#And why did they leave us in the dark about it for so long

[help-itrappedmyself]

Pairing Thing

You guys remember that poll I put up a while ago, to help me pick a pairing to try practice writing romance/flirting. Well, this is that. It did not go where I had planned it too, and I'm not sure if it counts, but take it anyway.

Tim has reached his last nerve with their new hire. Tim surges toward Danny, intent on getting some answers out of him. Danny stumbles back at his approach, but Tim just reaches out, one hand grabbing ahold of Danny’s tie and the other pushing flat against Danny’s chest. In another quick second, Danny finds himself pressed against the wall of the classroom. 

Then, Tim loops the tie fully around his hand, tugging Danny’s face towards him. Danny’s breath hitches and his eyes go out of focus for a moment, lost in the sensation.

This makes Tim falter. The moment causes Tim’s mind to blank, forgetting to speak, and pausing as only one thought crashes circles. The thought circles around a few times before it starts to slip out of Tim’s mouth.

“You…” The word comes out angry, but Tim can’t quite make himself keep going the way he had planned a few moments ago. Tim looks Danny up and down, and Danny can do nothing but flush at the scrutiny, and the inevitable realization Tim comes to. Danny braces himself for the vitriol, but when Tim speaks next it is nothing but a murmur. 

“You like this.” A murmur in a voice that has turned into honey and Danny can do nothing, eyes slipping shut involuntarily.

“Do you not care that it's me that's eliciting this reaction? I thought you didn’t like me.” Tim wonders aloud, and Danny can hear a tone in the voice that threatens to elicit shivers. A tone of sharp curiosity that concerns Danny more than anything. Danny’s eyes flutter back open, locking with Tim’s.

“I don’t like rich people.” Danny mutters. “It’s nothing personal.”

Tim, very slowly, lets the tie slip from his fingers. Danny is tempted to sigh in relief but before the sigh can become reality, Danny feels those fingers slide to his throat. The second they reach the skin there Danny’s breath hitches on a gasp.

A dark smirk graces Tim's face and the grip on Danny’s throat tightens for just a moment, just long enough for Danny’s eyes to flutter. Danny practically whimpers, chin tilting up subconsciously, exposing more throat to Tim.

As the grip loosens again, Tim leans forward to whisper into Danny’s ear. “Tell me, Danny. Would you respond to anyone this way… or is there something about me that encourages this reaction?”

At that, Tim’s arms fall to his sides as he takes a step away. Danny blinks after him, dazed and confused.

After a few moments of nothing but them watching each other, Tim straightens and squares his shoulders. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“Tim.” Danny chokes out, a lump in his throat that was oddly hard to work around, and no true idea what he was going to say next. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he stood straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Trying to buy time, he tried to fix his shirt and tie as best as he could, but after a moment of fumbling with it he gave up. 

Tim was still standing there watching him, face a mask of indifference. 

Danny had the thought that he didn't need to answer Tim. He also didn't need to be here anymore, and so he turned to leave. 

But when he got to the door it wouldn't open. He glanced back at Tim, who didn't seem to have moved, before trying everything he could think of to get the door to unlock. 

After a few moments, Danny sighed deeply, resting his forehead against the door for a count of three before turning back around to face Tim again. 

“What have you done?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I locked the door.” Tim responded coolly. “I have full control of this building, you know?”

Tim walked back to his desk and sat down behind it. “ Now, I had some questions for you regarding your purpose in Gotham, why you chose to work with us at Wayne Enterprises, that kind of thing. But I find myself increasingly interested in your answer to my previous question.”

Danny swallows roughly. “Look, you're just going to have me on about it either way, why does it matter?” 

“It matters. Answer the question.” His eyes are hard and unwavering. Danny knows that he won't get out of here until Tim gets what he wants.

“It's because it's you, okay.” Danny spits the words out, hoping if they sound harsh enough, the content would be ignored in favor of the tone. “And I think this may count as some form of sexual harassment.” 

His hopes plummet as Tim starts to smirk.

“Well we could continue this meeting as normal if you would prefer.” Tim opens the folder he had placed on his desk after Danny walked in. “I will never bring it up again if you’d like.”

Danny sighs, then goes over to sit back down in the chair in front of Tim’s desk.

“Can we just continue the meeting?”

“Of course, Danny.” Tim winks.

[lifegrowsfromashes]

Scar stares up at the moon, from where he lays down in his bed. Grian’s across from him, muttering into the darkness, laying on top of the covers and tucking his head into his wings.

The air smells like dirt.

He thinks of the past day. Of the shouting. He wonders whether Grian will talk to him tomorrow.

He didn’t mean to lose a life. he never does, but something always happens. Grian knows he’s not as strong as the other hermits, but he still refuses to recognise it, and always expects more from Scar than he’s able to give. It was once they’d gotten to the desert that his face became harder, that something began to set behind his eyes.

He sighs. The perfectly arranged checkerboard of stars stare back at him, silent. Grian’s snoring, but just a little. He wonders if avians usually snore.

Scar breathes in the smell of their dirt house, and wonders whether he’ll be able to make it up to him.

He was joking around, when it happened. The sand was getting into his armour and he felt creaky all over. He’d known it was getting to Grian, but hadn’t realised the extent of his annoyance. Communication was… never a strong point.

They had started getting snappy with each other, at about midday. Scar’s limbs were aching, and he needed to rest, but Grian kept talking about how there were no torches around here and if they stopped now, they’d get eaten alive. And Scar didn’t want to think about that, so he tried to tell a joke, and Grian went all tense and funny, and said, through gritted teeth, ‘you’re seriously making a joke right now?’ and he didn’t have time to see the creeper coming up from behind him.

Something had hardened in Grian’s eyes. The urgency when he told him to run. The enchanted shine of his diamond sword coming out of its hilt.

Scar hadn’t realised. The sand had slowed down his reflexes. Once he turned around to fight, he only heard a hiss, and then- white.

The funny thing about dying here was that you didn’t feel the pain, specifically. It’s more, like, God, this should hurt. But nothing comes. Just a choice, to keep going, or to leave. 

Scar hated the artificiality of it. Death always felt so- unreal. For some players, it was the end of everything, but to him, it was more of a reminder. A taunt. He knew he'd never last long enough to escape its clutches.

When he came back, he felt lighter. Emptier. Something, some intangible thing, had withered his soul, a little. He looked up at where his nametag resided to see it was a sickly yellow. And then, coming over the dune of sand- Grian. Sat there, in the crevice the creeper had made, sorting his belongings into a chest.

Grian’s fists were curled tightly over the lump of gold in his hands. The totem. The totem Grian had told him, over and over, to use in an emergency, to keep by him at all times. The totem Scar had stored in a shulker.

Scar did his best to pick everything up off the floor, and to sort it all out into his inventory, But Grian had such a tight hold on that totem of undying, and when Scar asked for it back, Grian’s eyes began to shine with tears. And then he started shouting. 

It was all the usual things. Scar didn’t react fast enough, Scar couldn’t pull his weight, Grian was always picking up the slack, and why couldn’t he last longer than five minutes? And didn’t he know he’s only got three chances, and he’s already down to two? 

Scar got pretty good at taking it. The thing was, he knew the reason why. the real reason. 

Grian hated watching him die.

But he’d never say that. Instead they were trapped in this loop of Scar messing up, and Grian exploding, and him doing everything, everything he could, to fix it.

Usually, Mumbo would be the one to sort out their differences. Mumbo would tell them somthing to calm him down, something easy, about their explosive personalities. 

Scar wonders where he is, now. After the Warden had appeared, anyone who was able to survive that first attack had ran as far as they could. They hadn’t heard anything for the other Hermits for- well, it had been too long to tell.

Scar turns over to face Grian again. He looks so peaceful when he slept. There's still that fire, though, behind his eyes, the memory of his voice scorching Scar’s ears. But, as Mumbo said, that was how you knew he cared. Scar knew he cared. He just wishes he could show it in a way that was less… aggressive. He feels like the only way he could find out how Grian really felt about something was through fighting. And, God, he's so tired of fighting.

[anemptypuddingcup]

Love-Bombing.

Corazón (Rosinante Donquixote) x Female Reader.

I’ve been working on this for a good long while and I wanted to post it not only because I enjoyed writing Corazon’s personality but because I wanted to practice a bittersweet story. Writing dark stories kinda helps me practice and also makes it easier to write them the more I do, even if I shrivel up like a balloon while I do it.

Contains: SOMEWHAT UNCOMFORTABLE THEMES AHEAD! Use of sign language (Headcanon). Corazon is mute for the majority of this fic. An obsessive Corazón. Just about Corazón rushing a wanted relationship. Corazón and Reader are neighbors. Reader just recently moved in. Reader loves to cook. Reader and Corazón having a healthy relationship as neighbors. Corazón rushing their relationship a bit. Law makes an appearance. Mentions of Law being Corazón’s adoptive son. Non-consensual to consensual touching. Corazón breaking into Reader’s home. Dub-Con. Size difference kink. Oral & Fingering. Next part will contain…Y’know. This fic is a very long and also has a bit of time-skipping.

Corazón was sitting in the living room, his fingers softly pulling down the blinds as he stared out of the window observantly. He was paying attention, looking out for something…or rather someone.

A beautiful woman had just moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago and boy could Corazón have not been more happier.

Ever since this beautiful woman has moved in, he hasn’t done anything else but stare out through his window, waiting for her to step outside for a bit or sit on her porch.

As he watched and waited patiently, the sound of his son’s voice startled him and causes him to gasp out shakily as if he’d just had a heart attack.

“Pops…You keep staring out at her yard…”

Corazón’s eyes widens in shock as he jumps from the sound of Law’s voice behind him, his hand nearly tearing the blinds before he quickly fixed them back up and whipped his head around. He looks down and see’s his adoptive son’s worrisome eyes staring up at him. His arms were crossed as he’d just witnessed and grew disappointed in his adoptive father’s distasteful behavior.

“L-Law!-“

“If you like her so much, why don’t you just talk to her more? It’s weird to just…watch you stare at her porch all day…” Law asked, patting him on the back while Corazón sighs out nervously. Corazón pouted and looked away before pulling his turtleneck up a bit more in slight shame.

“I’m a bit nervous to speak to her. She did just move into the neighborhood…Maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered…or pestered by my persistence..” Corazón admitted, asking himself if you’d be annoyed by his behavior. Law huffs out irritably and scratched at his raven strands before patting at his father’s back.

“I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you since she’s new around here. It wouldn’t hurt to try and speak to her a bit more…” Law sighed to himself, his hand slowly lifting up off of Corazón’s back before he began leaving the living room. Corazón watched as his son leaves the living room before continuing to peek out the window, his eyes widening in sudden delight as he watched your beautiful figure step out onto your front porch.

You had brought a beautiful pot full of azalea flowers out onto your porch before you began watering them. Watching you water the flowers out on your porch made Corazon’s heart skip a beat. How could he speak to a beautiful woman like you when he himself was a clumsy loser?

He felt as if you both were on different levels and him putting you on such a high pedestal was exactly what brought his himself down even more.

He’s only spoken to you once or twice since you’ve moved into the neighborhood, but he pressured himself to speak more regardless if he was so nervous to. Law always told him to make a good impression for himself around the neighborhood, but he’s never spoken to anyone else but you.

Maybe his body was attracted to you the moment he saw you. That pretty smile and adoring demeanor is exactly what brought him out of that hard shell of his. All he could really do is hope that he could possibly speak to you again or even more in the future.

Your moving frame suddenly pulled him from his negative thoughts, his eyes squinting as he noticed you holding a glass pan in your hands.

It looked as if…you were walking over to his home, his eyes trailing across as he followed your frame.

