#I will likely keep using this one elsewhere

[bluesidez]

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane. 

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway. 

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up. 

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself. 

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head. 

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying. 

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door. 

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband. 

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display. 

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button. 

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming. 

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island. 

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips. 

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response. 

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest. 

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined. 

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips. 

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting. 

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment. 

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you. 

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading. 

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back. 

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection. 

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you. 

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it. 

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama. 

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom. 

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early. 

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door. 

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself. 

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did. 

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues. 

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek. 

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.” 

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time. 

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven. 

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet. 

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly. 

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.  

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10. 

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit. 

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure. 

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone. 

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away. 

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.  

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner. 

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight. 

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths. 

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms. 

You couldn’t ask for anything better. 

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think. 

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it. 

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good. 

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much. 

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped. 

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn. 

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you. 

You’re starting to think the worst. 

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working. 

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time. 

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with. 

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had. 

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house. 

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom. 

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.  

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand. 

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat. 

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry. 

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp. 

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back. 

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.” 

So much for communication. 

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides. 

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout. 

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight. 

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length. 

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers. 

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep. 

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length. 

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face. 

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better. 

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him. 

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls. 

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically. 

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time. 

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it. 

It was all too much. 

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message. 

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper. 

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you. 

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

#to the lab testers 🩻 #love lab fics 🧫 #DadBod!Miguel 👨‍👧 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #dadbod!miguel #dad bod miguel #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #miguel fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel ohara

[daistea]

Since you take requests, would I be able to ask for something with Mithrun and Kabru with like a reader that's kind of dense with social cues/hints (especially if they're romantic)?

(I had people confess their love to me, and I still didn't get it till they put it in very clear terms)

(it's probably the 'tism, but I digress. )

I think it's potentially an absolutely hellerious dynamic since Kabru always plays 5D chess with every social interaction. As for Mithrun, I think it's funny to think how the other canaries would just be repeatedly hitting their head on the wall because their captain won't say it straight and they just don't g e t i t.

Ps: I absolutely love how in-depth all of your understanding of characters and their personalities are, and I just hxfhxdvgudts.

This blog just brings me so much joy

Yaaa!!

“Iᴛ’s ᴀ Dᴀᴛᴇ” Kᴀʙʀᴜ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Mɪᴛʜʀᴜɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

gn reader

5000 words ;P

Warning: reader is very oblivious. Like incomprehensibly oblivious (for the lolz)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

♡ Kabru ♡

- Kabru has had little flings here and there throughout his life. He treated every partner with respect, of course, but Kabru wasn’t particularly looking for love. He doesn’t dislike the idea of love, it just hasn’t happened yet.

- So, when Kabru starts to genuinely fall in love with someone, it’s a new feeling. He’s observant enough to recognize what it is.

- Unfortunately, the person he’s falling in love with is you.

“He’s been unusually quiet lately,” Holm remarked. Who he was remarking that to remained to be seen. Mickbell didn’t care much. Kuro had other things to worry about. And Rin had already made the same observation three times earlier that day.

The first floor of the dungeon was always crowded, and Kabru’s ears were usually open for anything that could be of use. The leather armor merchant to his left had recently raised his prices. The cobbler to the right was in an argument with an older lady over the shape of a patch he’d made on her favorite boots. And Holm was concerned about Kabru’s recent lack of observations; as concerned as Holm could be.

“Is that really such a shock?” Kabru sent Holm a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a chatterbox.”

But he was aware of himself enough to know that his behavior lately had been odd. He was usually so good at hiding it, too, but the comfort of his friends seemed to lower his walls. Without realizing it, Kabru had spent their latest dungeon expedition sighing to himself, staring at walls, and missing the details of important things. On the third floor, they’d encountered thieves. His party always relied on him to clock the intentions of approaching adventurers— thieves tended to be overly familiar, friendly, and a bit too eager— but Kabru’s mind was elsewhere. The thieves attacked, and it had genuinely taken him by surprise. The fight wasn’t hard, but Kabru’s lack of preparation set off alarms in Rin and Holm’s heads.

“You’re not,” Rin agreed. Her brow furrowed and she got that cute little line on her forehead again. “However, you’ve really been out of it.”

“Have you been thinking about that person again?” Holm asked.

That person. That person? Kabru knew a lot of persons. The whole first level was filled to the brim with persons, half of them being his acquaintances. Kabru had zero desire to admit that he knew precisely who Holm was referring to, though, and decided to keep his gaze straight ahead as he weaved through the crowd.

When he didn’t respond, Mickbell laughed, “Yeah, he’s thinking of them alright.”

“Heat?” Kuro asked.

Mickbell scoffed from his place on Kuro’s shoulders, “Tall-men don’t go into heat! At least I don’t think so. But they catch feelings, like a cold. Kabru’s caught a cold.”

“Not sneezing,” Kuro mumbled.

“A feelings cold, I mean! The worst kind.”

That was one way to put it. Kabru couldn’t help but sigh as he led the party towards a quieter spot in the corner. Once they were out of the sea of people, he leaned against the stone wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have feelings, I’m simply curious,” he said.

Curious. Right. Mickbell sent him a scrunched up, narrow-eyed look that was reminiscent of constipation. Yet, Rin interjected before the half-foot could say something heinous. “What’re you curious about, particularly?” She asked.

“Good question,” Kabru folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head in thought.

What was he curious about? You held so many secrets. You had this look in your eyes that drew him, a look that reminded him of a room in his mother’s house. She always told him to not go inside. Her rules only made him want to turn the knob even more. And when he finally did disobey her and go inside, all he saw were boxes full of ceramic unicorn miniatures. Still, the rush of satisfaction he’d felt at finally knowing what was in there couldn’t be matched. That’s what he wanted to do to you, open your door and take a peek.

Or, perhaps a ‘peek’ was an understatement. He wanted to meticulously inspect every inch of your mind with a microscope, to know the atoms unseen by the human eye, to be intimately acquainted with every molecule you possessed.

“He’s zoned out again,” Holm muttered, ripping Kabru out of his thoughts.

He looked up, eyes widening at the observation. Holm was right, he was zoned out again, staring at the dirt on the floor and contemplating you.

He forced a smile, “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m just preoccupied. It’s that person, I simply want to know their intentions.”

“Intentions for what?” Rin asked.

For everything. There was no simple answer.

“Oh hey,” Mickbell glanced over his shoulder. His voice was flat as he scanned the room, “There they are.”

Kabru followed Mickbell’s gaze, a straight line that led directly to you— all lines seemed to lead directly to you lately. His heart clenched in a way that was both unpleasant and addictive. Without realizing it, he pushed away from the wall and began striding toward where you stood.

“Wait,” Rin grabbed his arm as he passed. Kabru blinked, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak. She met his eyes and frowned, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. They’re not as mysterious as you think they are.”

Nonsense. You were incredibly mysterious. Kabru could tell you had secrets, layers. He dreamed of pulling them back one by one.

“They couldn’t disappoint me,” he sent Rin a smile that he hoped was reassuring— he knew it was, he’d practiced it in the mirror and on other people all the time.

“I think they will,” she argued.

“They won’t,” his smile faltered just the slightest. Rin didn’t usually get involved in Kabru’s… hobby. Did she know something he didn’t? He decided to not ask outright, accepting the challenge of figuring out the meaning behind her concern on his own.

Rin let go of his arm and Kabru was free to go. His mind switched elsewhere, onto you, and before he knew it he was already slipping through the crowd of bodies to reach you.

You were in front of the vegetable seller’s stand, inspecting a lumpy potato. Kabru knew the vegetable seller was cheating on his wife. Usually, he’d try to get more out of the man, digging deeper simply for the sake of knowing. Yet, you stood there, beautiful and mind-consuming. What did Rin mean by ‘I think you’re going to be disappointed’? Kabru was rarely disappointed with secrets.

“Hey,” he raised a hand as he neared. You looked up from the potato and returned his smile. There was that look in your eyes again, that closed door he desperately needed the key to.

He loved crowds. He loved the hundreds of voices. He loved listening to each one and assigning them meaning, picking apart their words, filing them away into neat little categories. Yet, the crowd might as well have disappeared. All he saw was you. All he wanted was you and your words and your thoughts and your fears and your goals and your likes and your dislikes and your intentions and your—

“Oh hey,” your voice cut through the wants like the slash of a sword, “Kapru.”

Kapru.

His brows furrowed and he plastered on a polite smile— also practiced in the mirror. “It’s Kabru.”

“Right, sorry,” you shrugged.

Were you playing with him? Were you sending your pawn out, a piece that you expected him to take for the sake of a larger, more powerful move? Was it bait?

“How are you?” He forced himself to ask, though he could hear the weakness in his voice. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t notice.

You only tilted your head in thought, “I’m fine. Just buying potatoes.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Kabru said. It was a lie, you saw him last week. “My party and I are about to go back to the surface to restock. We could grab a drink if you wanted.”

“Why?” You asked.

Why? Why? Kabru couldn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why. ‘I want to take detailed notes on every word you say, every gesture, every breath’ wouldn’t be helpful to his cause in the least.

“Because we’re friends,” he slowly explained. Again, there was that hint of weakness lacing every syllable. He wanted to tear his voice box apart and reconstruct it in a way that wouldn’t falter every time he saw you.

But you didn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” you sent him a smile that made his heart clench.

Alright. Kabru’s smile relaxed, “Alright,” he echoed. “It’s a date.”

‘It’s a date’ was a common saying, of course. But it still held implications, it still held desires, it still signified something more— At least to him it did.

You remained unphased by it, though. Usually, when Kabru said that, there would be a laugh or blush or the widening of eyes. You gave him nothing of the sort. No flirtatious looks, no intention-laced smile, no flicker of recognition.

“See you then,” was all you said.

Rin was wrong. You couldn’t disappoint him. Opening your doors and peeking inside your mind would be so satisfying.

