#can already picture the too many brain dead takes....

[mundifinis]

i pray the day never comes when tiktok discovers gregg araki's films (specifically the teenage apocalypse trilogy ones) because the amount of discourse i can already picture.... oh my god

[ddarker-dreams]

Hierarchy of Needs.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Notes: originally, i was gonna keep this one between me and my google docs, but it's kinda cute ngl so everyone gets to see it Tags: Not SFW, set at the start of Alexandria era, takes place from Daryl's POV. Word count: 10.5k.

Daryl is a hands-on type of man.

He was never one to dawdle, sitting in one place for too long made him squirm. He swore it could be an allergy or some shit. Gets him all itchy and shifting his weight from foot to foot. The problem is, given the general uncertainty surrounding their current living arrangements, Daryl’s limited on what he can and can’t do. For the first time since the dead started walking, he’s caught up in the invisible net of “social expectations”.

Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn, but this isn’t just about him. This is about Judith getting the nutrients she needs. Carl not having to figure out how many sips of his rapidly diminishing water canteen to take to avoid dehydration. The group that’s come to be his family, in every sense of the word, having a roof over their heads and some peace of mind at night. There’s too much on the line for him to screw this up.

So he’s just got to grin and bear it (without the grinning).

Another particular individual comes to mind — all bright smiles and what seems to him to be the physical embodiment of all that’s good in this decaying world — but he swats the thought away like a pesky gnat. In his heart of hearts, he knows he’s dealing with the uppity bullshit for everyone’s sake, but… maybe there is one person he’s putting in the extra effort for. The person that kept him from glaring at some old folk who were looking at him earlier this morning like he was some escaped convict, the person who he’d kill for if it ever came down to it. Someone he already has killed for.

“Got room for one more?”

Daryl almost jumps out of his skin at the abrupt awakening from his thoughts, though from anyone else’s perspective, it probably just looks like he’s scowling harder. It’s wholly unlike him to not notice someone’s approach, human or otherwise. He’s about to give a grunt of indifference before it clicks in his brain just who is standing before him.

It’s you, the person he’d swear he wasn’t thinking such mushy thoughts about even if someone tried to waterboard the information out of him. He has to blink a few times for your newly freshened-up appearance to sink in. Your skin is clean, not a spec of dirt or grime in sight, the same going for your hair. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen you wear it down. Since the colder months in the prison, maybe? It’s a good look on you. To be fair, he’d think just about anything would look good on you.

One of his shirts, for instance. He can envision it picture it now, clear as day—

He has to stop himself from chasing after that line of thought, recalling with mild embarrassment how he still has yet to answer you.

“Can’t stop ya.”

You roll your eyes at that, giving him a look that screams ‘oh really?’, but take a seat nonetheless. Daryl’s set himself up on the porch of the house the group’s been granted. Given the position of the sun in the sky, he figures it’s about noon now. The shift in time brought a volume change. This morning, he could hear the chatter coming from within like he was in the room, everyone having finally received a proper night’s sleep for the first time in who knows how long. It quieted down when the group dispersed to their newly assigned jobs, or in the case of others, to sightsee.

Daryl takes a long drag of his cigarette while you situate yourself next to him on the porch’s steps. He eyes your outfit from his peripherals, an odd wave of something inexplicable rushing over him at the sight. It’s a nice white blouse with some jeans maybe a size or two too large for you. He can’t help but give his garments a once over. They still show evidence of the rough past few months spent living on the road. Now that he thinks about it, everything about him probably sends that message. He’d yet to take a shower or do so much as clean his face.

Is that why the Alexandrians had been giving him the side eye? Everyone else had practically been tripping over each other at the opportunity to shower, whereas he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d disregarded Carol’s comments about it and would likely do the same if anyone had the balls to bring it up to his face, but for some reason, having you in his general vicinity is making him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. You’re not looking at him with disgust, or looking at him with anything really, just your trademark smile that made him feel like melting into a pile of happy goo.

“You didn’t feel up to going out and exploring?” You inquire, hugging a knee to your chest. He shakes his head. At this, you scoot closer, excitement radiating from your being. “Want to come check it out with me, then? It feels… weird going places by myself. We’d always pair up in twos at least. I feel like I’m betraying our unspoken buddy system.”

He snorts at that. “Nah, ‘ve seen all I need to already.”

He knows he needs to change the subject before you decide this is a venture worth pursuing. If you gave him those damn doe eyes and asked sweetly enough, he’d do just about anything you asked. Hell, you didn’t even need to do all that for him to almost always cave. This weakness of his went mostly unnoticed to himself (or maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge it), until Merle put two and two together. It didn’t take him long either. He’d asked none too quietly how his little brother ended up pussy-whipped in his absence. Daryl had almost converted when he realized some higher power stopped you from overhearing the comment.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last smarmy comment about you Merle was destined to make. If anything, that was one of the more forgivable remarks, since the brunt of it was directed at him.

No, the worst had come when Merle had been tasked with taking Michonne to The Governor. It was a regrettable final exchange between brothers all around. Daryl can’t recall exactly how the conversation had shifted to you, or the exact words that led up to that final gut punch, but he can still hear his brother’s mocking voice speak the sentence that’s haunted him ever since.

“You've been so busy drooling over her to realize, so let me spell it out for ya nice and slow. She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her. We're freaks to people like that. Nothing but redneck trash. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Daryl inhales deeply, the scent of cheap tobacco mixing with the shampoo you must’ve used. It’s light and sweet. Nothing could fit you better.

“Thought you’d be at the infirmary by now,” Daryl isn’t sure who he’s trying to distract anymore — you, or him. “Got ran off already?”

Your closed-mouth smile falters for a millisecond. Anyone else might not have noticed the nearly imperceptible change, but Daryl’s got a hunter’s eye, not to mention how attuned he is to your every mannerism. He’s ready to shove his personal woes aside if it means making room for yours.

“Well, that’s a way to describe it,” he can tell by your tone that you’re trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. How very like you. “When Deanna interviewed me, I not-so-subtly hinted at everything I had learned from Hershel. Although, to be fair, I talked up everyone from our group. I even defended Eugene’s honor like the man had won a Pulitzer. I would’ve said anything if it meant not getting thrown back out there.”

He nods, listening to your every word as if the secrets to the universe were held within.

“Anyway… I guess my sales pitch went purposefully unnoticed. She did say that she’d let the resident doctor know, but that he was ‘particular’ about how he goes about his practice. I think that’s politician talk for ‘not gonna happen’. She seemed eager to move on from the subject. So, for the time being, we’re both unemployed.”

Daryl has to will himself not to get distracted and laugh at your joke. He knows you don’t like to be ‘a downer’ (your words, not his), which leads you to hide negative sentiments behind that pretty smile. He gets it, because he does the same thing, utilizing a gruff exterior instead of your near-blinding charm.

“‘S stupid. Don’t let it get to ya.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you grin at him genuinely enough. He temporarily reassesses, wondering if he read you wrong, when your shoulders slightly slump. “I just really want this to work. We need this to work. The fact we lasted out there for so long, with a baby, is almost enough to have me asking Gabriel if he can send my regards to the big man in the sky.”

“It’ll work,” he tells you, his tongue working faster than his brain. You give him a hesitant nod. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way to make guarantees like that. Still, when Daryl’s so used to seeing you in bloom, having you wilt beside him hurts. Worse than a knife being twisted in his gut.

“Yeah,” your voice drops to a whisper then. You glance around, as if checking for prying eyes and ears, then continue when satisfied there are none. “I hope everyone else thinks so too. Rick looks to me like he's been thinking 'Viva La Vida' ever since we first set foot inside.”

Daryl searches the recesses of his brain to grasp at what your vague term means, squinting while he does so. He thinks he may have heard it in a history class at some point, in between playing hooky. Sensing his confusion, you elaborate, but not without throwing in a shitty French accent that has no business sounding as cute as it does.

“Révolution.”

You’re more perceptive than you let on, aren’t you? He wonders if Carol has been taking notes, considering the friendly-totally-not-threatening-cookie-and-casserole-making façade she’s recently adopted. He supposes it’s a bit different. You don’t actively hide your strengths, but you don’t go around advertising them either.

It was one of the first things Daryl noticed about you. In truth, he hadn’t given you much thought when he initially met you back on the side of the highway in Atlanta. He mentally categorized you as some city girl who’d probably complain about how the mosquitos are constantly biting or whatever. While you did express your fair share of disdain over the bloodsucking bugs, it was more of an icebreaker than anything. A way to loosen people up. Lighten the spirits when things got too heavy.

You were the opposite of Daryl in that way, a bonafide people magnet. He hadn’t given this quality of yours enough credit until he saw you bring a smile to Carl’s face soon after his mom’s tragic death. Then there was the way you cared for the people he found out on the road back in the prison days. They were often understandably closed off, disbelieving of the security the chain link fences supposedly provided. You made it a point to help bring them into the fold. No one asked you to, you just did it, because that’s the type of person you are.

Daryl brought people in, you made them feel at home. He cherished that little connection he had with you. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, like he’d downed enough liquor to feel buzzed without getting drunk. Everything about you was similarly stupefying and addicting.

When the prison fell, he thought all possibilities of restoring that connection fell with it. A silly thing to mourn, but he mourned it nonetheless, another line on a seemingly infinite list. Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a figment of the past. If this place, Alexandria, is where your group decides to kick up their feet, he could start recruiting again. Look forward to seeing how you run over to greet the fresh faces upon hearing of his return.

It’s a nice thought. He’ll have to see if reality is anywhere near as kind.

“Rick’s just wary, ‘s all. Hard not to be. Y’know how it was out there. What we saw.”

“… Yeah,” you shift in your seat. “Well, at least these folks didn’t break out the salt and pepper when we walked through the gates.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

He can’t stop a single chuckle from slipping out, though he still cringes at the Terminus callback.

“Heard they got a shrink somewhere ‘round here. Might wanna look into that.”

“Hey, I said I’m trying to make this work, not end up in a Hannibal Lecter getup.”

You and your damn movie references. At least he’s familiar with this one. Sometimes he swore you and Eugene were speaking in another language when you two got on the topic of entertainment. Not being able to share that interest with you made him feel a certain way — a real shitty way.

“You’re the last one of us they’d throw out,” Daryl muses. You tilt your head at that, furrowing your eyebrows like when he’d first recounted the chupacabra story. He decides not to expand on the subject; it has too many of his feelings intertwined. Not worth the risk. “Unless they catch wind of your shitty sense of humor. Can’t say what’d happen then.”

You place a hand to your chest in faux indignation. “Well, Dixon, you laugh at my ‘shitty sense of humor’ more often than you don’t, so what does that say about you?”

A lot of things he can’t bring himself to admit out loud, mostly.

You give him a playful punch in the shoulder when he doesn’t dignify you with a response. The touch is so innocent, a mere brush of your knuckles against his skin, yet it throws his mind into temporary disarray. The effect you have on him could be subject to study; it’s as if every nerve in his body is set on fire. He feels warm, from his face to the tip of his ears. Then that heat drifts steadily downward. It’s then that he becomes fully aware of how close you are. How he can see your collarbones, and if he tilts his head at just the right angle, the start of some cleavage.

It’s got to be wrong, how much he desires you. The ways he desires you. It makes him feel ickier than the months without a proper shower ever could. You’re so bright, so kind, so good, he shouldn’t be lusting after you like some boy whose voice hasn’t broken yet. You trust him, he knows you do. He’s overheard you go so far as to call him one of your closest friends. Considering the far better options you have out there, he should feel blessed you even give him that much. Wanting anything more than that isn’t just greedy, it’s downright risky.

Daryl would never forgive himself if he made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, he’s given people shit for less. Someone could look in your general direction for too long and he’d start glaring.

Right when he starts willing himself to pull his head out of the gutter, you go to tie your hair up, effectively shutting any possibility of him doing that down. Your chest arches forward at the movement and he’s treated to a lovely view of your neck. You must sense the heavy way he’s staring at you, for you turn your head towards him. He doesn’t make the situation any better by shifting his attention ahead fast enough to almost give him whiplash.

“Are you planning on coming to that welcoming party tonight?”

Daryl has to bite back a groan at this topic of conversation. Why is everyone so damn interested in his attendance to some yuppie soiree? He knows that if the request is coming from you, it’ll steadily break his resolve down.

His facial expressions must have betrayed his thoughts, for you laugh. “I didn’t think so. I can’t blame you. I’m actually planning on bailing at the first opportunity I get.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Can’t believe ’m hearing that from Miss Social Butterfly.”

“I think I’m more of a social caterpillar for the time being. It’s just, uh, a lot. I’m pretty sure Rick wants to put me on display as some sort of standup citizen like back on the farm. That I could handle. This, I’m not so sure. I don’t know the first thing about croquet. I feel like I’m lowering the GDP just by being in the general vicinity.”

He has to stop himself from gawking. He can’t fathom why you of all people would feel this way. That elderly couple who was staring him down probably would’ve fawned over you, pinched your cheeks and welcomed you in for quinoa. He’s about to voice this when your comment about the farm catches his attention more.

“The hell’d he have you do on the farm?”

“Oh, that’s right, you may not have noticed. I’d mostly situate myself in the areas Hershel was bound to come across with a Bible in my hands. Y’know, nodding my head and stuff, looking really into it. Worked like a charm. Tensions were high, but I think he felt slightly less inclined to send us packing knowing there was a God-fearing individual among us.”

He snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were something else. He swears he could talk to you for hours if you allowed him.

“Try the Bible-thumping again. Might just do the trick.”

“Somehow or another, I doubt that. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The staring. I swear I saw some blinds being drawn when we all came out earlier.”

Of course he’d noticed. He’s likely half the reason behind it. “That’s what you’re ‘ere for. To get ‘em to stop looking at us like a damn circus act.”

“You and Rick are overestimating me. Maggie and Glenn have got it covered, little Judith adds brownie points too,” you tilt your head back to look at the cloudless sky. “Anyway, I figured if you planned on ditching, I’d invite myself along. Buddy system, remember?”

He flicks the cigarette out of his hands and onto the ground, extinguishing it beneath the sole of his boot. “Like I said earlier — can’t stop ya.”

Daryl silently praises himself for keeping up the cool and indifferent front when he’s internally celebrating over the prospect of having more alone time with you. What he wouldn’t give for more of that. He hasn’t the slightest damn clue why you seem to favor his company, but if there’s anything the apocalypse has taught him, it’s to accept a miracle when he’s handed one.

You smile at him as if he’d just offered you the world on a silver platter. It does too much to his poor heart.

“Great! It’s a date then.”

He almost chokes on his spit from how casually you say that, his eyes wide blown and jaw slacking. Fortunately, you’re none the wiser, standing up and patting the dirt off your jeans. The realization you’re about to leave makes him feel pathetically empty. He’d spent just about every moment of the past few weeks by your side, yet it wasn’t enough, he doesn’t think anything can be enough. The more of you he gets, the more of you he wants. You’re worse than the drugs his brother used to sing the praises of.

“Heading out?” Daryl can’t stop himself from questioning, no matter how obvious it might make him look. The porch steps already felt a whole lot emptier without you sitting beside him.

“Yeah, I promised to save Michonne if she wasn’t back in ten. She’s getting swarmed by children curious about her sword.”

“Good luck on your search n’ rescue.”

You give him a silly salute then, finishing the pantomime off with a bout of giggles. Then you’re off. Daryl exhales shakily, cursing himself for the way his heart’s pounding like he’d just run a marathon. He knows he needs to squash this lovesickness before it’s too late — if it isn’t already too late. He didn’t agree with Merle on a lot of things, especially when it came to you, but that last remark rings true. It’d be laughable for him to delude himself into thinking you feel anything but platonic affection toward him.

Especially with the options you have here in Alexandria. It may have been slim pickings before, but now, you might as well have an entire buffet laid out. You’re bound to catch the eye of some of the folk around here. If you could get him to like you, he figures you could win over almost anyone. Why would you give him the time of day when there are those clean-shaven, college-educated men running around like they own the place? If the world hadn’t gone to shit, that’s probably who you would’ve gone for.

It’s only because the world went to shit that you even know his name.

Watching how some Alexandrians wave at you, a gesture you animatedly return, he reaches for another smoke.

His brother’s words echo in his head, falling somewhere between a taunt and a warning.

“She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her.”

He would do well to remember that, wouldn’t he?

-

If someone told Daryl he’d died and gone to heaven, he’d believe them.

You’re leaning against one of the porch’s pillars, humming a tune to yourself, not having noticed his presence yet. He decides to keep it that way if it means he gets to admire you a while longer. You’re wearing a dark blue dress (he can imagine you correcting him and calling it ‘indigo’ or some shit), looking like an angel incarnate beneath the moonlight. It’s such a simple garment, stopping right above your knees, but to him, you might as well be wearing a ball gown. You’ve got those white tennis shoes that he saw you furiously scrubbing grass stains off of earlier today, the outline of a knife tucked away in them. His chest swells with pride at the knowledge you’re always ready to take care of yourself, thanks in part to his teaching.

Eventually, he manages to break himself free from his you-induced reverie, calling out your name to catch your attention.

You spin on your heel, placing your hands on your hips at the sight of him. “There you are. I thought my ditching buddy ditched me.”

He has to stop himself from saying he’d cross a river of broken glass barefoot if you were standing on the other side, instead settling on, “Aaron and Eric invited me over, figured you’d still be at the party. Did I keep ya waiting long?”

“No, you didn’t, I’m just being dramatic,” you revert back to your usual posture and grin. “It’s good. That they invited you over and you accepted it, I mean. Aaron’s a cool guy. Eric is too, from what I can tell. You guys have some manly bonding time?”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice. “Mhm, sat around chuggin’ beer and talking ‘bout sports for hours. You?”

“Nothing of much note went down, just a lot of handshaking. I did get stuck talking to one of Deanna’s son for a while, though. I had to practically jump through hoops of fire to escape.”

Daryl swallows down the unpleasant taste that revelation leaves in his mouth. “You don’t like ‘im?”

“He’s… fine, I guess? Harmless enough. Just a really dry conversationalist, which to me, is a cardinal sin,” you stretch your arm above your head and Daryl has to stop himself from staring at how your skirt lifts up, revealing more of your shapely legs. Shit, he really does drool over you. “Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this. He invited me to a game of croquet. I was joking about that earlier, turns out I was right on the money.”

“You’re shitting me,” he deadpans.

“As much as I wish I was, no. God. I knew they’d be a bit sheltered here, but this… I don’t know. It worries me. I wish I could tell myself they can keep living this way, because that’s what they’re doing. Living. They really don’t know how bad it is. And if the bad ever makes its way here…”

You trail off, not needing to fill in the gaps for Daryl to piece it together. He gets what you mean. The entire group does. Carol thinks they’re children and Rick’s ready to take over at the drop of a hat. No one aside from you has expressed concern about their wellbeing out loud, although it’d been in the back of his mind when he saw there were children and old folk here. It’s this compassion of yours that brings him in like a moth to light. After everything you’d been through, you had every right to become a bitter husk of the woman you once were, but you haven’t.

And he thanks the God he isn’t sure he believes in for it.

After a moment’s deliberation, he sets his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “It ain’t too late for ‘em. You learned. So can they.”

“Well, it did help that I had an excellent teacher.”

He grumbles a ‘shut up’ despite wanting you to do anything but.

Silence sets in for a few beats then. It takes him longer to notice this than it usually would, his head caught up in the near-euphoric experience of receiving a compliment from you. He realizes that he has yet to take his hand off your shoulder and has undoubtedly let it linger too long. He clears his throat, detaching himself from your person with some reluctance, suddenly taking an acute interest in the floorboards you’re both standing on.

Why is it still silent, save for the buzz of cicadas and the chirps of grasshoppers? Shit, did he cross some invisible line in the sand?

“Daryl?”

He grunts at that, not trusting his voice when his thoughts are at war with one another.

“You really are a good man.”

His head shoots back up and he’s searching your countenance for any signs of deception. You’re always teasing one another, this could be another instance of that. However, when your eyes meet his, he sees nothing but unabashed admiration shining in them. He doesn’t think he deserves to be looked at that way, much less by you of all people. You were looking at him like he was the second coming of Christ or something. It makes his stomach do backflips and his poor heart might go into cardiac arrest.

He tries to dismiss your claim with a lighthearted ‘nah’, not because he can’t accept the compliment, but because he doesn’t think it’s true. If you knew the way he thought about you, you’d take your words right back. Look at him the way people have his entire life. Disgust, maybe some pity. Doing what anyone would’ve done doesn’t make him a saint, no matter how hard you and Carol try to argue otherwise.

“You might not believe it, but I hope me thinking so suffices in the meantime,” you say, doing that creepy mind-reading thing you tend to be good at. “I’m truly grateful I met you. You make this life worth living.”

Should you keep going on like this, you might make him well up with tears. He’s glad there aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby because he can’t fathom the expression must be making. What is this? What are you doing to him? Those soft, kissable lips of yours must’ve casted a spell. You’re reaching forward now, pressing your palm against his cheek, and he considers pinching himself to see if this is all a dream.

If it is, he might not want to wake up.

Out of some primal, base instinct, he leans down, wanting nothing more than anything to get a taste of you. It’s when his lips are a few inches from yours that his brother’s words come hurling his way, knocking him off balance and making him jerk backwards. He sees something flit over your face — hates himself for it, too — the sight further reinforcing the prophecy spoken over him.

You deserve more. You deserve some man who knows how to speak what’s on his mind, who doesn’t shy away the second a conversation gets the slightest bit personal. Daryl doesn’t know how to do that, he might never figure it out either. If he does try, you’d have to bear the brunt of his inexperience, and your patience is bound to run out. He can barely put up with it himself sometimes, he can’t fathom putting you through it too.

