the others. I kept screwing up. No wonder Jess left me when I came back. »

« Frankie … »

He closed his eyes, bracing himself like he was about to say something capital.

« There are things I’m not proud of. Things you don’t know about me. I mean, she left for a reason, right ? I should tell you but if I do, you’re gonna walk out. »

His laughter was watery.

« I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. I’m not. You told me she didn’t even want to have a kid, that’s why she walked out, right ? Do you really think things would have worked out, in the end ? »

The answer was clear in his eyes but he still got that scared look on his face. I love you, you wanted to blurt, to expose right in the open. But you weren’t that bold, so you drove the conversation back into some safer waters. He’d told you the story, with his ex-wife, explaining bits and pieces, never going as far as to tell you what the problems were. What you knew, though, was that Maria had clearly been an accident, for both of them. And the truth of the matter was : you couldn’t not relate to her because you didn’t really want kids of your own, either. But you’d never imagine leaving like that.

———

He drove you back to your house, and, true to his promise, walked you to your porch. The air was tense and you couldn’t wait. But you let him set the pace. You both stood there, looking at each other like a bunch of idiots, and you were wondering if you’d have to tell him to kiss you when-

« Can I kiss you ? »

With one hand, you grabbed the front of his shirt while the other hand went to his face. He closed the distance and

Finally

You were kissing, soft and sweet, almost tentative. He brought his own hands to your body, one to your neck, the other to your waist, caressing but always stopping before touching your breast.

That wouldn’t do.

You removed your hand from his face and gently directed his hand towards your breast. Your moaned was swallowed by his groan, then, as you were thrown against your front door. One of your hands went to his hair, knocking the cap to the ground. His hands were mapping your body, now. And you needed and you wanted so you broke the kiss and whispered :

« Let me open the door. »

He hesitated then, whispering back maybe I shouldn’t.

« I want you to. »

So he came in with you.

[sweeethinny]

I really need a sirius/hestia fic where he gives vibes of "treating everyone badly except you" at hogwarts (where they may already be togheter). I love the way you write💛💛

I'm sorry for taking so long, I ran out of my computer and I hate writing on my cell phone, and it took longer than expected, and I'm sorry ahahhaah

thank you so much for liking Sirius and Hestia, they are a great couple and I love to write about them, and I hope you like it <3

I went a little further and wrote something like "I treat everyone badly because I'm away from you and we have a kind of secret relationship", I hope you don't mind!

James never imagined that one day he would see that scene. In fact he once thought it would be cool, because he felt a little bad when he was the only one who brought up the subject of girls - at least the subject ''the girl I like..'' - and Sirius, Peter and Remus always seemed to keep any relationship they had hidden.

Okay, maybe Sirius didn't hide that much, but it doesn't mean that James was prepared to see that scene when he went up to their dorm, tired of another night as prefects with Lily - they were friends now, which James didn't like to think about too much because it left him with conflicting feelings.

He arrived later than usual, having chatted with the girl in the Common Room for a while just trying to muster up the courage to ask her out again - they had gone to Hogsmeade together in the past week, clandestinely, to get beer, but James wanted a real date now - and he didn't expect any of the other boys to be awake.

They all had a lot to do, with NEWTs getting closer and with teachers passing more and more homework, it was almost impossible to have an hour of the day off, and of all four, Sirius seemed the most irritated by that routine.

James had noticed that his friend was more sulky than usual in the last few days, first he blamed that they lost to Hufflepuff in the last game, but even when James stopped to think he remembered that Sirius was already angry before the game. And it was only when Peter pointed out his friend's mood that he realized what was going on.

He realized it had been a week since he had seen Hestia around, not near them at least. James still saw her sitting next to Lily, talking and laughing, but now she wasn't coming to be with them like before, sitting next to Sirius as if no one noticed that he kept his hand close to hers, or that the two always seemed to share an intimate and almost non-verbal talk, looking at each other for a few seconds before laughing and Hestia blushing, denying and turning to talk to Remus. Sirius was going to run a hand through his hair as if he wanted to disguise that he was blushing, leaning against the couch and teasing Lily again.

James had even gone so far as to ask Sirius after Remus commented on how Hestia had disappeared, but the conversation didn't last long and James suspected that Sirius just wanted to keep someone's mask without feelings;

‘Won't Hestia come over for a drink with us?’ James asked, sitting on the sofa closest to the corner, the Common Room starting to get empty.

'No,' was all Sirius replied angrily, sitting on the windowsill, looking like he was in another world as he stared out into the night.

James didn't know much about the suffering or anything that Sirius was feeling lately, they never talked about it and his friend never seemed to care so much about a girl that he suffered when something went wrong, they were used to talking about James with Lily, but again, Sirius was great at hiding his feelings behind a mask.

James noticed how that day he seemed even more irritated than usual, silent as if it were a shadow beside them, not even seeming to notice when Regulus passed them in the corridor, which James believed was the worst .

A person in silence is always much more dangerous than one who is shouting what he feels, his father always said.

However, Sirius no longer looked so irritated when James entered their dorm.

He didn’t used to eavesdrop on what his friends were doing when he was late, far from it, James always made sure his bed was well protected from any noise that might happen eventually, especially when there were four other hormone-laden teenagers sleeping together, but that night it seemed unusual.

Sirius had forgotten an open crack in the curtain that surrounded him, on the side that faced exactly the window, and when dawn broke, the light would penetrate his cocoon and James didn't want to have an angry Sirius already at seven in the morning, so he went to close before going to bed. However, his friend was not alone in bed as usual, in the mess of blankets was another body hugged to his.

James knew it was Hestia before his vision even focused on her curly hair, he just knew. Sirius was not a guy who slept hugging many girls, and James very much doubted that now he would start adhering to this display of affection.

It was strange to have seen him at that moment, it was almost as intimate as anything else he could have walked in, but it looked even more so. James wondered if it was because they had all gotten so used to not knowing how Sirius felt, that seeing him hugging Hestia as if she were the most important thing seemed almost like seeing a new facet of his friend.

He closed the curtain as carefully as he could, avoiding making too much noise, Sirius deserved to receive that kind of affection.

SIRIUS

'Do you think any of them noticed that I came to sleep with you?' Hestia murmured when they were both awake for what felt like hours, but at the same time, which was like the clock was stopped so Sirius could stay a few more minutes feeling whole with her hugging him. He would never tire of that feeling.

'No,' he assured, tightening his embrace around her and sinking his nose into that tangle of fragrant curls. 'I said it was a good idea, didn't I? You slept through the night.’

'You are much better than a pillow.' Sirius was happy that Hestia still had her eyes closed, and her face buried in his chest, because he smiled from ear to ear, proud and a little too silly for that hour in the morning. He felt at peace, however. 'I missed you.'

'I missed you too.'

They were both silent, he didn't want to have to get up and face the day, not when he couldn't hold Hestia in his arms or hold hands with her, kissing her until they were both tired. For the first time Sirius wanted to be a passionate asshole, as James was with Lily.

Sirius had never wanted that so much as he did now, it was as if Hestia made him feel safe enough not to be afraid to show it.

The last week had been terrible without her around, he never felt so miserable. Not even when he still lived with his parents.

'I love you.' Sirius never thought he said those exact words to anyone, anxiety clutched his stomach making him feel a little sick, at the same time that his chest seemed to grow with all the conflicting feelings. A part of him didn't want to expose himself like that, the other part was afraid that something would happen to them and he would never be able to say that to her.

There was still a war going on outside, and each day was a new tension that surrounded them.

Sirius did not want to think about dying without saying that to Hestia, it was almost as painful as thinking about death itself.

Her brown eyes flew open, staring at him as if Hestia doubted she had heard that, and suddenly Sirius felt more suffocated than before, thinking about the worst scenario that could happen, thinking about her far away again, and all that loneliness he has felt in the past few days.

Suddenly, he thought that dying would be less painful than the silence that was following.

But then Hestia smiled, her cheeks a little flushed, a small smile on her face. 'I love you too.'

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Fem!Reader

Chapter Five

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Profanity, mirror sex, choking, kind of face-fucking? a touch of voyeurism, oral-male receiving, penetrative sex, Mean Maxwell fuckin’ lmao, office sex, angry sex, how in God’s name did we get here I am horrible at writing smut so i just want to say i’m SORRY. 

Chapter Summary: You take the measurements for the richest family in D.C, Valerie is surprised by her how quickly her son has taken a shining to you and Maxwell has a late night at the office. 

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @cinewhore @this-cat-is-dea @holographic-carmen @honestlystop @favoriteff-allcelebs @teaofpeach

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/

“The Lords are coming by tomorrow.” Cassandra looked up from the book open at the register.

“But Mrs.Lord was just in yesterday.” She told you.

“Not just her this time.” You finished off the seam on the ground in front of you as you spoke. “All of them are coming in, her husband and son, the whole gang of rich folk will be here.”

Ever since Valerie stepped into your shop late at night four weeks ago, she made herself a common visitor. Oftentimes she’d waltz in, plop herself down onto a chair and begin to complain about Maxwell’s secretary with the horrid voice or one of her friends who was less of a friend and more of a pain in the ass. 

You didn’t know how becoming the friend of a heiress meant her throwing herself into your lap everyday to gossip about other rich people but hey, you weren’t complaining. She was pretty good company when the dust settled. 

Three days ago she had called your store, and told you she, Maxwell, and Alastair would be coming in to get measurements taken so you could get the mock-up of their outfits done with their approval to move on to the finished version. 

Before she could say anything else you had asked about her son. 

“What does he like?”

“What?”

“What’s he like?” You asked, as you spoke your hand picked up the needle once more and began to hem the dress in your lap. “You know, DuckTales, Transformers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve got some stuff I always bring out when kids come into the shop but I don’t know how rich kids work. Do I just hand him money and call him sir?”

“Ha ha.” She droned. “You know if life as a seamstress doesn’t work out, you should pursue a career in comedy, you’d flourish.”

“Aw Val, I couldn’t!” You cooed. “You’d miss me too much.”

You heard her scoff on the other line. From across the store Cass looked at you like you’d sprouted a second head. 

“Nonetheless.” She said slowly. “Alastair isn’t into traditional children’s activities. He enjoys chess with his tutors, reading, and playing the cello.”

You fought the urge to ask if these were things he liked to do or things his parents wanted him to do. 

Maybe rich kids were just built differently.

“I’m just calling to tell you certain adjustments must be made for my son.” She explained, in a tone so formal you hadn’t heard it since you first met her. 

“Uh sure.” You sat up, concerned. “What do you need?”

 “Certain textures make him extremely uncomfortable for clothing, so be aware that the lining will have to be a soft, smoother material.”

You sat back, observing the swatches already laid out in the backroom. You could grab a few more of softer materials for him to feel and see which one he liked the most. You already assumed as such, since he’s a kid and you remembered how much you hated wearing your church dress because of how itchy it was. “ Anything else need to be done?”

“He can get overstimulated if places are too loud or crowded at times, but since your store hardly has any customers in it.” You could hear the smirk on her face over the phone and groaned. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

“It’s my pleasure to be of your assistance.” You snipped. A moment of silence passed between the pair of you. “But uh, seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’ve made clothes for kids and people with touch aversions before. No sweat.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out. “Really Stitches, I appreciate it.”

At her praise your lips curled into a soft smile. “It’s no problem Val. One question though.”

“Yes?”

 “Who the hell names their kid Alastair?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that Stitches, I’ll see you tomorrow.” A dial tone met your ears and you called out to Cassandra. 