- You go on several dates with Kabru without realizing they’re dates.

- After one date when you make friends with the next table over and invite them to join your meal, introducing Kabru as ‘my friend’ and not ‘the man who is courting me’ or ‘my boyfriend’, he begins to wonder…

- Do you not realize that these are dates?

Kabru knew he had the tendency to stare, but he usually kept that urge locked away for the sake of masking. Always masking. Always aware of his surroundings and the people and the words and the looks.

He kept his staring urge hidden at first. Yet as time passed, as you went on more dates, he couldn’t help himself. He had to stare. He had to drink in every detail of your face, coveting it all as a desert wanderer would covet water.

And you didn’t seem to mind. You would give him this look sometimes, a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mixture between affection and confusion and bashfulness. It was his favorite expression of yours and never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.

Kabru knew he was falling in love. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d never been truly in love before. At night when he forced himself into bed, he stared at the ceiling and mused on the future you had together. Neither of you had said anything to make the relationship official, but was that even needed? It was obvious that you were together— to him, at least.

Kabru held your hand as he led you through the crowded streets. Once you caught up to his side, he placed his palm on the small of your back. He wasn’t much for PDA, but it was a necessity when traversing the island together. He didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.

Once you were in a more quiet spot, he sent you a smile, “I have to ask, I’m too curious; What’s your favorite date that we’ve had together?”

You thought for a moment, “Hm… I would have to say last week. It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays anyway. I think it was the 7th? Yeah. June 7th, Thursday. That’s a good date, it’s a bit cool outside and all the flowers are blooming. But if I had to say which one was my favorite, I think it would be April 18th. I’m not sure that we spent that date together, though.”

…Okay.

Like the sunset rising over the mountains, it began to dawn on him.

Were you stupid?

No, you weren’t stupid. He had seen you in the dungeon before, how you fought and strategized and reacted. You couldn’t be stupid.

Then what? Were you playing hard to get? Were you teasing him? Was this a move on the board, your Knight piece pressing forward to continue the assault? Kabru needed to know.

He kept his hand on your back but his gaze straight ahead. “That’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t nice, actually. “What about when we hold hands? Do you enjoy that?”

You shrugged, “It helps us keep track of each other as we go through a crowd.”

“But I hold your hand even when we’re not around other people.”

The face you made betrayed your true thoughts. “Yeah, it seems like your hands are cold a lot. You really should start keeping gloves with you.”

“...Do you think I’m holding your hand because my fingers are cold?”

Another flash of confusion, another furrow of your brows. “Why else would you hold my hand?”

The sun rose completely over the mountains and the daytime, clear and bright, engulfed his world.

You had no clue.

- This stresses Kabru out immensely.

- He starts taking notes. He has a special little book just for you. A lot of the pages are filled with scribbles and question marks.

- He makes a plan on what to do. He’s going to up the ante, he’s going to make his feelings so clear that you can’t ignore them or be oblivious even if you tried.

- He starts getting more touchy. He kisses your forehead often. He kisses your knuckles. He’s around you all the time, every chance he gets. He tells you you’re beautiful. He says that he wants you to meet his mother. He talks about your future together.

- You say, “Oh, your mom? Cool. You think we’ll get along? I’m always up for making new friends.”

- “You want a future with me? Well, I’m free next Wednesday.”

“I like you,” Kabru was breathless and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess from how often he’d run his fingers through it. He was disheveled and hadn’t slept the entire night.

You glanced up from the book you were reading, “Oh? Cool, thanks.”

He sent you a look. “No, I mean I love you.”

“Yeah,” you flipped a page in the book, “love you too.”

“You do?” Hope bloomed and unfurled like a spring flower. Kabru felt his cheeks grow warm, a fire igniting within him.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, “I love all my friends, of course.”

That spring flower suddenly wilted. The fire was doused by a cold bucket of water in the form of your words. Kabru wanted to scream and bang his head against the wall.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers tensing as he leaned forward, desperate. “I’m in love with you. This is really hard for me to say, but I think you need to hear it like this. I love you. I love you. I love you…” Somehow, his cheeks went even hotter. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his embarrassment, “I-I… Sorry. I just need you like I need oxygen. I…”

You snorted, “You don’t need me to breathe, I’m a person not an organ. You’re breathing right now just fine.”

He was not breathing just fine, but that was beside the point.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kabru said. He could hear how strained his voice sounded.

You watched as he walked away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Then he screamed. It sounded like he also kicked something, a crate or box maybe.

How odd.

- When it finally gets through your head, he’s actually a bit satisfied by your embarrassment at it all. Yes, please do acknowledge your obliviousness. Please do apologize for treating his love confession so casually. When you do so, he feels as if he could melt from the relief.

- He still wants to bang his head on the wall, though.

- And he’s spent a lot of nights screaming into his pillow.

- Kabru continues to play 5d chess with you, just simply out of habit, but you’re playing Hungry Hungry Hippos the entire time. He still finds himself trying to pick apart your actions and responses, but he’s learned how to take things at face value when it comes to you. It’s a difficult adjustment, but one he’s willing to make.

- He starts to learn, take more notes, observe your behavior. For dates, he lays it out carefully. You two are going to do this specific thing. Why? Because he would like to see you happy, and hold your hand, and kiss you. Why? Because he loves you. Now you get it.

- You’re fascinating actually. Genuinely, he starts to adore how your brain works. He wants to pick it apart and hold the pieces up to a magnifying glass.

♡ Mithrun ♡

- He does not care.

- Be as oblivious as you want, that’s not going to stop Mithrun.

- The Canaries, however, are going insane.

“How’s it going with them?” Pattadol asked. Her hands were folded in front of her in that polite way, the way that told Mithrun that his second in command had something on her mind. Pattadol thought she was subtle. She was not.

And he knew precisely who she was referring to. Might as well give her an answer that’ll satisfy her curiosity, lest she keep asking questions.

“Fine,” he answered, “just fine.”

Yet, Pattadol’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Just fine?” She asked. Her voice went up a pitch. “It’s just fine? Really?”

“Really.”

She unlaced her fingers and spread out her hands as if gesturing to something, but all that surrounded them was Mithrun’s under-decorated living quarters. There was really nothing to gesture at besides the wooden cabinets and the bed. Mithrun waited, aware that she was picking through her piles of thoughts— probably thoughts mixed with screams of frustration— to find the right words.

Finally, Pattadol forced a shaken smile, “It’s clear to anyone that knows you that you’re in love with them, Captain.”

That was what she decided to say? It was a bit blunt for Pattadol’s usual style. Mithrun only shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty obvious.”

“So why haven’t they noticed yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want you to be happy for once!” Pattadol snapped, but she then took a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to sound that way. This is hard for me, talking so openly about these things… But it’s so frustrating to watch.”

Mithrun could understand that. While he personally wasn’t frustrated by the circumstances, he knew that the Canaries couldn’t stand watching his interactions with you. It wasn’t a big deal in the long run, in his opinion. They’d get over it.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Do you have any ideas on how we can do that?”

“Do what?”

Pattadol’s eye twitched ever so slightly. Her fingers tensed like claws, and Mithrun felt the corner of his lips turn up in a barely-there smirk. But genuinely, he wasn’t sure what she referred to. Did she mean the part about him being happy, or the part about you being oblivious? She should’ve been more clear.

“About…” she hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t sure what she meant either. She then nodded as if deciding, “About everything. About the obliviousness, your happiness, etcetera.”

He didn’t know what the etcetera referred to, but didn’t care to ask. “You don’t have to do anything,” Mithrun assured her as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The wood creaked slightly from the movement. Everything on this boat creaked, as was the nature of boats, he guessed.

“I would like to do something,” Pattadol nodded, determined. “We all would.”

A shrug, “Alright. Then do something.”

- Pattadol, over-achiever and top student and certified Girl Who Cares Too Much, takes that as a challenge.

- Cithis only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- Fleki also only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- And Lycion also also joins because he thinks it’ll be funny (though he does care on some level. Not really about you, but about Mithrun. And it’s painful to watch.)

- Otta is forced to join.

- The attempts are weak at first, like dipping a toe into the water to see how cold it is. Mithrun only has so much patience for interference with his life, so they have to be smart and tread carefully.

- Pattadol gives Mithrun a hint. “There’s some pretty flowers growing beside the road over there. You should give one to them!”

- “What would they need a flower for?”

- Mithrun asks that on purpose. He knows precisely what he’s doing. Yes, people generally like receiving flowers, he knows that. But he also believes that flowers are useless gifts.

- “Then what present do you suggest?” Pattadol asks.

- Mithrun has an idea. He gets you soap. Everybody uses soap (hopefully) It’s a useful gift, and if he gives you the same kind he uses then he’ll get some weird sick flicker of pleasure from having his scent on you. (He wisely chooses to not say that part aloud.)

You held the little bar of soap in your hands as if it were an injured baby bird you found on the ground. Yet your feelings towards it were far from protective or empathetic. This soap said something. It had a mouth and it used it to scream.

You met Mithrun’s flat gaze, “Soap…”

He nodded, “Yeah. Soap. It’s a gift for you.”

For you?

Mithrun continued, “It’s the same kind I use. Smells the same.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a handful of pebbles and they all had gotten stuck in your throat. “Do you… think I’m stinky?”

You cursed yourself for even asking that. What a useless question. Obviously, he thought you stank! He gave you soap! He was trying to tell you something, being subtle and polite for once! Usually Mithrun would just say it bluntly, but he’d been working on his desires lately. Perhaps he’d also decided to embrace societal expectations? You weren’t sure. But soap. Soap!

You didn’t notice how Mithrun tensed. You didn’t see him quickly blink several times and tilt his head. You didn’t see the slight widening of his good eye. “No, I—“

“I’ll go use this right now,” you interrupted, “I’ll go wash away my stench so you can finally stand to be near me.”

Despite the horror, you were a bit proud of yourself. You’d taken a hint, maybe you were getting less oblivious.