“Are you okay?”

You’re staring up at him, your eyebrows knitting together, a frown that he so desperately longs to kiss away on your lips. He should be the one asking you that. From your perspective, you must figure he’s rejecting you. And still, you don’t stomp off in a huff or put him down. The tenderness emanating from those three words melts his heart like snow come spring. He opens his mouth, then closes it, licking his lower lip while trying to decide the best approach. Catching those damn hogs back at the prison was easier than getting a few words dislodged from his throat.

“You… you’re sure?” Daryl winces at how unlike himself he sounds when whispering this. “You feel that way ‘bout me?”

The pad of your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “Mhm. Guilty as charged.”

No matter how nonchalant you’re trying to act, he can feel the way your hand shakes against him. See the lines of worry you try to cover with a smile. Hear your every shallow breath. This must be fucking terrifying for you, baring yourself before him like you did, granting him a glimpse of your heart. His mask is one of indifference and yours is one of charm. You’re trying to keep things light like all those times on the road. When he saw you tossing and turning in your sleep, fighting back tears when you thought no one was looking.

He knew. He’s always known. He just never knew what to do about it, how to provide the same comfort you gave others.

“I wanna look out for you,” Daryl’s larger hand envelops the one you’ve placed on his face, causing your eyebrows to raise ever so slightly. “Wanna… wanna keep you safe and smiling. Want you to feel like you can do more than that ‘round me too. You can cry, get angry. ‘S alright. I know. I know.”

Tears well up on your lower lash line, and maybe he should feel a bit guilty for thinking so, but damn, you look beautiful. “See? This is what I meant when I said you’re a good man.”

“Cut it with your shitty jokes, woman,” he knows his bark is worse than his bite when you laugh at him, tilting your head back and revealing more of that tempting neck of yours. He swears to burn this image into the recesses of his mind for as long as he lives. You’re being you, he’s being him, and there’s nothing better.

All his bravado slips through his fingers like sand when you stand up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You breathe a taunting command against the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“Make me.”

That successfully ignites the competitive streak you know he has.

For how coquettish you were acting, you return his kiss in a gentle manner, and he reciprocates the pace you set. His hands find their way to your waist without daring to go lower, no matter how loudly his instincts urge otherwise. He’d sooner breathe his last breath than make you feel uncomfortable. If this sweet kiss is all you want, he’d count himself a blessed man from this day forward. It’s you who parts first, leaning back just enough to give your lungs some much-needed air. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, giving him that look that would make him agree to anything you ask.

“Do you want… to take this inside?”

Your voice dies off toward the end and he swears his brain temporarily shut off at the implication. Barely a second earlier he was thinking how he’d die a happy man just for getting a simple kiss from you, he’d written off the possibility of anything more than that. He nods his head, his hand going to the small of your back to lead you inside, when you turn and start making for the front lawn.

Reading the confusion on his face, you explain, “We were given two houses, remember? It might be a better idea to use the empty one for this.”

Daryl really had forgotten the rest of the world exists when he was in that bubble with you. The streets may be empty, but who knows how long that welcoming party will last. He’s grateful one of you has a head clear enough to consider these things. You’re his smart girl for a reason.

“Ya plan this?” He can’t stop himself from asking when he half-jogs after you. The thoughts that run through his head when you bend over to pick up a key hidden beneath a welcome mat will stay between him and God. You slot it into place, turn, then open the door, beckoning him to follow with a finger. He feels his pants growing tighter by the second.

“I’d be a liar if I said yes, though I wish I could take credit for everything,” you lock the door behind him. “No… it just felt like it was time. I’d been waiting for my moment for ages. Guess I got a little impatient.”

Your back is up against the door the second that last word is out of your mouth. He takes your lips for his own again, something like a gasp leaving him when you lift a leg to curl around his waist. He steadies you with his hands to ensure you don’t fall over, the air in the room feeling thicker than those humid Georgian summers you spent together. When he senses you’re stable enough, he lifts one hand to cup your cheek like you did to him, pulling you as close as he physically can. Your arms are around his neck once more, playing with the ends of his hair that he’s grateful he washed hours prior. He hadn’t anticipated this, yet knowing he had plans to spend time with you gave him the motivation to clean up.

Rick teased him for it earlier. The former sheriff had walked in on him shaping up his beard, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Saw [First], didn’t you?”

“Shut up, man.”

Officer Friendly had called it. Carol gave him a nod that made him figure she knew it too. So much for being covert about his feelings for you. Deep down, he knew it must be obvious, the extensive special treatment he gave you. His brother wasn’t too far off with his pussy-whipped comment, crass or not. Daryl would offer you his last bite of rations, final sip of water, hell, he asked if you wanted him to carry you on the grueling walk to DC when everyone was at their wit’s end. You had given him a weak chuckle and said he wasn’t in any shape to do that.

Regardless of how true that was, had you said yes, he still would’ve found a way to make it happen.

You were that precious to him.

Daryl starts tugging the hem of your dress, revealing the tantalizing sight of your bare thighs beneath. Before he can pull it up any further, your hand is on his, and he stops in fear he’d done something wrong.

Those self-doubts are washed away by the sheer neediness in your next word. “Bedroom?”

You don’t need to ask him twice.

The noise you let out when he lifts you up has got to be one of the cutest damn things he’s ever heard. Your response is immediate, you encircle your limbs around him, clinging on like he’d ever dare to drop you. The house doesn’t have any lights on, but Daryl’s eyes are good in the dark. He carries you up the steps while you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. He finds an empty master bedroom, shuts and locks the door behind him, then brings you over to the queen-sized bed.

You start to take your sneakers off when he touches your wrist and shakes his head. Before you can question his intentions, he kneels in front of you, getting down on his hands and knees. This here is a gift you’re giving him. He’d be damned if he didn’t act accordingly. He takes your shoes off with a surprising amount of patience, pressing a chaste kiss to your shin when he’s done.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice comes out deeper than he’s ever heard it. “That you want it?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I’ll even beg, if you ask nicely enough. I’m nice like that.”

He squeezes your thighs. “There you go, running that mouth o’ yours again.”

“You could always make it so I can’t.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow at the insinuation, his cock twitching inside his briefs at the mental image it conjures up. You, sitting pretty on your hands and knees, mouth open and waiting for him. Knowing you, you’d probably rile him up first. Kiss his tip and apply the bare minimum amount of pressure. Would you take him in slow? Lick him up and down the side while staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes?

Tempting as it is to find out, he’s got other plans in mind. He wants to see your face twist in pleasure and hear his name fall from your lips. It’d do his pride some good to know one as sought over as you chose him.

You start playing with the straps of your dress, pulling him from his fantasies. “Do you want to take this off, or should I?”

He bites his lower lip hard enough that it’s a miracle it doesn’t start bleeding. He had intended to unwrap the present before him, but when you put it like that… it makes him curious about the alternative. He’d love to see what little show you’d put on for him, he’s got front-row seats, after all.

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

Daryl gets up from his kneeling position and takes a seat beside you on the bed. You get the hint, standing with legs that wobble ever so slightly. You don’t look surprised when he chooses to poke fun at your current state.

“Woah there, you good? Legs still work?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Better than ever, thank you very much.”

He leans back, making himself comfortable for whatever comes next. “Mhm. Whatever you say, princess.”

At hearing the sarcastic nickname, you go stiff as a board. He catches the way your pupils dilate. You press your face into your hands to muffle a groan, hiding a very noticeably flustered expression from his prying eyes.

“I haven’t heard you call me that for ages. I think it may have awoken something in me,” you confess, pulling your hands away at his prompting. “I may or may not have developed the biggest crush on you when you called me that back at the prison. It got me riled up every time. Even if I was laying on my ass ‘cause you flipped me over for the umpteenth time that day.”

Daryl snorts at the memory. “Ya always did seem to be out for blood after I said it.”

He keeps the fact that he found your frustration cute. It was a hidden ace up his sleeve that he utilized when it looked like you were about to give up, his training regiment admittedly brutal. He couldn’t risk going easy on you with the world being the way it is. You’d be down on the grass, soaked in sweat, groaning for him to call it a day because ‘you think every bone in your body is broken’. Apparently, all it took was a little taunting for you to hop right back on your feet again.

Your competitive streak might be as bad as his.

“Did you like me then, Daryl?” You question, dropping the left shoulder strap just enough to give him a treat. “You must’ve, if you never shooed me away.”

Damn freakishly perceptive woman. “Why ya asking if you already know the answer?”

“Because your voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear more of it.”

He grunts, unable to meet your eyes after an embarrassing proclamation like that, his face flushing. How is it you say half the stuff you do? You and your stupid silver tongue would be the death of him. There are worse ways to go, he figures. He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the wall when you lean forward, granting him an unrivaled sight of your cleavage. His embarrassment still slightly outweighs his burning desire to ogle you. Sensing this, you splay your fingers against his clothed chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, your hand ghosts upward. Over his jugular then settling on his jaw. You move his face until he’s looking you dead in the eye again.

“Hey handsome,” your voice pours over him, sweet and thick like honey, “Eyes over here. I get jealous rather easily.”

God, he hopes you don’t notice the goosebumps dotting his skin. Maybe you were a cross between an angel and a witch, what with your ability to enthrall him. His boxers have never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He balls his hands into fists by his side, utilizing every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from picking you up, throwing you on the bed, and utterly ravishing you.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, the next strap falling victim to your ministrations. The front of your dress starts to slip down. His Adam's apple bobs from how thickly he swallows. The swell of your chest comes into view, pushed up by your nude-colored bra. His knuckles go white from how tight he’s grabbing the comforter to keep himself in check. You’re treating him to a show, it’d be rude to interrupt your performance now.

Without the support of the straps, the fabric continues falling, revealing more and more of your beautiful body for him. The wet patch of your panties isn’t lost on him — you’re relishing in every second like he is. While never looking away from him, your hands disappear behind your back, fiddling with your bra strap. He swears he’s never felt less like a man and more like a beast when he’s finally able to see your chest in its entirety.

You walk to him as if you have all the time in the world, your knees hitting the bed’s side not nearly fast enough for his liking. Finally, you take a seat on his lap, your crotch pressing perfectly against his. He lets out a low groan then, grateful for any pressure to relieve the near painful hard-on you’ve given him. His hands settle on your ass, grinding you against his clothed length, and you stifle a moan by biting down on your lower lip.

Daryl tuts, stopping before he’s even begun. “Nah, I don’t think so. Don’t go getting shy on me now, girl. Ain’t like ya.”

After a moment’s consideration, you nod your head, your eagerness apparently outweighing the shame he didn’t know you had. He grins at you, resuming his previous actions and earning those debauched noises he’s longed to hear. Your panties might be staining his jeans, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, he’d wear it like a damn badge of pride. You’re his woman now. He belongs to you as well — heart, mind, body, and soul — if you asked, he’d happily hand it over.

“It feel good? Hm?”

“Like everything I ever wanted and more,” you confess, the breathiness of your voice making his brain feel hazy. “You’re— god— I adore you, Daryl. You’re so good to me.”

His lips are on yours then, this kiss being the messiest yet. His tongue pokes at your lips, and when you part them, ready to receive whatever he’s willing to give, his tongue goes to explore the newfound territory. You taste sweet (is that chocolate?), like the best treat he’s ever been given. He swallows your little gasps and whimpers, giving your ass a firm squeeze to ground himself.

Daryl can’t believe this is really happening. That you want him as much as he wants you and have no qualms showing it. He might be drunk on lust, but there’s something else in there, a flavor he’s never experienced before you stumbled into his life. It’s sweeter than the chocolate, more addicting than the bottle.

He loves you. He has for the longest time.

He slows down his maneuvering of your body, letting you catch your breath and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You okay?” You ask in between huffs, peppering his hairline with featherlight kisses.

“Better than ever,” he repeats your words from earlier, albeit with a southern drawl. Faster than you can process it, he flips you over, kicking his shoes off to lord knows where. You get over your surprise fast enough and shuffle back to make room for him. He hovers above you, almost uncertain of where to start. You must be feeling particularly gracious, for you let him drink in the sight of you without making any smart comments. Your body is pure eye candy and he’d be damned if he didn’t get himself a nice taste.

His lips are feverish against your neck, alternating between bites and open-mouthed kisses. He’s finally able to lavish your chest in some well-deserved attention, his rough palms pressing against the flesh, feeling you up like his life depended on it. You, being the perfect creature you are, grind up against him, drawing out a growl from his throat.

“It alright if I mark you up?” He breathes against your skin in between kisses. “Show everyone you’re mine?”

“Yes, please do.”

Never one to deny you anything, especially when you ask so nicely, he gets to work leaving proof of this tryst on your neck. Little bruises start to form where he’s concentrated his attention, right above your racing pulse. Content with its appearance, his lips start adventuring down. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, more than pleased at the gasp you let out in response. While his tongue swirls around you, his hand makes its way to the hem of your panties, the last clothing item keeping you from being entirely bare. He detaches himself from your chest with some reluctance, so he can witness this final barrier being torn away.

“If you look at me like that, I might just get embarrassed,” you laugh at the halfhearted glare he gives you for the comment. He supposes it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t actively trying to rile him up. You were coy like that, frequently looking for a way to get him going, not that he minded. It’s starting to add up in retrospect. You’d been flirting with him all this time, a fact that went right over his head.

“‘S fine by me. Would probably do you some good.”

Your eyes crinkle from how wide your smile is, unadulterated affection gleaming in your eyes. He can’t help himself — he bends down to peck your now pouting lips. Tempting as it is to kiss you silly for the remainder of the night, he’s a man on a mission. You lift your legs to help him get that final undergarment off. He sets it aside so you won’t have any difficulty finding it later. Then he’s drinking in the beauty that is your glistening folds, subconsciously licking his lips at such an appetizing display.

A soft call of his name breaks him from his stupor. “Hm?”

“Don’t, uh, feel like you have to do that,” you give him a sheepish glance. “It’s okay if you just want to, y’know.”

If he were a cruel man, he’d tease you until you squirmed for how adorable you’re acting, but he decides to have mercy. Gotta be gracious with the love of your life and all that. Still, he can’t help feeling slightly miffed you’d think he’s going to eat you out over some obligation. Your pleasure is his pleasure, your happiness is his happiness. He thought his desperation for you soaked into his every action since you confessed on that porch. Then he remembers he hasn’t got much room to talk, the voice of insecurity could be brought down to a whisper, yet never entirely silenced.

He gives your pelvis a kiss. “I wanna. Simple as that.”

Daryl’s reassurance comes out gruff, and while it might not be dripping with romance, it visibly puts you at ease. He doesn’t do anything until you nod. Then he’s in between your legs, feeling more at home by the second. He kisses you up your inner thigh, his beard tickling over the smooth expanse of skin. Finally, his tongue slips between his lips, pressing flat against your cunt. The way you shudder encourages him to repeat the action, testing the new waters with care.

His technique isn’t the most refined, but he’s eager, lapping you up with unmatched zeal. The wet sounds of him feasting himself on you fill the room, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds to grace his ears. He alternates between licking you and pulling on your folds toward him slightly with his teeth. Whatever it is he’s doing, you seem to be enjoying it, if the way your legs go wide for him is any indicator. He pulls you flush against his mouth by your love handles, delighting in how you moan so prettily for him. He’d tried to imagine what you might sound like if he ever had a chance with you, what dulcet tones your voice would take on.

Those thoughts were enough to satisfy him on lonely nights, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. You’re a force of nature. So beguiling, so easy to love, that he’s once again reminded that it’s a miracle he’s the one you’ve chosen. Never has he felt so grateful. People had tried, yet you never went for it. Was he on your mind in those moments? Steering you away from anyone that isn’t him? He could only hope so.

Daryl pulls back, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss. “Needy thing, ain’t ya?”

“Only for you.”

Once again, you prove to him that you always know what to say. You and your feminine wiles.

“Think you can handle my fingers?”

At this, you nod. He gathers your slick in his pointer and middle finger. He starts with his pointer finger, watching with something like awe as it eases inside you. Once he’s certain that it doesn't hurt, his middle finger is next, stretching out the walls that envelop him. A sinfully delightful sound is produced when he takes his fingers out and slides them back in. He eyes the slick coating his fingers, and after realizing he misses how you taste, dips his head back down to messily kiss your clit. Your hips are thrusting to meet his fingers halfway, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Close,” you breathe out in between moans, “I’m close.”

He hums against you, the low vibration adding to your mounting pleasure. He doesn’t care if his wrist hurts for the foreseeable future, he wants you to feel good, to completely unravel and show him he’s done a good job. The muscles in your thighs go tense and he hears you let out the most depraved whimper of his name. He doesn’t let up, hellbent on seeing you through the entirety of your high.

Your body goes limp as a ragdoll against the bed. Gently, you pull him back, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. He removes his fingers from you and plops them into his mouth, content to savor your taste a while longer. It’s second only to the taste of your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning them off, you guide his hand to your face, and he watches the act with muted confusion. He lets out a sound like a choke when your mouth wraps around his fingers, hollowing your cheeks while you do so.

“Christ, woman. You tryna kill me?”

A quiet pop sound resonates in the room when you detach yourself from him. “Of course not. I’m far too enamored with you.”

Daryl still can’t entirely fathom why exactly that is, but he keeps the thought to himself.

In his fervor, he neglected to shed his own clothes, a fault he works to remedy. There’s nothing he wants more than to feel your skin against his without any barriers. He stands up to make the process easier, starting with his vest, then the halfway decent shirt he picked for the night. Next is his buckle and jeans. He doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious, not when you’re laying there, waiting for him so well. The scars and other various imperfections marring his skin must be difficult to make out in the low light, anyway. He knows you wouldn’t judge him — he feels it in his bones — yet that’s a can of worms he’d prefer to leave for another day.

He lets out a sigh of relief when his cock is freed from its restraints. Copious amounts of pre-cum leak from the tip, a testimony to your influence on him. He gives himself a few strokes, yet stops when he releases how sensitive he is. He wants to make this last. He needs to make this last. He knows that every second he spends inside you is bound to feel like heaven on earth.

Daryl crawls over to you. You part your legs without him needing to ask, your eyes lidded and hair messily framing your face. He lines himself up at your entrance yet makes no movement beyond that. This isn’t an act that’s meant to be rushed through — no, he intends to savor every second as if it were his last. The intensity of his stare can only be matched by yours. It’s an intimate moment, this little reality you carved out together, apart from the struggle and anguish you’d both become so familiar with.

He knows it won’t magically go away. You know it too. But if you have one another, you can both start living again instead of surviving.

“Still sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you whisper in a voice meant for his ears and no one else’s. “Please.”

Daryl handles you with care he didn’t even know he was capable of. He begins to push into you, sucking in a breath while he does so, his eyes glued to your face for any signs of discomfort. Your warmth wraps around him and draws him in. When he’s halfway inside, your hand grabs his, fingers intertwining. He stops, rubbing circles into the top of your hand with his thumb, silently admiring every way your face contorts while adjusting to his length. You inhale and exhale shakily before nodding your head, giving his hand a squeeze. He groans when he’s sunk all the way inside you.

You both stay like that for a moment, breathing in each other’s air.

“Have I ever told you,” he almost sounds pained when he speaks, “That you’re fuckin’ gorgeous?”

You give him one of those melodious laughs that makes his heart do things. “This’d be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last.”

You crane your neck to give him a chaste kiss. He’s about to chase after your lips when you pull away, but the words you say next cause all his higher thought to temporarily cease. “You can move now. Fuck me, Daryl.”

He feels himself twitch inside you and curses under his breath. It’s slow at first, so he can gauge what sort of rhythm you might like. The roll of his hips is sensual, his admiration of your facial expressions bordering on worship. Your hands go to his back to find purchase, unintentionally pulling him even closer in the process, and he grunts. He sets a steady pace. You throw your head back into the pillow, letting all your pretty noises out for him unabashedly. Praises fall from your lips, reassuring him of how good he’s making you feel, and how you want everything he’s willing to give. The encouragement makes his chest swell with pride.

You chose him. Out of everyone you could’ve pursued, you gave your affection to him, and that knowledge alone almost feels better than the way your walls flutter around his length.

“I care about you,” he pants into your ear, a declaration that makes you whine. “Have for so long. Want— want to show you. How much you mean t’me.”

Daryl hears you try to muster up a response in between your gasps, but it’s no use, you’re too lost in the throes of pleasure. He notices the way your moans grow higher in pitch, the sound music to his ears. Utilizing what little brain power he has left, he figures you must be getting close. The fact you’re going to come undone around him spurs him on. His fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing rushed circles around it. You tighten around him and it takes all the strength he has not to collapse on you, lost in the dizzying feeling.

There’s no more precision to his movements, everything is messy and frenzied.

You let out a cry of his name, and then a high-pitched whimper of, “I’m—”

And just like that, you unravel for him, nails digging into his skin and hips thrusting forward to meet his. He wills himself to stave off his own release so that you can enjoy yours. The sight and sounds you let out might be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen, he etches every detail of it into his memory.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Daryl pulls out once he’s certain you’re done, fucking his fist like a man possessed. It doesn’t take much for him to come undone after witnessing what you just showed him. A gruff rendition of your name leaves his lips as he spills out onto his hand, his release coming out in spurts, coating his palm in white.

You both stay still for a few moments, taking the time to catch your breath. You’re the first to move, sluggishly at that, sitting up on your elbows and giving him a content smile. He’s about to cradle your face and put his forehead against yours when he recalls his release is still on his hand. He shifts to get up, noting the attached bathroom in this room. You stop him before he gets the chance, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, stilling his hand in the process. He gapes like a fish out of water as you lick the remnants off his skin, closing your eyes and humming as if it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

When you finish helping yourself, you give each of his knuckles a kiss. “I think the bones in my legs are broken. For real this time.”

