#I'm good I'm fine I'm normal about their expressions

[atlas-of-andromeda]

Because I can, I'm answering all of them.

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

Alot of things, obviously, but if I had to pick, I'd say:

Being straight up bullied for expressing interest in things growing up by my brother

Being largely a social outcast for most of my life

And video games

show us a picture of your handwriting?

Yes, I know it looks like shit.

For any curious, it's the lyrics to Does The Swallow Dream Of Flying by Cosmo Sheldrake that I wrote at school a few days ago because it was stuck in my head but I was in math so I couldn't listen to it.

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

Wolfwalkers

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Heathers (1989)

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

Piss

(It's a long story)

what made you start your blog?

P.M. Seymour

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

Best? The anonymity of it.

Worse? The anonymity of it.

what scares you the most and why?

People hating me. I couldn't tell you why even if I wanted to.

any recurring dreams?

Sometimes I have this dream where I'm in a massive... sinkhole? I guess? That's covered entirely in moss, grass, trees, and miscellaneous foliage. There's also a waterfall somewhere in it. Everytime I have the dream it's dark, little light making it to where I am from the surface. I'm stood on this little cliff edge on the side of the hole, and everytime I look over the edge, and fall. And the dream ends there. I've had it at seemingly random intervals throughout the past... maybe nine-ish years?

There's also this dream I consistently have once, every four years. Where I'm awake in my bedroom at like... maybe 04:00 or something. And it's the early winter, snow just dusting the ground. I leave my room and the washroom door is open, light on, but all other lights are off. I walk over to the entranceway, and I can hear my mother screaming from the basement. I proceed to leave through the backdoor. I walk out into the front yard and my brother is there, and the lights on my family's car are on.

It gets a little fuzzy from then on, but I know that at some point I go back inside and there's a spoon - like the utensil - is important is some capacity. And at some point the dream suddenly switches into another, unrelated dream; where I'm laying on my back, on the floor of a massive almost warehouse-like building, completely empty, and except of the white and grey metal normally in warehouses, this building is made out of wooden planks. There's a giant fan on the roof blowing straight down on me. Balloons are involved at some point.

So... feel free to psychoanalyze me if you so wish!

tell a story about your childhood

One time my family and I were out visiting my grandfather, and there was a large lake near where he lived, so we went swimming. Now, I was like, five or six when this happened; I was very small (still am, but less so). And my older brother (by like four years) was walking out into the lake, and I was following him, because I did that sometimes when I was younger. And because he was (and still is) a lot bigger than me, he went out just fine. But because I was so small, the water picked me up and flipped me over, and I started drowning. My parents came to the rescue (my brother ignored me (dick)).

would you say you’re an emotional person?

I've gotten better in the last year or two, but yes.

what do you consider to be romance?

Couldn't tell you if I tried.

what’s some good advice you want to share?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what are you doing right now?

Typing shit on Tumblr.

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

Come out.

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

A house.

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I'd make myself braver and less of of a push-over

name 3 things that make you happy

Music, drawing, walking in nature

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

Nope. Not even kinda.

favourite thing about the day?

Being on the bus to and from school. I'm not at school or my house and I get to talk with my friend.

favourite things about the night?

Nobody bothers you. You are left alone for hours on end. It's the only time you get peace.

are you a spiritual person?

Nope.

say 3 things about someone you love

You're always making such shit comments about LGBT+ and minority people, and I can't say anything in retort. You make it easy to forget what a shit person you are, and I'm happy until you make one of those comments again. You're the only person who seems to care about me, even if I know that that if I were to be honest with you that'd change in a second.

say 3 things about someone you hate

You can't shut up for five seconds and give me peace and quiet. You've ruined my life in so many ways for so long. I can't wait for you to be gone.

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

Going on for this long.

fave season and why?

Autumn. Cold, but not frostbite cold. limited amounts of bugs. Pretty colours. :)

fave colour and why?

Red. No reason, just like it.

any nicknames?

Pumpkin - my father.

do you collect anything?

Yeah! Rocks and breadclips! (Random. I know)

what do you do when you’re sad?

Depends. If I'm in public, suck it up until in private. In private, cry and read fanfiction.

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

Music.

are you messy or organized?

Pretty organized.

how many tabs do you have open right now?

...17...

any hobbies?

Drawing, writing, dancing, singing, playing guitar, playing harmonica.

any pet peeves?

People with no volume control.

do you trust easily?

Not really.

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

As many walls as possible.

share a secret

No. :)

fave song at the moment?

Vulture Culture by Fangclub

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

Rendog. Idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

any bad habits?

Biting my nails.

questions I think would be fun to be asked

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

what made you start your blog?

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

what scares you the most and why?

any reacquiring dreams?

tell a story about your childhood

would you say you’re an emotional person?

what do you consider to be romance?

what’s some good advice you want to share?

what are you doing right now?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

name 3 things that make you happy

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

favourite thing about the day?

favourite things about the night?

are you a spiritual person?

say 3 things about someone you love

say 3 things about someone you hate

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

fave season and why?

fave colour and why?

any nicknames?

do you collect anything?

what do you do when you’re sad?

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

are you messy or organised?

how many tabs do you have open right now?

any hobbies?

any pet peeves?

do you trust easily?

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

share a secret

fave song at the moment?

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

any bad habits?

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 17)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

The set had been feeling different for the past few days since you returned to filming and, each time you glanced at Cillian, a weight settled in your chest, the air thick with unspoken words as you both clearly took some time to reflect on your most recent choices in life, none of which were merely casual decisions.

Despite your best efforts to return to normal, there was some awkwardness between you and your best friend's father now and it was uncomfortable, making you worry about how this would affect the filming and, more importantly, your friendship with Nina who was set to arrive on set with her young sister next week.

Despite this, however, your first week back on set passed in a blur.