- In your defense, a bar of soap is a weird gift.

- Alright. Mithrun admits it, he needs help. He’s not so prideful anymore that he won’t admit that he doesn’t know what to do.

- Pattadol is really triumphant about that but does her best not to show it.

- Plan B: make it so obvious that you have no choice but to realize his feelings.

“This has to be the most physically uncomfortable I’ve felt in a very long time,” Mithrun said as he tugged at the ends of the fancy, over-decorated blouse the Canaries had put him in. “I honestly prefer Cithis’s frilly dresses.”

Which was saying something. Mithrun had a preference? That was a good sign.

“It makes you look handsome,” Pattadol said.

“The only thing it makes me is itchy,” he corrected.

The Canaries had somehow found a blouse— not a shirt or tunic, a blouse— that made Mithrun feel something other than indifference. He usually didn’t care about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable, but the clothes they’d stuffed him into were offensive to human-kind, like vegan bacon.

It had a big frill on the front and puffy sleeves. It was somehow both too flowy and too tight at the same time. The trousers weren’t much better, digging into his legs. And the shoes…

Mithrun didn’t want to talk about the shoes.

It was clear to him that Fleki and Cithis had only contributed to the outfit because they thought it would be amusing. Good for them, he supposed. Pattadol seemed to genuinely like it, Otta looked horrified, and Lycion was in some in between state where he wanted to show pity but couldn’t quite stifle his giggles.

“Remind me again what the point of this is?” Mithrun asked with a sigh.

“We got them to agree to a date!” Pattadol said, grinning, “I said outright ‘it’s a date’ so there would be no confusion. I made it clear that the date was with you. Now, if you show up looking like a million gold with a bouquet of flowers, they’ll get the hint.”

Mithrun did not want to do that.

Mithrun rarely wanted to do anything, but this just felt wrong. In his opinion, the relationship between you and him would develop naturally in a way that fit both of your personalities. He didn’t mind waiting for you to realize his intentions, he had time. As long as you didn’t fall in love with someone else, and didn’t stop him from staring at you or touching you, then he wasn’t in a rush.

But since the Canaries insisted, seeming to think that this was the right course of action, he would go along with it. Maybe it would be an utter disaster and Pattadol would realize that she knew very little about relationships— especially a relationship involving Mithrun. He was aware enough of himself to know that it wouldn’t be conventional.

With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the ridiculous outfit on, Mithrun entered the restaurant Pattadol had chosen. He found you immediately. You sat in a chair with your elbow on the table and your ankles crossed, waiting.

Mithrun held a bouquet of pink roses as he approached. You lit up when you saw him, but your brows then furrowed.

“Where’s Pattadol?” You asked.

His stride faltered, “She isn’t coming.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, “well since she set this up I assumed she’d be here.”

Why would she be here? It was a date Pattadol had set up for you and Mithrun specifically.

You probably didn’t know it was a date, he realized. Pattadol thought she’d been clear by saying ‘it’s a date’ but failed to realize that that was just a common phrase among people and meant nothing to no one.

Calm, he slid into the seat across from you and watched as you raised a brow, “What’re you wearing?” You asked.

“My team picked it out for me.”

“You look like you’re part of an opera or a ballet, like you’re about to stand beneath a balcony and start spouting poetry to your lover.”

That was a good description, actually. Those were the words Mithrun had been looking for earlier when he saw himself in the mirror.

He nodded, “Yep.” Then, wordlessly, he held out the bouquet to you.

Your eyes widened, “For me?”

“I’m handing them to you, aren’t I?”

Gingerly, you took the flowers and held the stem of the wrapped bouquet with both hands as you inspected each petal.

A flicker of surprising satisfaction ran through his chest. You liked the flowers. It made sense, most people liked flowers, even if he didn’t see why.

You dipped your head down toward them presumably to smell them, but your lips then parted and you dug your teeth into the nearest rose.

Mithrun froze.

You chewed on the rose, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You gave the flower a good shot, a proper taste, but it didn’t take long until you grabbed a napkin and spit up the pink slobbery mess into it.

“Sorry,” you sent him an apologetic smile and tried to hand the bouquet back to him, “they don’t taste that good, and I don’t think I could season or cook them in a way that would help.”

Mithrun knew he was staring. He knew he was making a face, slightly tilting his head down, intensity in his eye. The kind of face someone made when they were internally screaming.

He was not internally screaming, but he was thinking— about you, how your brain worked. And how it was so damn charming for some reason and all he wanted to do was kiss you until he was all you could think about.

He wanted something. The feeling was sweet, a shot of adrenaline, one of Fleki’s drugs. Addictive. Like the slow drip of honey. He could survive off that want for ages.

Wordlessly, Mithrun threw the bouquet over his shoulder to get rid of it. Judging by the gasp that followed, it probably hit someone in the head.

Loving you was as natural to him as breathing.

- Mithrun decides to not let the Canaries interfere any longer. He was wrong earlier in thinking he needed their help. He doesn’t.

- Also, watching them go insane over your obliviousness and his lack of communication provides a good bit of entertainment.

- When he finally decides to give into that all-consuming, new, exciting desire and kiss you, your response is, “But I wasn’t casting a spell, no reason to try and stop me.”

- God, he adores you.

- He takes kisses whenever he wants them, with no care about what you think his intention is.

- After a certain kiss that involves tongue and teeth and fingers digging into your waist, you start to openly wonder… Are you in a relationship with Mithrun?

“Yes,” Mithrun didn’t even glance up at you, remaining unphased by your rather serious question, “We’re in a relationship.”

He continued to jot down notes about a monster he saw, as if he’d just casually answered a question about the weather. ‘Is it going to rain today?’ ‘Yeah looks like it.’

You gulped, “How long?”

“A year now,” he kept writing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. A flash of disappointment crossed his mind; there goes one of his hobbies, watching the Canaries have a crisis over his love life.

You buried your face in your hands. Mithrun stopped writing and patted your head as if comforting a dog.

- The Canaries are pleased that this is over. But actually, they’re going to have to watch you not realize it when you’re engaged to the Captain.

- At your wedding you’re in regular clothes. Someone asks why and you say “Mithrun told me we’re going to a wedding. He didn’t say it was ours.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

#dungeon meshi #asks #mithrun #delicious in dungeon #mithrun of the house of kerensil #mithrun x reader #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi x reader #kabru x reader #kabru #kabru of utaya #x reader #reader insert #my writing #gn reader #oblivious reader

[bunny-yan]

Can we get more of yandere soldier? I miss the guy

TW: mentions domestic abuse, slight stockholm syndrome, choking, minors DNI

—

Winter was perplexed. 

When you were well enough to finally leave the bed you’d been confined to and walk around on your own, his eyes had a habit of following you across the room as you explored his home. It was innocent, or at least he assumed it was, but he couldn’t help but feel on edge. Picture frames or trinkets that hadn’t been touched for years, apart from the occasional dusting, were slightly off-center or rotated in ways he wasn’t used to. 

His eyes would follow as you’d finger the material on the medals hanging from the wall or trace your hands along the books he’d gathered over the years, pulling one out, completely unaware of how he’d inwardly cringe when you put it back in a different place. When distraction took you elsewhere, he would follow your trail, looking at the things you adjusted, and he struggled between wanting to put them back where they “belonged” or allowing the small changes to remain as proof of your presence here. 

It was unsettling but nice. Your curiosity allowed him to believe that this unexpected situation might have a chance to work for the better—for both of you. 

The way you struggled to keep your head above water in your day to day wasn’t something you could claim you missed. Sure, it was strange to feel completely safe in the house of a man who kidnapped you, but he made no attempt to take advantage of the situation. He claimed he wanted to take care of you, and so far, it was what he’d been doing. 

But you couldn’t help but wonder if his behavior, if his niceness, was genuine or an act meant to lower your guard.

“I’m all better now,” you said, deciding to break the conversation while he was busy cleaning one of his rifles. 

It was something he did methodically. 

The sight of such a large weapon unnerved you the first time you left his bedroom. Paranoia struck thoughts of it being used on you and kept you locked away for weeks until he reassured you that it was simply a part of his routine. One, you initially loathed hearing, he wasn’t intending on changing. He went so far as to sit you down, showing you how the weapon wouldn’t even fire unless he removed the modifications he’d installed for safety. 

You watched him. Fingers moving like a well-oiled machine as he took it apart, Winter broke it down piece by piece until the rifle was unassembled and laid out neatly in front of him, looking similar to an unboxing of some new device and not at all like a gun. 

But a gun it was, and after going to painstaking detail to clean and buff each piece he’d reassembled it in less than a minute. 

Setting it aside, he looked up at you before nodding his head.

You waited, unsure if he had anything to add, but when the silence continued you took a deep breath before continuing. 

“I no longer have a fever. I can walk around by myself now and I don’t need your help to get dressed anymore. I’d say I’m pretty self-sufficient at managing myself now.”

Again, he nodded. Standing, he grabbed his rifle before heading towards the door, and you panicked. You’d finally worked up the courage to have this conversation. He couldn’t leave before you got to say what you needed to. 

“I was wondering if you would take me back now.”

Winter paused. 

You weren’t sure if the sudden halt in his footsteps was a good thing. You knew he’d never hurt you, and you knew the rifle in his hands wouldn’t shoot, but still, you felt nervous. You couldn’t decipher if it was the gun or him that was doing it to you. 

“Back where?” he asked. 

Going to the closet instead, you trailed behind him, watching as he placed his rifle on the wall stand before closing the door and locking it with a key that he easily slid into his pants. 

“Back,” you said, feeling dumb, unsure what to say. He had to have known what you meant. It wasn’t usual for people to go to sleep in their crappy one-bedroom apartment and wake up in a stranger’s secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere. At least you hoped it wasn’t, but it was just your luck that you beat the odds. 

Winter turned to face you, arms folding across his chest. 

You frowned because you knew what that meant. Mirroring his stance, you refused to back down. 

“No.”

