#being an asshole and a mother is a full time job

[cheesecakethots]

“Whore.”

You could’ve sworn the teacup in your hands cracked a little from how hard you’re gripping it. If you were Illumi, it would’ve shattered into a fine powder by now. But you’re not, which makes you susceptible to being called such things.

They’re at it again. You’re unsure as to what you’ve done to upset some of the butlers and maids, but god do they not like you. No matter. You hate everyone in this stupid boring ugly manor anyway. Huh. Maybe that’s why they hate you, too.

It must’ve been a shock to see Illumi of all people one day bring home his future wife. One he never cared to mention to anyone else beforehand, and one that was still kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

You’re not really sure how long you’ve been here. Months? A year now? However long it’s been, it didn’t take anytime at all to realise that maybe you’re not as safe here as Illumi swears you to be. His mother most definitely hates you, but, oh well, she’s never really tried anything, as far as you know.

The help started muttering things when Illumi wasn’t around, things that hurt more than you wanted to admit. When you didn’t go running off to Illumi at the first few instances of it, it got worse, as though they knew you would never tell him about it.

First off, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being your saviour when someone says mean things to you. Secondly, you may hate these assholes, but you have a conscience.

Only last week Illumi came into your shared bedroom, absolutely drenched in blood, asking if you could shower together. You quickly found out that whoever he had been torturing wasn’t dead yet, and he still had more to do.

Thinking about what Illumi does to people he doesn’t care about, those he’s only hurting for a job, makes you shiver at the thought of him actually harming someone who did him, or you, wrong. But, despite your mercy on them, this time you’re considering just telling him. Only a little.

You’ve had a notably stressful day, being pranced around by his mother who’s insistent on ‘training’ you to be the perfect wife for her son. Her explaining to you that the family expects at least six children from you both had you rushing to the bathroom to vomit.

Then you ran into his father, on your way back to your room. He doesn’t seem to actively dislike you, but he scares the absolute shit out of you. The man seems to think you’re some house pet rather than an actual person with thoughts and feelings, but you suppose that’s only a modicum better than wanting you dead.

You also bumped into Illumi’s grandfather. You’re not sure if you can bring yourself to hate him, but you do hate the look of pity in his eyes whenever he sees you. Sometimes he’ll save you from a lecture Illumi’s mother is giving you, so he’s nice in that regard. He’d never free you, though, so he’s just another kidnapper you can’t become friendly with.

You eventually got back to your room, expecting a nice nap before being forced to attend family dinner, only to find Illumi had gotten back earlier than expected. You cringed at how hungry he was, and not for food, but just allowed him to do as he wished. You were too tired to argue. After he was done, he seemed to take note of how quiet and exhausted you were. Too bad, dinner time. You hated dinner times more than anything else.

You ate the admittedly lovely food in pure silence, but quickly became sick to your stomach at hearing Illumi and his mother discuss the prospects of you becoming pregnant. You didn’t eat anymore after that. You’re pretty sure his brother, Milluki, made some comment about you that Illumi didn’t like, which explains why his wrist got snapped in half a few seconds later.

Illumi tried spoon feeding you when noticing how full your plate was, but you managed to convince him that you weren’t hungry. That got you another lecture from his mother about how you’ll soon be eating for two. You were tempted to tell her that if you ever got pregnant you’d throw yourself into Mike’s jaws, but managed to refrain.

After that, you finally got to go to bed. It wasn’t something you were looking forward to anymore; you struggled to sleep when Illumi was home because he’d spend the majority of the night just staring at you.

“Can I go outside?”

You don’t remember why you blurted it or where the thought came from, but you remember the confused blink Illumi gave in response.

“Um.. just for.. ten minutes? O-Or five..? I just want to sit in the garden by myself for a bit… If not, it’s alright..”

You hated how pathetic you sounded, unsure as to what Illumi was thinking when he stared at you with that expressionless face.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Would you like me to ask a maid to bring you out a cup of tea?”

You didn’t really think about his words too much, just happy you got something your way for once, and nodded rather enthusiastically. You should’ve said no.

The first few minutes of being in the garden, sat on the bench and allowing the cool nights breeze to settle on your skin had you relaxing for the first time in a while.

“Your tea, mistress.”

Oh. It was one of the ones you were sure hated you, and behind him was another. Oh, well. You took the tea from his hands, thanking them nonetheless.

It was much more bitter than you liked it, but you didn’t complain. You didn’t really want tea in the first place. They didn’t leave, but you didn’t complain. Illumi probably asked them to watch over you, maybe to make sure you didn’t try to run. It’s alright, you still have a nice view to relax with.

“Whore.”

Your eyes widen a little, and your grip on the cup increases. They continue muttering amongst themselves, but you catch small, demeaning phrases that you’re certain are aimed at you.

Why are you a whore? You’d never even had sex before you met Illumi, and if you had, it wouldn’t be their business. You’re hardly allowed to interact with anyone other than who Illumi allows you to. Where would you have the chance to sleep around? The insult doesn’t make much sense.

That’s what you tell yourself, despite the fact that your shoulders and hands are shaking and you feel something cold and wet running down your cheeks.

Shit.

You put the cup on the floor, hands moving to cover your face and wipe away any evidence of tears. Illumi hated when you cried.

Why are you still crying? What they said doesn’t make any sense. Stop crying, enjoy the view. You don’t have long left before you have to go back inside.

You’re still crying. You don’t notice that it’s gone eerily silent aside from your own muffled sobs, too busy working on shutting yourself up.

“[Name].”

Shit. Shit!

He’s been sat next to you for god knows how long now, and you didn’t even realise. God, this sucks.

“Why are you crying?” Illumi asks, and you can feel him move closer to you on the bench.

“I-I’m not,” you say, a hand still covering your eyes. What excuse do you give? If you say hay fever will he never let you out in the garden again? If you say you have a cold, will he keep you inside your bedroom for a few weeks? Months?

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him staring at you.

“Would you like to stay outside for a bit longer?”

Oh.

“Ye-Yeah. Y-Yes please,” you eventually reply, gulping down another sob.

He doesn’t leave, but you’re less bothered by his presence than usual. Despite it being… him, it’s not horrible to have some company, even though you’d never admit it out loud.

You’re not sure how long you sit outside before he stands, prompting you to do the same. Neither of you say anything, not until you reach your bedroom and Illumi tells you in a tone softer than you’d usually hear from him that he has something he must do, so you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

You turn to go to bed, but he grabs your wrist. He doesn’t look at you for a moment, seemingly considering something. Then, he stiffly leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead rather robotically. Sometimes you wonder if he is a robot, it really would explain a lot.

The kiss ends soon after it begins.

“Get some rest. You look bad.”

You huff a little, but can’t bring yourself to actually be offended due to the thinly veiled concern in his tone.

The sleep you get is better than you expected. Maybe not having a mass murderer eyeing you up while you try and rest is a reason for that.

Illumi doesn’t show up for the entirety of the next day, which is a little strange. He likes seeing you off in the morning, giving you a kiss before he departs - you’re certain he copied it from a romance movie you used to enjoy watching from time to time. You don’t question his absence too much, you don’t exactly enjoy his company, after all.

The day you have is better than the last. Illumi’s mother seems to be a bit less of a bitch than usual. That’s a win in your book.

It doesn’t take long for you to be back in your warm bed, wrapped up in covers and drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to the feeling of something wet hitting the tip of your nose, and quiet breathing above you.

“Are you awake?”

You are now. It’s pitch black in the room, but you can make out Illumi looming over, his hair framing around you like some makeshift cage.

Still sleepy, you groan a little, “Illumi? What… time is it?”

Something wet hits the bed.

“2:57 AM.”

Huh. You breathe in through your nose. Illumi absolutely reeks. Metallic, is it? You’re not sure it’s the best idea to comment on it.

“Oh. Okay.”

Another drip of something onto the blanket. He doesn’t seem to be in the talking mood.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“… Yes.”

Another.

You gulp. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t think so.”

Another drip, this time it hits your arm.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes narrow in the darkness.

“No.”

The silence is deafening. Your hands clutch onto the end of the blanket. He leans impossibly closer, and the stench of whatever is on him becomes all to familiar. He’s smelt like it before, but never this strong.

“How long were the help bothering you?”

“Since I got here.” There’s little point in trying to lie about it now.

“If you hide something from me again I’ll break three of your fingers.”

A little specific, but the threat certainly does the job.

“Okay. I’m… sorry.” You’re not.

Finally, he pulls away, eyes still trained on your face.

“Go to sleep.”

You don’t. You’re certain that you can’t, at least not for tonight. Especially not after hearing him turn the shower on, and after he’s done leave the room once more.

Instead, you sit and stare at the ceiling, and wonder if any of those in the basement will even have three fingers left of them, by the time he’s done.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[miraclewoozi]

hi j!! congratulations on 500!! can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you :) hope you’re having a lovely day! just wanted to send in a request:

❛ don’t be a stranger, okay? ❜ from the fluff list with woozi?

it’s no pressure though! thank you so much <33 mwah

LEE JIHOON, YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT I.T GUY. - l.jh

pair : jihoon x gn!reader prompt : “ don’t be a stranger, okay? ” wc : 2.3k heads up : coworker!jihoon. fluff. kinda silly.  notes : HI BESTIE thank u sm for sending this in!!!! i hope you like it.<3 notes 2.0 : everyone deserves an emotional support IT guy, in my unprofessional opinion. i also think that 100% of those should be woozi.

You knew Jihoon was leaving. You’ve had a lot of time to prepare for this: he told you before he even handed in his resignation that he had accepted a job offer elsewhere. But despite trying everything in your power (including, but not limited to, bribery, begging and three whole days of the cold shoulder), his decision didn’t change. When you gave him a full lecture about abandonment and betrayal, and the fact that nobody else in your work’s IT department comes close to solving some of the shit that happens with your computer…

He had the audacity to fucking laugh. 

In your moment of desperation. Your hour of need. Practically begging on your knees (all right, he was stood next to your desk while you were looking up at him from your office chair) for him not to leave you high and dry like this, he patted you on the shoulder and chuckled as he told you that you’d be fine. As if this wasn’t actually, literally, the end of the world. 

Asshole. 

And okay, whatever, maybe Jihoon isn’t ‘just’ the only person on the tech team who understands that you’ve been followed by a curse when it comes to computers since you were in middle school. Maybe he isn’t just so good at his job that him leaving has the potential to ruin your ability to do yours.

Maybe... it’s a little bit deeper than that.

You first met nearly five years ago, when he was brand new. In his first week, he came stumbling into your office, bleary eyed and coffee in hand, at 8:15 on a Monday morning to try and ‘fix’ your PC. After about 6 seconds of fumbling, your screens came to life and he flushed as he told you that a cable on one of your monitors had just come loose. Ever since, you’ve been totally taken with him: with his frowny concentrating face, his pretty, nimble fingers, his quietly delivered jokes. The way he always goes pink when the older ladies in your office coo over him and how he splutters when they tease you for practically being work-married, by now.

Not least because he’s a very nice guy, and you find him so easy to talk to, and now? Now he's leaving you. 

The guy who brings you snacks on days you have to work through your lunch breaks. The guy who comes by just to make sure you’re not about to dive out of a second floor window on a Wednesday afternoon. One of the special few people you choose to hang out with outside of work. He’s the man who meets you for coffee some weekends and lets you complain about the fact that the next closest person in your department to you in age could still be your mother, while he complains to you about bossy executives who escalate their IT jobs to a ‘critical incident’ after just five minutes. Jihoon is the guy who has brought you a silly gift to decorate your desk with every birthday and Christmas since you met. The guy who picks you up (with breakfast) when your car is in the shop getting work done. 

He even pretended to be your boyfriend one year when Johnny from accounting started to make moves on you during the annual Christmas function. (Perhaps him posessively keeping a hand on your thigh every minute you were sat down next to each other made it the best night of your life.)

All this to say… he gets you. He always has. Your weird little friendship with him works, and even though you still get butterflies every time you see him, you’ve never felt so comfortable with a colleague before. You can ignore your little crush when you start thinking about your devastation over him being gone soon. Your feelings have no part to play in Jihoon being someone you trust, someone who helps you immeasurably: someone who makes your working life a little more bearable. 

What on Earth are you going to do without him?

His last day has rolled around faster than you know what to do with, and at 3:30 on Friday afternoon, like clockwork, his head appears around your office door. An apologetic smile replaces the cheeky one he usually wears when he shows up, and you narrow your eyes at him before telling him to go away.

“Charming as ever,” he laughs, sliding into your office anyway and making a beeline for you, waving at the people who glance up and greet him. He leans against your desk and you sit back finally, crossing your arms. 

“I’m busy,” you lie, frowning at your screen. You finished everything you needed to do about ten minutes ago, but you’re not about to let him — or anyone, for that matter — know so. You’ve worked hard to master the art of looking occupied and you’re deploying every tactic you know: there’s no way you’re going to get five more projects added to your to-do list this close to home-time. “Traitor.”

“Last thing on a Friday? Like hell you are,” Jihoon chuckles, leaning down and looking at your screen too, speaking quietly enough to ensure no one around you can to hear him. 

“Blow my cover and I’ll slash your tyres,” you playfully threaten under your breath. “I’ve already rejected a meeting request this afternoon.”

“Well, aren’t you a team player,” he quips, rolling his eyes before he sits back upright and says louder, “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to drop this off.”

He places a small brown bag on top of a neatly stacked pile of paperwork on the left hand side of your desk and gestures for you to look inside. When you do, you know your attempt at a stoic gaze starts to soften and you look up at him again with a saddened pout. 

“Hey,” you say quietly. “You can’t do this to me, I’m fragile enough already.”

It’s just a muffin, for crying out loud. He’s been bringing you these from the bakery across the street every week, for as many weeks as you can remember. But something about him doing it on his last day makes your heart beat out a funny little pattern and you bite the inside of your lip as he shakes his head. 

His hair is tied low today with a few pieces left out to frame his face: it softens him, giving him a bit of a curtain to hide behind, but you can still see his cheeks flush as he glances away from you. You slip your hand into the bag and pull the muffin out, setting it on your desk and peeling the paper back. 

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Jihoon says, momentarily stopping you as you rummage through your desk drawer for the cutlery set you keep wrapped up in there. You just wanted a knife so you could cut it in two. You just wanted to share this last little treat with him.

There are a million ways you could respond. Last-ditch attempts at telling him to retract his notice to leave. Advise that it’s his own fault. Pretend like you’re not going to be miserable here without him. To name but a few. 

But the fact that he’s picked up, and started to play with, the little fidget cube you keep by your pen holder for particularly boring Teams calls tells you that he isn’t saying it in the way he does when you’re taking a week off to go on vacation.

His thumbs rhythmically play with the little clicking buttons on one side and you pull the blunt knife free from the plastic bag hidden beneath your favourite notebook. Instead of teasing him, you cut the muffin equally and pick up one piece, holding it out to him.

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

He eyes you to make sure you’re certain before he takes the slice out of your hand and holds it in his fingers. You pick up the other piece and extend it towards him, bumping the two halves together in a mock ‘cheers’ for the time you’ve spent together. 

