#☆ﾟ*・ﾟ c does a thing — ↳ ooc post

[popcultr]

hope everyone is having a great friday!! i got to the interview stages in a job application today & have an interview next week. pls keep ur finger crossed for me!!

[consciousclubs]

look u guys, i really just wanna create a small town rp with someone on discord & we create all the town residents together, we create families, couples, friends etc. then we JUST WRITE THEM & its lots of fun, i’ve been wanting to write this with someone for ages & whenever i do try, it just falls flat. if anyone is interested pls like this post!!

[velvetelviis]

i was tagged by the lovely, @thaywrites to put my spotify on repeat playlist on shuffle and put up the first 10 songs. idk man, i like these, also im so nosy!!

the disco — ttrruuces

think about things — daði & gagnamagnið

semicircle song — the go! team 

who the hell is edgar? — TEYA & SALENA

annie let’s not wait — the guillemots

we are the people — empire of the sun

me gustas tu — manu chao

the reeling — passion pit

mama’s gun — glass animals

my sister’s crown — vesna 

tagging — @ncstalgiaz / @ghcsties / @hellview / @heatherbellemusings​

[wisheswagered]

sometimes i feel like it might be fun to explore themes of redemption + rehabilitation in idv muses but then i'm like. i already do that too much in other fandoms??? idk if that's a dumb feeling or not but i wish i had more than like, One Theme that i just apply to everything sometimes...

[sentofight]

ooc. hello, miss me? *in m.oriarty voice* at this point i will not force this cucumber that is called my brain to work on replies if it does not want. lets a go~

[alicentofhightower]

widow

pairing: helaena targaryen x maid!reader

synopsis: helaena yearns for more insects to cradle, and you are all too willing to add to her collection.

includes: pre-b&c helaena but post aegon’s coronation, just cute lil crushes, fluff

wc: 1232

a/n: hiiii!! i wrote this for a twitter oomf so if u see this i hope u like it <3 this might be a bit ooc bc this is my first time writing for her but i tried lmao

-

Perhaps it was a bit stupid for you to be so afraid of insects while you worked in such a large castle, but the thought of little spiders crawling around frightened you nonetheless. The Red Keep was a monstrous thing, with halls seemingly never ending and chambers large enough to house an entire family. It was only natural for such little creatures to infest it.

You’d never understood why Helaena was so fond of them. Out of all of the royal family, she was the one you were closest to. Many of the other maids you worked with whispered of what a strange woman the Queen was, with her peculiar mumblings and odd tastes, but she was the sweetest woman you’d ever met.

A Targaryen dragonrider, she was, the mother of the heir to the Iron Throne and King Aegon’s only daughter, but she was so gentle. You suppose it was only logical you’d developed a crush alike to a green boy’s on her. Helaena had always had an aversion to touch, but you were the only one she allowed to braid her hair, and sometimes her fingers would trace indecipherable shapes on the back of your hand. You wondered what they meant.

“I’d like for more little bugs,” she tells you one day while you braid her hair. Wavy and soft, it was, befitting one of her station. “They are my only company when the children are at their lessons. I enjoy hearing their whispers.” You fight the urge to raise a brow at that, knowing Helaena’s wisdom often presented itself in riddles.

She sat on a velvet-cushioned chair in front of her vanity, adorning a blue dress matching Dreamfyre’s scales and a silver-chained necklace. Nimble fingers play with her wedding ring as you finish up, and it’s clear she’s making an effort to sit up straight. She’d never had good posture, but she’d try for you.

You place your hands on her shoulders as you bend to the level of her ear. The feel of them is purposely light and feathery, meant to make it easy for her to brush them off if she so desires. “Mayhaps you might ask your lord husband for more,” You say, your tone tender as always.

“He does not take interest in what I do.” Her words are simple and to the point. That was always how she spoke of Aegon. Then, she turns to face you, a small smile fixed on her face. The way the light from the window illuminates her face makes her resemble an angel.

She places her hand on top of where yours rests on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you,” she says sincerely, then smooths out the wrinkles of her periwinkle gown and stands. You find yourself getting lost in the deep blue of her eyes, ever so alluring.

Only a moment later, you snap out of it, bowing your head to her and leaving the room with haste. It was improper for a person of your standing to carry such intimate affections for a royal woman, nevermind the fact that you were one yourself. Yet, you could not force yourself to ignore the thought that had come to you — to get Helaena more of her little bugs.

-

Your attempts to suppress your fears do not work. You find yourself asking yourself why you’re even putting yourself through this much trouble for just a few bugs, but you shrug it off and keep going.

You barely even recognize the hall you’re in, and you can’t remember the last time you’ve been here. You grip your scarlet skirts closer to you with one hand and grasp the candle tightly in the other, letting out a shaky sigh that echoes through the corridor.

You’re here with one goal in mind: get Helaena her silly spider, then run to her chambers so you never have to hold it again. To touch such a wretched thing will disgust you, no doubt, but it is worth it if it is for her. Thoughts of its impropriety are repressed yet again when you bend down to get a look at the stone floor.

It’s repulsive. What seems like thousands of thick cobwebs cover the parts of the stone by the wall, waiting to be stepped on by a group of nobles on the morrow. How do they come so fast? You do not wish to know the answer.

Swallowing down a dramatic shudder, you extend your hand, palm up, in search of an insect you think Helaena will take a liking to. You’re careful with the torch you hold, tilting it down to get a closer look at the sight before you.

There’s a little army of them, it seems, though they’re all spread out. A black widow catches your eye almost immediately, and it almost looks like its beady eyes are staring right through you. Like there’s someone behind you.

You whip your head around, but there’s no one there. “Come on, sweet thing,” You whisper, but it’s mostly to yourself rather than to the little recluse you grab speedily. You cannot fight the yelp that escapes from your throat when you feel its legs poking around in the gaps between your closed fingers.

You practically run up the steps towards where the royal chambers are after that, ignoring the piercing stares you receive from the other maids, the guards, and the noblemen alike. Fuck them, you think, ignoring the fact you’re going to repent at the Sept later for utilizing such a foul word, this is for the Queen.

Quite rudely, you realize later, you burst through the doors of Helaena’s chambers and feel a wave of guilt when you see how she startles at the noise of it. She’d always been sensitive to loud interruptions.

“Your grace,” you squeak, almost wincing at the tone of your voice. Helaena sets her embroidery hoop aside, and you can’t help but notice how similar the spider in it looks to the one in your palm. Wide eyes study you as you move to sit on the floor beside her. It’s far more clean than the hallway.

Gentle hands reach for yours. “What’s the matter?” She asks, always so empathetic, and her lips part in surprise when she sees the bug you hold. Never had you spoken of it to her, probably not wishing to offend her somehow, but she’d always known of your aversion to such critters.

She reaches for it herself, smiling softly at the feeling of its tiny legs crawling over her wrist. Gasping, as if realizing what you’ve done for her, she sets the thing in one of the empty cages behind her and turns her full attention to you. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “You did not have to.”

“You said it yourself, my Queen. You required more of them, did you not?”

Her cheeks flush at that, a rare sight. Gingerly, almost afraid that you’ll pull away in repulsion of her touch, she places a kiss onto your temple. An honor, you’ll realize later, knowing of her usual unwillingness when it comes to physical touch.

A tentative finger traces the lines of your palm. Her eyes are still fixed on you. “…I’ve never had someone care so much for what I desire,” She admits, “or mine own interests.”

Suddenly, she interlaces her fingers with yours. “Will you stay?”

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[schrodinger-swriter]

in whatever format is the easiest for this, can you do alastor with a deaf s/o plzzzz it would be so lovely

Alastor x Deaf!Reader

This blogs first request! My apologies if this is a little OOC or a little messy, I'm having a friend give me pointers on how to structure things until I grow accustomed to Tumblr; as well as this I believe Alastor may be one of the harder characters for me to capture.. but I'm still willing to try! I hope you enjoy C:

I enjoy the idea that Alastor may already know some sign language, at least some of the more well known signs as well as a handful of others. I do think, however, he is more likely to work on his signing on his own rather than with you.. although, the idea of the two of you getting together away from prying eyes to have these little learning moments between the two of you is nice.. He makes sure your thoughts get put out, oftentimes projecting his voice loud enough to snap everyone's attention to you two. Especially if the pair of you are in the chaos that is the Hazbin Hotel. You both have lengthy conversations in sign, sometimes lasting for hours. You don't find many people who know sign language, let alone being fluent. Honestly, out of the cast I believe Charlie may be the only other character that would know sign.. but this post isn't about her. Alastor is rather open to letting you 'talk' his 'ear' off, his smile of course never faltering. However he is very graceful when letting you know that the conversation needs to be cut short.