You were busy filming and, whilst you had some awkward interactions with Cillian, such as exchanging perfunctory conversations that felt more like carefully constructed scripts than genuine exchanges, you both managed to keep things professional while staying out of each other’s way.

By the time Friday came around though some others on set had picked up on the distance between you and Cillian. It was a distance that had not been there before and, as it became known that Cillian was getting divorced from Danielle, everyone just assumed that his change in mood, even towards you, was due to the breakup which simply took a toll on him.

You caught whispers exchanged by the crew and cast relating to Cillian's failing marriage, the sharp undercurrent of curiosity buzzing in the air, and it was Shaheen, in particular, who caught on quickly that there was something more going on beneath the surface. There was something between you and Cillian and she wanted to know what it was.

***

One day, she observed you staring into the distance during a break, her knowing eyes scanning your face. "Everything okay?" she asked, her voice carrying that maternal concern that made you want to simultaneously confide everything and retreat.

"Yes, I am fine," you replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just thinking about the scenes for the evening," you lied, and her raised eyebrow suggested she didn't quite believe you.

Despite being an actress, you were a terrible liar and the tension in the air hummed like a live wire.

"It's really just a long week," you replied, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly when you realised that she was suspicious.

Shaheen crossed her arms, studying you. "Alright, I won't annoy you with anymore questions but just know I'm here if you need to talk," she said before turning her head and watching as the new cast member strolled in, which is when the energy in the room changed.

***

The Irish man, who was cast to play Thomas Shelby's son as well as one of your many lovers in the movie, entered with an easy grin, the energy around him shifting almost instantly.

He had a confidence that drew all eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a spark of intrigue as he approached.

"Hey, I'm Barry," he announced, extending a hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "And you must be Y/N, right?" he asked, flashing a charming smile that lit up his handsome face.

"Yeah, that's me," you replied, shaking his hand, feeling warmth radiate from his touch.

"Nice," he grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've heard good things about your acting, so I am looking forward to working with you," he said politely, and you smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement at his enthusiasm.

"Glad to hear it," you replied, sensing Cillian's gaze from the corner of your eye as he appeared on set, his expression hardening momentarily as Barry gave you one of his signature smiles. "And… uhm, I am looking forward to working with you too, although our first scene later today is somewhat awkward," you blurted out, causing Barry to chuckle, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yeah, I love how they schedule these scenes on the first day we work together," Barry teased, leaning against a nearby crate. "What were they thinking?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't know, but's quite the introduction, isn't it?" you thought out loud and Barry chuckled again, seeing the humour in the situation.

"Jupp," he thus said. "It's the perfect way to break the ice," he winked, the playfulness lifting your spirits right before you noticed Cillian watch the exchange from the sidelines, arms crossed, jaw tense.

Barry caught sight of him, and his smile widened, unfaced. He didn't know the extent of your connection to Cillian but had heard from Steven Knight that he was your best friend's father, thus assuming that he might be somewhat protective of you.

This, however, did not deter Barry from being flirtatious at all and, if anything, it even spurred him on as he turned on the charm. He thought it would be funny to edge Cillian on while you, however, felt a little trapped, caught in a tension that thickened the air.

Barry was known to be a bit of a womanizer ever since his career took off and he split up from his last girlfriend who was not much older than you and you wondered whether it bothered Cillian that you seemingly got along with him.

Going by age alone, Barry was a much more appropriate match for you and, even though you had absolutely no interest in him, seeing Cillian's jealousy from afar made you suppress a smile.

It made the corners of your mouth twitch upward slightly as you glanced back at Cillian before Barry caught your attention once more, noticing your somewhat awkward interaction with Cillian.

"Looks like you've got a personal bodyguard back there," Barry remarked, gesturing towards Cillian with a playful smirk. "So should I back off?" he asked, feigning a mock-serious expression as he took a step back, hands raised in surrender.

Cillian's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing but he remained silent, watching the exchange unfold with a simmering intensity that made you wonder what exactly he was thinking.

"Do you mean Cillian?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Barry. His grin widened.

"Yeah, your 'bodyguard'," Barry teased, leaning closer, a playful smirk dancing on his lips but, instead of laughing at his comment, you swallowed hard, the pit in your stomach tightening.

"No, it's not like that at all. Cillian is just... protective," you quickly clarified, glancing over your shoulder. "We've known each other for a while, and...," you began to explain, nervousness creeping into your tone, but Barry interrupted.

His grin widened, clearly unfazed. "Relax Y/N, I was just trying to make a joke. I know that he is your friend's father, so I was just messing about," he clarified, which is when you realised that Barry's nature was just that. He was naturally flirtatious and charming, while enjoying a good laugh.

"Right," you laughed, but the knot tightened in your stomach, which was not the kind of reaction Barry expected. He tilted his head, studying you, his grin fading just a notch.

"I suppose I see you on set in an hour then?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with a playful glint.

"Yeah, definitely," you replied, forcing a smile, your thoughts still lingering on Cillian's watchful gaze and Barry nodded, turning to gather his things, before walking away, wondering what had just happened.

***

An hour had passed since you met Barry for the first time and, as you were getting ready for your final scene of the day, nervousness began to set in.

Your last scene for the day was also your first scene with Barry where your character manipulates his character to sleep with her as part of a revenge plot against Thomas Shelby and, whilst there was no more than a kiss that is being displayed on screen, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

"You've got this!" Shaheen encouraged you as she noticed your nervousness, but you still did not feel ready.

"Right," you thus replied, pacing slightly as you adjusted your costume and, unfortunately for you, when you finally stepped onto the damp cobblestones, preparing for your next scene, you caught sight of Cillian standing amidst the crew, his arms crossed, brow furrowed.

When he caught your eye, his expression shifted to one of tight-lipped concern, a look you couldn't decipher.

"You good, Y/N?" Shaheen's voice broke through your thoughts, her gaze steady, eyes flickering between you and Cillian, curiosity igniting a spark in her tone.