“Why? You said that you’d take care of me.” You gestured to yourself. “I’m taken care of! The drugs should be well out of my system by now. I’m fit to return to society any day now.”

He remained silent. You didn’t know if it was because you’d thrown it in his face that the only reason you’re remained incapacitated for so long was because of the heavy dosage that he’d given you or because he was refusing to humor you with a response. Either way, it frustrated you. 

“I won’t tell anyone about you! I’ll forget all of this ever happened the second you take me back.”

“Back to what?”

“My home!” you exclaimed. It was ridiculous to fight so hard to get back to an apartment complex that you hated. You often took extra shifts just to be able to afford the ratty apartment you called your own, but it was yours. Something that signified your independence, your questionable success at adulting. Sure you spent so much on rent that you could barely afford to feed yourself, but you made do with leftovers from the restaurant. Another plus to working the job that you dreaded going to every day you got up. The days were long, and the labor was intense, but it could be worse. If you continued to remind yourself of how much worse your life could be, it made your current situation more bearable. 

You looked up when he came near, body uncharacteristically relaxed as he reached a hand towards you. His thumb brushed underneath your eye, and you froze. Was he being affectionate? He had never done anything like this before. It shouldn’t have caught you as off guard as it did considering skinship was something you’d become accustomed to since he had to assist you with bathing for weeks, but that was necessary, and this was voluntary. 

“The bags have finally disappeared.”

You felt your face flush before you smacked his hand away, something eating at your insides. Of course, he was still trying to argue you down. It annoyed you how easily he managed to prod at your weaknesses despite barely saying a thing. 

It was true that you hadn’t gotten an actual chance to catch up on real sleep before coming here, but that didn’t matter. Everyone had to work. Everyone did something to keep going, and if that meant you had to work 12-hour shifts almost every day to survive, then that was what you’d do. 

Because you had to. 

You had to.

“Will you stop treating me like a child‽” you asked, glaring at him and only feeling more anger when his expression remained unchanged. Caring, eyes almost engulfed with a sense of pity. “I’m an adult. Adults have responsibilities. Sure, I work long hours. I don’t always have enough time to take care of myself, but it’s an unfortunate part of life.” You grit your teeth, feeling a familiar headache began to resurface. It’d been so long, but you couldn’t believe you’d only just now noticed that you no longer woke up with headaches. 

Your body didn’t ache in weird places that you either ignored or took cheap pain medication to temporarily stop the aches in order to give you enough strength to power through another day. The thought that you were fighting to leave to return back to that made bile rush to your throat, but the thought of staying here. Of allowing him to take care of you. It was scarier than what you knew. Even if what you knew was a hell you wished to escape from every day. 

“It’s my life,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’d appreciate it if you would let me get back to it.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

You were tired of these one-word questions that remained impossible to answer without drudging up memories you were better off not remembering.

“Because-!” you began, stopping yourself when you looked into those eyes of his. That same compassion, only this time you couldn’t deny the curiosity in his gaze. The actual desire to understand why you were trying so hard to ruin a good thing. 

Because this is wrong! I’m not supposed to want to stay with my kidnapper. I’m not supposed to trust that you’d actually take care of me if I let you. 

The answers died in your throat as you stared at him. 

Because I’m not supposed to want this. 

You shook your head. “It’s none of your business. Just bring me back.”

“No.” he said again. 

“What reason do you have for kidnapping a complete stranger‽” you yelled. “Are you some sick pervert who can’t find companionship any other way?” You regretted the words the moment they left your lips. You knew it wasn’t true. You knew he’d had every opportunity to take advantage of you, but he didn’t. You knew, but you didn’t trust him. You couldn’t. 

“Are you so desperate to go back to him?”

His question made you take a step back. Looking into his eyes, you were hesitant to actually believe that you saw jealousy there. 

“You call yourself an adult, but you don’t take care of yourself which is your biggest responsibility.” His words were soft-spoken, but they cut into you sharper than any knife ever could. “You don’t budget properly to be able to afford a meal that’s going to provide you with actual sustenance. You allow yourself to be conned into paying too much for an apartment that isn’t in a good neighborhood. You work yourself to exhaustion without giving yourself time to pull yourself together and worst of all you allow yourself to remain in an abusive relationship with someone who will only find it easier to take advantage of you the longer you stay.”

“Shut up,” you said.

“Does he make you feel seen? Does he reward your negative behavior with pretty lies meant to keep you complacent and satisfied?”

“Shut up.”

“He makes you feel like you’re doing a good job and you let him stay because if you allowed yourself to open up to anyone even half decent, you’d be forced to acknowledge that you’re running away.”

You had never wanted him to stop talking as much as you did now. 

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reared back before whipping it forward. The rage caught in your throat when he caught your wrist in a firm grip. 

“You’re playing at being an adult. You don’t know how to take care of yourself. You hate your life, and you refuse to admit it.”

“Let go of me,” you said, pulling at your hand. You winched when your struggle became painful. He acknowledged your pain by loosening his grip, but he didn’t let go. 

“Make me.”

You used your other hand to try and pry his fingers from around your wrist, yanking and pulling, pushing against him and demanding that he let you go. Still, he didn’t release you.

Instead, he pulled you forward, a gasp allowing all the air in your lungs to escape as your back slammed into his chest before his arm was wrapped around your neck, forcing you to remain stationary if you didn’t want to lose what little air his grip allowed. You pushed at his arm, but he didn’t budge, your demands raspy and unable to pass beyond the pressure he kept on your neck.

“What will you do when you’ve finally had enough? He’s already shown you that he isn’t afraid to put his hands on you. Will you continue to sit there and take it? Smile and allow him in as long as he isn’t putting bruises on your skin? What about when that isn’t enough anymore?”

You gasped for air, feeling tears prick at the corners of your vision as even the saliva in your mouth became too much to swallow.

Emitting a small sound, it was all it took for him to drop you. 

Collapsing to your knees, your cough was violent. Putting a hand around your throat to soothe the tender skin, you glared up at Winter before faltering once again. 

The expression on his face was horrified, lost as he looked at you. He was frozen, unsure what to do, what to say and you felt the same. You had never seen that side of him before. You knew he was dangerous, or he could be if he wanted to be. You just never expected it to rear its head like this. 

“Winter?”

Saying his name was all it took to break him out of that trance. He didn’t spare you another glance before he was all but running back to the closet to grab his rifle before he was out the door before you could get another word out.

You rubbed at your throat, still angry at what he had said but angrier still at the thought that he might be right. After five minutes passed, you buried the guilt threatening to eat you alive and slipped out of the front door. 

Even if he was right, you couldn’t stay here. 

Not with him. 

Not with his words that said too much or nothing at all. 

Not with his hands that refused to leave marks on your body. 

You couldn’t bear another moment wishing that you didn’t want to. 

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yan!winter #yandere soldier

[soranihimawari]

Summer Breeze

Inspired by this dialogue prompt.

On the eve of the local Tanabata Festival, you are called over to the house of one of your former classmates. The Miya house has seen it's fair share of arguments, fights, and to balance that out, there were movie nights, game nights, etc. It's the summer after high school graduation and to be honest, the time to act before university comes to separate the old band of friends has arrived.

This will be the last summer you spend with your friends since the fourth grade. Sure, you've prepared yourself and even cried a little with Aran and Kita leaving to pursue their dreams elsewhere, thus entrusting their team of unruly foxes to a person whom could keep them in line. You were voted in by the team as the manager for this past year and you did your job well. You fulfilled your duties by breaking up many a sibling squabble, scolded SunaRin for wanting to post the *most* unflattering pics of the team on their social media page, and quite frankly you stood up for the guys when you heard other teams underestimate them. You might have not played the game on a court in person before, but hell hath no fury like you when you overheard some would be losers badmouth the boys who dedicated themselves to not leaving any memories behind.

As you pass by the familiar campus grounds, you see there are some kids from the middle school next door practicing some passes and bumps in the now empty courtyard. You mutter to yourself they ought to enjoy what team bonds they do have because before they know it, three years will go by in a flash,

"It most certainly did for us," you mumble with a smile.

A few minutes later, you hang a right to the familiar neighborhood several bus stops from yours. You see the familiar hanging plants of the Miya matriarch hanging off from the side of the porch. To be honest, you were surprised Osamu was the one to call you over. Then again, you remember hearing whispers of Atsumu finally going on that date with Nakamura-chan from the drama club.

Luckily for you, it was just Osamu at home for the hour since his mom did step out for some grocery shopping. You walk up to the door and knock, surprised to see Osamu with a cross expression. It seemed you weren't there in time to break up another sibling squabble.

"Are you ok?" you ask, tilting his face this way and that, making sure all cuts or scrapes are with a bandage. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

"Because I didn't want you to ask, don't ask," he says gruffly.

"Fine, fine, I won't, but holy shit," I let his face go. "How many hits did you get on Atsumu if you look like this?"

At that remark, Osamu chuckles. "He asked me to hit him where his date wouldn't be ruined, so I popped him in the ribs before I tackled him to the ground."

"Attaboy," I chuckle. "So...you called me over? Do you need help changing the bandages?"

Silence fills the air as Osamu, who usually has a smart remark, stays relatively quiet. He says he's appreciative of your concern, yet if you could hear how loud, how fast his heart is beating, you might think he'd have a conniption.

“Osamu? Are you disassociating again?”

Your voice pulls him out of the space he’s staring off into and he clears his throat to apologize.

“What’s gotten into you lately? You’ve been spacing out for seconds, minutes at a time, then when you come back, you can’t look me in the eye… did I do something?”

Modesty isn’t a thing most Miyas knew about, so Osamu just blurts out:

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

For a moment, you give him this curious look. It’s as if you couldn’t believe he just blurted it out, but you remember who you’re talking to. Smiling you tilt your head to one side and walk up to him. Looping arms around his shoulders, hearing his breathing stutter a little, you coyly ask:

“And what are you going to do about that that?”