He wouldn't ask why you're deaf, that's rude of course and Alastor isn't that intrusive.. at least not that bluntly.. Will likely (somewhat condescendingly.. is that the correct word?) scold anyone who dare try to treat you unfairly. After all you're his little friend and you get the perks that come with that.

Though... he does have a habit of startling you. He doesn't mean to sneak up on you, it's just that his footsteps are so light and don't really cause any...vibration? Shake? Something.. in the wooden floors of the Hotel. He does think it's amusing when you jolt, though.

[drea-ms]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING by KUSUO SAIKI

٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ Inspired by Laufey's song "While you were sleeping", Kusuo Saiki falls in love with you at 3:30 am, he "hates" it ( spoiler; he does not )

warnings. pure fluff. ooc!saiki i think. corny and cheesy story i thought of at 12:47 am after thinking of the guy i like. mentions of yn. grammar mistakes. from saikis pov kinda. being in love. sweet fluff before all the angst (707 angst coming soon.) i just love saiki a lot :(.

The clock read 3:30 am, and the pink haired boy still couldn't sleep, so deep in his thoughts. But, what was he thinking about? Could it be a plan to become average and leave his friend group forever or the amount of noise there is in the middle of the night that the average person couldn't hear? or maybe it's the girl with [h/l] [h/c] hair. Probably the first one, or maybe it's the last one. It's definitely the last one.

He doesn't know how he began to think of you this late, one moment he was getting ready to sleep, the other, he was thinking of how pretty you would look if he wasn't a pyschic and without his powers. He hates how you left him in this position, while you were sleeping without a care in the world, Kusuo Saiki had just began to fall in love with you. He absolutely hates it (he doesn't. he's lying to himself again.)

He just hopes it's a one time thing, that your playing mind games with him (how is that possible??? he's a god damn psychic!!) and that when he does go to sleep, that it'll never happen again. Yeah, this is just a one time thing...

It's 9:76 am. Six hours after that predicament. And he was so wrong, since that night, he couldn't bring himself to sleep without the thought of you within him, each time he did try to sleep, you were in his dreams. One way or another,you started to appear in his daily thoughts more and more often. When he was getting ready for school, everything and everywhere he went and did, you were in his mind. Like a lost puppy you were following him around in his thoughts, he absolutely hates it. He hates how when he gets to school you're there and you're talking to your friends and spot him and wave at him with your dumb smile. He hates how after class you greet him and both of you hard to lunch, he hates how you know that he likes being alone and leave him to himself, knowing well enough that he doesn't mind being with you, even if it means he's sacrificing his own time just to be with you.

And he's back at square one, the clock ticking and the time is 3:30 am, thinking of you again, how candy can't compete with how sweet you are, that the way you smile might as well be on par with Teruhashi, how your kindness and friendliness can make someone's teeth fall out. Everything about you is on his mind, and while you're sleeping again, like a baby, he's falling more and more deeper in love with you.

Sweet and Kind YN LN stuck in Kusuo Saiki's head, and he's beginning to like it, he likes everything about you, he likes how you always get him coffee jelly, even though you don't like coffee. He likes how you try to get him away from his and yours friend group just for you and him enjoy the silence for a while, he loves loves loves the idea of being your boyfriend one day.

And maybe that idea might become true. He just hopes that when it does, the both of you will be in bed together awake at 3:30 am and in love.

VAL TALKS?!? back again :3 it's been a couple of weeks but i have school and i'm busy most of the time living life and going to school:) i wrote this because i was bored and start playing mystic messenger again and i thought of the guys i like :). i'm not sure i'm back for good, but i like writing and i have a 707 angst that's being brained stormed rn so i wanna focus on that and other stuff rather than just over work myself to point where writing isn't fun anymore to me:) it'll take some time for me to come back but i'll write and post every so often :) asks are open!! send me stuff of your favs!! especially mike from the fnaf i want to write him, so send requests!!

[python333]

task force 141 getting gaslighted by [reader] — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 gets gaslighted by [reader]... nothing serious, dw!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings gaslighting, but used in extremely stupid and unnecessary ways, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], probably ooc but i'm a little more confident in this one than the last one!

note i'm so sorry that this is so long... it's like 3k+ words :{ and the soap and gaz sections are a majority of those words LMAO also tysm to the people who reblogged my last post?? thats so sweet?? im crying?? it was my first post too so i was just hdjsfhjdhsfjf tysm tysm!!

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ price is basically your dad atp.

➥ so it’s safe to say he knows about pretty much all of your weird little antics and shenanigans.

➥ this includes your tendency to gaslight people about the stupidest shit possible.

➥ trust him, he was a victim of this.

➥ the first time it happened, it was just too perfect of an opportunity for you to pass up.

➥ price was trying to eat his food in the mess hall, when you had sidled up right next to him at the small table he was eating at, and commented on his food choice.

➥ “Oh, nice. We got the same thing.” you’d said, setting down your tray of chicken, rice, and potatoes right next to price’s bowl of soup.

➥ at first, he thought you were just joking, and gave you an amused look and commented something along the lines of you being blind because you absolutely did not get the same thing as him.

➥ you take your gaslighting very seriously. this is not a joke.

➥ so you insist that you did in fact get the same thing, and you shoot a very confused look at him for good measure. your definitely-serious tone throws price off, because there’s no way you could possibly think you both actually got the same thing…

➥ … right?

➥ cue the rest of your lunch being spent alternating between eating your food and arguing that, “But we did get the same thing!” while price can only counter with, “No we did not!”

➥ now you may think that this is the point where you give up.

➥ it absolutely is not.

➥ see, price’s first mistake was giving you leeway to argue with him over this. his second mistake was suggesting that you ask someone to come over to the table and settle this by telling you both if you did get the same thing for lunch.

➥ naturally, you chose soap, because who else would encourage your bullshit with the same enthusiasm he does?

➥ long story short, he agrees to come over and settle the very weird argument you’ve started with price, and takes a very close look at both you and price’s chosen food items for the day and after you shoot him a glance that tells him everything he needs to know he confidently says, “Aye, these’re the same.”

➥ price has never recovered from the crisis he had after that entire interaction.

➥ so, the next time you do it, he knows exactly what to do.

—

When you sat down next to Price during lunch, he immediately got a sense of deja vu. Which is weird, because you sit next to him everyday, so what could possibly be different about today?

“Oh, nice. We got the same thing,” you’d commented offhandedly, setting down your tray of food, of which was just about the direct opposite of Price’s meal. Oh, so that’s why I feel like this has happened before. Price stared at your tray for a moment, flashbacks running through his mind, recalling his trauma from the last time this happened.

Then finally, cautiously, he agreed, “... Yeah. Whatta coincidence.”

You didn’t know if you should feel disappointed, happy, or shocked by him agreeing with you this time. You were fully prepared to pull Soap and Gaz aside to take a look at both of your trays of food and agree that they were the exact same meal, down to the portion sizes and everything. After a quick moment of thinking, you smile at him with the most innocent smile you can muster and eat your food, ignoring the sigh of relief Price lets out when you don’t begin to argue with him.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ actively enjoys being gaslighted.

➥ in the sense of like, how many ways can he defend himself in ways you can’t argue with?

➥ he’s like the gaslighting victim version of markiplier with the whole ‘i’m not a masochist, i just wanna see how much pain i can handle’.

➥ so safe to say he very much encourages your gaslighting.

➥ the first time and only time you ever gaslighted him was when you were both hanging out in his room, both of you on your phones, soap watching ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ after you told him you thought he’d enjoy watching it, and you scrolling through social media to pass the time.

➥ then, you got an idea.

➥ “Soap?” soap perks up at the sound of his name and hums in acknowledgement of you talking to him, “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

➥ “Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left.” he’d responded.

➥ “Really? What season are you on?”

➥ “The last season, season two.”

➥ “... What do you mean the last season?”

➥ you two go back and forth, with you insisting that no, you told him to watch ‘the vampire diaries’, not ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’.

➥ the entire thing goes on for at least thirty minutes before soap sighs and insists that you’d told him to watch ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ one last time, and you finally break.

➥ you break out into a small fit of laughter, and stop yourself to take a deep breath and admit, “Yeah, I did.”

➥ honestly, soap is very impressed by your determination to manipulate him. 10/10 would encourage you to do it again. in fact, will help you gaslight anyone you so please.

—

You and Soap were sitting in his room, him on the bed and you on the floor sitting down on one of his pillows. You’d just been scrolling through any and all apps you had, even going through your photos app, bored out of your mind, when you suddenly got an idea. You turned off your phone and looked over at Soap.