You continued down the sidewalk and turned down to his driveway, the sight of your frame growing closer and closer to his front porch.

She’s coming over!?

And with sweets too!?

Corazón immediately begins panicking out of nervousness and a sudden shriek left his lips as he slips a bit along the floor, his hands accidentally tearing the blinds before he falls down onto his back a bit hard.

“Owww…” He groans out to himself and reaches his hand down towards his back before rubbing in slight discomfort. A knock at his front door causes his eyes to shoot open and his body to freeze up in place.

“Hello? Anyone home? I have some brownies to share!”

Hearing your voice on the other side of the door immediately causes Corazón’s face to flush and he quickly shot up to his feet before rushing to the front door. He swallowed thickly before his hand grabbed at his doorknob, his other hand unlocking the top lock before he’d steadily began to crack the door open.

You watched as nervous eyes peeked through the crack of the door before trailing down your figure and back up to your face.

“Corazón? Is that you?” You asked all sweetly, your hand still holding that glass tray which was full of those brownies that you’d mentioned. Corazón huffs out shakily before steadily opening the door for you, his eyes looking down at your smaller frame while you smiled up to him.

“It is you! Good afternoon, Corazón! I hope you don’t mind but…I was baking some brownies and ended up baking too much for myself. So, I thought I’d give the rest to you…if you want them.”

Your sweet words and loving tone made Corazón’s heart pump with anxious, and his vision grew a bit blurred as if he were about to faint any second now. He shakes off the feeling and smiles before nodding to you, his hand taking the brownies from you while your face began to flush.

“I-I hope you enjoy them! If you’d like anymore again then, just let me know!” Your hand reaches up to your warm cheek and you begin to watch as Corazón opens the tray before he’d take a brownie from the it. He takes a big bite and chews softly, tasting all of the fudgy flavors that melted in his mouth. He himself out softly in delight, his taste buds adoring the taste of the sweet treat.

He nods profusely as he continues to chew and you looked down in nervousness as you listen to him finish up his brownie. Corazón reaches a hand down to your temple and pats it softly, your eyes widening before you looked up into his sweet little eyes. His lips were slightly covered in chocolate which causes you to let out a little snicker while he smiled nervously.

“I’m…I’m happy you love them! Please, come by my home any time and I’ll promise to have something ready. I…do enjoy cooking for my family and friends.”

Corazón freezes as he heard you mouth those words and he watches as you begin to step down off of his porch. You waved to him and walked all the way out of his yard, his eyes following your body as he watched you walk back over to your home.

Corazón stayed watching you as his heart pounded out of his chest, his body and growing breathless and his mind infatuated on the mesmerizing sight of you walking back to your home. As your small frame faded from his keen sight, he blinks a few times before looking back down to the glass tray in his large hands.

Corazón’s eyes softens and he smiles while continuing to look down at the brownies before steadily stepping back into his home, his hand closing the door behind himself. He twists the top lock before he sets himself down on the couch, his hand reaching for another brownie before he popped a bite into his mouth.

Your baking was filled with as much love as he had for you, if only you had knew how much he love and feelings shared...

He couldn’t help himself but to eat another brownie…

And another…

And…another…

Corazón ate mindlessly at the brownies, unable to stop and neither contain himself from the thought of eating your beloved cooking.

It was too good…and he couldn’t stop…

The pan was nearly empty, and he’d finally stopped at he looked down at the pan in slight shock.

He ate all of that…? Already…?

…

You stood at the stove and rocked your hips to the tempo as music blasted out of your radio, your voice humming along to the lyrics as you cooked at some breakfast all excitedly. You had already cooked more than enough for yourself, but of course you wanted to cook more just in case if a certain guest decided welcome himself over to knock on your door.

Your next-door neighbor happened to be the most friendliest one out of everyone in the neighborhood. The two of you had ended up taking a liking to each other after meeting for the first time which happened to be a few months ago after you moved into the neighborhood. It was as if…you both just clicked immediately, which wasn’t a bad thing at all.

It honestly made you more feel more welcomed and more comfortable.

The sound of your doorbell ringing causes you to crack a wide smile as you slide the last pancakes off of your skillet and onto a plate of other fresh pancakes. You quickly washed your hands and rushed out of your kitchen, the doorbell ringing once again as you quickly ran into your tidy living room. You swiftly opened your door and look up to see your neighbor, Corazón, staring back at you with those adorable doe eyes of his.

An ecstatic smile spread across his face as your face immediately lightens up at the sight of him, his hand lifting up before waving to you while you giggled all nervously. “Good morning, Corazón!” You greeted him, your hands brushing down at your apron while he hummed warmheartedly in response to the sound of your adorable voice.

‘Good morning!’ He signed, his greeting making you smile even more before you’d grab his large hand. “Please, come in! I’ve made enough breakfast for you to eat this time since you always come so early.” Your tone grew a bit higher as you grew flustered from Corazón tall stature, your body feeling as if you were expressing yourself a bit too much to Corazón.

You watched as Corazón ducked his head down before stepping inside of your home, his body so much taller than yours could ever be. You gulped as you stared up at him before turning away, a shaky exhale leaving your lips while Corazón tilted his head and quirked a brow.

“Come, my kitchen is this way…”

Corazón followed you throughout your home as you guided him into your clean kitchen, the fresh aroma of maple syrup and bacon filling his nose as his eyes met the all of the breakfast you cooked for him. His stomach growls at the sudden smell of fresh hot food and you giggled as held a porcelain plate up to him. He lifts his hands to sign to you once again and you wait for him as he did.

‘Isn’t this a bit too much? I wouldn’t want you cooking too much just for me…’ He signed, expressing both his gratitude but also his worries as he looks away all shyly. You placed the plate in his large hands before handing him a fork. “It’s fine, really. I know you have a hearty appetite to match.“ You replied, your hands reaching behind your back before you’d untie your apron and hung it up on your coat-hanger on your wall.

Corazón held his plate up to his face and watched as you grabbed yourself a plate from the dish dryer rack before proceeding to place one of everything on your plate. You grabbed a few extra pancakes and look up to Corazón while standing in place, watching as he grabbed a few breakfast items while you waited for him.

Once he grabs enough for himself, he walks over to the kitchen table and takes a seat. You followed behind and sat down beside him, your head bowing as you prayed over your breakfast before looking down at your plate. You look over to Corazón who was already eating, a hungry hum leaving him as he immediately began eating at the sausages on his plate.

Corazón huffs out in satisfaction, tasting every bit of love and energy that you put in the breakfast in each bite he took. Your eyes focused on his expressions, observing at what he’d like the most and what he’d like the least. He blinks before glancing over to you, his eyes causing you to quickly look away before your face began to flush.

You hoped he didn’t notice your bothersome staring…but he did. Though, he found it to be more flattering than anything else.

You look down at your plate and realized that you forgot both the maple syrup for your pancakes and a fork for eating. You chucked nervously and looked up at Corazón, who happened to be returning the interested stares back to you. You blushed before looking down at your plate again.

“You can always get seconds whenever you’d like.” You tell him, your frame slowly standing up from your chair before you’d went and grabbed the maple syrup off the kitchen counter. Corazón nodded and continued eating his food, his mind melting at the flavors of your cooking that coated his tongue all evenly yet delightfully.

You grabbed yourself a fork and grabbed a knives for the two of you before grabbing the bottle of maple syrup. You brought everything back to the table and walked away front the table once again. “Would you like some orange juice as well?” You asked him, your eyes watching as he turns to you and nods in response.

You opened your cupboard and grabbed two cups before placing them on the counter. You opened your fridge and dug through it for the orange juice, your hands pushing through sandwich meat and packaged foods before you finally found the carton.

You grabbed the carton out of the fridge and closed the fridge door, your hand grabbing the cups as you poured a bit of juice in them one by one. You grabbed the cups and walk back to the table before finally taking your seat, your eyes glancing down towards Corazón’s plate which happened to already be half eaten.

“Sorry about that…I’m not getting back up now.” You responded, your hand grabbing your fork before you began eating your scrambled eggs. Corozón gave you an adoring smile as he continued eating, his hand grabbing the maple syrup as he popped the top open.

…

‘Sorry if that I ate a bit much…’ He signed to you, his face shifting into a pout as he began to feel bad that you’ve cooked so much for him. You chuckled in response and waved him off.

“It’s no problem, Corazón. I always have enough for us both or even more.” You reassured him, a soft huff leaving him as you

You rubbed at Corazón’s shoulder to comfort him, continuously telling him that eating too much was perfectly fine especially for his size.

He smiled at your kindheartedness…and then it slowly grew silent and more comforting rather than awkward.

“…Did I cook everything well enough? I-If I didn’t, I can always try again and do better!” You stammered, your hand taking his perfectly clean plate and placing it on top of your own which was also clean. Corazón grabs your hands softly, causing you to stop and slowly look up at him with anxious eyes.

He stares blankly into your pretty eyes, his stare hiding his strong love behind it while you blinked a bit. He smiles and lowers his head, his lips peppering a loving smooch to your hands while a soft sigh leaving his lips as he did. Your face flared up in slight excitement and it flushed as you watched him lift his head, his lips curling into a sweet smile.

You watched as he softly wrapped his strong arms around your smaller frame, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as he hugged you delicately yet so tenderly. You shuddered within his arms in delight, your face burning a deep shade of scarlet while your sparkles began to appear within your eyes.

You softly wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back while he begins to smile all erotically at the feeling of your touch. “I’m glad y-you liked it so much…” You sighed softly, your lips curling up into an adoring smile as you rubbed at his upper back. You both sat there for a moment embracing each other for a few minutes, the two of you enjoying each other’s warmth in the silence of your kitchen. A soft sight leaves your lips as you finally pulled away from his embrace, your eyes trailing up and looking into his.

Staring into his eyes for so long slowly causes your stomach to grow butterflies, making you turn your head away from him before pressing your hand against your cheek. You hesitated to speak and Corazón tilted his head in question as if he was wondering as if you had something to say.

“W-Would you like to go in the living room. I-I know my kitchen chairs and be a bit small and uncomfy for you…”

Corazón smiles and immediately nods before shooting up from his seat in excitement, his hand softly pulling your seat back from the table before he helps you up out of your chair. You blushed at his sweet gesture as you grabbed the two porcelain plates off of the dining table, your eyes watching as Corazón ducks his head while he walks through the doorway while he walks into the living room.

You walk over to your sink and softly slide the porcelain plates into the sink full of soapy dishwater before leaving them to soak. You walk through the doorway and see Corazón sitting on your couch, his eyes sharply staring down at his hands as he waited patiently for you to sit down beside him. You smiled and walk past him before setting yourself down beside his larger frame, his eyes looking down at your body seductively while you sat there playing at the hem of your blouse.

Before you could even utter another word past your lips, Corazón sneakily slide his large hand over your thigh. His sudden physical contact causes you freeze in place while your face begins to burn up. Your eyes slowly trailed up to his which happened to be full of love and a hint of lust while he moved in closer to your adorably flustered face. You could feel his hand sliding up higher and you felt your heart beginning to pound out of your chest while your body sat there…frozen.

“Ah…C-Corazón…” You gasp out a bit fearfully as your face begins to twist and brows began to furl, your body a bit bothered that Corazón was beginning to rush the process of his affection and yours. His hand softly grasps your chin and he smiles all sweetly before moving his face in closer to yours.

So pretty…How could he think to miss this only opportunity he had for himself to confess his feelings or at least make it known.

He pressed his lips against yours, causing a sudden moan to erupt from his throat while your eyes widened in sudden fear. “Mmh- M-Mhh!” Your body immediately goes into panic mode and you began to squirm uncomfortably while you felt Corazón trying to allow his tongue past your lips.