Daryl snorts at the callback to your prison days, fond nostalgia swirling in his head.

“Need me to carry ya?”

You outstretch your arms for him. “Yes, please.”

He knows you’re being dramatic but can’t bring himself to care. He lifts you up, taking care not to trip on any of the clothes strewn on the floor, then sets you down on the sink’s granite counter. You both help yourselves to some nearby washcloths to get cleaned off. He kisses your shoulder when you’re done. Once back inside the bedroom, he slides his boxers back on, and you, your undergarments. You throw your back onto the bed and stretch, letting out a cute little noise while you do so.

Daryl’s feeling exhausted himself, but he figures you both shouldn’t be missing for too long. It’d make the others worry.

“I’m claiming this as our bedroom,” you fluff out a pillow before laying it down. The way his heart skips a beat at your usage of the word ‘our’ almost embarrasses him. Almost. “I’m not going to let you keep sleeping out on the porch. It hurts my back just thinking about it.”

He makes his way back over to you, footsteps silent against the hardwood. The second he lays down, you’re cozying up against his side, resting your head on his chest. His arms wrap around your frame as if he’d done it a million times before. It’s divine, hearing your steady breathing, feeling the warmth of your body. Despite everything, you’re still here. So is he.

He’ll do anything to keep it that way.

You lift yourself up to get a good look at him, your hair tickling his face. “Hey.”

He grunts to prove he’s listening.

“I love you,” you give him a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “Thank you for letting me.”

The words from his brother on that sweltering day breathe down his neck. For some reason, the specific verbiage can’t form in his mind, it’s more of a muffled voice coming from another room. The sentiment is still there. Piercing, meant to hurt his heart in ways a weapon never could. That deep of a wound won’t heal itself overnight, yet if you’re the one holding the thread and needle, he thinks it can finally start closing.

He only whispers his next words when you press your forehead against his.

“I love you too. More ‘n anything.”

There’s a mischievous glimmer in your eyes which makes him nervous. Uh oh. He knows that look.

“… Enough to be my croquet partner tomorrow at noon?”

“Hell no.”

Unfortunately for him, you know as well as he does that if you keep asking nice enough, he’s bound to give in eventually.

He always does.

[coffe-book-club]

‧˚₊⋅ ୨ anima ୧ ⋅₊˚‧

info: husband tom kaulitz x wife fem! reader

age pairing: 30 - 34

disclaimers: historical setting ‘60 in the south of italy; sicily, agnst and smut, unromanticized mafia, mention of sex, blood, drugs and guns, sexism. remember... in this one-shot i'm absolutely not saying that tom kaulitz is a bad person, this is a figment of my imagination.

‘a dead look. that's what they say, right? lifeless, glassy, ​​empty. the dead gaze was now a constant companion, always following her, never further than a blink of an eye. it hid in the back of her brain and accompanied her in dreams. His dead look, the exact moment he went from alive to no longer alive. y/n saw it in the quickest glances and darkest shadows, sometimes even in the mirror, on her own face...’

as soon as i enter our bedroom, i notice my husband sitting at his desk. near our double bed, with a cigarette between his lips and only in boxers. his head is slightly bowed and his long wavy hair covering his face.

we have never sailed in gold, on the contrary. we live in a small remote village in the south of Italy, in the early sixties. crime is very high and having a husband who is part of it is equally scary. our house is too small for seven people, too old and ruined. but that's all we can afford.

i approach his chair, looking at my husband with a tired look. caressing my swollen belly, covered by an old blue dress.

we already have five children and now i'm in the fifth month, waiting for the sixth child. and despite everything, he always wants more children. because he doesn't care, because at the end of the day i'm the one who will have to take care of them. i have always been a very sweet and fragile woman, unlike my husband i cannot scold or hit our children...

“tom please... go talk to our children, they haven't listened to me. dinner is ready and eleonora didn't want to prepare the table, i've told her so many times, but she doesn't listen to me” his face, as well as his muscular body. he's covered with many old scars. caused by guns, batons and sharp weapons. his masculine smell is enticing. he has a dangerous aura. he glances at me briefly, but then looks back down at the gun in his hand and continues cleaning it.

“have no time for children. they don't listen to you, because they know you're too weak to do anything. they fear me, but they don't respect you. if you don't want to punish them, i will and i won't be gentle. make sure they're in line”

i observe how my husband carefully cleans his gun, a beretta 87. the old white cloth with some black and other slightly greyish stains, is in his large right hand, while the gun is in his left hand. even though tom isn't touching me right now, i feel the slight roughness of his hands and his firm grip on those two objects.

my heartbeat accelerates slowly, knowing full well that he will beat the children and especially eleonora. for not listening to me. a feeling of regret, slowly spreads in my heart. regretting that i had not remained silent and said nothing to my husband. “please tom, don't hit them”

“then do your job. i've told you a hundred times. they need to behave properly. i give them enough food, even though we don't make a lot of money. i keep this family together, while you do nothing all day, and now you aren't even capable of raising them properly. i've had enough”

his words are sharp blades to my poor heart, the feeling of not doing enough for my family returns and i once again feel like a completely useless mother and wife. tom and i don't even notice that little camilla, only four years old. she's watching us at the doorway, in the small space of the door lock, listening to our words. “i'm sorry... but i can't be strict with them”

“then leave it to me” camilla watches through the crack in the door, her face a picture of sadness and fear. she hugs her favorite teddy bear for comfort and tries to hold back her tears.

“it's really hard for me to handle five kids, tom. our sixth child will also be born in a few months and you still want to get me pregnant” my eyes show all my worry and fear. we don't live in gold and having little money it's really difficult to feed seven mouths. “that's your job. you are a woman, so you shouldn't be so weak. all you have to do is lie down a few times a month and keep the house clean. if my mother could manage with nine children, you also can” he shakes his head, his voice getting more and more annoyed. “and if i want another child, we will have another child” his tone of voice is cold, there's not the slightest hint of kindness or understanding in his words.

tom doesn't understand at this moment that i'm just scared of not being able to give a future. i look away from his face, breaking our eye-contact. and then lower my gaze further and observe my maternal womb. i gently caress my belly, as if i wanted to comfort our little son, not yet born. “i'm just scared, tom”

“how can you be scared about something completely normal. having children is the most natural thing in the world. and if i want another child, you will give birth to it, as many times as i want” he lights another cigarette and takes a deep drag. “is that understood? if i ask for another child, you have to fulfill my demand”

“tom, my only fear is for their future. i'm afraid that they won't have a comfortable future” i look up again, looking into my husband's eyes. his beautiful hazel eyes, which i had fallen in love with when we were only sixteen. my tone of voice is sweet, sweet like a freshly baked apple pie, with brown sugar and cinnamon on top. “the future of your children isn't my problem. i don't care what happens when they're old enough to take care of themselves. they have a roof over their heads and warm food on the table. what more do they need?” he looks back at me and shakes his head in disbelief. “do you know how many children in this country sleep on the street? how many don't have anything to eat? and you're whining, because you don't know if your children will be comfortable when they grow up. ridiculous...”

the strong smell of burnt tobacco, persists in our bedroom. the tanned skin of his powerful and muscular body shines softly in the light of the scorching mid-july sun. a soft sigh escapes my lips, as i look at my husband's handsome face and his words echo in my mind, like a broken cassette. “and this doesn't scare you? aren't you afraid that something similar could happen to our children too? then it is also useless for you to want many children, if you don't even care about their future”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth, he gets up and takes a step towards me. “you don't get it, do you?” his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. his face is just a few inches away from mine and his voice is a whisper, laced with passion. “what i want is very important to me. we will have more children. not because of any concerns about the future, but because i want more children. and i will get what i want and i'm not afraid at all. you keep forgetting that i'll protect my family. i have no time for childish fears, i'm not scared of anything. my children grow up with my teaching, they already know how to behave. so there's nothing to worry about”

he takes another drag on the cigarette and keeps staring at me, as if wondering what's wrong with me. the silence between us remains for a few seconds, then he breaks it with a question. “are you really afraid that your children will become like me?”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth he places his gun now polished and cleaned of oil and small blood stains that had remained encrusted on the barrel of the silver gun, he gets up and takes a step towards me. his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. he bends slightly to be at my height and be able to look me in the eyes.

“our children are yours too, this means that part of your dna is in their bodies. they will most likely follow in your footsteps and that scares me, they will do very bad things and they will have to constantly hide from the authorities”

i winces in slight pain when he grabs my arms. he's so strong, so aggressive. the mere touch of his hands makes her tremble like a leaf in a storm. and he's so tall that my head barely reaches his shoulders. a shiver runs down my spine, the feeling of being so exposed and defenseless before him. “why are you so worried that the children will end up like me? you should be proud. and besides, as i said, i'll protect them from the authorities. i will do anything to protect my family”

i observe his face with fear, while his grip on my arms becomes more and more iron and his nails dig slightly into my pale skin covered with a light layer of sweat, forming small reddish crescents. “about what exactly? drug dealing or arms trafficking or human organ trafficking or to kill innocent people? would you want this for our children?” little camilla continues to observe in silence, from the small lock of the old wooden door. holding her teddy bear close to her chest, not understanding what is happening, between her mother and father.

“whatever. if that's what's necessary to gain money and keep the family together, i wouldn't rule out anything. my work is dirty, but it helps to feed the children and keep them safe. and as long as people keep buying my goods, nothing will change.” he lets go of my arms and takes a step back, but despite this, he still looks at me with a serious look that causes me to tremble. his words are full of coldness and indifference. and his facial expression is like that of someone who has no fear of anything...

during the night the sultry heat does not fade, but continues to persist. our bedroom windows are open, as are our children's windows. the light of the moonlight penetrates our room. gently illuminating our completely naked bodies, after spending a night of pure passion.

my husband tom, is lying on his back. a light layer of sweat illuminates his skin and his muscular body. making it juicier and even more desirable than before. his big penis, is still completely hard and erect. it's gently resting on his lower abdomen, while his big balls are still full. the fat pink mushroom tip glistens slightly, leaking a bit of pre-cum. his long hair is slightly wet with sweat and one arm is resting under his head, flexing his bicep. i too, like him, am completely naked. the body of a pregnant woman, with abundant breasts full of milk. “thank you, my beloved tom”

he stares at me, lying next to him. my long hair covering lightly my face and my body still dripping with sweat and other bodily fluids of our last night of passion. one of his hands caresses my shoulder and his voice is full of passion. “you did well. really well. maybe you shouldn't complain so much all the time” he smiles and his other hand moves the hair out of my face. “if you keep being a good wife, i'm sure we will have many more nights like this in the months to come”

my head rests on his muscular chest. the moonlight softly illuminates our bodies, reflecting our shadows on the wall behind me. dancing sweetly. it's good scent of leather, burnt tobacco and white musk invades my nostrils, clouding my mind. I gently and slowly caress his lightly tanned skin with my fingertips, the small tattoo on his left pectoral at heart level catches my gaze. my name written in cursive, etched into his skin. brings back many sweet memories.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates as i take in his small tattoo and the multiple scars adorning his body. scars caused by a difficult life and a violent and loveless childhood and adolescence. “do you remember when we were in our early twenties? we had been married a few months ago and i remember that one night you came home with your shoulder completely bloody. i remember that they put three bullets in your left shoulder, and i took all three off you with my bare hands. i still remember your screams of pain and all my cries, i was terrified of losing you. when i disinfected your wound and sewed it up myself, because you didn't want to go to the hospital. and i remember changing your bandages every day” i speak to him softly, stroking the small divot on his left shoulder. “two opposites linked for eternity, our souls belong to each other as well as our hearts”

a smile appears on his lips. “i remember. you're so strong, my love. and we really are a good match” he caresses my hair and my face, his movements slow and gentle. “we're like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that can't be separated from each other...”

his sweet caresses, mixed with his words of love which are not always present in our marriage. they are like warm honey to my heart. i slowly close my eyes, abandoning myself to his fingers that tangle in my long wavy blonde hair, now loose. that fall onto the green sheets of our mattress.

“you have to understand, my love” his hands move to my hips, caressing my body and moving my hair away from my face. “you are the mother of my children, you take care of the house. so i can build a future for us. you are everything to me. the most important thing in my life...” his eyes are warm and kind, looking right at me. the light from the night shines gently on his broad chest and my swollen belly.

06.30 of the morning.

i slowly go down the creaking wooden stairs, which lead to the small kitchen along with the living room. the house is particularly quiet, everyone is still sleeping.

from the old wooden door, with opaque glass. i notice the light on and the slight noise of the box television turned on to the news. as soon as i open the door i notice michele, sitting on the dining table slightly bent over with a bowl of hot milk and stale bread. his brown hair is slightly disheveled and his eyes are tired. michele is the oldest of his brothers, he is ten years old and is a carbon copy of tom. both aesthetically and temperamentally. i slowly approach him, with my left hand resting on my maternal womb, covered by the old green dress, caressing it gently.

“good morning michele, why are you already awake?” i ask him softly, bringing my right hand closer to his head, to stroke his messy hair. leaning slightly to give him a sweet kiss on his hair.

he looks up as if he's surprised and then smiles. “hello, mama. i woke up because i was hungry, so i turned on the television and made myself some breakfast... are the little ones still asleep? they usually sleep a lot” he takes a bite from the bread and sips his milk. his brown hair is still disheveled and a few crumbs are stuck on his small white pajamas. “what are you going to do now, mama?”

a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words, i gently caress her soft hair, combing it lightly with my fingers. “very good, michele. yes, everyone is still sleeping” i whisper to him, so as not to wake the children and my husband, who are all still sleeping.

“i have to prepare breakfast. there's apricot jam tart in the oven, why didn't you get it?” i ask him, moving away from michele to approach the kitchen, and open the pot cupboard where the moka is located, to prepare coffee for tom.

the old wooden glass door is opened again. the strong smell of burnt tobacco invades the entire small living room and kitchen. i turn slightly, noticing my husband's tired look. his wavy brown hair gently caresses his broad, muscular shoulders. he is only wearing a pair of white underwear, his big morning erection, despite being covered, is still visible. the hand-rolled cigarette is only half-smoked, hanging from his soft lips. “buongiorno amore”

“buongiorno, amore mio” tom's voice is low and rough, his tired eyes still fixed on me. he takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles at me, his lips full of desire. “i'm really hungry, what have you prepared for me? there's only bread and jam this morning...” his body is a masterpiece of male power and raw sexiness. the white briefs covering his morning erection give his body a touch of male dominance and strength.

his voice is even lower and hoarse in the morning. the eyes cold and fixed on my body, despite my abundant breasts full of milk, after having given birth to five children and waiting for the sixth, with the swollen belly of a visibly pregnant mother. tom is still strongly attracted to me, i can feel it in his gaze, which burns softly and slowly on my body. “uhm... if you want there is some fruit left in the fridge, in the oven there is the apricot jam tart that i prepared yesterday afternoon and the coffee will be ready in a few minutes” he smiles, the desire in his eyes slowly turning into anger and annoyance.

“i don't want to eat cold tart and a piece of fruit, after how much i had to work yesterday i deserve something better” he gets up from the chair, his hands on his hips and takes a step towards me. “or are you too lazy to make me a proper breakfast? and you should know it's not just for me. the kids need breakfast, too” his body and his voice are full of testosterone and anger. his firm, cold voice sends a shiver of worry down my spine. the little one inside me kicks immediately at the sound of his voice. as if he realized something was wrong.

i briefly shift my gaze to michele, his face lowered as he continues to soak the stale bread in hot milk, without daring to look up. but he observes the whole situation from the corner of his eye and i can sense all the hatred that michele feels for his father. and it breaks my heart. i immediately turn my gaze back to my husband, letting a small sigh of sadness leave my lips.

“if you want i can prepare you some hard-boiled eggs, some cured meats and cheeses. but children don't eat much in the morning...”

“so, you have time to bake stupid tarts, but you don't have enough time to make a proper, nutritious breakfast for your family?” he takes a step closer and looks into my eyes, his anger still present in his voice. “as if i'd believe you that the children don't eat much in the morning. you don't even want to make the effort, do you? you don't really care for our sons and daughters” his voice is loud, full of anger and annoyance, but his body still looks masculine and attractive.

little michele's face slowly becomes redder and redder. his hands clenched into two fists, the way his father is talking to his mother. causing him enormous discomfort. i immediately look down at his words, bringing both my hands to my womb, caressing it gently. the little one inside me, not yet born, begins to kick insistently, as if he wanted to protect me from his father. “uhm but... it's the truth tom, i know very well what children prefer to eat for breakfast, and it's something very light. would you like some eggs, with some cured meats and tomatoes, with coffee?”

he sighs deeply and shakes his head. the anger in him slowly turns into a mixture of disappointment and sadness. his voice becomes softer, almost as if he felt guilty for shouting at me in front of the children. “yes, alright fine” he turns around and sits back down next to michele. he takes a long drag of his cigarette and doesn't say anything for a long time. the anger doesn't disappear, but is hidden under a deep sadness. he looks at his son out of the corner of his eye.

in the afternoon the sun is even more scorching, the shutters are closed completely to prevent the heat from entering the house, as is the entrance door which is semi-closed. the sun ruins the vegetables in the garden, it makes the centrioles small and hard, the tomatoes dry without a minimum of juice. michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo are out playing with the neighbors. little camilla is currently taking her afternoon nap, in her bedroom shared with eleonora. while i'm standing, in the middle of the small living room, ironing clothes. tom went to town with some associates, to transact some 'business'.

in the afternoon, the house looks peaceful and almost deserted. tom's car is missing from the driveway and our children, except for the little one sleeping in her room, are outside playing with the neighbors. i can feel the warm air through the thin curtains and the sunlight creates delicate patterns of light and shade on the wooden floor. i carefully iron a pile of tom's shirts, before starting with the children's socks and underwear. the television and radio are turned off, focusing on the sound of the irons and the warm breeze coming through the windows. the house is particularly quiet, the only noise present is that of the steam from the hot iron. i spent the last two hours cleaning the house and ironing in complete peace of mind.

the little one inside me is also particularly calm at this moment, as if he too has fallen asleep. he kicks gently from time to time, to make me feel his presence.

as the afternoon wears on, i feel the tiredness slowly creeping into my body. i'm sweating from the summer heat and the exertion from cleaning the house and ironing. my back starts to hurt and my muscles are tired from standing and bending all the time. then the sound of the front door opening breaks the peace of mind and the sound of tom's heavy steps reverberate throughout the house. he has the same tired voice as this morning and his face reflects a mixture of annoyance and anger. the old solid wood entrance door opens slowly. i look up from camilla's little blue t-shirt, noticing my husband entering the house and closing the door behind him, without saying anything. his eyebrows are furrowed and an annoyed frown is present on his handsome masculine face. his well-defined body is hidden by his clothes, but you can feel the roughness and hardness of his body.

“hi love... be quiet please, camilla is taking her nap. everything went fine?”

“do you want me to be quiet in my own damn house?” tom's voice doesn't hide the annoyance and anger in him. he takes off his jacket and t-shirt and throws them next to his bag on the back of a chair. he's only wearing his boxers and black socks, displaying his masculine and hard physique. his skin is tanned and dark in tone, his hair is still messy and filled with sweat.

a loud sigh leaves his lips as he strides towards the bathroom. i lower my gaze again to continue with what i was doing a few moments ago. tom hasn't closed the bathroom door and i can hear him urinating and coughing, due to the many cigarettes he smokes.

a few moments later, the sound of his loud footsteps echo again. tom is back in the living room and heads straight for the fridge. he takes a beer out and opens it without a word. ge takes a few sips and looks into the distance. he speaks slowly after some time and his voice looks a lot softer and even a bit regretful. “sorry, i had a bad day, honey. i know i shouldn't be taking it all out on you” i don't take my eyes off my white t-shirt with yellow stripes, while the steam from the iron slowly flares up in the small living room, a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words.

“don't worry love, what happened?” tom's eyes remain on the white t-shirt i been ironing, as if he wants to make sure i'm not looking at his face. “there's been a problem with a shipment. a large batch of my goods was stolen yesterday during delivery” he looks at you for a moment and takes a sip of his beer. “this month's earning will be very small” afrown appears on his face and his voice is full of worry. my husband's words cloud my thoughts, right now the only thing i think about are our five children and soon to be six. i think about the future of each of them and my heartbeat slowly accelerates. i stop what i was doing and look up to look at my husband. his light blue shirt is slightly unbuttoned and i can glimpse his toned pecs and some short hair.

“my god... as if we already had so much money. and this is exactly why i'm telling you that i wouldn't want to have any more children, tom. we don't have money, i'm telling you this for their own good” tom's mood immediately changes and he looks at me in a more serious manner. as if a huge stone was placed in his stomach.

“listen here little woman. you're pregnant and it's time for you to stop moaning and complaining. i decide how many children we're going to have, not you” he takes a step toward you and speaks with more force in his voice. “i'm trying to do my best to provide for my whole family, and yet you complain as if everything isn't enough for you” i follow my husband with my gaze, raising my head when he comes closer to me so i can look better at his handsome masculine face. his jaw is clenched and i can tell just from the way he looks at me that he is very angry with me right now.

“i have never complained. in fact i have always tried to adapt to your needs, always obeying you. the problem is that you are too selfish, and you are not interested in the well-being of our children” my voice is firm, i don't take my eyes off my husband. observing her dark hazel orbs, which i fell madly in love with and still am in love with.