“Do we have a chess board in the back?”

---

Valerie walked into her son’s room, clearing her throat so both him and his tutor looked up at her. 

“Alastair honey, can I talk to you for a moment?” The boy, only eight, nodded and closed his workbook before standing. The tutor however, shot a hand out to grab her son’s shoulder. 

“Mrs. Lord.” The tutor, a man graying at the temples who wore ties so bland she’d rather wear a nose, shot her a condescending smile. “I thought we agreed on not interrupting Alastair’s lessons. It’s bad for his focus.”

“Mr. Lanston.” She shot back in the same sickly sweet tone as she tapped a manicured nail against the wall. “Who’s house is this?”

The man swallowed. “Mr.Lor-”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head side to side as if scolding a dog. “For a tutor you seem to be quite fond of giving out the wrong answers. So I will ask you again, whose house is this?”

The tutor shrunk back. “Yours.”

“Correct. And who is it that you work for?”

“You, Mrs.Lord.” He said meekly. 

“Correct again! Now since this is my house and it is my son you are teaching, I will speak to him if I please. And if you try and insult my son’s intellect by saying a simple chat with his mother will throw him off course, I will throw you out onto the street. Do you understand me?”

The man’s mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. 

“I asked you a question Mr.Lanston.” Her hand tapped against the Cartier watch on her wrist expectantly. “I expect an answer back.”

“Of course Mrs.Lord.” He stammered out, before turning to her son who just barely came to his hip. “I’m so sorry Mr.Lord.”

“That’s okay.” He answered simply, before taking his mother's hand in his and walking out of the room. 

Alastair Lord was eight years old, had his mother’s bright blue eyes and his father’s dark brown hair (Maxwell visited a hairstylist regularly but would never admit it). He had already skipped a grade but his parents insisted on keeping track of his studies, even during the summer. Maxwell did it in an attempt to feel less guilty about being stuck at work all day instead of  being with his son, Valerie did it so nobody would ever get the chance to use her son’s intellect as a weapon against his own standing. 

The Lords didn’t agree on much. But one thing they did agree on was that they loved their son more than anything in the world. 

“Do you still want to go to the gala with us in September?” She asked him. Her son’s eyes flicked out to the large glass window that proudly displayed their immaculate lawn, a bird flew along the clear pane before flying up and out of sight. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll go.” He said simply. He squeezed his mother’s hand in his with a small smile. “I like going to those fancy parties, you always wear pretty dresses.” He frowned, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I don’t like it when those old ladies try to touch my hair and kiss my cheek though.”

Alastair hated physical affection from those he didn’t know. The last business party of Maxwell’s he went to, a man’s wife tried to give him what she thought was a friendly kiss on the cheek because he was “such a darling little boy!”. Alastair ripped himself away from her in a panic, to which she then got offended and insisted to speak with his mother about his “awful manners.”

When Maxwell came to find his son clinging to his mother’s leg with tears in his eyes, he promptly had the couple thrown out and cut off business ties with the woman’s husband on account of her awful manners. 

From then on Alastair’s parents made sure he knew that if he was uncomfortable with a situation, he was to tell them and they would put an end to it immediately. 

“Your father and I are going to go see a seamstress to get measurements done for the gala. Would you come with us so we can get a suit made for you as well?”

Alastair looked up at his mother, blue eyes shining and ultimately passive at her question. 

“Sure.”

------

It was late at night when he came into his son’s room. Alastair was already in bed, nuzzled under his sheets and head resting against his pillow. Maxwell gently rapped his knuckles against the door before entering, his son’s eyes blinked open. It was always a shock how much they looked like Valerie's. 

“How’s the tutoring going?” Maxwell already knew the answer, Alastair excelled in every subject, but he simply wanted to hear his son speak to him. 

“Good.” His son replied. “Mr.Lanston said if I keep studying hard I might be able to skip another grade.”

Maxwell sat on the edge of his bed. “Would you like to skip another grade?”

Alastair was already a grade ahead, his teachers would message his parents about how well behaved and smart he was. But Alastair hardly ever spoke about his own experiences at school, about his friends or anything other than his classes.

“I don’t know.” the boy shifted for a moment, furrowing his brows in frustration and it was moments like this that he truly did look like his mother. “Mr.Lanston says it’s good for me to stay ahead of other but-” He looked off into the window of his room, a small sliver of moonlight peeking through the blue curtains. “Fifth grade sounds kind of fun, I heard the history teacher is really interesting and takes us on fun field trips.”

Part of Maxwell, the part still drilled into his head by his mother, nagged that he was sending the boy to that school to learn not go on ridiculous field trips. The other part of him, the part that shone when Alastair called him dad, felt guilt when he saw how apprehensive his son was in telling him how he felt.

Maxwell smiled, reached out to ruffle his son’s hair that was damn near a carbon copy of his own (before he got it dyed of course). “Then you’ll stay right where you are champ.”

“Thanks dad.”

The older lord frowned, before sternly pointing a finger at his son. “That’s Mr.Dad to you, young man.”

His son promptly groaned and threw his blanket over his face. “That joke still isn’t funny!” Even at his disgust, Maxwell could hear his son’s muffled giggles through the blanket and smiled.

“Humor is subjective, son.” Maxwell stood up from the bed, knees popping loudly as he did. Jesus, he was getting old. “Goodnight Alastair.”

Maxwell was already out of his son’s room and halfway down the hall when a tiny voice peeped out. 

“Goodnight dad.”

-----

“So what exactly does his son like?” Cassandra stood at the register, head laying in the palm of her hand as she leaned against the counter. The back room had been set full with different fabrics for them to see and either confirm or reject. Which in the classic Lord fashion meant they will either toss it at you with a stiff “this will do” or tell you it’s the ugliest thing in the world. 

You sighed. “Apparently he likes to read, play chess and the cello.” You looked toward the old checkers board set out and shrugged. “That was the closest thing I had so lets hope he isn’t as stuck up as his father or dramatic as his mother.”

“Speaaaaking of which.” Cassandra looked up with an excited grin. “You and Mrs.Lord are like, best friends now right?”

You thought about all the times she paraded into your store before throwing herself into the nearest chair (or your lap) before complaining about her day like a soap opera star. 

“Well I wouldn’t say best friends, but we’ve certainly gotten closer.”

“What’s she like? Has she taken you shopping? Have you seen her house? Is she as mean as everybody says she is?”

You pulled back for a moment, thinking. “She’s nice for a rich lady, no we haven’t gone shopping and I don’t think we ever will, I haven’t seen her house which once again I don’t think will ever happen, and honestly she insults me a lot but I think it’s her way of showing affection at this point.”

Cassandra giggled. “Like a cat?”

You thought about a cat- a fickle creature that will hiss and scratch in one second, and then demand all of your attention right after. 

“You know what? That’s actually a pretty spot on comparison.”

The jingle of a bell met your ears before a stern voice sounded out. 

“My god do you people not know what a broom is?”

You turned around, watching Maxwell enter your store with a crinkled nose. 

“I know what a broom is well enough rich boy, why don’t I go get one so I can shove it up your-”

Cassandra cleared her throat loudly before motioning to the tiny child at Maxwell’s side. 

“Oh, uh-” You realized the boy must've just seen you threaten his father. “Hey little dude. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” The boy responded. Alastair’s voice was just as tiny as he was. He had his mother’s eyes and father’s nose, but his hair was so dark it made you wonder which one of his parents bleached their hair. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, mam.”

Prim posture, perfect manners, not a single hair out of place. He struck you less as a kid and more as a robot but you bit your tongue before smiling back. 

“No need for fancy titles with me, little lord. You can call me Stitches.”

Alastair wrinkled his nose, a gesture that made him look so much like his father you wanted to laugh. “That’s a weird name.”

Valerie tutted at her son, blue eyes cast down in disappointment. “Alastair! Don’t be rude.”

“He isn’t wrong.” Maxwell waved off his wife’s scolding of their son. “Besides, I believe we came here to get actual work done on whatever horrid outfits you're making for the gala?”

“Of course.” You turned on your heel, leading them to the backroom where multiple mirrors lined the wall. “I’d hate to take up too much of your time. You’re a busy man after all, I’m sure you’d rather be off making your secretary cry or something equally as important.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes and shucked off his jacket, ignoring the twinge of annoyance he felt at even the mention of his secretary, someone you didn’t even know grated him so horribly. 

“Well we can’t all run rotten, hole-in-the-wall shops like this that just beg to be robbed.” He turned a sly eye to you with his nose tilted up. “Some of us have standards after all.”

You smiled. “I suppose you're right about that one Mr.Lord, I doubt my skills will live up to your expectations.” You wrapped the measuring tape around his bicep, using it to tug him so close his powerful facade melted into one of shock. 

“And yet-” Your voice curled in his ear like a tempting call, your eyes so focused on taking note of the measurement of his arm Maxwell hoped you didn’t hear his breath catch. 

“-here you are.”

Valerie looked up from the fabric swatches in her hand to notice the way Maxwell stared at you while you were blissfully unaware. It was hungry, surprised and oh so desperate. The same way she looked at you. 

All while you busied yourself with his measurements, unaware of the inner workings between the billionaire and his wife. 

Valerie was pulled from her head when her son handed her a swatch of fabric, a royal blue in color and soft knit against her skin. 

“This one is nice.”

She smiled at her son. Out of the corner of her eye she saw you wrap the tape measure around her husband’s chest. She reached down to playfully tug on the collar of his shirt, also a deep royal blue. 

“You’ll look lovely in it sweetheart.”

The conversation between you and his father was not nearly as loving.

“Do you have to play such obnoxious music?”

You didn’t bother to look up at Maxwell when he snipped back, you simply focused on the tape in your hands and the measurement of his chest which only made him even angrier. 

Obnoxious, what a perfect word to describe you. 

The shirts, the tattoos, everything about you was just so...loud. 

His eyes flicked forward when he felt your fingers ghost over his chest. Mirrors lined each wall, most likely so your customers could see what the clothes looked like on them from each angle. But as you leaned down to measure his inseam, his thoughts went other places. 

Places they definitely shouldn’t have with his wife and son in the same room. 

“Do you have to wear such disgusting cologne?”

Maybe it was your attitude, such defiance nobody openly showed him in fear of losing their job, or the fact that you were so different than the tucked in, prim-and-proper future trophy wives he fucked, or maybe it was simply the fact that your ass looked phenomenal in those jeans, but Maxwell couldn’t help but imagine fucking you in front of those mirrors. 

He wondered if you’d be loud, head thrown back and calling out his name as he fucked into you without mercy, without care. Maybe you’d be shy, you were so stubborn after all. Perhaps you’d bite your lip, trying to keep your noises stifled so you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he made you feel. Maxwell wouldn’t allow that of course, he’d never admit it but he liked having his ego stroked almost as much as his cock. He wouldn’t hesitate to grab your jaw, forcing you to look forward at yourself in the mirrors. 

‘We’re the only ones here.’ His breath fanning out over your neck would make you shudder as you stared at your reflection just as he did. Seeing the way your tits bounced with each thrust and the ways your legs trembled and shook like those of a newborn. His pride swelled at the notion that if his arm wasn’t wrapped tight around your waist and gripping you close, you would’ve fallen to the floor by now. 

‘Let me hear you.’ He grunted into your neck as your whimpers got louder until you were all but shouting his name. ‘Good girl.’

“It’s revolting really.”

The sinful painting in his mind was torn to shreds when your haughty voice cut through it like a hot blade. 