Your hand reached down towards his hand that rested at your thigh and you gripped it tightly before you’d hurriedly pull away from his lips. You exhaled shakily as you stare up into his eyes, his head tilting in question as if he was trying to figure out why you looked so…pale.

Didn’t you feel the same way?

“A-Ah…Cora…” You call out to him shakily, your hand holding his larger one before you lifted it off of your thigh. Corazón brows twisted into a look of slight sadness and he turns away from you, realizing that maybe you didn’t the same way and that he may have just made a rather terrible mistake.

You shook off the feeling of unease and hid it with a smile as you stared up at him, your arms slowly wrapping around his larger frame. “I-It’s okay…Let’s just…Let’s not rush things…alright?” You tell him, looking up into his eyes with slight concern while he stared down at you with a rather fearful expression on his face.

Corazón pulled away from you, his body scooting away from your smaller frame all together as he…genuinely felt sorry for kinda rushing things.

Though he didn’t know how to express them…At least not well enough.

‘Sorry…I’m so sorry-‘ He signed to you, his hand pressing over his mouth as he turned away from you.

“It’s okay, really! I know how much we express a passion for each other…but…may we go at it slowly…please…?”

Corazón stared back at you blankly as he listened to your words.

“I…I like you too Corazón…I really do. I just want to take my time with this though…at least go at a slow and soft pace, Y’know?” You confessed to him but putting your foot down gently in the process, hoping he would get the message and respect your boundaries and give you time.

Corazón’s eyes glistened as if he was seeing a diamond in the light, at least he finally knew that you shared the same feelings for him. He looks away as his hand begins to play at his sweater, his throat swallowing thickly before he’d finally decided to speak to you for the first time.

“Y…Yes. I…understand. Sorry…” He said in such a gentle and quiet voice, his voice suddenly catching you off guard as you heard it for the first time. Your eyes widened in shock as you lifted your head up to him, his hands covering his face as he looked down. His face burned a deep shade of red as he spilled out his voice to you.

“C-Cora…”

Your face slowly began to burn up from how attractive he sounded. Honestly…

His soft tone and the way he executed his sentence, it was just…so cute.

It was so unexpected…Hearing him speak for the first time…Then he spoke again, this time slightly more fluently than the last sentence.

“May…May I ask…Would…it be okay to…at least touch you…here and there…?”

His question caused you to stiffen and you hum out slightly, your eyes looking down as he asked you that question. You blinked before looking away, your hand pressing against your cheek as you sat there and thought to yourself…

He did ask…after touching you without your acknowledgment…but…It was still…a slightly uncomfortable situation.

Though, you didn’t even want to deny him after he went through the trouble to speak to you…

So you obliged and gave him permission.

You placed your hand against his, the skin at the top of his hand soft as you ran your palm along it.

“Y-Yeah, y-you can…” You accepted, your hand grabbing his larger one before you rubbed your thumb along the soft skin of his hand. He sighs out shakily and ran his fingers along your smaller palm before intertwining his fingers with yours all together, his large fingers overlapping over your smaller hand. He rests his head against yours, his eyes looking down at your smaller frame while his hand continues to grab at soft and plushness of your thigh.

‘So cute…and so soft…’ He thought to himself, watching as you squirmed at his touch while you soft whimpers left your throat.

You couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable. You weren’t ready to move this quickly with Corazón, yet nothing came out when you wanted him to stop since you knew this is what he wanted.

You were hoping to take your time with him, to get to know him even more before you’d get to this point. Though…It couldn’t be helped…Not when you knew that Corazón preferred to show rather than to tell since he was mute.

While you were deep in your thoughts, Corazón peeled his hand away from your thigh and ultimately lets go of your hand. His sudden movements caused you to look up at him and he smiled before pulling away from you. You watched as he stood up from the couch, your body wanted to reach out yet feeling constricted to do so.

“Corazón?” You called out to him, your face giving him a slight pout as you grew a bit upset to see him go.

He lifts his hands and blinks softly, your eyes focusing as you realized that he was about to sign again.

‘I hate to leave so soon but…I’ve got errands to run…’

His hands signed his sentence before he lowered them down, his arms opening out to you as if he wanted a hug. You smiled softly and slowly stood up from your couch before falling into his embrace, your body relieved but your mind saddened to see him go so soon.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow. Mi Amor…”

Your body shudders at his voice as he called you those words, your hands clenching on to his shirt tightly as if you really…really didn’t want him to leave. You sighed out at your mind’s indecisiveness and felt as his arms slowly loosened up and pulled away from your frame.

“Be safe…” You say to him softly, his head nodding in response to you while you as he rubbed his hands along your back. You slowly pulled out of his embrace and he waves before walking out of the front door, his hand locking the bottom lock on the doorknob on his way out.

You stood there still for a moment before exhaling shakily, your body falling back onto the soft cushions of your couch before you slowly sunk deeper into them. The cushions nestled your body as you sat there in silence, your body and mind reflecting on what had just happened moments ago. Corazón obviously liked you…but disrespected your personal space.

Part of you wanted to give him another chance…while another part thought that you should just stop talking to him. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t…yet you knew what he did was wrong. You hum to yourself and turn over on your couch, your couch cushions cradling your body as you rested there in the returning peace and quiet of your own home.

A heavy sigh spilled from your lips as you slowly stood back up and walked back into your kitchen, your mind deciding to clean up to keep itself occupied from what had just occurred.

… (Bonus scene??)

Law sighed out heavily as he slowly inserted his house key into the keyhole of the doorknob, his hand twisting the knob before he’d let himself in and pulled the key out of the knob. The entirety of the house was dark and nothing but silence filled the empty house as Law slowly looked around in the slight darkness.

He flips the light switch on that connected to the living room, the bright light burning his eyes slightly as he lifted his arm in slight reflex which provided slight shade to him. Law throws his work bag onto the floor and slowly stumbling into the kitchen, his stomach growling as he groaned from the hunger whcih cased his stomach to eat away at itself.

“Pops? Ya home?” Law called out into the empty house, his voice echoing throughout the house for a few seconds after he called out for Corazón. A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he stood there alone in the kitchen, his stomach growling once again as it yearned for food to feed and fill it.

He fell deep in his thoughts for a moment, his pockets empty with nothing but crumpled paper and lint while his back barely had any change left in it. As he stood there in his thoughts, he pressed as hand to his chin as he slowly began remembering his adoptive father’s words about food.

“If you ever get hungry and have no money, just go to our neighbors house. She loves to cook and to told me that I’m free to come or invite anyone who’s hungry here at home…”

“Ms.________’s house yeah? It’d be worth a shot.” He said to himself, his feet turning him around before he walked back through the front door. He made sure to lock it behind himself before he’d shut the door and settled on walking to your own home next door.

Law was very skeptical. Not only because he didn’t know you well, but because he had never been over to your home before. Even if you seemed more friendly than ever, he didn’t know how you acted when it came to things like this. Though on a hungry stomach, he’d rather risk it than sit in his home starving while his stomach swallowed itself.

As he walked over into your yard, he slowly crept up along your front porch, his boots clacking against the wooden planks of the porch as he nervously walked up to your front door. He lifts his hand but immediately pulls back, hesitating as he began to have second thoughts.

Just wing it Law…

He lowered his knuckles repeatedly against the wood of your door, swallowing a gulp as he grew anxious for who was on the other side.

…

A knock to your door pulls you from your television and you grab the remote before turning down the TV. You stood up off of your couch and walked over to the door, your hand unlocking the bottom lock before you opened it. You look up and were immediately met with drained golden eyes staring back down at you. You fluttered your eyes a bit before tilting your head, your hand gripping the doorknob as you stared at the young man for a few seconds.

“H-Hello…May I help you?” You asked, wondering what exactly this stranger was doing on your front porch. The young man scratched at his temple before sighing out to himself. He didn’t necessarily want to bother you, but as someone who sought out something he needed, he had to ask.

“Sorry to bother you…We haven’t met before…I’m Corazón’s son, Trafalgar D. Water Law.” He introduced himself, your eyes lighting up as soon as he’d mention Corazón’s name. Your eyes widens and sparkles in delight and interest at Law’s response.

“Oh! I wasn’t aware of him having a son! I’m so happy to finally meet you then!” You exclaimed in excitement, your hand pulling the door open even wider to let him in.

“Come in! Come in! Make yourself comfortable!”

“A-Ah- I didn’t say exactly what I wanted yet-“

“It’s fine! You can explain it to me inside! It’s getting chilly out here anyways and we don’t want you getting sick.”

Law huffs out and reluctantly walks inside of your home, listening as you closed the door behind him before he’d steadily set himself down on your couch. You immediately begin walking over to the doorway of the kitchen, your eyes peeking over to Law who had his arms and legs crossed so politely.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Cookies maybe?” You asked, already wanting to provide hospitality towards Law. Law’s eyes widens in surprise to your kind nature and he looks down before clearing his throat.

“Actually…That’s what I wanted to talk about…”

You stood there and patiently waited for him to continue speaking, your smile not moving an inch as you happily listened to him.

“My dad said that you liked cooking…and he said that I was welcomed to come over if I was ever hungry…Is…Is that true?” He asked you, his hand tilting his hat down even more as he tried his best to avert his eyes from you. You smiled wider and nodded in response to his question, your sweet demeanor slowly calming Law down to where he could get a little comfortable.

“Y-Yeah! That’s right! I told Corazón that he could come by any time for something to eat. Though since I’m just now finding out that he has a son, you’re absolutely welcomed into my home!”

You words makes a soft smile appear across Law’s face and he huffs out happily as he stared down at his spotted jeans. His growling stomach cuts your conversation short and it alerts both you and himself.

“S-Sorry-“

“Hungry aren’t you? What is it that you wanted by the way?”

“W-Well…We don’t have much at home so…I was wondering if you had anything I could eat anything you had…If it’s too much then I can just go back home-“

“Nonsense! Of course I have something for you to eat! I just cooked pasta not too long ago for dinner! It’s still fresh if you’d like some!” Your words had cut off Law and your excited tone startled him a bit. Hearing you speak so enthusiastically about feeding some stranger honestly made him feel safer around you. You were a genuine kind and gentle woman, someone who probably cared more about the people around herself rather than being selfish.

Law smiles and lifts his head to look up at you, his golden eyes filled with a sense of comfort as he stared into your eyes.

“That…That would be nice…Thank you ma’am…” He thanked you, his eyes watching as you motioned for him to come inside the kitchen.

He obeyed, and immediately got hit with the strong smell of garlic and butter.

“I hope you like Shrimp Alfredo! I made a bit too much so if you want to you can just take some home!”

You watched as Law takes a seat at the dining table, his eyes scanning your tidy kitchen before he’d look back over to your frame. Law watched as you grabbed one of your clean porcelain plates before you began placing a scoop of Shrimp Alfredo onto the plate. You followed up with two slices of garlic bread and turned over to him before bringing him his plate.

The sight of bread immediately made him froze and his face immediately scrunched up in distaste as he saw the two slices of bread on the plate.

You softly set the plate of pasta down onto the dinner table in front of him, the strong aroma of the food already making Law’s mouth water as he grew anticipated to try your food.

Though part of him wanted to push the plate away due to the sight of the bread.

You handed him his silverware before stepping away from the table, your hands grabbing your kettle off of the dish-drying rack before you ran it under the sink’s faucet.

Law shuddered and gulped before groaning out, knowing that he had to eat the bread to be polite. After all, he was the one who asked to eat some of your food. It would be wrong to not at least eat one of the two slices that rested on his plate.

Law lowered his head in defeat as he grabbed his fork, his stomach growling as he stared down at the delicious-looking plate in front of him.