“i'm scared for their future, tom” his eyes remain on mine, as if he wants to intimidate me. “of course i'm interested in the well-being of my children. i work every day to give them the best life possible. i just feel like you're never satisfied with anything i do” his voice is loud and full of indignation, as he takes a step closer to me. “do you think it's easy to provide for a family with five children? and soon there'll be six...” he gestures to my swollen belly, with disdain. “and if you didn't want to have children, you had to keep your legs closed”

a small sigh escapes my lips. i shift my gaze slightly, looking at the open window near the refrigerator, the sky is still blue and there isn't even a cloud. a few birds fly towards the horizon and in the background you can hear chickens croaking. “i'm not so naïve as to not know that supporting seven people is difficult, and I'm not saying that. but if you had promised me, after i had graduated with top marks, we could have moved to milan and led a better life, with two salaries. but you didn't want to because you kept telling me that career women are whores”

he clenches his jaw, his voice becoming even louder and more aggressive toward me with every word i speak. “you need to accept your role as a mother and wife! i work hard every day to provide for this family, and yet you're out there with your feminist bullcrap, thinking that you can lead a better life somewhere else with your career” he takes another step closer to me. “if you keep criticizing me like that, i'll throw you, and the little whore inside you, out of my house”

my eyebrows furrow slightly at his sharp words, as if they were a thousand sharp blades piercing my heart countless times. i cross both my arms over my chest, forgetting for a moment that the iron is still on. “besides the fact that you're extremely rude, it's not just you who works. i also work hard to take care of you and our children, to keep the house clean and make food for our family, but above all to educate our children and help them with their homework, comfort them and support them, i have to take care of them when they are sick... the only problem is your machismo, i only expressed my opinion but it's you who continues to criticize me for everything i do”

his face becomes even more filled with anger as he looks at me. “oh... you're trying to tell me what you do is similar to what I'm doing for this family, is that it?” he laughs in a sarcastic way and approaches me even more. “aww... poor you, you have to take care of my children and cook some food. you also want to call that 'work'? that's just a normal duty of a woman. a normal woman shouldn't have to work outside of the house like a hooker”

for a moment i shift my gaze slightly to make sure that rom and i haven't woken up little camilla from her afternoon nap, and then look him in the eyes again. at his words i shake my head in negative, not agreeing with him.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates, as does my breathing which slowly becomes heavier. “i don't agree with you at all, just as a man works outside of his home, a woman should too. the only thing i bitterly regret is that i gave up everything for love. i gave up my career as a teacher, i gave up so many things for you, because you didn't want”

tom is more close to me now and can smell the pheromones of my body and my heated skin. he laughs again, in a more mocking and arrogant way, looking at me. “oh, you don't agree with me? then i guess i should kick you out of the house, you feminist whore. it's my house and it's my rules. if i say you're a stay at home wife, then you're a stay at home wife. if i say you're just supposed to have children for me, then that's what you're going to do...”

our faces are a few centimeters apart, my husband's tall and powerful body is slightly bent forward, the protruding vein on the left side of his neck is clearly visible. the tension in the air is palpable, my arms are still folded and the small frown doesn't leave my face. “this is also my home and just as you have your opinions, i have mine and i have the same right as you to express them”

he smiles at me and moves a tiny little bit closer, so that his body is pressed against mine. he's only wearing his boxers, and i can feel the warmth coming from his hard muscles and the heat and sweat in his body. “so you think i'm going to be like all those weak men who are dominated by their women?” he laughs at me in a rough and arrogant way and puts his hand on my waist, while looking into my eyes. i can feel the strength and masculine power coming in waves coming from his body and his breath. the little one i carry in my womb kicks slightly, as if he can feel all the tension between me and his father. his large right hand lightly squeezes my left hip, even through the light fabric of my dress i can feel the roughness of his hand. his breathing is heavy and slightly stresses my face, while my heartbeat accelerates more and more. “i'm not saying this, i don't want to dominate anyone... but we have the same rights and the same priorities”

“oh really?” his voice becomes low and i realize he's smiling at me again. the strength of his grip on my left hip becomes even more intense, as his fingertips dig into my skin a little. i can't help but feel the masculine and dominating presence of his body, and at the same time feel the passion and lust in his voice. “you have to accept what your place is. you're my wife and as a wife, your duty is to take care of my family. so don't you dare talk back to me again...”

the sun is slowly setting, the sky has turned a pale orange and pale pink. the birds fly high in the sky and the cicadas have just started their monotonous song. all seven of us are sitting at the table, having dinner in complete tranquility. the television is on and the journalist's voice fills the small kitchen together with the small living room. the metal forks tap lightly on the ceramic plates, while we dine in religious silence.

the family dinner is quiet and calm. everyone is eating their food in complete silence, only occasionally accompanied by the sound of forks and knives on plates. the television is on and the journalist's voice is the only thing being heard in the kitchen and small living room. tom's daughter camilla, who is the younger of the two girls, is sitting on her little feet on the chair. she takes some bites from her plate and looks at her father with a slight smile on her face. her blonde hair is curled up and her light brown eyes are filled with youth and innocence. little camilla moves her toes slightly, then taps them gently on the wooden chair and happily chews her morsels of meat with tomato and white onion. his gaze is on his father, while tom is focused on the news on television.

michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo eat their dinner in religious silence. occasionally looking up to watch television. “what did you four do with the neighbors, today?” i ask sweetly to michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo.

leonardo looks at me with a little smile and answers. “we played outside. we chased each other and made up some small games” tom is still eating his food in silence and looks at the television. once again, the only sound heard is the eating of food. his expression is neutral and his eyes continue to look at the television. he's still thinking about the theft of the goods this morning.

hii 🥨 how are you? i'm so so happy that december has started, i can't wait for december 8th to put up the christmas tree and i should also start making gifts for christmas 🙃 even though i will be swamped with work and driving school, i will still try to post once a week. i'm so sorry for the grammatical and spelling errors, but english is not my native language. xoxo flo.

[peaches-creek]

You were typing away at your computer, just as you have been for hours. Being blessed with the freedom of education, doesn’t make it any less of a curse. Here you were spending half of your life’s savings so that one day you could earn it back. Finals week was exactly 9 days, 2 hours, 17 minutes and 45 seconds away. With what felt like no time to spare you were cramming as much knowledge into your brain as you could. You are a smart person, you know it, but with the way you are struggling, it feels otherwise tonight. Sometimes things just get too heavy. You are under a ton of pressure at work, your friends are pressuring you to hang out when you have no time for yourself, you need to get groceries, check the mail. Etc. but there’s only so many minutes left in the day and you need to put those minutes into your studies.

Amidst your circling chains of thought about all of the things that you need to do, should be doing, and are doing, John enters your office. He takes in your form, headphones on and hunched over your books and laptop, messy hair, dead tired eyes. It makes his heart ache. A person he admires for her hard work, looks so worn out and god, do you look tired. He wonders how long it’s been since you had a good sleep. You need it clearly. He wishes he wasn’t so caught up with, maybe then he would’ve noticed you were struggling, but there’s not time for him to feel guilty, he has to help his girl.

He walks over, softly takes off your headphones, and swivels your chair to face him.

“Hi darling.” He flashes you with that wholesome smile that’s always on his dopey face. He brings a hand up to gently wrap around your neck, beckoning you forward to trap you in his warm embrace.

“Missed you.” You say, though it’s muffled against his shirt.

“What are you working on.”

“A bunch of stuff.”

“I can see that,” he chuckles.

“I know you can see that, now that you know I can get back to the endless amount of information that needs to take home into my brain.” you attempt to turn your chair back around, but his hands stop the chair from moving.

“John-“ you start.

“Don’t wanna hear it, you’ve been up to this for days, time for a break.”

“I don’t have time to take a break.”

“You absolutely have time to take a break. So you are taking one now. And I am going to tuck you into bed, a bed that you get to sleep in with your husband who loves you very much.” He justifies.

John has the habit of usually being right, he usually reminds you after the fact. He also knows that you hate being wrong, and you absolutely hate when people know you are wrong, which is why you are studying so damn hard.

“I appreciate it John but I really can’t tonight y’know, I have to-“

“You have to sleep.” He says.

“I can do that later.”

“Why not know.”

“John you are actually pissing me off.” You would’ve found this whole thing adorable if you weren’t already so frustrated.

“Don’t care,” He says as he tips you forward, essentially throwing you over his shoulder, “you’re going to bed.”

He begins to walk toward your bedroom passing the halls littered with pictures of the two of you and your beloved cat, Lady. When he reaches the entrance of the room, you reach up and grab onto the door, not letting go. This causes John to nearly drop you, nearly.

“Oh my god, that’s it you little shit!” He drops you onto the bed and proceeds to tickle you. Running his fingers over your ribcage over and over again.

“John sto-“ you choke out, “John I’m gonna pee fucking sto-“ you interrupt yourself with your laughter.

Eventually when he decides you’ve had enough, and that you’ve tuckered yourself out, he stops. He then hovers above your body and stares into your eyes.

“You know some people find that creepy.”

“Not you.” He grins.

“Yeah, not me.”

He gives you a sweet kiss to the lips, and then to the both of your cheeks, then your nose, lastly your forehead. He gets off of you and the bed heading to your side. He pulls back the covers and gently grabs your body and tucks you, just like he said. Once you are situated, he gets up and walks to the light switch and flicks it off. In the darkness, he makes his way back to you. He tucks himself in right behind you, spooning you.

“Goodnight, My Darling.” He says. But he doesn’t expect an answer, you are already half asleep.

“G’night John.” He gets one anyways.

[unfortunate-songbird]

ok hear me out

what if April was older

pov you’re like 15, working your after school job at your local pet store, nbd

Then this guy walks in wearing a literal suit of armor. It’s bright blue. He’s got long pinkish hair and golden horns. Are those freaking gargoyles on his shoulders. he asks for four turtles.

Sure, whatever. New York be like that sometimes. You get him four turtles, different types. While you’re, like, ringing up the turtles or w/ever, he starts droning on about how he’s going to mutate them into the greatest warriors in the universe and use them to reclaim his peoples’ rightful place on the surface

you aren’t really paid enough for this, but honestly it’s either this or freaking McDonald’s, so you deal with it

guy takes his turtles and leaves

maybe you mostly forget

maybe it keeps you up a few nights, idk

you get fired four months later in an incident that Totally wasn’t your fault but the managers just saw thirty hamsters dyed bright pink and jumped to conclusions, yknow? That’s how it be sometimes

Anyways, picture about 3 years later

you pick up a part time delivery job at a pizza place. Not ideal, but when you’ve been blacklisted from the majority of businesses in your general area, beggars can’t be choosers. Anyways, a guy asks for 3 large pizzas. You can hear kids yelling in the background. He sounds tired. Mood. then he asks you to leave them in an alleyway near a manhole. uhhhhh

look, you’re dead inside from customer service, but you’ve still got a Little of that investigative spirit that got you expelled from that fancy smancy high school sophomore year

So you wait

A rat man (!!?!???) emerges from the sewer, holding a very small toddler that’s also a turtle (?!???!?)

Wait. wait. wait.

that guy from the pet store.

no way.

Anyways, it takes a lot of yelling, panic, a few ninja moves (??) and some really awful lies from the rat man, but they manage to talk it out. It helps when one bawling turtle kiddo quiets after a couple minutes of the April O’Neil flair. (For once’s she’s grateful for her many younger cousins)

besides, she’s basically their aunt at this point. She sold them to the goat man, so she kinda counts. She’s pretty sure Rat Man- Splints- is just glad to have some help wrangling the disasters. He pays her nicely for her services, which is great, so she drops the other jobs and babysits mutant turtles in the sewers. It’s weird, for sure, but it could be way worse.

Plus, they’re all so cute.

Raph is super helpful, always following her around and trying to participate in whatever she’s doing. It’s so cute watching him bite his lip as he carefully fills Mikey’s sippy cup with juice (April holding onto the carton to make sure he doesn’t spill everywhere)

Donnie is super smart already, eagerly recounting to April whatever cool facts he’s learned. April buys him some Legos to build stuff, and he’s over the moon about them. Mikey eats one of the pieces, leading to a few hours of panic and a lifelong hatred of people touching his stuff.

Leo is a little show off, always yelling “April, April!! Lookit this!!” (Those words have proceeded, to date: three broken bones (at least mutants heal quickly), two sprained ankles, a sprained wrist, a nasty cut down his leg, and more scraped up knees that April can count).

Mikey is much less of a daredevil on his own, but he’s quick to copy whatever dangerous stunt Leo is doing. He’s always easily mollified with colorful bandaids, though, and Leo has more than once abandoned a trick when he sees Mikey trying to attempt it too. His drawings cover both the lair’s fridge and April’s own.

((( idk what this was I just think it’s very cute. My brain went “haha Draxum in a pet shop” and then everything else happened. i don’t know where Splinter gets his money, but he obviously Has it. He doesn’t work, but the boys can still afford pizza and have allowances (I’m assuming, since it’s unlikely they have jobs to earn money, so whatever they get is probably from Splinter.) and also?? Electricity?? (Where do they get that)

anyway I have Many questions that are never answered about that)))

[cassiesdevblog]

I Don't Wanna Know Anything!!!!!

Don't try to teach me anything!! I don't want to know any of it! ...Why?

Because this terrifies me...

...and this doesn't!!

So don't tell me anything! .....Except what I actually need to know!

I want to zero in on the Binding of Isaac's seemingly lackadaisical approach to teaching players. This is a game loaded with hundreds and hundreds of different items with various effects, and the biggest effort it makes toward explaining what any of them do is never more than one short line of text, which is sometimes more of a catchphrase than an item description

This is enough for some people to call Isaac a "wiki game," and many will say you should just download the mod that puts a detailed description in the corner of the screen before you pick up an item, but I'm here to make the case against that

As a new player trying to get into Dead Cells (the game I pictured above with the detailed item descriptions), I found it overwhelming to try and digest all the information given to me every time I found a new item. The deluge of stats and attributes made it all feel super important, like I was already being expected to carefully consider every morsel of info while I was still trying to get to grips with the basic controls and movement. I'm sure some people are into that kind of thing, but I dropped the game fast

And I think the big question here is: would I need all this information to have fun?

Isaac's answer would be a firm no!!! You can pick the game up, not understand half the items you find, and have a blast anyway. Most of the time though, you'll have enough of an idea of what something does just by the short blurb of a description that you can make effective use of it without needing all the details

I think it would be awful if the game had the item descriptions mod (pictured above) preloaded by default. I'd like to think I'd just say "I'm not reading all that" if I found it overwhelming, but it's hard to ignore juicy, helpful information. After all, the player's job is to win, and it's the designer's job to make that process engaging

Not only that, but Isaac's approach actually removes the decision making from the process entirely for new players, because it doesn't give you any information until you pick the item up. If you waltz into an item room and see something you've never seen before, are you just not gonna pick it up? No, of course you just take it, and if you regret it later, that'll stick in your mind and you'll remember it next time. As you play, you'll gradually build your knowledge of what each item does, and eventually the game will be full of interesting decisions because of it

The short, catchy "item descriptions" are perfect for this purpose. It's easy for them to get stuck in your brain so they can help jog your memory next time you see the item. After playing enough, I've found myself reciting the ones I remember in my head before even picking an item up

It's a system that works great for all kinds of players, because the game is already fun even when you know nothing (plus, it's fun to discover what items do organically!), but you can reach new heights of strategy by naturally building a well of knowledge as you play, usually without even trying to

...Alrighty, so that's all nice and ideal, but what if players just crack open the wiki anyway and drag out the pace and volume of information waaaaaaay more than they would by downloading the item descriptions mod?

Well... I think that's fun too actually! If you're willing to go to the effort to go to the wiki and type in the name of every item you see before you pick it up, it's probably because you're super engaged with the game and you're in the mood to gather knowledge so you can make super informed decisions

Speaking personally, I sometimes do play with the wiki open if I'm in the right mood for it. But even then, I only actually look something up if I really want that extra advantage. The slight inconvenience of having to type into a search bar means I don't overdo it and suck the fun out of it. Rather, I generally only use it when I'm in the sort of mood where I find it fun!

Isaac is able to match so many people's moods and levels of experience by sparing the details and encouraging curiosity, discovery, and long-term accumulation of information, rather than trying to make sure you know everything upfront. I kind of think this is at least half of the game's secret sauce...!!! Seriously!

So if you ask me, the next time you want to tell your player something, you should ask yourself:

Do they need to know this to have fun?

(btw me and my friends just finished a whole ass game go play it)

[suzannahnatters]

Ok so I wrote a whole steampunk trilogy about these two bejewelled idiots

so let me tell you about George V and Mary ("May") of Teck.

From the photo - woman dressed like a wedding cake, man wearing the Milky Way - you might think that this is a picture of privilege.

Well, yeah. You're right. Mostly.

Her name was Princess May, and she was Europe's least eligible spinster.

Although she was of royal blood, May was descended from a "morganatic" marriage - her grandfather on her father's side had married a commoner - in fact, a countess (gasp!) - on condition that their children would not inherit his small German duchy. May's two aunts never married, because no self-respecting German prince would be seen dead in a ditch marrying the offspring of a mere countess. May's father got lucky because over in England, Queen Victoria was struggling to cope with her cousin, MARY ADELAIDE. Mary Adelaide was fat, thirty-two, unmarried, more popular than the queen, and completely uncontrollable. Under the circumstances, the discovery of an unattached prince too beggarly to be picky was an absolute godsend. The English were too broadminded to care about the countess, and nobody else (as someone joked unkindly) would "venture on so vast an undertaking."

The marriage was happy, but extravagant. By the time May was 16, the family was so deeply in debt that they had to run away from England to avoid their debtors. For the next two years they lived in Italy, where May was able to get an excellent education in art history, languages, singing, and painting.

After returning to England, May took an interest in visiting the poor and collecting funds for charities. Serious, diligent, and intelligent, May hoped that one day she would have an important role to play in the world…but how? She was not royal enough to marry into royalty, but she was much too royal to marry beneath her.

It was Queen Victoria who decided to play the fairy godmother. One day, quite unexpectedly, she invited May to join her at Balmoral. Several days later, Prince Eddy also arrived. Eddy was Victoria's grandson, third in line to the throne, and thus (if you overlooked the affairs with married women, and the scandals, and the venereal disease, and the sub-zero IQ) the most eligible bachelor in the whole British Empire. In Victoria's opinion, what the future King of England needed most was a good, smart, steady wife. She'd already tried to arrange several other matches for Eddy, including one with Princess Alix of Hesse (who would go on to marry Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, a match which would in no way help to precipitate a violent revolution and end in a hail of bullets, blood, and diamonds), but all of them had failed. Now, she thought May would do.

Perhaps May thought it was her only chance to achieve lasting financial security. Possibly she agreed with Victoria that the future of the British Royal Family depended on Eddy marrying someone with half a brain. Maybe she even hoped for love. When Eddy proposed, May accepted.

Just weeks before the wedding, May was staying at Sandringham for Eddy's 28th birthday celebrations when he came down with influenza. The next day, he developed pneumonia. Five days later he was dead.

More than a hundred years later, we can be excused for looking back and feeling that both May and the whole British Empire dodged a significant bullet there. To Eddy's family, it was a crushing tragedy. One who mourned him was Eddy's younger brother, a steady, hard-working, unimaginative naval officer named George. Prince George was not just dull as dishwater and nearly as badly educated as his brother, he was also significantly healthier, smarter, and more disciplined. Now, with George taking Eddy's place as heir to the throne, many immediately began to think that George should take Eddy's bride as well. After all, Queen Victoria had already gone to the trouble of vetting and approving May, and why should all that work go to waste?

Among those who thought so were May's own parents. When Eddy's family went on holiday to the south of France to grieve in peace, May's parents packed up their daughter and followed. George dutifully called on the family, and over the next few months, as May travelled around Europe, she and George corresponded via letter. Emotionally constipated as he was, George had grown used to writing heartfelt notes to his deaf mother. May was also painfully shy. Signs were against them, but the two managed to become engaged in 1893 after significant prodding from both their families. Shortly afterwards, they exchanged these hilariously awkward letters:

MAY: I am very sorry that I am still so shy with you. I tried not to be so the other day, but alas failed, I was angry with myself! It is so stupid to be so stiff together and really there is nothing I would not tell you, except that I love you more than anybody in the world, and this I cannot tell you myself so I write it to relieve my feelings.

GEORGE: Thank God we both understand each other, and I think it really unnecessary for me to tell you how deep my love for you my darling is and I feel it growing stronger and stronger every time I see you; although I may appear shy and cold.

The rest, of course, is history. George married May in 1893 and in 1910 they succeeded to the throne as King George V and Queen Mary of Teck. In between ruling the colonies with a rod of iron (George), amassing a small fortune in fabulous diamonds (May), and wearing some of the era's most luscious fashions (both) the two of them remained as deeply in love as ever. When George took a dive in a newfangled invention named a submarine, May, standing on the Portsmouth quay, could not repress a passionate effusion of concern:

"I shall be very disappointed if George doesn't come up again."

ALSO May had a dollhouse that was a miniature copy of their home! The library contained VERY TINY BOOKS by literary luminaries such as Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling! AND over the bed in the main bedroom there was a tiny sign hanging - "May George? - George May." I'm sorry but I love them. I'm not sorry at all for all the grand silly fun I had writing them both in Miss Sharp's Monsters. Though I'm afraid that at no stage was the real Princess May impersonated by a clever clockwork automaton containing a bomb intended to blow up Queen Victoria. I made that part up.