"Yeah, just... thinking," you replied, forcing a smile while your chest tightened at the sight of Cillian. "I thought, you know, this was a closed set," you whispered, leaning into Shaheen's ear as you adjusted your costume nervously.

"Not unless you've got your clothes off, so no, this isn't a closed set," she teased, her grin infectious as she nudged your shoulder.

You shot her a sidelong glance, feigning irritation but failing to suppress a grin.

"Right, of course," you mumbled as Steven Knight called for you.

"Are you ready Y/N?" His voice boomed across the set, commanding attention. You squared your shoulders, pushing the nerves aside.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, stepping into the light on set as Barry was already adjusting himself in front of the camera, relaxed and confident.

"I can do this," you whispered to yourself as you slid into character, trying to embody the vibe of the sullen lover.

"Alright... here we go," Steven called out, his voice slicing through the tense silence of the set.

You exchanged a quick glance with Barry, who smiled with encouragement, also noticing your nervousness just before the director called 'action'.

As soon as the director called 'action', Barry began his dialogue and, as the scene progressed after two takes, you also found yourself lost in your character, momentarily forgetting about Cillian standing there, watching you both.

But then, when Barry suddenly pulled you into a passionate kiss, your heart raced - not from thrill, but anxiety.

"Cut!" the director barked, breaking the spell that hung between you and Barry.

Cillian's glare pierced the air as you stepped back, warmth pooling beneath your skin.

"Y/N, I need to see some passion in those eyes," the director called, his brow furrowing in frustration and you noticed an audible sigh of frustration from Cillian.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of discontent passing over his features.

"Again, Y/N. Show me the fire," the director urged, impatience creeping into his voice. "Whatever you did during your scene with Cillian two weeks ago, I need you to bring it!"

You nodded, determination coursing through you before you inhaled deeply, focusing on the moment.

"Let's do this," you declared, stealing a glance at Barry and, immediately, his playful smirk returned, and the energy crackled between you both.

"Right, back in character," he winked, and the world narrowed to just the two of you.

After a handful of repeats, you still felt the tension though but not from the script, but from Cillian's palpable frustration lurking at the corner of the sound stage. It mounted like a tempest.

It was obvious to you that he wasn't frustrated with your performance though but, rather, the sheer fact that you were kissing someone else.

For a seasoned actor, this kind of thinking was completely irrational though and, yet, Cillian's brow furrowed deeper with each take until, finally, the director called 'cut' again.

'Take five,' he then announced which, for a scene like this, was not unusual, but it was then when Cillian, as an executive producer, interrupted, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the set.

"Steven, I think we need to rethink that scene," Cillian's eyes pinned on the monitor, intensity radiating from him.

"Why's that?" Steven turned, surprise flashing across his face.

"It's just not necessary," Cillian replied, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, his tone final and for everyone to hear while you bit your lip, a flicker of fear rippling through you.

"Just let it flow, Cillian," Steven replied, waving him off. "It's key for the character dynamics," he explained before noting the character's manipulated nature.

Cillian's eyes narrowed, frustration twisting his features. He disagreed and was ready to voice his concerns.

"With all due respect, Steven, this scene feels overdone. We don't need another cliché to tell the story," he said which is when Barry chuckled lightly, glancing between them, but tension hung thick in the air.

"Well, I am sorry, but you are wrong Cillian. We need this scene," Steven said and, soon enough, the scene shifted back into focus and you prepared for another round, yet every time Barry leaned in, the heat of the moment flared, only to be extinguished by the weight of Cillian's gaze.

By the time the director called "wrap," you felt drained, the emotional rollercoaster of your character resonating in stark contrast to the knot in your stomach. You stepped away, desperate for air, only to find yourself wandering towards the coffee station.

As you grabbed a cup, the corner of your eye caught Cillian again, observing you from a distance, the intensity of his presence drawing you in like a moth to a flame. But beside him loomed Shaheen, light-heartedly chatting as you approached.

"I screwed up, didn't I?" you asked her as you poured the coffee, tension coiling in your gut.

Shaheen chuckled, sipping her own drink. "You didn't screw anything, and Steven said he got what he needed in the end, even though it took eight takes," she chuckled, rolling her eyes while Cillian's narrowed eyes shot daggers towards Barry across the set.

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[elvenbeard]

"Y'know, wasn't sure you'd really be here like... if maybe I'd just imagined the last couple months, goin' fully delusional. All the way, 'til I saw you standing on the railing... And now you're here." "And I'm not goin' anywhere again. Promise."

poses: x

[lloydfrontera]

my biggest gripe with the manhwa rn is that they made javier more of an asshole than he is in the novel and then took away most of the scenes where we see him being kind and soft with others.

javier can be an ass, he is a brat and he's especially annoying when he's with lloyd, but above anything else he is kind and loyal and selfless and good. i cannot emphasize enough how good javier is. he's the kind of person who cannot see someone in trouble or danger and do nothing about it. he's the kind of person who would sacrifice his life for total strangers and no hope of any reward. he's the kind of person who can't even enjoy a lavish party without feeling guilty because he'd much rather help people in need with that money.

he's so fucking good, lloyd is a little annoyed by it because he keeps getting dragged into life-threatening situations because javier just won't stop helping people they don't even know. mind you, lloyd is also endeared by this and would not want him to change but god can it be frustrating in his endeavor to keep them both alive.

there's this particular scene that i just. i'm so sad it was cut. where javier is helping around the refugee camp, going without sleeping and eating so he can focus on helping as many people as possible and then he spots a little kid that got lost on his way back. so he decides to help him.

and he's so gentle with this kid.