Hearing him chuckle before he caresses my cheek signifies there is hope for us yet.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #miya osamu x reader

[eksvaized]

Part Twenty Five

[ Previous ]

︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱

taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride, @ghostieslove, @bbypionaa, @wxspq

“You know it’s wrong, Simon,” Price says, his fingers convulsively crumpling into taut fists. His knuckles, white from the strain, press against the edge of the counter that he leans on for support. His voice carries a weight, a hidden plea perhaps, as he continues, “Whatever it is that you’ve done, whatever happened since you met her—I won’t ask, I don’t need to know. But you can’t keep hiding her here anymore.”

Simon makes an attempt to look as though he’s paying attention to Captain, his head bobbing up and down in what seems to be a nod, mirroring the actions of a student diligently soaking up every word of his teacher’s lecture. However, the words of the man standing before him are falling on deaf ears. They are nothing more but a white noise to Simon; his mind is elsewhere.

The only sound that Simon can tune into, the only frequency that seems to penetrate through the thick fog of his preoccupied mind, is your voice. It’s a faint echo, barely audible through the thick walls that seem to enclose him, yet it still reaches him. He’s haunted by it, haunted by your heart-wrenching sobs, each one landing like a punch to his gut, robbing him of his breath and consuming him with an overwhelming sense of helpless frustration.

Even though a wall separates Simon from you, his mind conjures up images so vivid it’s as if you’re standing right next to him. He can see, in a clarity that stings like sea salt in a fresh wound, the large, saline tears carving wet paths down your cheeks. He can see your lips, swollen and reddened from your constant biting, a futile attempt to suppress your cries. He can see your hands, the anxious way you fiddle with your shirt, twisting and turning the fabric around your fingers until the blood circulation is cut off.

“What do you expect of me?” Simon’s voice rises. He lifts his head and snaps out of his thoughts. He stands far from the doorway, his back rigid and straight, his muscles taunt. If he had it his way, he would force Captain, Gaz and Johnny out of his home. With a forceful slam, he would shut the door in their faces, his snarling words echoing as a final warning to never return. But Simon knows that if he does so, if he surrenders to his simmering emotions and acts out, none of them will leave of their own accord. Therefore, he keeps his mouth and his thoughts restrained.

“Take her to see her family, reassure them that their daughter is safe and well—this will convince them to call off the ongoing search. You need to prove to them that there’s absolutely no cause for alarm,” Price implores with a sense of urgency. His shoulders droop, collapsing inward as he rubs his face, like he’s trying to wipe away the stress and frustration. “You can’t keep her hidden here forever. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes knocking at your door, and if her family will find her here—and trust me, they inevitably will—it won’t end well, neither for you nor for her.”

The very last thing Simon wants to do is leave the security of this house and bring you face-to-face with your family, force you into a situation that would inevitably require you and him to play yet another taxing game of pretend. Simon successfully fooled Johnny because he knew him well. But he doesn’t know your family, which means that he wouldn’t have any way to brace himself for the potential confrontations that meeting them might bring.

Of course, Simon could interrogate you, putting you under immense pressure to divulge every trivial detail, every inconsequential fact about your family that he could potentially use to his advantage. However, he has serious doubts about the efficacy of this approach. Given your current mental state, which is anything but stable, whatever answers you could provide to his questions would be far from reliable. They would be clouded by your emotions and distorted perceptions, and would most likely prove to be futile in the end.

“Fine, we’ll go to see them,” Simon lies. He holds his breath. The silence in the room becomes deafening as he waits for Price to call his bluff. After all, Captain was always unnervingly adept at sensing when Simon was attempting to deceive him, his instincts honed over years of service. However, much to Simon’s surprise and immense relief, the man standing opposite him remains silent. “But you need to leave now.” Simon hastily adds, seizing the opportunity to regain control of the situation. “I need to calm her down—you can’t keep pushing her like this. She already snapped once and I’m certainly not going to sit by and watch as it happens again.”

Price doesn’t reply. Instead, he retrieves a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He flattens the note out on the counter, sliding it across the smooth surface towards Simon. “With a bit of digging, I was able to locate this,” Price says, as Simon looks at the note and the messily scribbled address. “Arthur and Elizabeth,” he adds, then handing over a faded photograph to Simon. The image portrays a family, a man, and a woman standing behind a little girl who is grinning broadly at the camera—it’s you, or rather, a much younger version of you.

“You have two days.” Price declares with a stern tone. He moves towards the doorway, but just as he’s about to cross the threshold, he turns around slowly, pivoting on the heel of his polished boot. “Otherwise, I’ll have no choice, but take matters into my hands.”

* * *

The moment the front door firmly clicks shut behind him, and the sound of the truck engine rumbles to life, starting to pull out of the gravel-lined driveway, the tires screeching against the coarse, irregular stones, Simon marches back into the living room. You are sitting on the couch, your gaze fixed blankly on the opposite wall. Your tears have long since dried up, leaving behind only their salty traces, but the sleeves of your shirt are still damp.

Simon approaches you cautiously. He kneels before you, his eyes meeting yours. His lips part, an instinctive reaction, as he wants to say something - anything - to soothe your pain, to apologize, but no words form on the tip of his tongue. The day has been long and arduous; the sun has already started setting down, painting the room in hues of soft gold and bitter orange, and he realises that all you need right now is a moment of peace, a chance to rest. He can talk with you tomorrow, in the morning, once he’s had time to decide what he wants to do.

Slowly rising back to his feet, Simon gently scoops you into his arms. Your body feels weightless against his sturdy frame. Your head rests on his shoulder. A sigh escapes your lips. Closing your eyes, you surrender yourself completely to his protective hold, the tension in your body finally beginning to unwind.

Simon carries you into the bathroom and places you on the edge of the tub. His hands linger on your arms for a second, ensuring you’re steady, before he lets go. The silence is pierced by the sound of running water. He begins to gently peel off your clothes, each piece landing softly on the tiled floor. Surrendering to his touch, you offer no protest, instead finding solace in leaning into his chest and feeling the warmth radiate from his torso as his fingertips delicately trace a path down your exposed back.

After discarding all your clothes into a disheveled pile in the corner, Simon helps you to get into the tub. You cautiously dip your toes, testing the temperature. Much to your relief, the water doesn’t scorch your skin or give a jolt of cold—it’s the perfect temperature. You lean on Simon for support, your fingers tightly curled around his arm, as you take your time to slowly lower your body into the tub. You continue to sink down until your shoulders submerge beneath the water’s surface.

For a while, Simon just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze fixed on you. With a gentle splash, his hand plunges into the warm water, his calloused fingertips gently tracing delicate patterns over your soft skin. Once the water starts cooling, he realises it’s time to help you wash up.

Reaching for a bottle of sweet-smelling gel, he pours a generous amount of the liquid into his palm. As he rubs his hands together, the fragrant aroma permeates the air. It envelops the bathroom, filling the space with a scent that’s a blend of blooming flowers and a subtle hint of vanilla. Gently, he starts scrubbing your skin, his movements rhythmic and soothing. Then, he moves to your hair. Using the expensive shampoo he bought specifically for you, his fingers work through your locks and massage your scalp.

When he’s done, Simon reaches for a fluffy, warm towel that had been sitting on the radiator. He pats you dry, ensuring not a single droplet of water is left on your skin. Then, rather than dressing you, he carries you to the bed. There, before tucking you in under the mountain of covers, he brushes out your hair, and although it’s still slightly damp, he plaits it into a braid.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice barely rising above a murmur that’s swallowed by the creak of the mattress as Simon begins to shift his weight to stand up. “I don’t want to be alone,” you add, a pleading undertone seeping into your hushed words.

Simon hesitates. There is a long list of tasks that still demand his attention. But the sight of you, your eyes wide and begging, makes it impossible for him to refuse. He can’t say no to you, not when you’re looking at him like that, not when the room is draped in shadows and drowning in silence. So, he slowly lowers himself once more, settling back down onto the blankets. The mattress dips under his weight.

You scoot closer to Simon, your body fitting against his. The warmth of his embrace envelopes you as you lean your head onto the curve of his shoulder. The familiar and soothing scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, instantly calming your nerves. Your palm rests gently on his chest, the fabric of his well-worn shirt grazing against your fingertips. As you press your hand against his chest, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that provides reassurance amidst the chaos of your own racing pulse.

* * *

Simon cannot fall asleep. No matter how hard he tries to coax his eyes to close, to surrender to the gentle pull of rest, his mind stubbornly refuses to shut off. He wishes he could succumb to the sleep, with you nestled in his arms. He wishes he could forget about today’s events, even if only for a moment, for one night. But it’s not possible. Simon can’t slow down, he can’t calm down until he has figured a way to deal with the mess that today was. His heart races, his mind whirs, his world spins. Until you are safe, somewhere far away, where no one can harm or take you away from him, he refuses to rest, to give in to the exhaustion that tugs at his eyelids. He will not sleep. He cannot sleep. Not until you are safe.

Simon swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. Like a shadow, he crosses the room towards the wardrobe. One by one, not really paying attention to what he is grabbing, he starts stuffing clothes into a rugged, worn-out bag that’s seen better days. His movements, mechanical and efficient, reveal a familiarity with this process. Before zipping the bag, Simon finds the gun, the one you had tried to use earlier today, and tosses it on top of the clothes, watching as it gets buried beneath them.

Then, Simon rushes upstairs. Each step he makes lands with a heavy thud, causing the stairs to groan under his weight. The sound bounces off the walls of the otherwise silent house. He stops in front of a locked door, a door he never thought he’d have to open again. In his haste, he forgot to grab a key. Undeterred by this minor setback, he channels his pent-up energy, a raging storm within him, into ramming the door open with a forceful heave of his shoulder. Once inside, his eyes dart away from the faded, peeling yellow wallpaper. He tries to keep his mind empty, not letting it dwell on any specific thought. He dreads the onslaught of painful memories that would inevitably follow, particularly those involving you.