“Thank…Thank you, Miss…” Law said, his eyes looking over to you as he watched you begin to make a fresh pot of tea. You giggled to yourself as you dig around in your cupboard for your tea leaves, your eyes occasionally glancing over to Law as you observed him saying a silent prayer before eating.

“Just call me ________! No need for formalities when your father knows me good and well.”

Law nodded before humming out in delight, his fork giving him a mouthful of pasta before he chewed profusely out of slight hunger. He already adored the flavors that melted in his mouth. While he wanted to avoid the bread, he decided to be respectful and eat a slice. While the bread made him want to spit it out, part of him couldn’t deny that it didn’t taste so bad.

Though that didn’t mean he didn’t want to spit it out.

God, it was super good. You definitely put your foot into the pasta if not your whole leg. It was a plus that he got good-tasting food even though he was looking for something to satiate his hunger.

…

“Thank you so much for the food ________, it was so so good…” Law thanked you once again, his stomach now full of delicious food while his hands held on to a little plastic bowl with a top on it. “Of course Law! I’m happy to feed you and your father any time!” You smiled, your face flushing as you fell rather ecstatic to feed someone full and happy once again.

Law waves and turned around but stops before turning back to you for a moment, it seemed that that’s not all he wanted to say. You tilted your head out to curiosity and watched as Law spoke for a final time.

“My dad…really likes you. I hope…I hope you two can get along well.”

“I know he may be a bit shy at times but…he’s a good guy once you get to know him. Affectionate too...”

You smiled to Law’s words, happy to hear that he thinks sweetly of his father and cares about him.

“I…I honestly hope you two can get together…He really…has a huge crush on you. He just refuses to confess.”

Law’s face suddenly flushed and he quickly turns away before walking down the steps from your porch, his tatted hands clutching on tightly to the bowl of food within his hands. You chuckled as you noticed his flushed face, your eyes focusing on his frame as you stayed to watch him get back home safely.

“Come back anytime! I’m always open to feed you two!” You exclaimed, your hand waving to a flustered Law as you watched him make it back over to his home beside yours.

You slowly stepped back into your home and close the door, your fingers twisting at the bottom lock before you twisted at the top as well. You hummed to yourself as you stood at your front door, buried deep within your thoughts as you found yourself wandering in that brain of yours.

Corazón really did like you…didn’t he?

If that wasn’t obvious enough, Law’s words was definitely enough to convince you that he wanted you as a whole and not just for something you were special at.

Then again, you were still taken back by his disrespectful behavior earlier. Yes, you still loved him. Though sometimes, even actions can push past your genuine love for someone. You sighed out loudly to yourself and shook your feelings away, a yawn now leaving your lips as you fell sleepy.

You slowly drug yourself down the hallway and into your bathroom, your body bending down as you began running hot water into the tub.

Maybe tomorrow, you can forget about it and try again….Yeah.

Maybe you can…

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'birthday cake' - logan howlett x wade wilson

summary: logan buys wade a cake for his birthday and tries to convince himself it doesn't mean anything. (900 words) tags: kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, set a year after the movie, references to losing the x-men, feelings realisation, animal metaphors for logan, cussing, logan x wade. a/n: happy birthday deadpool!

birthdays. running a calloused hand across his stubbled jaw, logan eyes the cakes in the bakery aisle with disgust. when's the last time he celebrated a birthday? not since. . .

well.

not since.

he's not sure why he's here. except he is. yet he won't admit it. can't admit he gives a damn about that stupid red leather-wearing freak. isn't that what he's doing right now, though? a birthday cake, an admission of sorts?

logan grumbles, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. why was this so hard? why couldn't he just pick up a cake and go? or better yet, forget about this whole damn thing and go home?

home.

a word that still feels so foreign in his mind, a long-lost concept that's only recently begun to take root again despite his best efforts to weed it out. that's the thing with wade, he's persistent. fuck, he's extremely fucking persistent to a highly annoying degree. but it's funny how the things we want to deny the most are the things that turn out to be the best for us in the end.

there's a unicorn cake that catches his eye. an imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of logan's lips, a reluctant grin quirking up without permission. he can't help it. "god damn it," he mutters, letting out a soft exhale that could possibly be perceived as a laugh.

it isn't too late. he could back out now, snuff the candles out and toss the cake so hard into the garbage can that it explodes on impact, leaving no evidence behind. that'd probably be the best thing to do. because what the fuck was this?

the unicorn cake sits on the dining room table, a few candles placed carefully (yet still somehow messily) into the pink icing, thoughtfully avoiding the unicorn decorations and rainbows.

logan shuffles nervously on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. he can already hear wade's annoying squealing in his ear, fussing and yelling and talking and just always fucking talking.

he'd made a deliberate effort to ignore all of wade's incessant reminders, 'it's my birthday month peanut, gotta be nice to me', 'i made sure to cancel everything on your very empty calendar for my birthday'. but in reality, logan had it memorised from the moment he learned the date.

a key enters the door, and logan stiffens up, then forces himself to relax in an attempt to look nonchalant. he looks anything but, head tilted down with dark eyes glued to the door - watching, waiting, anticipating.

"holy fuck balls that traffic is ridiculous!" wade whines, closing the door and rolling his neck as though he'd been worked to the bone, "i swear, it's like none of those careless fuckers know it's my birthday - can you believe that? i was thinking about getting a tattoo, the date on my forehead, y'know, so that when anyone asks they-"

wade stops, finally looking into the open room, eyes landing on the flicker of the candles. then to logan, eyes softening. "you. . . got me a cake?" wade whispers in the softest tone logan's ever heard from him, voice thick with emotion. it hits him unexpectedly.

logan puffs his chest out, "don't make a big deal outta it, bub." he says firmly, eyes straying from wade's gaze. feels like his eyes are boring into him, he doesn't like it. doesn't like the way wade looks at him, really looks at him. that kinda look is dangerous, could make a man believe he deserves to be forgiven for all he did or didn't do. could make a man believe that he's allowed happiness, however strange or unusual that source of happiness may be.

when logan's eyes trail back to meet wade's, he's already in front of him, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug as he rests his cheek against his broad chest. logan huffs, making a sound of disapproval initially, yet makes no effort to move or push him away. instead, he settles, allowing it.

he knows wade must hear his heartbeat, the fact that it's fluttering in his chest. but wade only squeezes his arms around him tighter in response.

for once, the merc with a mouth is silent, basking in this moment the other has allowed. he's almost in disbelief. to some, and hell, maybe even logan himself, it looked like. . . well, just a cake.

but it symbolised so much more than that.

if wade has had his hand outstretched all this time, approaching the skittish animal threatening to lash out in learned survival instincts - then this is the gentle nudge from the animal's snout into his palm. a curious, tentative step forward. a willingness to let someone in, let someone help.

and god, wade won't mess this up, won't disappoint, despite the fact that it's all he thought he was good for, for a long ass time. if logan's taught him anything, it's that life is so much more than what you boil yourself down to. it's what others see in you, too.

wade's eyes pop open when he feels logan's firm hands hesitantly rest upon his back, giving a gentle pat. he bites his tongue, a mirage of sex jokes slinging through his filth-riddled mind. perhaps in a way, that was his own defense mechanism, push him away with just enough jokes to keep him guessing.

but not today.

because today logan bought him a cake. the same day that logan realised that he's hopelessly, ridiculously, disgustingly, annoyingly. . . in love.

[bonniepop]

atsumu opens the door to his house and is greeted by silence and a dark first floor. it’s to be expected; it’s nearly midnight, and he got stuck in traffic on the way back home from practice.

toeing off his shoes by the door, he leaves the keys to his car on the console table and uses the flashlight on his phone to help him navigate in the darkness. he climbs up the stars and hears muffled voices. it sounds like a movie.

the upstairs hallway is fairly lit, so he uses the sound to guide him to his child’s door. gently, he turns on the knob and pokes his head in. there’s a laptop playing a children’s movie on the desk, a flurry of toys on the floor, and a mother and child snuggled on the bed.

“hey, sweetheart,” he greets softly, grinning when he catches his daughter’s attention and she perks up.

“mommy,” she says, tiny hands tapping her dozing mother’s cheek. “mommy, daddy’s here.”

—

“mommy,” your daughter calls again, and your eyes blearily blink open. “mommy, it’s daddy!”

you twist your head and smile sleepily when your gaze lands on your husband. “hi, tsum.”

“hi, baby,” he greets, slipping inside and dropping his gym bag by the door. he moves to sit but his daughter stops him.

“no, daddy,” she whines. “you can’t go on my bed. you’re dirty!”

you snort while he blinks, and you push yourself up to sit.

it takes him a while to process what she just said. “i’m not dirty!” atsumu protests, placing his hands on his hips. “i’m clean! i changed clothes before i left the gym—”

“no,” she says, wrinkling her nose and pointing to his bag by the door. “you have to shower.”

“these clothes are clean—”

“nooooo,” she whines, slapping the cushion in frustration. “shower!”

“but mommy’s on the bed and i wanna be on the bed, too—”

“but mommy’s clean!” she whines again. “shower, daddy!” she extends the r of the word shower, baring her teeth in a scowl.

his jaw drops, then he turns to gape at you. “you’re not gonna say anything?”

you tamp down your smile and shrug. “it’s easier if you just do as she says. i had to shower before i even entered her room.”

“where did you learn this?” he asks, turning back to his daughter with disbelief. “i bet it was from your grandma, ‘cause your mom ain’t as much of a neat fre—”

“okay!” you interrupt him, climbing off the bed before your daughter could expand her vocabulary. “i’ll make sure your dad bathes, sweetheart.” you lean down to kiss your daughter’s forehead.

“thank you, mommy,” she says sweetly, kissing your cheek.

“what about my kiss?” atsumu asks, shouldering his bag and frowning.

“shower first,” his daughter says resolutely.

“jesus,” atsumu mumbles under his breath, low enough that his daughter can’t make it out, and you herd him to step outside the door.

you laugh when it clicks shut behind you. “it’s your bag, you know,” you mention, walking alongside him. “whenever she sees it, that’s when she thinks you’re dirty.”

“why? i spray this thing all the time with the little—” he makes a spritzing-like motion with his fingers. “what’s it called? the thing you gave me.”

“deodorizer?”

“yeah!”

“smelling deodorized and smelling clean are different,” you point out, then point to your bedroom. “go. shower.”

he sighs in dismay, but true to himself, he's not down for long. he wiggles his eyebrows in your direction. “care to join me?”

you roll your eyes. “nice try. i’m gonna put your gross clothes in the laundry room.”

he brightens. “i can do that! after we shower together, that is.”

you sour. “and let the stink simmer? no way.” you reach out your hand. “give it to me; i’ll do it.”

he pouts a little. “but it’ll be more fun if we shower together!”

“no.”

“come on! for me?”

it's almost emasculating, seeing him beg like this, but your gaze is stone cold serious. “no.”

he grumbles in defeat and hands his bag over. “fine. but just so you know, i’m not a happy husband right now and you’ll need to make up for the lack of love and commitment at some point.”

“i give you plenty,” you say with finality before turning on your heel and heading down the stairs.

“you promised for better or for worse and i am going to collect!” he calls after you.

"shower first, then we'll discuss my marital commitments."

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The truth - Part 1." Daryl Dixon imagine.

(Not my gif! But thanks to the amazing people who make them)

For the first time in his life, Daryl tells Carol the story of how you two met.

A/N: This got longer than I thought hehehe that’s why I’m dividing it in two parts. Thank you so much for all the love my last imagine received! I still can’t believe it. That’s why I thought of combining the stories a bit, and showing you how I imagine Daryl and (Y/N) met, just because I’m crazy and I even thought about making it a serie hahahaha but here you’ll see a bit of how they broke up and in the second part, how they got back together and then later had Marley. Only on this occasion (I’ll try not to do it often) I used the pronoun she and her, but you can read it however you like. Thanks in advance!