You take bites from the muffin in unison and you know the zesty lemon flavour spills onto his tongue at the same time as it does yours. Soft hums come from the both of you and Jihoon tilts his head back for emphasis, too, sighing contentedly after he swallows. 

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” You ask of him, laying the paper bag down flat and putting your own piece on top of it. “I mean it. You better not forget about me.”

“As if I ever could,” he says.

“You might, if there’s someone at your new job more pitiful than I am,” you counter. “You’ll have a replacement ‘me’ quicker than you can blink.”

Jihoon laughs, setting what’s left of his half of the muffin down too and dusting the crumbs off his fingers into the trash can at your side. 

“Trust me,” he starts, folding his arms. The subtle flex of his muscle makes the shirt he’s wearing tighten around his biceps and you glance down at them, at how his sleeves are pushed up to the elbows and his long, delicate fingers lay over the neatly folded cotton. “My eyes are up here. Trust me — I don’t want a 'replacement you'.”

You know your eyes go wide as he calls you up for staring and you look at his face immediately, at the coy smile he’s wearing, at the way the tips of his ears — just visible through the way his hair separates — are dusted pink. You just nod. He takes another bite, savours, and swallows it before talking again.

“So, I actually… kind of lied? There’s another reason I came down here, uh—”

You know this catches the attention of your office’s resident blabbermouth by the way her eyebrows pick up from a few desks in front of you and you tap his hip with the back of your hand, darting your eyes towards the door quickly to hush him. Jihoon catches your drift, nods, and stands up; you lock your computer and lead him out. When you’re in the hallway, door secured (and checked) behind you, he turns to face you again, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Okay,” Jihoon nods, tilting his head forwards for a second to gather his thoughts before he shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks back up at you. “I-… I know HR have this whole thing about, like… internal… relationships, and- and stuff? So I didn’t ever… you know—”

You hold your breath, clasping your hands behind you in the hopes he doesn’t see how they start twitching. His own, you realise, are deep in the pockets of his slacks. For the same reason?

“I wanted to. Trust me. For— shit, for so long, but I didn’t know if you’d go for it, and I really didn’t want to have, like… anyway — uh-…”

The blush that was formerly only given away by its presence on his ears has migrated to his cheeks now, and is starting to spread dangerously towards his temples and down his neck. He keeps glancing everywhere around your head, as if he’s chasing pixies in the air with his eyes. It's adorable, but...

“And… I guess what I wanted to say, is—”

“Yes,” you say before he can finish. He’s never been the most outgoing but you’ve still never seen Jihoon fall over his words like this before; you’re starting to feel agonised by how long it’s taking him to get to the point. 

(Especially when said point is what you’ve been waiting a small lifetime for.)

“I didn’t even ask—”

“You didn’t have to,” you laugh. He breaks into a chuckle as well. His shoulders relax. He exhales through his pretty, pursed lips. 

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, finally, thumb tapping against his forearm. 

“Free as a bird, actually.”

“I’ll pick you up at 7?” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

He lifts one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, still laughing, screwing up his eyes and his nose in a way that makes him look entirely too kissable. You have to forcibly remind yourself that there’s nothing you can do about that right now, though, that someone could walk through that door any second and technically, he still works here until 5:30pm today.

Tomorrow night? Well. That’ll be a different story.

“I’ll let you go back to clicking through your emails,” he says then, pushing off from the wall. “Text me later?”

“Keep your voice down,” you grin, settling your hand back on the doorknob. “Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Jihoon bites his bottom lip as he nods and starts to back away, ultimately beginning on the walk back to his own department. You, however, need to let yourself calm down before you can so much as think about going back into your office: you fan your face with your hands and take a couple of deep breaths first, and only when you’re sure that there are no visible signs of glee left on your face do you re-enter, walking as nonchalantly to your desk as you can and pretending like every middle-aged, bespectacled set of eyes aren’t waiting for you to spill the gossip. 

You don’t need to spill anything, though. Pressed to the bottom of your keyboard, clear as day, — he must have done this as soon as you stood up — is a bright yellow Post-It. His immediately recognisable — but almost illegible — handwriting in the thick, black felt-tipped pens he always uses decorates the note, accompanied by a signature smiley face in the top corner. 

The ink is dry. The paper is a little curled. He wrote this before he came to find you, the giddy voice in your brain tells you. The words he’s written down only heighten that feeling. 

He gets you. He always has.

Don’t be a stranger, okay? Miss you already. - J.

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.&lt;3

[lemmetreatya]

rent-a-boyfriend!zeke whos the absolute fucking worst when it comes to doing his job. not like he does his job badly — in fact, he does his job too well sometimes! the issue is that hes lovely with everyone else but a pain to you and you alone.

“come on, you should know this by now. your mother wouldn’t like this selection of flowers. last time she said the colour didn’t suit her and that the smell was too overpowering for her nose.”

you don’t question how he was able to put all of your family members names to faces on the first try, remember past childhood pets he needs to be aware of, neighbours and local townsmen that were significant in your life, because rent-a-boyfriend!zeke only does this to get under your skin.

“you’ve fucked him, haven’t you?”

rent-a-boyfriend!zeke asks about reiner from next door who decided to randomly drop by, seems overtly friendly with your mother and paid you googly eyes every five minutes — the tall, blonde computer analyst that you definitely have toyed with in the past.

“and what’s it to you?” you’d mumble as you took the 5th consecutive drag of rent-a-boyfriend!zeke’s cigarette.

the man would only shrug as he leaned against the outside side wall of your family home.

“nothing.” rent-a-boyfriend!zeke plucks his cigarette from your mouth. “just noticing you have a type.”

and despite you wanting to disagree with him, you find yourself acknowledging the observation as rent-a-boyfriend!zeke fucks you into the too-small mattress of your adolescent bed, away from the familial gathering of everyone downstairs but not too loud for them to hear.

the horny bastard wouldn’t even undress the two of you. in a weirdly possessive way, rent-a-boyfriend!zeke was eager to continuously fuck your asshole in retaliation to his competition being a floorboard beneath them.

“f-f-fa-fuck!”

as rent-a-boyfriend!zeke stretches your hole around his cock, your face was buried deep into the plush of the pillow. with all the complaining, you know rent-a-boyfriend!zeke couldn’t hear you but your whines were seeping through the pillow

“stop being annoying. just take my dick as is.”

and you have to comply because rent-a-boyfriend!zeke isn’t letting up or letting you run anywhere — he always knew he’s going to be trouble as soon as your mother told you that rent-a-boyfriend!zeke is a great man to have around.

rent-a-boyfriend!zeke would end up cumming bucket loads of cum inside of you, hollowing hole becoming full as the man choked on his own words in a grumble and moan.

as the both of you come back downstairs, everyone gives you suspicious glares but no one says anything — like you care.

if anything, rent-a-boyfriend!zeke knows he’s established his position as he smugly smiles at a worried looking reiner, his hands protectively around your waist.

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 7: Silent Violence is Humbled

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Tension, Angst, emotional discomfort, fluff and comfort towards the end, Strained friendships, verbal abuse, character introspection, character study, anger, hurt, family dynamics.

Summary: Karma keeps it's siege, and a new milestone hits the mark.

Previous

A/N: So. sorry for the delay, had to make some reports for my internship (I'm almost done and out with it 🥹 yay.)

Leaving the hospital wasn't precisely good. A new debt was added to your already trembling credit and to top it off, you were left with meds, a scheduled appointment with a therapist and a plethora of vitamins and supplements.

Of course you had reported everything but the gruesome details to your immediate boss. Not that she didn't sound convinced, rather shocked you were in the hospital.

You only could hope complications wouldn't be a regular guest in your life and bank account.

"I can hear you thinking from here. You ok?" MJ mumbled as she stirred a couple of eggs into the pan. You stared into the endless and spiralling void. Picking at the hospital's pale blue plastic band around your wrist.

You had spaced out as soon as you got  home, the remnants of the perilous encounter with Miguel somehow still remained etched to your skin and mind. Unable to let go completely.

"I think I'll start looking for a better paying job somewhere else."

MJ watched you for a second, "You'll quit Alchemax?"

With a groan, you slouched on the dining table, placing a hand ontop of your head

"I'd love to, but I can't yet. Not until I have something certain anyways. Gotta suck it up for a bit more."

"I'll help you look up on other companies, who knows maybe we find a better thing for you. I don't feel comfortable with you being there with that crazy asshole working in there too. Do you want extra bacon?"

"Pretty please. Thank you, MJ. And yeah, if you're not a scientist in Alchemax, you're basically another exploited worker."

"Stop thanking me. You're my best friend. And I'll help, let me ask Peter if he knows about something somewhere."

She served the breakfast and placed the plate before you. Mayday announced her awakening with a mumble, her tiny hands rubbed her eyes to then look around sleepily, until her blue eyes met MJ.

You couldn't help but stare at the motherly displaying ritual.

Mayday's eyes lit up, shining brighter as MJ approached with a genuine smile that only matched her daughter's.

Your best friend enveloped her little girl in her arms, showering her in affection, earning her a couple of lovely squeals.

"Rested well, sweetheart?"

"Ma ma"

Those syllables alone made your heart leap as a myriad of emotions flooded your brain. The concept you had of it wasn't nothing alike what you were witnessing. There wasn't unnecessary yelling, cussing or physical abuse. All the opposite. A little rush of envy coursed through, but it faded quickly as it came.

It was odd, really. To behold such intimate moment of bonding between the both. It came so natural, full of love and everything you, sometimes at your age still were getting acquainted with. Patience, understanding and caring.

Mayday rested her head on MJ's shoulder and stared at you. Like seizing you for the first time ever, paying attention to your very moves, curious, scrutinizing your soul with her lovely and innocent eyes, leaving no room for disingenuous acts.

You gulped

"Hello" You waved coyly and your heart trembled with something unknown as she giggled your way, approving of your presence. She knew no evil nor judgement. Mayday didn't judge you. Just like her mother. She was pure joy.

"When's the shrink's appointment?"

MJ's voice snapped you out of your mutinied thoughts.

"Uh in a month or two." You mumbled while digging in your breakfast. It tasted like utter love and heaven after having nothing in your stomach for more than a day, and your stomach tolerated it well.

"Are you nervous?" MJ fed Mayday with the bottle, your mind subconsciously took notes of the way she held, fed and talked to her.

"Very. Not a fan of spilling my issues to strangers, even if it's their job."

"I know it might be difficult for you, considering the shitty attention you had before with them. But if the doctor says so, you must do it."

"I know." Your lips sighed, heavy with resignation to then purse into a tiny smile, " I just wanna move on, you know?"

"You will, I know so. You're strong, sweetie. Now eat up and drink your vitamins."

You chuckled, feeling her maternal instinct through the table.

"I think I'm already gaining weight."

MJ chortled as she wiped Mayday's cheek and lips, to then kiss the tip of her nose.

"Wait until you get your feet swollen, the hormone changes. Acne on your back, and the need to jump on-"

"Ok! ok, got it." Your cheeks flushed as the redhead just laughed now at your embarrassment.

"It won't be easy, but you'll get used to some stuff. You'll see."

-----

If there was something that Peter wouldn't openly admit, was the fact he disliked Miguel's sense of disposition of his time.

Sometimes his friend's hubristic demands had him juggling between his own time and his family.

Peter hated when Miguel simply let him know he was on his way. He didn't care if he was busy or was about to be, but also meant one thing. Stress was eating Miguel alive and he, as his best friend, was the only he could rely onto to take away such heavy burden.

With a sigh, Peter prepared mentally for the night. Specially to give his ever patient wife an explanation of a sudden visit. As if the universe made sure MJ and Miguel to never properly meet beyond pleasantries. If they had seen and meet eachother a couple of times was too many.

MJ was either out because of work, leaving him and Mayday alone, or the days and hours Miguel visited were when MJ was already asleep or too busy to sit and socialise with her husband's friends.

Peter has known Miguel for a couple of years by now, and still things didn't change.

He put a couple of beers to cool, then stirred the pasta. Miguel wasn't a picky eater, yet it made Peter stress over the food choice. But MJ wanted pasta and he was none to ignore his wife's whims over his friend's.

How long has it been since he saw Miguel? Months? Half a year? He didn't remember, but hoped that he wouldn't stay too long. Work had chewed, ate and spat him on the floor way too many times to count today.

His shoulders slumped, defeated before hia daughter's sweetness when Mayday gave him a toothy grin, he returned the smile, although tiredly.

"Let's get you some dinner."

He held his daughter in one arm, as he served a bit of noodles in her favorite spider-ham bowl and somw juice in her sippy cup. Peter put her in her chair and placed the food before her  just in time as the doorbell rang.

"It's not that I don't like him, you know? I'm just tired today." Peter mumbled to himself and Mayday as he scratched his stubble and walked over the door.

May could only look at him, curious, bur the bright colors of her cup demanded her attention. To his little surprise, the man in question was there, scrolling through his phone in the meantime. Dressed in a casual button shirt, dark jeans and dress shoes, holding a small bag of sweets as a gift.

"Could you please start letting me know when you're coming over from now on? It's not that hard."

Peter's frustration wafted through his words as Miguel chuckled and followed him, the smell of cologne tickled the host's nose, almost a bit too pungent.

"Had to. Needed a distraction. Here"

He handed the paper bag to him, full of artisanal mexican sweets. At least this time, Miguel was thoughtful enough to bring something he knew Peter liked.

But it also meant one thing. A long night ahead.

With a sigh and defeated shoulders, Peter went to the kitchen, rummaging through the simple glassware to fetch a couple of glasses.

"I have... soda, apple juice, can't give you the beer until Mayday's asleep."

Miguel just quirked a brow and went for water. It was kinda bothersome for him how something so trivial as drinking a beer was a forbidden thing among parents whenever their children were around.

Overprotection and alienation from such things would only make them curious if anything. At least that's how it worked for Miguel. Still, it was Peter's home, and he had to play by the unspoken parenting rules his friend followed to a T.

How inconvenient

Miguel's eyes wandered through the table to land on Mayday. As a happy kid she was, the sauce was smeared all over her cheeks and chin, even her hands and forearms. Some noodles hung on her chin.

Even though his logical side appealed towards a scientific fact about babies discovering everything through their hands and mouth, the sole idea of having to deal with it on a daily basis and probably at every hour the kid would be awake and eating, made his eyes to tear away from the child and sigh, relieved he didn't have to cope with that sort of problem.

He had done his part, and against all logic, you had decided to keep the baby.

Pendeja. (Dumbass)

He huffed, annoyed to none but himself.

What would you do? It wasn't his problem anymore. He had more important things to think about than you and your stupid choices. His jaw clenched.

" You're gonna scare Mayday if you keep glaring like that."

Peter spoke as he cleaned up his daughter after feeding her with some bits of sausages. Miguel sighed as his arms untangled from his chest. A habit he subconsciously adopted as he was way too deep in negative thoughts. He gave his body some slack. He had came here in order to relax amd distract himself.

"Wanna tell me what happened or you wanna wait by having some pasta?"

In fact, now that Miguel was here he could take a good look at the scene before him. Peter had changed so much to the point of transforming himself into a completely different persona.

There was no more staying up past one am, lost in beers and talking about whatever thing alcohol made him spill out of his mouth. Reluctantly, good days. And now Peter was serving him some overcooked pasta that somehow tasted good. Even for him.