“Soap?” He tapped on his phone screen to pause the show he was watching and hummed, looking over at you. “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

“Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left,” he’d answered, sitting up and cracking his knuckles.

“Really?” you’d asked, feigning confusion, “What season are you on?”

“The last one, season two,” he replied, showing you his phone screen. You looked at it for a moment before drawing your eyebrows together in pseudo-confusion.

“... What do you mean the last season?” you’d asked, “There’s eight seasons.”

“Uhh…” Soap looked back at his phone screen, confused, and tapped his screen a few times before he shook his head, “Nay, there’re two seasons, c/n.”

“Are you watching the right show?” you’d asked, watching as Soap nods confidently, and yes. You had set down your phone, ready for this new form of entertainment.

“Yeah. My Babysitter’s a Vampire, right?” he said, hoping for confirmation that he’s watching the correct show. You slowly shake your head negatively.

“No, I told you that you should watch Vampire Diaries,” you’d clarified, watching as Soap started to disagree.

“Nay, ye told me tae watch the Babysitter one,” Soap argued, quickly pulling up his text messages with you, “I reckon I’d ken if ye told me tae watch Vampire Diaries.”

“Well, I did,” you argued back, “I told you, verbatim, ‘hey you should watch Vampire Diaries, I think you’d really like it, since you like making fun of old 2000s shows with me’. I texted you yesterday about it.”

Soap raised an eyebrow before he’d turned his phone to you, showing you your text messages from yesterday, where you definitely did not tell him to watch Vampire Diaries. You took a good look at the text messages, before looking up at Soap, concerned, “Are you okay? That clearly says what I said it says.”

Soap looked baffled, and it took everything in you not to laugh, “Nay, ye messaged me tae watch the Babysitter one, so I’m watchin’ the Babysitter one!”

You two went back and forth, arguing over what the text actually said. You’d constantly deny everything Soap saw and he’d argue back in the most flabbergasted tone that ‘Nay, it’s richt there, I ken I’m no’ goin’ daft!’ and you argued back that he’s definitely seeing things because how could he possibly be reading the text but see completely different words than what it actually says?

Eventually, you both stopped arguing, taking time to catch your breaths. You had taken one look at Soap’s miserable facial expression before breaking out into a small fit of laughter, giggles spilling from your lips as you tried to muffle them by putting your hand over your mouth.

“Ye ‘nd I baith ken that the text says you want me to watch My Babysitter’s a Vampire,” Soap breathed out, watching you try and muffle your laughter.

After you’d taken a moment to catch your breath, you admit, “Yeah, I know.”

Soap’s eyes widened and he immediately said, “So ye admit it?”

You nodded affirmatively and he groaned, flopping back down onto the bed, the action having made you giggle even more. “Ye’re a bampot,” he’d grumbled, though there was no serious anger or irritation behind his words.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ now why would you even try this, huh?

➥ have you MET the dude?

➥ he absolutely will not fall for it.

➥ he won’t encourage it, won’t argue with you, in fact he’ll shut you down with a simple “No.”

➥ you’re too scared to even try again after the first time you tried it.

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, you were both just walking down the hall together.

➥ you tried convincing him that gaz was off on a mission when you had just passed by him.

➥ the look he gave you… my god.

➥ “No he isn’t.” i’m so sorry please let me jump off a cliff i’m sorry i made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment and i don’t expect to be forgiven i’m simply here to apologize mr. simon ghost riley lieutenant sir.

➥ you never try to gaslight him ever again.

—

You thought it was a good idea at the time. You don’t know what drugs you were on or what meds you were off, but you decided that, yeah, I can totally gaslight Ghost with no repercussions, that’s definitely possible. So here you are, walking right beside him, the both of you going to completely different locations but he doesn’t need to know that.

When you first sidled up to him, walking by his side down the hall, he looked over at you for a moment and was just a bit confused but didn’t say anything otherwise. The two of you passed by Gaz, who was minding his business just walking past the two of you. He gave you both a quick nod and you made a point to nod back, not only out of respect but because you thought it would make your gaslighting session just that much better.

Just a minute after passing Gaz, you sighed and commented, “Can’t believe Gaz is on that super long mission right now. Two weeks is crazy.”

Ghost had slowly turned his head towards you, a sight that made your stomach drop because oh God I definitely fucked up, and simply said, “No he isn’t. We just saw him.”

I think I just shit my pants. “Y- yeah, right, right, definitely, no clue what I was thinking,” you blurted out, stumbling over your sentences because oh my GOD I’m gonna piss myself why is he so scary lord have mercy on my soul. Ghost raised an eyebrow at you, before huffing out a small laugh and continuing his walk, amused by your sputtering. You let out a sigh of relief as he simply walked away, and you headed in the correct way of where you're supposed to go, completely chickening out of your original plan.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ oh that poor poor boy.

➥ probably gives into it and just lets you gaslight him tbh.

➥ like maybe if your argument/gaslighting isn’t too strong he’ll argue with you, and sure he still won’t win but it was worth a try, but if you’re gaslighting-gaslighting him? he’s just gonna agree with you.

➥ like at that point anything you say is law and he is a law-abiding citizen.

➥ if your argument is strong enough and he’s tired enough he will genuinely believe you, too.

➥#savegazfromreader

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, it was pretty easy. you two had just finished sparring, with you coming out on top, much to your own surprise. gaz had given you a lighthearted pat on the shoulder and went off to shower, when you had the best idea you’ve ever had.

➥ you had groaned and playfully complained, “I can’t believe you won that.”

➥ gaz turned around, confused, and was like, “Won what?”

➥ cue the next 5 minutes being spent by you saying that gaz had won and arguing with him that he did win.

➥ “Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won. I appreciate that you don’t want me to feel bad, but I can take a loss.”

➥ hes so confused omg.

➥ starts gaslighting himself into thinking he won, then he’s like ‘wait no i didn’t’.

➥ but he still goes along with it because… what else is he supposed to do?

➥ ever since then he’s been your main gaslighting victim, and your favorite.

—

You hated the feeling of being sweaty, but you hated the feeling of someone else’s sweat even more. Maybe that’s what tripped you up that day, letting Gaz swipe his leg underneath yours and force you to fall down onto the mat beneath you, where he then started counting to ten, as per usual with sparring. But luckily for you, you were able to grab his ankle and yank it towards you, making Gaz fall on his ass and letting you straddle his chest and begin to count to ten just as he was doing earlier.

Of course, you dramatized your counting, because who would you be if you didn’t? You emphasized every number and your lips twitched into a small smile as you watched Gaz scoff and look away from you, clearly fed up with your theatrics. Once you were done counting, you got up and held out a hand for Gaz, who took it and got up, letting out a huff and patting you on the shoulder.

“Good job,” He’d said, smiling down at you, stepping off the mat and walking over to the bag of stuff he’d brought with him. After that small interaction, you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gaslight him. It’s not your fault! Who else would pass up an opportunity like this?

You groaned and stepped off the mat, muttering, “I can’t believe you won that. I really though I had you.”

“Won what?” Gaz questioned, looking back at you, confused.

“The spar?” You answered, though you made your answer sound more questioning, as if confused on why he’d even question your words. As if it was obvious that you hadn’t won. Gaz simply looked at you, very confused, trying to figure out if you’re joking or not. By the serious look on your face—a poker face you’ve worked on for the longest time—he figured that you weren’t not kidding, which worries him a bit.

”... No, you won that spar,” Gaz insisted, before nervously joking, “Remember? Thirty seconds ago, when you kicked my arse after I thought I had you down?”

“Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won,” You laughed, walking over to Gaz and patting him on the back, “It’s not like I’m a sore loser or anything like that. I can take a loss.”

He was so confused, and continued to insist that you had won the small sparring match, and got more and more confused the more you fought with him on this. He was so sure that you had won—you did, didn’t you?

He eventually just sighed, and ‘admitted’ that you were right, he did win. Satisfied, you smiled up at him and reminded him that you can take a loss, and you went on with your day. And if you heard him asking Price if he could go through the security cameras for a moment, requesting to go back to that specific time the two of you had sparred, no you didn’t.

[popcultr]

my boyfriend: "no more jellycats!!!!!!!" meanwhile, my mum:

[consciousclubs]

here's my spotify wrapped AND i wanna see yours!! i care!! thank you!!

[angelic-dew]

Can I get yandere alphabet list with tanjiro?? Thank you babes <3

# yandere alphabet list !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🕸 ୧・author's note :: sorry for the delay, my posting schedule isn't the most consistent! I got this list from @dear-yandere to use as reference.