“Rick told me that Spencer invited (Y/N) to his house for dinner. He’s been really insistent on them getting to know each other more since we got here.”

For him, it is as if Carol’s words are a sharp razor that cuts his breath away, that makes the world, his world to stop completely, leaving a great void where silence lies and reigns, without the constant grunts of the walkers on the other side of Alexandria's gates, without the singing of the birds that nest in the tree just outside the window of the home they share, without being able to hear the sound of his own breathing that seems to stop too just like the beating of his weak heart. 

Because it was Daryl who told (Y/N) he couldn’t be with her, so he wanted to believe that after that, she managed to extinguish every feeling she once had for him, as well as the light of their love that once shone and the one that was turn off when he left her, which trapped them in the shadows of a cold hurricane and an endless night, always so close but never together, running in circles far from each other without knowing where they were going, drifting like a lost ship in the ocean and in a complete darkness.

But that’s bullshit, Daryl knows it, because she had been the only woman Daryl Dixon was capable of loving, and she is the only woman he would love for the rest of his life.

“Um…” He swings the knife against his finger, sinking it in a little harder than necessary, but not able to ask more.

The night melts into his deathly silence, but, sitting beside him on the wooden step outside their house, Carol lets out a long sigh.

“What do you want, Daryl? Do you really want to see her with someone else?”

Daryl’s chest feels hot, boiling, like the result of a high fever, like he’s been running for hours without stopping to catch a breath.

“I jus' want 'er to be happy.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Carol shakes her head, incredulous, but she has a magical way of telling the truth and still sounding sweet. “She loves you, you, and I know she’ll only be happy with you, even if you’re the surliest man I’ve ever met.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, unable to look her in the eyes as he continues to stare at the grass, hiding behind his hair the eyes of a man who would give his life for the person he loves, but who is too cowardly to stop listening to the voices in his head that tormented him every night, that kept telling him that he would never be worthy of her love, that he would never be the man capable of being loved.

But Carol knows him, and she knows that he is beginning to drown, so, with a warm smile, she speaks again.

“How did you meet her by the way? I don’t think you ever told me that story.”

Softly, because he wasn’t used to doing it often, Daryl smiles at the memory, and his ocean-blue eyes light up and fill with life, and for a moment, he is able to lift his head and look at the moon shining above them.

“We were still pretty young. One night, Merle kicked me out of the ugly apartment we shared during one of his meetings with some drug dealers, so with nothin' to do, I went to a bar to kill some time. It was a shitty place, so I was surprised when she sat at the bar too, just a few feet away from me.”

“What was she like?”

“As beautiful as she is now.”

Carol can hear the smile in his deep voice, as warm as the thought of (Y/N).

“And what were you like?”

“A motherfucker with nothin' to offer 'er.” There’s no emotion in his voice, but before Carol can give him a telling off, Daryl speaks again. “But she looked at me like she could see somethin' in me, somethin' I didn’t even know existed. She talked to me first, and asked if the bike outside was mine. I told 'er that it was, and she, with 'er eyes full of life, told me that 'er older brother used to have one just like that. I laughed a little because she shouldn't be there, she didn't belong in a place like that, and when I asked her, she chuckled, a warm sound, like she was full of colors in that shitty world…”

Daryl chuckles, and for the first time in the long night, he is able to look at Carol, only to confirm with his gaze everything he still could sense about (Y/N) at that moment. Carol can see his smile this time, slight but unmistakable.

“And what happened next?”

“She told me she was runnin' away, that 'er father was goin' to marry her off to some dude of a wealthy family that would get 'em out of the debt that bastard got himself into in the first place. She was goin' to be sold, like a thing, by 'er own fuckin' father.” Carol can hear the venom in his voice, the hatred, the spite in the memory of his own father before he abandoned them. “I asked 'er if she had a place to go, and she said no. I don’t know what went through ma mind when I told 'er ma couch was available, I don’t know what went through 'er mind when she said okay n' thank you. That night when we got back to ma place, Merle told 'er she didn’t look like some hooker he used to bring home. And (Y/N), without any fear, walked up to him and pulled out the gun she had stolen from 'er father, then pressed it against ma brother’s chin, askin' him to repeat what he had just said. Merle loved 'er after that, and I didn’t even know that asshole was capable of lovin' someone.”

Carol laughs.

“I didn’t think I could love (Y/N) more, but now I kinda do.”

Daryl chuckles too.

“Yeah, I kind of did too. I even thought, I have to marry this woman.”

“And you wanted to? Marry her, I mean.”

For a few seconds, Daryl thinks deeply about whether sharing one of his many secrets is the right thing to do, whether saying those words out loud would change the course of things, but at that moment, he considers that saying them is appropriate.

“I bought a ring a year after we got together. It took me a while to get the money, but I finally did it.” Daryl is relieved that she can’t feel the heat on his cheeks, the blush of a boy who fell in love long before he knew what the hell love was.

“And how did you two get together in the first place?”

Daryl shrugs, smiling slightly at her like a little boy: and thankfully, he’d stopped pressing the knife against his finger.

“I don’t even know myself. I guess it started a little after the dinner she made us the next day. I told 'er she could stay as long as she needed to get 'er life together, and Merle asked her to stay if she made him dinner. She was about to shoot him when he told 'er that our mom had never made us such a delicious dinner…” Daryl chuckles, just a little humorous, because the funny memory is mixed with the sad one. “We jus'… at first it was purely carnal, we would have sex to release stress, we would do it and then I would leave ma room that was hers at the time, but there was always somethin' sweet about 'er, I could feel it in the way we kissed, in the way 'er body shuddered as I touched 'er soft skin, in the way she pulled me against 'er body durin'…” Daryl looks back into Carol’s eyes after realizing that he was dreaming out loud, but Carol is there, smiling at him. “There was one night, where I jokingly told 'er that I was enjoyin' this thing of makin' love every night so much that we should consider doin' it durin' the day too, and she jus' looked at me with a confused expression, but with a slight smile on those lips that I was dyin' to kiss in the mornings and at all hours, and she told me that was the first time that I didn't say we had sex.”

Carol smiles, quickly understanding what came next.

“You were falling in love with her.”

Daryl nods softly.

“I was completely devoted to that woman from the moment I met 'er.”

“And you told her?”

Daryl shakes his head.

“Not with words, I ain't good with words, never was. But she knew, I think that’s why she stayed with me all that time.”

“She stayed with you because you’re a good man, Daryl, you always were and you always will be.”

Daryl shrugs, this time in a gesture that dismissed such an affirmation.

“I never told 'er I loved 'er, and she never asked me to tell 'er, but I could feel that she loved me in every kiss, in every hug, in every blessed smile of hers.”

“And how did you two split up when the end of the world began?”

“She got a job shortly after I invited 'er to ma house. She was a vet, and even though she had little experience, 'er boss trusted 'er n' gave 'er a job. That night when people started runnin' and shootin', I went to look for 'er but she wasn’t there. Her boss had been bitten n' I even thought she had been too, but somethin' in me told me that she was stronger, smarter and that she had managed to escape. When Merle and I left town, I never stopped lookin' for 'er: I knew she was alive, and I jus' had to find ma way back to 'er.”

“And you found her after all.”

“Yes, I did, but when we got to the prison, somethin' in me kept tellin' me that I wasn’t enough for 'er, that even if I took care of 'er, she deserved better. That night I told 'er that I couldn’t be with 'er, not in the way she would have wanted. But the way she looked at me, as calm as she had always been… I’ll never forget the way she nodded and walked away…”

Unconsciously, Daryl presses the tip of the knife against his hand again, so imperceptibly that neither he nor Carol notice.

“But you couldn’t stay away from her.”

Daryl chuckles again, embarrassed with himself at the memory of Carol almost catching them in the act.

“Hell no, I had missed 'er body so much. But it was like goin' back to the beginnin’. We had sex when everyone else went to sleep, but I knew it was jus' that: sex. I knew it the moment she wouldn’t let me kiss 'er, the way she hid 'er face in my neck, holding onto my shoulders. So I jus' held 'er against me, huggin' her for as long as she lemme until we were done and she asked me to leave. It was like that all this time. I always have 'er close, but never close enough.”

Carol nods.

“That’s why you stayed here, even though you never really adjusted to this life.”

Daryl frowns, going deeper into his own thoughts.

“I always spent most of ma life in the woods, runnin' away from ma father n' mother, and when they left, I did it to escape from myself. But when she came into ma life, Merle used to tease me and tell me that I had been tamed, that after every job I had, I always came home jus' because she was there. When we came to this place, I considered livin' on the outskirts like I always liked, but I… I can’t be away from 'er.”

Carol’s expression turns into pure sadness, because she knows that Daryl is a good man, strong, loyal to his family, willing to die for one of them without a second’s hesitation, so the insecurities he kept secret were like a knife in his heart and hers. But when she sees (Y/N) from afar coming home after her job at the infirmary, Carol knows that everything comes down to that moment, as if there was no way to escape that decision that Daryl must make, which is now or never.

(Y/N) is still a little far away, so she takes advantage of the moment.

“You are the best man I have ever known, Daryl Dixon, and you deserve all the love you can ever get: from me, from our family, and from her.” Carol steps closer to him, hoping her words are as honest as she intends them to sound, and for a moment, they manage to draw Daryl’s gaze into hers. “I’ll ask you one question only. Do you love her? Do you really, truly love her?”

Daryl holds her gaze, but despite his terror, he manages to find the words he’s been dying to say to her. And when he speaks, his voice is low, husky, but self-assured.

“I do. I love 'er.”

“Then tell her, Pookie.” Carol kisses his temple, smiling at him with all the love she has for him. “I guess you still have the ring. So take her to someplace she likes, tell her the things you always wanted to tell her but were always afraid to say, and ask her to marry you.”

Daryl looks at her silently, with the expression of a scared child.

“What if she says no?”

“She will say yes. I promise. But you have to do it now, Daryl, before she loses hope with you.”

Without saying another word, Carol gets up and goes into the house, leaving him alone, so Daryl can silently contemplate his life, the choices he made, and the love for her that he kept deep in his wounded, frightened heart. But there's something about Daryl that drives him to stop always keeping to himself like he always did, to stop staying on the sidelines, to stop being that man tortured by his own thoughts, to stop loving her silently from the shadows, always behind her to protect her from everything, just so that, in that moment, he would be the brave man she always saw in him.

When (Y/N) arrives at their house, she smiles at him slightly before walking past him, but stopping, just like her heart, when she hears him call her by that funny and almost ridiculous nickname, but with his voice full of love.

“Peach?”

Her hand stops on the doorknob.

“Yes?”

For a small, fleeting moment, Daryl forgets how to speak, as if she were able to snatch all the words from him.

“Are ya doin' somethin' tonight?”

She frowns slightly, and although he hasn’t turned to look at her, she looks at him strangely.

“I don’t think so… going to sleep I guess, why?”

Daryl swallows the lump that forms in his throat.

“I thought that… maybe I could take ya somewhere, but we would have to leave before the sun comes up.”

Her heart is beating fast, an involuntary movement, because it’s been a while since they’ve been truly alone. It's a scary feeling, but deep down, she knows that everything is okay as long as they are together, even though they weren't together.

“Okay.”

There’s a certain playfulness in her voice, masked behind her confusion, but Daryl can sense it.

“I’ll knock on yer door when it’s time to go.”

She nods.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

“G'night, peach.”

She laughs softly, but it’s the same lively sound he heard when they first met, and that, somehow, is like a good omen for him.