Javier walked over to the kid and called him. The flustered boy looked up. Javier strove to put on a warm smile on his face. "Are you lost?" “...” The boy nodded, his eyes all wet. Javier carefully stroked the boy's head. "I think I can help you with that. Why don't you let me help find your tent?" suggested Javier. “...” The boy nodded again. "But why didn't you eat the food? It's going to get cold. Are you not hungry?" "I am… hungry," the boy finally said. But what he said next caught Javier by surprise. "But I won't eat it," said the boy. "Why not?" "My mother is hungrier." "Is that so?" "Yes." “...” Javier wondered why this kid came out to take the food when he had a mother. There must be a reason, he thought to himself. He held out his hand. "I will hold the tray for you." "..." "I won't spill it. I promise." "Okay..." Javier took the tray and wrapped the boy’s hand with his own.

like. god. javier is not a naturally warm person. he's very reserved and stoic and sometimes outright cold, but he still tries so hard with this kid. because he knows what it's like to be him. he knows what it's like to be a child and be scared and hungry and without a home. and he remembers how much it meant for a kind adult to reach out a hand to him and help. and he wants to be that to others too.

everything he does, he does because he genuinely believes it's the right thing to do and therefore his obligation. and even when it doesn't come naturally to him, like being warm and gentle to a child, he still tries his best to do so.

and like that wasn't enough, when they finally find the kid's mom, javier finds out she's blind. recently blinded actually. that she used all her strength to get her child to safety and now she has to depend on him to take care of them because she can't do it anymore. her blouse is smudged with porridge.

so javier kneels down and explains who he is, why he's there and that he wants to help. he lifts up a spoonful of food and slowly and carefully starts to feed her himself. she's a complete stranger and javier doesn't hesitate one second to do this for her.

this is who javier is!! this is who he is at his core!! he's kind and he's selfless and he's above all else good!!

if your audience can't imagine javier comforting a child, then you failed your audience. you missed the point of his character.

[moe-broey]

Sometimes I worry I get too self-indulgent w how I portray Alfonse w Sharena, ESP keeping that one FEH comic in mind (which shows Alfonse and Sharena's differing boundaries, and how Alfonse in general "isn't much of a hugger") BUT. In my heart............. I like to imagine....... there are moments where he'll happily allow it. But the Problem Here, is if he gives Sharena an inch, she's taking a mile. She's going to completely smother him. She's dangling off his shoulders and squishing herself against him in ways previously thought impossible. Which may or may not be a contributing factor as to why he's a little apprehensive by default. And it's a feedback loop. Him being standoffish, her trying sooooo hard to respect that when she's STARVING for that physical affection, him allowing it, her squeezing him so hard that if he wasn't in armor he might break a rib. Endless loop. Unique hell. But they do love each other, completely.

[montied]

in the tags due to. i'm embarrassed

[sysig]

Tastes staticy (Patreon)

[satoruxx]

you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.

your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—

"what are you doing up, pretty?"

your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.

as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.

"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"

his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.

your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.

"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."

you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.

"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."

"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."

"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.

"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."

"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."

he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."

you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."

"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.

but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.

his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.

"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.

"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.

"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"

the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.

and yet...

"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."

when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.

"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

���Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[lesbianpikachu]

.

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?” 

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on. 

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless. 

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile. 

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

[potato-on-your-head]

Yes! And not only that, but it's also heavily implied that whatever family Fink did have was... not good. His lines about his mom's parenting style are played for laughs, and they're absolutely funny in the moment ("swimming's easy! I can teach him the same way my mom taught me. SWIM!" *drop-kicks the child*) ("My mom used to rock me to sleep. LIKE THIS! *swings a literal rock*). And yet, moments later, when they're addressed in a serious manner, you realize that Fink was actually confessing just how messed up his childhood was.

Right after the rock incident, he tells Roz, "Hey! I turned out just fine." That's the CLASSIC line that (cw child abuse) plenty of people whose parents hit them as a kid will say in response to how you, like, should not hit your kids. The fact that his mom threw him into water and said sink or swim and also got him to sleep in a forceful way is indicative of nature's harshness, yes... but it's also a metaphor for cruelty in real-life parenting. And boy does that resonate.

He reveals it all when Roz asks how he can tell a story about something he claims not to understand: love. Fink's body language shifts to both protective and vulnerable as he's all curled up. Then he admits, "Yeah, well, when you grow up without something... you spend a lot of time thinking about it." Okay, ouch. Major character motivation unlocked.

Once Roz powers down, Fink looks wistfully at her, leaves his comfy bed, and goes and settles in under her arm, curled up close to her with Brightbill above. It speaks volumes about how he admitted something and now finally has someone caring about him - and now that she's not awake, he's free to actually seek out the affection he wants without having to explain it away with a witty one-liner.

We don't get a lot of details. Fink definitely could've lost his family young. And however long he had his mom clearly damaged him and his worldview. Roz is the first one to care about him not just in a long time, but possibly ever. Which makes it all the more poignant when you see him helping raise Brightbill with things he never got.

The story Fink told Brightbill might not have even been something his mom told him. It might have been what Fink wished his mom had told him. A story he thought up late at night, imagining it being narrated by someone who loved him.

An aspect I highly admire about The Wild Robot is the manner they explore Fink’s implied trauma, when he helps Brightbill go to sleep with that story about a loving mother finding her son. Likely a story Fink’s mom shared with him as a child to help put the guy to sleep.

It’s never outright stated word for word, but God you can feel Fink’s underlying solitude, pain, and sadness throughout this film’s run time. Fink clearly lost his own mother, along with whatever other relatives, he had at a young age to nature’s harshness, leading to a selfish loner attitude, until Roz crashed into his life.

One moment that seriously stood out to me is before the winter storm slammed into their island Roz asked Fink about love and he says, “Dunno. I wouldn’t know anything about it…”, as he walked away with a crushed look on his face into the darker part of the forest. Going deep into his lowly nest curled up into a ball alone. It says so much, by doing very little dialogue, about Fink’s life he has led up to now.

Love it when movies have you read more in between the lines on scenes to get an answer.