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🔪 ୧・pairing :: Tanjiro K. x g/n reader — {you/your pronouns}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ⛓ ୧・trigger warnings :: yandere. isolation. kidnapping. unhealthy obsessions. delusions. some ooc. mentions of drugs. mental abuse. manipulation. gaslighting. stalking. grammatical errors. ⁞⁞ LETTERS A—P

⚝. Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.

[A]ffection :: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Tanjiro is an interesting individual when he becomes lovesick. His undying love for you only burns pure passion and lust into the deepest depths of his heart for you; so it's no surprise he tries to show you his affection in every way he humanly can. I see his main love languages being words of affirmation and quality time, of course, some others slip in as well, just not as much such as gift-giving and acts of service. So he's willing to go to many lengths for you, he always strives to give you his utter best and nothing less.

[B]lood :: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not much in particular, he would never hurt innocent civilians and villagers regardless of how much jealousy tries to tempt him into acting in such a manner. He would rather try to isolate you from that person(s) completely rather than kill them off, though, he does get sudden urges to act upon those deeds. Now, if it's a demon, then it's fair game. The brutality would really show in his actions if it were a demon, like a fire luminously burning in his chest as he fights it courageously, just for you.

[C]ruelty :: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

No, he would never dream of showing what's truly stored beneath the surface of his kind smile. Even though you got abducted by him, he would still treat you with the same vehement amount of endearment; if not, maybe a bit more since you have no one to go to besides him if there's any such issue. He likes this feeling of being depended on. Kamado would definitely make you dependent on him but also restrict some of your access to certain parts in your place of capture by keeping a heavy chain tightly secured to your ankle.

[D]arling :: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Of course, he would, not intentionally though; he really doesn't mean to act upon it in these such ways but his self-control slips at certain times when rage begins to consume him entirely. I see him always wanting to be around you, therefore, that can translate to taking you on various missions with him with or without your permission. He lives and breathes you, it's no surprise he'd also tend to drug you from time to time with sleeping medication so you can barely remember a thing when you end up in a foreign location.

[E]xposed :: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Before your 'disappearance', I would assume he would be very subtle with his emotions towards you; of course, he would be a little too friendly towards you but what's the harm in that? You two are just best friends, nothing more or nothing less, sharing a close bond together is all that it is. Now, when his true colours are revealed, he'd be much more open with you concerning his feelings, reminding you every night that you're with him that you're his only true love, whispering words of compassion, professing his love for you repeatedly in hopes you'd see him in the same way he sees you. Very vulnerable indeed.

[F]ight :: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He is not pleased in the slightest. Tanjiro loves you, why can't you just see that he means all well to you. His one and only radiant angel sent from above; he doesn't harm you even though he is edged to do so, his violent tendencies are getting worse and worse. He simply sees you being unhappy with the situation, he only attempts to console and softly mutter words of how much you mean to him. It's only for your own good after all, he's doing this for you, can't you see that? Hopefully one day you'll realize that your actions of lashing out are futile.

[G]ame :: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

This situation is far from comical to Tanjiro. There is no such entertainment in having his darling try to leave him when he desperately needs them more than ever. So, attempts to escape do enrage him to an extent but he could never actually get upset with you. Not all can bare with these types of experiences, so he doesn't blame you. All he has to do is up the ante in barriers and security in your place of capture. And maybe do the same for you.

[H]ell :: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Hmm, if I had to pick, it would be the few times he deprived you of food and water as a form of punishment. Strengthening your restraints and such as well, causing nasty bruises to form along your wrists. That and the time he locks you up for long durations in pitch darkness as another form of punishment. But this treatment type only comes when you seriously cross the line.

[I]deals :: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He planned everything out already! He wants an estate and to be married and four kids and a pet chicken named Kota! But in all seriousness, he sees himself falling for you further in the future and you doing the same to him. He sees you walking down the aisle looking utterly extravagant! That's the main thing he dreams of each night. To make it official with you. To tie you with him until death do you both part.

[J]ealousy :: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Not really, but he can't control it when he does get this strong feeling. He usually tries to be passive-aggressive with his jealousy, uttering snarky remarks under his breath but never anything too direct. He usually sulks in his jealousy until he reminds himself that you truly belong to him and him only! It's pretty useless wasting emotions on those who aren't worth it.

[K]isses :: How do they act around or with their darling?

Fairly.. normal in public spaces. I mean, it is Tanjiro after all, he acts cheerful and sweet, comforting when he needs to. He acts like his usual self, however, there is a distinct possessive nature which lurks deep within him that comes out of hiding ever so often. He is keen on having your attention all to himself, and will become highly frustrated if someone were to even hold you in a conversation.

[L]ove letters :: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Easy. I think that Kamado would definitely be a strong believer that all relationships last longer when they are friends or good acquaintances before pursuing an actual relationship; ergo, he would attempt to befriend you before dropping some hints on the matter.

[M]ask :: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not entirely, Tanjiro is Tanjiro, he will always be what he is, a good person deep down that wants nothing more than to help others in need, but you, you bring out something he could have never imagined himself being like - How hostile he could truly get around others when they've done nothing wrong, a sense of urgency always takes over him when he's with you, and he'd be very clingy, you must pay attention to him! and him only.

[N]aughty :: How would they punish their darling?

As I stated previously in [H]ell, I would say he isn't one for many punishments. The most he'll do (when you're finally abducted of course), is tighten your restraints to the point you feel like you're losing circulation to that area. The cold steel tightens around your wrists, almost making your hand feel completely numb; now that would be the worst. The second type of punishment is depriving you of food and water for at least a day or two, while you're stuck in the darkness, with only his voice to alleviate your whines and needs.

[O]ppression :: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The most Kamado would do is restrict you from having much freedom; when he 'punishes' you, he cracks away at your basic needs: nutrients, food and water. So I would say that's bad by itself but your social interaction will also be limited, as expected. The only one you could ever truly see besides him is Nezuko, and even then, she has issues with her speech.

[P]atience :: How patient are they with their darling?

Extremely patient, it's kind of scary at times, he rarely ever snaps - and if he does it's not something noticeable. The only thing that would change is that his always soft smile would shift into more of a neutral frown accompanied by a blank stare. Another thing about Tanjiro is that he's incredibly understanding, which makes him more tolerable than other yanderes, in turn, he can see why you will not enjoy these circumstances. So take all the time you need to adjust.

© angelic-dew, please don't translate or reclaim without permission <3

[vigilvntes]

Home, Sweet Home – Dick Grayson x Reader

A/N: wjsksksksjd hi. almost 6k of dick grayson flirty fluff. restraint??? i don't know her. i've never heard of her. but i'm back on my dick grayson / jason todd bullshit so! is this ooc?? probably. do i care?? no. did i just want to write some fun flirty charming boyfriend dick grayson fluff because i'm in love with him?? yes. so here you go. shout out to @bvcksmunson for reading this for me before i posted i love you shan!!!!! sorry for any mistakes or typos or wHatever and sorry if you read this in advance !!!! <3 mwah big kiss.

W/C: 5.8k

Warnings: language, sex references because it's me what did we expect, slight references to violence (hopefully i got everything, if not let me know!!)

likes, comments and rbs are very much appreciated !!! <3

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Dick is quick to react to your harsh greeting, throwing himself against your refrigerator dramatically, one hand gripping at the metal corner while the other clutches at his heart through the thick material of his suit. You watch him with raised eyebrows as he sinks down to your kitchen floor with a groan, biting back a smile because you'd hate for him to see that his little display more than amuses you; you're not sure you could live with yourself if you let him have that ego boost.

Dick Grayson is a major pain in your ass, but you'd be lying if you said you're not happy to see your boyfriend.

The hand on his chest flops to the floor, his legs spread out in a V shape, and he leans his head back against your refrigerator, eyes closed. It's quiet between the two of you as you watch him play dead, occasionally cracking open his right eye to make sure you're still watching before screwing it shut again.

You've let him have his moment; indulged in the dramatics enough to satisfy him you think, so you fold your arms over your chest and cock your head, asking, "Are you finished?"

Dick gasps for air suddenly, hyperventilating and choking for at least a minute before hurling his body with a loud thump. He lays on his back, arms and legs splayed out across your kitchen floor. One final, strained breath, and he falls silent again.

Oh, the poor fuckers in the apartment below.

You unfold your arms and give him a slow round of applause as you make your way towards him, looking down at him from above. "Wow. That was really something. I mean, what a show. Truly."

Blue eyes open to meet your own. He's already discarded the domino mask, left it sitting on your countertop along with an array of loose items from his suit. You can tell he's trying so desperately to keep a straight face as you stare down at him. "It's not a show. You've wounded me." He tells you.