He blinked owlishly, you stood in front of him, tape measure no longer against him but thrown over your shoulder while you crossed your arms. 

“What?”

“Your cologne.” You explained with a smirk. “It’s like trying to take measurements in a chemical factory. A little goes a long way Maxwell.” You gave him a sarcastic pat on the shoulder, one he was too distracted to push off because the way his name rolled off your lips. 

You had never said his name before. 

As quick as the interaction was, you turned to Valerie and Alastair, both sitting at the table behind you. You smiled and held a welcoming hand out. 

“You ready little man?” 

Alastair looked at his mother, who nodded her head and he slid off his chair to hop onto the pedestal his father previously stood on top of. His father took a seat next to his wife who said nothing. 

They both watched their son raise his arms as you held up the tape measure to him with a smile, you were saying something to him, most likely about school or his summer break. Valerie appreciated when you asked her about his interests to make a connection, but knew that was less than likely. Alastair wasn’t one to make connections, something she wondered if he got from his father by instinct or something that was drilled into him by his grandmother. 

Before she had been banned from coming to their house. 

“I’ll be working late tonight.” Maxwell told his wife. He knew she didn’t really care, their marriage was ten years of working late nights. Telling her at this point was just a courtesy. 

“Will your secretary be working as well?”

Maxwell noted the sly dig toward Delilah, but didn’t care enough about the woman to defend her. 

“If she wasn’t I wouldn't have hired her.”

Valerie ignored her husband in favor of the scene in front of her. She watched as you held the tape to her son’s leg, nodding your head as he spoke at length while you took his measurements. To say his mother was surprised would be an understatement, he hardly talked to his parents. Let alone people he’s only just met. 

Maybe something about you just brought out that side of the Lords.

“Alrighty, you're all good Alastair.” The youngest Lord hopped off the little step and you looked toward his mother with a jut of your chin. “You're up, Val.”

Maxwell looked toward his wife with a raised brow, mouthing her nickname in confusion. She was too busy taking your hand as you stepped onto the pedestal to notice. 

“So-” You wrapped the tape measure around her waist, mindful not to let your hands linger. “-how the hell did you two make such a sweet kid like Alastair?”

Valerie smiled at your reflection and ignored the way her heart jumped when you pulled the measuring tape just beneath the swell of her chest. “I’m not sure if that was an insult on my parenting or my personality.”

“Oh definitely an insult on your personality, without a doubt.” You responded seriously, but the tilt of your lips lent it to a gentle tease. “You must be doing something right because that kid is better behaved than you and your husband.” You looked up for a moment and she held her breath. 

“Or should I be giving this praise to some poor underpaid nanny you torture?”

Valerie scoffed. “Oh please, Miriam is hardly underpaid and she doesn’t do a damn thing right. I don’t know why we keep her around these days.”

You snorted. “Miriam?” The tape measure pressed to the side of her hip as you measured down her leg. “God, you people really tic every box off the one percent checklist, don’t you?”

Valerie hummed, painted lips curls into a smile. “We try our best dear.”

You stood up straight, hands moving behind her to wrap the tape around her chest with an awkward cough. Even as you willed all your focus on the numbers of her measurement you couldn't help but feel your face grow hot. 

“How unlady-like.” She murmured, you didn’t look up to meet her gaze but the smug tone in her voice gave it away. “At least buy me dinner, Stitches.”

You chuckled and spared a glance up. 

What a fucking mistake that was. 

Blue eyes stared you down like you have been presented on a silver platter and the richest woman in D.C. wanted nothing more than to devour you right where you stood.

“Something tells me I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“I’m sure I can make an exception.”

You realized Valerie was alot like the sun, you couldn’t look at her for too long without needing to look away. 

You stepped back to write her measurements down and put your hands together. 

“I think you folks are good to go.”

You just hoped you wouldn’t end up burned. 

Maxwell stood up and scoffed. “About damn time, some of us have real work to do instead of twiddling our thumbs and sewing little dresses.” As he walked by, his eyes flicked over yours in a poisonous glare and his shoulder knocked against yours with his son following behind him like a little carbon copy.

You looked toward his wife, who looked just as surprised by the worsening of her husband’s mood. 

“You’re one lucky woman Mrs.Lord.”

“Believe me I know.” She leaned forward to whisper with a wink. “But I know a few things that’ll brighten him up no problem.”

You scrunched up your face and pushed out every image that surged into your mind at her implication. “Okay gross, didn’t need to know that but thank you.”

“Always my pleasure Stitches.”

The door shut behind Valerie as she walked out to their car, throwing one last wink over her shoulder before sliding into the backseat next to her son while her husband slammed the passenger seat door behind them. 

“Well-” Cassandra looked over at you with a surprised expression. She must've noticed the fact that Maxwell had seemed to be pissier than usual, you did as well but assumed it was because of some deal that went sour at work or some type of rich people shit you couldn’t even fathom. “-his son seemed nice.”

“Yeah.” Their car turned a corner and disappeared from your line of sight. “They aren’t exactly the fucking Brady Bunch though.”

------

“Daniels-” Maxwell adjusted his collar in the rear-view mirror as he spoke. “-swing by the office. I need to go over some papers for a meeting I have tomorrow. Then take Valerie and Alastair home.”

“Of course sir.”

The driver turned left. 

“Mom?”

Valerie looked to the boy at her side. “Yes sweetheart?”

“Can I come with you the next time you see the seamstress?” Valerie looked toward the passengers seat, where her husband sat just as shocked as her. 

“You want to go see Stitches?” Maxwell asked. “Again?”

His son nodded, too young to realize how surprised his parents were by his answer. 

“She’s funny and nice and she doesn’t talk down to me like other people do.” Alastair looked up at his mother, nervous at her lack of response. “Is that okay?”

That seemed to snap Valerie into action. She smiled and took her son’s hand in her with a loving pat. “Of course sweetheart, Stitches would love to have you around.”

The car came to a halt in front of the Chimtech Consortium building, which stood tall, even against the grit and grime of the busy city streets

Maxwell stepped out of the car before ducking his head into the window. “I’ll be home late tonight champ, alright?”

Alastair held no disappointment nor resentment to his father for the time he spent at work but it didn’t make Maxwell feel like any less of a shit father. 

“Okay dad.”

Valerie leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red lipstick stain in her wake. “I’ll see you tonight darling.”

Maxwell smiled. “Don’t stay up too late waiting for me dear.” He took a step back, watching the car drive out of the sight of his building before he frowned and wiped the lipstick off his cheek, which in turn left a red mark on his jacket sleeve. 

“Damn that woman.”

The moment he entered the lobby, people seemed to pause before greeting him, none of which he gave a response to. It wasn’t until the elevator door shut that he took a deep breath. 

Breathe Maxwell, you’ll run yourself ragged this way. 

A tiny titter behind him made him realize he wasn’t alone in the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye he could see brown leather shoes that he’d wouldn’t be caught dead in. 

“What’s your name son?”

The boy gaped for a moment before he found his voice. “Michael, sir.”

The door opened with a soft Ding! And Maxwell stepped out before turning to face the young man. 

Wiry frame, tall, yet hunched over out of pure insecurity and refusing to meet Maxwell’s eye. 

He was definitely an intern. 

“Well then Mikey-” Maxwell noticed the way his head snapped up as he spoke. “Get me a coffee and bring it to my office, just the way I like it.”

The intern squeaked out a quick “of course sir!” before the doors shut on him. 

Maxwell wondered how long it would take for ‘Mikey’ to realize he never told him how he liked his coffee or where his office actually was. 

He turned sharply around a corner, taking note in the sea of cubicles he passed, every employee pausing to whisper and watch him march past without speaking. The sound of marketing calls dissipated as he grew farther away from the flurry of lower rank workers. Huddled cubicles were replaced with sleek halls and grand windows showcasing the city view. When his eyes landed on the dark brown door at the end of the hall he nearly wept. 

Sweet sanctuary. 

 His hand had just curled around the silver door knob, the final obstacle between him and sweet sweet isolation when a shrill voice broke out. 

“Oh!” Delilah squeaked, jumping up from her chair with surprise. “Mr.Lord, you're here!”

She definitely should’ve noticed that he had gotten here earlier, given that she was his fucking secretary. 

“That I am Delilah.” Maxwell answered gruffly, eyes flicking over to the stack of papers on her desk that she would no doubt forget to file. “I do run this company after all.”  Before she could respond with some ass-kissing compliment, he walked into his office and shut the door behind him. 

Maxwell rolled his shoulders back, undoing the blue tie around his neck as he sank into his office chair with a groan. He spent more time in that chair than his own bed at this point. 

Truth be told there wasn’t much that needed to be done at work today that couldn’t be done tomorrow.  He had no meetings for another three days and he’d worked himself ragged the past few days to play catch up, now he was more than ahead of the game. He simply needed to be alone, to clear his head a bit.

But try as he may, he couldn’t calm the rambling stream of his consciousness no matter how hard he fought. When he opened his eyes again and spared a glance at the clock on his desk, he realized thirty minutes had passed since he first sat down. 

Maxwell groaned, threading his fingers in his hair and pulling in frustration. 

Why can’t you get the fuck out of his head?

That bratty attitude combined with your god awful sense of style should've made you repugnant, somebody he couldn’t stand the sight of and didn’t see as anything worth the metaphorical shit under his eight hundred dollar shoes. Yet here he sat, hunched over in his office plagued with your voice saying his name like a challenge over and over in his head like some sick chant. 

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, setting each strand into place before he pressed the button on his desk and spoke with authority. 

“Delilah, could you meet me in my office?”

Only a few seconds later, she came scurrying into his office with poorly hidden excitement. 

“Yes sir?” That was one thing he hated about her. 

The fucking voice. 

It wasn’t her voice on it’s own, but it was the way she made her voice sound. She made sure to always talk softly, forcing herself up to a higher octave to sound sweet and submissive like a flute when she really sounded like somebody stepping on the tail of a cat. 

But her boss wasn’t interested in her voice to begin with. 

He pushed his chair out from under his desk by a fraction and unbuckled his belt. 

“Knees.”

She was quick to find her way between his legs with a sultry smile. 

“Did you miss me?”

Maxwell scoffed. “Hardly. Now do something useful with that mouth before I start looking at new hires to take your place.”

The smile disappeared and she looked down, uttering out a small “Yes Mr.Lord” before she took his cock into his mouth. Maxwell let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, head falling back with a relaxed hum. His eyes shut as his mind, always his enemy, began to paint a picture he had been longing for all day. 

You sat on your knees between his legs, moaning while you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock. 

You seemed like the type to tease, he didn’t doubt that. But he enjoyed teasing just fine, as long as he was the one doing it. Maybe in the form of a toy nestled between your legs while he held a remote, turning it on and off with no pattern just to see you whine and buck your hips like a bitch in heat. 

His hand knotted itself in your hair and pushed you further down on his cock with a grunt. 

“That’s it.” You whined as your head bobbed up and down, tongue hot against his veins while the coil in his stomach wound tighter and tighter every time you moved. “You take it so well, just like that.”

A nervous knock sounded against his door. Maxwell’s eyes snapped open before they narrowed into angry slits. 

Christ, he just couldn’t catch a break today.

Delilah let out a muffled squeak and pushed herself off of Maxwell’s cock before his hand pressed down on the back of her head and bucked his hips against her open mouth.

“You make a noise or move an inch off of my dick-” His voice was even and ultimately unbothered as he spoke to her. “-and you're fucking fired.”

Delilah made a whimpered garble against him, he assumed it meant ‘Yes sir.’