“You too.” But she pauses, thinking deeply if her next words will make any change in him. She is afraid, she is so afraid of feeling close to him again, but the fear of losing him at some point is bigger than anything, but not by some walker, because he was smarter than that, but perhaps by himself, because Daryl's worst enemy was his own conscience. “Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

Her heart beats differently, but she can’t hold her words prisoner anymore.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

He knows it without her saying it, because after so many years, she knows him well, better than anyone, and Daryl can feel his own shame blossoming inside him.

“M'sorry.”

There’s a deep emptiness in his words, and she can’t help but feel that weight on her shoulders too. So, silently, she sits beside him for a moment, admiring the beauty of the moon that, despite that new world, hadn’t changed thankfully.

(Y/N) reaches out her hand to him, the hand he hurt, and Daryl, unable to look her in the eyes, holds her hand as he feels the warmth of her body close to him, for the first time in months. Maybe she was never good with words either, but right now, all he needs from her is to have her close, as close as he would be to her if she said yes.

[joannasprose]

HI! not sure if youre asking for suggestions but how about a vi x reader who has a cat constantly tailing her, the cat has been with reader for a long time, and the cat hates vi. thank you for your time

hi ! thank you for the ask! I didn’t know whether or not to write this in a modern AU so im gonna do it in the normal universe because that’s what I usually write with Vi ! (I also don’t mind if you guys want any modern AUs for Vi btw)

content warning: none! fluff <3 proofread this time (I know sooo very surprising).

——

It was dark out, as it usually was.

And the streets of Zaun were full and lively as they always were—packed with people, overwhelming conversations, brutes, the usual.

And like always, you clung to VI’s shoulder.

Of course, you could defend yourself decently, you weren’t helpless. You couldn’t be when lived in Zaun. But you weren’t particularly that good at it. And that’s where Vi stepped in. When she wanted to—when she needed to. You didn’t mind, and to be quite honest, you did think it was attractive, so you weren’t complaining.

As the both of turn down the corner of an alleyway, now having you un-hand her side, moving her own to your waist—you hear a familiar, sweet purring.

It’s as familiar as the back of your hand now. As familiar as the sound of VI’s voice.

The feline purrs at your foot when the two of you stop, a smile curls on your lips, “Vi, look!” You say, unraveling from her grasp and crouching down to touch the purring baby.

Your fingers caress her, scratching behind her ear and massaging the top of her head.

“Oh yeah, little miss, I only like you and not Vi because she sucks,” she says, and then, “Hello.” You roll your eyes at your girlfriend’s statement, watching as kitten licks your knuckles.

“Oh hush. She just has to get used to you.”

“Yeah,” she says, “and it’s been like what? Two months now?”

You look up to Vi, gesturing her to crouch down with you. It’s more of an order and not a suggestion, really. As she turns slightly, and squatting down next to you—you pull your hand away from her, and you watch as she practically follows it.

You hadn’t given her a name yet—nor had you taken her in. The two of you were too busy with the cognitives of the undercity, with Powder—everything, the two of you just hadn’t had the time. But she had always found the two of you, always crawling out from the deepest corners of Zaun and greeting you.

You found it cute, like always.

For what felt like the 100th time, Vi reaches out to kitten, and unsurprisingly, after a moment—nips the pad of VI’s finger. She doesn’t recoil, now used to feeling after the fourth time. This time, though, she smiles.

With furrowed brows, you question her, “What happened, why are you smiling?” Her eyes don’t leave the feline, watching carefully, she speaks, “I think she’s warming up to me. She let me touch for like, what? Seven seconds this time.”

You smile, one that uprises unsurpressed and willing.

“You’re right, I think she’s warming up to you. I told you she would.”

Vi stand, stuffing her hands into her pockets and watching as scratch the grey fur of the kitty,

“Isn’t my fault I don’t know what grudge she holds against me.” She murmurs, and you smile. This time to yourself as listen to the purrs of the kitten, and the sounds flickering of street lights.

—

another note: I don’t know if this is good, and I didn’t know how to end it but I hope you enjoy!!

[venomwrites]

The second time CaitVi makes love

Warning: Spoilers for everything.

She stops responding to Vi. 

Every time she hears the name the voice fades into her sister screaming. One of the fancy doctors who come to examine her call it a trauma response. He says things like time and tries to hand her a bottle of white pills which she checks into the fireplace. It floods the room with acidic smoke that sets off one of the fancy alarms hidden everywhere. She can’t believe they were going to make her swallow those. 

Pilties can be so fucking weird. 

Everyone around her calls her Violet seamlessly. Thankfully they drop the ‘Miss’ just as quickly as the ‘Vi’. She’s not sure who she is anymore but ‘Miss Violet’ sounds like a cartoon character. Like one of the fancy ladies that come by in the first few days with armfuls of flowers and wish Caitlyn—and only Caitlyn—a speedy recovery. She hears one of them talk about how brave she is to have fought so many monsters. 

She doesn’t listen after that. 

When you stop using a muscle it atrophies. She blows out some part of her throat on that ledge. The less fancy doctors who triage her say she shouldn’t try to talk. She doesn’t. She has nothing to say. She knows if she opens her mouth she’s going to tell them—no beg them—to take her back to the ledge. To let her go the same way they went. Her entire life has been about getting back her family. She came so fucking close. All she had to do was fall with them and she couldn’t even manage that. 

“Good morning, Violet.” 

Caitlyn’s voice is soft when it pulls her. Everything, every fucking thing she’s willing to do, Caitlyn gets done. It makes her head spin. Care has always been a matter of money and resources. Usually when there are none. But Caitlyn doesn’t care. She would think it was because of money, but then she remembers this is the same woman who traded her one weapon for a potion to save her life. The money helps but she’s pretty sure this is just Caitlyn. 

Caitlyn’s a shadow in her peripheral for a long time. She’s so patient, so anticipatory, she can see why she’s a sniper. Caitlyn brings doctors to the house to examine whatever part of her she’ll allow. None of them push her to do anything. If they aren’t there one day, they are back the next and the day after. Until she pulls her shit together enough to let them poke at her shoulder or press a ball into her mangled fingers to build strength. 

She doesn’t know what that strength is for. 

She doesn’t know what’s changed today. But when Caitlyn greets her in the morning she manages to look up. Surprise makes Caitlyn’s eyes go wide. Or the eye she can see anyway. The corners her lips curl up but one looks normal. The other doesn’t go up as far. Before she can stop herself she’s on her feet. Caitlyn’s smile falls as she quickly steps forward as though to help and then stops herself. When she thinks about it, she can’t remember the last time anyone who wasn’t a doctor touched her. 

“You’re hurt,” she blurts out. 

Caitlyn’s stares at her in shock. Tears flood the eye she can see. Quickly Caitlyn turns around and mumbles something to herself. Some instruction she’s been given by one of the fancy doctors. They hover around here enough, though she never bothers with what they do when she ignores them long enough to get them to leave. 

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, plastering on a fake ass smile, “but I’m better now.”

“Liar,” she says and it really does fucking hurt to talk, “your eye.” 

“Gone,” Caitlyn says simply. Like she didn’t loose a fucking eye. How long did that take? It occurs to her that she has no idea what day it is. How long has it been since they fell? “I’m fine,” she says, “really. Would you like some tea?” 

When she first dragged Caitlyn home and tea was produced, she had no idea it was the solution to everything to the Kirammans. It appears after every doctors appointment, every nightmare. She can barely go to the bathroom without someone shoving a cup under her nose. 

She likes the dark ones the best. Even though sometimes they make her feel like crying. They smell like a fancier version of what Vander would drink on late nights. Fancier and stronger. Strong enough to make her shove her nose in the cup and inhale. Maybe if she breathes in hard enough she can will him back. 

The cup Caitlyn shoves at her isn’t that. It’s sharper and green. Caitlyn stares at her so she takes a sip. It’s familiar but she can’t place how. Caitlyn must have given it to her before. There’s something sweet in it that feels so good on her throat. She could care less about the taste when it seems to coat her throat like that. 

“Thanks,” she tries out and the word sounds something like her. Caitlyn inclines her head and lets out a shaky breath, “how long?”

“Four months,” Caitlyn says. 

It’s been four months. She went seven years without seeing her sister. Seven fucking years. But she had hope. There was a chance. It’s been four months and she will never see her again. Her stomach churns at the thought. Caitlyn is immediately there, one hand reaching for the fancy ottoman in front of her. Like she has no idea where it is even though this is her fucking house. 

“Was there—a memorial?” She asks. Did she miss it? 

“A public one,” Caitlyn says, “for the fallen. We thought we could do something for them when you’re ready.” 

Of course they weren’t included. Jinx helped but they didn’t save the world. And that thing that used to be Vander didn’t save anyone. But Jinx saved her. She sacrificed herself so she could live. She knows that counts for nothing compared to all the heroes out there, but the unfairness of it makes her chest twist. Caitlyn’s hand hovers for a moment before it settles on her shoulder. 

“Ekko took what he could find back,” Caitlyn continues, “he said to let him know when you were ready.” 

She’s never going to be ready. 

They are already on the wall. She is too. All five of them clustered together like it should be. But now they are gone and she is sitting here still breathing. Unable to even die right. She thought she was used to loneliness. She thought she even knew what it was to be hopeless. All of those were just light versions of the yawning hole in her chest. The only grounding thing is Caitlyn’s hand on her shoulder. 

Caitlyn is still here. 

She reaches out and Caitlyn immediately covers her hand, bringing it to her cheek. Caitlyn’s skin is smooth and warm and wet. Caintlyn’s been crying. She forces herself to take in the shadow under her eyes, the hollowness of her cheek. Caitlyn’s been worried and not taking care of herself. She wonders if it’s been worry about her. Given how relieved she looks, she thinks it might have been. 

“Sorry,” she says.

“Don’t apologize,” Caitlyn says, “for anything. Violet I’m so sorry.”

The words burn but she’s not a coward. Not in this moment. She cups the back of Caitlyn’s neck. Caitlyn leans forward and she tries to be gentle when she rests her forehead against hers. Caitlyn leans into the touch and lets out a shuddering breath. 

She was going to roll. Sister’s sacrifice be damned. She was. 

But Caitlyn. 

Caitlyn. 

“I couldn’t—“ she forces out.

“I know,” Caitlyn says, “Vi—“

The name slips out and burns across her skin. But it’s not her sister screaming it. It’s Caitlyn. Screaming and begging her to take her hand. To come back to her. To please, please come back. It would be so easy to roll over and fall. But she’s never done anything easy. So she lurches to her feet and staggers towards the sound of Caitlyn screaming. Their hands lock and Caitlyn pulls her back with a pained yell, right before the metal gives. 

Now she’s in Caitlyn’s arms and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to reconcile that with wanting so badly to fall. 

“It hurts,” she forces out and Caitlyn makes a pained sound.

“I know,” she says. She does, “I know. It won’t always feel like this.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers dig into the base of her neck. When she matches Caitlyn’s next exhale, she realizes how tight they are. It’s several breaths before she can relax them at all. Four months. Four months and a lifetime more. She tells herself it’s another impossibly big goon. All she has to do is set her jaw and drive through. But driving through has always been for a purpose. If she’s strong enough, hits hard enough, she can get back to her family. 

But Caitlyn holds her there. 

And she lets her. 

She talks more, though not a lot. Most days she meets Caitlyn for all the meals. Some days they exist on tea and flat gold biscuits. One day the biscuits have chocolate on them. It’s creamier than any chocolate Vi has every tasted. She eats because if she doesn’t, they will get her nutrients through bags and tubes. But the chocolate explodes on her tongue and she reaches for another without thinking. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Cupcake,” she says at Catilyn’s surprised face. 

“I have not!” Caitlyn objects, “I didn’t know you liked them.” 