You pout, mockingly. "Aw. You poor thing. Give me a minute and I'll cry about it."

"Feels like I've been shot through the heart."

With a roll of your eyes you step around him, opening the cupboard above the sink and grabbing a glass. "Don't tempt me. I might think about actually shooting you next time."

He springs to his feet as you flip the tap on, your back to him while you fill your glass. "Wow. A cold welcome and a threat. Is that any way to greet your favourite boyfriend?" You can practically hear the boyish grin in his tone.

You spin around, leaning against your counter, finally getting a good look at him. He's standing just over a metre away from you, hands on his hips with a smile on his lips that reaches from ear to ear. His black hair is ruffled, falling in his face; probably a consequence of the wind working against him on the way over to your place. There's a few scratches on his cheeks, and one on his chin, but that does nothing to take away from the fact that he's so damn handsome. You know it, and he does too. It's something you curse him for whenever he's around; it makes you falter, you lose your edge a little.

"Who says you're my favourite boyfriend?" You raise the glass to your lips and take a small sip. You're not particularly thirsty, it's more of a tactical move to distract yourself from caving into him immediately; a way to mask the smile that's been teetering on the edge since you saw him stood in your kitchen, raiding through the fridge before you caught him and he began his little performance.

Dick is unfazed by your slightly cutting words, however unserious they are. He knows he's your only boyfriend, there's no one in Blüdhaven who could even begin to compete with him. That grin of his refuses to shift as he asks, "Did I crack the top ten?"

"Barely. I'd place you at number nine."

He shrugs, "Good enough for me. Just don't tell me about these other boyfriends. I don't think my poor heart could take it."

You'll never resist an opportunity to wind him up, so you glance up at the ceiling and sigh, heavy and dreamy, "Well, the guy at number one—..."

Before you can conjure up a fake name and story for your very fake other boyfriend, he's already taken two long strides towards you, trapping you between his body and the counter. He raises his gloved hand up to your face, running it across your cheek down to your jaw, before pressing his index finger against your lips. "Didn't I just tell you not to tell me about your other boyfriends?"

Had anyone else tried their luck in silencing you, attempted to tell you what to do, you're certain you'd have them laid out in ten seconds, flat. Maybe five, if you're feeling particularly vicious. Dick Grayson is the exception. You've known him for years, been dating him for almost three, yet you still enjoy the back and forth of it all; that 'thrill of the chase' feeling is still there, and it still excites both of you just as much as it did all those years ago.

So you play along, a smirk on your lips, "I've never really liked being told what to do."

Dick chuckles quietly, "Don't I know that."

"Yeah. You do." More than anyone.

Your history with him is a long one.

It started back when you were operating in and around Blüdhaven under the alias 'Thorn'. Not very original, you know, and Nightwing made sure to remind you of that every time your paths crossed. You were a little spiteful, feeling as though Nightwing's transfer to Gotham's so called 'ugly sister city' made all the hard work you'd put into protecting the city look like nothing in comparison. You got on his radar pretty quickly, tracking his leads and making sure you got to them first, just to see the look on his face when he turned up and realised he was too late, that you'd already handled the situation. Sure, you didn't have half of the technology that he had from the big, bad Batman himself, but you still found a way to get the job done.

It continued like this for a while; the two of you working against each other, trying to be smarter and faster – better – than the other. Until you came across a threat bigger than the both of you, and a reluctant partnership was established. It was supposed to be a one night only kind of thing, but it quickly spiralled into an every night ordeal, with a sexual tension between the two of you that could've given Hollywood a run for it's money. He'd try and give orders – Batman style – and most of the time you'd blatantly defy him, because you've never really been the type to follow orders, and you knew he got a kick out of it, too.

You really, truly tried to keep your distance, to not allow yourself to be taken in by his dumb flirty comments, his cheesy grin whenever he made you smile, or that light blush that crept across his cheeks whenever you decided to have your own fun with him and flirt back. You tried really hard not to stare at his ass when you thought he wasn't looking, too. But were you ever going to tell him no when he pushed you up against the wall in a dark, wet back alley after a particularly stressful mission, hopped up on adrenaline and just aching for a release?

No, you weren't; you definitely didn't deny him.

It was nice. You were fine with quick, desperate sex in the most private place you could find after a mission followed by a night of sitting on rooftops, talking about anything and everything. One night, he unmasked himself, told you who he really was, and you returned the favour with little to no hesitation because you liked him – despite the embarrassment you felt about having a silly little crush – and you trusted him, most importantly.

It was an unspoken thing for the most part; you were both more than okay with avoiding the 'boyfriend' label because you liked being independent, and Dick – well he seemed to have commitment issues that were, truthfully, unmatched. Which is why it came as a surprise to you when he slipped through your apartment window one night (the one you leave unlocked purposefully for him), crawled into bed next to you and told you very sincerely that he wanted to try 'the boyfriend thing' – he wanted it to be just you and him. You're not sure what brought on his little outburst of romance, but you never doubted him when he told you he loved you that night.

You hung up your suit a year later, choosing to move on from your days of protecting the city, opting instead for a life of normality. Well, as much normality as you could get whilst dating Blüdhaven's very own Bird Boy. It felt right, but a small part of you feared Dick would get bored of you and your new oh-so-normal life – that he wouldn't want to stick around and just exist with you. Your fears were unwarranted, though, because nothing changed for either of you.

Dick is still here, with you; he's still aching for your love and your touch and your everything. You share an apartment. The cupboards are stocked with continental condiments, shelves full of weird knick knacks and multicoloured ornaments he's found abandoned over the years on his nightly patrols. The walls are lined with little plaques that read 'Live, Laugh, Love' and 'Home Sweet Home'; things he claimed to find funny and you detested for the longest time until it hit you one day that he really just loves having a place – a person – to call his. Somewhere he can just be with someone who loves him unconditionally.

As you look up into his eyes, his finger still on your lips, you can't help but think how truly head over heels you are for him, and you know he feels the same. Blüdhaven is, to be frank, a wasteland. Full of grime and grit, with a tainted history that it just can't seem to shake off – one that continues to this day. Dick Grayson is the one thing that keeps you grounded to this city; makes you feel like all of the hours, blood, sweat and tears you poured into the city to protect the people was all worth it, because you found each other. He's the bright light shining above the darkness, the only thing that keeps you here and still has you calling it your home.

But despite your feelings towards him, you still take every opportunity you can to bite at him – literally.

You bat your eyelashes at him and part your lips, taking the tip of his gloved finger into your mouth. He visibly tenses when your tongue swirls against the leather; lets out a breath – almost a moan, when you suck ever so slightly. You're insistent on maintaining eye contact, but he's struggling to look you in the eyes as his face flushes bright red.

You bite down.

Not too harsh, but also not so gentle. It's enough to stun him, makes him jump away from you rather comically. You break out into a laugh while he shakes his hand, looking at you like you've just made him suffer through the ultimate betrayal.

"Ow." He pouts.

Through your giggles, you say, "Aw, did that hurt you, Bird Boy?"

"A little." He mumbles, trying his utmost to keep that sad, little pout on his lips as he watches you laugh at his misery.

"You're a liar, Dick Grayson."

Dick scoffs, "I'm not lying." He points an accusatory finger at you, the same one you sank your teeth into moments ago, "You bite hard."

"You never complained about that before." You say with a shrug, chewing down on your bottom lip.

He raises his hands in surrender, because he knows you're right. "And I'm not about to."

"Good." You let out a content sigh and push yourself off the counter, stepping towards where he stands in the middle of the kitchen. "So what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Gotham?"

Dick shrugs, "Just got back. I thought I'd fly by our apartment. No pun intended." But that dumb smirk on his lips tells you that he meant all pun intended. His hands move to your hips, pulling your body close to his. There's earnest in his voice when he tells you, "I missed you. A lot."

You smile up at him, your hands on his chest, fingers tracing the blue symbol on the front of his suit. "Missing someone you love is usually what happens when you haven't seen them in more than two weeks." You joke, poking at his chest.

Despite your lighthearted tone, his face still falls. Guilt clouds in his eyes, and his smirk flips into a sad, little frown. "I'm–..."

You stand on your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his and cutting him off before he can even begin to apologise. He tastes like strawberry chapstick and all the coffee he's been drinking to keep himself awake over the last two weeks. It's a weird combination of flavours, but one that you've become so accustomed to that you wouldn't change it for the world.

You swear you hear him moan quietly against your lips as he kisses you, so desperate to touch you and be close to you and love you. He pulls you towards him by your hips, your body flush against his, so close you can almost hear – no feel, his heartbeat.