“Come in.”

The door creaked open and in walked the same intern from the elevator, just this time with a Styrofoam cup in his trembling hand. 

Son of a bitch, the kid actually did it. 

“Well color me surprised Mikey, you came through.” 

The boy set the coffee on his desk, completely unaware of the woman crouched under the desk, deepthroating the seemingly unbothered man sitting before him. 

Maxwell took the coffee into his hand, taking a tentative sip before his face scrunched up. Just as he did, Delilah gagged loudly against him, causing Michael’s eyes to go wide as he looked around for the source of the sound. 

God he hated black coffee. 

“A touch too bitter for my taste, but gold star for effort kid.”  Maxwell's hand snaked under the table to push Delilah's head down another inch or two. Her nose was now nestled against the hem of his dress shirt, and he could feel her struggling to maintain the position by the way her throat flexed around his cock.

Good. Maybe that would shut her up.

“Next time try a dash of nutmeg.”

“Nutmeg?”

“Yes, nutmeg. It’s a nice wake-up in the morning. But for now that will be all.” Maxwell motioned to the door, to which the boy nodded and bowed his head like some servant. 

“Of course, have a good day sir.”

“You too kid. Make sure to shut the door behind you.”

The intern all but sprinted out, Maxwell felt his pride swell knowing even after he complimented the intern, he was still scared shitless of him. The moment his door clicked shut, he gripped his slobbering secretary’s hair by the root and wrenched her off his dick, leaving her to sputter and cough with tears in her eyes. 

“I suggest you make yourself useful, Miss Harris.” Maxwell slid his jacket off his shoulders and onto the chair behind him. He pulled a condom out of his pocket with a frown that never seemed to leave when she was in his presence.

 “That poor intern already knows where my office is and how I like my coffee, you might be out of a job soon enough.”

Delilah wiped the spit from her mouth and grinned. She stood on shaky legs in those horrendous kitten heels before pulling up her skirt and bending over his desk. 

“You could never fire me sir.” She groaned, gripping the desk like a lifeline when Maxwell entered her and began to thrust without giving her time to adjust to his size. “You’d miss me too much.”

Maxwell, still buried inside her, scoffed. “And what exactly would I miss Delilah? The cold coffee? The missed memos? Or you coming in late and thinking I don’t notice?” With each question he thrust in and out, in and out, a harsh unforgiving tempo that his secretary should be used to by now.

She arched her back with a squeaking moan. “No, you’d miss this pussy. Nobody fucks you like I do Sir.” The final string keeping Maxwell together, the one that everybody seemed to tug and pluck all day finally snapped when Delilah her next words. 

“Not even your bitch of a wife.”

Maxwell’s hips halted their assault against Delilah’s freckled skin, his eyes narrowed as he stared down at the back of her head, the pregnant pause filled the air that made Delilah realize right as the words passed her lips she had fucked up. 

She gasped when his hand wrapped tight around her throat and pulled her up off the desk and against his chest. 

“Talk about my wife again, go ahead.” Maxwell growled out, Delilah opened her mouth but no sound came out as his fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around her throat until her face went from pale white to bright red, the cold metal of his wedding band cut into the soft skin of her neck, the pain hopefully proving to be an effective teacher . “I fucking dare you, you even mention Valerie one more fucking time and you’ll wish you never pulled your lazy ass through that door to apply for this goddamn job. You understand me?”

When he loosened his grip she nodded rapidly, taking in a shuddering breath. She looked over her shoulder at him, legs trembling and a pout on her swollen lips. 

“I’m sorry.” She croaked out, voice hoarse from his dick and only made worse by his temper. His hand slid up her back before pushing her down on the desk where her body slammed down on the hard wood.

“I don’t care.”

Maxwell slid out of her before ramming back into her dripping cunt with zero grace, continuing to do so as his hands gripped her hips hard enough that he would surely leave behind bruises come the next day. 

He thought about the way the same bruises would look on your hips.

 Your neck.

 Fuck, your chest. 

Hearing you moan his name like a plea, a chant to God but Maxwell was one being worshiped. All the bite you showed him at work would melt away when he slid inside you with a groan. His fingers digging into the plush give of your ass while pounding into your sweet pussy that gripped him like a fucking vice. 

“You love it.” He spoke through gritted teeth, hair unkempt and falling in front of his eyes. “You fucking love it don’t you?”

You nodded numbly, gripping onto the table and just barely managing a weak moan. Maxwell’s hand came down on your ass in a stinging slap that made you shout.  He didn’t care who outside his office heard you, Christ himself could be standing outside and that wouldn’t be enough to pull him from you.

“You speak when-” Maxwell groaned, doubling over your body and rutting into you like an animal. “You speak when you're fucking spoken to.”

Your back arched as his voice growled out against your neck. “I love it.” You fingers dragged against his mahogany desk that shook with each thrust. “I love it so fucking much.”

“I fucking know you do.” His hips stuttered against yours, hot waves of pleasure threatening to crash over him with every thrust, every bounce of your curls and every sweet coo of your voice. “You were made for just my cock, just for me. Weren’t you?”

“Just for you.” You panted. Your knees knocked together as he pushed you into the desk more with each selfish thrust of his cock. “All yours max, only yours.”

Maxwell’s hand slammed down on the table next to Delilah’s head as he came with a low groan. Delilah, feeling her own high slowly retreating, whined. 

“Max please.” She begged. “I’m so close please just-” she squeaked at the feeling of her boss pulling out of her in record time as he cleaned himself up. 

“How many times to I have to fucking tell you, address me as Mr.Lord or Sir-” his eyes cut down at her trembling form. “-or don’t bother speaking at all.”

Delilah pushed herself off his desk with a weak nod. 

“Yes Mr.Lord.”

“Send a reminder to that archaeologist for this Friday.” Maxwell had already fastened his belt and taken seat at his desk once more, plucking the now disarrayed papers off the cool surface and shuffling them into a neat pile in his hands. He read them while he walked over to the bookshelf raised on the wall 

“She seems like a ditz and I want to make sure this meeting doesn’t fall through.”

Delilah frowned, tilting her head to the side. A gesture some men may find charming if they were ten years younger and didn't run a fucking company that this idiot woman worked for. 

“Archaeologist?”

“The mousy one that works at the museum.” He reminded her. “If you don’t remember at this point, that’s your own fault for only paying attention to the things I say when you’re on my dick.” Without looking up from the papers in his hand, Maxwell waved a hand in the direction of his office door. 

“That will be all.”

Delilah bowed her head, whether to hide the bright blush on her face or angry tears, he didn’t know. And quite frankly? 

He didn’t care. 

He was already focused on the papers he skimmed, deals and mergers that could break other companies while making him a richer man. 

At least that’s what he told himself while your voice was playing in his head like a broken record. 

Angry, brown eyes left the paper to stare at an unopened bottle of whiskey on the shelf that stared back at him. 

A wedding gift. 

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him as he forwent a glass and drank straight from the bottle in hopes of drowning all thoughts of you. 

The bottle was halfway empty when he gave up.

[horrorslashergirl]

Decebal Avram Chirilă SFW Alphabet Slasher OC

Authors Note: Just trying to work more on his character so I decided to try this SFW Alphabet. ENJOY!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Decebal is a person that isn't afraid of public display of affection, if he likes someone he will let them known, through compliments, flirting, hugs, and so on. He may come off as a womanizer (which he kind of is), but that's really just how he is. All his life during Romanian Communism he's been neglected completely from affection; the most he got were more mature women complimenting on how cute he was.

Even if you're just his friend, he will hug you, wrap his arm around your shoulder. Don't strictly take that as a romantic gesture. He is just friendly.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

This Romanian as a best friend? You're basically having yourself a loyal dog that will take a bullet, grasp a knife and give his life for his best friend. He hated himself for not being strong to save his parents so now as an adult, he protects the people that have a big value in his life.

He may seem very friendly, but he has a hard time trusting someone, and that someone has to prove themselves trustworthy, mostly because Decebal is a wanted man and he meet people that played the 'friend' role only to stab him in the back. If he calls you brother or sister, then you can count on him anytime. His word is gold.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Decebal loves hugs and cuddles, and he has no problem in sharing. This man is touch-starved for affection, although he will never admit it. 

He usually loves to hug and cuddle from behind, his big arms wrapped around you, his chin rested on top of your head or if he's in a really good mood, he will spin you around. Romanian Rollercoaster!

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Alright, this man has very big issues with settling down and the whole marriage deal; although not impossible! As I said, he has a hard time letting anyone get close to his heart. It's kind of a paradox because he is starved for affection, but he runs like hell from marriage. You need to have nerves of steel if you want to get him into a little more 'serious' relationship. That strictly depends on you if he views you as a one-time thing or something more. All the women that were around him as a child after his parents were killed, were company ladies or prostitutes, toxic women so for him to meet someone who is genuinely nice to him out of no reason is a little more like a fairytale for him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

As friendly as this man is, he is also very blunt. Decebal isn't the type to beat around the bush; if he has something to say he will. He is most of the time very honest and probably his words might hurt you, but he doesn't like to get drunk with water, which pretty much means he isn't the type to even lie to himself.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As I said above, marriage is pretty much a subject and a level he wants to step aside and avoid. He is a rogue one who loves to taste freedom in all ways. He had enough of the restrictions during the Romanian communism, so his outlaw life is something he cherishes. You will have to be someone who isn't into poly relationships. You may be his significant other (Again.... How did you do that?), but that doesn't mean you can tell him what to do. Stubborn Romanian Ass.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Decebal is a pretty gentle guy in his day to day life; he prefers to love than to fight, but again.... If the last resort is fighting, oh boy. He is the type to open the doors to the ladies, smile their ways, or compliment them. That's I suppose his gentle nature. He basically has three moods; the gentle romantic lover, the sassy and vulgar punk, and finally the fast, sadistic swordsman assassin.

On 80% of the time, he is a combo of the first two. The last one is a rarity because he prefers to smile than scowl, but he is called The Impaler for a reason.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

I did mention it in the cuddle part. He is a hugger and will do so with almost anyone who is nice to him or doesn't show to be his enemy. His hugs are very nice, especially when he does them from behind, twirling you around if he is in a very good mood.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

There are two ways that he says these words. One is when he is in a jokester mood saying something like 'Awww... I know you love me.' Then the more serious way that takes a lot to pull from the Romanian's lips. He may say the L-word but it depends on how he says it. That makes the difference.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He really isn't a jealous guy. Decebal values freedom most of all things and he doesn't want to be a possessive asshole to his s/o if that's the case. He gives you freedom, so he expects you to do the same.

If it's for example about someone he likes and someone hits on them, he will probably increase his game, topping his competitor, because Decebal has Latin blood running through his veins and he knows how to take someone's mind with his charms.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Romanian lover, French kisser. He loves to leave his partners with a dazed look after a kiss, so his kisses are full of passion and sensuality, his hand running through your hair, while his other hand strokes your hip. All the time his eyes are half-lidded looking into yours.