[deltadex]

(Be prepared, this is a brain dump)

I can't stop thinking about the fact that the emotional turmoil is going to be through the roof next season, especially for Vi and Caitlyn. During their struggle to de-escalate the war they've found themselves in, the mini-battles taking place in the back of their minds will be just as alive.

It only hit me now how much Caitlyn has been through in such a short time. She survived two explosions, witnessed many of her work colleagues die (which I assume is the first time she has experienced death), was taken hostage twice (first by Ekko then Jinx), and had her life threatened several times (e.g. held at gunpoint). I imagine it's still to hit her too...

And then there's the chance her mother won't survive the attack on the council, which will leave her devastated, if not in denial. The fact that it's caused by Vi's sister only makes this more complex and difficult to accept. The same person Caitlyn let Vi go after on the bridge, the same person she didn't want to sell out to the council, and the same person she chose not to incapacitate at the tea party. I don't think Caitlyn is going to become driven by revenge and try to kill Jinx, but I can definitely see her lose her cool.

Meeting Vi and getting to see the Undercity somehow became both a blessing and a curse, and I think it's possible she'll act upon the frustration caused by the circumstances they find themselves in. Thinking about this now it doesn't seem so unrealistic that we will see a Caitvi interaction "we'll probably hate" (e.g. Caitlyn lashing out at Vi. Nevertheless, I think she'll realise pretty soon afterwards that Vi isn't to blame for the mess their in).

Next season is where Caitlyn's character arc is really going to gain traction and I'm excited (and frankly scared) to see "a different side of her".

Vi also has her own struggles leading into season 2. She'll still be reeling from seeing her sister choose to walk away from her. The hope of "getting Powder back", the only thing on her mind for the past seven years, was shattered in an instant. On top of all this there's the huge possibility of Warwick (AKA Vander) being thrown into the mix. Finding out Vander is alive will rock Vi to her core and add to the barrage of emotions she won't have the time to feel.

(Sidenote: There's so much chaos going on already with the war and now there's possibly gonna be a blood-thirsty werewolf-man on the loose too? What a curveball! )

Besides Caitlyn and Vi's individual struggles, there's also the unresolved tension between them after the "Oil and water" scene. They don't quite know where they stand with each other, and I'm really curious to see how soon they'll address it.

Then there's the fact that Caitlyn probably overheard everything at Jinx's tea party before she was wheeled in, and just thought: "You were right Vi. I don't know anything about you." Up to this point she knew very little about Vi's past, and she still doesn't have the full picture.

Caitlyn is inquisitive, sometimes to a fault (e.g. "How do you not know if your sister is alive or dead?" "What, you don't have parents?"), and I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted some answers after everything she just heard. And even if Vi would rather forget about the past and avoid talking about it, Warwick is going to arrive and open up those old wounds. When she recognizes him, she's going to be distressed and Caitlyn's going to want to know why. This could lead to some heated conversations, especially if Vi is reluctant to share and Caitlyn is insistent on asking questions.

At this point, everything is happening at such a fast pace that they won't have the opportunity to have the heart-to-hearts (and mental breakdowns) they so desperately need. In some ways, their internal struggles are just as difficult to address as their external ones, and once they're able to reinstill peace in their world, they'll have no choice but to face them (you could only hope Arcane will be kind to us and have them crying in each other's arms by the end of the season)

There's this simple, great quote from Helen LaKelly Hunt: "Conflict is growth trying to happen", which is a really positive way to see Caitlyn and Vi's situation. I'm optimistic that if they overcome these challenges, they will not only grow as individuals, but will end up with a relationship that's stronger than they ever imagined.

Anyway, thanks for reading my brain dump ❤

[kierewrites]

Pumpkin Patch

navi - masterlist

Bakugou x Reader

Mood Song: baby boy

Summary: All week you've been pestering your grumpy boyfriend to visit the local pumpkin patch with your friends. Of course because it's you, he said yes, but he realizes your reasons for wanting to go aren't what he was thinking.

Warnings: The fluffiest fluff fluff can get, some explicit words because it's our little shit Bakugou, I kinda got brain dead at the end but I still think it's cute so I'm posting anyway 눈_눈

This place was Bakugou’s worst nightmare.

Pumpkins of all sizes were littered along the floor with little to no room to walk. Somehow children were able to run through the hazardous pit while fighting over one out of the thousands of pumpkins in the patch.

Worst of all, parents were everywhere forcing their children to wear shitty costumes and take pictures atop the uneven pumpkins. He would never forget the years of torture his mother put him through just to get “cute photos” of him. Honestly he still believed she only did it to piss him off.

Which it did. A lot.

And yet here he was, standing before the large tent of pumpkins he swore he would never return to once he hit the age of free will. Just in case you were wondering, it wasn’t his idea. And surprisingly it wasn’t his friend’s idea either.

It was yours. For some reason you were hell bent on going to one of these patches to pick a pumpkin out for your dorm, and you wanted everyone to come. Why you were so determined on picking one out here rather than a quick and easy convenient store, he didn’t know.

After his friends begged him literally all day to go, it only made him want to decline the offer even more. But when you got him alone and gave him those stupid adorable eyes you always flaunted when you want something, he knew he was fucked.

So begrudgingly he tried to hide his disgust, and stood by your side as you watched the chaotic scene before you with sparkling eyes as if it were Disney World.

“There’s so many!” You exclaimed with a wide grin, quickly bending down to pick up a pumpkin that was almost the size of you and clearly much too heavy as your arms twitched before spinning around to show your friends.

The others seemed way more interested than Bakugou did, marveling at the pumpkin in your hand before Kirishima bent down to grab the large pumpkin from your shaky hold.

“You might want to look for one a bit smaller.” Kirishima chuckled as you let out a pant of relief once the heavy pumpkin was out of your grasp.

“Nah, I t..totally had it.” You said in between heavy breaths with a grin, most of your friends laughing except for Bakugou who clicked his tongue.

Walking beside you with folded arms, the grumpy boy scanned the perimeter of the tent with unimpressed eyes, “Just pick out a damn pumpkin already before you break your fucking back, I’m not carrying your ass home if you do.”

Looking over to your boyfriend you snuck a quick kiss to his cheek, giggling slightly at his startled expression, “Don’t rush me Suki, I’ll just take even longer.”

Bakugou glowered down to you, ready to let a string of curses come out until a bright flash was seen from above. It only took seconds for the horrendous boom to come after, shaking the ground aggressively as the rain followed suit.

Instinctively your hand found its way into Bakugou’s at the startling sound, the ash blond even glancing up at the sudden change in weather.

For a second he almost felt a surge of excitement, this meant he could go home right? But then other sounds filled the air that made him want to blow up the planet.

Children crying, adults shouting, loud wind and rain just adding to the new chaos of the situation.

Bakugou’s friends all let out annoyed groans, the six of you moving under the tent so as not to get drenched by the heavy downpour.

“Talk about bad timing for a storm to show up.” Kaminari groaned with folded arms, the group nodding in agreement as they brought up what they should do next.

Bakugou felt his head growing hotter by the second as his lips formed into a snarl, the weather couldn’t hold out for five more seconds? Now he had to come back another fucking time so you could pick out a damn pumpkin. This was supposed to be a one time deal.

Though he remained silent, it was clear Bakugou’s mind was screaming profanities as he glared at the heavy rain, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He hadn’t realized he was spacing out until he felt two nudges at his side, vermillion eyes glaring over to see Kirishima looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Y/n okay? She doesn’t look too good bro.”

Bakugou raised a brow, glancing down over to you. Immediately he noticed how closed off your body language had become. Strands of your hair seemed to be intentionally covering most of your face as you watched the patch associate close up the checkout table.

He noticed the corners of your lips curve downwards, and were your eyes getting glossier?

There’s no way you would cry over this. He knew you really wanted to come here, but you rarely cried over anything. Even when you slammed your toe into his bed frame so harshly it bled, you still didn’t cry.

He was glad he rarely got to see those pretty eyes swell with tears, but that meant whenever he did have to see it, his whole world crumbled.

Taking advantage of his distracted friends who were now arguing on how to spend the rest of the day, Bakugou headed over to you, trying to maneuver his way through the mess of pumpkins before nudging your side.

“We’ll come back Y/n.”

The sound of Bakugou’s voice so close to you had you squeak in surprise, you peaked a quick glance at him through the strands of your hair before quickly avoiding his gaze.

“That’s okay Katsuki, I know how much you hate this place.” You said softly, trying to hide the cracks in your voice as you rubbed your hand along your arm to try and calm yourself down.

The ash blond raised a brow at this. Something was definitely wrong, and you had to think he was an idiot not to notice that.

“Y/n quit being fucking stubborn, what’s your problem-” Bakugou started, grabbing your hand that attempted to rub your side until you were forced to look in his eye.

You were biting your lip so hard it was probably about to bleed, most likely a sorry attempt to keep the tears that were threatening to spill from your lashes from actually falling.

“Y/n…” Bakugou grumbled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you hiccuped, the tears now beginning to fall.

The blond brute looked back to see Kirishima already staring at them, concern written in his expression. The two friends send an understanding nod to each other, Kirishima already leading the others to the other side of the tent to give the two of you space. 

“C’mere.” Bakugou mumbled, gently ushering you to sit down on one of the larger pumpkins behind you as he sat on another one besides you, his arm pulling you close to him.

“Now I know my girl isn’t not crying over a damn pumpkin.”

A swell of warmth curled around Bakugou’s chest when a small giggle bubbled from your lips in between your sniffles, “No, m’not.”

Bakugou decided to remain silent, letting you have a few minutes to collect yourself as you attempted to wipe your tears away with your sweater, but he beat you each time with his thumb so you wouldn’t dampen your clothes.

“I know I’ve been… really persistent about coming to this pumpkin patch,” You started, your eyes staring out into the rain as you let out a defeated sigh, “Ever since I moved here from home, I’ve just been really homesick.”

The start of your words had Bakugou freeze, a wave of realization rushing over him but not without a new wave of guilt as he hadn’t even realized how this must have been for you.

No matter what hour or how busy you were, you always found time to call your mom or talk with your friends and family back at home. He knew you loved it here, but moving thousands of miles away from all you know and love must have been so difficult.

Glancing over at Bakugou, you noticed his brows furrow at your words causing you to jump up as you quickly grabbed his hand.

“Not that you guys haven’t treated me so well!” You quickly exclaimed, his eyes meeting your startled ones as you squeezed his hand, “Katsuki you’ve made my transition here so much better, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

For once, Bakugou gave you one of his rare smiles as he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, “But?”

His question had your expression falling again, your eyes staring off behind him as your lips flattened into a straight line.

“But the holidays were so important to my family. Even if we all wanted to go to war with each other, we would always put our differences aside for the holidays.” You spoke with a smile.

“During fall time we would come to a pumpkin patch just like this, all my cousins searching for the best pumpkin for our carving contest. I guess I hoped if I came to one with you guys it would just remind me a bit of home, and I could bring a pumpkin back to my dorm to remind me of them.”

You hadn’t even noticed the gentle tears that returned to your cheeks, and this time Bakugou didn’t wipe them as he was in a trance of his own. All this time you hid the way you felt about your family. Almost a full year of dating and you never mentioned how much the holidays meant to you.

But then again, why would you? Katsuki made it clear he despised the holidays due to his parents smothering him with them each year. He probably shut any idea down that you had, not even realizing how it was affecting you.

Now Bakugou really felt like a piece of shit. He had been such an asshole the entire way here thinking you were acting like a two year old, when really you just missed your family.

The last thing you expected was to hear your boyfriend growl beside you, though when you looked up he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the patch associate.

He would be damned if he just watched you feel this way for the whole rest of the year. He was your boyfriend, it was his job to keep you happy. It was his job to make this city feel the closest to home it possibly could. And he would really be damned if he wasn’t going to be the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had, hopefully the only one you’ll ever have.

“Don’t you dare fucking close this place up,” Bakugou yelled from across the tent, startling the young man as he looked over to see the six of you still there, “It’s nowhere near closing time buddy.”

Your head perked up at the sound of this, not only you but the rest of his friends looking at the ash blond before he glared in their direction, “All of you start searchin around.”

You blinked owlishly at him as his vermillion orbs landed on your own, softening slightly as he took your features in.

“Katsuki, we really don’t need to. I was just being dramatic-” You started, attempting to stand up on your own before his hand gripped your own and yanked you up into his arms, effectively interrupting your words.

“We aren’t leaving here until we find the best fucking pumpkin.”

At this your friends all cheered, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks as you squeezed his hand excitedly, “Really Katsuki?”

Bakugou wiped what was left of your dried tears before moving his hand in yours, “Really princess.”

Bakugou would be lying if he said his heart didn’t do a flip as he saw that beautiful smile flash across your lips, but he also would never admit that in his entire life.

So instead he walked in front of you and tugged you along through the patch of pumpkins with his usual scowl on his face.

“And try not to trip on any of these pumpkins while you’re at it,” The ash blond growled even though he was carefully paving a clear trail for you to follow behind him, “I wasn’t lyin before, I’m not carrying your ass back.”

Letting out a giggle you tugged his arm harshly causing him to stumble back to you, which you gladly took as an opportunity to place a serious yet brief kiss on his lips, admiring the way his cheeks glowed as you hugged his side.

“Seriously, thank you Katsuki.”

Bakugou gently squeezed your hand in response, his way of appreciating your gratitude before continuing his ungraceful walk through the path.

You bumped into your friends a few times as they went on their hunt for a pumpkin, but eventually you and Bakugou parted ways, getting quite determined to find the best shaped pumpkin in the patch.

Occasionally Bakugou would glance up to see you gracefully maneuvering amongst the pumpkins, most likely from your years of experience with your family. He couldn’t help but smile to himself each time your eyes lit up upon seeing a possible pumpkin to grab.

To be honest, he really didn’t care which one he grabbed. He only pretended to look so he could sneak a few glances your way. Meanwhile, you were deep in concentration. Your knife skills weren’t exactly perfect, so getting a pumpkin big enough to withstand your “crafty” mistakes was important.

Glancing around at the pumpkins around him, Bakugou chuckled slightly at the sight of a rather awkward pumpkin. The stem was practically chopped off, probably kicked or torn off by some bratty child. One side was distinctly higher than the other, making the lumpy object look deformed.

Grinning deviously, the ash blond tugged the pumpkin in his arms before calling your name, his grin growing wider to see your eyes filled with excitement.

“This one looks like your ass.”

Why you had any thought in your mind that perhaps your boyfriend was trying to help you, you had no idea. As soon as your eyes fell on the rather depressing pumpkin, your lips puckered out into an annoyed pout, your eyes following suit with a sharp glare.

This earned a loud snort from Bakugou, the ash blond finding your change in mood apparently hilarious.

You’ll make sure to remember that comment the next time he tries to grope you like the little shit he was, then he’ll eat his words.

The sound of Mina whispering your name amongst his laughter had you glancing up to see her pointing to the pile of awkwardly shaped squash where she was standing.

Immediately your brains clicked with the perfect idea, you grins matching each other as you hopped amongst the pumpkins to pick out one of the smaller squashes.

“Katsuki!” You exclaimed in an excited tone, his head whipping from his friends who he started to talk to over to you holding the pathetic looking squash, “This one looks like you’re dick, asshole.”

Bakugou’s once wide grin fell into an expression of shock before a scowl came across his lips as you and his friends bursted into laughter. For someone so aggressive, he sure was sensitive.

That’s one of the reasons Bakugou came to like you. Even though you were kind and gentle, you were also confident and didn’t take shit from anyone. Any normal girl, except for maybe Mina, wouldn’t be caught dead saying something like that to him. Yet here you were, making fun of his package, inaccurately at that.

“Oh you think you’re funny you little shit?” Bakugou hissed, storming his way over to you as you continued your obnoxious laughter.

Both the sight and sound of him growing near made your heart race, your arms instinctively pushing out against him as you bursted into giggles, to which he instinctively grabbed both your wrists and lifted you up sideways with ease.

You could feel the rumbling of his maniacal laughs as you held on tightly to his neck, whatever he was about to do was not going to be favorable to you.

“Bakugou? What are you doing?” You asked cautiously, the sound of the rain getting louder as you whipped your head to the nearing edge of the tent, “Katsuki?”

The onslaught of questions seemed to go in one ear and out the other as you both neared the edge of the tent that was barely protecting you from the pounding rain.

“I swear you better not do this!” You shrieked, keeping a vice grip on your boyfriend’s neck as you dug deep crescents into his skin, “Katsuki don’t-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence before cool water began to soak against your back and side, a shrill shriek escaping your lips as you tried to protect what was left of your dry body under the tent.

If you thought Bakugou’s laugh was loud before, this would’ve been a howl of laughter then. As much as he loved you, he loved putting you in your place even more.

Unlucky for him, you were just as stubborn.

Gritting your teeth you lifted your leg that was behind his torso and swiped it against the back of his knee, causing his legs to buckle forward as he stumbled outside the tent with your drenched body.

Quickly Bakugou used his hand to let out a small blast so that way his body took the fall of the concrete, his arms wrapping tightly around you so you wouldn’t land uncomfortably.

Once he confirmed you were okay, his lips formed into a scowl as he flipped you over once again so you were beneath his fiery gaze.

“You are such a little brat.” Bakugou growled, though he had a smile on his face as your giggles drowned out the sound of the moody weather.

Even with your clothes drenched and your makeup slightly running down your face, you looked beautiful. So perfectly you, and all his.

Thankfully the ash blond’s body was able to deflect any drops of rain from falling into your eyes, allowing you to properly look up at him to see the rare smiles he shared just for you.

Attempting to place a kiss on his nose, Bakugou instead grabbed your chin and led your lips to his own. Whenever he was like this with you, nothing in the world mattered at all. Not his friends, not the pouring rain, nothing. Just you and him.

Smiling through the kiss you held on to the back of his head, your fingers seeping into his soaked strands of hair to pull you closer into his embrace.

Though you didn’t want to, you broke away from the kiss, already waiting to see those frustrated eyes look back at you.

“We should probably pick out a pumpkin so that poor guy can go home.” You said with a chuckle, the ash blond rolling off you until you let out an excited gasp.

Raising a brow he glanced over to see you already clumsily dashing up, nearly slipping in the process, and running towards the patch to pick up a smaller pumpkin. Bakugou followed after you to get out of the rain, stripping off his wet jacket before examining the pumpkin you placed in his hands.

Much to his surprise, it was white. Not orange like the normal pumpkins, just a light cream color with a curly stem.

“The hell do you want that one for?”

While squeezing at the tips of your hair in an attempt to dry it off, you offered him a soft smile.

“Because it reminds me of you.”

You saw the immediate confusion in his eyes, and maybe even a bit of annoyance perhaps at the thought that you were still teasing him. Rolling your eyes you ruffled your fingers through his messy ash locks before pointing to the ash colored pumpkin, his eyes widening in realization.

“You are so fucking corny Y/n.” Bakugou hissed, a small blush on his cheeks as he grabbed your hand and led you back to your friends who seemed to have pumpkins of his own.

Letting out a laugh you squeezed his hand as he placed both your pumpkins down and paid the poor associate.

“You know you love it, tough guy.”

Bakugou hid his face from your smug gaze, though he knew it wasn’t doing much justice since his usually wild locks were glued damp to his head.

“Whatever, let’s just get the fuck back so I can beat all you losers in this carving contest.”

[moonsb1996]

Hello again! @the-invisible-introvert-2004 Because this time my brain was still racing with excitement. So I will continue writing about Fidelza's aunt. and his bodyguards, and let's get to know their names.

(Thank you for the picture from SB @newmria from X. You can follow her. My sister drew it for me.)

First row :

Firmin Jean

french

ErrorEffect /EE(name of our novel's special power) : Pause.

Type: Floy (I'll explain it later when I write the history of this story)

Ability: When touching a living creature or human being (only), the target person will be "paused" of their movement until Firmin will unleash the power of EE. He is the first mercenary hired and becomes the head bodyguard for the current CEO of Allmind Company.

                Firmin is a quiet person who speaks when asked. He is loyal to the organization, earning him the nickname Agent Smith because he always wears sunglasses. He also has the ability to cook food at the level of a 5-star restaurant and has excellent close-quarters combat skills. He respects the CEO so much that he is nicknamed “The CEO's favorite dog” If the CEO wants to make something disappear, he can make the problem disappear as well.

                There are rumors that Firmin and the CEO are probably secretly dating each other. Firmin lives with the CEO because he was hired to protect the CEO's niece (Fidelza Hunter), which is...somewhat true, but not related. Because Firmin is the only one who has feelings for the CEO, because he is too afraid that he will be a "psychopath" because his cell phone has secretly taken pictures of the CEO, filling up the phone's memory.

Oya/Oney Rosalind

African

EE: N/A

Oya or Oney was a female warrior from an ancient tribe in Africa. (A fictional tribe in my novel) She and all the warriors were hired by The "mysterious organization" asks people to help fight in the war of judgment according to the tribe's beliefs in exchange for water and food to survive the vultures in the village. Unaware that the “mysterious organization” is a terrorist who wants to blame the tribe for the Peace Tower bombing. (You can think of it as 9/11.)

Oney was one of the few survivors of the explosion and the collapse of the building. before being sent to prison After that incident, the people of the world and the relatives of the deceased wanted to erase her tribe from history until now there were only 20 families left and wandering refugees. Oney became the bodyguard of Allmind's CEO, according to a survivor's testimony. who spoke of survival by she protected them with her body, While she was seriously injured, she had scars all over her body.

The company's CEO paid bail (and bribed some officials), and Oney was freed and came to work as a secretary. combined with the ability to organize schedules makes CEO who doesn't want to have problems with CPS regarding the niece who required psychiatric treatment at that time was able to take the niece into care. Oney also serves as a consultant and interpreter in the native language for the CEO when he travels around Africa, thus receiving an additional salary.