You relish in the moment, allowing him to take control for a second because you've missed him too. You started missing him the minute he left your apartment, Gotham bound. You've missed waking up beside him. His bed-head. His smile. The way he sings power ballads in the shower when he doesn't think you're listening, even though you are because how the hell are you not supposed to hear him? You've missed every single piece of him, and you're glad he's been returned to you in pristine condition.

You pull away from him before things can get too heated, before he can even think about slipping his tongue into your mouth and lifting you up on to the counter. Dick is breathless, already wound up. The pale skin of his cheeks flooded with heat that stains them crimson, and you can't help but take a second to appreciate how cute he looks like this. And he's looking at you – in all your glory, donning old pyjamas and a crazy bed head – like you're the most beautiful, precious thing he's ever laid his eyes on. It makes you feel weak in the knees.

"I missed you too." You mumble, pushing a few wayward strands of hair out of his face.

He sighs, "Listen, dove, I'm really–..."

You throw your head back, letting out a loud ugghhhh mixed in with a giggle. "Shut up. I don't need to hear the famous Dick Grayson 'I'm sorry' speech again."

"Things just got–..."

"A little crazy!" You walk away from him, heading out of the kitchen and into the living room area; he follows your trail like a lost puppy, as he always does. "I heard what happened. Read it in the Gazette. You don't have to apologise for it. I get it."

Dick stands next to the couch as you walk over to the open window that he slipped through earlier tonight, hands on his hips. "So... You're not mad at me? Not even annoyed?" He sounds unsure, as if he's just waiting for you to blow up at him, even though he knows you're past that point. Hell, you've never been at that point. You've always been understanding of him and his situation; you were in the same boat as him for god knows how long, struggling to keep a relationship because you couldn't seem to find a balance between your life in and out of the suit. You've never held it against him, and you wouldn't think about starting to.

You glance over your shoulder and give him a soft, sweet smile as reassurance while you try to shove the old, stiff single-hung window shut. "Your family's in Gotham, and they needed your help."

You've only met his strange, mis-matched Gotham family a handful of times, but you care about them like they're your own, because in a way they are. The first time you met them, after the initial surprise of finding out you're Thorn – 'the one Dickie-Bird never shuts the fuck up about', as Jason put it – they welcomed you with open arms, even Bruce. You receive regular check in texts from Cass (usually a meme), and Damian calls you demanding to speak with Dick whenever he suspects he's being purposefully ignored.

"I'd rather you be gone for two weeks straight than hear any bad news coming from Gotham. Especially about you or your family." You give the window one last, hard shove, stepping back when it finally closes with a thud. You turn your attention back to him, "So, no. Not even annoyed. But I do wish you'd close the window after yourself."

Dick shrugs, a small grin on his lips, "I think the breeze is nice."

You scoff, "It's not a breeze. It's wind. Seriously, if you don't start closing the window when you come in, I'm gonna lock it. I'm gonna make you use the entrance. You're gonna have to knock on the door to get in here."

He lets out the most petulant whine you've ever heard, one that you're sure he's used on Bruce one too many times to get his own way – it probably worked, too. "That's not fair."

You just whine back at him mockingly as you walk over to the couch and flop yourself down on your back. "Oh, how tragic. You'll have to use the door of the apartment we've been renting for over a year. My heart hurts for you."

"What if you're asleep?" He asks, folding his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised.

You shrug, smirking at him, "Then you'll have to wait outside allllll night until I wake up."

"What if it's an emergency?"

"Then you'll have to make sure you knock extra loud."

"You're so cruel to me. Always out to hurt poor Dickie's feelings." He climbs up onto the arm of the couch, knees pressing into the soft cushion, ready to drop his body onto yours and melt into you. But you stick your foot out before he can, pushing against his chest and keeping him stationary. He gives you a look of offence, slapping your foot gently in a weak attempt to make you move. You don't.

"Stop leaving the window open."

"I will." He affirms, tapping your foot again.

"Promise?"

"Yes. I promise." He says, with a childish roll of his eyes.

You narrow your eyes at him for a moment, a slight warning that tells him he better take his promise seriously, before dropping your foot. Without hesitation, he lets his body free fall on to yours, although careful not to crush you under his full weight. Still, you let out a quiet oof, because he's heavy – even heavier in that suit of his. You don't have time to think about asking him to shift his weight a little, because his legs are on either side of your body, hands have already found their way to your waist, and his lips are on yours in an instant.

Passionate and slow to begin with, making up for the weeks he's spent away from you; though it seems to turn heated quickly. You let him take the lead, allow him to nip on your bottom lip gently and slip his tongue into your mouth. You give him a minute to re-explore the familiar territory before you decide to have some fun of your own, biting down on his tongue gently and sucking against it. Dick lets out the most delicious, pathetic moan you've ever heard: one that has you giggling whilst pressing your thighs together in an attempt to keep yourself under control.

He pulls back, nose pressed against your own, shooting you a playful glare while your shoulders shake with quiet laughter. "What?" He asks, voice low and on the gruffer side, a bad cover up for what he'd just let slip from his throat seconds ago.

"Someone's excited tonight."

"Hm. Told you." He kisses your nose gently, then your cheek, trailing kisses all the way down to your jaw. "Missed you." He tucks his face into your neck, and you let out a gasp when you feel his tongue drag against the sensitive skin, your back arching into him. "'Nd m'sorry." He mumbles.

"I thought I told you not to apologise." You say, though it's strained; his lips are attached to your neck, and you're finding it hard to even think, let alone form sentences.

"I still wanted to."

You breathe out a laugh, though it turns into something of a moan when you feel his teeth scrape against your skin. "Can't help yourself, can you?"

"Nope." He says, popping the 'P'. Without warning, he bites down on the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder. You let out a noise – something between a yelp and a loud moan, and when you look down at him with a pout on your lips, he's grinning at you. "Payback."

"You're a fuckhead."

"You started it."

"....Touché."

You fall quiet, allowing him to continue on with his revenge attack on your neck, whimpering when he sucks down on your sweet spots; cursing under your breath when he slips his cold, gloved hand under the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Don't you have somewhere to be tonight?" You ask. A throwaway question, really. Just a cheap little dig at him to distract yourself from the fact he's getting you riled up.

But then he pauses, his whole body tensing for just a moment, before he answers with a, "No..."

And now your throwaway question is a serious inquiry. "So you do have somewhere you need to be tonight?"

He hums against your skin, "It can wait."

The truth is, it probably can't wait. You try not to read up on crime in Blüdhaven so often, try to keep your days of being a protecter of the city in the past as much as you can (Dick is the exception, of course), but even you know that the city has suffered massively from Nightwing's two week leave of absence in Gotham. Gang and mob activities began to rise the second he left; Blüdhaven always seems to deteriorate into madness when he's not around to keep everyone and everything in line.

With a sigh, you grab on to the back of his suit and pull him away from you, choosing to ignore his whiny protest, making him look at you. "If there's somewhere you need to be, you should go."

"I already told you. It can wait."

You smile at him, brows raised, "Can it? You've been gone for two weeks. You have a lot of catching up to do. Blühaven's really been missing its Boy Wonder."

Dick smirks, "Has it missed me as much as you?"

"I don't think that's possible. I've been crying, like, every day. Total devastation while you've been gone."

"And not a single word of comfort from your nine other boyfriends?" His jaw drops in mock disbelief. "I don't know why you like them more than me."

You hum, "I only like eight of them more than I like you."

He snorts, "Oh, well that makes all the difference."

You smack his shoulder playfully, "Get up."

With a groan, he uses the back cushions of the sofa to push himself off of you, "Can't believe I'm being kicked out of my own apartment. I've been here for, like, fifteen minutes, and I'm already being told to leave." He stands up, stretching out his back as he trudges back to the kitchen to pick up the discarded mask and gadgets he left on the counter. "I'm starting to think you're just dying to get rid of me."

You gasp, "Me?! Never!" You sit yourself up, back leaning against the arm. "I'm just looking out for you. You've already fallen behind schedule."

He chuckles as he straps his gear back into place, "Then why don't you dust off that suit of yours and help me get back on track?"

"Absolutely not. My vigilante days are over." You say with a scoff.

"Don't you miss it?" He asks, shoving his escrima sticks into the tight straps on his back.

"If by 'it', you mean having to haul your ass out of a mess every night because you can't help but bite off more than you can chew, then no. I don't."

"Hey! That's unfair!"

"Is it?"

Dick scoffs, "Yeah. We all know you're the worst at following orders."

You fling your legs over the side of the couch and push yourself up, "Yeah, I am. But you're impulsive."