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[fluffylino]

pussy drunk minho

he'll never admit how dumb he gets for your pussy~

-contains mature themes

"kitten, im not that obsessed with your pussy" minho scoffed out. you clicked your tongue.

now that was a lie.

"i doubt you could last an entire week without it" you argued back. he smirked.

"game on." now it was your turn to make a face.

"so if i win, you'll wear the collar?" his expression dropping. you could see the wheels in his head turning. wondering if he could really beat you against this game.

"that is...that is if you win. which you won't im sure of it but alright" you couldn't help but smile.

"deal"

"seriously though i can live without eating you out..." you laughed right in his face. to which he rolled his eyes.

the whole argument starting when you asked if you could dom him. his immediate response being a firm no. you couldn't help but whine, even begging for it.

if he could dom you. you could dom him.

his response being "i'd rather be the one in control. i feel uneasy submitting."

so you decided to pry more into it. you wanted to know more. to truly understand him.

"because i feel like my mind will go all fuzzy and i'll look like an idiot" that was exactly why you wanted to take charge. if not for sometime. you were happy even if it was a one time thing.

minho was cute eitherway and he'd be even more cuter on his knees.

and then what really did it for you was when he said he wasn't that obsessed with eating you out.

a lie honestly.

his morning routine consisting of waking you up with his face between your legs. breathless and absolutely horny. grinding against the mattress.

it didn't matter if he had to go out. that always came first. and he was one to give amazing head. always having that confident smirk after making you cum.

.

.

the day one was fine.

he seemed normal. doing his daily tasks. going to the company. coming back all sweaty and laying on your chest. you couldn't help how sweet he was.

day three was when you noticed him staring.

you hadn't even realised the t shirt you were wearing had ridden up. enough to have your panties exposed. he was talking to you about the dance formations when all of a sudden you noticed the way his eyes kept lingering downwards.

so playfully you spread your legs open and closed them. you weren't being obvious. him on the other hand was captivated.

eyes locked onto your covered heat.

"minho." you called out. he looked back at your face so fast you wanted to laugh.

"hm?" he hummed out, casually walking out of the room, mumbling that he was going to shower.

when he did go for a bath, you pressed your ear against the door. a heat pooling in your lower abdomen at the sound of him jacking off.

"pfft and he says he can do without it" you muttered under your breath.

.

"you want my cunt so bad, don't you baby" you teased. loving the way he hid his face in the pillows beside you. it looked like he was throwing a tantrum.

"come onnn just put the collar on and then you can taste me-" you suggested, rubbing his back.

"no no no no no-" he chanted cutting you off mid sentence, voice muffled.

stubborn as hell. there was no possible way he would do it.

.

.

"was it that difficult, huh?" minho stared up at you with crazy eyes.

first of all, to get him on his knees was a hassle. and now he glared at you playfully. you let out a small laugh. he really looked like an angry kitten. the clip on cat ears and black collar around his neck made him look so soft.

"are you gonna be a goo-"

"just let me eat y-" you clicked your tongue. now he was really pissing you off. a bratty smile on his face. you just wanted to slap him.

"yes yes. now can i-"

"thats it. im done" you stood up, ready to leave. until you were pulled back. minho gripping your thighs. a look of guilt on his face.

"i'm sorry. i'll be good" he mumbled, a small pout emerging.

"promise?"

"hmmmm"

you sighed. you didn't trust him yet. so you took the leash out. his mouth opening and closing when you hooked it onto the collar. his eyes locked onto were you clutched the leash.

"wh-"

his original question turning into a breathy moan. his face plummeting between your legs.

inhaling your soaked panties for a good few seconds. before he lifted his head back up.

using his teeth to take off your panties. you could see the way his breath hitched upon seeing your cunt. it had been so long since. he saw your pussy. after days. up close. leaning in.

a firm tug to the collar. a small grunt leaving him.

"you think you can just get right into it?" you raised an eyebrow, looking down at him. he seemed to understand. his pride wouldn't let him. but reluctantly he asked.

"may i...please?"

you nodded. satisfied.

.

you gasped. fuck you hadn't even realised how much you missed his mouth on you. his tongue licking into your cunt.

nose deliciously rubbing against your clit. face practically buried there. you were worried he wouldn't be able to breathe.

so you held onto his collar, pulling him back.

"m-mmmh... i-ive been so good" he whined, breathing heavily. your essence and his spit staining his chin and nose.

you noticed he was hard. precum soaking into his sweatpants.

"don't think i didn't notice you humping my foot" you choked out.

pussy throbbing at the loss of contact. you needed his mouth back on you.

"couldn't h-help it, sorry" he apologised, keeping his head down. as if he didn't deserve it. you ran your hands through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear.

"its okay, kitten. use my leg, hm?" you reassured, closing your legs around his head.

"aahmmhh f-fuck" minho cried out. enveloped by your thighs. nevertheless taking the opportunity to slurp at your dripping cunt. lewd noises echoing throughout the room.

his hips slowly moving. beginning to grind against your foot. you unconciously pressed down on his cock.

a muffled whimper escaping him.

"you're such a slut, a-aren't you" you hissed out. his lips wrapped around your swollen clit. as he sucked. pushing his nose against your cunt. trying to take more than he could possibly handle.

"say it, baby. you're a slut.." he gasped, glassy eyes looking up at you. sweat dripping down his neck.

lips swollen and red.

"s-slut for...for your p-pussy" he repeated. begging to make you cum.

"dumb f-for your cunt only ahhh"

"please p-please c-cum m-mommy" your breath hitching at the name. you let him get back. cock begging for release.

"gonna cum?" you whimpered out, nearly your climax. his head shaking as he humped your leg desperately.

"c-come on kitty, make me cum"

you moaned loudly, his wet muscle shoved so deep inside of you. his own high pitched moan joining you. both of you cumming at the same time.

a wet patch on his pants. his hips still bucking as he let his tongue hang out. riding his climax out.

nevertheless he cleaned you up. licking and running his tongue through your folds. making sure to not waste a single drop of your tasty essence.

small little whines leaving him at your taste.