Hypocrite.

His mind reprimanded himself. He had wanted kids once but now seeing how it changed and rewired the brain chemistry and your fiasco, the thought of them had been shoved to the very back of his priorities. He had a career and money to make, not play house amd happy family with a stranger.

As much as Peter was his only true friend, he didn't want to look awful and perpetually tired because of a kid, like him.

With a sigh he dug on the food while staring at the both. The tangy smell of the sauce induced the little hunger he ate the pasta. A couple of minutes later passed when the key's tinkering echoed from the main door, revealing none other than MJ balancing a couple of paper bags in hands.

Miguel watched as Peter immediately rushed to her side and helped her out, while welcoming her with a kiss.

"Smells good!" MJ chirped and made her way towards the kitchen, Mayday's eyes lit up as soon as she saw her mama. A bubbly squeal received her when MJ ruffled her fiery curls and took her in her arms, rattling Miguel's ears.

"Hello there, precious" MJ kissed her cheek but then focused her gaze on Miguel. He tensed briefly to then give a polite smile.

"Hey."

MJ nodded and gave her respective hello back. Peter came into the dinning table with an awkward smile. He didn't need to explain the presence of his friend to his wife, as she quickly picked up the cue to get Mayday to sleep.

For some reason, the energy in the room was suffocating. As if Miguel was the black hole sucking the life and energy out of everything even without intending. Yet, Peter tried to shoo the negative aura that lurked around ominously by unpacking the groceries as he talked to MJ

"How was your day?"

"Good, a bit tiresome. But definitely better now than I'm home."

"Want extra cheese in your pasta? Oh! Miguel got us some candies."

MJ smiled politely at him, "Thanks for that. I loved the eh... Maz-uhpan?"

"Mazapán." he corrected gently.

"That thing. Peter, dear can you get the tub ready for May?"

It was Peter's cue to meet her in private.

"Excuse me." She took Mayday and Peter followed, leaving Miguel alone for a moment. Giving him a break from unwanted displays of family dynamics.

Once in the bathroom and away from prying eyes and ears, MJ cleared her throat

"Before you get angry, I didn't know he was coming until fourty five minutes ago."

MJ quirked a brow knowingly and huffed.

"I know. Still, the least he could do is to let us know he's coming over, Pete."

Peter nodded while rubbing his face, tiredly.

"I'm sorry, ok? Will make him go away soon. He's not having a good time right now."

MJ rolled her eyes while Peter added some soap to the water.

"Yeah, he only comes for a visit whenever he needs something out of you."

"MJ" Peter grunted the silent plea. 'Not now.'

She chuckled and kissed his cheek, "You know it's true. But, if it works for you, then ok. Just don't stay up past one. You snore too loud whenever you get little sleep."

"Relax, he probably just want to ramble, take a beer and leave."

"Alright, alright. He could tone his perfume a bit though. I can smell him from here. Go have fun."

-----

The beers clinked in the table, their taste numbed briefly Miguel's throat and tongue. It burned good as the sour liquid rolled down his esophagus, while Peter rambled on about the many pictures he showed him of Mayday.

Not that he didn't appreciate Peter's attempt to make him forget whatever problems were pestering his mind. But if honest, he grew tired after the sixth photo.

"You should have another."

That made Peter shut up and he chuckled.

"No no. With her is enough."

"You sound regretful."

Miguel mumbled as he finished his beer, Peter shook his head vehemently.

"At all. I know I look like shit, Mig. Still, would do it all over again. Like, look at this!" Peter got the screen close to his bored face with another picture and Miguel pushed it away softly.

"Yeah, she's a pretty girl. Got it."

"You don't get it. Once a kid shows up, everything changes."

You've got no idea...

His mind replied, as his body tensed once more.

"Have you talked about this with Dana?"

The name only made the urge to down the other beer in a go, but his mind almost slapped some sense into him and reminded him this wasn't his home.

MJ's steps alerted both men briefly as she came for her extra bowl of soggy pasta and wash Mayday's bottles.

"We broke up." He stated simply with a disdainful shrug

"What the fuck?

MJ turned to Peter, a brow quirked at his choice of words but focused again on the bottle.

"Miguel, you texted me, saying you were looking for wedding venues with Dana. And now you're single again?"

MJ's breath hitched.

Dana

Oh God

Dana D'Angelo.

Miguel's fiance. And the one that slapped you.

MJ had been so busy with work and her motherly duties that totally forgot about her husband's companion.

Miguel.

The man that only relied on her husband's company whenever life was too much for him. An acquaintance that she had only seen a couple of times and shared the same roof as her, although briefly in the few times Peter invited him over.

And also, the man that had gotten you pregnant, and had sent you to the hospital in a fit of rage. The very man that was causing you so much pain, had taken a place on her table, with her family and now was talking comfortably with her husband about his failed love, thanks to none other but himself.

Her heart wrenched and beat so fast in between powerful contractions that it made her breath shaky.

A monster was in her home. A terrible man had waltzed into her safe space and was tainting with his rottenness everything he touched, with his pungent and hubristic smell. His cologne and attitude only made her stomach churn.

"It didn't work out."

She turned to see him, unbelieving in her green eyes. So well behaved, ever polite and not an ounce of guiltiness in his judging stare. Entitled even, as if the world owed him just cause he existed. MJ understood now why it was so easy for you to fall into his trap, but the anger that clawed at her brain was greater than anything she had experienced before.

How dared he come into her home and play the victim when he had forsaken you and his child? How dared he disrupt the natural balance in her house with his mere presence?

"She was getting too annoying for me, anyways. Always behaving crazy." Miguel gestured with a terse movement of his hand before slicking his dark brown strands back.

Oh, how dared he. Those last words made her patience thread to stretch impossibly thin, that it broke.

"Well of course she'll act crazy! You fucking cheated on her!." MJ's hands balled tight at her sides, and glared daggers at Miguel.

Both men snapped to look in her way.

Miguel's eyes widened and Peter blinked almost stupidly at his wife and then at his friend that seemed like a deer caught in the headlights. Few little things in life managed to surprise Miguel, and MJ exposing his dirtiest secret to the only person he trusted outside Dana so carelessly and abruptly, had definitely caught him off guard.

"W-What?"

"He cheated on Dana, Peter."

Miguel swallowed thickly, a shaky breath turned into a steady one, anger coursing through his veins, his mahogany eyes narrowed.

Not them too...

He rubbed his face and hair again, trying to remain composed. If Dana had came for him and gave him no truce, MJ went straight to the jugular. Remorselessly for the kill.

How did she know?

A new wave of fury washed over him at the sudden implication his mind was brewing with, his hand clawed at his bouncing knee.

Did she know you?

What a sick, twisted and small world he lived in. Of course she did. Or else he wouldn't be here, trying to come up with a reply to his shocked friend. But he was cut short from everything, even thinking.

"You don't know shit." Miguel couldn't help but hiss, and his words were enough to throw Peter's patience out the window.

"That's my wife you're talking to, pal." Peter scowled, flabbergasted at Miguel's words as he stood with a warning finger waving at his... friend?, "Tone it the fuck down."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, Pete!"

Miguel felt ridiculous, not only cause the now constant need of explaining himself, but the absurdity of the situation. He was holding his friend's arm, trying to get Peter to believe him, just like he did with Dana.

But Peter was focused into getting MJ calmed down as she kept cussing his way

"Of course I know, asshole!" She spat, "I know enough of you to say how much of a piece of shit you are!"

That definitely earned her a growl "Whatch your fucking tone"

"Or what?! You'll try and hurt me too like you did with (Name)?! My friend has been suffering nonstop because of your pathetic excuses of being a man!"

If the many years prior to marry MJ taught Peter something, was that if she used foul language meant she was beyond pissed, and rightfully so. She wasn't one for cursing, and things surely would end up terribly wrong.

"You cheated your fiancé, got my best friend pregnant and demanded her to get an abortion-"

"Wait... You... you did what?" Peter's eyes widened and hardened, Miguel was cornered as Peter faced him, still containing his wife.

"No, no. That's bullshit!" Miguel's hand gestured as the other anchored to his hip. His poor attempt of bravery did nothing but set the fire ablaze in its full glory, it all had caught him so off guard he barely could think of comebacks to fend for himself.

"God... You're such a fucking liar!" Peter held MJ back as she seethed, trying to get a hold of Miguel, "I was there at the clinic with her! Cause she tried to correct your fucking mess!"

"I tried to fix-"

"You don't get shit fixed by writing her a fucking check and tell her to get rid of your child! Man the fuck up already! She's so under so much pressure now-"

"Because she's so stupid and chose to fucking keep that thing!" roared Miguel. Tired of being cornered without his usual pretense of control. Shoulders heaving with shaky and wrathful breaths, realizing the mistake he just did.

Peter glowered at him. Not only had he dared to yell at his wife but had been lying to him this whole time. And Mayday was crying. The commotion had been too great that woke her up.

Another pillar in his life was crumbling around, shaking the little constants he still remained with, to their very core.

Peter seized with him a look he had never seen before in his apparently dumb face. Disgust. He was about to protest but Peter's question only brought him to a too bright and unwanted spotlight.

"Is that true?" The tinge in Parker's voice held nothing but utter disbelief, not accusing, but skeptical. As if realizing he was being fooled this whole time as well. Peter slapped Miguel's hands away as he tried to reach for him again.

Shit

His aloof act had spreaded way too fast that didn't give it time to properly root and settle on his inner's circle brains ro control later. Peter growled at the stretching and pregnant silence.

"I'm fucking talking to you." The hard push of his hand made him sway softly, "Is that true!?"

Miguel's eyes widened. Peter's bravado and anger was something he didn't know until now. If honest, Miguel thought of him a complete goof that did everything his wife told him to. A complete mandilón.

If MJ told him to bark, he would and even do a flip while at it. But this man before him was different. Confident, authoritative, honorable, pushing his patience to new limits and oh so disgusted at his actions. A true father and man, unlike him.

A reluctant daddy.

Miguel really had a hard time grasping the magnitude of his doings and how they affected others, cause his remorse was absent. Everything he should be feeling at this collective verbal berating was gone. He was more focused in the defensive than offensive, and he failed.

Upon Miguel's silence, Peter just stared at him and sighed. He wasn't worth it.

"You need to leave, Miguel."

Ash soured the aforementioned throat. A thick lump knotted tightly on Miguel's windpipe.

"What? You're believing every word that comes out of her just like that?"

The question itself was stupid, he knew much so. But Peter didn't budge, in fact, he didn't even look at him as MJ went to fetch her daughter.

"You gotta be kidding me, Parker"

"Am I fucking joking? No. Leave." He shimmied away from Miguel's grasping hands with a disgruntled growl

"Look, I know I fucked up, okay-"

"Damn right you did" Peter pushed him away once more

"Can you listen?! " Tanned fingers sunk on Peter's arms forcefully, preventing him from escaping further, but that only earned him a powerful shove that made him nearly fall. Unlike you, that barely moved him an inch .

"Not this time. I talk and you listen. My home, my rules. Don't like it, get the fuck off." Peter hissed, the day's misfortunes and stress had piled up in his brain and Miguel's actions did nothing but set it all on fire.

"You can't just come into my house unannounced, yell at my wife for calling you out and your bullshit and expect me to remain quiet." His hands moved frantically, "You can't go around acting stupid, being a shitty friend, hurting people and believing the world owes you shit, Miguel!"

Peter turned his back on him, breathing deeply, trying to control the rising anger, finally breaking contact. His shoulders slumped with defeat.

"I knew you were an asshole, but c'mon man... Your own child? Really?" His blue eyes felt like an iceberg caressing upon seizing him a over his shoulder.

"Y dale con la misma pendejada... I did what I thought was right, okay?!" Miguel protested, trying to appeal to that good side that definitely lacked right now.

Peter turned again and stepped in a few strides closer to him, fear lacked in his glare, instead a fiery and scorching fury burned within

"Manning up is the right thing." His calm seething only made Miguel gulp, "Owing your mistakes is the right thing to do!" Peter's voice raised an octave louder

"What kind of fucked up logic is to think you can choose to cheat but choose to not face the consequences?!" Peter jabbed with force his index finger at the treacherous man's chest before him as he hissed every word.

"Funny thing is that you always saw me as a clown. Always bragged on how perfect your life was and thought of me a man child." Each word that came out from Peter was like a stone hitting Miguel,

"And look at you now, acting exactly like that!. How ironic that the roles reversed now." Peter's voice trailed off.

Miguel rolled his eyes so hard it hurted "No me jodas, Parker. Don't fuck with me with your shitty morals You didn't want children either, remember?!."

Disappointment and repugnance plastered all over Peter's face as he shook his head.

"People can do something called change, Miguel. Call me whatever you want, but at least I can say I am a man, cause I owe my mistakes. I don't go around screwing people over and then leave them to fend for themselves."

Peter went to the main door and opened it, with nothing else worthy to spill at Miguel, "Get out."

"You're an hypocrite. When you didn't want kids, everything is alright, but when I do I'm a fucking monster?"

He wasn't welcomed comed anymore. And this only added a couple of more weights in his already heavy bag of burdens, igniting his arrogance even further.

"Are you seriously playing the victim right now?" Peter huffed, "Grow a pair, Miguel. You need them. Get out."

Peter was done, all the energy that had been left was sucked out of him and the stranger before his presence was his biggest leech, he awaited for Miguel to leave, which made the exposed man's chest tighten uncomfortably. The friendship had crumbled. There wasn't anything left for him to salvage anyway.

"Fine." He took his jacket with a forceful grab, "Have it your way then." He spat and left the house with a slam that shook the doorframe.

Your eyes raked over the cream colored walls, as your back nested comfortably against the stretcher. Silence reigned with such deliciousness it soothed your underlying nerves.

A month and a half had gone by ever since yiu had that unwilling visit to the hospital, hitting the sixteen weeks of pregnancy. Your meds worked relatively good, and so did the vitamins to the point of getting a bit more strength and color in you.

But today was different. Everything felt different ever since you woke up. The sheets felt divine, the mattress had the right amount of hardness to help with the lumbar area.

The water in the shower felt heavenly on your skin, it was as if the universe was preparing you for a surprise after so many tough times.

Whatever it had planned, you hoped it was good, or at least, digestible enough to not choke you with it.

The doctor, Mrs. Vincent, typed some information in her computer, then stood to whir the machine alive.

"Lift your shirt up, please." Once you did, she smeared a dollop of blue gel on your naked belly, something you barely had the chance to admire, too busy trying to adapt to the emerging changes in your body.

Some clothes had stopped fitting and if they did, they were a chip too tight. The baby bump wasn't enormous like you had thought, but it wasn't small either, after all, Miguel was a big man. It had enough curvature to make your belly poke out from any clothes you had.

I feel like a walking avocado...

MJ was sitting next to you. Although you felt guilty because of the scene Miguel created at her home, she was more than happy to put him in his place, and so her husband. Peter.

Bless him.

You haven't properly known the man but that action alone of standing up for you against his friend of years, made you a bit hopeful.

You weren't looking for a partner, much less a father to the creature growing within, the least you wanted to do was to complicate yourself even more and add another thing in the already long lists of stress you went by.