As for where he loves to be kissed? Try kissing the nape of his neck, you will feel him shiver and look over his shoulder at you with a cheeky smile.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He has a weak spot for children mostly because he knows how sensitive these little ones are. He was a little guy himself when his parents were killed, so he knows what such a tragedy can do to one. As for if he wants children? He isn't a father figure. Sometimes he acts like a teenager and he doesn't see himself be able to raise children with his style of life. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are probably either very funny or lazy, depending on how he spent the night. He can wake up full of energy, blasting Romanian music in his headphones, singing, and preparing for the day. Lazy mornings are usually in bed, crawling downstairs and trying to prepare his coffee, drool running down the corners of his mouth.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

If you're a night person you got yourself a night owl. He loves to stroll through the city, going to a bar, having a few drinks, going to a club. Or if you prefer a much quieter environment, you two can sit down on the front porch, talking about whatever topics you want. He is a pretty cultured person so he can keep up a conversation all night long. Ooooor.... if you want a much more sensual night.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Alright; Decebal has the whole super confident guy attitude with a cheeky grin, all tall and handsome, but he has also a very sensitive side. He will reveal little by little about his past, torture, nightmares when he feels he can 100% trust you. Despite his loud nature, he also has a mysterious vibe that attracts people, especially ladies aaaand also danger to him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

You really need the talent to anger Decebal. In his opinion, life is too short to have a scowl on your face. Like the Romanian saying 'Faci haz de necaz' which basically means 'I'm laughing at trouble'. All his childhood was depressing and gloomy and he is simply tired to victimize himself. 

He really doesn't get mad so easily, but God help you if he gets angry, because it's like seeing Romania's bloody history depicted into a person.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He has a pretty good memory and will remember everything you told him. Your favorite flowers, your favorite dish. He will remember. He doesn't forget if someone helped him and he doesn't forget when someone did it wrong.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He never had a long term relationship. All his relationships, if you can call them that were just for one night or even for a few hours. His life in his home country was harsh and he didn't have the privilege to meet someone he could call HIS. Then after leaving his country, he never stayed in one place which made relationships non-existent.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Decebal is very protective if you are someone he cares for, protecting you even if it means giving his own life. He is a 'Go hard or Go home' guy. He lost too much when he was young because of his cowardice, so when he unleashes his swords is dance time.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He is a romantic guy by heart and he loves to make his special one feel that way; a bouquet of flowers, something that he remembers you saying you want.

As for effort in general, he puts 100% of his blood. All his life he had to work hard until collapsing and none cared. He digs his teeth into the task at hand and won't give up just because it hurts. He faced enough abuse as a child to know that there are worse things than a back full of whip marks or broken fingers.

When he was young he used to be tortured if the task given to him wasn't done properly and it's in his system to do it right.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Probably his flirty attitude towards most people, which in his opinion is just friendly. Even if you magically are his s/o old habits die hard and he can be a real womanizer, so let's hope you're someone who can put up with a lot.

Another bad habit, or rather a good one? Depends on how you view it, is his daredevil side that makes jokes even in the face of death. Dying with a smile on your face and a good laugh? Sounds familiar. 

Emotional Intimacy? He doesn't like this territory mostly because he feels like the coward he was as a child. Putting his feelings on a silver platter is a challenge for him and he usually screws up by taking everything as a joke. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He knows he looks good. He knows he is handsome. He knows the ladies dig it. He is mostly 50% concerned with how he looks. He makes sure he is clean, smells good and his hair is in that messy bedhead the women swoon over.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Probably if you and he have been together for a very long time. He just got used to you being around that when you leave is kind of depressing sight, but freedom is the most important thing for him, so he will swallow everything down and wave you goodbye, going on his lonely path yet again.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

One of the things that really may trigger his vulnerable side would be someone choking him because that reminds him too much of the days in jail as a child and teenager, the warden there being the father figure that used to choke him under the dirty cold water that reeked of rats on an almost daily basis.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn't like controlling people, people that think they can make anyone do what they want just using the fear as a weapon. It reminds Decebal too much of the dictator of his country during the communist system. He went through much in his life to have his freedom be taken away... again. That is something that haunts his sleep at night, one of the reasons he mostly spends his nights out and his days sleeping.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He is usually sleeping during the day, mostly because he prefers to spend his nights strolling through the city, anywhere where he can be free, none to tell him what to do. He is usually sleeping on his front with his face buried into the pillow. Usually, if he wakes up in the middle of a nightmare, he stays awake and looks out the window or on the roof of the house or building, letting his mind known that he is free. He isn't chained.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 19)

Mila’s feet dangle in the air as she sits on the edge of the guard post, while looking out over the surroundings. Next to her on the floor lies a bottle of vodka, in case she gets bored. She turns her eyes to the flickering flame of the oil lantern, the only source of light. Besides the lantern its pitch black. The darkness is wrapped around the surroundings like a heavy blanket. No lights are on in the houses. 

Before she put on her jacket, hid the vodka bottle in the inner pocket and went out to the guard tower Mila tucked Juri in for the night. She helped him choose a cassette tape to fall asleep to, made sure he had all of his ‘friends’ also tucked in; the brown dog named Jeff (Mila had no idea why), his soft bunny named Bruce after Bruce Springsteen and the teddy bear that goes by the name Eddie, after Eddie Vedder. But Mila hasn’t been able to figure out Jeff. Who’s Jeff? Instead of asking him about it, she kissed Juri on the forehead and left for guard duty. Daryl wasn’t at the guard tower when she arrived, so Mila made herself comfortable. 

She taps her fingers towards the floor and hums the tune to “Hungry heart”, starts to sing faintly. Springsteen makes her think of the summers in New Jersey. Driving around on hot summer days, the long days at the beach in Point Pleasant, eating tons of ice cream and drinking Pepsi Cola, riding around Atlantic City with Darya and Laura in Darya’s dad’s convertible-    

“You sing well.”

Mila looks up. Daryl has joined her, finally. In one hand he holds the crossbow and in the other two bottles of water. 

“You’re late.” 

”You’re easy prey, sitting like this.” Daryl sits down besides her, lets his legs swing over the edge next to hers and gives her one of the bottles.

”Wolves are gone. Walkers don’t jump.” Mila removes the lid and takes a sip of water. “I think I’m fine.” 

”You’re really good.” Daryl looks down at his knees. “I mean, singing. Your accent disappears when you sing.” 

”Yeah. I’ve heard that.” Mila laughs and puts the water bottle down, next to the vodka bottle. ”It would sound even better if I had a guitar and a cowboy hat.” With a smile she grabs the Vodka bottle from the floor, unscrews it and takes a bountiful sip, before offering it to Daryl. ”I’ve heard you should drink at least one liter a day.”

”Thought that applied to water?” Daryl lifts an eyebrow and brings the bottle to the mouth and drinks, lets out a cough as he lowers it. ”Gotta get you a guitar then, Jersey.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” She replies. “It sorta’ feels pretty pointless now. I haven't played in forever.” she meets Daryl’s gaze. “I was engaged to this guy, before- It’s because of him I play the guitar, and sing in ‘American’.”

Daryl stiffens up at her words. It’s barely noticeable, but Mila notices. 

“He’s dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. “My father hated him for encouraging my interest in music. Said it was a waste of time. He didn’t understand the phenomenon ‘hobbies’.” Mila tries to remember what her dear papa yelled at her through the glass. It was hard to hear exactly what he yelled, since he banged at the window, but she could make out some of it. ”Eto chepukha, Milena, chepukha!” she repeats. “Nonsense.”

“Seems like a charmer.” Daryl replies. “Ain’t a waste though. I like it.”

Mila glances at the broad archer next to her. Somehow he reminds her of Jim; tall, broad shoulders and muscles. Jim had brown hair and beard, a bit more groomed than the Southern archer, but still- 

The first time Mila laid her eyes on Jim was during a gig at a bar in Brooklyn. She was there with her friend Laura. Jim played guitar in the band and halfway through he pulled his shirt off. Milas eyes were glued to his bare chest during the rest of the performance. Even a blind person would have noticed such an intense stare down; as did Jim on stage. Afterward he asked her over to their table, and she fell like a paw for the big Oklahoma native, with the pretty eyes and the kind smile. Jim was big as a bear and kind as a puppy. He was warm, had a boisterous but contagious laugh, he was friendly and charismatic. Everybody around Mila adored Jim, everybody except papa, which made sense. Papa hated everyone, except himself.

Physically, Daryl reminds her of Jim somewhat, but their personalities are like night and day. Jim was able to entertain an entire room full of people, and happily did so by telling stories or playing the guitar. Daryl would probably never even think of entering such a room. He’s encased in armor, a hard shell no one seems to be able to break. She hasn’t heard an ounce of bursting laughter from him and he barely talks. And yet she likes his company. When she saw him walk down the street into the Safe-Zone last night it felt like a ton of brick was dropped from her chest. Of course she was still angry with him for some unimportant reason she can’t really remember now, but she was happy for having him back.

“Where’s he by the way?” Daryl asks. “Your old man. Ya’ said ya’ came here together.”

“In prison.”

The statement doesn’t seem to surprise Daryl significantly.

“What for?” 

Mila hands him the vodka bottle again. Daryl looks puzzled at it. 

“If you want to hear about it, you might need it.” Mila explains and doesn’t take her eyes away from his. “There’s a legit reason why I have alcohol problems.”

“Haven’t noticed.” the archer winks at her over the bottle and drinks. “Why’s he locked up?”

“Murder. And for kidnapping me.” 

It might be so easy to say it because she feels some kind of connection to the man sitting next to her, or maybe it’s because the whole world went to hell and papa, Mila’s perdition, her Achilles heel, probably is dead by now. 

Mila was the only child. Her father, her papa, wanted to have a son. Instead he got Mila. Her mother, who loved her more than life itself, couldn’t bear more children and Mila was punished for that her entire life by her father. Papa was stern on her from the start. Sergey Yuruchenko’s offspring wouldn’t be a weakling. Her sole purpose in life would be to make him proud. Like a show dog. He hardened Mila like steel; dragged her out on the frozen river Volga during the winters for an ice bath, a procedure to ‘man her up’. If Mila hesitated or began to cry she had to stay longer in the water. Eventually she stopped crying. He taught her to fight, games that often resulted in cracked lips and black eyes. Sometimes Mila began to cry because it hurt and she felt scared, but he assured her it was a fun game, and she believed him. He coached her in sports, to make sure she would win. Second place was never enough. Mila could’ve easily become an olympic marathon athlete, if she would have had the choice. But he had already set out her entire future. 

”My mama loved me with all of her heart and papa made sure that I never forgot how he grieved the son he never had. It was my burden and my responsibility to prove that I was worthy of his affection. I was a wreck emotionally. Thrown between boundless love and emotional abuse.” Mila pauses and takes another mouthful of vodka. “I got respect from him for the first time when I was fifteen. He firmly argued that if a man couldn’t hit a soup can fifty yards away with a gun after drinking a whole bottle of vodka, he was a wimp. He didn’t count on me, a fifteen year old girl to even dream about trying.” She raises her eyebrows at Daryl. ”But I passed the test and he eased the leash.”

After that summer, Mila had a great year. She was ‘allowed’ to be an ordinary teenager in all its meaning. She went to parties with her friends, dreamed of Leonardo Dicaprio when she kissed her first boyfriend Dima for the first time and she was convinced that life would continue like that.

“Then one day he asked me to come with him on a trip abroad, for work. It was just the two of us at home that day and he was so different. Friendly even. It felt odd, but he was so convincing. He asked me to be ready in an hour with a bag. I felt so excited. Not until we walked through the gate at the airport I understood where we were going. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to America! He made the whole trip sound so exciting. It felt like we were friends for the first time. That I finally had a father.”

Mila pauses. She’d thought about that moment many times since that plane ride. How it all was just an act. How he used Mila’s cluelessness to save his own ass. In reality he didn’t feel like that at all. He didn’t care about her. 