It’s the most normal she’s felt in months. She can’t say she belongs here, but it feels damn close with Caitlyn looking indignant over her manners. The thought of doing something just to make her blush more crosses her mind. And for a moment, everything seems alright. Her mind doesn’t drag to the ledge immediately. To her sister staring up at her as she knocks out the gem. As she falls. 

Caitlyn’s thumb against her lip rips her attention back to the present. 

Their contact has been more frequent. To the point where stretches without brushing against Caitlyn’s hands or shoulders make her fingers twitch. But there’s been no contact like this. It catches her off guard and it seems to do the same with Caitlyn. Her eyes widen in surprise but when Caitlyn goes to pull he hand back, she catches her wrist and holds her hand there. Caitlyn doesn’t pull back.

She brushes her lips against Caitlyn’s hand. 

Caitlyn lets out a shuddering breath that stirs something in her. She tastes the chocolate from her lip that decorates Caitlyn’s thumb. Caitlyn’s fingers curl against her cheek, blunt nails against her skin. She remembers them digging into her back, clutching at her hair, clutching at her hand and screaming not to let go. To stay, stay with her. The screaming echoing in her ears makes her try to turn away but Caitlyn is suddenly on the same chair, her other hand on her cheek. 

“I keep hearing them,” she confesses, “I keep hearing you,” Caitlyn’s thumbs brush over her cheekbones, “I keep choosing--“ she forces her eyes open to look at Caitlyn, “it’s always you.” 

She doesn’t understand. All she ever wanted fell down that shaft. And every time, every time she thinks of Caitlyn. Thinks of all the blue haired soldiers she pulled off the field who made her heart seize. The ones who weren’t her but could have been. She thinks of how it would feel for Caitlyn to find her body at the bottom of the shaft. She thinks of the scream that always catches in her throat when Powder says she’s gone. She fell down a well. 

So she lets the scream out and stays on the ledge. 

“I don’t want to fall.”

“I won’t let you,” Caitlyn swears, her fingers sliding around her ears, cupping the back of her skull, “I won’t,” she says in the voice that moves mountains, “stay with me.” 

She nods against Caitlyn’s forehead. She is trying. Gods is she trying. Caitlyn is asking her to fight. Her partner is asking her to fight. Her will feels as atrophied as her muscles but she shoves at it with everything she can. She focuses on Caitlyn. Not the screaming one who pulls  her back. The one in front of her who has their foreheads pressed together so tightly she can feel the strap of her eyepatch digging into her skin. Who has given her the one thing she’s never had. A soft landing. 

She tastes tears on Caitlyn’s lips when she crushes their mouths together. Caitlyn gasps around her lips and she pulls the same breath into her lungs. It feels like the first breath she’s taken since the ledge. Maybe since the last time she kissed her. Caitlyn tries to follow but it’s only a moment before her lips turn greedy against hers. Something in her sings at Caitlyn doing something for herself after months. 

“Here,” she mutters into her skin. 

“Yes,” Caitlyn breathes. 

Her fingers hesitate at the patch straps. Caitlyn presses her fingers to it in silent permission, her other eye still closed. She guides it off carefully. There’s no eye left. Gold lines fan out around the skin. She brushes a finger against them and Caitlyn’s breath catches, her hips jerking. Silco’s mismatched eyes flutter though the back of her mind and she shoves the thought away. Instead she brushes her lips against the gold on Caitlyn’s skin.

“Vi,” Caitlyn moans her nickname into her ear and the thaw in her chest burns hotter. 

“Again,” she whispers against Caitlyn’s neck, half plea half demand. 

“Vi,” she repeats, “Vi, please.”

It feels like coming home. When Caitlyn’s under her like this, everything ceases to exist. Her world narrows until the only thing in it is the woman in front of her. Or underneath her. Nothing else matters. Only Caitlyn. It caries like a current. Like a promise. Everything has changed so much. She has changed. But that feeling still lives in her chest. Buried, frozen, but it is there. Caitlyn drags it to the surface with every sweep of her fingers and gasp of her name. She doesn’t know what this is, if this is love. If this has a name. 

She just knows right now it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

Later she inspects the new marks that litter Caitlyn’s body. The narrow line on her gut is the one that stands out. The others are mostly surgical but this one, this one is from a lethal shot. Someone wanted her to die slowly and painfully. Caitlyn has her own ledge. They all do. Caitlyn meets her questioning look as she thumbs the scar. 

“This before or after the eye?”

“Before,” Caitlyn says, “the eye was a—a calculated move.”

“It’s your fucking eye,” she points out. There’s a note of pride in Caitlyn’s voice. The kind of pride that comes with winning a battle, “that’s pretty badass, Cupcake,” she says. 

“I have a prosthetic,” Caitlyn says. She is still focusing on the gut wound, “if this makes you uncomfortable—“

“Why would it do that?” Caitlyn shrugs, “who said it makes them uncomfortable,” she asks, looking around as though the offending party might be in the room with them. 

“No-one,” Caitlyn assures her, pushing her fingers through her hair, “but you—“

“I don’t care,” she says. Caitlyn tilts her head, “I don’t fucking care,” she repeats, emphasizing the words like she did in the cell. She touches the gold lines, “what about these?”

“I needed to find you,” Caitlyn says. Like that makes sense. She blows out a breath and pushes herself up to her elbow, “I had Mel stop the bleeding.” 

When Caitlyn parts her eyelid the socket is laced with gold. She vaguely remembers the gold dressed counselor. Now with a lot more gold on her. She was there on the ledge. There during the fight. Gold light spills from her hands into a thousand different shapes. Caitlyn had her put that light in her eye. All so she could get to her. Caitlyn’s gives her a puzzled look. It’s been so long since she smiled but she feels her lips tug. 

“So you went from one tiny leg scar to getting your wounds magically cauterized to find me?” She says. 

Even though she’s naked under her, now Caitlyn goes cherry red. 

“Oh—“ Caitlyn starts. 

“That’s hot, Cupcake,” she cuts in. 

Caitlyn looks up at her and the burning thaw is back. It’s hot and it’s humbling. She’s spent her whole life chasing. Begging. Desperate for the ghosts to stay so things can go back to when they made sense. But everything keeps falling away. Except, except Caitlyn. Caitlyn shoves gold in her wounds and charges up stairs when she shouldn’t be walking. She’s seen Caitlyn climb. She sucked at it when she had two eyes. Several times she stopped and went pale at the manageable height. But none of that stopped her. She didn’t even know she was alive and Caitlyn did all of that on the chance she might be. 

“I think I was waiting for you,” she tries. Caitlyn drags her fingers through her hair. It feels nice, “no I was, I kept thinking of you finding me.”

“Thank you for waiting,” Caitlyn says. 

She thinks of the months it’s been. Of Caitlyn’s endless patience. Pulling her back time and time again. She thinks of the cell and Caitlyn’s smile. Not all the guards were needed back then but Caitlyn sent them away. For her. She’s always been the one to fight. It’s who she is. But for the first time it feels like she hasn’t been fighting alone. Like if her strength fails, the entire world isn’t going to fall away. 

For the first time, there’s someone to pick up the slack in the way she needs. 

“Can you get a message Ekko later?” She asks. Caitlyn’s fingers pause.

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “it’s alright if you’re not ready.“

“I’m never going to be ready,” she admits, “but I need to,” she looks up at Caitlyn’s eye, “will you come with me?”

She knows it’s an ask. Despite the fragile whatever between them, Caitlyn spent so much time hunting her. But Jinx’s words echo in her ears. Be happy. Don’t worry about me. Even with everything her mind she saw that clearly. Salt stings her eyes. Even as she turns into Caitlyn’s skin and tries to ground herself, the gentle words echo in her head. 

Caitlyn’s warm pulls away momentarily. Only Caitlyn’s hand on her head keeps her from protesting. Then Caitlyn is behind her, folding herself around her. She’s safe and warm and home. Caitlyn slots their bodies together until there’s no space between them, even as she curls up. Caitlyn follows and bands her arms around her. 

“Of course I’ll be with you,” she swears, “stay here with me, Vi.”

So she folds her arms over Caitlyns and laces their fingers together.

And again she chooses to stay. 

[numinousher]

“Fucking asshole.”

Those were the first words you uttered out as soon as you finished reading Jong-seok’s messages. Years together and he really left you like that? A complete utter trash of a man. And a pussy, too, for not being able to tell you to your face that he found another girl.

You sniffed, holding in your tears. You don’t know who to call. Jimin and Taehyung are finally getting some after who knows how long and you didn’t want to deal with their pissy attitudes.

You continued to sniffle, immediately throwing away pictures of you and Jong-seok throughout the years. You grabbed any stuffed animal, any shirt of his, jewelry, and threw it away.

“A fucking bitch,” you angrily grumbled to yourself. “When I see him I’m kicking his ass. I’m kicking his ass so hard for wasting my time and for fucking breathing.”

You heard rapids knocks as you talked to yourself and ignored it. You bumped into a table and groaned with annoyance once a cup, a cup that Jong-seok still left there after you told him to wash it, fell down and broke.

“Piece of trash,” you told the cup as if it was Jong-seok. You sniffled as you stared at it, your tears threatening to spill.

Jungkook, having been outside knocking, opened the door—tested his luck—once he heard the glass shattering. He came to see you looking at a broken cup, with your bottom lip jutted out and your eyes set in a hard glare as if the cup was a person.

“Hey, idiot,” he muttered, catching your attention. “Move away from the glass.”

“What are you doing here?” You sniffled, wiping away your tears.

“Where’s your broom?” He asked in a low tone, not looking at you. You gestured to it in the small space between your fridge and the wall and watched as he kneeled down to pick it up. You silently watched him. “You’re Jong-seok’s girlfriend?”

“Ex,” you scoffed out. “Why?”

“He and my fucking girlfriend were cheating on us with each other,” he roughly said. With the way he was picking up the glass and the way his hands shook with anger, you backed away a little because it looked like he was going to explode. “Texted me saying that they were going to move in and if I had known you, Jong-seok’s girlfriend, lived next to us, I would’ve cheated on her with you. Because what the hell.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” you said, processing the news about your ex-boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend. “You don’t look like the cheating type.”

“I’m talking out of my ass,” Jungkook mumbled. He threw away the shards of glass and looked at you. “I wouldn’t have done anything but I’m so fucking pissed and I blame myself so, I’m thinking of the what-if’s.”

“I’m so mad,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “It’s 2 am. 2 am and they just-they just decided, “Hey, we’re going to leave the people that loved us and gave us a home because we love each other”? I wasted years with that piece of shit.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he breathed out, taking off his hoodie. You looked at his arms due to the black tight t-shirt he had on—hey, Jong-seok cheated, you could at least look—and looked up at him as he went to speak again. “I really thought me and Sienna were going to get married. Hell, that’s where I was going with after. We just moved in, bought an apartment together, and I was so ready for the next step… I feel like my heart is broken.”

“On the good news, I at least don’t have to listen to you moan like the other day,” you lightly teased, hoping to make the situation lighter. But, a dark look overcame his face.

“The other day?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “The day after we met.”

“Idiot, I was working that day,” Jungkook blinked, taking out his phone. He showed you the pictures of the sunset he took. “I wasn’t even home until, like, 6 PM. Did you not hear my motorcycle? I revved it extra loud for you around that time and in the morning.”

You paused. “Oh, yeah… then who the fuck did I…” Your face immediately scrunched up at the realization. “Ew! Did I hear my boyfriend fucking your girlfriend?”

“Oh, god,” Jungkook groaned in disgust. “In my bed?” You winced. “Wait, what about you? I heard you guys around two-ish weeks ago.”