Simon remembers the day you first woke up in this house, the fear, and terror written all over your face. He recalls how you were frightened of him, and how he wasn’t sure that his plan would work because you were too stubborn, too strong-willed, and had too much fight in you.

He would never confess, not even under the harsh interrogation of his own conscience, not now, perhaps not ever, but there were undoubtedly times when he seriously contemplated giving up on you. Physically breaking you down was a simple task. But the mental battles, the struggle to break your mind and spirit, those were the moments that tested his limits, pushing him to the brink of surrender. Thankfully, he didn’t give up because after many years of feeling like he could never replicate the love he had with the woman ended up killing, Simon will finally get his happy ending, and so will you.

Under the window, precisely five floorboards to the right and one down, there’s a loose one. Simon removes it. Hidden beneath is a nondescript black box filled with a variety of items, which he tucks under his arm. Then he turns his attention to two passports and grabs them out of the hole - one for you, one for him; he had created these on a day when he had left you with Johnny, under the pretense of needing to go shopping.

Simon had never truly expected to use these fake passports, considering their creation merely a precaution in case things were to spiral out of control. However, given the current situation, he finds himself immensely grateful for his foresight. Because, if getting you out of this country, vanishing without a trace from the face of this earth, is what he needs to do to ensure your well-being, he will do it without a moment’s hesitation, without an inkling of doubt clouding his resolve.

Before returning to the bedroom, where you are still asleep, Simon heads to the kitchen. His hand dives into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around the cold metal key to the house. With a wrist flick, he sends it flying onto the counter, where it lands with a soft clink. He tosses the note with your parents’ address on top of it. Finally, he pulls out a picture. His fingers tremble slightly as he rips the image into three jagged pieces and selects the piece where you are the only one visible, your smile radiant, and eyes full of life. The rest of the picture, or rather what’s left of it, he leaves discarded and scattered on the counter.

* * *

The sun has yet to rise. Several hours have already slipped by since Simon roused you from your deep sleep. He woke you with a gentle nudge, his voice whispering in the quiet, urging you to quickly put on your clothes before the two of you left. Initially, sleep still gripped you, your consciousness flitting in and out like a wavering candle flame in the dark, leaving you too disoriented to question the sudden departure—you trusted Simon. But now, as you sit in the passenger seat of the car, with Simon navigating a labyrinth of forgotten, winding back roads under the night sky, curiosity begins to gnaw at you, urging you to break the silence.

“Where are we going?” you ask, twirling the seatbelt absentmindedly. Your eyes flickers to the backseat, noting the hastily packed bag that holds your shared belongings, before they get drawn towards Simon, whose profile is faintly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard.

“Somewhere far away,” Simon replies, his voice steady and soothing, despite the ambiguity of his answer. Without taking his eyes off the road, his free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together. He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of your fingers - a silent promise that lingers on your skin. “Somewhere no one will find us.”

#cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

[ritz-writes]

if i see "credit to the original artist <3" one more time i might actually lose it

im gonna say it again and im going to say it loud. this is the proper way to go about reposting art:

do you know the artist? if not, go find them. if you cant find them, dont repost it

you found the artist or already knew them? ask to repost with credit

they said no? dont repost it

they dont respond? dont repost it

they said yes? go for it with proper credit

they later ask for it to be taken down? take it down immediately

thats it. its that simple.

"but i want other ppl to see the art!" thats great. link the original post then. not a link on a repost, a link on a post that says "hey guys, this artist is rlly good u should check them out!" if you repost and then link to the og post, most ppl are just going to like the repost. they arent going to take the time to go to the link when they can already see the art

"but i found the art on pinterest!" pinterest is not an artist. it is a site notoriously known for having reposted art. its nice to use to make mood boards and get inspo, but its also almost impossible to find og artists thru posts half the time. if you want to find the artist, you do a reverse image search. if you dont know how to do that, then look it up

"they already gave me permission. why are they telling me to take it down now?" ppl are allowed to change their minds. it can be nice to have more ways for ppl to see ur art, but it can become disheartening when all the attention is on a post that isnt ur own. sometimes ppl are okay with it, and sometimes they arent. if they arent then you need to respect their wishes

artists are not machines. we are humans. we have feelings.

we make art for fun and it sucks a lot when that art we spend hours on is just copy and pasted onto some elses account.

dont repost art. and if you want to, follow the steps above. end of story. there are no loopholes or exceptions. if you want ppl to keep making art free to see, dont be rude. follow the steps and be respectful

i dont normally like ppl taking screenshots of my posts and putting them elsewhere, but im giving blanket permission for this one post. spread the word. put it where you want. tiktok, insta, reddit, etc etc. ive seen so many artists get so upset putting their art behind paywalls like patreon just to keep ppl from stealing it. and i know multiple who have stopped posting altogether and some that are debating stopping.

respect artists, guys. follow the steps. seriously

#artists of tumblr #dont repost art #respect artists #im so fed up with this yall #its SO bad on tiktok #i know ive made posts like this in the past but it rlly hit me today for some reason #ritz rants #ugh

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

[DB AU] how would Pyrite!Tony react to learning exactly what happened to Peter (including that it was an alternate version of himself). Obviously this would depend on Peter making it back and maybe Tony also seeing Peter’s clear discomfort around him now.

[[this snippet also answers another question sent in: "How might Pyrite!Tony and Pyrite!Peter's react to seeing each other, after P!Peter returns home? Would P!Peter ever tell P!Tony about the details of alt-Tony? How would the kidnapping affect their relationship?"

warnings for: allusions to noncon and grooming, mentions of long-term captivity, general Sads]]

Tony thought he knew why Peter was so uncomfortable with him.

Their parents didn't seem to notice, or if they did, they were chalking it up to something else. Peter being ashamed of the big brother he idolized knowing about what had happened to him, maybe, some kind of insecurity along those lines.

If they'd really recognized it– the way Peter alternated between always watching Tony out of the corner of his eye and not being able to look at him at all, the way he went tense when Tony moved too suddenly, the way he hovered close to them but sat as far away from Tony as possible– if they'd really recognized it, they would've said something by now. They certainly wouldn't have left Peter alone with him.

It hurt, but it wasn't like Tony didn't deserve it. He had betrayed Peter's trust in a way, even if it had taken– some scumbag– taking him, keeping him, using him for Peter to realize it– so now here he was, sitting by Peter's bedside and trying to figure out how to say 'I promise I won't hurt you' to someone who had no reason to believe him.

Peter was in one of his avoidant moods. He had a mug of hot chocolate cupped between his hands and was staring down into it, quiet, the mood heavy and awkward between them while their parents dealt with phonecalls to law enforcement and publicists elsewhere in the house.

And then Peter took a breath, and he said, "Do you believe in multiverse theory?"

The non-sequitur and the fact that Peter was talking to him at all took Tony aback, but– he thought he understood.

He'd thought a lot about different versions of himself that might have made different decisions while Peter was gone, after all.

"I don't see why not," he said, slow, wanting to leave the door open for Peter to take the conversation in whatever direction he liked. "The science isn't anywhere near proving it, but the atom didn't care how long it took us to discover it, right?"

Peter nodded, almost absent-minded, his eyes still trained on his mug of cocoa. He was quiet for so long that Tony was scrambling to think of anything to say to not lose that tiny thread of connection– a joke, a string of science talk to get Peter excited, an admission of all the choices he thought the best version of himself would've made instead– but Peter still beat him to the punch.

"Mom and… our parents can't know this," he said abruptly, tipping his head slightly towards Tony even though he still didn't cut his eyes Tony's way. "They'd just think I'm crazy, probably. But it's real. The multiverse, I mean."

A chill crept into Tony's blood as he stared, Peter's words and their implications slowly sinking in.

Because there were two possibilities here, and they were both bad.

First, Peter was crazy; he'd cracked under the weight of everything he'd been through and they had an entirely different kind of recovery ahead of them than they'd thought.

Or second–

It never had made sense how Peter just disappeared out of his room.

"Yeah?" Tony prompted, and it was harder than he expected to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Peter hummed an affirmative, blinking slowly like there was something hypnotic to the warm brown of the cocoa in his mug, and he lifted his shoulder in a little shrug before he said, "It was you. Or, not you. Another version of you, I guess. He was older. And his eyes were blue?"

It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense. Cold all the way to his bones, Tony said, "Pete, what?"

Peter finally glanced at him then. Just quickly, there and gone, checking Tony's expression.

The cocoa in his mug started to ripple when he said, soft, "The man who took me."

The man who took him. The man who'd taken him away for months, for over a year until even their mother had started to give up hope, who'd left them to be tortured with questions of where and why and what, who'd put that haunted look in Peter's eyes and made it so that he couldn't stand to be touched except through layers of bundled blankets or heavy sweaters, the man who'd– who'd–

Peter's hands were still trembling around his mug, but he was the one to fill the silence again when Tony could only stare, horror-struck and unprocessing.

"He was… he was his Peter's dad. Um, the Peter in his world was his kid, I mean. They weren't brothers." Peter breathed a shaky sigh, like the words themselves were heavy. "But that Peter died, and so D– so that Tony… He wanted a replacement. So he took me."

"Pete," Tony said unsteadily, because he just– he needed a minute, he needed– he needed this to stop, he needed Peter to say he was joking, he needed things to make sense–

But Peter was suddenly in tears then, sniffling, his voice wavering wetly as the words kept coming: "He was like… a dictator, I guess? He took over the world. Or the country, I don't know, all the newspapers were about how great he was so it's not like… B-but he could do whatever he wanted. He'd just, like– execute people? You know?"

It was ridiculous. Science fiction. The type of thing someone came up with to distance themselves from the all-too-real horror of being chained to a radiator a few miles from home by an average, everyday creep.

But–

"It was really scary," Peter said, hunched over his mug to steady it in his shaking hands. "I was scared all the time. He never, he never hit me– I wasn't lying about that–"

He'd tried to lie about the rest of it, about what had been done to him, but the way he'd crumbled into tears just at their mother's horrified, faltering implication of a question had given him away.