”We were arrested as soon as we got through the passport control at Newark. We were separated, put in different rooms. I panicked the entire time, fought and cried. An interpreter and two policemen came and told me that he was arrested. I tried to convince them that it must have been a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. I was kidnapped and papa was internationally wanted for murder in Russia by Interpol. Or serial murders, I think it’s called, in the case of more than three victims.”

“How many?” he asks. 

Their eyes meet through the darkness. The only sound that’s heard is the chirping cicadas, the wind rattling in the trees and the thudding sound of the walkers crashing into each other on the other side of the wall. Well, he hasn’t run away yet, Mila thinks.

“Including the policeman he killed at the station the day after we arrived; ten.”

Daryl doesn't even try to hide his astonishment. 

”A woman disappeared in Moscow in- gosh, I don’t even remember the year. Anyway, she was found under a bridge, two days later. Then another woman was found a few weeks later, under a viaduct. Seven women and two men around Moscow. One woman was completely beheaded. I was fourteen when they found her, and my father told me to ’be safe’ when I walked home from gymnastics practice.”

Mila remembers almost all of them by name. They were read out during the trial in New York, while images of them were displayed on a projector. Mila saw their bruised faces, the dead eyes in the pale, straight faces. No matter how awful it was, she couldn’t look away, like passing a car accident. Mila had to watch, to understand that it was her papa, who worried when she would go home alone from gymnastics, he who always urged her to beware of boys in a group (or boys in general), that had done these horrible actions. The youngest victim was eighteen and was found in a shallow part of Volga. They had to identify it through dental cards. In court, sitting on that hard bench in between Ellie and Joe Galka, Mila desperately tried to meet her father’s gaze, wanted him to turn around where he sat, with his back against her. When he finally did, Mila didn’t see a trace of regret or empathy in them.

”He kidnapped ya’ to- what, to save himself?” 

“It didn’t seem suspicious if he traveled with his daughter. I was his ticket out of it. If he did get caught, he could use me as-” Mila fiddles on a thread in her jeans. “-Yeah, I haven’t figured out that part yet. He really knew how to inflict maximum damage to his advantages. Because of his position, working for the state, which is... corrupted beyond imagination, he could change my documents without anyone asking, making himself my sole guardian. On paper, I no longer had a mother. It was- He was so split. On one hand, a well regarded worker for the state, modest and punctual. And on the other hand, emotionally disturbed, a psychopath. A monster.” She sighs. “The same day we were arrested he overpowered a police officer. He killed him, granting him life in prison here, not risking being extradited to Russia. Social services took care of me and I ended up at the Galka’s. The first six months I visited papa in prison weekly. It really fucks you up in the head, being pulled back to the root of evil, to one's perpetrator. In my case, it was the same person. Perpetrator and father. Evil impersonated and the only person I felt I had some connection to here. And yet, I never got an explanation to why he did what he did. Eventually, thanks to the Galka’s, I stopped visiting. He didn’t like that, being out of control.”

Mila had never revolted, but when she had to acclimatize to a new culture and language all on her own, that changed. She could just as well have ended up dead behind a dumpster from drugs, but instead she went on to study at Columbia University. When papa found out that she studied to become a dental nurse, instead of a ‘real dentist’, or ‘the president of all dentists in the entire world’, or anything equally grandiose, he went all mad and had to be dragged out of the visitors room by the guards. A few days later he made a phone call and yelled at Mila for three straight minutes, until the call broke. When Mila paid him a much involuntary visit a few weeks later he’d calmed down a bit; he’d been in solitary confinement since that lash out. 

”Of all professions...” Papa snarled into the handset. ”Dental nurse? A servant! Milaya, why are you causing me this pain?”

Mila pulls herself away from the memory of Southport Correctional facility’s visiting room, back to the present, to the cool, calm night, where she shares a bottle of vodka with the archer.

“As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a father.” Mila meets Daryl’s gaze through the faint, warm light from the lantern. “I moved on. I made it. I got pregnant while in uni and tried to commit suicide. That was a nightmare. Once again I had to... switch on survival mode. I felt so defective. How could someone with a father like mine, someone who’s been hurled between motherly love and fatherly abuse, possibly be a good parent.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. The bottle is almost completely empty by now. “I haven’t had much space for making my own choices in life. Until recently.” she says. “I did some stupid choices on the way here. But at least I turned out... fairly good in the end.”

They look at each other in silence. Nothing is heard but the walkers collected hissing breaths, like a choir of rotten asthmatics, gasping for air, while pushing up against the wall. Sometimes a thud, like flesh against metal, is heard when the ones in the back push the ones in the front extra hard into the wall.

”Ya’ think he’s alive? Or they?” Daryl asks, husky. ”Your parents?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders; she doesn't know. After a while in the weeks following the outbreak, the phone calls to her mother in Russia stopped working. Her father can’t be alive. It would be impossible, just as impossible as it is to escape a high security prison like Southport. 

”What about ya’ foster parents?” 

”I don’t know.” Mila bites her lower lip. ”When the two of us came back to Jersey the Galka’s were gone. So we left, me and Juri.”

”Ain’t too bad, though.” Daryl says, in what Mila thinks is an attempt to cheer her up. “He’s a great kid.”

”He is.” she smiles. ”I never thought I’d make it, being on my own with him like this. He’s my everything, the better person of the two of us; wakes me in the morning, cheers me up and is always happy. I don’t know how he does it. He’s three!”

”And a half.” Daryl smirks. 

“Touché.” Mila looks at him. “Gosh. I’m surprised you haven’t ran away.”

”Why would I? Ma’ old man was a boozer, an ass.” Daryl replies, and his eyes suddenly shift from almost warm, to dark.  “I hadn’t much of a mother. Smoked herself to death, burnt the entire fuckin’ house down at the same time. Ma’ brother went in and out of juvenile. Died, as everyone else.” Daryl hesitates, but then he continues. ”I’m a nobody. Always been. I don’t have anything to run from.”

Mila lays her hand on top of Daryl’s, that rests against the floorboards. He twitches by her sudden move, like a stray dog that has never felt a friendly touch. 

“You’re not a nobody.” Mila says, emphasising every word. “You saved my life. Heck, I think you saved more lives than my sorry ass. Do you always push those who care about you away?”

Daryl becomes silent.

”Sorry.”

”Don’t be.” Mila says. “Honestly, It’s like you don’t think you deserve anything; people being kind to you, that people care. That’s not healthy. No wonder you’re so peevish. Just let the guard down once in a while. You do so much for everybody here, who are so thankful for it and want to show that to you. Let them. You need it. Let people in. Have you never done that?” 

”Never had a chance.” he answers. ”It’s always been bloody knuckles and shards of glass.”

”But does that mean that the whole world is dark and evil? I’ve had a bumpy ride too and I’m not all stiff and irritated with everything.”

”Well ye’ ain’t me.”

”And thank god for that.” Mila smiles a little. ”No matter what your life was like before it doesn’t have to continue being like that.” she gets silent, before she meets his eyes again. ”Have you ever just sat down and thought about what you want? Not what everybody else needs, or what they tell you to do, no matter what you think. Have you?”

”Never gotten that chance either.” Daryl grunts, and continues to look at his shoes.

“Well, do that.” Mila holds up the bottle of vodka in front of her. It’s empty. “Crap...”

“Ya’ haven’t had enough of that?”

Mila puts her head to the side and smiles dazzling.

“I told you I have problems.” Mila smirks and puts the bottle down. “But I’m workin’ on fixing that. Not tonight though.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth curves slightly upward and he chuckles faintly. They sit quietly for a moment before he once again turns to her. 

“Ya’ really a dentist?” 

“Dental nurse.” Mila corrects. “What, are you surprised?” 

“Not at all.” Daryl replies. “How’s that like?” 

“We'll take that one another time.” Mila adjusts herself on the floor. “I have to save some cock-and-bull stories about tartar and teeth extractions for later.” 

“Can’t wait.” Daryl smirks. “If ye’ want to sing something, I don’t mind.”

Mila smiles. They sit next to each other, watching the night turn into early dawn. Mila sings faintly, to avoid unnecessary attention from the walkers, dangling her legs in the air, while Daryl’s eyes rest on the horizon, wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips.

[anxious-l0ser]

Still Into You

so um, i guess, welcome to my first full fic? idk, this was supposed to just be a ficlet, but my mind wondered and wouldn't stop, so now i have this lmao. this is basically a LAMP fic (only one chapter) in a rock band au, where Roman is the lead singer, Virgil is the guitarist, Patton is the bassist, and Logan is the drummer (generic, ik, let me live lmao) (also somebody please teach me how to tag shit, idk how-)

Ship: romantic LAMP

Warnings: concerts, ig? mentions of kissing, homophobia in the musical industry

The cheers from the crowd echoed back to Roman in a perfect harmony, his veins pumping the pure electricity from the energy in the room, and even their imperfect, gasping breaths for air seemed to mix perfectly into the internal beat of the room.

Roman had never felt such euphoria.

“Thank you, LA!”

Another round of applause and cheering caused Roman’s head to feel floaty, a dopey smile already playing around on his face as he tried to suppress the laugh bubbling up in his chest. He always found the feeling of performing intoxicating, and the presence of his bandmates was no help.

He couldn’t really stop feeling happy when surrounded by his secret lovers.

It was hidden pretty quickly after they figured out what kind of relationship they wanted, and it was hard. Of course it was. How could Roman resist for so long, when Virgil was so perfectly disheveled from giving it his all on his guitar? When Patton was giggling so happily that the crowd seemed to visibly grin back at him? When Logan looked so ready to start another song at any moment, but that didn’t stop the poorly hidden smirk that he had from pure pride in his drumming? Roman barely had enough willpower to kiss them all senseless, but they could do plenty of that backstage. Right now, they just had to be best friends for the crowd, and Roman had to stop himself from waxing poetry right there, in front of everybody.

“Thank you all for such a wonderful evening, you’ve been an amazing crowd!”

Roman was cut off again by their cheering, but he could never find it in himself to be angry at that.

“We have one more song for you, so let’s make it count!”

The excitement in the room was so contagious Roman couldn’t stop himself from laughing from the euphoric feeling of pure energy. He gave Logan a nod and a smile, and the other two shared a look before a familiar beat began, and the crowd cheered in recognition.

“If you know, why don’t you sing it with me!”

And Roman had the best performance of his life.

***

“Thank you, again. Are you sure you don’t need assistance in packing everything into the bus?”

Patton’s feet swang in the air as he sat on the edge of the stage, rocking left to right from the pure excitement of tonight’s performance. He watched Logan with a far-away look, his eyes really examining how beautiful he could look even after a 2-hour performance and 16-hour plane ride. It didn’t seem fair, but as long as he got to look at him, he supposed it was okay.

“I know, he looks so pretty.”

Patton jumped slightly, relaxing when he saw it was only Roman, giving him a dopey smile.

“He really is. Did you see that thing he did for track four? It was so cool, I didn’t expect it! Oh, oh, and then Virgil just played off of that and started adding a bunch of riffs, and don’t even get me started on that run you did, it just all worked so perfectly-!”

Patton could’ve ranted for hours on end about how perfect his lovers always seemed to perform, but he stopped to match Roman’s love-sick grin.

“Thank you, sunshine. You were...simply exquisite tonight! How you dare to have so much talent and beauty in you still astonishes me to this day.”

Of course, Patton had unlocked sappy Roman. He giggled as Roman started peppering his face with kisses, trying to mumble back as many compliments as possible for every one of Roman’s admirations. He didn’t even notice that they had a crowd until someone cleared their throat, and he turned to see a smirking Virgil, already shaking his head.