Fidelza Hunter liked the legends and stories of Oney's tribe very much and often asked her to tell her legends and folktales. Oney is a woman of few words. and was not good at expressing emotions because of the emotional pain of seeing so many people dead in the building collapse incident and news of the extermination of her own tribe herself didn't know that she was being flirted by her colleague.

Second row:

Fidelza Hunter

(Since we already know about her, we'll pass!)

Victor Radnar or Mr. Vic

American

EE : N\A

Victor Radnar, or Mr. Vic, is Fidelza's mother's younger brother. Ragnar's heir and the current CEO of Allmind Company He is considered to be the most famous and youngest billionaire in history. before becoming CEO and receiving wealth from the Radnar family circle Mr. Vic met with contempt. Physical and verbal abuse This makes him hate people with special powers who abuse their power and power. (He doesn't hate everyone with special powers.)

Because he doesn't have good human relationships with other humans. (He prefers to stay in his office 24/7) so he hires mercenaries. and former prisoners of serious crimes become their own people so they can spend time with his own niece to prevent CPS from taking niece from him. Because he knew who had kidnapped his sister (Fidelza's mother) but had no evidence.

Mr. Vic is a workaholic who is so focused on his work that he can survive on coffee. and instant noodles Fidelza is worried, so she always takes care of Mr. Vic's coffee intake. However, he has little interest in the opposite sex because he is gay. (One of the reasons why he was bullied while in school until university) thus causing Vic to not easily open up to anyone, even to his niece, who is his only remaining family. except for my own sister

Ms. Vic is also aware of “him” (who is “believed” to be Fidelza's imaginary friend) and is upset that her niece is dating a long-distance boyfriend. But because he saw that his niece was happy with a healthy relationship, he chose to keep an eye on his niece's boyfriend. And secretly planned the murder of Lev King with his accomplice, Firmin. But at this time there was no satisfactory murder plan, so Lev King's head had not yet come off his neck.

Last row:

Asmon Saika

german

EE : Stamina

Type : IGES

Abilities: When using her special powers, Asmon can use her stamina for 3 hours, but cannot make her power increase, so she uses her special powers for speed instead. This allows her to run almost as fast as a Formula 1 car. But when in this special power, the body will release a lot of heat from the spine. She couldn't wear shirts or shoes (Asmon always wore shirts showing off her back) because the heat would melt most of her clothing.

Asmon is hired by Vic as a driver because of her knowledge and ability to drive fast cars. And Mr. Vic is looking for volunteers to test out the company's new equipment. (Allmind is a major technology development company that has made the Ragnar family world-class millionaires.) Asmon wears a special suit under the CEO's driver's uniform for emergencies.

Asmon is a bright and cheerful young woman. But she's insecure about her height (she's 143 centimeters tall), so she likes to look at magazines that sell high-heeled shoes in order to be as tall as Oney. But she often forgets because she is more interested in car engines. Most of the money was spent maintaining the CEO's car's engine and customizing her motorcycle. Asmon is the one who notices that Firmin "might" have a crush on Vic, so she often bothers Firmin about this. But it's not because she secretly likes Firmin. But because she wanted to blackmail him. Which at present has not been successful at all.

Jungkun Inis

Half-Korean and half-Irish

EE : Filter

Type : Floy

Ability: Can create illusions of people, animals, or things that the target cannot see or see. But when touched, the “filter” will disappear. and can also trick the eyes of CCTV cameras or photographs and a video camera that records events that occur when using "filters" as well. Jungkun was once an official who was allowed to use special powers in public before he was arrested for attacking an employee.

He was also suspected of falsifying evidence, causing him to be sent to prison while awaiting trial. So he got to know Oya or “Oney” (he called her Oney because it was easier) and when Oney received a job from Mr. Vic as a secretary. She introduced Jungkun to Mr. Vic, who accepted a job as a makeup artist. (Mr. Vic's face is very tired from lack of sleep, causing him to have to hire a makeup artist when appearing in the media or attending social events.)

He was then bailed out by Mr. Vic and came to work at Allmind Company as well as Oney. causing him to try to flirt with her But because he's not good at romance, he doesn't do anything that seems romantic. As a result, he often buys her gifts that make him think of Oney. Like the brooch pendant that Oney currently wears while working and is the only piece of jewelry she wears regularly because she likes it. And because he knew that Oney was not good at expressing herself,so he was not in a hurry to confess his love either. So only Fidelza and Asmon sat and waited for the ship to continue sailing.

[softhairedhotch]

no, thank YOUUUU <3333 and it's okay HEHE remember to take it easy!!! 🫶 i can tell u for sure i will be here ready to absorb and consume n love anything that u create <3333 ive already read ur new fic Too Many Times . it struck sooo many chords like . I WOULD REALLY DO ALL THAT 😭😭 n ya fr there's too many good ideas out there to explore n there's only so much you can do at One moment. i personally have this long standing problem of starting sooo many things that i cannot finish bc i'm a master procastinator... so the only way i function is with looming deadlines ☠️ wish i was getting paid to just sit down n think about aaron bc man... i'd be a millionaire by now 🗿

TEHEEHHEE OMGGG PLEASEEE PHONE SEX . another big weakness of mine . idk how many times ive said smth is my weakness BUT like there's just some tropes that NEVER GETS OLD ... also sometimes i focus so much on aaron n how he makes you feel that i don't think about how HE would be so affected by everything about you GOSSHHHHHH please . like you're captivated by him but he's literally also soooo smitten and down bad for you to that he has to fight his urges to just give into anything that u want 😭😭 but unfortunately he can't always magically teleport to wherever you are so he just talks you through it and gives you such clear instructions BRRRR IMAGINE IF HE USES HIS WORK VOICE BC HE WANTS YOU TO LISTEN TO HIM EXACTLY STEP BY STEP . like my god i can't believe how i can giggle n kick my feet whenever cm has a scene of aaron giving instructions n delegating work to the team... like it's just so hot . n when he shows off his intelligence WOWOWWEEWW major turn on . n wooooof.

AND??!?$$;&; him sending pictures of himself 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️ also i love the idea of aaron being away from u but being soo pent up that he takes the initiative to surprise you with a special video of him jerking off or using a toy <333 and u BET he knows to send it with sound so you can hear all the sounds he's making <333 bc what is nut videos without SOUND 😤😤😤

omg.. i luv daddy kinks BRRRR n sometimes it just especially HITS SO HARD . like omfg got me actively looking for those daddy asmr porn audios 😭😭😭😵‍💫😵‍💫 sometimes it takes awhile to find a good one but when i strike gold... Wow . GODDD i know aaron would say such filthy things that are downright insulting n degrading... BUT HE DOES IT IN THE SOFT AFFECTIONATE VOICE sparkled with some praises... AGRGRHRHHH .

omg REALLLL he's SOOO the type to make you say what you want directly in words. he isn't going to budge if you're just whining n hoping he'd take the hint bc he himself also loves to hear such filthy things come out of your mouth <3333 "you know daddy really loves to give you whatever you want... but not if you don't use your words. come on, does your pretty little mouth only function as daddy's cocksleeve?" HARGRHRHEHEJE i am Dead . n STOPPPP ENCOURAGING MEEEE ure gna make the can of worms EXPLODE ABOUT ALL THE FILTHY THOUGHTS ABT AARON'S CUM PLSSSS (not actually complaining ! i am Egged)

also omg... TEEHEE... i will tell u more abt my lovely male oc soon!!!! omfg im SO EXCITED . bc i literally have never talked about it to anyone even though i've thought abt it in such detail LMFAOOOO its just hard out there to find someone who shares the same brain ... damn 😭 i'm really glad i happened to stumble across ur page n decided to send an ask <333 bc i rly enjoy talking to u too!!!!! <3

-🤲

you're so sweet bless <3 hehe i'm glad you liked my new fic!! and YEAH I GETCHA omg that used to be me, like i couldn't do stuff without deadlines, AND NOW I CAN'T EVEN DO THINGS WITH DEADLINES LMAO. sometimes i can, but if i set it myself then you best believe it ain't getting done. i procrastinate sooooo much it's painful. like i could sit here and write for most of the day because rn i currently do NOTHING ELSE in my life (rip, i'm working on it lol) but do i??? no!! i mean that's just a lot of effort innit lol, writing constantly sounds exhausting even tho it's all i wanna do

phone sex my beloved <3 and awwww yeahhh he'd be sooo so so in love with you and he'd wanna do anything and everything you ask :') but GOD YEAH him using his work voice?? all stern and professional and demanding?? goddd i need that so bad. and YESSS when he shows of his intelligence it's soooo hot, like that one scene where he does the maths and penelope goes "is this reid?" and he goes "what, you impressed?" YES I AM BABE I LOVE YOU SM

i loooooove the idea of his sending pics <333 that's why i love looking at nsfw stuff sm bc sometimes i strike GOLDDDDD and its like the most aaron pic ever and it makes me lose my mind. once i found one that was so him i fully forgot to breathe and was blushing like mad (this one i think!). it was... a lot LMFAO. but god god GOD him sending a video of him jerking off when on a case??? i need that soooo so so much. and yes FR there needs to be sound in nut videos. once was sent one from a guy WITHOUT SOUND like babe? dude? what are you doing? where's the fun in that? i mean it was hot don't get me wrong but i was like "buddy wheres the sound at 🤨" LMAOOO

YESS I KNEW YOU WOULD BE INTO DADDY KINKS LMFAOOOO. and omg real, they're sometimes so good and for what. or any video of someone with daddy vibes,, godddddd sometimes it just HITS FR. YESS HIS VOICE WOULD BE SO SWEET AND GENLTE AND LOVING BUT ALSO DOMINATING AND THE STUFF THAT COMES OUT OF HIS MOUTH IS SOOOO FILTHY N HOT

yessssssss he'd looove to hear you say what you need. "come on, little one, let daddy know what you want, hm? i need to hear you say how much you want my cock" and "you want me to ride you, sweetheart? want daddy to ride you until you can't cum anymore? hm? let me hear you say those words, baby, i need to hear you say it."

and yayyy i'm so excited to hear about your oc!! i can't WAIT it's gonna be soooo good i just kNOW IT. i'm also really glad you stumbled across my page too <33 thanks for sending me all these asks!!!!

[sebsgirl71479]

Shoot your Shot

Sebastian Stan x Curvy Actress Reader

A/N: My own mood board and watching the Emmys a few weeks ago gave me the inspiration to write this. Also, you're not a dramatic actress like Sebastian you are funny as hell but lack the confidence when it comes to your love life. Another inspiration for this is lizzos absolute bad assness and confidence. Its a tad rushed but I just had to get this out there before my brain malfunctions. After this one is posted I'm working on a Day of the Dead with Bucky.

Y/N POV

“I just want to thank everyone for this wonderful award. The fans of the show, the cast and crew. Oh my gosh this is crazy! And now I'm about to do something so out of my element. Sebastian Stan, you beautiful specimen of a man, oh my god……….”

You're probably wondering how I got here? Well let's see where I should start. How about 12 years ago. I was an up and coming actress and a huge marvel comics fan since childhood. When they released Capitan America: The First Avenger I fell completely in love with Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes. From then on I kept following his career before and after the first avenger. After struggling getting acting jobs I finally got a role in Ted Lasso. I proved myself as a comedic actress and here I am at the Emmy Awards with a nomination for best supporting actress in a comedy show.

The day of the show I'm a bit of a nervous wreck, not because I'm nominated but because of who I know will be there, Sebastian Stan. Man did he have one of the best years of his career. The 355, Fresh which was just a masterpiece for modern horror and Pam & Tommy. He immersed himself into Tommy and he got a well deserved nomination. The whole time I'm getting ready I'm trying to psych myself up for what I will do if I do get the award. My team is looking at me like I'm crazy but they don't have to know why I'm constantly talking to myself. 

Once hair and makeup are out of my hotel room I take a look at myself in the full length mirror. Being a curvy girl there aren't many dresses that make me feel good about myself, but this dress i found really has set the bar. A beautiful deep blue dress with a see thru lace top and satin from the waist down with a high slit on my right leg. It was the most beautiful dress I have ever worn. 

When I get the red carpet it is just a madhouse. Cameras everywhere, fans in the distance it's almost overwhelming. But I push my nerves to the back of my head and wait for my turn to head down the carpet…..Ok Y/N you can do this girl.

Sebastian’s POV

I have no idea what is going on, but the one woman I have had my eye on for the past year is getting her well deserved award and she just called me out. What is happening?????

When I got nominated for Pam & Tommy I was very humbled about it. Then I saw the other actors that were nominated for various other shows and that's when I saw it. Y/N- Y/L/N. I thought to myself, I hope I get to meet her and tell how wonderful she is. But I was too shy to really tell her how I really felt about her. How beautiful she was and how I wanted to ask her out. He loved everything about her, especially her curves. 

The day of the awards show came and I was really excited, deciding to take my manager of almost 20 years as my date. They were on their way. When I got to the red carpet I could feel the energy around me, and immediately was looking for Y/N. I was hoping she was already there but no such luck yet. While I was walking down the line getting my picture taken I heard the cheering of the crowd and looked to my left and there she was. 

“Oh my god. She looks absolutely gorgeous” he said under his breath. I was practically speechless, I couldn't hear the photographers shouting for me to take a picture. Finally my manager nudged me to start moving down the line. We got inside and were surprised to see tables like at the golden globes, with champagne and little appetizers. I sat with Lilly, and Seth from Pam & Tommy and as soon as I sat I decided to shoot down a glass of champagne to calm my nerves. My category was up first. I was a little disappointed I didn't get it but I was happy for michael keaton. During the show I kept looking around for Y/N and I finally spotted her just before her category was announced. I watched her the entire time, then they were announcing her award. “Holy shit she won” I stood up and clapped and cheered for her.

I was listening to her speech thanking the show and the fans then all of a sudden I heard my name. I have no idea what is happening but I'm looking right at her………….

Double POV

“I just want to thank everyone for this wonderful award. The fans of the show, the cast and crew. Oh my gosh this is crazy! And now I'm about to do something so out of my element. Sebastian Stan, you beautiful specimen of a man, oh my god, I’m shooting my shot everyone!” 

The crowd is going absolutely nuts, I mean Lizzo is giving the double thumbs up. That's all the courage I needed. 

“Sebastian, will you go on a date with me?!” 

I was almost in shock, I got a pat on the back from Oscar and then I got up from my chair and jumped on stage to get to her. I couldn't believe it, she was asking me out on national television. I had to make a bold statement as soon as I got to her. I walked up to her and she had the biggest smile on her face, just breathtaking. I got up to the microphone and just kept my eyes on her. 

“YES! I will go on a date with you!”

The audience went berserk cheering and clapping. I tuned all of them out when I looked into her eyes, then down to her lips, and almost like she could read my mind she gave a little nod yes and I kissed her. It wasn't rushed, just soft and sweet. I didn't want to give her tongue on live tv. We parted and we just looked at each other, finally we were asked to exit the stage and I followed her backstage. Once we found a quiet area we just started laughing.

“What do we do now?” Sebastian had asked her. As if on cue both of your managers came around the corner, both of them handing you your phones with big smiles on their faces. You both gave each other your phones and put your numbers in them. Just as you were about to be taken away to do a small press conference Sebastian spoke up again. “I don't know which after party you're going to but would you like to join me at the one I'm invited to?” “I would love to, if it's ok with your manager, I know she came as your plus one?” I turn to her and she gives me a reassuring smile and nods her head yes. 

“Ok then, would you like to share my car and driver to get to the party?” she adds. “You can meet me at the back right after the show ends.” Sebastian nods a yes and all of a sudden a PA comes over and whisks you away to speak to the press. 

You and Sebastian head to the Disney after party and the press is  having a field day when you show up hand in hand, It's almost blinding. You both head in and just dance the night away, and a few drinks as well. You end up being introduced to lilly james and seth rogen, Sebastians co stars on Pam & Tommy. Lilly is absolutely beautiful in person and very sweet. Seth is a riot to talk to. 

During a slow song, Sebastian is holding you tight and swaying back and forth looking each other in the eyes. You two are like magnets that can't be torn apart. He leans in and meet him halfway, this time the kiss is more passionate like you’re committing this to memory. He kisses you like he wanted to the first time, you grant his tongue entrance and it’s all over for you. He squeezes your waist and you let out a tiny moan. Your arms snake up his shoulders to hold on to his hair and tug just a little bit. He gives a growl that could rival a lion. You finally part when your brain registers the need to breathe. You both lean on each other's foreheads with huge smiles on your faces. 

“I still can't believe you asked me out on national television.” 

“ I know, I told myself when I got nominated that if I win, this would be my only chance to get your attention.” 

“Well you definitely got my attention. Can I tell you something? I've kind of had a little crush on you and was trying to figure out how to talk to you and ask you out.”

You giggle and hug him tighter. “ I guess we had the same idea tonight.”

You and Sebastian end up staying another hour at the party, but don't want to part. “Do you maybe want to come up to my hotel room? I don't want the night to end. We don't have to do anything, I just want to spend the rest of the night with you and talk and get to know each other.”

“ I would really like that. Would it be ok if we swing by my room so I can change into something more comfortable? As much as I love this dress, but it's not for staying in all night.”

“Yeah that would be ok.”

Sebastian leads you out of the party and to your car. You tell the driver to take you to your hotel first. “The Chateau Marmont please.”

“Hold on, that's where I'm staying as well.”

Smiling at each other, the driver takes off and heads to your hotel.

You both get back to his room after changing and just spend the rest of the night talking, ordering room service and just getting to know each other on a deeper level. Of course every once in a while you have a few heavy makeout sessions. Around 5:30am the night starts to turn to dawn and you are both lying on his bed just staring at each other, Sebastian wraps his arm over you to bring you closer to him and you nuzzle your face in his neck. It doesn't take long for both of you to fall asleep in each other's arms.

“This was probably one of the best nights of my life y/n, and it's all because of you.”

“I’ll have to agree with you on that seb.” After a chaste kiss on the lips you fall to sleep.

Remember, no matter how nervous you get, sometimes shooting your shot works out for both people. Even when you don't even know it.

Shoot your Shot the Sequel --- >

@buckyalpine @altagraye @christycurlswrites

[dickmedowndc]

Storming in the Streets - Conner "Kon" Kent x Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Summary: Kon sees someone under a shop awning – while a storm rages around them. Thinking they may need to get to their destination dry, he offers his jacket to help them. Too bad the storm has other plans. 

Notes: I have never written for Kon before. Also, this was technically my first attempt in years writing an “x reader” but I was only ever motivated to write it when there was a literal summer storm going on outside.

Part II here

…★…

“Hey, are you alright?” 

At the sound of the voice behind you, your head whips around – not the best decision considering how tired you are and the way it seems to make the world spin despite your body remaining rooted where you stand. It takes another minute before you remember you were asked a question, and the man in front of you is waiting patiently for your answer. You squint, assessing the situation before you decide to answer. “I’m alright.” 

“You’ve been standing here for the last, like, 15 minutes, do you need any help?” 

Before you even get the chance to answer there is a crack of thunder above you, drowning out any words you may speak. There is a simple word on the tip of your tongue: no. No, you do not need any help, thank you. But that would be a lie – you’re dead on your feet, with too many bags to drag behind you and into your apartment during a raging storm. The storm would be fine on a regular day – but you’re already bone tired and the thought of water seeping through your clothes is an unpleasant one at best. Finally finding your voice, you give him an answer. “Honestly, I’m not sure that I can get all these bags back to my apartment. Not without something breaking.” 

He seems to think for a moment, and somewhere in the back of your mind something says he looks familiar. You find it on the tip of your tongue and then he flashes a smile and just like that the thought it gone. “I can help you carry them back,” he shrugs, standing a little straighter and that same smile plastered on his face, “if you’d like the help.” 

You need the assistance, really, and with the sun starting to set your options are dwindling as is. But inviting a stranger back to your apartment is certainly not in the top 10 list of ‘best ideas’ and you know that much. Your apprehension must have shown because the stranger’s voice breaks you from your thoughts once more. 

“I can give you my name, and you can send a picture to someone you know, to be on the safe side if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

You hum for a moment, thinking it over. “Y/N.” 

“Kon – well, Conner. But everyone calls me Kon.” He shifts closer as you pull out your phone, still waiting patiently. Once more you ignore the feeling of familiarity, instead turning your back to him and holding the camera up for a selfie – some morbid part of your mind chimes you may as well have an updated photo if you go missing. If it bothers him, he says nothing about it. Instead, he gives a charming smile, long enough for you to take the picture and send it off to one of your friends, before slipping the device back into your pocket. 

Turning back to him, you already have a few of the bags on your arms. “I can grab a few more really quick.” Rather than reach for a bag, you find him taking off his jacket instead before stepping closer, draping it over your shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, I can carry the rest of them,” he assures, picking them up before you have a moment to protest. It takes you longer than you care to admit for your brain to reboot, and when it does, you’re flustered. Enough so he notices because his charming smile is threatening to give way to an amused smirk. You can see it in his eyes. 

“Don’t you need your jacket though? It’s raining.” 

“I think you could use it more right now.” 

He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and the thought of staying somewhat dry is too compelling. Enough so that you set your bags down so you can properly slip the jacket on instead. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, gathering your bags back up. You swear they’re lighter than they were just a moment ago – enough to notice – and you think he may have more bags on his arm than he did before you were distracted. You decided not to ask about it. Making your way out into the rain, with him following, you are determined to reach your apartment before you end up looking like a wet cat. Especially with the attractive guy walking beside you. 