But in truth, you wished to be there to see his downfall. Not that you were spiteful, but karma surely was a beautiful thing to watch. And the thought of him being this scared and uncomfortable man, the opposite of what you had seen and experienced, made your lips curve into a satisfied smile.

Life had heard your pleas and you were thankful.

Your breath hitched as soon as the machine's accessory made contact with your skin. Cool plastic, like the cold gel all over your skin.

"Let's see", Dr. Vincent mumbled as she adjusted her glasses in her nose bridge. The white light illuminated well the, place, her faint smell of vanilla perfume tickled your nose, it wasn't an offensive perfume, but it made you a little queasy.

It definitely shut down the medicinal smell you had been received with.

Dr. Vincent's gloved hands took the transducer and gently moved it around your belly.

"Does it feels cold?"

You nodded with a nervous smile, "A bit, yeah."

Mayday's giggles echoed behind you, MJ shushed her with some gentle words and her breath hitched when she looked at the screen.

The redhead looked like was experiencing so many things for the first time again, yet she held your hand with excitement thrumming in her skin.

"Look at that, Mama"

The word still made you uncomfortable, but the way the doctor had spilled it felt oddly soothing. The baby was there, etched forever to your womb, growing within your guts each passing day, squirming like a little worm, making it's presence known with a kick.

MJ could only watch as you chuckled. Your features softened the more you stared at the screen. But then your eyes widened at seeing the baby's 3D image.

Resting against one of your womb, comfortably, squeezing it's little hands over and over.

And if honest, curiosity had gotten a vice like grip on you. The way the baby moved and nested within you was equally disturbing and beautiful.

The transducer moved all over as Dr. Vincent looked up the right angle. Breath grew short and caught in your throat at the doctors next words.

"There she is"

MJ gasped, excited and your eyes turned bleary.

A girl. You were having a girl.

"Congrats, Mama." The doctor printed the pictures.

The little bean inside was a girl. There was no longer an it, no longer the creature, or the baby.

Despite the though times you've endured, she was healthy. Perfectly developing, a bit underweight, but healthy.

A myriad of things crossed your mind, panic, admiration, fear and so much confusion. They all swirled inside your jumbled head, fighting over the control of your emotions.

MJ squeezed your hand as soon as she noticed the red-ish hue blooming in your nose and the glossy eyes.

A little sniff was stifled. The doctor smiled at your apparent emotional reaction.

"It's ok to cry. I've gotten too many boys in the week, seeing a girl a was a change of pace. Thank you for that, hun." Dr. Vincent spoke with a sweet voice.

You couldn't help but sob silently. Digesting every second of what had just happened. The nauseas had subsided momentarily, as if sensing you needed your strength for something else.

It didn't help your hormones that Mayday took a hold of your finger, big blue eyes staring at you with pure child like wonder as if demanding your attention. Your lips quivered, and when she cooed your way, you broke.

It's alright.

She'd surely say. MJ held you close, rubbing your back in soothing circles, letting you absorb the news at your own pace.

"You ok?"

You nodded, holding onto her tightly.

"It's a girl, MJ"

Your best friend smiled sympathetically your way, "Indeed. And she's healthy. You've done a fantastic job in keeping her that way, sweetie. I'm proud of you."

Her words did nothing but make you cry harder.

"I'm so scared, MJ"

"I know. But it's alright. I'm here and Mayday too, remember?"

You chuckled in between tears and sighed, while wiping your tears.

"I'm so scared cause... I don't wanna repeat things all over with her."

"Then let's make them differently, ok? I'm here. You're not alone."

You hugged her once more.

"Let's celebrate, yeah?"

"I... I don't know if I should even do that, all things considered."

MJ chided your name gently.

"You deserve it. You've faced so much already, this little girl right here" She placed her hand in your belly, "has stayed healthy and perfect because of you. You've done so much. So let's celebrate that, ok?"

Even if you thought yourself undeserving of such thing, you nodded and followed her.

You wouldn't admit it, but a deep deep part of you bloomed with a little seed of curiosity and excitement.

-----

Taglist:

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my Grandma I'm not going to have a specific conversation with her and just walking away?

So context, I (28) am currently between jobs because one of my ex-coworkers was the asshole who got me fired, and I haven't found anything new.

My mother (50) and I both live in my Grandma (80)'s house which is divided into an upstairs and a downstairs. Grandma lives in the downstairs. So do my mom and sister. I live alone in a two bedroom upstairs which belonged to my late aunt.

Right after my aunt died, I wanted to clean the apartment, organize, donate, toss, keep her stuff. To make sure everything gets where it'd ought best go, but my mother told me I had no right to go through my aunt's things alone and sort keepsake from takaway; if I was to do anything it was to be with her.

Well, three years of me trying to get my mom up here to sort through it with me because I want to respect her wishes, and my stuff accruing in a layer over top of my aunts stuff because I can't get rid of it, and the apartment is a lifetime and three years mess. My mom never made the time to do what she told me I wasn't allowed to do without her, me respecting these wishes which she probably doesn't even remember. I've been living up here too afraid of trespassing against my aunts memory to clean the cobwebs full of her red hair. Because my mother said, I had no right to do it.

And that cleaning anxiety is on top of executive dysfunction, depression, having too much shit, being a sprawler type adhd, and working a 40 h/week 'part-time' retail position. I didn't have it in me to clean by myself, and the mess kept getting worse and no one would substancially help me no matter how much I asked. Not my mom and not my sister (who gets a pass because she's got post-exertional malases from Long Covid).

Now fast foreward to two weeks ago. My mother final finds the motivation to clean the upstairs apartment because she's got a boyfriend now, and they wanna have sex upstairs where my grandma can't hear it. They didn't ask me if it was okay or anything: just decided that my space is now OUR space because it's convinent to her. I don't really care, and I'm annoyed, but finally someone to clean the fucking apartment with. She said, two weeks ago that he'd be coming around in about four months time. We spent the day getting a lot of cleaning done. Not anywhere near all of it, but a lot. And I've finally gotten what I see as permission to start sortitioning my aunts things. I'm pacing myself cleaning on that four month timetable.

And then today she bursts into the apartment to announce that BF will be here in a week, and she starts hauling major ass with my late aunt's heavy as shit sewing supplies. For my part, I vent the new timeline to my friends and then get to work cleaning my bedroom so I can move the stuff I have sprawled over the living room into my bedroom. Because my bedroom being messy is what's getting in my way the most.

When she's done hauling boxes, she goes to start cleaning the bathroom, and because she's in too much of a hurry on this new self-imposed and sprung upon me timeline, she hurts herself cleaning the toilet. Spasms her wrist, locks up her back. I help her downstairs but she's obviously done for the day, probably done for the week even. I get back to light cleaning with breaks, pacing myself to the new timeline I have to deal with. And I get a call from my grandma.

G: "Hey anon can you come down here." A: "I'll be down in a minute." I pull on pants and a shirt and head down.

And here we get to the key events all that context was building toward.

G: "What happened with your mom." A: "She hurt herself cleaning." G: "I know that, I mean why was she cleaning your apartment. You're an adult who's lived here for three years, and she's the only one working, and now she can't move. Why's the apartment you live in such a state that she needs to clean it for you."

Now, I know my grandma. A mule would be jealous of her stubborn demeanor. She's on an oxygen machine 24 hours a day and she still smokes two packs a week. You can't change her mind once she's made it up.

So I'm doing calculations in my head while she's laying into me, and I conclude she's made her mind up: She thinks I'm 100% in the wrong and nothing that came out my mouth would convince her that my mom is just as much an adult as I am who is responsible for her own decisions that got her to overworking when cleaning and hurting herself in the process, and also several inter-related key factors in why so much cleaning needs to be done on an 'oh fuck, immediately' timescale.

Doing the math makes me a bit angry, and I don't like the type of person I get to acting like when I'm angry, especially because anything I say will just make her more upset, so I say, "Grandma, I'm not going to have this conversation with you."

And I walk away. I leave while she yells at me to come back and let myself be yelled at. I'm angry, so I mindfully do not to slam her door on my way out and go back up stairs

After some scrumbling and a bit more light cleaning with breaks to pace myself, best I can, to this newly imposed and unreasonable timetable, my room is 90% clean and ready for me to put my stuff in it. And now that I'm not as angry anymore, I started to feel guilty that I didn't even try to explain anything to her. I just decided she'd made up her mind and made up mine to walk away without even trying. So, I typed this up to ask:

AITA for refusing to engage her in that conversation and just walking away?

What are these acronyms?

[riaarivic]

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary  Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗  Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗  Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

[milkmanxreader]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

.

.

.

.

.

You paused brushing your hair mid-stroke, head quirking to the side to look at the door. Faintly, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut could be heard. Dammit. You had really hoped your husband— Robert, a short round man with messy dirty blonde hair and dull brown eyes— would be working late, yet again. With a sigh of unease, you heaved yourself up from the stool in front of your vanity, gazing at your tired face in the clean mirror.

When had your appearance changed so much?

Of course, you were still stunning, your hair neat, and a nice colour. Despite all the years of a loveless marriage, your {E/C} eyes were still magnetic, and full of hope. Part of you really did hope your awful love-life with Robert could be fixed— even if deep down you knew it was far beyond repair. But it was a nice thought none the less.

"Where the hell is my food?" An irritated voice called from downstairs, snapping you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you made your way down the stairs with your hand gliding along the railing next to you.

For the most part, you loved your life, and home. Robert had a nice job, which meant you'd be able to live in this nice, large home, and not have to worry about getting a job you'd end up hating, though you didn't much like being a housewife either. You found it boring, and often fretted the common thing of husbands' cheating on their wives whilst out "working late."

Once you made it downstairs to the living room, you saw Robert pouring himself a glass of amber liquid, ice in the bottom of the glass. He brought the glass to his lips and quickly downed half of the whiskey. "Hello, honey," you offered lamely, brows upturned and a small smile plastered across your face— even if you didn't feel like smiling. He liked women who smiled, and Robert being happy meant less arguments in the long run.

He sharply turned his head to face you, glaring at you with contempt. 

"..I'll get your supper dished out,"

Robert nodded, before turning his head back around and going back to his drinking. Fucking asshole. With meek steps you scurried to the kitchen. Once there, you opened the oven, a pan which was still — thankfully — warm sat inside of the interior, and it smelled wonderful too. Putting on oven mitts, you took out the pan and set it on the counter. Meatloaf. 

.

Supper was silent, the only noise being the quiet sounds of eating, and forks scraping against the plates, a sound which made you cringe slightly. Robert acted like you weren't there. And maybe mentally you weren't.

Why on Earth did you want this life? To be a housewife? Growing up your mother was unmarried, nor was she dating anyone. She had always romanticized this life, her words laced with honey as she would pour out her dreams of finding some rich handsome man. Of course, she never did. But her raw adoration for such a simple, yet attractive lifestyle made you crave it just as much as she.

It was the worse mistake of your life. You loathed this, loathed Robert. His passion was long gone, with it your happiness, and sexual pleasure. Whilst "love"-making wasn't completely vanished, any of your pleasure being priority was. He was fast, rough, and awfully bad, too. Not a good combination. 

Not to say at one time you didn't mind the roughness, or fast pace, but that was back when he loved you. Now, he treated foreplay like a chore, and all you'd receive was bad dirty talk, and mediocre fingering, and hardly much of the latter. It was just all that— a chore.

You didn't even have anyone to properly weep your woes to. Robert didn't like you shooting the breeze with other men, and all of your women friends were cherry-picked by him, the wives of his friends

They were all rude bitches. It was as if they saw just because they were a bit older that they were somehow better than you. Or maybe they felt that way because of your lack of children.

Not that you were infertile, no, you could have a child if you wanted it. But that was just it, wasn't it? You didn't want children. Occasionally you'd have to look after one of your "friends" ankle-bitters, and they seemed much more trouble than they were worth. If you wanted something to take care of; just get a cat, or dog.

Robert seemed a bit upset with your lack of child, too. It was often a sore subject which led to arguments, so you seldom brought it up. And he did the same, for which you were grateful. 

You were a lonely housewife looking for some form of escapism. Cheating was never on your mind, but you craved excitement, and something far away from Robert.

.

.

.

Without wasting a single moment, the second Robert had finished eating he stood up and walked away, likely to the shared bedroom. With a grunt of irritation, you stood and collected up the freshly emptied plates, taking them to the sink to wash them.

Your hands slowly scrubbed the plates, wanting to prolong the time you stayed up into the night. Robert seldom cared if you laid with him at night, but the way he just.. ignored, turned away, or shoved you off stung, and often you'd have to blink away tears.

Half the time you couldn't even register your own feelings. Maybe isolated. Definitely lonely.

But, surely there was more out there for you, wasn't there? Maybe you could divorce Robert, move far, far away. You'd for sure be shunned if you got a divorce, nobody would want you— a woman who couldn't even be a right wife? Awful. But if you moved away, you could tell the new folks that you were.. a widow, or something. 

That sounded nice.

Even if deep down,

you knew,

Robert would never allow you to divorce him. It'd hurt his ego far too much.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 22

PREVIOUS

Y’know how sometimes you have something that you need to do or something that you know is going to happen but you just keep…putting it off? Like you know at some point it is going to happen but you put it off over and over and over and over again? You’re getting increasingly anxious every time you put it off because you know it has to get done but you also know that the longer you wait the worse it is going to get. Finally, FINALLY, the anxiety is just a little too much and you end up having to deal with it.

You finally deal with it and the whole ordeal takes maybe five minutes tops and it was in no way shape or form worth the level of anxiety that you put yourself through. Like you worried about this for a good and long while and it wasn’t even that bad?

That is currently how FF feels about being stabbed by Andrew Minyard.

This is what he was so worried about that he had lost sleep, had nightmares, had lost weight, and had exacerbated his stress ulcers over.

Getting stabbed wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he had thought it was going to be. Maybe it was the fact that it was just a single stab wound instead of the Psycho levels that he had been imagining (Wow, showers were going to be so much less stressful now that he didn’t have to confirm Andrew Minyard’s location before triple checking the lock). Maybe it was the fact that he is PUMPED full of adrenaline from his fights against Jackson and Romero but the stab wound didn’t even really hurt at the moment.

This isn’t even the worse thing that had happened to him this year!

That honor still goes to the joint winners of when his Step Family and mother found out that he had a full-ride to Palmetto and when he had tripped up the same step on the stairs at school three times in a row as people watched and laughed.

(Maybe also the solitary congratulations from his Grandma in regards to his graduation but FF doesn’t let himself think about that, won’t think about it.)

He wouldn’t necessarily call being in a state of ‘stabbed’ a pleasant time but Andrew was being so NICE about it.

“Stop trying to sit up you fucking idiot!” Andrew shouts at him.

Well….Andrew’s version of nice.

(This is the same version of nice that he had misunderstood for months at this point. Maybe FF is just enough in shock from the stab wound in his stomach that he’s starting to grasp the basics in the difficult language of Andrew Minyard’s niceness.)

Andrew had gotten off the phone with 911 and then started pulling off his own jacket before draping it over FF’s upper body, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear, and then Andrew started to apply pressure to his stomach wound.

Ow.

That is not a great feeling. This stabbing may eke out past the great triple trip of March 2010.