“Only half an hour and you’re already all over each other?”

He teasingly poked, sitting on the other side of Patton while the other two shared a smile.

“Can you blame me? How am I supposed to do another 49 2-hour performances without kissing my talented and beautiful boyfriends?”

“It’s called self-control, love.”

Logan remarked as he walked over, locking his phone after presumably shooting a text to their manager. His tie was usually pulled down before performances for comfort, more of a stylistic choice, but the first few buttons of his shirt were also unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled, comfortable for helping the crew pack up.

“How am I supposed to have ‘self-control’ when I’m faced with such temptation?”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t stop Roman from pulling him in by his waist for a kiss. Logan’s hands came to wrap around his neck and they didn’t go far once separated, their hands intertwined as Logan joined their tiny circle.

“You did amazing tonight, Specs. I know you’ve been working on that for months.”

Virgil remarked, sending Logan a smile. Logan shrugged sheepishly as the other two showered him with similar affections. They had a habit of doing that, getting lost in their own little world that the only words they could understand were ‘I love you’.

It was a miracle they heard their manager at all.

“Great performance tonight, guys. The parking lot is practically buzzing with energy, y’all really didn’t hesitate for this first performance.”

The group shared smiles and ‘thank yous’ with their manager, before he pulled his usual serious face.

“I talked to the agency today-”

“And?”

Roman perked up immediately, not able to stop himself from his curiosity. They had proposed making their relationship public during the tour, talking about how excited their fans must be and how many people were already suspicious of them. Forcing them to be together for 2 whole hours without any displays of affection or words of love or looks of passion was pure torture, even if tonight was their first night. It just wasn’t fair. But from the resigned look that their manager gave them, they knew they had lost this fight again.

“-and...they’re thinking about it, really. They aren’t sponsoring this tour, but they...they threatened again. To end the contract if you didn’t ‘behave’, which would mean...an unforeseeable future after this tour. As much as I want you to be happy with one another and open about it, this could be your last tour if you’re not careful.”

The happy, underlying tones from the evening were starting to blur into the harsh reality of the business they were in. Of course, they knew they would face homophobes and backlash. Their sales may dip, their shows may not be fully packed, and, the most terrifying, in Roman’s opinion, they may not get re-signed with their label. Yes, Roman despised them with every fiber in his being, and he regretted convincing his boyfriends to make a band with him under that label everyday, but he couldn’t be completely mad when they helped pay his bills. The reality of the situation sucked, but it was honest. Their careers could be ruined by their relationship.

***

The squeak of his office chair and the soft noise of his bouncy ball hitting the ground every so often was the only noise heard within their hotel room. Roman had been trying to figure out a solution for their label issue that wouldn’t land in their careers being ruined, but so far, his mind had blanked the entire morning, not a single idea good enough to even be written down. 

He had tried, really, he had, so hard last night to reassure his boyfriends that everything would turn out okay, that they’d be able to be proud of who they were while also doing what they love. And he had finally made progress, getting all three of them out of bed to get breakfast from a nearby cafe, and in that time, Roman had been able to find every single flaw in his argument. He had pinpointed the exact moment he lost hope in ever being truly happy, and now, his brain was just a down spiral of what-if’s and fears. 

There was the underlying promise that they’d never be able to be public about their relationship without jeopardizing their entire careers, and even though Roman would lay everything down for his boyfriends, he had never seen them happier since they started performing.

It was kind of funny, how much they despised each other when they first met. Even Patton, who held so much love for them now that he almost felt like he was suffocating without showing it, had hated Roman’s guts, and Roman didn’t blame him. He was an arrogant, loud, cocky teenager with the perfect voice but the worst attitude. He sassed anybody and everybody that came to his competitions that he found at least a tiny bit threatening, and when he saw Logan, he knew instantly that they could never be friends.

Logan was a stuck-up, booksmart, angry nerd that never got along with Roman to begin with, but when he started playing the ever-predictable violin at a competition, Roman had practically led the crowd to booing him offstage.

The next week, when Virgil had mustered up enough courage to play piano at a competition, Roman was a little more generous at how nervous he seemed, but didn’t think twice about embarrassing him once he was off stage, mockingly babying him until he left.

Patton had showed up at the competition at the end of the month, and Roman had already seen how much fun he would have tormenting him. He was a too-nice-for-his-own-good kind of kid, with a smile that seemed too rehearsed, and Roman hated how well he was able to talk to the judges after singing a song. Singing was Roman’s thing, so he went all out for his performance, purposely using Patton’s performance as an example of what one shouldn’t do on stage. 

Roman was an absolute bitch.

And he regretted it, he regretted it to this day, despite his boyfriends constant attempts to reassure him that they were just kids, they were just young stupid teens that were all terrified of what people thought of them. Because Roman didn’t mean to be rude, but that’s the only way he knew to survive, after years of being in the same toxic friend group. When Virgil had stumbled upon Roman’s friends, it all seemed to click, and he still held a certain degree of resentment against him for bullying him. But when he told Logan and Patton, who he had managed to befriend, he had never seen Patton switch so quickly.

He organized a day for them all to hang out, despite all of their protests, and even though Roman really didn’t want to at the time, he still showed up. They talked and talked, growing more and more comfortable with one another as the time passed. At some point, Logan had asked Roman for critiques, but genuine critiques. No comparing performances, no school-yard name calling, and no rude names. Just genuine notes that Roman thinks can genuinely improve their performances. Because, even though young Logan never would’ve admitted it, Roman knew how to win those competitions.

So Roman did. He gave them notes. He talked about how talented they were (probably for a little too long, but he won’t say admit that) and how they could improve a bit of stage performance. That meant different things to all of them, but one day, Roman invited them over to his house to hang out again. Because this time, he would prove it to them. Yes, they were talented. Just at different things.

So when Patton played the bass like he was born playing, when Logan was able to find the beat of a song after only two seconds, and when Virgil was able to find all the notes on a guitar in record time, Roman knew they had found their element. It wasn’t that they weren’t talented. It was that they were talented in different things.

Roman almost didn’t hear his boyfriends return until the hotel door clicked close, and he looked up. They all looked varying degrees of concern, but after coming straight out of a daydream, there was a flash of them when they were still just kids. Smiling, ignorant, hopeful kids. The ones he fell in love with. 

“Ro? Are you okay?”

Patton approached him slowly, picking up a few of the crumpled up pieces of paper that Roman had thrown everywhere, throwing them away before placing his hands on Roman’s shoulders. Logan and Virgil joined shortly after, placing their breakfast on the table before Virgil sat on the floor next to Roman’s chair, holding his hand, and Logan stood in front of him, taking the other hand and placing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“Yeah….yeah I’m okay, now.”

Patton sighed out in relief, resting his forehead on Roman’s neck. Roman pulled on Logan’s hand until their foreheads were touching, and he squeezed Virgil’s hand. This is what he truly loved. Sure, the feeling of pure energy coursing through his body after a performance was wonderful. But just being here, existing with his loves, kissing them whenever he pleased and telling them, openly, about how much he loved them? That was a feeling that could never be replaced.

So screw the label, and the sales, and the homophobes, and all the people that’ll try to end his career. Roman was happy with his loves, and nothing could ever stop him from showing it.

“I...I have an idea for our performance tonight.”

***

Roman’s nerves were shot with pure adrenaline and he couldn’t believe this was real life. Standing on an entirely new stage in a different part of California, his hand on his mic, the cheering and pure excitement after completing their first song. It was like a drug to Roman, but the giddiness of what he was about to do next was partly to blame for his contagious smile and random giggling.

“Good evening, LA! How’re you doing tonight?”

Cheers and laughs were repeated back to him and Roman laughed out of sheer nervousness, his hands subtly shaking, but he was able to play it off.

“So tonight is actually a really special evening! You may not know why yet, but after this next song, you definitely will! It’s brand new, we’ve actually all been working on it for weeks, and we’re so excited to share it with you, called Still into You. So, this next song is dedicated to them.”

Excited squeals burst around Roman’s brain, and he smiled, nodding at the tech crew backstage. It was like a movie reel, a countdown from three and they started singing, their hands a bit jumpy from nerves but still perfectly combined to feel right. Pictures started flashing up on the screen behind them all, first of all of them as kids, getting to know each other all the way to high school. Pictures of a young Roman winning his first singing award, Logan and Patton’s first duet. Their first ever performance as a band was during a talent show, junior year. The crowd laughed and smiled at each photo, dancing along to the melodic singing of all of them together, but then came Roman’s favorite moment. 

Logan’s drumming started to quiet down, and all you could hear within the room was their instruments humming out the heart of the song and Roman’s voice.

“I’m into you. Baby, not a day goes by that I’m not into you! I should be over all the butterflies-!”

And just like that, it all came back, Virgil and Patton joining him on harmonies. And the pictures changed, and suddenly there was some understanding. Because the first photo, after Roman’s high note, was all four of them. Holding one another. And another, of them kissing. And another, more affectionate, more domestic, more loving than the world had ever seen them. And cheers could be heard, of excitement, of passion, of understanding, as everybody finally got a peek into their last few years. 

By the time they finished, the crowd was cheering louder than Roman even thought was possible. He was smiling, bigger than he ever had on stage, and he laughed out of the pure relief he felt of finally being able to say it. He loved them. He loved them with his entire being, and he wouldn’t ever try to hide it again. The crowd quieted only somewhat to let him speak, and when he did, he had to clear his throat to not tear up.

“The last four years of my life, I have never been so happy as I am with my boyfriends. And to say that they’re the loves of my life doesn’t even begin to cover how much I love them. Because I do. I fucking love them!”

The pure adrenaline coursing through their veins was reciprocated with so much support that all four of them couldn’t help but smile.

So no, Roman wasn’t worried about his career, or what he’d do at the end of the tour. What he cared about was that the entire world knew that he had found his soulmates. And he would never stop loving them.

[nothing-fancy94]

TDR Valentines Special

Hey guys! Whew! I made it before the day ended! Here’s a special little gift, exclusive to my tumblr followers. A little bitter sweet short story of Amy while in the cadet program. I wrote this quickly and didn’t proof read, so my apologies for the errors. Hope you enjoy!

And if you’re new to my stories check them out on Fanfiction, here’s a link to the one this short is taken from: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13221856/1/Team-Dark-s-Rose

...

Valentine’s Special

~Valentines Day - 7 months ago~

The sun had set early, but that hadn’t stopped the throngs of Mobian lovers from clogging the streets of Station Square like a fat heart’s artery. Amy Rose glared at the passing couples as they giggled in their respective pink bubbles. She was sitting at a cafe, books and papers laid out around her as she studied for her next exam at G.U.N. and she now regretted leaving the cadet dormitories. She hadn’t wanted to stay there with the possibility of her roommate distracting her, but now she would take the incessant chatter of tech and inventions any day over the mewlings and giggles that filtered through the air.

She had forgotten… She Amy Rose, the love sick Sonic fanatic had forgotten it was Valentine’s Day. She sighed and closed the book in front of her, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be getting anything done. She packed up her study materials, ordered a latte to go, and took to the streets taking small sips of the hot beverage. As she passed window display after window display of pink and red hearts, she wondered how it was possible that the holiday had approached without so much as a thought in her mind. The commercial industry literally shoved it down consumers throats beginning in January, and the buzz of the female agents would’ve been focused on who was asking who out to see the new Needlemouse Movie that was debuting tonight. She had somehow managed not to hear any of it, or hadn’t registered the meaning.