It is 5 minutes into the walk, you’re already wet, and so is Kon – not that you mind too much with the way his shirt is clinging to him – but you do feel a bit bad about it. Luckily, you can see your apartment building just ahead. “We’re almost there, it’s that one, with the crumpled sign next to it.” 

“See, and nothing bad happened just because I’m not wearing a jacket.” 

The absolute confidence in his voice makes you laugh and you turn to look at him. “Careful, we haven’t made it there yet.” 

“I am 100% promising you that we’ll make it inside alright.” 

“What, you wanna bet on it?” 

“Let’s make it a bet.” 

And as if the world had the same sense of humor as you, or was determine to prove Kon wrong, a car came screeching past you. Being on the sidewalk, neither of you paid too much attention to it, until it hit the large puddle of standing water as it came rushing up on you. 

Faster to react than you, Kon turned his back to the wall of water that came crashing down, shielding you and the bags you had both been carrying to the best of his ability. 

Freeing one of your hands and wiping the water out of your eyes you looked back up at Kon who now stood soaked to the bone. Grinning, and unable to help yourself, you quip up at him, “I think I won the bet.” 

He stops and looks at you for a moment, seeming to process your words before a smile breaks out across his face and he laughs. “Yeah, alright, you win this one.” 

“Come on, I can get you a towel when we get inside.” You pick your bags back up before ushering him forward. As if the rain had not been trying its hardest, the car had certainly soaked him enough. You had to stifle a laugh, careful not to compare him to a wet kitten the way he looked beside you now. 

Ignoring the annoyed glare from the lobby receptionist, the pair of you headed straight for the elevator which remained empty thankfully. You manage to reach the front door of your apartment with ease, fishing your keys out of your pocket before halfway stumbling inside, your arms already tired from the bags you had been hauling before letting the majority of them hit the floor with a thunk, the delicate bags (which you had made sure to hold onto) being set on the table instead. Kon followed your lead, still dripping a small ocean’s worth of water onto your hardwood floor. Cringing at the thought of waiting longer, and feeling cold yourself you asked him to stay put for a moment before you vanished into the bathroom, reemerging with a towel. “You can get dried off if you want, and there are some extra towels. First door on the right.” 

A look of relief shone through and he mumbled a quick thank you, carefully taking the towel before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Discontent with leaving it at that, you scamper off to find your clean laundry, knowing you had to have some clothes that may fit him. You had enough comfy, oversized shirts and sweats. Now on a mission, you dug through what you had, ignoring the nagging that reminded you that you would have to clean it back up later. Finally, you got a hold of a pair of pants and a shirt, one you’re guessing will be able to fit him. Content with the choice you make your way back down the hall and knock on the door, Kon opening it just enough to peak out at you. 

“I figured it’s not much good to get dry and then get back into soaked clothes. I think these should fit you just fine.” 

“Thanks again – but are you sure?” 

“Well, I also appreciate my floor not turning into a pool, so yes.” 

With a hum of agreement, he took the clothes from you and shut the door again. 

Satisfied, you threw your own towel over your shoulders and cleared one of the bags out so he could put his soaked clothes inside, fishing out an umbrella as well. No sense in giving him clean clothes only to get soaked again on his walk back home. When you hear the door open you look up and meet his eyes and find your breath catching in your throat. 

He looked good – and maybe you had misjudged the size of the clothes, but you were not about to complain, you reasoned, when he stepped out. 

Flustered, you handed the umbrella over to him. 

“Oh, my thanks for saving you from the wall of water?” 

You laugh despite yourself at his joke, seeing the amused grin on his face growing at your response. “Something like that, yeah.” 

The next few minutes were spent gathering his things, assuring him once more you would be alright without the umbrella. Though he seemed more than happy to leave it with you, you wanted him to stay at least a little dry while he made his way back out. Finally ready, the pair of you shuffled to the door, with you lingering in the threshold as he turned back around – now standing in the apartment's hallway. 

Maybe it was your eyes playing tricks on you, but you could almost swear he looked flustered for a moment before he was brandishing that same confident smile once more. “Maybe I could give you my number then – so I can return the umbrella later.” 

Taking the dive and rocking on the balls of your feet you shot back, “maybe we could get a coffee together too?” 

You decided then and there that the sun would cower in shame if it ever saw the way he lit up at your question. “I was hoping we could,” he chimed handing his phone over with a new contacts page open. 

You put your name and number in before handing the device back. 

“I should get going now though. I'm sure you have things to do and I have some errands to finish.” 

“Feel free to message and we can talk a bit later.” 

“Oh, I will. I’ll talk to you later.” He winked, pulling another laugh from you, before turning to make his way back outside into the storm. 

Content with all that had happened, you bounded back inside, making sure to lock the door behind you before looking for your phone – you needed to let your friend know you were okay, or you would never hear the end of it. 

Unlocking the device, you almost choked on air when you see the text notification: 

1 unread message: ‘IS THAT SUPERBOY?!?!’ 

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 7: I Hope I Never Lose You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Summary: Michael and you both find comfort in each other over some Chinese takeout, he starts taking Birdy’s advice, and somehow you both end up on the dining table.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of a car accident & child death, hurt/comfort, fluff, like this is sweet, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, choking, marking kink, anywhere but a bed, gentle intimacy/aftercare

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: So, this was supposed to be just fluff, but these two had a mind of their own and they ended up fucking. Again. But in this case it’s just passion and not necessarily to forget something. They’re just horny little bastards. But can you blame them?

The newspaper clippings feel brittle in your hands. The paper has been locked inside and moved around continuously for six years. Dark dots adorn the written text underneath the headline. The tears have long dried into the paper, but it has turned gray where the wetness used to be. 

Underneath the many articles that are held together by a pin, you find a picture. The quality isn’t the best – It was an old camera that took the picture nine years ago, not some hyper-modern smartphone with a camera quality that competes with reality.

Your eyes scan the face of the newborn wrapped in her pink baby blanket. The faces of the adults around her seem happy, the smiles honest. In every picture, the baby is being handed around. You have studied them for years, and you always skip most of them until you reach the most important one, and that is Maya, her back then still small arms holding the newborn as you’re sitting beside her. But you don’t matter, only the two children are the focus of your attention. 

Breaking News: 2 injured and 1 dead in a car accident off the M25 Motorway.

Your fingers scan the article as if it were Braille. 

Yesterday around 17:46, a truck crashed into a small van on its way out of Greater London. The three-year-old girl in the passenger seat and the truck driver, 41, were air-lifted to the hospital. The driver of the van, the three-year-old’s father, only sustained minor injuries. The doctors tried to save the girl’s life, but they declared her brain dead early this morning. The truck driver is reportedly stable after surgery, but he has still not woken up. Details about the nature of the accident are still unclear. Police are now investigating both the father and the truck driver for reckless driving to bring some closure to the little girl’s family.

You slap the drawer of your desk shut when you hear the sound of a fist banging at your door. You wipe the stray tear that escaped your eye, hoping your state of mind isn’t too obvious, and you lock the drawer again. 

Michael is about to knock again when you finally open the door. His intuition tells him something is wrong. You meet him with a smile that almost looks pained, and your cheeks are red; your cheeks only redden when you blush or you have been crying. 

“Hey,” you greet him. 

He steps past you into the apartment. “Hey,” he says. 

You offer to take his coat, but he does it himself, retrieving the folder inside. 

“I’ve got my records,” he tells you. “All of them. I wasn’t sure what we needed.”

You smile at him. “That’s okay.”

“Are ya?”

“What?”

“Okay?” Michael asks. 

Your mind is a treacherous place. You can feel yourself tearing up again at his question. The answer is obvious, but you can’t admit that you’re not okay because you feel stupid enough already.

The day has gone well except for a few minor bumps, and you broke your own heart by going through the drawer again that you keep locked, even from yourself, for a reason. If anything, you think, this is your fault. 

You take a small step forward. He watches you intently. Your eyes switch to his arms, then to his face almost guiltily. You could have just asked, but you’re not sure how to voice what you need. 

He puts the folder down and opens his arms slowly. You bridge the gap between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. You don’t cry, you only hug him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. You don’t have to tell him that you’re not okay, he can tell by the way you’re squeezing him. 

“Was it a bad day, or–”

You shake your head. “I just…” you swallow. 

“Needed a hug?” he finishes. 

“Yeah,” you say.

“Okay.”

It feels nice to be on the receiving end of a hug for once, but as you hold onto him and his hands roam your back, the intensity of his touch tells you that you are not the only one who needed a hug. 

“Are you okay?” you dare to ask, your voice muffled through his chest.

He chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, “I am now.”

“Okay.”

Michael leans down to press his lips to your scalp. “Ya hungry?”

You pull away to look up at him through tired eyes. “A little,” you say. 

“Let’s order somethin’, hm?”

“Chinese?”

“Sounds grand,” he agrees. 

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. His lips ghost over yours with a soft smile before he finally kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, his finger tilting your chin up, and he seems to pour all of his unspoken feelings into it. 

You melt into him, your arms still around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, not wanting to let go. He is warm and he smells good, and he feels soft all over. Sometimes, when things are too soft, they trigger you, but he is just the kind of gentle comfort you need. 

An hour later, the two of you are sitting at your dining table, Chinese takeout before you. Michael ordered himself some dumplings and spring rolls while you settled for sushi. He told you he hates sushi, which sparked a small argument because, “How the fuck can you hate sushi, Michael? Even the fried ones?”

He told you, “Because I hate fish.”

“It’s not fish, it’s literally vegetarian Sushi,” you said. 

He was hesitant to try a piece, but he did it for your sake. You have never seen anyone’s face contort so fast than when Michael put the piece of Avocado Maki into his mouth. He tried to look like it didn’t bother him, but you could tell he was trying hard not to gag. 

Needless to say, you have accepted that he doesn’t like Sushi. He truly looked like he was disgusted to his very core, and you don’t want to force him to like something that a lot of people don’t like, anyway. You’re not that type of person. 

He watches you as you finish your last few bites. It took you a while longer because you stole one or two dumplings from his plate while he wasn’t looking and he ended up giving you half of his spring rolls because suddenly, you wanted spring rolls, too. He didn’t mind.

You are a food thief first and a clothes thief second, you told him, and that elicited that beautiful smile and a soft laugh from him; he sounds so beautiful when he laughs, and you find yourself staring at him in awe across the table. 

You can't help but be captivated by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and the dimples that he has. It's moments like these that remind you why you're so drawn to him. He has a good heart and the aura that surrounds him isn't dark because he's dangerous, he's just in pain, and beyond that pain, there is light to be sought out. 

“What?” he asks, his laughter dying down into a soft smile.

You raise your eyebrows, your face still propped up on your hand. “What?” you ask him. 

“Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“That.” Michael points at your face. “I don’t know.”

A faint blush spreads across your cheeks. “Maybe I just like staring at you,”  you say. 

Michael's eyes widen slightly. "Wha'?" he replies. 

“I like staring at you.”

That seems to throw him off a little. He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out, so he looks down at the table and chuckles a little awkwardly. His hand reaches up to touch his beard, occupying his nervous fingers. 

“Wait,” you eye him curiously, “Did I just get you flustered?”

He stammers, the blush on his cheeks spreading to what little you can see of his chest through the collar of his shirt. He has often got lost in the glow of your eyes. Even when you look tired, you are still the most beautiful creature in the world. You are real, you are human, and he appreciates that. He knows you are hiding something, but at that moment, when his eyes meet the mischievous glint in your eyes, he only sees the woman he met in the café that put a smile on his face – a real one, at that. 

You continue putting a smile on his face, even back at his house. Birdy is observant and a romantic, but she wouldn’t say that he looks happy with you for no reason. She meant it. And he does feel a flutter in his stomach every time he as much as thinks about you. He’s scared, still, but Birdy’s words moved something in him. He doesn’t want to lose you, and as you’re staring at him, he realizes that you might be feeling the same way. 

You’re a captivating person, enchanting even. He hasn’t seen such beauty in a while. Inside and out, you fill his heart with warmth. Your words have become his favorite audiobook, and your voice reminds him of a gentle symphony radiating all kinds of emotions to make the listener feel something. And he feels something when he sees you, hears you, and feels your skin against his. 

You tilt your head a little, still propped up on your hand, and smile at him. Your smile grows cuter by the second, and maybe you’re a little shy now. 

“I, uh…” he licks his lips. “I like starin’ at ya, too.”

“You do?” you ask, and now it’s your turn to be flustered. 

“Yeah. Yer beautiful.”

“Oh…” You look away. 

He reaches out to pull the hands that want to cover your face. “Don’t go shy on me now, love,” he says. 

You meet the honey of Michael’s irises, and it’s a sweet taste that explodes on your tongue and spreads through your body, functioning as a balm and warming you up. You forget about everything else for a moment and focus slowly on him. 

In your eyes, Michael Kinsella is a rare creature. He seems to have been taken straight from a work of fiction. He’s the dark, mysterious character with a world full of secrets but a heart of gold. And he loves with utmost devotion, something that is rare in most human beings these days. He has a tragic beauty about himself, his soul scarred from decades of pain, his life a series of traumatic memories, but he is still standing, and he is trying to be better. He’s trying to find a purpose, which is probably the most admirable because it is one of the hardest tasks in anyone’s life.

You look up to him. You’re not sure why, but you do. He’s shared so much about himself already, and something seems even more open now that he’s back. You feel a little guilty for keeping all of your pain from him after he opened up about his wife and entrusts you with helping to get his daughter back, which is a huge display of trust, but you don’t know how to tell him, and you don’t know if you even really want to. 

This is a part of you that is very personal, and knowing Michael, he will lose it when he finds out the truth. You haven’t seen him angry before, but you have been watching people closely all your life; he is shy on the outside and he can be nice, but he can also get really angry when someone crosses him or the people he cares about. You don’t want him worrying about you. 

He cradles your cheek and you grab his wrist instinctively, holding him there as you lean into his touch. “Where did ya just go?” he asks quietly. 

“Just thinking,” you admit just as quietly. 

“About what?”

You shrug, your eyes fluttering closed when he starts rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“Has no one ever taken care of ya before?” 

“No.”

“Am I the first man who makes ya feel…”

“Loved?” you ask. 

He nods. “Yeah, loved.”

“Most of the men I’ve been with were assholes. They didn’t care.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, my friend says I just know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael chuckles softly. “Is that why ya went fer me?” he says.

“You’re not an asshole, Mikey.”

Your words leave the air heavy with tension. He exhales, cradling your face a little tighter now and you whimper, your mind slipping further into a fog with every stroke of his thumb along your skin. 

He lets go of your cheek. You open your eyes lazily and look at him with a frown. He opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says. 

You’re out of your chair faster than you can think. 

Without hesitation, you respond to Michael's invitation. Your heart races with anticipation as you swiftly leave your chair behind. You seat yourself in his lap, pulling your legs up and curling into his chest. His hand comes to rest on your cheek again, this time holding you tight against him, his heartbeat thudding right where your ear rests. You melt into his embrace. You are scared of uncertainties, but his arms encircle you tight enough to form a shield against them. Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent that is uniquely him—notes of earthy cologne mixed with a hint of vulnerability. It's a fragrance that lingers in your senses.

“You smell good,” you murmur. 

He chuckles. “Thanks,” he says. 

“Like you… and me.”

“That’s ‘cause I used your shampoo.”

“I know.”

“Makes my hair soft.”

“I know.”

“And shiny.”

Your smile widens and you giggle into his chest. “It does look very shiny, yeah,” you say. 

He sighs, his turn to inhale your scent. It’s like a warm hug, and he can’t believe he gets to hold you like this. “God,” he almost growls. His nose is still buried deep in your hair. “Ya have no idea how much I love having ya in my arms, pet.”

You shiver slightly. “You do?” your voice sounds hoarse. 

“Yeah.” Michael holds you tighter, his lips attacking your scalp gently with kisses. It’s almost as if he wants to eat you, and you relax completely under his touch as he showers you with some much-needed affection.

You forget the folder on the table, the secrets between you, your day at work, and the stranger that freaked you out enough to send your mind reeling like a hamster running for its life in a wheel. You forget all about it and let him take care of you. You are too tired to protest, anyway. 

His hand comes to rest around your throat, and you moan softly. He’s setting you on fire without even trying. His touch is possessive and yet it carries an electric current that courses through your veins. 

You feel the weight of the world slipping away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. In his grasp, you find solace. He brings you back from the brink of losing your sanity, and you are eternally grateful he found the switch to turn the voices off. 

He whispers your name. You hum in response. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“For what?” you ask. 

“Helpin’ me. With the job, Anna, myself, I–” He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t use many words most of the time, so holding up a conversation as vulnerable as this one still comes as a struggle to him. “I’m just thankful for ya,” he says. 

You smile, sitting up in his lap and making sure you straddle him so you can look into his eyes. Your hands rest on each side of his face now. “You’re so very welcome, darling,” you say. 

Michael rests his hands on the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. “While I was at the house, Birdy came t’see me.”

“Birdy?”

“Yeah, she’s– she’s family. I– She’s the one who’s been there fer me the most, and she always cares ‘bout everyone around her. She takes care of me. She always has. I don’t ask her to, but she does it anyway. She’s the heart and soul of this family.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Okay…”

“She asked me about ya,” he says. 

“Oh,” you gasp softly. 

“Not– not in a bad way. I promise, yer not in danger or anythin’, but… when Jimmy and I were fightin’, they heard your name. But Birdy… she understands, so I told her that I’m stayin’ with ya and she said… she told me I should be happy, and I am happy with ya, or somethin’ like that, and she said she’d try to keep the rest of my family off our asses so I can focus on Anna.”

You pause and look into his eyes for a moment before you say, “Aren’t you supposed to make me not like them?”

His chuckle sounds broken, but he smiles anyway. “Birdy’s nice,” he says. 

“I can tell.”

“And she said she likes ya.”

“She has never met me.”

“She still does.”

“Ugh, I can’t hate someone who likes me.”

Burying his head on your shoulder, Michael laughs. 

“Seriously, that’s unfair. Can’t she be a cunt like your brother and his snitch of a wife?”

His mind takes a moment to process your words before his laughter picks up again and he stares directly at you. “Did ya–” he clears his throat. “Jesus, did tha’ really just come out of your mouth?”

“What?” you ask. 

“The word ‘cunt’ as an insult.”

“What, I’m not allowed to say it?”

He pulls you closer. “I didn’t even know ya were capable of cussin’ someone out!”

“I’m not a total church girl, Michael,” you retort. 

The amusement in his eyes is clear. “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” he says. “Yer not the type o’ girl who prays.”

“It’s not what I usually get on my knees for, no.”

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest. You expected him to get flustered, but instead, his eyes glaze over and he smirks at you. His fingers graze the small of your back, creating a tingling sensation that travels up your spine. You shiver, your inside curling. You want to clench your thighs, but his thighs keep you trapped. You're burning, and the heat travels from your cheeks between your legs, straight to your core.

Michael eyes you hungrily. “And what’s that?” he asks, his voice husky. “What do ya get on your knees for, pet?”

“Well, Mr. Kinsella,” you whisper, “I get on my knees for one thing only...” Your fingers tangle in the hairs on the nape of his neck. He sucks in a sharp breath when you tug at them, the pain stinging his scalp, but it causes his blood to wander. 

“Yeah?” he breathes.

His eyes never leave yours. You trace a finger along the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way his body responds to your touch. “Yeah… Just one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“You.”

His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck!”

“I would kneel for you, Michael,” you say. 

“Yeah?” he asks again. 

“Yeah.”

You can feel his breath on your lips as he leans in. "I want ta have ya at my mercy," his voice caresses your ear like velvet.

Your fingers travel higher, feeling the soft brown hair between your fingers. They feel like a gentle breeze on a cozy autumn night. They remind you of the coffee you sell every time the weather gets particularly cold, but inside the café, the world becomes a warm sanctuary. 

His hands are hot though. They are like a candle with a smoldering fire, and as it falls, it sets everything else around it on fire, too. His nails scratch over your hips slightly and your entire body quivers above him. 

His gaze darkens with primal hunger. “You have no idea,” he says, “how much I ache to possess ya.”

You started this. This is your fault.

His lips press to the shell of your ear – they don’t just hover, he’s pressing them directly to it, and he injects his words into your bloodstream. “I want to push ya to the edge, to make you mine in every way I can imagine. To mark ya, body and soul. I want to feel ya come around my cock over and over again, mouth, cunt, everywhere until ya can't remember your name anymore,” he whispers, “I want to hear ya moan my name so loud, your neighbors complain, and then I want t’ do it again and again and again until yer drippin' with my cum inside ya.”

Your jaw slacks and you let out a loud and needy moan. 

His hands move from your hips to your ass and he lifts you far enough to push your clothed core down on his half-hard cock. You instinctively hold onto his shoulders, your red face burying in the crook of his neck. 

“What’s wrong?” Michael coos. “Can’t take it?”

That’s not the problem. You want to take it and you know you can, but he is making you feel this way without even touching you, and that’s what makes your head so dizzy, you feel like you’re about to fall.

You can barely catch your breath, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. “Please, Michael,” you respond so desperately needy. 

“Get on your knees.”

Your legs are wobbly when you stand. He pushes his chair back slightly to offer you some room between his spread thighs. As uncomfortable as the floorboards are, you ignore the pain. You want this. You didn’t lie when you said he is the only thing you would get on your knees for. There is no space for God or Jesus, it’s only you, and it can’t be a sin to want to suck someone’s cock so badly as you want his. It’s only natural when someone lays their eyes on him, you’re sure. 

Michael's gaze is intense as he looks down at you. He reaches down to cup your cheek. “Yer so beautiful on your knees f’me,” he says. 