“No, take back your jacket. You’ll get cold if you don’t have it on.” FF argues because his own jacket is barely doing the job. Maybe it’s the cold pavement of the alley, maybe it’s the blood loss, or maybe it’s the cooling sweat he’d worked up but he is shivering pretty badly.

A thought occurs to him as he feels the weird wet stickiness of his own blood sticking to Nicky’s shirt. “Can you help me get my jacket off?” He asks looking pleadingly at Andrew, “It’s my dad’s. I don’t wanna mess it up with my blood.” He clarifies when Andrew looks at him like he’s a lunatic.

Except his second call must connect right then because Andrew’s answer is non-sensical to what FF had asked, “Neil, let Roland know the police and ambulances are en route.” There’s a brief pause and the pressure against his stomach increases as a muscle in Andrew’s jaw jumps. “Smith got stabbed.” He says and he looks angry, angrier than FF had ever seen Andrew when he’s talking to Captain Neil. There is another pause, more than likely Neil saying something or asking a question, “No, it wasn’t them.” Andrew grits out and the pressure on FF’s stomach hurts, “Just get out here, I need help with smith and making sure these two assholes don’t go anywhere before the police come and grab them.” He says before he pulls one hand away from Smith’s stomach (wow he really is bleeding isn’t he?) to hang up the phone.

Andrew’s gaze turns back to him fully, “You’re not moving an inch Smith, your jacket can be cleaned.” He hisses. “Now stay still and don’t fall asleep.” He orders.

Andrew seems stressed so FF complies. He can’t help but notice how Andrew’s hands seem to be shaking as the press down on his stomach. He kind of wishes he had a pillow or something for his head because he’s starting to feel a little dizzy. Andrew’s jacket would be safer from his blood if it was a pillow instead of a blanket. Still, FF would sooner die than spit on any of Andrew’s current efforts to make him more comfortable.

He looks at the knife sticking out of his stomach. Well, he might die regardless of whether or not he spits on Andrew’s efforts.

He needs to take his mind off this.

“Should we take it out and pretend the Dundee knife stabbed me instead??” FF asks letting his mind go to the first thought in his head so that he could be distracted from his own mortality. “I think it’s still under the dumpster over there.” He moves to point one of his hands towards where the knife had remained throughout this entire ordeal.

Andrew’s knee pinned his arm before he could move it, “Stop moving Smith.” Andrew reminded him before moving his knee. “We have to leave the knife in. You’ll bleed to death otherwise.” Andrew reminds.

“I guess that’s true, so do we just say that Romero got a handle on your knife and stabbed me?” He asks fighting his own shivers since he’s a little worried that any shaking on his part would just make the stab wound worse.

“I stabbed you Smith.” Andrew says looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I know,” FF agrees, “but we’re not going to say THAT to the cops.” He says and shock really is one HELL of a drug because he thinks he might have actually given Andrew Minyard an incredulous look with his atrophied face muscles. It’s either Shock or the knowledge that even if he irritates Andrew, what’s Andrew going to do about it?

STAB HIM?

“You’re going to lie to the cops?” Andrew asks, “I STABBED you Smith.” Andrew repeats.

“Yeah, I know!” FF repeats back, “You stabbed me on ACCIDENT.” FF makes sure to use the same intonation that Andrew had used to emphasize the word Stabbed. “Jackson wanted to stab me on PURPOSE. You saw that knife Andrew.” He tries to gesture towards the knife again but again Andrew’s knee pinned his hand.

He could use his other one but the reminder to stay still is enough.

“I still stabbed you.” Andrew says removing his knee again when it’s clear that FF wasn’t going to try and gesture again.

“Well, if I was going to get stabbed by anyone, I guess I’m glad my first time was with you.” Andrew let’s out a bark of a laugh that sounds more like it was punched out of him than anything, “Honestly, I don’t think Jackson would have given me his jacket afterwards or try and help me keep my blood in my body.” He says and it feels like a victory (not a both hands in the air victory cry level victory but it was close) when Andrew’s face settled into one of faint amusement.

“Probably not.” Andrew agreed, “He doesn’t seem big on Aftercare.” He says.

FF doesn’t know what that means but nods like he does, “So, Romero got a hold of your knife during our tussle and he’s the one who stabbed me. Okay? That’s the story I’m going to stick with no matter who asks me.” He looks Andrew in the eye.

“Alright Smith,” one of Andrew’s hands leaves his stomach and clasps around his shoulder and FF can’t help but notice how neither of Andrew’s hands are shaking anymore. “We can lie to the police.” He squeezes FF’s shoulder.

“Nice.” He says and lets his head fall back onto the concrete. He hears a siren in the distance and hopes it’s coming for him.

They sit in silence for maybe 30 seconds before the door slams open and only Andrew’s hands on his stomach and shoulder keep him from shooting straight up in a panic. Captain Neil seemed to take in the scene at lightning speed but it was Andrew who spoke first, “You left Aaron and Nicky with Roland?” He asks.

“Yeah I did,” Captain Neil confirms and FF can see the moment that his eyes land on the knife handle jutting out of FF’s stomach, “Andrew, what are we going to tell the police?” Captain Neil asks and FF could already see Neil crafting a lie to cover Andrew. That’s one of the things that FF likes about Captain Neil and Andrew’s relationship. He thinks it’s nice that both of them have someone who no matter the circumstances would be there with a shovel to help bury a body. He even thought it was nice when he thought it’d be his body!

“The second guy stabbed me.” The lie comes out smoothly which is good because he is planning on committing to it and Captain Neil blinks and looks at him, “He got hold of Andrew’s knife during the tussle.” He adds.

Captain Neil looks to Andrew, “You said it wasn’t-“

“I guess Smith can lie to a liar.” Andrew interrupts.

Captain Neil’s eyes widen before a wicked grin spread across his face that made FF just a little uncomfortable but only because Andrew’s grip on his shoulder suddenly tightened and his nostrils flared the way they did before the two usually started speaking in Russian.

He can handle being stabbed, he cannot handle being in shock and pretending that he doesn’t know what the two of them are saying to one another.

“Can you tell Nicky I’m sorry I got blood on his clothes?” He asks and both Captain Neil and Andrew’s gaze snap away from eye-fucking each other. He looks down and the clothes are black and they haven’t moved the knife so the wound is plugged still but yeah there’s definitely blood seeping into the shirt, not to mention the hole. “Could you tell him I’m sorry about that?” He asks.

“You are going to tell him yourself Smith.” Andrew hisses, “You are going to be fine. Do you understand me?” He asks before turning to Neil, “Can you bunch your jacket under his legs, it’s better to keep them higher than his head and heart?” He asks.

Aw.

Andrew is just so nice.

He can’t BELIEVE he thought Andrew wanted to hunt him for sport.

He’d apologize for thinking that but he thinks it’d be better to just let that particular misunderstanding go unmentioned.

Captain Neil bunches his jacket up and puts it under FF’s legs before he goes over to check on Romero and Jackson. In the corner of his eye he sees Captain Neil pause at the sight of Romero before moving over to Jackson.

“Why is he in these?!” Neil asks baffled.

“It’s a weird sex alley Captain Neil! I don’t know WHAT to tell you!” Yeah he’s definitely going into shock. The sirens are getting closer though so he’ll probably be okay.

***

The cops all have a bit of a laugh about Jackson’s cuffs until Neil tells them exactly who they are taking into custody. Neil could admit that he’s a little irritated with Andrew that at no point did the man clarify that the people who FF and Andrew were dealing with were Romero and Jackson.

Those are his father’s goons.

“They were here for me.” Neil says to the police officer and Andrew’s hand tightens in his, “They tried to take Smith because he’s my friend.”

They had decided on their story before the cops came. FF had no idea who any of these people were and was just defending himself. He’d gone out to catch his breath in the alley when Jackson had shown up. Neil had asked how in the world FF had handled Jackson on his own but FF must have been getting kind of loopy from blood loss because all he said was, “He told me to sing so I did.”

Neil can find out the full story later.

The important part is.

“Jackson went after Smith but Smith won the fight.” Neil says looking at where the cops are trying to decide how to get the fuzzy pink handcuffs off of Jackson to get him in the far more secure police issued handcuffs.

“Your friend said that you and he took out Romero together. That Romero is the one who stabbed him with your knife.” He says.

“Yes.” Andrew answers simply and Neil squeezes his hand as a reminder, “I went out to grab a smoke and Romero followed after me. Romero got hold of one of my knives in the struggle and stabbed Smith.” Andrew says with his usual deadpan affect.

“Yeah that’s what your friend Smith was saying too.” The officer says. “Well, I’m sure the FBI will want to talk to you all further but for now it’s a pretty clear cut case of self defense and no one but your friend has any serious injuries.” The officer pats Neil on the shoulder and Neil manages not to shirk away from the touch. The officer retracts his hand, “You guys are free to go tonight.” He says and turns back towards the car where a dazed Romero is in the back seat.

“Where did they take Smith?” Andrew asks since they’d been shepherded away from Smith the moment the ambulance had come. They hadn’t been able to ask which hospital Smith was going to be taken to so they could go and get updates.

“Lexington.” The cop answers, “Go on and see your friend. He seemed pretty loopy he kept talking about some beauty contest thing when he was getting loaded into the ambulance. I’m sure he’ll be a riot on painkillers.” The cop goes for a joke but it twists something in Neil’s stomach to think of FF so out of it that he’s talking nonsensically.

He feels Andrew’s hand stiffen in his and knows he’s not alone.

“Thanks.” Neil says before they head towards the front of the club. The club had been emptied out when the cops had come so Roland was babysitting Aaron and Nicky for them while they talked to the cops and FF was loaded out to the hospital.

In a way it’s almost a blessing that Nicky and Aaron are both so blasted that they aren’t comprehending any of what’s going on. They’ll have to drop them off back at the house before they go to the hospital. They’ll beat Wymack there easily even after the interrogation and drop off.

FF had asked them to call Wymack to let him know what was going on “I gave him the rights to make health care decisions for me if I’m incapacitated.” FF had said so Neil texts Wymack the hospital and the address after Andrew rattles it off for him.

“I don’t like that you hid it from me.” Neil says in the car.

“They wanted to kill you.” Andrew won’t apologize.

They still hold hands on the drive back to the Columbia house.

Andrew takes care of getting Aaron into bed while Neil helps Nicky.

Nicky who looks at Neil with a loopy smile and Neil hurts knowing that tomorrow when Nicky finds out about tonight and how he was too blasted to do anything to help FF.

Andrew and Neil reconvene in the Maserati and make their way to the hospital before either of them realize the issue.

“What is the name of the patient you’re looking for an update on?” The receptionist asks.

Both Andrew and Neil freeze.

Fuck.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

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The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[celaenaeiln]

it is in my humble opinion that in a demigod child situation, Dick Grayson would be either a child of Ares, Athena, or Aphrodite. Athena and Aphrodite are pretty obvious, he's smart and he's charming and he's bloody terrifying. but Ares. Oh Boy Do I Love That Guy and here is why.

modern media portrays Ares as a misogynistic asshole. this is just untrue. Ares is the only male Olympian without a history of SA and in fact adores & respects women. he is the father of the Amazons and has the title "the god feasted by women" Dick Grayson (apparently) is perceived as a womanizer and cheater. That Is Not True At All. he loves and respects women.

Ares is often portrayed as being a force of nature, uncaring of the law. that is also false. he's also the god of rebellion and civil order, an ally of Themis, the goddess of justice Dick Grayson, yes he can be a feral little shite (and i say this with full adoration), he's still a police and stands for the people, he brings justice in both his day and night job

there's a common conception that Ares is a meatheaded guy who only likes war and violence. once again, untrue. you need strategy for war, Ares simply represents the brutal aspects of war but he's still a smart guy as seen with the Romans adopting Ares into Mars. not to mention, Ares understands that in war there are winners and losers Dick Grayson is often seen as ditzy or less smart than his siblings (especially Tim) when in reality he's a very capable and smart guy who understands that loss happens at times

Ares cares about his family, especially his mother. when two giants threatened his mother, Hera, he was the first to fight for her. i don't need to talk about how much Dick cares for his family right? i'll admit though, this point is less polished than the rest

as much as i love the PJO series, i HATE their characterization of Ares being a crappy dad. the reality is that he disobeyed Zeus to avenge his children in the Trojan War. he committed murder and was sentenced to trial for his daughter. The Amazonian Warriors. he may not be the best at affection but he's a caring dad Dick Grayson is not the perfect brother/mentor/father figure but he's trying and doing his best goddamnit. i'm sick of people saying he's not

anger is an essential part to Ares. anger is an essential part to Dick Grayson

there's a common portrayal of Ares and Aphrodite where Ares treats Aphrodite like shite. let's be honest, the goddess of love (a war goddess, by the way if you look up Aphrodite Areia) would not let herself be treated poorly. my personal belief on why this portrayal exists lies with the whole Hephaestus debacle in which i believe Hephaestus was the crap guy here but that's another topic i'd discuss with another shot I Do Not Care What You Say, Starfire and Nightwing Are Not The Shitty Relationship You Think They Are

in (i think) two different stories, it's shown that Ares can dance. it makes sense. footwork is important in battle. footwork is important in acrobatics. Dick Grayson knows what he's doing

in many myths, Ares is treated like crap by his siblings and although this is another half baked point, i feel like it's a bit common for Dick Grayson to be treated like crap by his loved ones

i love Ares and i love Dick Grayson and sadly they both have poor representation in mass media. thank you for listening, i am so fucking tipsy (maybe drunk actually) right now.

damn.

[rorywritessmut]

You hate your asshole boss. So, after an interview you two decide to take something for a spin

Kinktober 2023: Hate Fucking

As usual, minors DNI. Please interact with this if you liked it ❤️❤️ Enjoy!

You hated Bakugou Katsuki. He was arrogant, entitled, and full of shit. You wouldn’t let him know he got under your skin, though. You knew that would boost his ego to know the super positive and happy person you were, hated him. He was also your boss. Being the number 2 hero was already inflating his ego. Always going on and on about his obsession with beating Deku.

You are a people pleaser. Even when that person is your self absorbed boss.

So, you spent every day of your life kissing Bakugou’s ass. “Yes sir” this and “Please, don’t, sir” that. You are his relations manager so trying to control him was a pain in your ass and was wearing on your patience. You begged your company to let you be Chargebolt’s assistant when he harassed the other way. You’d rather be flirted with than yelled at constantly for using your quirk.

Gentle Touch is the name of your quirk. This entailed that just a gentle touch could calm down the most anxious person. You were also in school to become a therapist for traumatized civilians after Villian attacks. You needed a job to pay for school and your company scooped you up and paired you with your current pain in the ass.

Your quirk was used often when it came to the explosive man that is Bakugou Katsuki. You took a lot of pride in showing him how to calm the fuck down from time to time. His gravelly voice telling you to quietly “Fuck off” would make your entire day better.

Today, you broke. Bakugou had an interview with some popular gossip channel and your quirk was all used up before the first 10 minutes of it. Bakugou was pissed about the interview and the two of you almost didn’t make it on the ride over to the building.

“So, Dynamight, any special ladies in your life?” The hostess leaned over and you got a good whiff of her perfume.

“Just this bitch right here.” Bakugou pointed a finger at you, “Keeps me in line and shit”

“Oh-ho-ho, you’re in a relationship with your relations manager?”