"my perfect kitty" you praised him. minho panting as he looked at you. pouting. asking for a kiss. his head resting against your thigh.

"good k-kitty?"

"did so good for me"

.

.

"yeah okay okay...im a hundred percent drunk on your damn pussy"

"AHAH SO I WON-"

.

.

.

[cobraaah]

Hello yes,, another seb smut request :] I absolutely LOVEEDD the last fic u wrote and now I require more HGHDHFJF

Mabye like a really steamy makeout session with seb in his shop that ends up going further? But he has two tounges (///.//.///) so it's extra freakyyy,,

Preferably with a side of more degrading and breeding kink,, also, if your up for it,, maybe some oviposition?

Pairing•[Sebastian Solace x hybrid fishy! Gn reader?]

Warnings• 18+ No minors, but I'm not your mom so consume your own content, ovi kink, double tongue, double cock, breath play, breeding kink, blood, wounds?, not prof read

A/N• Okay, so, like, sorry for taking so long on this 😭 I've been so busy!! Anyway, I tried to make it gender neutral as possible. I'm also sorry for how short and bad this is. I really rushed it because I've been procrastinating on this. I also need to organize all my stuff on here as well. Flip. I also don't know why reader is a fish hybrid, I totally forgot what I was gonna do with that

Word count• 1.4K

Heavy pants ringed through your ears as you pushed open hell saving door fifty. Clutching your side blood staining your hand, a giant gash layed on your side. Labored breaths seethed out of your clenched teeth as you gripped onto your side, attempting to apply pressure and because it hurt like hell. With a prayer, the vent up ahead pushed open with a snicker lingering in it. It was your trusted friend, well more of your only friend here, Sebastian. The weird fishy hybrid eel thing. . you didn't really know exactly what DNA was in him, just that he was a weird hybrid thing that sold you items. Nothing more, nothing less.

Crawing through the vent with a hiss due to the new position of having to crawl, tail dragging behind you. Red drops from the gash beneath your hand, leaving a small trail in wake. A small gasp leaving your mouth as you stood up, heaving. Suddenly your vision getting hazy finally came to you, how much blood have you lost? Glancing down to your wound, your whole hand was dripping red. The only noise you could focus on was the soft dripping of the crimson droplets hitting the metal like floor, your ear fins fanned back uncomfortably.

Due to your carelessness and not being careful about the doors you went into, you've waltz into at least one of the "Good People's" doors, maybe a few too close encounters with Angler leaving scratches on you. Everything was too fuzzy to remember, or feel? Looking up you finally notice Sebastians worried facial expression, and when where you sat on top of this table? A uncomfortable groan left you as Sebastian tightly wrapped bandages around your exposed wound. When did he take off my diving gear? Your eyebrows furrowed in glazed confusion, what was even happening? With your vision beginning to fade out, you slumped forward into Sebastians arms opting out on falling back against the hard metal wall.

The uncomfortableness of the cold metal against your bare skin and the stinging pain in your side sturs you awake. Hissing through your teeth you sit up, quickly realizing you arnt in your diving gear instead being in the bare essentials. The coldness was something you never could adjust to properly after being fused with some randome fish DNA the scientists excluded from telling you. Glancing down to your side you realize it's bandaged up, already becoming a light pink colour. A rough "Ahem." brings your attention to infront of you, Sebastian is in his normal spot in the corner. "How are you feeling?" His voice laced with distaste at the fact he even asked that, his eyes are squinted at you analytically.

"I'm. . fine." Your voice comes out warily, feeling uncomfortable under his unwelcoming gaze. A small hum leaves Sebastian in acknowledgement, awkward silence quickly fills in the room. The situation just being unusual between you too, and the fact you were practically half naked infront of him. Truly embarrassing stuff. You wince into yourself at the stinging pain to your side, analyzing your coverd wound once again. "You know. . I could take your mind off the pain. If you wanted." Sebastian voice made you look up once again, this time in confusion. "What. . What do you mean?" Voice laced with unease as his gaze becomes more predatorial like.

With him standing at the end of the table he easily grabs ahold of your ankles, firm hands slowly gliding up your exposed flesh pulling your pelvis flush to his waist. "You know. . just another way for you to repay for my services. Gotta pay for that medkit I used on you anyways, plus you staying in my hideout? A large fee you owe. ." He trails off. His gaze boreing into you as if trying to burn right through you. "Right.." His hands leave goosebumps in wake of his trail, finally firmly resting on your hips. Two tongues simultaneously slip out of his mouth as he leans forward. Your eyes widen slighty at the fact he has two, mouth agap slighty in awe. Sebastian takes this opportunity and connects his mouth with yours.

Two of the silky appendages explore your mouth, wrapping around your tongue. Eyes closing in bliss, hands coming up and wrapping around his neck deepining the kiss. His tongues threaten to go deeper into your throat, teasingly he slithers them further slowly making you let out a choked whimper. One of his hands come up to your throat choking you, starting out softly but quickly roughing it up to barley suffocating squeezing. With air becoming scarce for you, you grip onto the back of his neck hoping he'll get the idea. Your vision quickly begins to blur with no oxygen getting to you. Weakly squirming under him hoping to free yourself.

As your vision begins to fade and your wiggling slows he leans back, letting go of your throat. Taking in a sharp breath, feeling your heart skip a beat as your vision finally regains to its full. Sebastian chuckles as he looks down at you panting, your grip on him tightens as you finally calm down, but that was short lived as you feel two rather big appendages wiggle against your thigh. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as you see he has two cocks instead of one. The one that slithers it's way on the top of your stomach is much bigger and more thicker rather than the one that's under your thigh, it's still pretty big but the bottom is more thicker than the tip.