But watching him shake, watching the words pour out of him now like poison that he needed to purge– Tony was absolutely, sickeningly certain that he wasn't lying.

"–but it was still s-so… I never knew what he was going to do? To me or someone else or…" Peter lifted one hand to wipe at his eyes, and his voice broke when he kept going. "He made me call him 'Dad.'"

That was the thing that made his steady trickle of tears tip over into a hitching sob, and Tony didn't want to think about why. He didn't want to think about any of this– he didn't want to know about any of this; he didn't know what he was going to do with the rising tides of guilt and horror and regret flooding his heart and lungs and throat, and he wasn't even the one who had a right to be upset here, he wasn't the one who'd had to live it–

Peter had one hand pressed to his mouth, covering the grimace of his quiet sobs while his mug tipped dangerously close to spilling.

"Your drink–" Tony said, helpless, useless, so fucking useless, hearing all of that and worrying about fucking chocolate stains on Peter's covers like that mattered, but what else could he say? What else could he possibly do or fix when it was his face that was making Peter break down and sob like this, when every second just had to be a reminder of–

Peter heard him, though, and he adjusted his grip, because even in the middle of crying his mangled little heart out he was still perfect and good and someone Tony shouldn't even be allowed near.

But maybe that was the thing he could fix.

"Kid–"

Tony's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat hard, pulling himself together. He wasn't going to let Peter feel– fucking guilty about this, and he wouldn't put that past him, even now.

He tried again:

"...Do you want me to leave?"

It was almost a relief to think about. Accepting that he didn't have a place in Peter's life and slinking away to where he couldn't hurt him; putting that corner of his heart to bed for good. He'd thought so much while Peter was gone about whether Peter would've been better off never getting involved with him, and there would be some closure in knowing it for sure.

But instead of sending him away, Peter groaned, "I don't know," wrung out and scrubbing one sleeve across his damp eyes. "No. I don't know. I'm just… I know you didn't… b-but I… do you believe me?"

It felt like confessing to a crime somehow, accepting that he believed some other version of himself out there could be that kind of monster.

But Tony wasn't going to lie.

"Yeah, kid. I… fuck."

He cleared his throat again, chasing away the tightness that wanted to gather there, and if he couldn't help the prickling in his eyes– well, Peter wasn't looking at him anyway.

"M'sorry. For everything. I'm– yeah." He shook his head, and Peter deserved more from him– so, so much more from him– but he had to move on then, because if he gave Peter the apology he deserved and let all of it spill out he really would just break down right there and fuck up everything worse than it already was. "This– this– fucker– how did you– can he follow you? I've gotta– I won't let it happen again. Pete, I won't let it happen again."

It was a stupid thing to promise, probably. The whole idea still sounded like fiction, and Tony didn't even know where to start with– finding some way to anchor Peter to home, making some kind of multiversal warning system, cutting their whole fucking universe off from whatever else was out there if that's what it took, but–

If another version of himself had figured out how to tamper with the multiverse, then so could he. And this was something he could fix.

Peter stared at him, then. Not a sideways glance, but an outright, unprocessing stare like it was beyond belief that– what, that Tony would believe him? Want to help him? Care about keeping him safe?

Care about him at all?

Tony clenched his jaw, fingernails biting into the meat of his palms with the effort of pushing down every other thought and feeling and impulse, and he said, "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Peter's gaze went distant, almost like he hadn't heard Tony at all. He blinked slowly, and then his eyes meandered away from Tony and back down to his lap. He finally took a long sip of his cocoa, and then shrugged.

"He can't follow me," Peter said finally, slowly. Dreamlike, almost, like he had to hunt around for the words and was surprised to find them. "He's… gone. So it's okay."

It was a relief to hear that the guy was "gone." It was another moment of horror to imagine what that meant for Peter; what he'd had to see and go through and what else was lurking in his memories for him to dole out in soft, uncertain, devastating words.

And it hurt to have him brush away Tony's promises. Without even an instant of taking comfort in them, without even a second of his old starry-eyed gratitude, and Tony didn't need that from him but– to see it so clearly, how his words didn't hold any weight at all anymore after what Peter had been through– and why would they, why would they when it was Tony who was saying them–

Tony didn't know if he was trying to reassure Peter or punish himself, if he was fishing for forgiveness or reprobation, but the words finally clawed their way out of his chest in a wave of sincerity and self-hatred that he couldn't stop:

"I won't hurt you," he said, desperate, and it was what he'd wanted to say all along. "We're– all of that is done, okay? I would never hurt you. Never."

And Peter–

Smiled.

Not a sweet smile. Not a shy smile or a relieved smile or anything at all like an expression Tony would ever expect to see on Peter's face. It was a tiny, bitter twist of his lips as he stared down into his mug, his gaze so faraway that he may as well have still been in another universe, and Tony's heart dropped before he even spoke.

"I know," Peter said, simple.

And with the same terrible certainty that Tony had known that Peter's story was true– this time, he knew that Peter was lying.

#fic: double blind #multiverse: kidnapping au #fic response #ursa interlude: #this took forever because I started so strong and then abruptly lost steam like #half a page from the end #nonnies I am sure you already forgot you asked these questions but! here you go! #the second question also included a bit about time distortion between the two universes which is interesting but not what I went with here!

[gouacheshipping]

GouAche ship name P.S.A

THE NAME "GOUACHESHIPPING" (WHICH I CAME UP WITH BEFORE JOURNEYS BEGAN BECAUSE I NEEDED A SHIP TAG & BECAUSE IT WAS A PUN ON THEIR NAMES) IS NOT AND WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE USED BY ANYONE WHO BASHES FELLOW ASH-SHIPPERS (AMOUR, PALLET, NEGAI, ETC.)

#Im literally a fan of all 3 of those too you guys #I see whats going on on Poke-AniTwit #Please Stop #use one of the other names instead if youre doing this #Im as upset by the news as everyone else is #including that Gous storyline couldnt have ended a little better #but come on #I still dont like 'FirstFriend' name myself #regardless of new ep things #its been confirmed Koharu is Gous 'childhood friend' in J.P.N #I will likely keep using this one elsewhere #Please do not use it for Koharu hate either #or AshxKoharu or GouxKoharu hate #i finally have option to make non rebloggable posts too #so I can finally say this on this blog #I might still post gif sets in the future #I watched off and on but I really need to watch all of it now #sorry for the capslock PSA to anyone still following #but yeah #I never meant for this name to be 'exclusive' either #it was literally just an option back then #there were other hidden meanings to me using it too besides the names pun #more on that later maybe #but i feel i should make this announcement now that im seeing way too much back and forth on Twitter #it is also not meant to be used by anyone hating on new characters in general #especially girl charas

[mothric]

If you want to hear something really wild I’m pretty sure my cousin doesn’t get any PTO or benefits (including health insurance!!!) at her full-time job. Which like. I would say is completely wrong (and it is lmao) but she could totally work somewhere else if she wanted to, but she likes the ~vibes~ of this place and thinks they’re good people (it’s a really small, new business). They brought cake for everyone once which my cousin thought was great and I said “I’d rather have insurance than cake” 🤦‍♀️. I wasn’t popular for that one. Anyway that’s my rant lol

this is a reply to something I reblogged several weeks ago but I forgot to respond. anyway yea the job market in the US is appalling in many ways. no PTO for full time is horrendous even by our standards though. I hope she gets out of there

#i also work for a small business and i keep waiting for us to hire enough people to be able to legally unionize #i dont know if we will ever get there. if we keep growing the way we do then we should but. we just had a guy leave #and have made no move to replace him at all. and then they wonder why we're just barely keeping pace #during one of the slowest times of year #but at least I have insurance!! and a meager amount of PTO #but changing jobs won't make the PTO situation any better #and i otherwise do really like my job and my coworkers a lot. turns out liking ur coworkers is huge for preventing mental fatigue #but anyway i'd have never taken the job if it didnt come with benefits #the benefits are just so scarce compared to elsewhere in the world. it's rough out here #anon #thank u kind friend #may 2024

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #Blood #I knew going into this and it was still so distressing :'0 #Who needs plot twists when you can create such an intense sense of Dread #Probably doesn't help that I read this At Night In the Dark lol - actual shivers #Gods this was a hard scene to read - there have been several instances of my face hurting from furrowing my brow so hard haha #The way that ''Doctor'' is written is So skillful - I'm so impressed by everyone's prose and quirks and syntax! #Not to mention when he breaks character in a later scene to apologize for taking a bit to move the scene along haha <3 Play!! #It really does speak to just how much skill and effort is put into everything <3 It's so well done all the way around!! #Anyway to the actual scene at hand lol ow :') Drawing blood is always fun but I wish it wasn't his ;u; #Ugh the way he takes the surgeries is so well written - fear of course but a kind of stoic suffering as much as he's able to - #Until it comes to his eye #Ugh the /break/ of it all he goes from so eloquent - almost snarky and silly! Still trying to find an out make peace do /something/ #It all goes completely out the window he's so /reduced/ and nothing hurts worse than that ughughugh #For all his intelligence and wit and prior successes and charm and just - everything that makes him /him/ to be dissolved into abject fear #It's so sad ;; And so well done <3 #And he still holds enough of himself to know what he'd be losing wegh it's so sad!! He's so defined by his vision as most VUX are it's fjdsl #Zelnick is already gone by this point but I wanted to throw him in for extra sad flavour :') #Plus - I've mentioned his post-Op was one of the ones from the gallery that Actively kills me every time I look at it #Can you imagine my heartbreak to find out that he didn't have his Captain to comfort him after this in actuality? That he was fully alone? #''Are we home? Is it over?'' ''N...not yet'' - The Absolute Devastation of realizing that Never Was not really #Just tear my heart out why don't you ugh I'm fully bleeding out 💔 #That last one is actually meant to be Max but it's open to interpretation :) #I think it's such a waste that his eye was just disposed of! Someone else could've used that (lol) #I do think there's something to the idea of seeing what used to be a part of your body elsewhere - like the Leftovers! #Even just keeping as a memento tho - a trophy - insult to injury but literally #Just points to no one being special and nothing being sacred I suppose

[knaveofmogadore]

You ever have a customer with a legitimate problem but they're such an asshole that they extinguish the embers of empathy within you with their insolence?