“No!” You quickly interjected, “He means that there are no women in his life other than the women he works with, respectfully.” You always did this. You always had to clean up his crass language to keep the gossip media out of his business. Frankly, you were sick of it.

“Yeah, whatever she said.” He crossed his arms aaaand he was gone. While he was physically there, he was emotionally gone. This usually meant that you were going to be stuck answering his questions.

“Not even your mom?” The hostess teases.

“That hag-”

“No, Dynamight loves his mother very much.” You physically put your hand on his shoulder, signaling him to shut up.

“Ah, you two seem close. Tell me about yourself, oh great Relations Manager.”

“I have a useful quirk that calms Dynamight down so I was hired to keep him in line.” You regret saying that when the hostess raises her eyebrow.

“I see, so, you keep him in line and he pays your way through school? Sounds like a sugar daddy exchange to me.” She sneers, how did she know you went to school and that Bakugou paid for it??

“Listen,” Bakugou growls but you make a low sound.

“Ma’am, my desire to go to school has nothing to do with Bak-Dynamight,” You take a deep breath in, “I am just his relations manager.”

“A bitch too.” Bakugou sneers at you, narrowing his ruby red eyes at you.

“Looks like we have an enemies to lovers situation-ship!” The hostess is covering her mouth as you stare at Bakugou.

His lips quirked ever so slightly at the sight of your rigid body. You wanted nothing more than to walk off set and never see him again. Every damn time your relationship came up, Bakugou’s answers became more and more vague making it seem like you two actually engaged with each other beyond work.

“I’m done.” You clipped off your mic set, threw it on the ground, and stormed off.

You could hear Bakugou right behind you, stomping through the corridor. He called your name a few times and you felt tears come to your eyes. This job was ruining your life, if you were being honest.

“You’re not done.” Bakugou snapped and grabbed your wrist. You were brought back to reality.

“Get.Off.Me”

“No”

“Bakugou Katsuki, I am done with this job. I went on two dates with a guy and when I asked why he ghosted me later it was because he didn’t want to be involved with “Dynamight’s Girl,” what the hell does that even mean?!” You’re pushing on h8is chest with your finger, getting up in his face.

“It’s because you are my girl,” He sneers and corners you in the hallway. His arms are on both sides of you, trapping you.

“Since when?!” You’re looking up at him now.

“Since you first used your quirk on me”

“You don’t even know me” You push him with both hands and storm to your dressing room.

Of course, he follows you into the room and locks the door behind him. He stalks towards you, something unreadable behind his eyes. You back away from him until the back of your legs hits the desk behind you. You’re reminded of why you hate him so much. Of course he thinks you belong to him. He thought he was entitled to everybody around him.

“Listen to me,” He starts but you’re not having it.

“No! I am done working for you, I’ll find a different job and get myself through school.”

“No, you won’t,” He grabs your wrist and yanks you towards him. He pulls said wrist to his lips and kisses it. Never once did he break eye contact with you. You’re left speechless at his actions. “Now, quit being a brat.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” You scream and trash against him. “I don’t like you. I hate you” Venom laces your voice and you see something dark in Bakugou’s eyes.

He takes off his mask and ear pieces with one hand. He tightens his grip on your wrist and he pulls you impossibly closer. He leans in and licks a stripe from your collarbone to the shell of your ear.

“You hate me?”

“Yes, I hate you so much.” You whisper, closing your eyes. You’re losing control of yourself and you can feel your sex dripping with sudden need. Sudden need for your asshole of a boss.

“I can smell you, you know, dripping with desire,” he whispers in your ear, “I want you to turn around, pretty girl.” You stay put. When Bakugou notices your disobedience, he grabs your shoulders and turns you around.

Now, you’re looking into your eyes in the Vanity. You flicker your eyes up to Bakugou who has a Cheshire grin on his face. Your chest is tight and your thoughts are running a million miles a minute. It’s obvious from the way he’s tracing lines along your bicep, that he’s not going to hurt you. You can’t help the sudden feeling of dread and desire pooling in your stomach.

“Now, quit being a brat and listen to me,” He’s talking to your reflection in the mirror, “I always get what I want. What I want is to fuck you until you’re a blubbering mess.” You swallow something thick.

“Bakugou-”

“Katsuki. If you’re going to be my little fuck, at least call me by my first name.” Bakugou coos and runs a finger down your neck and along your collarbone.

“No. I fucking hate you, I won’t call you anything.”

“What happened to Yes Sir?” Bakugou teases.

You look at his reflection and suddenly he’s gagging you with his pointer and middle finger. Your eyes go wide and you can’t find it to be scared. Instead, you’re insanely turned on and pissed off. You bite down on his fingers and he jerks them out of your mouth. The asshole grabs your jaw and forces your hips against the vanity. You can feel his erection against your back.

“Bitch.” He sneers and you smile at the name calling. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. I am a man, though, I want to fuck you.”

You contemplate for a second, did you want this? The traitor between your thighs begged for him to fulfill his promise. Your brain though:? It was still unsure of what it wanted right now. Suddenly, you felt a tapping sensation on your temple. You looked at Bakugou and saw it was him tapping on your head.

“Don’t think too much. Just go with your gut.” Easy for him to say, your guts wanted rearranged. Slowly, you nodded your head.

“I warned you.”

“I’m going to tell you this won’t happen again,” You sneered at him. “You’re probably a pathetic fuck anyways.”

“I’ll prove you wrong.” You snorted at that remark.

With all this tension, he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at yourself in the mirror again. You grab onto the vanity and prepare for the worst dicking you’ve gotten in a while.

“I am going to tell you one time and one time only, keep your eyes on the reflection in the mirror.” You quirk an eyebrow as he begins to disappear behind you.

It doesn’t take long before he’s pushing your skirt above your hips. You try to crane your head back but you receive a swift slap to the ass. You yelp and turn your attention back to your mirror image. Bakugou makes haste by pulling down your underwear. He groans at the aroma of your gushing arousal.

You’re not prepared for him to lick from your clit to your asshole. A moan escapes from your plush lips and you feel your face heat up at the sound. Grabbing onto vanity with a vice grip, you’re prepared for the second lick. Bakugou doesn’t spend much time assaulting your clit from this position. Instead, he opts to tongue fucking the apex between your thighs. You try to not let his pride swell by wantonly moaning every time he hits something right. Which happens to be a lot.

Bakugou taps your ass cheek and teases your lips with his fingers. Is he asking for permission to finger fuck you? You make a whining sound to confirm that you need something inside of you.

“Good girl,” He praises and plunges his fingers past your labia.

“Fuck” You curse.

You can feel him smile against your sex as he slowly inches towards your tight hole with his tongue. You gasp at the sensation of his fingers curling inside your spongy canal and the assault on your asshole. Moaning his name, you look at your face and you’re surprised at the look that’s there. Your lips are torn from biting them to keep the sounds to a minimum. Your eyes have tears brimming in the corners. Bakugou continues to lick and thrust, driving you mad.

“Please,” you beg, “Please fuck me.” You can’t believe you are actually begging him to fuck you. The very man you hated so much.

“Have you been good enough? Want to see yourself fucked out of your mind? Bakugou stands and grabs your jaw. You nod your head with the little movement you’re allowed. You hear Bakugou shed the rest of his hero attire but you don’t dare turn to look at him.

“Hurry,” you plead.

Bakugou wastes little time in lining up with your entrance and beginning at a brutal pace. Letting out a strew of curse words, you let out a long drawn out moan. Using a staccato beat, Bakugou grips onto your hips to lift you up off the floor and changes the angles. He sets yet another brutal pace and you drop your head in pleasure. Bakugou slides out and pulls your hair by the scalp, making you look at yourself.

“I said to keep looking,” He growls out and you lazily look up at your image in the mirror.

You’re definitely fucked out of your mind. Your hair is disheveled and saliva runs down your chin. Your breasts have come out of your bra and shirt, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Bakugou hums in your ear and slides back in. He thrusts and thrusts until you’re almost screaming in unison with them. There’s a tension building in your core that is threatening to snap. You grip the vanity as hard you can before your tipping point is reached.

“Katsuki,” You cry, “I’m coming.”

“Fuck, me too.” He grunts and you’re both moaning as you come down from your high.

Everything is silent as you clean up, head out, and go your separate ways. You leave in the same car but never say a word to each other. Soon, you’re home and you pass out from exhaustion.

The next day? Well, gossip gets around quick.

[neonghostlights]

A/N: I think the next chapter is the end of their story (:

Warnings: Death (reader is a ghost), loneliness (both reader and Eddie are insanely lonely), heartbreak, description on how reader died, illness (18+ only, minors DNI)

Series Masterlist

The Shortcut Chapter Three: The Talk

Eddie found you sitting against your headstone like you were waiting for him.

He waited until the moon was full and high in the sky to come back since he knew that he wouldn’t be able to see you without the magic in the air that the moon provided him.

He still didn’t really understand it, but if he thought too much about it it made his head ache with racing thoughts.

You offered him a small, apologetic smile as he approached. He sat beside you, about a foot between you.

The ground was cold and he shivered.

“How are you?” You asked, speaking first.

“I’m fine. Things are tough right now at home but it’s okay,” Eddie spoke honestly.

“Would you like to talk about it?” You asked him, genuine curiosity in your tone.

“I graduated high school this past spring. It took me three tries and I finally did it and I thought after I did that my life would magically get better and it just…hasn’t.”

“How hasn’t it gotten better?”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t have a real job. I sell…illegal things to make money. I can’t go to college because I don’t have the money and I didn’t have the grades to get in. My friends are doing all these crazy cool things and I’m just stuck. I haven’t seen any of my friends in weeks. I wanted to leave this town and make music but I have no money and my uncle needs help at home,” Eddie blurted out, listing off all of the things in his life that had been wrong.

You were quiet for a beat before you spoke again.

“Things could be worst. You could be dead.”

Eddie froze, staring at you for a moment and feeling like an asshole for being insensitive.

You let out a loud laugh, head leaning back with the force of it coming out.

The sound of it made Eddie laugh too.

“I’m sorry,” you admitted once your laughter died down. “For getting upset the last time you were here. I hadn’t realized so much time had passed and it had been so long since anyone bothered to visit me. It just made me think that’s all.”

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie was hesitant, worried that you would push him away again but he was dying to know. “What happened? How did you….you know?”

“How did I die?” You sighed, looking at the ground before you. “I was engaged to a nice boy that grew up down the street from us. He had a nice job, had gone to school, made good money. That was so important to my mother that he could support me. I was infatuated,” you said with a smile, staring off dreamily.

“I thought everything was going so well. I was working in the hospital as an orderly. I think that’s where I first started to get sick, and within a day I was in the hospital bed as a patient. I’m still not sure what it was. Possibly influenza, there was an outbreak on the unit I was working on.”

“After it happened, I found myself wandering here. It took me a moment to realize the grave I was standing in front of was my own. My mother and sister visited for a while before they stopped.”

“What about your fiancé?” Eddie asked.

You gave him a sad smile. “I’ve seen him visit twice. The second time he had a wedding band on and he was saying goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You put a hand up. “Save your apologies. It makes no difference now.”

Eddie wanted to change the subject. “Where do you go when you’re not here?”

“I’m still here…or there. Sometimes I watch over my grave. I did that a lot in the beginning. Sometimes I am in between.”

It didn’t make sense to Eddie but he didn’t want to push it.

“Eddie, I hope things get better for you,” you said with a little smile.

“Why does this feel like a goodbye?” Eddie asked, head spinning by the change in direction of the conversation.

He looked forward to every meeting with you. You were the little light in his life at the moment.

“It can’t be safe for you to come here at night.”

“No one messes with me. I promise,” Eddie lied through his teeth.

You gave him a look like you didn’t believe him but didn’t push him.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Eddie said, lightening to mood.

There were chills on his skin as he heard your laugh carry into the night.

He stayed with you till morning, watching you disappear into the morning light.

He missed you the second you were gone and was already counting the days until he could see you again.

[dirtywrestling]

Neighbors - Jeff Hardy (18+)

Pairing: Young!Jeff Hardy x Female!Reader

Summary: You gets a new neighbor who is bit of an asshole.

Warnings: None really, fluff, mention of death, foul language, Jeff lowkey being a dick.

Word Count: 2,675

Follow My Backup Blog!: @dirtywresling102

Living alone and being young had its perks; You could leave whenever you pleased, arrive home no matter what hour of the day it was, your money went towards your bills, food, and things for your cat, Snuffles. 

No parents nagging in your ear about curfew or other problems you didn’t care about. You weren’t a trouble maker: Straight A’s, great attendance, a goody two shoes, but you were tired of living under your parents rules and high expectations. 

Once you graduate you went full time at your job and searched for a cheap but nice apartment. Luckily, the one bedroom and one bathroom apartment was in your price range. While meeting up with the landlord to look at the apartment, you took it in a heartbeat.

While living in the small apartment, you decided to get some company. You went to the local animal shelter and asked about adopting a pet. Krystal, the one in charge of the shelter, talked about a stray they’ve had for some time now. “We don’t know how he’ll react to being an indoor cat but we’re going to be forced to euthanize him if he isn’t adopted soon.” She said as the two of you walked into the cat room. Your eyes were immediately drawn to some beautiful orange fur. Attached to the fur were some big green eyes that looked like emerald jewels. Your heart became so warm that it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. “His name is Snuffles.”

After quickly filling out an adoption application, the shelter contacted you the very next day to bring Snuffles home. Ending the phone call, you quickly grabbed your keys and headed out the door to bring Snuffles home. 

You tried to maintain yourself, not wanting to scare the little guy. You placed his cage in the middle of the living room, opened it and walked away, letting him explore on his own. 

That was nearly a year ago. Snuffles got used to his new environment quicker than you expected. He realized he had a home instead of being cooped up in a small cage and only getting fed once a day. Snuffles quickly became attached to you and he loved to play with you and his toys. 

The neighbors in the apartment complex were nice as well. You visited a single mother that lived below you often. She gave you a plate full of cookies and left overs. Her 5 year old son was cute too, he loved Snuffles. Snuffles paid no mind to the toddler grabbing his tail or tugging at his fur. The old cat understood the child’s intentions. 

There was an elderly couple, The Johnson’s, across the hall from you. They were talking about leaving for a retirement home, which made you upset, but glad that they’d be in a home supervised and they wouldn’t get hurt in their apartment. 

Walking up the first flight of stairs, you frowned as EMT’s rushed past you, heading down stairs. Quickly jogging up to your floor, you saw a police officer by Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s apartment. “What’s going on?” You asked, approaching the officer. 

“Do you know these people?” His voice was gruff with a stone cold look on his face.

“Well, they’re my neighbors. I’ve known them for almost two years now. What happened?” You asked again, getting worried. Your eyes darted to his name tag. D. Knicks. “Please, Officer Knicks.”

Officer Knicks sighed, taking his cap off and running his fingers through his thin dark hair. “Mr. Johnson,” He started, “he suffered a heart attack.” He placed the blue and black hat upon his head again. “I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.“ 

"And Mrs. Johnson, what of her?” You tried to get a look at the Johnson’s apartment, only to see an EMT zipping up a black body bag. Your face instantly becomes white at the sight. 