You clench your thighs, hoping to somehow soothe the ache in your core. The anticipation is almost unbearable, making you ache for his command. You want nothing more than to open your pants and touch yourself, your panties soaked and your cunt aching for attention. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Patience, pet. Let me admire you.”

His definition of admiring you is undressing you with his eyes, thinking about all the ways he can have your body right here right now, and he craves you like the most delicious drug. He craves the high, the feeling of being consumed by you as he tears orgasm after orgasm out of you. You look so pretty, and you sound so beautiful.

Your hands rub his thick thighs absentmindedly. He smiles. Deciding to have mercy on you, he undoes his belt with one hand. You watch intently until he starts to struggle and you help him pull his pants down. His jeans pool around his ankles, and you’re quick to free his cock from his boxers. It springs up against his stomach and you’re so turned on, you can feel drool trickling down your chin. 

Michael brushes your hair back. “Are you sure ya want t’do this?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you choke out. “Please, may I?”

He nods. “Of course, yeah.”

You adjust yourself and lean forward, your hands still braced on his thighs, and you lick a long stripe along the underside of his shaft. 

He grips the edge of his chair and grunts. His hand tangles in your hair instantly, not pushing you but simply holding onto you. Your tongue traces the veins on his cock, drawing pictures over the most protruding one. You move higher now, teasing his tip, and his head falls back. 

Michael stares at the ceiling which looks like the night sky in the darkness. The heat of your mouth engulfs him and he believes he’s in heaven.

You’re good at this, he won’t lie. The way you play with his slit, the mushroom tip of his cock, before taking him into your mouth. It’s only the tip at first, too, but you eventually hollow your cheeks and take him down your throat. It’s a bit of a struggle, but you’re nothing if not determined. Your hand makes up for what you can’t take, jerking him off right above his balls before you finally start moving. 

Looking down at your hooded eyes and tear-stained cheeks, he has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from coming right there. 

You start moving faster, paying special attention to his tip whenever you pull off. You suck on the most sensitive part of him and he’s alive; he’s so alive, his heart starts to race. He can feel everything, the heat of your mouth, the cold of the chair, and the sweat that is trickling down his forehead. 

He grunts, tightening his grip on your hair. “Fuckin’ hell!” he moans, guiding your head ever so slightly. He tells you what pace he prefers, and you keep it that way. 

Your head bops up and down in a steady rhythm, his cock heavy on your tongue, but the taste causes your mind to spin and ache for more, more, more–

His toes curl and he twitches in your mouth when you fondle his balls. Looking up at him, you can’t help but moan at the sight. His mouth is agape, his head tilted back to reveal his perfect neck, and the veins on his forearm are popping. You clench your thighs tighter as you continue to suck the soul out of him through the very tip of his cock. 

Michael has dreamt about this before, but neither your hand nor your mouth come close to what he jerked himself off to. You’re so much better. It’s a lewd thought, even now, but you are so fucking good, you push him further and further and right to the edge of the cliff. He throbs, he whines and he moans, his noises spurring you on even more. 

You want to make him come, you need to. You are more than willing to swallow everything he has to give and more. He sounds delicious and he looks even more so. You want to lick his chest hair that is poking out of his shirt, ride his thigh, maybe even rub your clit along his abs as you make yourself come. It is an utterly selfish thought, but the pleasure he brings you is overwhelming and drives you further toward the edge. And you’re only sucking his cock, which is something that has never turned you on before. 

“Love, I’m gonna– fuck, if ya don’t want it in your mouth–”

You cut him off by patting his chest, telling him that it’s okay, he can come in your mouth; you want him to. 

Your eyes roll back when he tugs at your hair, the pain mingling with pleasure, and the vibrations of your delicious moans are enough to make his balls tense under your touch and then he’s coming, hard, with probably the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life. 

You try not to gag as the rather salty taste of his cum fills your mouth. You swallow every last drop, suckling on his tip until he’s whimpering above you, overstimulated and spent. You pull off then, cum trickling down your chin and throat and down the valley of your breasts. 

Michael has zoned out, his eyes fixated on your face, your swollen lips, and the mess he’s made out of you – but he is probably the biggest mess out of both of you.

You blink up at him. “How was that?” you ask, your voice sounding way too innocent for what you just did. 

His breath shudders. “Do–” he swallows. “Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ hot that was?”

“No,” you say. 

“Fuck,” Michael growls, hoisting you up. 

He doesn’t pull you back into his lap, instead, he meets you halfway and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You moan into his mouth, his cum mixing with his saliva in your mouth; you’re addicted now, too. 

The empty takeout containers fly to the floor, the folder with his records and CV sliding to the other end of the table as he wipes it clean to lift you on it. You scramble to sit down as he pulls your hips flush against his. 

He turns into an animal then. 

Your shirt suffers when he can’t manage to get the buttons, so he decides to tear it open. You gasp, but not because you’re mad. It is probably the hottest thing he has ever done. 

Your bra joins your shirt on the floor, his lips wrapping around your nipple. He doesn’t gently suck like he did the first night; he pulls on it with his teeth, almost taking your entire breast into his mouth, and you never thought that possible. He assaults your chest with such vigor, you’re a quivering mess in seconds. He toys with your buttons, pulling and sucking at your sensitive nipples until they’re hard, swollen, and red. There is a hickey on your right breast, and he admires his work. He has marked you, and this time everyone will be able to see it when you wear even the slightest hint of cleavage. 

His pants are already gone. Yours are the only ones in the way. Lifting your hips, he pulls your jeans down. He misses your panties, which seems to frustrate him, but then he tears that piece of fabric, too, and you moan. Whatever got into him, you are wetter than the Atlantic Ocean and he will have no problem sliding right–

Your head flies back when his cock penetrates your tight walls, your lips parting in a silent scream. He thrusts into you without warning, pulling your hips flush against his, and you cry out. He manages to hit the secret spot inside of you just right the first time as if memorizing it, and your legs wrap around his waist. 

For a few seconds, Michael doesn’t move. He stays buried with his cock deep inside of you, head dropped into the crook of your neck, his jaw slack as he pants into your skin, and you hold him close. Your cunt adjusts to his size rather quickly, but he needs a second to revel in the feeling of your velvety walls around him. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

He nods. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” 

Something snaps inside of him and in only a few seconds, the dining table is shaking underneath your ass as he pounds into you. You hold onto his hair, nails dragging down his back, trying to get his shirt off so you can reach more skin. He’s fucking you so deliciously, the moans tumble from your lips in ecstasy. 

Somehow, you manage to remove the last piece of clothing between you, and he dives in for a kiss. Your tongues clash. His hips snap against yours. Deep, hard strokes seem to be his favorite thing because it’s what he goes for this time, too. He hits all the right places, his fingers leaving indentations in your skin. 

“Fuck,” you moan into his ear. 

His tongue licks over your neck. “Yer so fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes. 

You clench when he hits your G-spot. His name comes in labored breaths out of your mouth, and he swallows them with his plump lips. 

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about fuckin’ you every second of every fuckin’ day, pet. Such a perfect little cunt, and only fer me.”

“Oh, God!”

You’re worried the table might break. 

He kisses your neck, sucking a mark into the skin over your pulse point. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, and you’re going to get several comments at work, but you don’t want him to stop. It’s good to be owned by him. You want people to know you’re his and no one else’s to have. It fills you with pride, and you know he feels it, too. 

Your eyes meet when he lifts his head, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he holds eye contact. You gasp, stroking through his sweaty hair. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper. 

He stifles his moan in your neck, holding you impossibly closer as he continues thrusting slow and hard. 

“Fuck, baby,” you dig your nails into his back, “Right there…”

He knows he’s doing it right, he can feel your pussy tightening around him, but he still makes sure to do it even more perfectly to give you the pleasure you deserve. 

His hand finds your neck, squeezing tightly just below your jaw, and your eyes roll back into your head. He remembered. 

Just when you’re about to reach between you to rub your clit, he forces your hand away and takes over, his thumb rubbing circles over the sensitive nub. The added stimulation together with his hand around your throat makes you see a sky full of stars in your ceiling, and you try to meet his thrusts as the knot in your stomach tightens and you’re about to fall off the precipice. 

He bites your bottom lip. “Ya like that, huh?” he asks, his thumb rubbing faster over your clit. “Ya like it when I fuck ya, pet? When I make ya come? When I show ya what it’s like to be properly fucked?”

You nod and pathetically whine, “Yes! Please, Mikey.” It sounds almost like you’re sobbing. “So good, please.”

Michael reads the signs of your body perfectly because he pushes you back and pulls your hips into his. It allows his thumb more space to touch your clit, and the angle at which he hits your cervix makes it all too much to bear. 

Your back arches off the wooden tabletop and you come without a warning, your walls spasming almost brutally around his cock that is still sensitive from the already heavy orgasm you gave him before, and with a few more heavy thrusts, a grunt escapes him and he falls on top of you as his cum spurts into your tight cunt. 

You catch him with a hand on the back of his neck, your legs still wrapped around his waist. He stiffens completely, every last drop filling you to the brim, and you whimper at the feeling. It’s incredible, and it’s a part of him you get to have inside of you. He’s a territorial person, but so are you.

He is the first man you have ever let come inside of you without a condom, but he makes it worth it. 

His bicep tenses as Michael lifts himself, a strand of hair falling into his face in the process. “Jesus Christ,” he says. 

Your chest heaves. “Yeah,” you say. 

“Are ya–” he cradles your face with an almost concerned look. “Are ya alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t mean to be so rough, I–”

“I liked it,” you cut him off. He’s cute when he overthinks something as simple as sex. You reach up and gently brush the strand of hair away from his face. “I'm more than alright,” you assure him. “I’m perfect.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Perfect, huh?” he repeats, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. “Well, I'm glad you think so. Wouldn't want t' disappoint ya.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, Michael, there's no disappointment here. Quite the opposite, actually.”

He presses a tender kiss against your forehead. “Okay, good.”

You close your eyes. You’re both a mess and the position gets more uncomfortable with every second, but he has hoisted you up in no time after pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He slips out of you, carrying your sweaty body in his arms toward the bathroom. You cling to him with a content smile, your legs shaking, but you can’t complain. 

Once inside the bathroom, he carefully sets you down. The room is filled with the sound of running water as he adjusts the temperature, ensuring it's just right for you. He remembers you prefer the sizzling temperature of lava; he likes it cold. After the first shower together, you managed to find a middle ground together that doesn't burn his skin or freeze you to death. 

As the water cascades down in the shower, he extends his hand toward you, silently inviting you to join him. You take his hand without hesitation. Under the soothing water, he tenderly washes away the clammy feeling of the day and the remnants of his cum. He runs his hands through your wet hair, massaging the shampoo into your scalp and spreading conditioner over the ends of your hair. You enjoy the way he's taking care of you so effortlessly and unconditionally, not expecting anything in return. But of course, once you're free of soap, you return the favor. 

With gentle movements, you lather the soap over his skin, reveling in the way it glides across his contours. Your fingers trace his muscles, exploring the familiar terrain of his body. You stop at his chest hair, running your fingers through it. He shudders, but he takes the display of affection without words. He's beautiful, and the added hair makes him look delicious enough to eat, but you have been through that; this is just about you two now, some gentle intimacy without anything beyond fleeting touches and shampoo. 

You stop over a scar on his hip. “What happened there?” you break the silence with a murmur. 

“Ya really wanna know?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

“Knife fight.”

“Oh.”

“But it was nothin’ serious.”

“Still,” you trace your finger over the scar, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh–” Michael pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says. “I’m okay.”

You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. As the water continues to rain over you, you get lost in the feeling of each other, your skin feeling like silk under each other’s fingertips. 

Wrapped in each other's arms, the world fades away. Your skin brushes against his. Your fingers glide over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, as his hands roam over your curves. It’s sensual, but it’s no longer sexual. 

“Michael,” you breathe against his lips. 

He moves from your mouth to your cheek and then your forehead. “Hm?” he asks. 

“I really like you,” you confess. 

Michael stops, his hazel eyes meeting yours. You look so shy when you bite your lip and avoid his gaze. He smiles, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “I really like you, too,” he tells you. 

It’s not an ‘I love you’ but it best describes how you both feel for each other. 

“Closer,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. 

You crave him. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

His lips brush your temple. “Like that?” he asks. 

“Yeah, like that.”

“I never thought…” His hands begin to roam your back and he tries to find the right words. “I never thought I’d feel like this again,” Michael admits. 

You don’t look up, but your grip around his waist tightens in understanding. 

“Yer bringin’ me back to life,” he says your name with so much certainty, “and I can’t thank ya enough for that.”

You try to keep your tears at bay. His confession is vulnerable, and you figure it’s not something he often does. He has bled his heart out for you the day before, and now his cages are gone and he’s continuously giving you his blood for you to filter and breathe it back into him – you’re bringing him back to life, setting his heart alight, and he wants nothing more than for the feeling to persist. You want the same for him, too. 

But Michael also wants to bring you back to life because he can tell you’re holding back, your shoulders tense with the secrets that threaten to weigh you down and drown you in the endless sea of your emotions. It’s hard enough for him to be so open, and he still has so much left to say, but he hopes that Birdy was right with what she said– he hopes you will open up to him once he finds the courage to tell you even the last bits and pieces of his story, and that he can help bring you back to life, too. 

“I don't want this to end,” your voice breaks.

“It won't end,” Michael whispers into the crown of your head, “not if I have anythin' ta say 'bout it. We'll take it one step at a time, but I'm not lettin' go of ya.”

“I don't want to let go either.”

“Then don’t.” 

“I won’t,” you say. 

Because you need him, and without him, you’re pretty sure you will not be able to exist anymore. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @mattmurdocksscars @roseallisonparker @1988-fiend @norestfortheshelbywicked @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[smokescreenimusprime]

There was this one AU I made, where Smokescreen used to be a Decepticon spy (this was based on a really old crack theory when he was first revealed in the show) but when he was in the Archives, he started learning more about Cybertron as a whole and has a realization that "hey, maybe the Autobots have a Point™ and I don't know which side of this war I really want to be on" but he knows he already dug his grave and couldn't get out of it. That was until he crashed landed on Earth and no one knew who he was. He could actually be on the side he truly believed in, and help win the war. Now, he just has to hope no one on the Decepticon side will recognize him. (Plot twist: someone does)

OOOOOOOO YESSSSSSS

I hope you don’t mind if I add onto this because my brain grabbed it in a choke hold and went ZOOM

So we have Smokescreen doing Spy Things for the Cons. What if instead of having gone through the whole Elita Guard training which would’ve been incredibly risky, they just set him up to intercept the actual Guardsmen who’d been assigned to Trion so he can replace them. For most, guarding essentially a glorified librarian would be boring at best, but to a spy? Alpha Trion is the head of THE Iacon Archives, a complete foundation of useful, difficult to access information

And what if this would be Smokescreen’s first proper undercover mission. He’d done intelligence before, and he was really good at it, but this would be the first time he’d be going behind enemy lines for a long stretch of time. He thinks he’s got this completely in the bag

He does not have this completely in the bag

Unfortunately for Smokescreen, Alpha Trion keeps all KINDS of records in the Archives. He’s got stuff in there from everybody, Autobot, Decepticon and Neutral, from news clippings to videos to all manner of propaganda. He’s even got a whole secret section dedicated to banned media.

And when Smokescreen’s doing his spy investigations….. he ends up finding a couple things he either didn’t know or didn’t really think about, and the datapads he finds offer a large amount of view points. Many of them are biased, but there’s enough different view points that he’s able to piece together a picture.

And it’s….. not great, if he’s being honest. Sure the Autobots aren’t saints, but they’re not the monsters Megatron and the Decepticons had painted them to be. Not the monsters Smokescreen had them as. And to make things even worse, the Decepticons aren’t nearly as good as he’s been made to believe. He learns of Shockwave and his experiments, the Decepticon Justice Division, Praxus, so many things he’d heard in passing but never got all the context for and even more things he’d never even heard of

Smokescreen didn’t like not knowing things. He was an intelligence agent, knowing things was his job….. or at least, he thought it was.

So he’s faced with a crisis. He knows he can’t go back to the Decepticons knowing what he knows now, but at the same time the Decepticons won’t take his defection well and there’s no guarantee that the Autobots will take him in. Right now Alpha Trion is his best and really only option for safety and honestly….. he really does trust the guy. His friendship made with him wasn’t all faked, and he genuinely likes him.

So he decides he’s going to tell Alpha Trion the truth and go from there. He can figure out the specifics of his maybe(?) defection after that.

……only he doesn’t get the chance because then the Fall of Iacon happens and Smokescreen gets knocked out

He does wake up on the ship like in canon, only this time he isn’t a prisoner because they knew who he was. Instead he wakes up in the med bay and is told they found him unconscious in the Archives. They say he’s to wait for his next assignment and then he’ll be off

Only now the full force of what he’s doing comes crashing down and he realizes just how badly he’s fucked up. Alpha Trion is now dead and it’s all thanks to what he’s done. Because he was too afraid and too unwilling and too slow to accept everything, now he’s lost his best friend and mentor who showed him more kindness than he felt he deserved

And what if in that moment Smokescreen decides once and for all that he’s going to defect and nothings going to stop him. And if he gets caught, at least he’s going to go out with a bang. So he uploads every virus he can onto that ship and causes as much chaos and havoc as possible before jettisoning himself off via an escape pod

……only then it turns out one of his viruses had messed with the pods as well at set the one he got into into a long distance pod

And as much as it sucks, he decides to use the new anonymity to its fullest. He doesn’t trust them completely, since even with all he’s learned it’s still a little difficult to fully trust them so he doesn’t come out with the full truth, most importantly his now ex-Decepticon spy status

as for the reveal, what if it happens during Inside Job. Megatron’s poking around in his head and finds some things Smokescreen had wanted ti keep secret, and now he has some blackmail that he could use to fracture the Autobots a bit…… like say during the Children-Omega Key Exchange when they fight for the Onega Lock

but yeah those are what I could come up with :D

[presidentbungus]

Hey, Bungus, I love the way you write Spy! So here's a prompt for you:

Spy can use a teleporter, a dispenser, and a sapper. He can cheat death with the Dead Ringer. His trade relies on such technology as cloaking devices and disguise kits. But then ...

ALONG CAME SMART PHONES

hi! I got this ask on march 20th. I’ve had at least 12 other requests sitting in my askbox since march 20th. my priorities are rotting somewhere in the distant kelp forests of the abyssal ocean. whoops!

anyway this sux but I wanted to do one of these before my death in a few thousand years so here you go scout “helps” spy figure out his phone. spy is an old man to the surprise of no one. 614 words. Fhanks

Spy can't fathom for the life of him why Engineer decided portable touchscreens was a good idea. What was wrong with buttons? What was wrong with them. Sleek, readable, functional…

The little text bubble floating on his screen taunts him. It says: Hey spy. Evreything should be self-explanatory, ask scout if you have questions. Txet me back whenever you get it working.

Should be self-explanatory. He clicks on the bubble but nothing happens. He clicks on the buttons on the side and the screen turns off, and then back on, and he watches another few bubbles appear as the object in his hand buzzes:

*Txet

*Txet

*Txet

A little picture appears, of a round yellow face that seems to be crying.

Spy looks around, at the rest of his coworkers in the rec room having an absolutely horrible time--save for Scout, who's tapping away like he's been doing this his entire ilfe.

Scout catches his eye. Spy tries to look away before he gets too suspicious, but he's not fast enough. Up he comes. His little touch--screen--thing already has a big crack in the glass, cleaved through one of the corners. "Having a tough one, huh?"

"No." He taps on the screen, fruitlessly. "Yes. It's not my fault this infernal machine is outright refusing to listen to my inputs--"

Scout tugs the device out of his hands, and taps once on the text bubble, and it opens another screen that says Engineer at the top. "Look--" he presses one of the buttons and turns it back on, and a string of curses dies in Spy's throat as he demonstrates--"you just swipe up, there. That's it. You try."

"Swipe." Spy tries, then levels a hard glare at Scout and his stupid little buckteeth. "I think you are missing my point."

"You just, uh, tapped the middle of the screen."

"I don't comprehend the motion you are making with your hand, Scout."

Spy makes a pointer finger--presses it to some imaginary surface, then moves his hand up. "Like that. Try it."

Spy mimics his motion against the screen. The bar goes up--but only a little. Nothing else happens.

"Closer to the, uh, the bottom."

This time, when he swipes it, the bar pushes up--and the screen folds away into a number of squares, labeled with different names. Oh. Alright. "Oh, I did it," and he realizes his tone is close to that of a nine-year-old-child who just tied his shoes for the first time, so he straightens his back a little and clears his throat.

"Well…" Scout frowns for a second, chasing words around his tiny, tiny brain. "Look, these are your, uh, apps."

"Apps."

"Yeah. Your things. Click on one.”

“Things?”

“You heard me. Do the thing.”

“I hope you realize that you are utterly incomprehensible.”

Scout taps on a little image of a camera—which brings up an image of Spy’s face, and it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize it’s a camera built-in to the screen. Scout clicks the button and a little picture of Spy’s face floats into one of the corners.

“Wait. Don’t do that,” Spy says.

“What?”

“Get rid of it.”

“Okay, geez.” Scout aims the phone at his own face and does a peace sign and takes a picture of himself in one single, undoubtedly practiced motion, and then clicks a button and it opens to an album of pictures and Scout clicks it and—something happens—Spy gets a little lost around here.

“How many buttons are in this thing?”

“Um.” Scout shrugs. “Some?”

“I pray that your inevitable death will be slow and violent.”

Scout just keeps taking more pictures of himself. “Speak for yourself, numbnuts.”