With a quick thrust of his hips a low groan emmits from him. With two of his hands gripping your midsection and his other grabbing your ankle, hoisting it over his shoulder as he leans in closer to you, mouth connecting once more. His bigger tentacle like cock slithers under your underwear, withoit any prep or warning he quickly juts his hips into you, cock easily slipping inside with how slick you already were. Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the stinging pain of him stretching you out, but after a few more thrusts the pain turned into pleasure. Moaning into the heated kiss, the feeling of his tongue fucking your mouth draws you closer to the edge, the familiar tightening feeling forms in your stomach.

As Sebastian leans back for air he reposting himself so his chest is flush against yours, he grabs the back of your thighs pushing them up. With this new angle he pushes himself impossibly deeper, hitting spots you never knew existed. Your arms tangle around his neck pushing his face into the crook of your neck. His tongues slither out giving a few little licks before harshly biting down, seemingly grounding himself as he does a few more harsh thrusts into the spot making your head feel dizzy. With a final thrust you feel something pushing its way inside you, Sebastians body stiffens with a groan as his jaw slacks against your shoulder. His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as he stills inside you. You whimper at the unfamiliar feeling of being filled up, a intrusion pushing past your cervix. Eyes furrowing in slight discomfort as you cling onto Sebastian, his rough panting, licks, and soft nips against your shoulder distract you from the pain.

He pulls out with a low groan, your stomach has a soft bump from all the eggs he pushed into you. A surprised whimper left your throat as you feel a his other slick tentacle wiggle against your entrance. He easily pushed inside once again, giving a few shallow thrusts before roughly pushing himself all the way. Moaning at the feeling of being impossible full, he ruts into you as he rides through both of your highs. He stays inside of you for a moment, catching his breath. His hand comes up and be runs his fingers through your hair, tips of his nails rubbing against your scalp comfortably. He let's your legs down slowly letting them lay on either side of his waist. His face still nuzzled into your neck as the movements of his hands slowly still until soft breathing can be heard from him. You glance down and realize he fell asleep, exhaustion quickly becomes evident to you as your eyes close with ease and you drift off to sleep holding onto Sebastian.

[scottiexmariee]

Ok so I've been loving all if the stuff you've been putting out so far, it's literally so good!!! My request is how the lads would react to you falling down the stairs and I'm talking like a long stream of stairs (totally not bc I fell down the stairs today while watching sylus edits hehehe)

First of all, omg, I am so sorry but I giggled. I hope you're okay!

Here you go, anon. I hope this is what you had in mind! Do me a favor and ban yourself from watching Sylus edits near stairs!!

How the boys would react to you falling down the stairs

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader Warnings: Stairs are your biggest op.

(little bit of falling, little bit of fluff. Lots of love for anon)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

☆ Man would be mortified.

☆ He turned his back for two seconds, next thing he knows you're takin a tumble

☆ Would most likely ban you from being near stairs by yourself again

☆ “You can take down wanderers, but lose a fight against stairs?” 

☆ Would let you lean on him for support the rest of the night (he knows it hurt)

The elevator to your shared apartment building had broken down. By the time the two of you had arrived home to find that out, it was 11pm, and far too late for maintenance to come out to fix it. You were stuck taking the stairs until maintenance arrived tomorrow morning.

Normally, this wouldn't be an issue. However, your day had been excruciatingly long, and the stairs were more of an obstacle and a hinderance than they should have been. Your body was sore, your legs felt like jelly, and you really hated stairs in general.

Xavier looked down at you, stifling a laugh at the exasperated expression on your face. "I could always just carry you," He offered, extending his hand.

Whether it was your pride or your stubbornness, you couldn't accept. "I'm fine," You insisted, although it sounded like you were reassuring yourself more than Xavier. "You're tired too. Go ahead, I'm right behind you," You would very quickly find out that your last statement aged like milk left out in the sun.

Xavier shot you one last skeptical glance before he turned and began walking up the stairs. You followed suit, doing a decent job until you stepped wrong and lost your balance. Your arms flailed, successfully grabbing on to nothing. The only audible indication that you were about to fall was the startled gasp that left your mouth, which caught Xavier's attention with just enough time left to helplessly watch you fall.

You stumbled backward, colliding with every single one of the 13 steps on your way down. Every single stair caused a painful shock and an even bigger dent to your ego.

Xavier was kneeling by your side in an instant.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice laced with concern. He helped you sit up, carefully eyeing you for any visible injuries. You were very sore, but luckily not seriously injured. At most, you'd likely be bruised in the morning.

You let out a huff of air, stifling a pained grunt in the process. "Well, that was embarrassing,"

Xavier stared at you, wide-eyed and looking like he was 3 seconds away from calling an ambulance.

"Xav. I'm alright," You insisted, twisting to lift yourself up.

Xavier intervened, quickly scooping you up before you could get to your feet.

"No," He said, shaking his head. "You're banned from stairs,"

With that, he began walking back up the stairs you'd just tumbled down. While you were nearly dying from the embarrassment, Xavier actually didn't mind carrying you. In fact, he'd rather carry you up and down every flight of stairs you encountered for the rest of your life if it meant he wouldn't witness another fall like that again.

Once you were safely at the top, he gently set you down outside of your apartment, making sure to keep hold of you in case you were unsteady on your feet.

"I can stand," You assured him. You were still heavily embarrassed, but ultimately thankful that he was so sweet.

He kept an arm on you until your door was unlocked.

"Is it too soon to say you should have accepted my offer the first time?"

You shot him a glare, although it lacked any real heat.

"I think I should stick around for the night, just in case you happen to encounter anymore stairs,"

❅ Professional Zayne mode engaged immediately

❅ Depending on how bad the fall was, you're getting a full body exam before you're even allowed off the floor

❅ and that's not it, either

❅ You think you might bruise? Cold Compress. 15 Minutes. Now.