“She’s with her daughter. Mrs. Johnson is going to live with her for a while." 

You nodded your head in sorrow. "At least she’s okay.” You maneuvered your way past the tall officer, unlocking your apartment, you walked in and were greeted by Snuffles. “Oh Snuffles, Mr. Johnson passed away.” You bent down and patted his head. 

“Meow.” He rubbed his body against your leg as if he was trying to say ‘Don’t worry, everything will be okay.‘ 

“You’re right Snuffles, Mrs. Johnson is with her daughter, she’ll be alright.” You tried to reassure yourself.

Fixing up dinner later that night, You heard a knock at the door. “Coming.” You walked towards the front door, looking through the peephole to see your friend from downstairs, Lexi and her son, Dawson. 

Unlocking both locks, you swung the door open. “Y/N!” Lexi wrapped her arms around you. "I heard what happened to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.” She released the hug and walked in, Dawson was already in the apartment looking for Snuffles. You sat down on the sofa and Lexi joined you. 

“They were just about to go to a retirement home together.” You explained to her in a sad voice. You don’t want to think too much about it, dying alone must be terrible. It encourages you to go out and start dating, to search for your soul mate. But only being in your early twenties, you brush off the whole dating idea and remind yourself that you’re still young. 

“Sad. Did you hear about their apartment?" 

"No?” You arched my eyebrow.

“Well, Mrs. Johnson has to get her things out before the end of the week because someone is going to be moving in.”

Your eyes widen. “How morbid!” You nearly shouted, the poor woman lost her husband and now the landlord isn’t giving her any time to move out. “Her husband just passed away.” You frowned. 

“At least she has her daughter. I’m sure they’ll figure something out.” Lexi patted your knee in comfort.

“Yeah, I guess so. No matter who moves in across from me, they’ll never be as nice as The Johnson’s." 

"Y/N, calm down. I’m sure whoever moves next door will be nice.” Lexi explained. She stood up from her place and picked up Dawson who whined slightly. “Well, it’s getting late. Somebody has school in the morning and if they don’t get enough sleep, they will be cranky.” Lexi groaned out. “Don’t have kids.” She whispered with a teasing wink.

You scrunch your nose. “No thanks, I’ll stick with my cat." 

"You’ll have kids, Y/N. You just wait.” Lexi headed towards the door, exiting herself out. 

“No, thank you.” You mumbled to yourself. 

The week went on and by the end of it you were exhausted. You ran to the grocery store to buy cat food, food for yourself, and other things that you ran out of. You were almost late for your shifts down at the cafe which made some coworkers upset. Some of your bills were almost overdue but, luckily, you paid them off right at the last second. 

Christmas was coming up and you had no idea what to get your friend Lexi or your family members. The Holidays were drawing near.

Stomping up the steps with your arms full of shopping bags, you tried your best trying to see where you were walking. You heard a door slam shut, you grew worried that someone was in your apartment. “Ooph!” You stumbled backwards, it was like you just walked right into a brick wall.

“Watch where you’re going.” A male voice snarled. 

You made a sour face. “Well, I would if I could.” You snapped back at the man. “But obviously my hands are a bit full." 

"Ever heard of a second trip?” He retorted back.

You turned your body to the side to see who you were dealing with. A young male that was nearly the same age as you or a bit older stood in your way. He wore a fishnet shirt that exposed his muscles and nipples, his hair was dyed different colors and shoulder length. His pants were black and ripped with a couple of chains hanging off of them. You scoffed. “Nice, did the circus come to town?” You snorted.

“No, I’m a professional wrestler.” He gloated, puffing his chest out as if you were supposed to worship him. “Jeff Hardy is the name.” He smirked, as if I should know who he was.

“Right, whatever Jeffy.” You pushed past him and to your apartment. 

“Don’t tell me you’re my neighbor, goody two shoes.” Jeff groaned.

Your blood boiled, this guy was your new neighbor?! You’d rather take back the Johnson’s. “You got a problem with it, then move.” You snapped, fishing your keys out of your pockets.

Jeff smirked, watching you struggle and trying to juggle the grocery bags in your hands trying to get your keys. He could offer to help but he liked to see you suffer already. 

“You could help instead of staring at me.” You stopped trying to fetch your keys. 

“Yeah, I could.” You heard Jeff chuckle. “Have a good one neighbor.” Jeff started to walk down the steps. 

Your arms grew weak, the bags fell to the floor. Foods and gifts poured out of the ripped brown baggies. Groaning you glared down the steps to see that Jeff was already off of this floor and to the next. Ripping your house keys out of your pants you opened up the door to your small apartment. 

You hated your new neighbor, Jeff Hardy. He was obnoxious, loud and apparently, he had lots of friends because he threw parties almost every damn night. You called the cops but since you were the only one who complained. They told you to take it up to your landlord. You grit your teeth and do what they suggested. Taking it to your landlord, he just shrugged his shoulders and explained that Jeff was a paying tenant.

You couldn’t catch a break. You were losing sleep, getting headaches on the regular. You confronted Jeff about the loud noises, he promised to keep it down but he was just louder the next night, you didn’t think that was possible. 

“Dude, you look terrible.” Lexi said, smirking as she sipped her soda. 

“Don’t remind me.” You grumbled, drinking your beverage. 

Dawson chased Snuffles around the apartment, the cat meowed while the toddler giggled away. “Can you seriously not hear anything from underneath him?” You asked, eyes droopy. You thought you were gonna fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. 

“Not a thing.” She chuckled into her cup. “You should take a vacation, get out of town for a while.”

“I guess that sounds fun.” You murmured. Your attention went to Snuffles running underneath the coffee table. “But who would take care of Snuffles?” You looked over at Lexi, wondering if she’d do it.

“Nuh- Huh, I have a child to take care of. That’s already a handful. I have a friend, a guy friend.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe I can hook you two up when you get back. His name is Randy." 

You bit your lip, looking down at the hard wooden floor. You heard stories about Randy, you were scared he’d hurt Snuffles or throw a party in your apartment. Sighing out you scratched the back of your head. "I don’t know.” You sounded reluctant to have this man come to your apartment.

“I say yes, you’re going out of town for the weekend.” Lexi already had her phone pulled out, texting away to Randy.

It looked like you didn’t have a choice. “I do have the weekend off..” You trailed off into thought. What’s the worst that could happen? 

The weekend felt more like a week. You visited your parents a few towns over and all you did was text Randy. Not in a flirtatious way but questions about Snuffles. How was he? Was he eating? Can you send pictures? You knew you were annoying the man but you didn’t care nor did you have any interest in dating him. 

Walking up the stairs to your apartment, you faced your door. About to place the key into the socket, you stopped and listened. It was quiet. That was new. You turned your head behind you, looking at your neighbors, Jeff Hardy’s door. There wasn’t a peep coming from behind the wood. Raising your eyebrows, you grew curious but that left your mind as quick as it came. 

Twisting the key you pushed open the front door. “Hey Randy.” You greeted the man who was sprawled out on your leather sofa. You placed your bags in your room and looked around your apartment, there was no sign of Snuffles. You looked at his cat bowls, both the water and food were empty. 

His litter box was scooped clean and toys not even touched. Rushing back into the living room Randy still was in the same position. “Where the hell is Snuffles?”

“Who?” He asked groggily.

“My Cat!” You shouted, the man flinched, getting up and stretching.

“About that, he escaped." 

Your heart sank. "Escaped?” You whispered, almost in tears. 

“Yeah, bolted right out of the apartment the day you left.” Randy stalked towards you.

“That’s why you never messaged me back.” You looked up at the olive skinned man with the green eyes. 

“So, should I get my reward now or later?” He licked his lips, eyes shined with want. 

You didn’t believe what he said. You raised your hand, slapping his face as hard as you could. Randy stumbled back, shocked. “What the fuck!?” He shouted.

You approached Randy, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him towards the door. “Get out!” You screamed. You kicked your foot at him, hitting his ass. 

“I’m leaving!” He hollered, Randy fell onto all fours when you kicked his ass “Crazy bitch!” Randy stumbled to get onto his feet and rushed to the stairs. 

Slamming your door shut, you covered your face, crying. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You blame yourself for not getting Snuffles microchipped just in case something like this would happen. 

Three loud knocks came from the door. “I swear Randy, if that’s you." 

"It’s not, it’s me.” A voice with southern drawl said through the door. 

The door seemed like miles away, grabbing the handle you swung it open, the hinges creaked. “What do you-”

“This belong to you?” Jeff teased, holding out a big orange tabby cat. 

“Meow.” Snuffles purred.

“Snuffles!” I exclaimed, grabbing him out of Jeff’s arms. “What- How did you?” You looked at Jeff with sparkling eyes. 

“Well, that boyfriend of yours threw him out. I guess Snuffles here kept bothering him, then scratched him and Randy kicked him out of your apartment. Snuffles kept meowing, wanting back in but that douche wasn’t going to let him in so I scooped him up and let him stay here for the weekend.” Jeff smiled. 

“What about food or cat litter?" 

"I got a small bag of food and a litter box with some litter.” Jeff petted Snuffles head.

“Wh- Why?” You asked, “Why would you do it?" 

Jeff looked down, his eyes shining in the light. "Well, to be honest I know I was a big dick when we first met.” He sighed. “I just wanted to make it up to you." 

"By saving my cat.” You smiled. 

“What, you want me to bake you a fruitcake?" 

"Tis’ the season.” You teased.

Jeff rolled his eyes letting out a low chuckle. “If you say so." 

Snuffles jumped out of your arms and rushed over to the toys, pawing at them. 

"Well, I have pizza rolls in my freezer. It’s not a perfect dinner but I’d love to make you dinner sometime?" 

Jeff let out a hearty laugh. "Pizza rolls sound amazing right now.” He smiled down at you. “You got netflix?" 

"Of course I do." 

Jeff walked into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. 

"So, you say you’re a wrestler. Care to show me some moves?” You giggled.

Jeff Hardy's Masterlist

[orionsangel86]

You know, I thought we were done with the ageism in fandom thinking that its purely for teenagers? Because it doesn't help anyone to have the attitude of this (now blocked) anon. People don't stop having passions and being fans of things just because they get older. Fandoms thrive BECAUSE older people put in the effort to MAKE them thrive. Do you really think that 100k word perfectly written epic fanfic that you adore so much was written by a 16 year old? Because I guarantee it was more likely to be written by a 35 year old mother of 2.

That amazing cosplay of your fave character you saw at a recent comic con that took phenomenal skill and probably a good deal of expense to look perfect wasn't put together by a 17 year old high schooler, it was perfected through years of passion into a hobby that more than likely required a full time job and a savings account to afford.

That amazing fanartist who has the BEST art of your OTP that captures their likeness in a really gorgeous style? They weren't born with that talent. It takes years to develop a personal art style, and capturing a persons likeness in art is a skill that has to be nurtured. The best artists are the ones who've had years to develop their skills. They aren't school kids. I have had mutuals on this site for a decade now and I have seen how much their art has improved and become absolutely beloved. These are people who at their youngest are in their late 20s now. Most of my mutuals are in their 30s, some of the best fanfiction writers I know are in their 40s and 50s. The meta writers I know are also in my age group. Hell, do you think teenagers run AO3? You'll be surprised just how many "old people" make the best fanworks. If you removed them from fandom spaces, I guarantee you would remove most of the talent, because no offence to you kids, but that talent is something that is nurtured over time, and time and aging go hand in hand i'm afraid.

The people who make fandoms what it is, the ones running events, pouring themselves into analytical posts, providing the best fanart, coming up with the amusing memes and textposts that go viral? Do you REALLY think they are all school kids? Fandoms are made up of PEOPLE, and newsflash assholes, people AGE.

This attitude always amazes me. There isn't an age limit in fandom. This isn't fucking Logan's Run (bet you the kids won't understand that reference) and honestly if these kids genuinely think they need to give it up and quit at a certain point in their future I just pity them.

Fandom thrives because of the older people that have nurtured it for years and carved out a space where younger people can enter in comfort and safety. Which are only possible BECAUSE older people built online fandoms and continued to put in the work to keep them going. If we all had to stop caring and leave fandom at some specific cut off date, the fandom landscape would be a vastly different space - and probably a lot worse for being predominantly run by hormonal teenagers - heh, I guess it would be a lot more like TikTok and we all know how dreadful TikTok has been for fandom so far. If nothing else that alone proves my point.

At the end of the day, no one can stop the passing of time. Even the horrible children who send adults nasty anons. Eventually, they will be the "fandom elders" and receiving their own anon hate from a future generation of brats, I personally can't wait to be the very old lady laughing at them when that day inevitably comes.

[halfetirosie]

Character Ask meme- Edmond

@xenole I hope you know that you opened the floodgates, and this was going to be even longer but I forced myself to stop before I went fully off-the-rails...

♡♡♡Edmond♡♡♡

First impression

Believe it or not, my first impression of Edmond actually wasn’t good! I was like, “Damn, he’s pretty, but he’s such an asshole!” He seemed stuck-up at best and unnecessarily mean to Eiden at worst. I felt a wee bit better about him when he told Yakumo that the knights that bothered his village were being punished, but I still didn’t like him very much.

Impression now

*Deep inhale*

EVERYDAY I REPENT FOR MY PAST ACTIONS!!!!

I LOVE EDMOND AND WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM!!!!!

Yo. The GAP MOE. He acts all cold and professional at work, but then we find out that he’s sensitive??? And addicted to sugar??? (Literally a sweetheart!) And he’s basically an otaku that reads erotic book series in his spare time??? (SO DAMN RELATABLE????)

And it is so easy to misunderstand him if you’re only looking at the surface level. Like, yes, his general speech patterns are very rough and blunt, but that’s only because of his upbringing in nobility. He holds himself to a higher standard, but is incredibly humble.

No, really; let’s take a moment to really look at that noble upbringing of his. Aster makes it very clear that many (if not most) of the nobles of Klein are stupid, greedy, and/or corrupt in some capacity—they don’t really care about the common people. Edmond grew up surrounded by that, along with their insane amount of ettiquette, customs, and roundabout ways of speaking. It would’ve been TOO EASY for him to turn out to be a self-absorbed snob, too.

But he isn’t!!! Against all odds, Edmond grew up to be an upright man with a strong sense of justice and concern for civilians. He takes noblesse oblige seriously. He works hard everyday in everything he does; and he does A LOT. Like, A LOT a lot. His full-time job as Vice Captain, plus Clan duties, plus household duties (so that his mother doesn’t have to do any of it, even though she says she can). 

It’s no wonder, then, that he’s so goddamn repressed!!!

Sure, he’s a tsundere. But that’s only out of habit (and shyness), rather an actual reflection of his desires. He’s used to stifling that part of himself. He’s used to treating lust as shameful, because he’s afraid of lacking discipline; he doesn’t want to be like all the other trashy nobles in high society.

But through all of his intimacy rooms, Edmond is accepting himself more and more—his sexuality, his essence/magic, and his feelings. While he’s still the strict and hardworking Vice Captain, he’s finding more balance in his life.

Favorite moment

So hard to pic only one!!!

During the White Dat event, Edmond makes his awful dad-joke and looks so proud of himself, it makes me feel so endeared I can barely handle it!!!