Or I was deliberately avoiding the subject.

The thought hit her like a sledgehammer, and she paused in her walk. That’s right… it hadn’t been that she wasn’t exposed to it, she had blocked it entirely from her mind, due to certain events in her life. Mainly the subject of her affection hating her. It was only two years ago that she had spent the whole month of February planning extravagant presents and formulating a plan of attack to get Sonic the Hedgehog to go on a date with her. Last year she had found some time to leave him gifts at his headquarters, but this year she couldn’t even do that. Not after the fight they’d just had… not after she had completely pushed him away. Burning any chance she had at even being his friend.

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and she wanted to fall into the ground, she wanted these feelings to go numb. She wouldn’t even care if it meant she could never love again, because what she was feeling now felt like dark, heavy clouds of despair that just would not dissipate. She wanted to scream, wanted to punch that couple that sat just a few feet from her. Wanted them to feel the same pain as her, because how dare they get to have something that was forever out of her reach.

The couple must’ve sensed the murderous aura because the girl looked over and her eyes widened in fear. Amy’s face was twisted in a devious grin, and her eyes were brimming with tears, but she looked anything but sad. She looked more like an insane person ready to tear apart the next person who gave her a side glance. The girl whipped her head around and tugged aggressively at her boyfriend’s sleeve before urging them to leave.

Amy watched them go, a thick armor of anger protecting her from feeling anything else. Once they were out of sight, she tossed her half drunk latte into the trash, and shoved her hands into the grey G.U.N. hoodie she wore. This was pathetic, here she was, moping around and acting like a mental patient. She turned and was about to head back to the barracks when a bright neon sign caught her eye. It was a human holding a bat, and hitting a small white ball. The words read ‘Batting Cage,’ and below it was a sign that was black with red writing.

‘Single and bitter? Join us for Solo Hits! Break last year’s record and earn a prize! Singles Only!’

Amy stared at it for a  moment and then she grinned, an evil light glinting within. This seemed interesting… at least it would kill some time before she returned.

She entered the establishment, and walked up to the teenage rat that was leaning casually behind the counter. His bare muzzle was a minefield of angry zits, and his whiskers were tangled and oily from lack of care. Amy walked up to the counter and slammed some paper rings onto the counter and tapped her foot impatiently. The rat was wearing a green polo and shorts, and when he saw her - an attractive female hedgehog - he straightened up and patted at the wrinkles in his shirt. Flecks of unknown food crumbs fell to the floor. 

“How can I help you miss?”

Amy smiled as sweetly as she could muster and pointed to the sign behind him that advertised their single night deal.

“I’d like to participate in the single challenge.”

The rodent looked her up and down, obviously doubting that she was alone, but when no male companion walked through the doors, he reached below the counter and pulled out a helmet and pink bat. 

“Here ya go miss, don’t worry about the high score, I can just give you a prize anyway.”

He winked, and tried at a smizing smile that came off as a sneer. Amy wanted to curse his snide little face. How dare he assume she couldn’t do as well as any male in the place. She was tired of people looking down on her abilities, so she decided to teach this little asshole and any other male watching, that she wasn’t some weak girl in need of handouts. Amy narrowed her eyes slightly, and started to put her long quills into a ponytail. Still smiling with fake honey, she giggled,

“Oh I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble…”

“It’s nothing at all miss,” The rat said, his chest puffing out, easily falling into her trick. She giggled again, her high pitched tone reaching into the depths of the place. Suddenly the sharp tings! of balls hitting metal bats slowed until several single males were peeking out from their cages, their animal instincts reacting to her feminane presence. 

“Oh you’re so silly!” She exclaimed, and put the helmet on, and grabbing the bat, “Just out of curiosity, what is the score? I’ll try to get close so you won’t get in too much trouble.”

“15,000 points miss, you get 50 points for a hit and 100 for a home run. But if you get 3 strikes you’re out.”

“I see,” Amy freigned disappointment at the impossible odds, and the males around her started to feel a bit antsy.

“Don’t worry little gal,” a large armadillo interjected from the cage next to the one she was standing by, “I’ve gotten the closest, 7,350. I know I’ll get it this round, my prize will be yours.”

Amy turned, her eyes wide and sparkling, “Really? You’d do that for me?”

The armadillo blushed, and scratched the back of his head, “Oh it’s no thing at all. Though I wouldn’t mind if the little lady would join me after for a drink.”

Amy smiled sweetly, and entered her batting cage, leaning her bat against the fence that separated them. “Well aren’t you just a gentleman.”

Her voice was light and bubbly but as her face angled away from him, a dark smirk wrinkled her muzzle and she took off her helmet to remove her hoodie, not wanting to become hot and uncomfortable. The males in the immediate area completely left their cages and crowded around with wide eyes and drooling mouths. All Amy had on beneath her hoodie was a workout bra, as she had planned to hit the GYM after studying, and her body was sculpted to perfection from the past year of training.

Amy turned and looked at the armadillo who looked as though a meteorite had just fallen from the sky in front of him.

“I have a better idea. Let’s make a bet, if I don’t break the record then I’ll go out for a drink with you. But if I do, then you have to fulfill my wish.”

The male blinked for a second, before a shit eating grin developed on his face. To him this was a piece of cake. There was no way this small hedgehog girl could break the record, and even if she did, there was no way she wouldn’t ask for something that was easy to fulfill.

“Okay then doll, you got a deal!”

“Oh wonderful!” Amy jumped up with enthusiasm, her ponytail bouncing and the eyes of several males went up and down to follow her path. 

She put her helmet on once more, and lifted the bat, putting it on one shoulder and then the other. Then she turned to the males watching and awkwardly smiled, “Aww, jeez… this is my first time.”

This caused a roll of laughter to filter through the place, and the armadillo smiled triumphantly. Amy tapped the opposite side of the plate, and crouched down, waiting for the ball to come whizzing past the plate. When it did, it flew by without even the threat of a swing and slammed into the backboard. She heard chuckles from behind her, and a male say, “Wow dude! Looks like you’re gonna get luuuuucky tonight!”

Amy smiled, and waited as the second ball came, but this time she purposely waited until the ball passed the plate before swinging.

“Oh Chaos! This is hard! Can I take back my bet?” She asked innocently looking behind her at the armadillo. The brown male folded his arms, and shook his head his mouth split in a smile from ear to ear.

“No take backs sweetheart. You’re only as good as your word.”

“You’re mean,” Amy huffed, and the surrounding men mockingly joined her with sympathy. She turned and began to wag the bat as she waited for the third ball. This time she hit it, and it went flying out of sight. She stood on her tip toes as she watched it soar through the air and hit the large red wall that marked the home run area. Her score board flashed and the words ‘Homerun!’ flashed in pale yellow lights. This time there was silence behind her, and she smirked in glee. 

“Wow! Is that good?”

The males mumbled and the armadillo nervously chuckled, “Yeah doll… but don't get your hopes up. It was probably beginner's lu -”

TING! 

Another homerun. Amy wanted to laugh out loud at the hushed exclamations of disbelief behind her, but she had a record that needed breaking. She settled in and got to work.

...

“156,200 points! New record!”

TING!

“156,300 Points! New record!”

Amy was beginning to feel a little worn out so she decided it was time to stop. Besides she’d blown the record out of the water. She stepped back and fanned herself as the ball flew harmlessly across the plate and a voice came over the intercom, “Strike 3, you’re outta here!”

She huffed, and pulled the helmet from her head, her jade eyes bright and her quills splayed in a sweaty mess behind her. 

“Whew!” She exclaimed, and continued to fan herself as she excited her cage, walking past the throngs of males that had gathered around her. They parted like the red sea as the little pink hedgehog walked through, her tail wagging happily. The batting cages were the quietest they had been since it’s opening; not a single metal ting could be heard. Amy walked up to the counter, the teenage rat stood with his mouth wide open and his whiskers twitching in disbelief. Behind him stood a large skunk male who had a managers pin on his broad chest.

Amy stood at the counter, and slammed the bat and helmet on the table. She smiled genuinely, and felt elated at her accomplishment. She hadn't felt this good in years.

"So… I believe I'm owed a prize."

The manager made a sound that was close to a coughing chuckle and he walked forward.

"Well little lady, I do believe you are."

The male was smirking and he pulled out a gold ring from the cash register. It had a baseball embedded in it.

"This allows you to come here for free as long as your record holds… and by my guess, that's going to be quite a while."

The skunk was smiling knowingly and his blue eyes sparkled with humor. Amy smiled back, took the ring and stuck out her hand.

"Name's Amy Rose, just wanted to introduce myself to you since I'll probably be seeing you a lot from now on."

His grin widened and he took her hand in his, "Its a pleasure Ms Rose. My name is Ronni, and if any of these knuckle heads give you trouble, you let me know. Hey! Randy, get your ass over here!"

The armadillo cautiously made his way through the crowd, his hands rubbing against each other nervously.

"Yeah Ronni?"

The skunk smiled and crossed his arms.

"I do believe you owe this miss a wish. And I hope you won't back out."

"That's right," Amy said mischievously, "No take backs, and you're only as good as your word."

The armadillo gulped, visible sweat glistening on his temple. He tried at a smile but his voice cracked as he spoke.

"W-what is it that you want?"

Amy smiled her jade eyes brighter than the sun. 

"Well, if you'd be so kind as to follow me to the tattoo parlor next door, I'll tell ya."

...

Amy was practically skipping down the street, her lips split in a wide grin, and her ponytail swinging wildly. If she looked insane before because of her anger, she now looked completely mental with a flower growing out of her head. She couldn't get the image of Randy's face as he stared at his new tattoo on his chest, a red rose with the words 'I lost to Amy Rose,' around it. 

Without realizing it, her feet had lead her to the one place she never thought she'd find herself. Instantly the smile melted from her face, and her eyes went blank. All her early joy was instantly sucked out of her chest and she was left standing before the large building with colorful circles like an empty husk. There were piles of presents and boxes, stuffed Sonics and flowers, piles of letters that surely confessed many a females love. 

She felt her stomach do flip flops, and her throat twist. Curse this heart that only beat for a blue blur, curse these feet that always led her back to him. Back to the one who could cause her to feel higher than the moon, and lower than the dirt with just a word. 

She wanted to just leave, to just go home and forget she was ever there. But then the door opened and her heart screamed to run across the street. Sonic stood outside the headquarters, his jean jacket hanging on his arm. He was looking around in what seemed to be shock, but then he started to move through the piles. He tossed boxes behind him, flipped over envelopes looking at names, and when he had finished making his way through all the piles he stood back with an unreadable expression on his face. 

She couldn't look away, people passed her, cars moved and honked between them, but she felt like she was right next to him. She closed her eyes and she could smell him, feel his breath on the chilly night air and hear his chuckle as she presented him with some extravagant gift. She slowly opened her eyes once more, but he was gone, disappeared into the night.

Amy sighed, and turned but against her wishes she felt her body moving across the street. Her backpack slowly moved to the front, and she didn't take her eyes off the doors while her hands riffled through the contents of her back. Fingers grasping hesitantly on a pen, and a crumpled corner of a scrape piece of paper.

She reached the doors, and crouched down, her fingers trembling as she scribbled out three words. She didn't sign it, she didn't leave anything else, she didn't want him to know it was her. For the first time in her life, she didn't want him to know her feelings. She stood when it was finished, and ran from the building, a tear finally falling from her eye, those words pasted to the inside of her eyelids. Words she knew she would never be able to speak out loud again... not to Sonic, not to anyone.

I love you.