“I wasn’t even home, I was at my mom’s to take care of my grandmother for 2 days,” you paled. You gulped and looked towards your room as if there were a monster inside. “I don’t want to sleep in my bed no more.”

“I don’t want to sleep in mine either,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. “Oh, my God. Wait, did your boyfriend get quieter during sex around the same time we moved? Because we moved in a month ago.”

“Yeah!” You nodded. “Had your girlfriend gone quiet, too?” He nodded, too. “Did you find this place or did she?”

“She did…” Jungkook’s face fell even more at the pieces being pieced together. “They’ve been cheating on us for a while, Y/n.”

You stayed in your spot, frozen, before looking up at him. “Want some hot chocolate?” Without hesitation, he nodded. “Sit on the couch. We need to talk more about this because what the hell.”

He nodded.

He sat down and watched the decor of your apartment. He hummed under his breath. “Your decor doesn’t scream… you.”

“Because it isn’t me,” you snorted as you heated up the milk. “Jong-seok didn’t live with me but, he would come over a lot and would judge everything so I started switching up things for his sake.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he began as he recalled his own experience with his relationship. “Sienna doesn’t like my dog so he travels between my home and Namjoon’s.”

“You have a dog?” You gasped excitedly.

jungkook nodded with a nod. “Yeah, his name is Bam. He’s a Doberman and very silly. You’ll like him but I don’t trust you considering you lost your friend’s dog.”

“Ah, our infamous first time meeting,” you recalled in almost a sarcastic, yet dramatic tone. “Talking about first time meeting, how do you know Jong-seok?”

“His brother is one of my friend’s,” Jungkook explained, glancing over at you for a sec before looking away. “Hoseok?” You nodded. “I met him through Namjoon after the two found my tattoo page.”

“I’m not even surprised,” you muttered under your breath at the mention of his job. “You’re so tatted up, dude.”

“It looks nice, huh?”

“Very.”

You take him his mug and plop down next to him. You see he’s glancing at the TV and pass him the remote control.

“What?” He questioned, wondering why you decided to give him the controller. He took the hint before you could even open your mouth. “Oh, can I actually put a movie on?”

You nod.

“Whatever you want. It’s going to be a long night.”

He hummed in agreement before turning it on and seeing that a movie was opened up. He looked at it with amusement. “Pretty Woman?”

“Oh…” you winced. “We don’t have to watch—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll watch it. I’m craving a romance movie.”

2U⭑.ᐟ ── OO4. the ones that were left

BEFORE • MASTERLIST • AFTER

NOTE: was supposed to update but this time change fucked up my schedule and im sleeping so earlyyyy

TAGLIST: @an-ever-angry-bi @parapiop7 @renoirgoh @ldysmfrst @futuristicenemychaos @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @han-nah-banana @somehowukook ... (open)

[dragons-hoard-of-fandoms]

Me surrounded by good content but irritated that there's officially no Season Two

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[xcziel]

!!!!!!! big spider in the house!!!!!!

perched right at the edge of the light, centered in the passway like a gunfighter, i felt threatened actually

i do NOT like this

[sunnywalnut]

No but I'm still looking for the Denny's that is still in the middle of nowhere

having cis guy friends is so funny like youll ask if they wanna hang out and theyll send you to the dark woods

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ashlynlovestlou]

ellie fucking you in the middle of the night <3

cw: smut , nsfw , men dni , strap usage , reader sits on ellie's face , dom! ellie , sub! reader , kinda vanilla , reader and ellie's relationship is a secret , y/n used (im sorry) , sitting on ellie's face

masterlist

daily click

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

the problem is, you dont want to keep things casual. you said it because it felt like a thing you should say when you start fucking your best friend. now, you're lying in bed wearing ellie's shirt, wishing shed sneak down the stairs and crawl in with you.

you try to talk yourself out of it so many times. you'd already almost got caught once. but your body doesn't care and neither does your heart. you want her hands in your hair, her warm skin against your own.

which is why you creep through a dark house and up the stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid any creaking that might wake up joel. one peek into his room at the top of the stairs and you see him sprawled like a starfish. your lips curve up at the sight and then you very, very gently shut his bedroom door before padding down to the secondary bedroom as the opposite end of the hallway.

the door is closed and no light shines from beneath. you twist the handle and walk right in. her curtains are open and ambient light from outside filters in through the massive windows. the door clicks shut behind you and you walk across to the king-sized bed. much like joel, she is all long, muscular limbs stretched out in the middle.

unlike joel, you don't turn away.

you press one knee onto the mattress and crawl in her direction. ellie's breaths are deep, and the entire bed has a faint sandalwood smell. you think you'd settle for just lying here beside her, breathing her in.

instead, you kneel at her side. soaking her in, so relaxed. she looks younger—more carefree—like this.

with one hand, you trail the tip of your fingers over her lips—just like you did every time joel had his back on the two of you. a simple gesture, just to remind her you were there, even if it was for a moment.

ellie's big strong hand flies up, steely fingers wrapping around your wrist, "y/n."

it's not a question. she knows it's you.

"hi."

"what are you doing?" she asks from behind closed eyes.

"touching you."

her lips curve up into a sinful smile, "i thought you wanted to keep things casual in front of joel."

"right." you whisper, "it's just that i thought about it and decided being casual is overrated. i want you to touch me too."

a raspy chuckle spills from her as her green eyes open and dive into your own. chills erupt from the back of your neck, racing down your spine and over your arms.

"so, what now?" she asks beneath a quirked brow.

"i don't know." you suddenly feel nervous. you snuck up there with no plan, only knowing you wanted to be close to her, "do you want me to leave?"

she stares at you extra hard now. it's borderline unnerving. the weight of her stare. the way your stomach flip-flops under her attention. you've never felt this way before.

"no, y/n. i want you up here." her voice is soft and deep as she reaches for you. broad hands circle your waist and you squeal as she hauls you on to her, so you're straddling her torso.

"gonna need you to be quiet, baby." she murmurs as her palms slide up over your quads, tips of her fingers dipping inside your underwear at your hips.

all you can do is nod, lick your lips, and watch how good her hands look roaming over your body.

"n-now what?" you practically stutter.

"now you're going to hold on tight to that headboard, sit on my face, and try to keep your mouth shut while i make you come."

before you can respond, she's moved you up, yanked the gusset of you panties to the side, and has her tongue in your pussy.

you gasp and fall forward, holding the headboard like she instructed, more out of needing something to hold on to than because you're good at following directions.

your head falls back when her teeth graze you clit. she palms your ass and holds you close, like she's eating her favorite fruit. her eagerness does nothing but drive you even more wild.

"hmmm," you hum, trying to cover for the string of expletives currently sitting on the tip of your tongue. your thighs shake with the strain of holding yourself over her and fingers dig in hard.

ellie pulls away, only to grumble at you in that deep tone. "baby, i said be quiet. and stop being polite. i told you to sit on my face." the hand gripping your underwear yanks you down hard so that you're fully seated.

she sucks your clit and your body bows into her. her hand slides up from your ass, over your hip, stomach, and up to your breast, where she gently caresses you. she holds you. touches you.

she gives your nipple a good, firm twist that has you gasping and grinding against her mouth. all the response you get is a satisfied growl against your core as she continues to lick, and suck, and tease.

you ride her shamelessly. she told you to stop being polite, and so you do. you lose yourself in the sensation, the feel of her skin on yours. the smell of her wrapped around you.

there's something empowering in asking for what you want. to be touched when you want. and you're drunk on that—drunk on her—when everything inside you clenches. when that pressure builds so quickly, so intensely, you can't hold back... you shatter.

you feel like you blew apart into a million little pieces. your skin is hot, your eyelids feel heavy. and as much as you try to stay quiet, you can't.

her hand shoots up over your mouth and you slump into it, using her arm to prop yourself up while you cling to the headboard.

"ellie," you whisper as she moves you down. her limbs are moving and there's fabric rustling around you, but you're too incoherent to keep up, "ellie."

"y/n, baby. i told you to stay quiet."

your brain is too addled to care. "more." you fold yourself over her, dropping your head into the crook of her neck and kissing her there. your teeth graze over the lobe of her ear, and you realize she's removed her boxers while you blacked out. and, she had put on her strap that she conveniently kept in her nightstand.

"more?"

you nod, feeling her throat move against your forehead as he swallows. "more."

her hands move firmly, all business, as she removes your underwear. then she sits up, leaning against the headboard and taking you with her.

you can feel her hard length propped against your ass as she positions the two of you.

her eyes stay on your face as she reaches down to grip the hem of her shirt. the one she gave you to sleep in when she walked you to the guest room door and told you it might help you miss her less. right before she smirked that annoying, i'm-right-and-you-know-it smirk of hers.

she wasn't, though. which is why you're here.

your body coils with anticipation again as ellie's gaze rakes over your bare skin.

her hands roam slowly yet purposefully. over your arms, your collarbones. reading you like braille. you think she's always been able to, and you just didn't know it.

"i'm not sure you can handle more, baby." she kisses your chest as your hands move in tandem, feeling her in a way you didn't get to earlier. "you're not very good at keeping quiet."

"i'll be good," you murmur, grinding your pussy back on her and feeling her steely silicon dick twitch against your ass.

suddenly her lips are on your nipples and your hands are raking through her hair. she reaches between the two of you, urging you up onto your knees, you move obediently, and in return, you're rewarded by the sensation of her faux cock sliding against your pussy.

back and forth. back and forth. your eyes flutter shuts she tortures you. one hand grips your shoulder while the other is fisted around her length. you swivel your hips, feeling her crown notch inside you.

"goddamn, honey. you're even better than i fucking dreamed," she mutters roughly. then she shoves herself in, and you bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. because no one and nothing has ever felt this good.

your eyes snap open as your body adjusts. the light sight of her taking you so roughly has the blood thrumming through your veins at a rapid pace. your heart pounding even harder than before.

you stare at each other. her cock is buried deep inside you his.

"move, y/n. show me how bad you want it."

your pelvis undulates because you do want it. you lift and you drop back down, feeling every thick inch of her as you do. reveling in the way her eyes widen before taking on a more hooded appearance.

what starts off slow and deliberate comes apart at the seams. hands that were searching are now gripping.

breathing that was even is now choppy. everything is hot and damp as you writhe together in silence.

you don't need words. they wouldn't do justice to something that feels like this anyway.

"you're gonna come on my cock now, aren't you, baby?" she growls roughly, breathlessly, against your ear. your body shudders in response. "i can tell. your eyes give it away, even in the dark. then every muscle on you goes all tight. you ride me so damn hard. so eager. so warm. so fucking tight."

you're so full of her. her words. her body. it's too much, and right when youre about to go barreling over that edge again, she kisses you soundly, swallowing the sound of you screaming her name as you come.

with a fist full of your hair, she pumps into you hard.

spilling herself, filling you up thoroughly right as your orgasm rocks you. flays you. leaves you slumped in her arms, desperately trying to catch your breath.

you don't know how long the two of you stay like that. you straddling her lap, her cock snugly inside you, clinging to each other and kissing. slow, languid, deliberate kisses that make your throat ache with their tenderness. eventually they slow and ellie tolls you off her carefully.

always carefully. even when she's rough with you, shes so damn intentional. you feel nothing short of pampered with her. and when she gets up to retrieve a warm washcloth, the point is only driven further home.

"what are you doing?" you breathe the words, trying to stay quiet as she comes to kneel between your splayed legs.

"taking care of you."

the warm cloth swipes over your swollen core and you let out a soft moan. "you don't need to do that."

she continues wiping you gently. "but i want to."

you're struck silent by such a simple sentence.

you lie in ellie's bed, letting her take care of you. and when she's finished, she lifts the covers, crawls in behind you, and holds your body against hers all night long.