He fits the domino mask on, and you can't help but feel slightly satisfied at how it sits on his face so perfectly. "Yeah, well, I'm doing fine on my own. Very much alive, actually."

You saunter over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso, looking up at him through your lashes, "Thanks to me. I kept you out of the shit for god knows how long."

"And I'm continuing to keep myself out of it." He taps your nose. "Learnt from the best." You smile softly at him, but then he follows up with, "I meant Batman, by the way." Before he can even gauge your reaction, he's already cracked himself up with his own joke, like he'd been planning it in his head the whole time. He probably – no, definitely had been.

You step back, folding your arms across your chest and shoving your tongue into your cheek to stop yourself from laughing along with it. "You're an asshole."

"I'm your asshole, though." Dick gives you his cheesiest grin as he struts over to the window, patting his body down to check he hasn't forgotten anything. You follow him, stand beside him as he slides the window open with ease and curse him internally because that window – the one he leaves open almost every night – is usually your greatest enemy. But of course, it plays ball for the golden boy. Typical.

With a rather dramatic sigh he climbs through, only partly though, sitting on the sill with one leg dangling freely above the city and the other still in your apartment, foot pressing against the hardwood floor. "I won't be too long. Promise." He tells you.

You snort, "That translates to 'I'll see you in the morning', in Dick Grayson terms."

Dick lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, a soft smile on his lips, "Maybe. But I'll be home for breakfast, for sure. What do you want? I'm feeling..." He pauses for a second, chewing on his bottom lip before he comes to a conclusion, "Pancakes."

"You're always feeling pancakes. They're like, the only thing you're good at making. Unless we want our whole apartment building to burn down because you decided to branch out for breakfast."

"Pancakes it is!" He announces.

"Cool."

He nods, "Yeah. Cool."

Then it falls quiet between the two of you. Dick rubs his chin, staring right at you – specifically a certain part of your face – as you chew down on that something and glance around the room, feigning cluelessness. He won't leave without a kiss goodbye; not once has he climbed through the window and disappeared into the night without planting his lips on yours. You'll give into him, because you always do, but you love to tease. Not to mention the fact he's only just come back, and although you're more than happy for him to go out and take care of whatever's going on in the streets, you're willing to delay Nightwing's return to Blüdhaven for a little while longer.

You're making a point to look anywhere but at him, and the longer the silence drags on, the more you begin to feel the giggles rising in your throat. You can't even look at him for more than a second, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tries to fight back hysterics because he knows what you're doing.

Eventually, you take it upon yourself to break the silence, covering your mouth with your hand and asking through stifled laughter, "Are you gonna leave?"

Dick breaks, bursting out into a fit of laughter. He leans his head back against the window frame, shoulders shaking. "I can't leave yet." You shoot him an amused look that says 'oh really?'. "You know what I want."

You let out a lighthearted groan which quickly descends into a giggle, "Do I have to?"

"Uh-huh. Got two weeks to make up for."

"And whose fault is that?"

He shrugs, "Mine, and I'm dead set on making up for lost time. Bring it here, Thorny." He leans over and grabs your hand, pulling you towards him.

"Don't fucking call me that." You try to say it with as much malice as you can muster, which is hard considering you can't seem to stop grinning at him.

"Wow. Someone's feeling prickly tonight. I can see why you called yourself Thorn." His hand rests on the small of your back, gently commanding you to stay put.

"Fuck you, Grayson. I'll push you out of the window."

His brows shoot up in amusement at your meaningless threat. "That'd be rude."

"Yeah?"

Dick nods slowly, "Yeah. Could kill me." That's a lie. Both of you know that even if you did mean it and you were planning to push him out, he'd find a way to counter. You live on the top floor of your building, but he's a trained acrobat and a quick thinker with enough gadgets on his person to ensure he'd be back at your window in two minutes, tops.

Still, you play along. "Maybe that's the goal."

"You love me too much to kill me."

"Oh, you think?"

He blows out his cheeks, "Wow. You're so mean to me."

You reach up and run your fingers through his soft hair, "Yet you keep coming back."

"Well, I do live here." He deadpans. You stare at him for a good ten seconds before you break out into another fit of giggles, punching his shoulder and breathing out a 'fuck you'. He raises his free hand, "I'm just saying. Wouldn't wanna go through the moving out process. Y'know, having to pack my stuff and hire a moving service—...."

"Get out!"

"Nuh-uh. Gimme a kiss first." Dick leans closer to you and puckers his lips, screwing his eyes shut. He gives you a moment, and when he doesn't feel you move he raises his hand and taps his index finger against his lips. "I won't leave until you kiss me."

With another groan, you lean in and plant your lips against his. You try to pull away quickly, short and sweet, but he keeps you close. He kisses you again, and again, and again. Until you're practically balancing on the heels of your feet, held up only by his strong hand on your back, and he's almost back inside of your apartment.

You let out a breathless laugh against his lips, your hands pushing against his shoulders, "Go, or I won't let you leave."

"Is that a promise?" He murmurs.

"Go."

With a sigh, he turns his body and lifts his other leg over the window, gripping on to the top pane to keep himself seated for the time being. He looks over his shoulder at you, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

You give him a smile, "Okay."

"I'm gonna make you the best pancakes you've ever eaten."

"I'm sure."

He rolls his eyes playfully, because how dare you doubt his pancake making skills. "See you in the morning, babe. Love you!" With that, he pushes himself off the window and free falls.

You've watched him do it countless times, but you can't help the way it takes your breath away every single time; panic sucker punches you right in the stomach and you can't help but yell out 'Richard John Grayson' as you throw yourself towards the window and lean the upper half of your body out into the cold city.

That wing-suit of his will be the death of you one day.

You look down at the dimly lit streets, looking for any sign of your boyfriend who's just allowed himself to drop from the top floor of the apartment building, but he's nowhere in sight. It's only when you hear his voice calling your name that you realise he's standing atop a lower roof across the street, a dumb grin on his lips.

"That was really funny, Dickie!" You yell out sarcastically, folding your arms across your chest.

"It's my party trick!" He shouts back, resting his hands on his hips. "You know what I always say: you'll never know if you can fly unless—...."

"You take the risk of falling! Whatever! Get out of here!"

You hear him laugh, despite the distance between you. He turns, ready to take off into the depths of the city, but not before yelling another, "I love you!"

With an eye roll, and a soft smile on your lips, you tell him, "I love you too! Be safe!" You're just about to retreat back into the warmth of your apartment, but you remember you still need to tell him something very important. "Close the window when you get back!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know!"

The next morning, you wake up to a sleep-deprived boyfriend cursing under his breath at a bowl of homemade pancake mix, and a very open window.

[cookiesforsigma]

✧Fyodor Centered Headcanons // dating✧

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x Gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: none

W/c: 1.5k

A/n: I actually did this in one sitting my body hurts from staying still for so long ahhh also this is my first post and im not a good writer ok. i rly hope Fyodor isn't ooc here

--Fyodor dating headcanons--

1. General + fluff

— I think we all know he's not the most romantic/affectionate lover (though he's so attractive, in your eyes, he's a gentleman).

— Even after you start dating him, Fyodor will still be (cold?) formal to you. He somehow still manages to show his affection towards you in this manner.

— He's softer around you than he is around anybody.

— He prefers giving you attention when you're alone rather than in public.

— He's a bit obsessed with you. Fyodor is so used to getting what he wants, so he has slight yandere tendencies.

— To him, his lover is most precious.

— He lets you wear his ushanka (his hat) and his coat, and he secretly thinks you look adorable dressed like him. He'd never outright admit it, of course.

— Fyodor probably will not make the first move. By that I mean he won’t kiss you unless you kiss him, but that only applies before your first kiss. He does see you staring though.

— He sometimes teases you and acts mean on purpose just to get a reaction out of you. Fyodor thinks you look so cute when you're mad at him and hug a pillow instead of hugging him, but he can't stand being ignored. He'll apologize soon.

— He's extremely observant. He is always able to read you like an open book.

— And don't think he doesn't notice anything you do. Whether it's a small act of affection like brushing your knuckles against his 'by accident', smiling more or less than usual or fidgeting, he notices all of it. Not in a creepy way though.

— Speaking of, he loves small acts of affection. He's almost always holding your hand, he gives you small kisses, and he strokes your hair sometimes.

- - - ♡ - - -

Holding your hand;

— Gosh, he's almost always holding your hand. He especially loves when you intertwine your fingers. He isn't big on physical touch, so this is a great way for him to feel closer to you.