The Tranquil Cloud intimacy rooms also hold a special place in my heart. In them, there’s a moment where Edmond deliberately slows his steps so Eiden can walk next to him. Later on in the day, Eiden accidentally finds out that Edmond was following a very specific tip from a certain book:

CUTEEEEEEE!!!! It reminds me of when you're a young kid looking up online "how to know if my crush likes me" or "how to get your crush to like you back" XD!!!

Of course, when Edmond sees Eiden reading that page (which he’d bookmarked and even underlined), he gets very embarrassed. But Eiden is very impressed, moved, and (as per usual) turned on. XD

Idea for a story

It won’t be coming out anytime soon, because there are different stories I have to work on first, but I have started on an Edmond fic! In it, while Edmond is off investigating a drug ring, he ends up raiding a greenhouse filled with plants and animals that were used to make the drugs. After the animals are inspected, those without abnormalities are released back into the wild; however, one of them returns and keeps following Edmond around! Thus, Edmond gets reverse-adopted and gains his own animal friend!

Unpopular opinion

Idk if this is an unpopular opinion or not, but I NEED more of the Edmond intimacy rooms to lean in to BDSM territory!!!

Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely ADORE the romance-heavy rooms. And there have been some rooms that feature light over-stimulation, but other than that? That one fingering scene that had Lord/Knight role-play and then (blessedly) the Elite Instructor Edmond R2 with light bondage and spanking.

But it’s not enough!!!

Come on, devs! You can’t just have Eiden point out that Ed “likes a little pain” in the first sex scene they have, and then do barely ANYTHING with it! I want to see Edmond completely lose his head! I want him to completely let go! I want him to forget his own name, dammit!!!

Favorite relationship

I love it when Yakumo is inflicted with Edmond!!! XD Edmond ruining everything he touches by drowning it in sugar, while Yakumo desperately attempts to stay calm…>:)

More seriously, Edmond’s relationship with Eiden is TOP TIER. With every event he’s featured in, all of the intimacy rooms show him falling deeper and deeper in love. It's the sweetest thing ever!!!!

Favorite headcanon

Mama’s Boy Edmond! I like to imagine that Ed’s mom (who, from what we’ve seen, is super cool) will give him completely unsolicited relationship advice, in typical mom-fashion! Like, the two of them will be causally eating lunch, and out of nowhere she’ll say something like “You know, Edmond dear, the more often someone sees you, the more fond they'll be of you. If the Grand Sorcerer sees your face every day, it’ll be easier to seduce him!” And Ed would practically shriek “Mother! How could you say something so scandalous?!?!” But then later that same day he’ll be sure to swing by Aster's mansion, an be sure to walk by Eiden's room…

[hourglassfish]

A (long) Aside on 1:7 and 2:10

There are two responses to 1:7 and 2:10 that always quietly horrify me.

The first, and you know, I'm writing a multi part series on it, so it's no mystery - is that Sydney was arrogant/a brat/ couldn't hack it/ wrong to walk out, and that the situation as a whole was her fault. Nah. She was right to walk out, the biggest failure of that episode is not fucking pulling the breaks when Richie gets stabbed. The workplace has gone from dysfunctional to dangerous, she has been responsible for that danger, the perpetrator of it, and she is right to leave.

little bit of an asshole but i love you so i don't care

Carmy sees Syd saying she's going to stab Richie (as she holds her knife to his chest!) while they're up in each other's faces (with Richie goading her) and he does... nothing. He tells them to shut the fuck up and make giardiniera. At this point they needed to be separated! One or both of them needed to cool off. We've seen Syd bodily put herself between a fighting Carmy and Richie. A little reciprocity would have gone a long way here.

It's wild to me that people think that Carmy was justified in his anger and aggression towards Marcus and Syd and ignore that he is aggressive to Richie also! Richie, typically one of the more confrontational characters in the show asks him to calm down, to cool it. That so many viewers so quickly and uncritically accept Carmy's narrative point of view, even while the show actively challenges it confirms something that has been in the culture a long time: that we are much more used to excusing and aligning ourselves with abusive behaviour, than we are at challenging and refusing it. That people - many of whom have received this kind of behaviour themselves - want to defend it, makes me so, so sad.

It always hurts me a little that in 1:8 Tina tells Carmy that if he 'tries that shit with her, she'll fuck him up'. It's a fun line! But I'm sorry, no she won't. He screams at her too, while chucking bowls around and Sydney's words in 1:7 clearly hurt her. Tina categorically did nothing wrong. She doesn't deserve that shit. But at the end of the day, she is a middle aged Latinx woman and a mother, and so her tolerance level has to be higher. She needs that job! Shedoes not, as far as we know, have a father she can live with rent free, she does not have youth and the promise of exploitable potential to offer to employers in an ageist job market, she does not have CIA qualifications or a CV full of ‘serious heat’.

Carmy. holds. a. position. of. power. over. these. people. He is their boss, not their manager, and he owns the place, mob loan or no. He has the power to sack them all, to cut their hours, to cut their wages; thus the impact of that power extends not just to them, but also to their children and families. Louis being present in Review is not just to add an obstacle, it's also a reminder of those stakes.

Carmy has influence in the fine dining industry, regardless of whether that social and cultural capital is respected at The Beef or not. The very same oppourtunities that he provides them with in season 2 are things he could also lock them out of if he so chose. Any analysis of 1:7 that ignores this power is flawed from its root. When you are a boss, this power is ever present. One of the few things you can do to alter your boss's behaviour is to withdraw your labour. It's not the only option you have, but everything else is at their discretion, or mediated by lengthy, expensive legal processes.

yeh, i hate this

Carmy knows this, even if you don't! It's why the apology he gives Marcus - which Marcus does not ask for - is so heartfelt. Carmy has been on the receiving end of what that power, wielded cruelly, can do. He does not want to do this to others. We see him talk to staff with respect even while he endures horrid abuse in a flashback. We see him teach and explain himself, we see him listen and invite feedback - ‘say more’. His commitment to being a good boss is sincere, that kindness is in his bones.

The second thing people say that makes me want to die a little inside is that Carmy bought getting locked in the fridge on himself, that he deserved it in some way, and that getting locked in the fridge was him abandoning Sydney.

Oh my god!

He does not have a diagnosis yet - so anything we see is an interpretation. But it feels explicit that Carmy has panic disorder, and perhaps generalised anxiety disorder and CPTSD from both his workplace experiences and his childhood. A couple of things that he says and does suggest ADHD, or some other neurodiversity. He is not very careful with himself, and does not recognise these things as treatable problems (Richie says he experiences anxiety and dread, Carmy's response is 'who doesn't' - wince, cruel to Richie, cruel to himself - vomiting everyday and crying out of nowhere are presented as something 'loads of people do' to Sugar. Tumblr loves to send people to therapy, but I just want to send this man to do a basic google search of more than fun tbh). But they are debilitating for him, especially at work.

What happens to how we read Carmy's behaviour when he is presented as someone with an untreated disability, and absolutely no support plan in place? Does he still get his just desserts at the end of the season?

The fridge thing is a bit clumsy, I think. It's silly that over the space of three months, no one at any point just takes that job off him as a priority, or at least makes it something where Tony will call the restaurant, not Carmy specifically. It is unrealistic that there would not be some kind of back up safety lock inside the fridge. But you know, they're characters in a TV show, it also does not take two people swivelling around on the floor to tighten the coat hooks on a table (LOOOOOOL) - it's realistic until its not.

But, you know, it's doing a thing, several things - it's Chekov's gun, isn't it, it's the tangible impact of the lapse of focus that Uncle Jimmy is constantly trying to warn them about.

He wanted to cry here so bad!!! It makes me laugh every time

But umm... guys? What happens to him on that night is so, so horrible. They're a chef down, they're running out of forks, Richie's giving him shit (and Carmy is so susceptible to Richie giving him shit), Marcus and Syd are being all weird. He thinks one of his abusers (Donna) might come, or that she might not come and there will be emotional fallout from that. He thinks he sees his other abuser (Evil Joel Mc Hale) - and he's triggered. He goes in the kitchen and yells, but Syd pulls him back in. Then he goes into the fridge, partly to do chef stuff, I'm sure, but also partly to fucking get his shit together aaaaaand he gets locked in there! He has a panic attack! In a fridge! That he is locked in! And the people he loves most in the world, are the other side of that door, and for five minutes, an eternity in panic attack time, they ignore him! He has no clue what's going on! Last time shit hit the fan, two of his staff walked out (he's still not over Syd walking out cus they never talk about it properly), another one got stabbed and all these new ones are 'emerald green'. And he still thinks evil Joel Mc Hale is out there!

My loves, that shit is the stuff of nightmares! I know he tells himself that he bought this on himself but can we please! stop! uncritically! accepting! his narrative! point! of view!

I don't think anybody on screen recognises that a panic attack is what he's having. That's not their fault. None of them have seen him have a panic attack! They don’t get to see inside his head like we do (which saves them from a lot of R.E.M.) He is locked in the fridge, they just hear the bear banging on the door of his cage! It's not even in the language of the show at this point (though i am curious about how and when Richie came to get his Xanax). But that's what's happening. The team are fine. They do great. He has a terrible, terrible time.

My support worker found 2:10 deeply triggering - and her reason for this, she said, was that a lot of her job was supporting people with panic disorders who are leading teams, and seeing that moment coming, the moment where the panic crashes headlong into their role as leader. Part of her role is anticipating it, and trying to turn it around before they reach the point of no return. And as soon as Carmy thinks he sees Old Boss, he's gone. His body is in flight or fight, and he is alone with that. He can’t show up for Syd at that point, he is in his equivalent of the trenches.

This is also what is happening in 1:7. Somehow his response is often framed as a) rational or b) just an asshole - but it is so outsize to the situation, and to who we know him to be most of the time (quiet, kind, thoughtful, sensitive, BITCHY), that we know it has to be more than that.

None of this is helped by the fact that Carmy's panic attacks are... well they're kind of ugly! His meltdowns are aggressive and shouty, on the edge of physical violence, in an industry where people behave like that because they can. It is hard, parsing through that to the triggers, and fears, and panic beneath. It's scary! It asks so much of people to see that and want to help, not run away. But that is where he's at.

I do not have language for how much I hate how physical he gets with Marcus here, it is deeply upsetting

I have an access rider, to help me work well with people, and to help them work well with me. My mental health turns up in every job I do. All the time. Has done for years. It can make me unreliable, uncommunicative and absent. It can mean that people have to step up sometimes in ways they weren't anticipating. And one of the things the rider asks for is 'Good Faith' - a belief that I have not shut down because I'm an asshole, but rather because I have some unhelpful coping mechanisms that I am trying to work my way out of, that my triggers are real, not excuses for laziness or an expression of lack of care, that i will give as much as I can when I can.

Syd and Carmy are beginning to work towards this - Carmy says over and over again that he doesn't want to be shitty. Claire fucking muddies things, because I will not meet you skiving off to see your girlfriend with good faith fam. That shit he needs to be held accountable for. Dropping that envelope was a perfect Richie job, I'm still pissed about that. But being locked in the fridge... there's way more going on there.

The idea that Carmy should, and will, leave the culinary world keeps coming up in various metas. But... the problem isn't cooking? I think Carmy loves cooking, still. I think he likes being part of a team, and wants to be good at it. I think he likes teaching, and he is good at that. I think he likes picking the right silent plates and having his CDC in Thom Browne. I also think he likes being there a lot and being absorbed by his job.

The problem is that the workplace he is in is not one that is set up to his needs right now - it's not set up so that he can rest enough, so that he can eat well, so that he can exercise, or whatever he needs to do to help him manage his brain and nervous system. It's not set up so that if he is triggered, he and his team knows how to keep going with the service *and* not abandon him to the worst of his brain.

Ohhhh it's bad

Carmy ignoring Claire's call and not calling Tony feels bizarre stripped of the context of his panic attack that morning. But we know that anxiety and panic and executive dysfunction take simple things and make them insurmountable. It's not about Sydney in that moment, or even really about Claire*, and self sabotage feels so weighted with judgement when I think about what those frozen moments feel like from the inside. And I've had my diagnoses for 12 years! I've been doing that work, the long slog of trying to make sure my employees know enough context that my MH doesn't fuck up their day, whilst also maintaining my own dignity and right to privacy.

The disentangling of symptoms from personality traits is so hard - fuck ups from trauma responses, what was preventable, and what might have happened even if you did everything right. I never want to lose sight of compassion for Carmy, and the reality of how long it takes to break those cycles.

I also never want to stop seeing the power that he has over the people that he works with, and how, unfortunately, one of the responsibilities of leadership is that you have to be trying to get your shit together, you have to know yourself, and know how your baggage, combined with your power could be creating harm. It’s hard, but there’s not way around it. It is essential that he gets the support he needs, and puts the measures in place that means that he can also be vulnerable, not just for him, but for the team as whole. The power and the lack of framework together are so very harmful for everyone.

makes for delicious tv though 😉

I think a lot about the ticket machines in The Bear. I'm not thinking about them as a former line chef, cus I'm not that, I'm an artist and writer, that waitressed for a while (while a lot of chefs did a lot of coke out back!) and The Bear is fiction, not a documentary. Those little tickets are used for so many things. They're the sound of pressure. They're where a bunch of intrusive thoughts get flashed up on the screen. They are the presence of tech and of speed and alienation. They are the gap where two human beings, one asking for food, and one cooking that food, become consumer and producer. They are a presence of the machine in the workplace, and they stand in for Marcus's machines in McDonald's and for Evil Joel McHale and for financial failure.

One of the things that capitalism demands is that we always listen to that machine. That when we are making a choice, between the people stood around us, who we work with daily, who we live massive chunks of our life with, and the demand for production for go go go - that we choose the latter, even if it harms the former. That we open for service, even though one of our oldest friends just got stabbed. That we prioritise getting the service turned around on Friends and Family night (the easiest night of the year to go out, pour more wine, and say service is a little delayed, but we've got this), rather than maybe asking Fak or even Claire, to come and talk to Carmy through the door, as well, make sure that he's OK. That we just keep going.

And there are so many really important reasons to do that! Keeping going is how we learn and grow, it's how we make sure that we can pay the bills, how we provide beautiful experiences for customers and guests who are more than consumers to us.

But at some point, we have to ask at what cost. When do we stop and make different? When do we try something else, make new systems, that work for us?

A moment - a small, tiny moment - of triumph for me, is when Richie and Syd turn the table around. So rather than one person, facing the tickets alone, with their back to the kitchen as they yell out orders, the person on Expo faces in. yes they can see the tickets, but they can also see the people they are working with. They can see stress, and worry and joy. They can see how hard they are working. They can see that they are not alone, not just in a promise before service, but during service, when you need that connection most.

My hope is that Season 3 will have more of them making these decisions - ones that lean into seeing each other, where their relationships keep growing, and they build a system where the love and care they have for each other is truthfully at the heart of it.

Richie is not my bag, that's just for me, personally, but I get how much he means to others, and he's beautiful here.

*Man, I do think the romance subplot was a bit of a misstep. Pop always feels like such a waste of the audience's time, time not spent with Ebra and Tina, time spent on a presentation of romance that has been done to death and is never especially satisfying. Truncates a lot of empathy for Carmy. Boo. Hiss.