#messages from knave #her name is [redacted] and I've dropped from being her champion to wishing she'd lose internet #in about 4 hours #i felt. SO BAD. for this woman last night. only for her to call and scream at me #when the office phone turned on this morning #she's like 'the weather shouldn't have effected anything' when it was raining half this week #this same woman blew her top that people were late when a fucking tree was blocking the road #i tried so hard to keep feeling bad for her cause we (my boss) genuinely screwed up at her house #but she's made it extremely difficult to keep being nice to her because she's begun inventing problems #like for example #i say 'the electrician is gonna be there between 9 and 10am' #she says 'youre disorganized and confused because he said he cant be here at 9. why are you terrible at your job' #i send her a SCREENSHOT where the electrician says he's going to be there around 9:30 #she says 'thats not 9am' motherfucker that isnt what i said. He gave a timeframe of 930ish to 10am and that is what i told you. #between 9 and 10 #lord in heaven #i dont know why she hired us again she hates one of our techs enough to remember him by name and ask he not be sent #she's never said a nice word and threatens to sue us constantly like WHY DO YOU WANT US TO WORK FOR YOU IF YOU HATE US #YOU'RE PAYING. GO ELSEWHERE #and i tell her last night 'just so you know we're not done #'we have to come back #and what does she do but fucking call me at 8am yelling about why shit isn't done. ma'am. i told u it wasn't finished #im going to lose my mind #can't even make her my boss's problem because he threw a temper tantrum at the implication something was his fault #and fumbled their text chain so gloriously last night that he wont even share what he said to make her want to sue him specifically #I don't even WANT to know what he said because it'd give me an ulcer thinking about it #i need another job before this one gets sued into the ground #also im sick because my partner works retail and thats about as bad as having a kid in daycare

[thedreadvampy]

oh boy the depression hole is deep and it is muddy

hahaha I fell into the classic trap! overidentify with your job and considering leaving it will trigger an existential crisis!!!!

#red said #i think it's really fucking happening #i got lunch with my work bff yesterday. she's seriously looking for her next thing. #2 other people in our 9 man team have told me in confidence they're looking elsewhere as well #the work bff is a team manager and she's like yeah I'm helping everyone buff up their CVs and think about what they want #and i. do not think my boss is coming back. #she's extended her mat leave by 2 months already. i think she stepped away and realised. rightly. there's more to life than this shit. #it's not that the organisation is downsizing or any of us are in danger of redundancy #but the vibe has changed big time. it's so much more corporate and less interested in lived experience. #i think the proportion of people in senior management who have even second hand experience with homelessness is shrinking #like the last time our CEO did frontline work was like 1990. and they're expanding the management team constantly #but they're all outside hires and not people who've done frontline or community work. they're the career charity worker types. #the only things keeping me are. i want to at least get to that initial union open meeting and get the ball rolling enough #that it might have a cat's chance in hell of happening without me #and i want to get gears turning in the EDI group to get a commitment a) to acknowledge that we have a whiteness problem #and b) i want to use the funding for LGBTQ inclusion work to kickstart a project where we convene a cross-sector working group #maybe quarterly. where people working in homelessness and social support can discuss best practise for trans inclusivity #in one of the sectors where trans people are most disadvantaged in seeking support #but like if i can get movement on those things I'm fucking gone. cause the bits of my job that are my actual job? #i am getting nothing out of it now

[mistninja]

Have i mentioned that i love the one piece cover stories? I love the one piece cover stories

#love when artists make creative use of their medium #such a clever way to expand the world and make it feel bigger and more real without wasting page count #like these side stories really make the op world feel lived in because u get to see things happening in parallel with the main storyline #things that have nothing to do with luffy #the world doesnt revolve around the straw hats! things are happening elsewhere! both important things and silly adventures #like one piece is BIG this world is huge and always growing and theres so much to see and explore #but you dont want to sacrifice the main storyline so you get these adventures that take only 1 page every week #its so much better than say. have a full chapter covering these events #oda gets to tell these extra stories without wasting the readers time #he can use them to keep track of side characters AND be silly and whimsical AND expand the lore #i love them so much #we need to get another decks of the world cover story soon

[talentforlying]

currently the house of mystery is only canon in his JLD verse but i gotta say, the symbolism of giving john constantine ownership of the house of cain, with all his family hang-ups? chef's fucking kiss for that one.

i do like to think that he ends up owning the house of mystery eventually in the main verse, because it would be an eventual solution to his endlessly unstable housing situation and i think he'd breathe a lot easier if he had a sanctum of a sort, but it definitely takes a while to come into his hands. post-hellblazer, pre-sandman universe presents in timeline speak. the man is 70, he deserves some interdimensional storage space and a reliable ("reliable") place to sleep.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS. #(oingo boingo vc) IN THE HOUSE OF CAAAAAAAAIN #cain and abel imagery has been fucking haunting me lately and i don't know why #but anyway gracie (asteritm) pointed out how much sense it would make if he had the house and i have Not stopped thinking about it #AND the fact that any occult kit he needs is stored in the lock-up in england. so if he needs it elsewhere he's gotta go digging #(yes i know he lit the lock-up on fire but he got a new one and is restocking ok. i love him using chas's storage space it's special to me) #like right now he's still hopping from flat to flat and jetsetting all over the world looking to solve magical problems he needs his stuff #he can't keep haunting midwestern antique stores looking for relics his allergies are fucking killing him #so i like to think that eventually the house of mystery does end up in his hands! #mayhaps i will put it in another arc who can say

[pepprs]

also the favoritism thing is still making me so fucking mad and insane btw. im not jealous / resentful of my brother bc he deserves her love and is also burdened in his own ways by it and bc i think my drama w my mom has shaped my life in profound ways and given me friends i cherish and i would never trade any of that for the world but jesus fucking christ. why do i have to beg you to interact with me like a mother. why do i have to talk to me at all beyond asking me to do you 847439473 favors a day. why do i have to beg you to take an interest in my life and apologize when you hurt me and be nurturing and perceptive for once in your fucking life. like it hurts to hear her asking him about his classes and whatever bc she didn’t think i was stressed out w school but i had to talk to a ****** hotline last decemver when i couldn’t take it anymore and my mental health was crashing and burning and it doesn’t even fucking matter to her at all and she’s going to get him the nice gifts and throw him the nice parties and whatever because she hates me and my sister for… and let me get this straight… being complicated and anxious and depressed and also girls. lol!

#purrs #delete later #sorry i knowive been insane about momposting but this shit has me screeching like an ape. the way when my brother was born she decided me #and my sister would be okay with each other bc we were twins and meanwhile she was leaving my sister to have anxiety attacks and me to take #care of her and all of this happening at like 7 years old and she would come into my brothers room every single night and kiss him goodnight #and talk to him for a long time and she wouldn’t even come in and say goodnight to us. LOL. ok. like our room being a depression nest is not #an excuse. us not helping out much in the kitchen or around the house (which is bad but also we have reasons for it that i think are valid #and i only do it here and not elsewhere btw.) is not a good excuse. you can’t decide you love your one kid more because he helps out and #keeps his room clean and whatever. maybe he is normal because you made it very clear from the time that he was born that he was your top #priority and you gave him your attention and didn’t take it away meanwhile my sister and i have always had to share bc we’re twins and she #cast us aside when he was born and has fucking tormented both of us for years over who we like what we want where we go all of that shit and #then has the AUDACITY to call herself a good mother. being a good mother is more than feeding your kid and projecting your childhood trauma #onto them by preventing them from ever developing cancer to the point where they’re afraid fo like. go outside. you have to be patient and #nurturing and kind and like.. motherly. ans i know no one can be a perfect mother and she has been hurt so badly and she is dealing with a l #lot right now but COME ON. for gods SAKE. i am right fucking here. why don’t you care about me? why do you make it clearer every day? #ask to tag #like the way she would say when my sister and i were growing up and going through it that she wished she could book a hotel and live there f #far away from us and miss out on us growing up so she wouldn’t have to deal with us being anxious and hormonal because we were teenage girls #LOL. totally did not impact me at all. totally is not a wound that informs every breath i take and every thought i have. not at all #* like maybe he is normal because you uh… idk. just a guess here. actually gave him the motherlove people need to be functioning healthy #human beings? idk. just a silly thought. haha

[konstantya]

Tfw you want to write fic for a hella obscure pulp story, but it isn’t even available online, so now you gotta figure out someway to get it online, so that any prospective readers will actually be able to have some fucking context. 😂😂😂

#personal #fic rambles #? #it's the same author who wrote ''tonight you're mine!'' #aka: the surprisingly sexy persuasion-esque second-chance romance story #anyway this other one is kind of a fake dating situation (actually fake marriage) #between two characters who have a hella complicated and convoluted relationship #and there's a weird power dynamic at work (which the story actually addresses at least in passing which is super unusual for the era) #basically the upper-class hero is financing the lower-class heroine's musical education (she's determined to be an opera singer) #and she's living at his apartment but not with him? like he's staying elsewhere whenever he's in town but he still has a key to the place #and his younger brother was previously infatuated with the heroine and wanted to elope with her but the hero broke that up #so like there's this weird tension between them where she kind of hates him but is determined to use him for all he's worth #but then she ends up falling in love with him and he with her #but he's determined to keep his emotional distance because of those power dynamics (which means mutual pining!) #and SHE'S LITERALLY LIVING IN HIS APARTMENT #anyway the fake marriage stuff comes later but all i can think about is how maybe one day he walks in just as she gets out of the shower??? #also: box seats at the opera