— Sometimes, if he doesn't feel like it, he won't let go of your hand as it is 'such a bother'. Even after your hands become sweaty, you'll have to beg him to let go. Because he won't. (not willingly)

— Fyodor doesn't do a lot of pinky holding. He wants to feel your palms against his. Plus, his hands are always cold because of his anemia, and holding hands properly is the best way to keep him warm (outside of cuddle sessions).

- - - ♡ - - -

Kisses;

— He adores soft kisses. He's also not much of a lip kisser. His favorite places to kiss you are your cheek and forehead (and your hand, on rare occasions).

— He sometimes has bursts of affection, mostly after a long day at work, but they are very small and they don't last very long. It'd hurt his ego if he showed his desperation for your love.

— These small bursts of affection are the moments he gives you kiss attacks.

— Passionate kisses only happen during makeout sessions, which, of course, happen later in the relationship. I'd say it's worth the wait, given that he's an incredibly good kisser and his passionate kisses are so passionate. (obv they are im so stupid.)

— Don't expect him to kiss you first though. Fyodor rarely ever makes the first move.

— But he does notice you staring at his lips, expecting him to kiss you.

— He has a habbit of biting his nails, so it's difficult not to stare.

— And his lips are extremely soft. And warm. Any wait you have to go through, it's worth it.

- - - ♡ - - -

Playing with your hair;

— If you have long hair, he absolutely loves it. It's classic of him to prefer long hair, don't you think?

— If you have short hair, that's fine too. Your hair length does not determine how much he loves you by any means. He just thinks your hair is such a delicate thing about you.

— If you have long hair though, you can expect him to stare. A lot.

— Fyodor loves seeing you with your hair untied, or seeing the different hairstyles you try, even if you just put your hair up lazily, he thinks any hairstyle looks good on you.

— He's not always touching your hair, but it makes him happy when you let him brush it, play with it, or try new hairstyles on you.

— He'll only brush your hair after a shower or if you ask him to, play with it when he feels like it, braid it when he thinks it'll get tangled. He doesn't play with your hair 24/7, as I said, but he's always more than happy to if you ask him.

- - - ♡ - - -

Sitting/laying your head on his lap and vice versa;

— Fyodor doesn't mind if you sit on his lap or lay your head on his thigh while he works. In fact, he actually likes it.

— He'd be a little surprised as he's very touch starved and he'll find it difficult to relax, but he will for your comfort.

— These are the moments he'll run his fingers through your hair and pat your head gently (and awkwardly). But you love the feeling of his hands, there's no way you could ever complain.

— Fyodor will also brush your hair out of your face and maybe kiss your hand, but after you fall asleep.

— He never gets enough rest, which is why you'll just go to sleep on his lap most of the time. But you still get chances to sleep with him.

— He'll let you sleep peacefully if it's a short afternoon nap, but at night he'll snuggle with you after he finishes his work.

— He's too cocky to lay his head on your lap. Again, it'd hurt his ego. So you'd have to ask him to do that.

— Making him sit on your lap is out of the question.

— If you manage to get him to lay his head on your thigh and you want him to do it again sometime, you need to stroke his hair and maybe bend down to give him a kiss.

— Oh God he's definitely doing this again.

— He doesn't like being put in 'vulnerable' positions, but he can't help it when your fingers massage that one spot on his head.

— After the first time he falls asleep on your lap, he won't even bother asking. He'll just sit you down somewhere and tell you he's sleepy, and then wait to be taken care of.

— Of course, this is the kind of thing Fyodor would only do in private, and he'd appreciate it if you didn't try to do this in front of anyone either.

- - - ♡ - - -

Spending time together;

— Fyodor's quite introverted, so he'd prefer an introverted s/o. Even if you're not introverted, as long as you're not loud, he's fine with it.

— The reason I'm mentioning this is because he wants the two of you to be able to enjoy each other's company in silence sometimes.

— He can play his cello for you while you work on something, he can play with your hair while you read a book, or you could cuddle and take a nap.

— Fyodor doesn't always feel the need to hold a conversation to enjoy your presence. He knows you're next to him, and that's enough for him.

- - - ♡ - - - ♡ - - - ♡ - - -

2. Comfort

— Let's be honest now... He sucks at comforting people. (how am i going to write this..)

— He's never dealt with anyone crying before, let alone a person he cares about.

— The difference between a crying person and a crying person he cares about is that he's scared of hurting the feelings of the person he cares about. (makes sense? no.)

— Fyodor won't struggle to comfort you as long as you're not crying. He'll buy you food if you want, he'll play chess/card games with you, he'll play his cello for you, he'll give you his hat... He will just do this best to cheer you up.

— But he's aware that if you start crying, cheering you up is not the right solution. He's going to try to hold you and let you cry in his arms.

— He won't talk much. He really wouldn't know what to say in situations like these.

— There's a chance he'll complain about you getting his clothes wet...? I'm so sorry but it sounds like something he'd do. Not always though.

— He cares about you, but he doesn't feel the need to remind you, as it'd make him feel awkward and he knows you're aware of that already.

— Fyodor is still going to hold you for as long as you need.

— He'll ask you what the matter is, and he'll be fine with it if you don't want to answer. He'll probably make you a drink or try to cheer you up once you've stopped crying.

— He'll hold you some more if needed.

— If you do decide to tell him what's bothering you, he might think it's not worth crying over. Depends if it's an insecurity or someone's death.

— If it is an insecurity Fyodor will give you some praise and compliments, but again, 'it's a pathetic reason to cry'.

— He's not good at giving advice if that's what you need.

— But he'll listen and hold you, even if he doesn't openly admit he cares for you as much as he really does.

- - - ♡ - - - ♡ - - - ♡ - - -

[bookish-bogwitch]

Thank you @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @nausikaaa, @larkral,

@hushed-chorus, @alexalexinii, @monbons, @whatevertheweather, @run-for-chamo-miles,

@artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @forabeatofadrum, and @aristocratic-otter for the tags over the past few weeks. I've had a crazy month (90% in crazy a good way) and too frazzled to come up with my own WIP posts, but have enjoyed reading yours and being included.

Here are six ten moody little sentence from Chapter 11 of Basil Pitch's Diary. (In case you missed it, I posted Ch. 10, September, a few weeks ago, then fled the country.) Baz is hanging in in Niall and Dev's room:

The last time I was here with Niall, he’d told me to hold out for more than ear scritches and the occasional carrot. Now we sat on his bed with a chessboard between us. “Baz,” Niall said quietly. “What are you doing?”  “Beating you.” I moved my queen to menace his remaining bishop. “With Snow, I mean.” Niall did that thing where the rook and king hop around, which shouldn’t be allowed, and I realized he’d won. Again. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, there is a me who grew up with someone to play against, demolishing a Niall who never went to math camp.

Below the cut: musing, a posting plan, and more tags.

Musing: I've actually written a ton since the last chapter even though I've been AWOL, but for a while no matter what I wrote, Baz felt out of character. I'd write a scene, like it, and then think "but why is he doing this?" Then I'd rewrite with Baz behaving completely differently, and that also felt OOC.

I worried that I'd somehow doomed myself with inconsistent characterization, but then I figured it out: Baz at this point is deeply inconsistent. He presents himself to the world one way, he tells the reader / himself that he's something else, and deep down he's a secret third thing. And sometimes his masks slip.

To some extent this is every unreliable narrator. But boyo has REALLY tangled himself up at this point. Something's gotta give. Until it does--which it will, soon--I have to be very clear in my mind, even if Baz isn't, about which Baz is driving the Baz at any given moment.

A lot of you can do that sort of thing intuitively. I can't. So I've been building this out (showing you just the headers b/c spoilers):

This might stultify some (most?) of you. For me, though, it's freeing. When my brain isn't trying to keep track of everything, my imagination can unfurl.

"'Everything'?" you ask. "This isn't that plotty a fic." It's not, but it's already 2.5x longer than anything else I've written, which means developing skills I haven't needed before. Anyway, my BPD chart and I are having fun. We're very happy together.

Posting Plan

I pushed myself to get Ch. 10 up before leaving home for three weeks, because Ch. 9 had ended on such a wretched note. While I was happy to have gotten it up, I didn't love the self-imposed time crunch (though betas @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, and @thewholelemon were fuckin' heroes). Feeling rushed had me stressing and second-guessing choices that were probably fine.

My plan now is to pause updates until I have at least a very rough first draft of the final chapter, then post it all at regular intervals. I know a longish pause means some folks who'd been reading along will wait until it's complete, if they return at all. To those folks--sorry, and I get it, and thank you for reading in the first place, and I love you.

Tags and shy waves to @brendughh  @beastmonstertitan  @carryonsimoncarryonbaz  @carryonmylovelies  @creepyspice

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@monbons @mooncello @raenestee @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @messofthejess