❅ Man will be stressed for the rest of his life any time you're in the same vicinity as a single stair

Zayne had lost track of the amount of times he'd warned you to be slower coming down the stairs. Every single time you came down them, two at a time and at a speed that was less than acceptable, he'd get heart palpitations, convinced that this was the time you were going to fall.

It was coming, and he knew it. He warned you. You, however, tore through the house like a woman on a mission. You had a habit of learning the hard way, and you're simply too prideful to take his warnings seriously.

Until about 30 seconds ago.

You don't even remember what you were going to tell him. You'd been upstairs, he'd been downstairs. You raced down the stairs, coming in hot, and somehow miscalculated a step about halfway down.

That fall that Zayne had warned you about numerous times was finally a reality, and damn it was painful.

Zayne, from the kitchen, heard what sounded suspiciously like a body bouncing off the stairs and immediately stopped what he was doing to come check on you.

He rounded the corner, and there you were in all your glory: dazed, disoriented, and sore with a bloody lip serving as the cherry on top.

"Don't move," He said gently, kneeling at your side. With well trained eyes, he began looking you over. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," You groaned. It was true. 30 seconds ago you were having the time of your life, and now you felt like you'd been hit by a semi truck.

The next 10 minutes consisted of Zayne thoroughly checking every limb, asking you to answer various questions ("what day is it? What year is it? Time? Count backwards from 10. What comes after W?") and forcibly holding an icepack to your lip.

He ended up carrying you to the couch, gently laying you down so he could continue what he was doing while simultaneously babysitting you.

He did not hit you with an "I told you so,"

Not yet, anyway.

However, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking for a house that didn't have stairs.

❀ He'd hear it from the other room and think a tree fell on his studio or something

❀ "Is it storming? I swear I heard thunder,"

❀ He'd make sure you were okay, but he's definitely teasing you about it later

❀ "I'm looking for a new bodyguard. Mine can't even handle a staircase,"

❀ definitely makes a moment post later on

❀ ^ "thought it was storming earlier. turns out it was just (Y/N) getting in a fight with stairs and losing. 10/10 ambience though,"

❀ on a separate occasion, I can see you both falling at the same time and blaming each other for it

While Rafayel was occupied with his current project, boredom had gotten the best of you. You began exploring the studio, surprised to find a set of stairs that you hadn't noticed before. Upon further inspection, they lead to an attic.

Curiosity killed the cat, so they say. You couldn't help yourself.

Was Rafayel an attic man? What sorts of trinkets did he stash up there? The questions were burning too hot to go unanswered.

Unfortunately, it was mostly old paint supplies and boxes of random decorations that had been retired. You were left a little unsatisfied, but you had gotten an answer.

As you began to retreat, you realized the stairs felt a lot steeper than they did on the way up.

It didn't take long for you to lose your footing. The sounds that filled the air were a symphony of thuds and curses.

After laying on the ground for a few minutes, trying to recover, you opened your eyes to see Rafayel standing above you.

"You good?" He asked, kneeling down. "I kinda thought you died,"

"I'm not good, but I'm not dead."

He gently checked you over and then extended a hand to help you up.

"I think you should stay away from stairs," He drawled, leading you toward the couch. "and I also think you should sit here and recover from that,"

You plopped on the couch, too tired to protest.

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, wanting to make sure you were truly alright before he began the teasing. It was his way of lightening the mood. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You reassured him that yes, you were alright. He sat next to you, casually tossing an arm around your shoulders.

"Good, because we need to talk about your Bodyguard skills. You need training or something. You just lost a fight to some stairs,"

⟡ He was never worried about you around stairs before

⟡ but he's absolutely having remodeling done within the next 24 hours now

⟡ you are getting absolutely BABIED by this man the second he comes to your aid

⟡ You're not even lifting a fork, sweetie

⟡ You're getting tossed over his shoulder and carried like a sack of potatoes if stairs can't be avoided in the future

⟡ You're not going to get hurt again if he can help it

At times, Sylus thought it was cute when you shut your brain off around him. He knew that it meant you felt safe, and it filled him with warmth whenever he stopped to think about it.

He'd place a tactical hand over the corner of the table when you bent down to pick something up, just in case you bumped your head again, you'd hit his hand instead of the corner.

He'd gently guide you when you weren't paying attention to where you were walking, too engrossed in your conversation to look for obstacles.

You really only did it when you two were at the base. Sylus didn't mind, though. In fact, it was almost endearing, the way you were comfortable enough to turn off your spatial awareness.

He couldn't always be around to steer you away from obstacles, though.

And you, unfortunately, had a habit of walking around while looking at your phone instead of where your feet were going.

You'd done it again today. But this time, it had caused a problem.

You were walking down the stairs to get a drink, completely fixated on a video you were watching, not a single worry in the world about the steps. Sylus had chided you for it before, but it had never been an issue....until now.

You stepped too far forward and immediately ate shit the rest of the way down the stairs. Your phone clattered to the floor, ending up several feet away. Mephisto witnessed the entire thing and had the nerve to squawk at you.

To add insult to injury, Sylus just so happened to be rounding the corner just in time to see your disheveled figure crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

He was careful not to jostle you when he knelt down.

"Can you move?"

You wiggled your fingers, your toes. Flexed your wrist, rotated your arms. Despite the horrendous pain in your side, you could still move. You answered his question with a nod.

He picked you up as gently as he could, holding you princess style with both arms, being extra careful.

"Were you on your phone?" He asked, already eyeing the evidence on the floor. The screen was shattered, but the sound of the video you'd been watching was still coming through the speakers. He'd warned you about walking distracted before, but was usually there to be a hero. Not this time.

"Maybe,"

He refused to get more than three feet away from you for the next several hours, constantly offering to get you various things you may need. Water? He's on it. A snack? You bet. Heating pad? Consider it done.

If you had known that accidentally falling down the stairs would cause Sylus to get all soft and cradle you like you were made of glass for the next few hours, you'd have fallen on purpose a lot sooner.